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“Emma, I’m not here to talk about the tournament.”

Of course not. In fact, this was as good a time as any to inform him of her change in plans. “I can’t marry him.”

She waited until his hearing caught up with her words.

Aye, now he understood. His bright blue eyes darkened as they tended to do when he became angry.

“Emma, I asked if you were sure. You cannot—I knew I should not have listened to you.” When he raised his voice, Emma crossed her arms. “Why did you not wait? I told you—”

“Aye, you asked if I was sure. I was. But now I am not. Have you never made a mistake before?”

“This is not some simple mistake. This is a man’s life we’re discussing.”

“You think I don’t understand that? ’Tis his life, and mine. But I was upset, and—”

“Emma—”

“Stop saying my name like that!”

“Like what?” His hands balled into fists, and something about his posture—angry yet restrained—reminded her of her father. She missed him so very, very much. She’d even be happy to be rebuked by him. Her eyes welled with tears.

“You look exactly like Father just now, all blustery and—”

“I do not bluster.”

They both knew quite well that he did, in fact, bluster.

“I am sorry that you’re in pain,” her brother said more softly, getting to his feet. “I’d take it from you if I could.”

And she knew he meant it. Always.

Panic tickled at her. Could it truly be too late? Had she doomed herself with her own impetuousness? She wanted Geoffrey to offer another idea, but his only answer was to reach out and smooth down her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she said, standing. “I need to think.”

He must have assumed she planned to stay in her chamber, for when they both attempted to walk to the door, she collided with the stone wall that was her brother.

They walked from the room together, Emma heading to the only place that she truly felt at peace.

* * *

Emma opened the door to the stables and was greeted by nearly every groom at Kenshire, or so it seemed. They stood in a circle, a horse at the center of their gathering. As she walked toward them, she attempted to get a better look.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

They all turned toward her at once.

“Is it Nella?” She rushed forward. “Is she . . . Oh my!”

They parted for her to get a better look, and Emma gasped. The magnificent pure white horse was not one of theirs. It had a long, broad neck that tapered down to a strong, massive chest. She stared at its thick mane and moved closer. Docile, despite being completely surrounded, she didn’t flinch when Emma ran her hand down her sleek flank. She looked down to the horse’s completely unblemished legs.

“Whose is it?” she asked no one in particular.

Eddard answered.

“Yours,” he said.

She straightened. “Mine?” she asked in bafflement, tearing her gaze away from the beautiful creature.