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Just before they came upon the keep’s entrance, Sara’s maid, Faye, stopped her. The kindly, plump woman had been a part of Gillian’s life for as long as Sara had been, and she spared her a smile before speaking. “My lady, Mary would like to begin bringing the flowers and wreaths inside. We fear it will take hours to get them all hung before tonight. All else is ready. The musicians are preparin’ already, in the hall.”

“Very good, Faye. And can you please see if Cook needs additional help in the kitchen? She tossed me out this morning before I could speak with her.”

Faye tsked. “She tossed me out as well. Of course, I am not the countess. Of all the impertinent—”

“’Tis Cook,” Sara said, dismissing Faye’s concerns.

“Pardon, my lady.” With a quick bow, Faye left them.

“I’m so very happy for her,” Gillian said. She’d learned through their correspondence that Faye had remarried, and not just to anyone—to Geoffrey’s uncle. She needn’t have continued on as Sara’s maid, but she’d insisted on it, claiming it wouldn’t feel right to leave the job to anyone else.

“Aye, she deserves every joy,” agreed Sara.

“Oh yes, she is married to your uncle,” Allie said to Emma.

“I never thought Uncle Hugh would marry again,” Emma said. “They’re ever so happy together.”

Sara turned serious, and Gillian knew what she was going to say next.

“You deserve the same happiness, Gill. Have you thought about what I said?”

The nickname reminded Gillian of her sister. If only Allie could have joined her here. She looked at Allie who would likely join Sara in her protestations of the match.

Gillian looked from Sara to Emma, both women who were deeply in love with their husbands. Though she was glad for them, she was convinced her story would not end equally well. She’d told Sara but part of the tale.

“I promise,” she vowed. “We will speak more about this tomorrow. But for now, there’s a May Day Queen to choose, a feast to eat.”

Sara didn’t look convinced.

“Tomorrow.”

It would be soon enough to face the cold reality that a love match was not always possible.

“Nothing will change between now and then,” she pressed. “Please, let me have this night?”

Sara wrapped her arms around her. “Of course.” She let go. “Now let us prepare for a night to remember.”

* * *

He had not planned to participate in the makeshift tournament.

When Geoffrey shoved him toward the lists, he could have resisted. He had been prepared to watch. Nothing more.

“He is unwed,” his host shouted to the marshal in charge of the match.

“Geoffrey,” he warned.

But his new ally did not back down.

“And reputably an expert swordsman. I wonder how he’ll fare with the quarterstaff?”

Geoffrey shouted loud enough for all around them to hear, making his participation inevitable.

“I will repay you for this.”

Geoffrey, smirking, crossed his arms. “I look forward to it.”

He was one of few Scotsmen in attendance, making him an immediate target. Of course, his height and build did not help. After just a few rounds, he was marked as the one to beat, even though he’d not touched a quarterstaff for years—not since he’d accidentally knocked his brother out once in training. Graeme had feared the worst, and he’d refused to pick up the weapon for years.