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As the conversation continued around her, ever so proper and ever so boring, Gillian attempted to divert herself by watching as course after course was delivered to their table. Cook had promised a feast like none other, and she had certainly delivered on her promise. Even Gillian’s mother nibbled on fritur emeles, a rare sight indeed.

Finally, when Sara and Geoffrey stood, the excruciatingly long meal was officially ended. Gillian excused herself and her sister, eager to escape, and made her way to Sara and Emma.

“I’m sorry to have abandoned you,” Sara said.

Seeing Emma’s confused look, Gillian explained. “My parents can be . . .” She looked at them, still sitting, neither of them speaking.

“Polite,” Sara finished.

“Quite so.”

“Pardon me a moment,” Sara said, leaving them and making her way to the musicians.

“This is so exciting.” Allie strained her neck to see where Sara had gone.

“What . . . oh, the crowning of the queen. I’d nearly forgotten this part.”

When the music stopped, conversation did as well. Eventually, with the hall as quiet as it could be given the remarkable attendance, Sara, her husband beside her, addressed the crowd.

“The Earl of Kenshire and I extend our fondest welcome to you on the fine first day of May.” She waited until the sudden outburst of cheers faded away. “And we are grateful for any opportunity to celebrate. All of our guests have endured many hardships in this rugged, beautiful land. Sometimes your struggles go unnoticed, so we would notice them here and now.”

This cheer, different than the other, was one of respect. For the woman who represented hope, as her father had done before her, for those living along the border.

“We celebrate life.” She gestured toward the balcony, and everyone looked up to where Faye stood with Hayden in her arms. “We celebrate the rebirth of our land, the warmth of spring, which will envelope all of us in its glow, and each and every person who has made this day possible.”

A chill ran through Gillian to see Sara this way. She was every bit the countess. Gillian had always known her friend was special, and now, so did everyone else who was here tonight. Some said Northumbria would never see a man like Richard Caiser again, but Gillian disagreed.

They saw tonight something even better.

“My lady,” Geoffrey said. “A beautiful speech, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

Of course she was not, but it was customary for the lord to announce the winner of the May Day Match and the man who would crown its queen.

Geoffrey did so with a grin. “Our winner today is a son of Scotland and friend to Kenshire, Graeme de Sowlis, chief of Clan Scott and second of that name.”

Though some rumbles accompanied that announcement, most accepted it with the grace that would be expected of Kenshire’s guests.

Gillian watched Graeme as he made his way through the crowd and came to stand next to the earl and countess, his posture implying he belonged there. He accepted the chapeau de fleurs that would soon adorn the head of one of the women in the crowd, which he then lifted into the air.

“My revered guest,” Sara said to the Scot, “who is the fairest maiden in attendance? The one you will crown May Queen?”

“Oh my Saint Rosalina. He’s looking at you,” said Emma.

Indeed, he was.

“And she seems to be looking back,” Allie whispered.

Gillian swallowed.

“Lady Gillian, if it pleases you?”

She’d not heard his voice before but wasn’t surprised by it. He spoke every word as low and deliberately as the last. His deep, manly voice crawled into her chest and settled there.

Emma pushed her forward.

The crowd parted, and she reached him much too soon.

“My queen.” He bowed as deeply as if she were truly the Queen of England. When he stood, towering over her, Gillian had to look up. “Will you accept?”