Page 7

“Come,” Sara said, guiding her through a side door. She pulled her into a corridor and then out another door and into the warm night air.

“It seems your celebration did indeed bring spring along with it.” While the morning had been chilly, tonight was everything an evening in May should be. Inhaling the not-so-distant sea air, Gillian followed her friend, grateful for the respite that would not last much longer.

Sara meant to know what was going on, and this time she’d not be waylaid.

They walked to the edge of the small garden just behind the keep. A much larger garden provided Kenshire with herbs for their meals, but this was the one Sara had always favored. Filled with flowers that had just begun to bloom, it was one of two private places in Kenshire where it was possible to hold a private meeting during festivities such as this one. The other was down by the water.

“Out with it.”

They sat on a stone bench just at the edge of the tall trellis, which hid the inner garden.

“Sara, this is your celebration. A time for—”

“Rubbish.”

“I really did not intend to trouble you—”

“Gillian.”

Her shoulders sank. When Sara used that tone, she was in trouble. There was no help for it—she would need to tell her part of the truth.

“He needs the funds desperately,” she blurted.

“Your father?”

“Aye. And, of course, the Earl of Covington has them.”

“But he’s not the only—”

“He has been asking for my hand in marriage for years. Since his first wife died. It will be good for Covington . . . and Lyndwood,” she said.

“Nay,” Sara countered. “It will be good for your father. You know Covington’s history. The men he chooses to ally with. I cannot, will not, see you with such a man.”

Gillian sighed. “Sara, ’tis as I told you. I have no choice. My father wills it.”

“But—”

“I’m not like you,” she blurted.

Though she could elaborate, there was no need. Her friend had defied a distant cousin’s claim to Kenshire while wearing boys’ breeches. She’d ended her betrothal to marry a reformed reiver. She did what she wanted. Fought for her people so fearlessly that sometimes Gillian thought she must not be human.

But she was not like that, however much she might wish otherwise. She’d been raised to fall in line. “My parents’ marriage was arranged.”

“And are they so happy?”

“Of sorts.”

“Was your father an old man when they wed?”

“Nay, but—” Gillian sighed.

“If you do this, you’ll never know the love and passion that you deserve. I know your father is a strong and powerful man. You’ve been taught, as I was, to obey your parents in all things. But will you please just consider that you can, by rights, say no?”

Knowing her friend would accept no other answer, she nodded. “Aye. I will consider it.”

Sara didn’t appear convinced. But she finally stood and attempted to pull Gillian up with her. “I must be getting back.”

“Go,” she said. “I will be right along.”