Page 14

“Did you hear me?”

I’ve missed my brother’s smile.

“Aye, Reyne, I heard you.”

“I forgot I’m speaking with Warin the traveler, and not Warin the boy who once got himself into trouble for sneaking into the hall to see King Malcom’s commander. You were as sheltered as I am.”

“I met a Garra in Murwood End,” he says. “She was like any other woman.”

Nay, not exactly like any other woman. The Garra are special healers, loathed by the church and loved by most of the common people, and some say they have powers well beyond those of a physician or healer.

“Speaking of a king’s commander . . .” He looks down at me, but there is nowhere to hide the flush on my cheeks.

He whistles. “So it is true. Rory said you were keen on him, but I didn’t believe it. I remember Erik as a skinny boy who was always tripping over his own feet.”

The sound I make is less than ladylike.

“He is not such any longer, I take it?”

Erik Stokerton is neither skinny nor awkward. Of course, my brother already knows as such. While they may not have fought together, all in the Highlands know Lord Stokerton’s son was awarded a position at court for his bravery on the battlefield. Besides which, the two have fought against each other in this very tournament. My brother’s side lost. Nay, he is surely not the same boy we knew when our fathers were allied.

“No answer?”

I’d give one, but the subject of our discussion stands a short distance before us. Erik and his companion are facing one of the booths, speaking to the merchant, although I can’t see what he or she is selling. There are more women here than in the fields.

This could be any marketplace except that it has been erected in the courtyard of the host castle. As of yet, Blackwell has not had the honor of hosting the tournament. Father does not wish for it, truthfully, for the tournament is a drain on the host’s coffers.

“Why have we stopped?” asks my brother.

“Because.”

It’s not my most eloquent answer ever.

“Moray?”

We both turn as someone calls my brother’s name from behind.

“Lord Beine. I’ve been told you lurked here at the tourney somewhere.”

The two shake hands and hardly notice as I slip away. Lord Beine’s son and my brother are old friends, just like our fathers, and I have little desire to stay for their idle chatter. Fara always accused me of being unfriendly, although that is not precisely true. I just do not care to speak to everyone and anyone. I would prefer to keep company with our family. Or our tutor. Or even with myself, if the alternative is exchanging empty pleasantries.

But not Fara. She loved being around people. Talking to them. Laughing with them. Dancing. Singing. She was the brightest star in the sky, always glittering even when all others were dimmed for the night.

“This is a tournament, a place to be joyful, Reyne.”

I didn’t even notice him approach. But as he does, my heartbeat quickens.

“Lord Stokerton.”

He rolls his eyes, smiling. “Erik, please.”

It seems odd to call him that, even though I’ve known him for years. He is a Curia commander now, the third most important person in Edingham after the queen and her first commander. His surcoat with the official blue tree of Edingham is a reminder, as if I needed one, that this is not the boy I knew. He is all man.

“You did not enter in any of the day’s events?”

One thing that has not changed is Erik’s smile.

I point to his pristine surcoat. “This may be my first tourney, but I’ve seen many men who’ve competed, and none look quite so clean.”