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She’d done it again. Forgotten to speak. “Until I learned you had returned.” Regina wasn’t embarrassed to admit it. He knew she adored him. Admired him.

Loved him. As a friend.

“I nearly counted on the fact but had to be sure.” And then, he smiled. Goddammit. A phrase Tristan taught her. Those dimples. She both loved and hated them at the same time.

“As always, Sir Tristan,” she said, knowing it annoyed him, “you were right.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Just so.” Tristan winked. “I bid you adieu then, until later this eve, my fair Regina.”

It always felt odd to her when Tristan called her that. It was her name, and all but he called her such. But to him, she had been Reggie since they’d been children and he struggled to say her name. Regina felt . . . formal. Which, she supposed, was his point.

She bowed, which is when Tristan shoved her, gently. Even so, she nearly stumbled. Laughing as he walked away from her, back toward the castle walls, Tristan suddenly stopped. And turned.

Heart hammering in her chest, she waited for his next words.

“I agree with Cateline. Wear the cream gown.”

And then he was gone.

Chapter Four

She was finally here.

Sitting next to his father on the dais, he couldn’t hear his parents’ discussion to the right of him over the sound of music, so Tristan contented himself with watching her. Reggie stood at the entrance with her mother and brother. Likely her father was still at the bakery.

Regina’s brother was not much older than Elizabeth when she died. How Tristan could remember the day they put her to rest as if it happened yesterday, he wasn’t sure. He could still envision his mother leaning down to wipe away his tear with her gloved hand, the ground covered in snow, as it had been by the time he’d come back to the keep earlier.

And then Regina.

The baker’s daughter, only six at the time, two years younger than he, had tapped him on the shoulder. He could remember Reggie’s mother sprinting toward them, appalled her daughter had broken loose to seek out the lord and lady’s son standing beside a hole in the ground where Elizabeth’s body lay inside a coffin.

Before Reggie’s mother could reach her, she had handed Tristan a Christmas rose. The white bloom, so full of life despite growing in such hard conditions. He took it just before Reggie’s mother pulled her away. Days later, he begged his own mother to seek out the girl. To thank her for the gift. And so they had, in the bakery. Reggie’s father handed him a fresh slice of bread, her mother slathering it with butter. That bakery became his respite, Reggie his constant companion.

She looked up at him as her mother found a seat at the back of the hall. She smiled at him. For the first time since he’d left for the English court, and then for France, Tristan finally felt as if he were home.

Wearing her cream gown, Reggie was easily the most beautiful woman in the hall. Sophia asked about the French women but, truth be told, not one of them could compare to his friend. None radiated her warmth or matched her smile. Tristan wasn’t sure when he’d first begun to stare at Reggie’s full lips wondering what it would be like to taste them, how kissing her would feel, but it felt as if he’d been imagining such a thing, well, forever.

“Greetings,” his father boomed next to him. As the baron stood, the sound of pipes and flutes faded, both the music and voices in the hall stopping in unison. Filled with garland, holly and ivy in every corner, gifts piled near the hearth in the hall’s corner, Camburg beamed with the spirit of the Christmas season.

He was glad to be home. Politics, the news he would have to give his father, as well as the request he must make of him, could wait.

“Welcome to our home.”

A loud cheer erupted. Where there may be twenty or so people at a typical supper, Camburg’s hall was filled to capacity, well over three hundred people packed inside, as they would be for the next twelve days. Every man, woman and child who served Camburg was invited, and it seemed as if nearly all of them had accepted the invitation.

“My wife and I give thanks to each and every one of you on this special day. We thank God for such bounty, and our overlords, the Earl and Countess of Kenshire, for their trust in all of us to keep Camburg safe. I also offer a special thank you to my beautiful wife, Lady Marion, and daughter Sophia.”

More cheers. Tristan leaned toward the table, raising his goblet to the two women he loved most in this world. Aside from Reggie. Catching her eye again, Tristan wondered, not for the first time, when he’d realized he loved her. Not as a friend, since that day was easy enough to pinpoint, the memory of her rose offering still fresh in his mind. But as something more. One thing that was certain—his time in France, away from Camburg, had solidified what he’d known for many years.

Tristan was in love with Regina.

“But this particular eve, I am especially thankful for the return of my son.” Tristan’s father looked at him. “That he was delivered safely back to us. Welcome home.”

More cheers as his father lifted his glass. A toast was followed by a prayer and the official beginning of the Christmas festivities.

“I am glad you made it back in time,” his father said, sitting.

“As am I,” he said, watching his father closely. “You did not thank the king,” Tristan said, lowering his voice.