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How had she allowed herself to fall in love with the baron’s son?

“For someone who looks as beautiful as you do this eve,” Cateline said, standing behind her as they both entered the great hall, “I do not believe I’ve ever seen you look so forlorn.”

Though the hall was resplendent as the night before, more so since this eve there were no tables in the center of the hall, all of them having been moved to the sides where dish after dish was being placed as they spoke, there was one thing missing.

Tristan.

Again, like in mass, he was nowhere to be seen.

As guests nibbled on legs of mutton and lamb as they greeted others—no tables to separate nobles from peasants or merchants from servants on this one day of the year—the music played. The songs reminded everyone in attendance, as if they needed reminding amidst such decor, it was a Christmas celebration.

“He kissed me,” she blurted, finally getting Cateline to a private corner of the hall.

“Pardon,” her friend said, looking resplendent herself in a gown of deep violet. “It seemed as if you said he”—she cleared her throat—“kissed you.”

“That is precisely what I said,” she rushed to say. “As thoroughly as two people can kiss. At least, I believe so.” She shook her head to clear it, continuing. “And now it seems Lady Johanne’s father is coming at any moment to draw up the betrothal contract.”

Cateline frowned. “I did hear as much this morn.”

In the village of Camburg, rumor traveled quickly.

“Where did he kiss you?” she asked.

“On the lips.”

Cateline rolled her eyes. “I mean, here? In the hall?”

“Of course not. In the great chamber attached to his room. Where we used to meet, to hide.”

“Hmmm.”

“That is all you have to say? Hmmm? ’Twas you who encouraged me to admit how I felt about him.”

“Perhaps that was a poor idea,” Cateline admitted. “What did he say afterwards? Did he make mention of the betrothal?”

“He did not have the chance to speak. I ran,” Regina said. “And have not seen him since.”

“Ran? Do you mean . . . ?”

“Ran. Nearly killed myself stumbling through the secret passageway without a candle.” If Cateline looked at her with confusion, she did not blame her. “’Twas a silly response, I know.”

Cateline rested her hand on Regina’s arm. “Not silly at all. The two of you have a bond the likes of which I’ve never seen. You have been in love with him for as many years,” she said, lowering her voice, “as he has been in love with you.”

“Nay, he is not.”

“Regina, stop. Listen.” Cateline said. “Tis obvious to any watching closely enough. It may not matter, him being the baron’s son, but he loves you. Even Lady Sophia knows it.”

“Lady Sophia?” she asked, confused.

Cateline whispered, “Look to the entrance. She is watching you even now. I’ve seen her many times, and his parents too, observing the two of you together. She knows there is something between you, perhaps because she is close to her brother and knows him well, just as I know you. But she watches you, and not just this eve.”

Regina had always liked Lady Sophia. She was kind to her, to everyone really. And though they had spoken many times, of course, it was her brother that Regina was bonded to.

“It does not matter who knows,” Regina conceded. “He cannot be with me. Which is why I am so uncertain as to the reason he kissed me. But still, I should not have run. I should have talked to him about it. We speak of Tristan, after all. I can talk with him on anything.”

“I am glad to hear you say it because it seems as if you will have the opportunity.” Cateline nodded behind Regina. “Here he comes.”

Regina froze. He was behind her?