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“Aye, of course. You know of my family,” she said, taking another bite. “’Tis just my parents, or perhaps not my parents, and I.” Galien watched as the tip of her tongue darted out to taste the meat as if she was still hesitant to eat it despite having taken two bites already. “Tell me of yours.”

“Do you have the afternoon to hear of them? I’ve a large family.”

“In fact, I do.”

Indeed. It was mid-afternoon and they would wait until the sun set to leave. He’d been prepared to tell her they should, if possible, rest a bit. It would be a long night ahead. Instead, Galien found himself telling her of his parents, his father, the chief of Clan Kerr, and his mother, an Englishwoman who had been nearly as sheltered as Reina. He told her of his sister Oriana, three summers his junior, and brother Rodric, who’d only seen eight and ten summers.

He told her of his paternal uncles and their wives and a bit of each of his cousins. And even of his “English family,” the Waryns, and how his Aunt Catrina had married the younger brother of the Earl of Kenshire, who he’d mentioned earlier.

“She married him after he abducted her?”

There were many interesting tales of marriage in his family, but his Aunt Catrina and Uncle Bryce’s was one of his favorite. “Aye. After they recaptured Bristol Manor, which had been in their family many years. My aunt was accidentally left behind after the raid. She became a”—there was no delicate way to say it—“spoil of battle.”

As he expected, Reina did not seem all too pleased to hear her described in that way. So he rushed to add, “My Aunt Catrina gave Uncle Bryce hell, from the start. You need not worry his was an easy abduction.”

“Did he force her to marry him?”

“Aunt Catrina could not be forced to do anything. Ever. So no, he did not. They fell in love.”

“That is quite a tale,” she admitted as she finished the last of her rabbit. Galien handed her more.

“One of many in my family.”

“Tales?”

“Love matches.”

Her expression changed, and Galien imagined his did as well. Aware theirs could be such a tale, if he were free to take a wife, which he wasn’t, or if Reina would have him, which surely she wouldn’t, Galien changed topics.

“I bore you with stories of my family. Tell me more of yourself. Why are you not married?” So much for a change of topics. Where had that question come from?

“I was betrothed since I was five.”

His hand froze partway to his mouth. He’d ruined her life in many ways already, and it seemed this was just one more. “You are. . . betrothed?”

“Was,” she clarified. “To a baron’s son and favorite of the king. Lord Hurste. Have you heard of him?”

“Nay.” He had not meant to say it so harshly. Already, Galien did not like the man.

“Have you heard of the Remonstrances?”

“Complaints levied against your king by his nobles, objecting to his extortionate level of taxation.”

“Just so. One of those nobles was overlord to my intended.”

“Which made it his fight as well?”

“Aye. Our marriage was a boon, as he saw it, granted by King Edward to Hurste. One he just as easily took away even though we’d been betrothed for nearly twenty years.”

“Why had you not married yet?”

She shrugged. “Hurste had been too busy fighting. The Welsh. The Scottish. Maybe even you?”

“I would welcome it,” he admitted.

“Because he is English?”

“Because the man is too stupid to take the time to claim a wife such as you. The man hardly deserves to live.”