She folded her hands before her and straightened her back, awaiting his chastisement.
He gently closed the door and approached. He marched; he didn’t walk. He moved with purpose, always. He kept his shoulders back, his chin lifted. He stopped before her. If she were one of his men, she would be quaking, but she knew Edward. “The baron is a good fit for you, Elora.”
“He is twice my age,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Older than you, even.”
Edward didn’t rise to the bait. “He can protect you and offer you a comfortable home.” It was the same argument as before. The same argument he’d used with the Duke of Normandy and Lord Roland. “You agreed to meet with him. You agreed to get to know him.”
“He had no interest in me. He was too busy talking to Sir Geoffrey about the coming joust and the king’s ransom. I overheard him, mind you, as he never spoke to me. He dismissed me as readily as a child.” She lifted her chin. “It was insulting. I am Lady Elora of Kingston, sister of Lord Edward, daughter of Lord Hugh.”
Edward inhaled. He sat beside her. “Politics and wagering are not suitable talk for a woman.”
“I sat beside him,” she said, trying to keep her growing anger level. “If they were not topics for me, he should not have been speaking of them.”
Edward bowed his head.
Elora continued defiantly, “I speak to you of politics and wagers and war and any other items we deem worthy of our attention.”
“Perhaps that was my mistake.”
Elora tilted her head to study his expression. Even though he was a master at hiding his emotions, she knew him well enough to know he was serious. She placed a hand over his. “I know you are trying, Edward. I know you want me to be happy. But the men you have brought me are not the ones for me. I thought you knew me better.”
Edward raised an imperious eyebrow. “Apparently not as well as I had hoped.”
Elora grinned. “We’ll find someone.”
He took her hand into his. “Promise me, Ellie. Promise me you will find someone by the end of Lord Yves’s Tournament.”
Elora opened her mouth to protest, but then saw the desperation in his eyes.
“There will be many eligible barons and dukes there,” Edward insisted. “Plenty for you to consider.”
She knew she should be grateful Edward wanted her to be happy and didn’t simply betroth her to the first lord that came along offering spectacular riches. He wanted her to marry so he could look for a bride. As the older brother, he wanted to see her settled and happy first. It was selfish of her not to pick someone. “I shall do my best,” she assured him sincerely.
Edward relented with a nod. “I gave Father my word that I would find a worthy husband for you. It is proving to be the hardest task of my life.”
“There is someone out there for me. I just have to find him.”
Edward’s eyebrows rose. “He is proving to be most elusive.”
Elora grinned again. “He will emerge. I have faith.”
“You have until the end of the tournament. Otherwise, I shall pick for you.”
Chapter Three
Near the town of Gracious Hill
Julian reined in Storm and pausedfor a moment to look at the tall stone wall surrounding the town of Gracious Hill. The wooden gates were pushed open for entrance into the city. Beyond the massive barrier, Lord Yves, Baron de la Rose, and his Rose Citadel were housed.
Julian had insisted on being early to the tournament grounds. He wanted to scout the field of honor and pick the perfect spot for his tent, a location where he could see the rest of the knights setting up. He urged Storm to the right, off the road, and toward the field.
Gilbert’s wagon turned off the road and followed Julian’s horse. Julian looked this way and that for other knights, but the landscape before them was empty. They moved across the grass toward the field of honor. Julian slid from Storm, keeping the reins in his hand. He walked up to the field. It was huge, grassy, and sectioned off into three long jousting areas. To the side, a wooden house, open on the side facing the arena, had been erected where Lord Yves and the nobles would sit and watch the events. He led Storm across the field and stared at the stands, picturing the upper classes in their fine garments, cheering for him.
In the back of his mind, he heard his father’s sneering voice, “Worthless. You’ll never amount to anything.” He had fought his father’s words for what felt like his entire life. His battle was physical as well as mental. A small part of him had doubted he would ever reach this point; a small part of him was terrified his father was right.
As if to convince himself, Julian bent down and scooped a handful of dirt into his hand. He rubbed it, letting the gritty soil slide through his fingers. He felt prickles across the nape of his neck.
His father had been wrong. He was finally here.
