“Edward would consider you for a suitor!” Elora hurriedly added. “Julian! If you do this, we can be together. We could—”
“No,” Julian stated with finality.
“No?” Elora repeated.
“I will not go back to him.”
Elora’s mouth dropped open, her gaze quickly scanning his face. “Julian, at least think about it. You would have lands and a title!”
“Is that all that is important to you?” he snapped.
Elora recoiled, her startled eyes wide. Then she closed her mouth, and sadness crept into her stare. “No. You know it’s not.”
“Then how can you ask me to do it? To go back to him? If you knew me at all, you would know that I could never do that. I can never go back.”
“We could be together,” she said weakly, reaching for his hand.
Julian shook his head, pulling his hand away and crossing his arms. “I won’t go back. Not that way. I’ll win the tournament. I’ll take prisoners at the melee. But I will not grovel to him.”
Her hand dropped, and tears filled her eyes. “You still won’t have a title or lands. It won’t be enough for Edward.”
Julian gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “My father said I was worthless. He said I could never be a good knight.” His fists clenched, and he glared fiercely. Worthless. Not good enough. He had fought his father’s accusations his entire life. His gaze searched the dirt floor for an answer, but all he could see was his father’s disapproving glare and hear his harsh words in his mind.
“No. I’ll think of something else,” he promised. He looked at her. Her crestfallen look dissolved his resolve. It broke his heart. “Ellie…” he pleaded and reached for her hand. If she didn’t believe in him—if she didn’t believe he would win her…
The door suddenly slammed open. “Julian!”
He spun to find Gilbert standing in the doorway, his pudgy brow lined with worry.
“It’s Baldwin,” Gilbert said, emphatically gesturing. “Come quickly.”
Julian stood. “What’s wrong? Is he hurt?”
Gilbert bent over, panting from exertion. “Hurry!”
Julian glanced at Elora. His stomach rolled with concern. He stepped to the door.
Sarah strode protectively to Elora’s side. Heather stood frozen near the hearth. Adam and the two children remained close to Heather. All their eyes were on him.
He stared at Elora. “I’m sorry. I must go. Can you get back to the citadel safely?”
She stood, clenching her hands before her as she nodded. The forgotten white flower tumbled from her lap to the floor, the dirt soiling it.
Gilbert put a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “I’ll stay and make sure they get to the citadel.”
For a quick moment, Julian stared at her in remorse. Concern glimmered in her large eyes; her full lips turned down in a pout. “Again, I’m sorry.”
Then he whirled, racing out the door to Storm. He pulled himself onto his horse’s back and spurred him off toward the camp.
Chapter Twenty
Julian rode Storm quickly through the town streets, kicking up clouds of dust in his wake. A merchant raised an angry fist to him as he passed. A different villager shouted profanity at him.
He charged out of the open gates and across the field toward his camp. He imagined Baldwin bleeding on the ground, holding his gut. He imagined his mentor scowling in pain. He saw Osmont running him through. The worst-case scenarios played out in his mind as he sped across the grass. His stomach tensed, and his hands shook. When he finally reached the tent, he dismounted, scanning for Baldwin. The camp was empty, a dying fire smoldering in the pit.
“Baldwin!” Julian called and entered the tent.
Baldwin was bent over near his sleeping mat, running a hand beneath it to search. He didn’t look up.
