Page 83 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

As the evening celebration wound down, Nekara summoned her and Jonathan to her table. She thanked them for an enjoyable celebration and announced they would be allowed to leave in the morning.

“And my uncle?”

Nekara frowned. “I was waiting for my husband’s return to decide his fate, but I believe your story about being performers.”

“That’s marvelous,” Evangeline said. “Thank you, First Matron. You don’t know how happy our family will be to have him home.”

“I cannot allow him to leave.”

Evangeline’s heart stopped.

“Your uncle injured one of our warriors, and his family is demanding justice.”

Jonathan’s arm went around her waist to support her weight. “We understand, First Matron.”

No, they didn’t. She didn’t.

“How can we satisfy their demand?” Jonathan asked.

“An eye for an eye.”

Evangeline was going to be sick. She breathed through her mouth, willing her nausea to subside.

“His brother wants to challenge our captive to a fight.”

“No!” Evangeline blurted. “He’s too weak.”

Nekara’s eyes narrowed; her face hardened.

“Please forgive my wife,” Jonathan said, squeezing her side. “She’s overwrought and meant no disrespect.”

“Yes,” Evangeline muttered. “Forgive me, First Matron.”

If Jonathan wasn’t at her side, she would collapse in the dirt. Perhaps recognizing her weakness, Nekara inclined her head.

Jonathan’s fingers twitched around her waist. “Will your warrior’s family consent to a representative to fight in his place?”

Evangeline inhaled sharply. He didn’t look at her.

“I would like to offer myself instead.”

Nekara watched her, eyebrow raised. Evangeline clamped her lips and lowered her gaze. She couldn’t stop from trembling. This was all her fault. Jonathan would never be in this position if she hadn’t dragged him on this search. Fighting to first blood could mean anything. What if he bled to death while she stood by helplessly?

When she glanced up, Nekara smiled. “I will have an answer for you in the morning.”

Thirty-one

The sun was peeping over the horizon when Jonathan walked from the tent. He squinted against the bright light as Menar pushed a cup of warm dark red drink into his hand. A faint floral scent wafted on the steam curling in the morning air.

“You are ready?” Menar asked.

Jonathan shrugged and took a sip. “I haven’t had karkade in years.”

Made from dried hibiscus and tart on the tongue, it chased away the last traces of fatigue, but the boulder in his stomach didn’t budge. He never should have agreed to bring Evangeline on this search. It had been selfish, wanting more time with her before she learned the truth about him.

“Remember your promise,” he said to Menar.

“You will not die. Dakan show mercy, but needs to restore family honor.”