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She shrugged her shoulders in mock innocence.

“The one that tells me you’re lying.”

As always, Cristane warred with herself. A part of her wished to remain in his presence. To speak with him for as long as she could.

And yet she had a sensible side, a strong one, and it won out again.

“’Tis nothing at all.” She pulled her mantle more tightly about her shoulders. “I must go. The cold,” she said by way of explanation. “And with so much to be done before the feast . . .”

Not that anyone needed her help with it.

“Allow me to escort you.”

This is your fault for coming to the stables. You knew he could be here.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Rubbing her frozen hands together, wishing she’d brought gloves, Cristane stepped in front of Rory, exiting the stable. They walked in companionable silence toward the keep, entered it, and were immediately greeted with a flutter of activity. He bid her good day and walked away.

At once reluctant to leave him and grateful for the escape, Cristane hurried around the corner and pressed her back against the stone wall of the corridor that led to her private chamber. Heart racing, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She needed to leave Bradon Moor as soon as possible.

It had begun innocently enough. The boy who’d always had dirt on his cheeks . . . the lad who’d sat in the stables with so many sick and orphaned horses . . . he had become a man.

A man who knew he appealed to women, and acted on it more often than she cared to know about. One who would never see her as anything more than an elevated scullery maid who’d become his sister’s lady’s maid. Her friend.

Lately, the situation had become nearly intolerable.

His exploits, his nearness . . .

Aye, Cristane couldn’t leave the castle quickly enough for her taste. In the meantime, she’d do her best to avoid him. Avoid the pain of unrequited love.

For there was no doubt: Cristane loved Rory Kennaugh and was miserable for it.