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“He comes this way,” Arabelle shrieks. “Do you see? He is coming here.”

I see, quite clearly.

Amidst the cheers of the crowd around us, Erik leaves the field and, with each stride toward me, marks his intentions clearly.

My heart begins to slam inside my chest as I look at Arabelle.

“He is not marrying the queen,” she says. “Go.”

Could I possibly compete with a queen? Do I wish to try?

I stand and raise my skirts, feeling so many eyes on me as I descend the wooden stands, hastened along by the advice of a friendly stranger. How I wish I had taken my maid with me to the tournament. Someone, anyone I could speak to about this. My father and Warin would care little for my only objection to Erik. They would say I am being silly. But Fara would have understood my dilemma.

With my back to the stands, I wait. Finally, after what feels like days rather than minutes, Erik is before me. His face is streaked with dirt, the crest on his surcoat barely visible from the same. He says nothing but lays his sword on the ground at my feet, a distinctly Highland custom to show complete trust in another person. Then he kneels before me.

“I’ve captured ten men, two horses, and three swords this day. They are all yours, Lady Reyne, if you will have them.”

The fighters on the winning side can choose to ransom those they’ve captured or return them for naught. They can apparently do the same with their property, some knights having made their fortunes this way. Others, like Arabelle’s husband, have lost more than they can afford, although he will find mercy today.

Only one man, the tourney champion, can gift his earnings to another.

I alone know what he is asking. He offers me a wedding gift.

I look into his eyes as the crowd holds their collective breath behind me.

Accept the gift, accept him. Compete with a queen for his love.

Deny the gift, deny Erik, and return home to wonder what may have been.

This is my choice, and in my heart, I know I have already decided even as I pretend it is not so. I am a pawn, but the same is true of Erik in some ways.

“I accept your gift,” I say, resolved. “And your hand in marriage.”

20

Erik

“He’s waiting for you.”

Having just returned from our late-night meeting with the Elderman, I’m grateful to still have my head . . . yet there is still a chance I might lose it. I’ve not spoken to Moray since he learned Reyne has known about our agreement from the start. It is entirely possible he may withdraw his support.

Support the queen needs more than ever, given what we’ve just learned.

“Are you joining us?” I ask Warin.

He steps away from me and toward Gille.

“Nay,” he says, “I think I will remain out here.”

Traitor.

Instinctively, I look toward the tent where Reyne has stayed this past fortnight, even though I know she is no longer there, nor will she be coming back this eve.

With a final glance at the others, I lift the flap and enter the tent. Lord Moray is sitting at the table, wine goblet in hand, and he gestures to a seat across from him.

“Sit.”

I am about to do so when he stops me.