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Just a few hurdles to jump.

He was about to approach one, to ask her the question, when Reggie blurted out, “I am so very sorry, Tris. I do not know what came over me.”

Her response was not what he expected.

“I do,” he answered. “And I think we need to discuss it.”

“Aye,” she said, turning from him and opening the door before he could stop her. “We do. But I cannot,” she muttered, walking through the door. “I cannot just now.”

The damned woman fled through the passageway without a candle. Fetching one and blowing out the other, he followed her, called her name.

But there was no answer.

Reggie was gone.

Chapter Seven

Christmas Day at Camburg was a sight to behold. If last eve’s festivities were any indication, today would be even more grand. Thus far Regina had gone to mass. (He wasn’t there.) Exchanged gifts with her family. Ate a simple meal her mother had made for them knowing they would be plied with more vegetable stew and salmon and legs of mutton and veal and sweets than they could eat at the castle that eve.

Looking for him all morn, Regina wasn’t surprised not to see him. Tristan was probably hiding from her after what had happened last night. Running away had been so cowardly, but Regina had panicked.

Even now she didn’t know why she apologized to him. Or why she ran.

After their kiss—if it could even be called a kiss since it seemed to her so, so much more—she was simply overwhelmed by it all. Years and years of pent-up feelings came spilling out.

He would never proposition her to be his mistress. Such a thing was beneath Tristan.

But he could never marry a baker’s daughter either.

Which left the only possible explanation. He desired her. Wanted to kiss her. And so he did, consequences be dammed. Maybe even planned for it to happen. Though it wasn’t like Tristan to be thoughtless about his actions, perhaps this one time he decided on less caution.

But there were consequences.

How could their friendship remain the same after that kiss?

That incredible, all-consuming, life-altering kiss.

“You are quiet,” her mother remarked.

As much as Regina tried to participate in the conversation, the only thing she could think about were Tristan’s lips. His tongue. His body pressed against hers. How perfectly right it felt to be in his arms.

“I know ’twill be a long night,” Regina said, forcing a smile.

Her thoughts immediately returned to Tristan until something her mother said forced Regina from her daydream.

“What did you say of Lady Johanne?” she asked, hearing the name but naught else.

“Just of the rumor I heard at mass. Her father is coming after Christmas to negotiate a betrothal contract.”

She could not breathe. Did Tristan kiss her last eve knowing his betrothal was imminent? Was that why he did it? Knowing he could not soon enough. For he would be wed?

“I care less about Sir Tristan’s betrothal than I do his father’s promise to the guild.”

At the word “guild,” both she and her mother groaned. Even Regina’s little brother rolled his eyes. “Please no, Papa,” he said.

Laughing at their collective response, her father promised no talk of his bakers’ guild for at least this one day. Though Regina doubted he could go the entire day and night without further mention of it. It was only later, after her family had prepared for yet another celebration in the keep, after Regina had donned her best gown with material her father had purchased just a few months earlier as a gift for her birthday, that she allowed herself to think of Lady Johanne. To fully imagine Tristan marrying the noblewoman. Kissing her. Making love to her.

Starting a family with her.