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The woman was unlike anyone she’d ever met before.

Reina could think only of a storm, one that began suddenly, with no warning. With it, the very air changed. Rain, where it was once dry. Thunder where it was once silent. But awe-inspiring too. And oddly peaceful, despite the sudden tempest.

Such was Oriana Kerr.

After dressing in a new gown given to her by the lady of Brockburg, she’d been about to leave her chamber to be escorted to the hall when Lady Oriana appeared. Dismissing the maid, Oriana introduced herself and proceeded to tell Reina why she should come with her immediately.

“There is a woman, in the village. An alewife named Agnus. If there is anyone who will know more of Dennochbrook, it is she. Will you come with me to visit her? I’ve had warm bread and two mounts prepared, hoping you will say aye.”

“Your brother mentioned Agnus,” she said. “That we should speak with her.”

“There is a good reason for it. Will you come with me?”

Reina hardly knew the woman. Neither did she know why Lady Oriana was intent to help her. But she felt at ease with her and had since she stepped inside the chamber. “Aye, I will, of course. I should fetch my mantle. I do thank you, Lady Oriana, for your assistance,” she said.

“There is no need. The day is unusually warm already. Come,” she said, urging Reina along. “’Tis Oriana, if it pleases you.”

Reina assumed they would pass by the hall, but as Oriana reached the front doors of the keep, Reina stopped her, still unsure what had just occurred. “Will we not see the others first? I should tell Galien—”

Oriana cocked her head to the side. “You do not wish your courtship to begin with total deference, aye? Do as you will, and my brother will become accustomed to it.”

Without awaiting her answer, the woman pushed open the doors without waiting for assistance. If Reina could formulate a response, she was uncertain if she’d address the premise of a courtship or Oriana’s perceived deference to Galien. Or that last bit—the more Reina thought on it, the less she understood Oriana’s meaning.

By the time they reached the stables, Reina was unsurprised to see precisely what Oriana had mentioned. Two mounts, her own a glorious Spanish mare, her coat dark brown with one small white circle around her eye, which reminded her of her own horse, who was similarly colored.

“She is lovely,” Reina muttered as she mounted, alone for the first time in a long while. It felt. . . odd not to have Galien to lean on. “Your brother will not think it unusual I simply left without breaking my fast?”

“My brother knows you are with me,” she said, mounting herself. “At least, he will assume it. As for breaking your fast, I wish to show you something before you reach the village. We can eat there.”

So it was Reina found herself, and her new mount, riding out of the gates of Brockburg toward what appeared to be a large loch. Surrounded by trees on three sides, marshland on the fourth, it was clearly visible from their vantage point. As the women descended, they navigated through the thicket to the edge of the loch. Dismounting once again, Oriana reached for a saddlebag and produced precisely what she’d promised. Freshly baked bread, still warm, and already buttered.

“I come here often,” she said, sitting on a flat rock. Reina sat beside her. “’Tis beautiful, is it not?”

“Aye,” she agreed. And it was. “What are those mountains?”

“Carnwood,” Oriana answered. “That,” she pointed in the opposite direction, “is Dunmure Tower, where my Uncle Alex lives. I was there when I learned Galien had returned.” Oriana looked pointedly at her. “And the circumstances behind his arrival.”

She’d just taken a bite of bread, so Reina could not speak. Even so, no words were needed, it seemed. The look of gratitude on Galien’s sister’s face was one no person could misinterpret. Finally finished chewing, she asked about Oriana’s earlier statement.

“You called our relationship a courtship, yet it is not one.”

“Aye, but it is. My brother speaks of only one woman, our mother, the way he speaks of you. I would add myself, but Galien is much less deferential to me. I love him, of course, but we fought as children as often as we held each other in esteem. He is just three summers older than me but sometimes acts as if he is my father.” She shrugged. “But I know my brother well. He is in love with you, Reina. And if you think yours is not a courtship, I am glad to be here to tell you otherwise.”

He is in love with you, Reina.

Was it possible? Galien cared for her, she was sure of it. And he very obviously desired her. Hoping her cheeks did not redden with the memory of last eve, Reina struggled to find the words to dismiss Oriana’s claim. Instead, she thought back to their days together, the care he’d taken to protect her. His restraint when he clearly wished to be with her.

As she wished to be with him.

But love? Of that, she was uncertain.

“He cares for me,” she ventured. “But his love for the cause for which he fights. . . I fear it does not reconcile with this courtship of ours.”

The woman who had burst into her bedchamber was the one who appealed to her now. “You must speak to him on that, Reina. If I may call you Reina?”

She nodded, encouraging Galien’s sister to do so.

“He will listen to no one. Not my parents, nor I, or Rodric. Not even his cousins, whom he holds in high regard.”