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There was only one man who knew the story. Though his mother and sister had been there, Galien had never confessed the effect the boy’s death had on him. But Wallace had asked why he, of all the members of his clan, had decided to join him rather than support the cause in a way that would be less likely to get him killed.

Now, standing in the darkening hall, some of the candles having been snuffed as their conversation drew on, he saw the boy’s eyes more clearly than ever. He was waiting, like William, for Galien to decide.

Will you avenge me? the boy asked.

Will you love me? answered Reina.

He would do both.

“The hour grows late,” Wallace said.

“Indeed,” he answered, moving to the doors. “Our guards will escort you to the river,” Galien said as Wallace pulled up his hood.

He gave Galien his hand.

Shaking it, Galien said, “I will see you in the morn, either way.”

Wallace released his grasp. “I look forward to your decision.”

33

Galien was gone.

She woke, not having seen him after they spoke. Reina knew, even before she scanned the hall and did not find the man she looked for, that he would join Wallace.

He was the most honorable man she knew, yet that same honor kept them apart now. In time, perhaps, she might forget the Scotsman she had met in Anbarth’s dungeons. One who had kept them safe, taught her she was not weak to trust but strong in her own convictions. Those same convictions that had led her to this very discussion.

“Before we enter the hall. . .” Reina stopped her father from entering. She’d spied him just ahead of her as Reina had been escorted belowstairs to break her fast. And while the man she’d most hoped would be here was not, her father stood before her.

Broken.

Perhaps he had been broken since before Reina, when it became apparent he and Reina’s mother could not bear children. But it was time for him to heal.

“I am angry still,” she said as they moved to a more private alcove, the sight of Galien’s empty seat not one she could bear to think on at the moment. “But I forgive you, Father. What you’ve done for me, for my parents—”

She never finished. Reina’s father embraced her, held her so tight that, just briefly, she did forget the hole that was forming even now in her heart. He held her as he always had, but Reina appreciated it more now than before. Never would she forget the sacrifices he had made for her.

“I am sorry,” he said, pulling away, “for having lied to you. Many times your mother and I considered telling you the truth, especially after your betrothal to Hurste was broken. But each time we thought of the pain it would cause you, to know we’d lied for so long. To know that your parents died so horrifically.” His eyes darkened. “To know your king is capable of endorsing the kind of cruelty that would see innocent women and children dead.”

“You did it to protect me,” she said, taking his hand. “And have risked much to honor the memories of two people you did not know. Scots. Farmers. Strangers to you.”

Her father began shaking his head before she finished. “Not strangers at all, my sweet Reina. Your kindness, the trust you place in others. . . you see it as a weakness, but I do not. Perhaps you take after your mother. Or father. I know not. But your parents are not strangers to me.” He pointed at Reina’s heart with his free hand. “They are here. And so they are more kin to me than any other.”

“You’ve oft tried to sway me away from Joan,” she said in her mentor’s defense.

“Not because I do not see the value in her work. But because I was too selfish to wish my daughter to fall ill for the care of others. I will admit that fault to you, Reina, and tell you it is not the only one I possess. I am flawed in many ways.”

“As are we all,” Reina said, thinking of the wish she’d had when she’d first entered the hall. That she could be more like Lady Oriana. Bold. Decisive. She may have said more to Galien. Aye, she had told him she loved him. But then she’d simply. . . let him go.

“The chief’s son,” her father said.

She hadn’t realized he was watching her, but Reina knew her feelings for Galien, after what occurred yesterday in the small hall, were on full display for all, including her father, to see.

“I am in love with him,” she blurted. “But it matters not. He fights with Wallace.”

Her father frowned. “Theirs is a difficult fight,” he admitted. “I fear there will be many more victories, and lost battles, ahead.”

“If the king realizes what you do. . .”