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Please let Darien be safe.

He could see the hill where their men gathered in front of them, but Gareth did not see his friend. If Stephen’s men had made their way up here, they’d left to join the fray outside Lincoln Castle’s postern gate.

Finally able to look down, Gareth slowed and turned the body in his lap toward him.

Sir Adrian Fitzwilliam.

His stomach sank. He held the body of the most experienced knight in mounted combat, a man whose family had been the most legendary of all jousters in England.

Dead.

There would be time to mourn after they were far away from the castle grounds. How many others had he gotten killed this day? Would Darien be among them?

He urged his mount up the hill to find out.

20

“Welcome to Ashcroft Manor.”

Earlier that day, Evelina had been told a new recruit would be coming for supper, and she was to help prepare to welcome them. What she hadn’t been told was that the new recruit was a woman.

There was just one other woman at Castle Blackwood, and Evelina had admired Lady Elara from the moment she arrived. Wishing very much to be as useful as the strategist, Evelina had begged her father to inquire on her behalf to make such a thing possible. Though he agreed she was a student of history, her knowledge of England’s battles as keen as anyone’s, he never truly considered her request.

But Sir Eamon had, and now Evelina knew why.

Unfortunately, it was one of the only fights she could remember between her father—Lord Ashcroft—and Sir Eamon. The former forbade the latter to get permission for Evelina to instruct at the school.

Now, looking back, she found it curious the two men were cordial with each other at all.

A woman, about her age, stood before her. And a beautiful one at that. Evelina had never met someone with such strikingly red hair, an almost unnatural shade.

Sir Eamon introduced them.

“Mistress Lyra, this is Lord Ashcroft and his daughter, Lady Evelina.”

“I am very pleased to meet you both,” she said, her voice liltingly soft. “Sir Eamon tells me you are a financier for the knight school?”

“We do not discuss such things openly,” he answered, though it was not quite true. If Lady Lyra was a man, he would have much more to say.

“I see,” she responded, looking at Evelina. Did she imagine Lady Lyra’s slight smile? It was gone so quickly, Evelina could not be certain. “Do tell me what you are able,” she said, offering her arm to Evelina’s father—Lord Ashcroft. Would she ever be accustomed to thinking of him in such a way?

As he escorted her into the hall, Sir Eamon offered Evelina his arm, which she took.

“Are you well?” he asked, concern etched on his face. She’d not seen him since that day at the stables, and Evelina had been glad for this evening as an opportunity to do so.

“As well as can be,” she said, walking slowly, “given the circumstances.”

“He will return,” Sir Eamon, her father, said. “And we will find a way. I’d not see you repeat the misery your mother found,” he whispered, “in an arranged marriage. Especially with one such as Sir Gareth in the wings. This I promise you.”

They stopped. Evelina looked into her father’s eyes. “I was angry,” she said. “Very angry. And wish you had told me sooner.”

“I am sorry,” he began, but Evelina stopped him.

“You’ve no need to apologize to me. You did what you thought best for me and clearly care for me. ’Tis enough.”

“I do not care for you, Evie. I love you and always have.”

She could not, would not, cry.