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“Meal?” another man asked.

“He dines with Ashcroft this eve,” Alden said in response.

At that, every man at the table looked his way. The same one who had called him pretty laughed now, though it was in jest and not intended as a cruelty. Even still, Gareth reserved judgment on the man.

“If any have a chance with her, ’tis him.” The man went back to his meal.

“A chance with her? To whom does he refer?” he asked Alden.

“You shall see, my good man. Now eat. All are anxious to see how the great Sir Gareth of Fenwall will fare against Sir Adrian.”

Sir Adrian Fitzwilliam. Gareth knew of the man, of course. He was one of the greatest tourney players who’d ever lived, though the man was even older than his father now. An expert in mounted combat, his own father also a renowned jouster, his presence was something Gareth most looked forward to. When Lord Stirling had told Gareth he was one of the instructors here at this knight school, he had been surprised, of course, but also elated at the opportunity to test his mettle against such a man.

“As am I,” he replied.

Alden took a deep chug of ale. “It will be an interesting day for you indeed.”

4

Another recruit, another meal.

Evelina had a mind to claim a headache and would have done so if dealing with her father would not have actually given her one.

Ashcroft Manor, the smallest of the Ashcroft properties but Evelina’s favorite, boasted only a small hall capable of hosting perhaps thirty guests. The largest of her father’s properties could hold three hundred, but Evelina always found their northern castle cold and drafty, and though she and her father did not agree on much, spending much of their time here was one exception.

At least, it had been until the Guardians formed. Now, for more than four summers, she and the staff at Ashcroft Manor were forced to play host for each and every new recruit.

“Daughter,” her father boomed as the hall came into view. “Come, quickly.”

Sighing, though not loudly enough for him to notice, she stood by her father’s side at the entrance to the hall. He insisted they greet all guests this way, and with a small staff of only six or so servants, who even now began to carry jugs of water and pitchers of ale to their table, she and her father were quite conspicuous. Their steward, Cuthbert, opened the great doors, Evelina having arrived just in time.

She could not see their guests yet but could hear voices and the sound of the manor doors closing. Cuthbert appeared first, Lord Stirling behind him. It was difficult not to notice the infamous archer, now an instructor at Blackwood, with his eye patch quite prominent. Next to him stood his constant companion, Sir Eamon. It was those two who had trained the first of the Guardians’ recruits, and sometimes it felt as if the men were her uncles rather than her father’s friends.

“You should not have to be told to straighten your back, Evie,” her father whispered.

In response, she pushed her chest out even farther, making the low cut of her gown more conspicuous than it had been already.

“Evie,” her father warned.

“Just doing what you asked, Father.”

While she’d concealed her sigh, Evelina’s father did not. If he was frustrated with her, perhaps he should stop attempting to govern every single move she made.

With his white, neatly trimmed beard and red-and-gold-trimmed surcoat, her father made a handsome figure even if he did command everything about Evelina, including her stature. They did not look at all alike, and sometimes Evelina wondered if he truly was her father or just some man who raised and tolerated her.

“Greetings,” he boomed now to their guests.

Smiling at Sir Eamon, her favorite of all those at Blackwood despite his stern countenance and grizzly appearance that frightened most others, she was about to step forward . . . and then stopped.

Their final guest, the esteemed tourney knight, Sir Gareth, moved out from behind Eamon. He was, without any question at all, easily the most handsome man Evelina had ever looked upon. With a defined jawline and eyes that could fell a woman simply by their unwavering gaze, his face was almost too perfect. Dark hair to his shoulders, dressed in a black and silver surcoat, he appeared fit to grace a royal court but kindly enough to belong in a hall much less esteemed than that. It was his smile that made him so attractive. Reaching his eyes, which crinkled ever so slightly at the corners, his smile was all at once warm and deadly, welcoming but also holding a warning. She had no doubt this man’s reputation was warranted.

He was, most extraordinary of all, somehow different from all the others. Confident, aye, like most of them, but lacking the swagger that so put her off from most of the recruits that had graced their hall.

“I would introduce,” Sir Eamon was saying, “our newest recruit, Sir Gareth Claymore of Fenwall. Your host, Baron Ashcroft, and his daughter, Lady Evelina.”

Sir Gareth moved in front of her first, as was proper. Taking her offered hand, his fingers warm and magnificent, he bowed to her and placed his lips ever so gently onto her hand.

“A pleasure,” he said, his voice low and gentlemanly, “Lady Evelina.”