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Her face turned upward, and her eyes became glassy. He could tell that his careless choice of words cut her deeply.
“What do you mean that no one would want to marry me? What are you saying? That I’m not good enough for any man to want as his wife?”
“Nay, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s what you said.”
“I was only trying to stress the fact that . . . I mean that . . .”
“What? Spit it out, Sir Conrad, or have your lies and unkind words lodged in your throat and threatened to choke you like I want to do to you right now?” She turned and opened the door. He couldn’t let her leave this way. Without thinking, he blurted out, “I want to marry you, Willow.”
She stopped and turned around and cocked her head.
“What did you say?”
“I said – I’m competing in the tournament.”
“Nay, that’s not what you said.” She shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “You said you want to marry me. Is that true?”
Conrad swallowed the lump in his throat. His mouth felt so dry he didn’t think he could speak if he tried. He had joined the competition just to bide time until Lord Rook returned. He figured if he won and chose her for his wife, he could manage to keep her away from the other men and, at the same time, stall until her father’s arrival. He hadn’t really considered her the type of wife he had hoped to find. But after that last kiss, he couldn’t see himself with anyone else but her.
“Willow, I . . .”
“Never mind,” she spat. “I know you think of me as naught but a loose woman since I wear my hair unbraided.”
He shook his head in surprise. “Why would you say that?”
“That’s what Hazel told me. She also said you think women who talk to men before spoken to are not ladylike at all. Don’t try to pretend you want to marry me because I know what you really think of me.”
“But I do . . . want to marry you.” There, he said it, and it felt right.
“Forget it,” she said.
“What did you say?” He couldn’t have heard her right. Shouldn’t she be thrilled that someone wanted to marry her? After all, that is why she put herself up as a prize bride for the competition.
“I said, forget it. I have been granted permission by the late king to agree to whomever I am to marry. And I’ll tell you right now, Conrad the Cur, I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.” She disappeared into the room and slammed the door in Conrad’s face.
“My lord! There you are.” Toby hurried down the corridor to join him. “I’ve been looking for you. The practice for the joust is about to begin. Why aren’t you out on the field? I have your horse, as well as the lances prepared.”
“I’m not going,” he said, turning and heading down the passageway in a huff. His encounter with Willow didn’t go at all as planned.
“Not going?” Toby followed behind him. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve had enough jousting today and I’m finished.”
“You have? When? I didn’t see you on the tiltyard.”
Conrad stopped so quickly that Toby knocked into him from behind. “I didn’t joust on the tiltyard, Squire.”
“Then where did you joust?”
“Put it this way. Never joust with a beautiful woman with a mind of her own who twists your words into something they’re not because she will always be triumphant in the end.”
