“Do you not want a life­time with me, Katelyn?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “In truth, I do. You seem kind and are respect­ed by your peo­ple. I sim­ply believe you shouldn’t accept being forced into a mar­riage not of your own mak­ing.” She gave him a wist­ful smile. “You could have any woman in Eng­land, Nicholas. One far more suit­ed to be your count­ess than I ever could be. You don’t even know me.”

Nicholas placed his hands on her shoul­ders. “I am begin­ning to learn some­thing about you. The fact that you want to give me a way out of our mar­riage shows you are selfless.”

“You are being noble, Nicholas.”

“Well, I am a titled noble­man now,” he teased. “Why don’t we compromise?”

Kate­lyn sniffed. “How? We’re either wed or we’re not. There is no in-between.”

“Give us a month. We can get to know one anoth­er in the weeks ahead. If at the end of the month, you still seek an annul­ment, I will grant you one.”

She licked her lips ner­vous­ly, caus­ing him to want to do the same.

“You want us to get to know one another.”

“Aye.”

“And if I don’t like you—or you change your mind and don’t like me—we can end the mar­riage with no hard feelings.”

“Aye.”

“All right. I agree.”

“Then I promise to vis­it you each day so we can spend time togeth­er,” Nicholas said. “We can walk. Ride. Play chess.”

“I like to walk.”

“So do I.”

“I don’t have a horse,” she point­ed out.

“Then I’ll get you one. Or you can ride with me.” The thought of wrap­ping his arms about

Kate­lyn made his heart race.

“I don’t know how to play chess.”

“I can teach you.”

“You have an answer for every­thing, Nicholas.”

“See, I would make you an excel­lent hus­band. You could come to me for any­thing and I would solve your problems.”

She smiled play­ful­ly. “What if I wished to solve yours?”

Lan­don reached for Cassiana’s hand under the table and entwined his fin­gers through hers. It pleased him to hear her sharp intake of breath.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes widening.

Lan­don looked down at her lap and back into her eyes. “I believe I am hold­ing your hand. The hand of my future countess.”

“What if some­one sees?”

“What if they do?” he coun­tered, teas­ing her as he watched her brown eyes flick­er with more amber now. “Did your par­ents nev­er hold hands?”

“I … I don’t remember.”

Lan­don shrugged. “Not all wed­ded cou­ples do. Hold hands, that is.”

“Did yours?” she asked curiously.

He stiff­ened. “Nay. Never.”

He released her hand and looked out over the great hall. Sud­den­ly, her hand rest­ed atop his, wrig­gling until their fin­gers were once more inter­laced. Lan­don turned and faced her.

“I think I like hold­ing your hand,” she said boldly.

He laughed, relax­ing at the con­tact between them. “Like­wise, my lady.”

Lan­don lift­ed their joined hands and, nev­er tak­ing his eyes from hers, kissed her fin­gers. Sud­den­ly, all con­ver­sa­tion died in the great hall. With her hand still in his, he rose and urged her to do the same.

“Good peo­ple of Bri­ar­wood,” he began. “I am Lan­don de Blays, for­mer­ly of King Edward’s roy­al guard, and the new Earl of Briargate.”

Lan­don turned and bowed his head in acknowl­edge­ment of Cas­siana before look­ing out at the room again. “The king knows how blessed Bri­ar­wood has been to have Lady Cas­siana all of these years. He wish­es for her to remain and she will—as my wife.”

Once more, he raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuck­les as the room erupt­ed in cheers.

“You cer­tain­ly know how to intro­duce your­self,” she murmured.

Lan­don smiled. “And I can­not wait to intro­duce you into the ways of love, my lady.”

“Wait a moment, my lady,” Quill said.

Her tongue dart­ed out and ner­vous­ly lick her lips. It remind­ed him of how his had touched hers only last night. Desire thread­ed through him.

When he didn’t speak, she prompt­ed him. “What do you need, Sir Quill?”

“Ned asked that I com­pete in his place this week. I was hop­ing to ask you for a favor to wear. To bring me good fortune.”

Tris­tan­na blushed. “You wish a token from … me?”

“I do,” he said firm­ly. “In the name of court­ly love, I wish to ded­i­cate my per­for­mance at this roy­al tour­na­ment to you.”

“Oh!” She looked startled—and then pleased. Very pleased.

“What say you, my lady? Might I receive a small token from you? May­hap a rib­bon?” he suggested.

“I have a rib­bon at the end of my braid,” she said quietly.

Quill reached and took the braid that rest­ed over one shoul­der. “May I?”

She nod­ded, anoth­er blush heat­ing her cheeks. He fum­bled a moment and her fin­gers closed over his.

“Allow me,” she said soft­ly as she untied a pale pink rib­bon from a clus­ter of three.

Frown­ing, she said, “You don’t have a helm or lance with you.”

“Those are in the tent reserved for the com­pet­ing knights,” he replied.

“Then let me tie it about your arm. I’ve seen oth­er knights wear it in such a way.”

Quill lift­ed it slight­ly and Tris­tan­na wrapped the satin rib­bon around his bicep, just above his elbow. She tied it with a bow and stepped back.

“Thank you,” he said. “I will do my best to not only rep­re­sent the Granville fam­i­ly name but to bring hon­or to you.” Bow­ing, he left her, his heart pound­ing wildly.

Quill want­ed to not only do jus­tice to the Granvilles. He want­ed to win this tournament.

For Tris­tan­na.