Besieged and Betrothed

‘I thought you looked like a queen.’ He wasn’t sure where the words came from. ‘A Celtic one.’

She looked even more startled than when he’d mentioned shooting her. ‘Because I have red hair?’

‘It’s not red. Not blood-red anyway. It’s darker than that, like leaves in the autumn.’

‘I like that.’ Her head tipped to one side. ‘Dark red on a crest stands for victory.’

‘There you are then.’ He nodded. ‘You might beat me yet.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘To get your castle back?’

‘I thought it was our castle now.’

‘It is.’

‘Then I don’t need to beat you, do I? Not any more. Especially since you chose not to shoot me.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Besides, I quite like the idea of being a queen.’ She dug her heels into her horse’s flanks, spurring ahead so that he only just caught her next words. ‘More than being a stablehand anyway.’

* * *

Lothar looked around with satisfaction as they rode back into the bailey at last. All the preparations he’d ordered seemed to be going according to plan, which meant there was only one thing left to do, not that he was any closer to working out how to do it. He’d been searching for the right words the whole journey back, but his mind was still a blank. It wasn’t a question he’d ever considered, let alone thought about asking before—though if he didn’t ask it soon, she’d find out what he was planning by accident.

‘Black stands for grief.’

‘What?’ He twisted towards her in surprise, wondering if he’d missed the start of some conversation, but she seemed deep in thought, apparently oblivious to all the activity going on in the bailey. He was glad about that, but what on earth was she talking about?

‘We were talking about crests before.’ She gave him a look that suggested her meaning ought to be obvious. ‘Black on a crest stands for grief. You always wear black.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

She made a face. ‘I was about to say something nice.’

‘In that case, I take it back. I’ve never noticed what I wear.’

‘I don’t want to say it now.’

His lips twitched at her aggrieved tone. ‘But I want to hear it. It’s not every day someone says something nice about me.’

‘I can’t imagine why not.’

‘Do I have to beg?’

She made a harrumphing sound. ‘I’d like to see that.’

‘All right.’

He dismounted at once, dropping to one knee in the dirt beside her.

‘What are you doing?’ She looked around quickly. ‘People will see!’

‘You told me to beg so I’m begging. Do I have to beseech you as well?’

‘No!’ She slid down and grabbed his hands, trying to hoist him back to his feet. ‘No beseeching!’