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There was no reason, no reason whatsoever…and yet his lungs didn’t want to work, and the crack of his knuckles proved his hands had curled to fists.

Leda looked nearly victorious, for some inexplicable reason.

“Lady Leda,” he began, tongue sand-dry, all too conscious of the sudden, crushing weight of Connor’s regard, as well.

Her grin widened an impossible fraction, sharp as a knife in the corners of her painted lips.

“Lady Leda,” another voice rang out from the terraced steps leading down from the manor. A woman’s voice.

Amelia.

Reggie exhaled in a rush, relief spilling through him. All the nonsense would stop now that Amelia was here.

Before he turned his head toward his general – it was funny how that didn’t feel strange to think of Amelia Drake as his general – he saw Leda wipe her face clean of wickedness and stand up straight, chin lifted, expression cool and composed.

“Lady Amelia,” she called. “I must thank all of your boys here for their warm welcome.”

Amelia walked down the wide, paved path, between the rows of torches, with the quiet but startling bearing of a soldier. Clad in men’s breeches and tall riding boots, a fitted black tunic and lightweight leather armor, hair tightly braided, she offered striking contrast to Leda’s finery. The sword at her hip threw a long shadow across the flags, and her gaze, in the light of the torches, was firm and less than friendly as she drew to a halt five steps above Leda and looked down at her.

Then her gaze slid toward Connor, and hardened further. “Yes,” she drawled. “It appears some of myboysaremostwelcoming.”

Connor smirked – but pulled the halves of his shirt together, thankfully, and began lacing it.

There was simply no accounting for the added relief that action brought Reggie.

“Hm,” Leda hummed, and stepped forward. One of the young soldiers scrambled forward to offer an arm, and she wrapped hers snugly through it, leaning into the boy more than necessary as they mounted the five steps up to Amelia’s level.

Leda was taller. Worlds more regal. But she ducked her head, and curtsied deep, and said, in a mild voice leagues from the one she’d used with Connor, “I hear congratulations are in order, Commander.”

Amelia’s brows twitched, fractionally, before she wrangled her surprise. She inclined her head, as Leda lifted hers. “Perhaps condolences would have been more appropriate,” she said, mouth giving a wry twist. She gestured to the crowd around them, and Leda smiled again. Chuckled, even.

“Come, my lady.” She stepped forward and, in one smooth movement, captured Amelia’s arm in her own, turned her, and set the two of them walking back toward the manor. Reggie caught a glimpse of Amelia’s bewildered expression before both women’s backs were to them. “You can give me the grand tour.”

Reggie watched them depart, still reeling a bit, but mostly grateful for Amelia’s intercession – and the way it had allowed his galloping heart to settle.

But, then–

Someone let out a low whistle.

Another said, “Gods, what I wouldn’t give–”

“As if you’d bloody have a chance.”

“I dunno. I hear she’sverygenerous with her favors.”

“No one’s that generous. Besides, she only had eyes for our dear General Dale.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Reggie turned his head and came face to face with said lucky bastard.

By some miracle, he didn’t startle…outwardly, at least. Inwardly, his head was nothing but alarm bells.

Connor wasn’t wearing the expected smirk. Rather, he almost looked concerned, which, it turned out, was also intolerable. “All right?” he asked, too knowingly.

“Fine,” Reggie said, turned, and began shouldering his way through the crowd. It didn’t take much effort; the lady gone inside, the men were dispersing, now, off to seek their bedrolls, or whores, or bottles.

Connor gave chase with ease, and drew up alongside him. He was a fraction taller, his legs that much longer, and so it was no effort to keep pace with Reggie’s hurried steps. “She’s harmless, really,” he said, as if trying toconsolehim.