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From the higher vantage point, Emma could see clear across the crowd, down into the jousting area, and the one marked for swordsmanship.

The MacWilliam section was filled with a few hundred people, all waving bits of blue or gray cloth and wearing clan colors.

The Monaghans wore their bright green, and though they were small in number, they certainly made up for it in noise.

Emma counted nine different clans gathered for the tournament, and she concluded that this probably had to be a very big event.

She hadn’t ever read that nine clans gathered together peacefully. One or two, perhaps, but nine…

“How do you do it?” she asked Brianagh, unable to overcome her amazement. “Nine clans, in one place, without fighting?”

“Love conquers all, Emma.” She glanced out at the crowd, a happy grin on her face. “It really does.”

A horn blew from below, and there was a mad dash to find seats. People were cheering wildly, and women were lining the front row, displaying their ample charms.

“They’re hoping for a flag from one of the warriors,” Bri explained. “In exchange, they’ll give him a favor—in our case, instead of a ribbon, it’s a kiss!”

Emma laughed. “I guess that’s one way to go about it.”

The horn blew again, and this time, a line of horses galloped in, kicking up dust as they circled the arena, the men holding their clan’s flag high.

Each man was dressed in chain mail, the sounds of it just audible under the beat of hooves.

The arena pulsed with energy as the ladies in front started calling and cheering, and the men behind them booed until their own clansman passed by, at which point they went wild.

The warriors galloped around the arena twice, then they broke the line and each headed in a different direction.

The noise in the arena shook the wood beneath Emma’s feet.

She gripped the edge of the box and grinned at Brianagh and Nioclas, who stood next to her. She never experienced energy like this.

A horseman rode over to their section, his helmet drawn.

He expertly reined in his horse and made a show of walking the beast back and forth, looking at each woman who waved and called out to him.

He rubbed the chin of his closed helmet thoughtfully, as though he were contemplating which woman to give his flag to when suddenly he vaulted off his horse and hopped over the banister, into the crowd.

Noise unlike any Emma had ever heard ensued. Clansmen were cheering madly, women were jostling each other to get to him, but he charged up the steps and stopped directly in front of Emma.

He flipped the helmet off, revealing his face, though his hair was covered by the chain mail. Emma’s heart began to pound as they stared at each other for a moment.

She recovered enough to murmur, “This is a very different look than the wealthy recluse or the medieval clansman.”

“I wear”—Aidan held out his helmet—“many hats.”

“Oh, that’s a terrible pun,” Emma laughed.

“But it made you smile, and so I shall continue them. But after, perhaps, I’ve shown you my skills.” Louder, he asked, “A flag, my lady?”

“How much does that chain mail weigh?” Emma wondered aloud as she took the cloth he offered.

“You know, you should never answer a question with a question.”

She grinned. “Who told you that?”

“A very savvy publicist.” The world narrowed to just the two of them.

“Aidan,” she whispered, emotion welling in her throat.

His playful smile vanished. “We shall have true speech later, Emmaline. Today, simply enjoy the day.”

He turned to the crowd below them and wagged his eyebrows playfully. They cheered, and he turned back to Emma, offering his cheek, waiting for her kiss.

She leaned in, and at the last moment, he turned, capturing her lips with his. He didn’t linger, but he gave her a quick bite on her lower lip before pulling away and facing the crowd in triumph.

Emma covered her mouth and started laughing, though her heart took flight.

He shot her a wink over his shoulder and said, “About fifty pounds,” before he charged back down the steps, hopped the banister, and vaulted himself onto his horse.

“Fifty pounds?”

“The weight of his chain mail.” Brianagh’s eyes danced as she watched him gallop off.

“Showoff,” Emma murmured, a bubble of joy enveloping her. She let out a breath.

“I’ve never seen him thusly.” Nioclas gave Emma a benevolent smile. “You’ve enchanted him thoroughly. We’ll either see his poorest showing to date due to his distraction with your beauty, or he’ll win the entire tournament to prove his worth to you. ”

“There’s Monaghan!” Bri noted, as another man in chain mail vaulted into the stands across the field.

Emma watched with amusement as Shane offered a flag of green to Brigit, who curtsied before accepting it. She clasped it to her chest, and he tipped his cheek toward her. She leaned forward and gave him a very chaste kiss, and the Muskerry and Monaghan clans cheered.

Brianagh gave her a tight smile.

Aidan shifted, ignoring the sweat under his chain mail as he stood next to his horse. He placed a calming hand on the beast’s neck, murmuring to it as he watched a rival clansman land in a cloud of dust.

Aidan hadn’t jousted in almost ten years.

It used to be his favorite sport; unseating a man from atop his horse gave a feeling of triumph like no other.

Of course, being unseated gave a feeling of pain like no other.

He remembered nursing a very sore backside for the better part of a se’ennight during his training years.

“Do you remember how the healers here set a broken bone?” Reilly asked from behind him.

Aidan’s horse snorted and danced a couple of steps away, and Aidan patted the beast reassuringly. He murmured to the horse, “Aye, he’s an arse. That’s exactly how I feel about him, too.”

Reilly leaned against the stable wall, watching the now-hobbling warrior make his way off the field. “No one’s been able to unseat Monaghan.”

“Or perhaps they’re allowing him a good show for his soon-to-be bride,” Aidan responded as he swung into the saddle.

The recently unseated clansman made his way into the stable, holding his wrist and swearing .

“Is he that good, then?” Reilly asked the defeated warrior.

The man breathed hard and nodded. “Is the healer nearby?”

“I believe she is down there,” Reilly replied, pointing. “Back of the stables. Get in line.”

He limped off, muttering about fools on horses and hurting his sword arm.

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Reilly asked in his most uninterested voice. “Because—and this is important, so keep those ears open, lad—I wouldn’t want you to forget that you’ve still got to unseat me to get to your lady. ’Tis a long and lonely life in the Middle Ages without companionship.”

Aidan slammed his helmet down and dug his heels into the horse’s side, spraying a satisfactory amount of dirt into Reilly’s face.

If Emma was stuck here, Aidan would ensure her happiness. He would make her smile every day, show her how important she was to him, show her how much he loved her.

The realization wasn’t as shocking as he thought it might be, as he turned it over in his mind while he set up for the joust. She was stronger than perhaps she even realized.

She was smart, and kind, and intrigued him daily.

She refused to be a doormat, and she knew when she needed help, though she wasn’t exactly graceful about accepting it. That, he could well understand, though.

But he knew she might choose the future over him.

The thought twisted like hot metal in his gut.

Could she love him back? He wasn’t sure how to know.

Last night, he’d panicked when he’d heard the detachment in her voice about being handfasted.

He sought to arm her with the knowledge that she wasn’t being forced to do anything, but she’d taken his comment about marriage entirely the wrong way.

And as the conversation wore on, Aidan realized that he loved her enough to let her go…

and that she didn’t love him enough to st ay.

Not that he would ask that of her—he knew exactly what she would be giving up.

But a part of him wished she might want to give it up for him.

And his jealousy, and his callous comments…he vowed to spend the rest of his life making up for those.

The crowd, as expected, went crazy when he galloped out, and he waved his MacWilliam flag as he sized up his first competitor. Monaghan had already bested four of the nine, but he showed signs of fatigue; his posture wasn’t as straight, and he was rolling his right shoulder to ease the pain.

The horn blew, and Aidan cleared his mind of everything except Monaghan’s sore shoulder.

The two men brought their horses to their respective ends of the track, and at the second horn, they took their positions.

Aidan hefted the long, blunt-tipped lance from the squire.

He tucked the handle tightly against his side and raised his shield, and steadied the horse with his knees.

The third horn blew, and the horses charged, one on either side of the beam. Aidan urged his horse to a breakneck speed and, just before impact, he raised the lance slightly, loosened his grip on the handle, raised his shield to meet Monaghan’s lance, and braced himself for the impact.

His lance hit Monaghan squarely in the shoulder, on his bone. Monaghan toppled from his horse, unable to hang on. He rolled when he hit the dirt, indicating that he was not seriously injured, and Aidan slowed his own horse.

Aidan dismounted and walked toward Monaghan, who, despite the hard fall, was standing on his own. They reached out and shook hands, more gently than they would normally, and Monaghan grimaced and called him a foul name.

“To the victor, my friend,” Aidan said. They both glanced up toward Emma, who was hugging herself and watching them silently. Her golden hair, piled atop her head in a complicated pattern of braids, highlighted her beauty, even as she stood in the shade of the laird’s box.

“This isn’t over,” Monaghan replied evenly.

Aidan watched him hie himself off the field to hollers and heckles. “For you,” he murmured, “’it most certainly is.”

Aidan gave a sweeping bow toward Emma, then returned to his horse amidst the cheers. He prepared himself for the next competitor…then the next, and the next, and the next.

When he stood on the field, victorious as the last jouster standing, he let out a relieved breath.

The horn blew again, and Aidan spun around. “What the hell?”

“A late entry, my laird!” one of the squires called out to Nioclas, who nodded regally and took his seat again.

“Bastard,” Aidan grumbled, knowing that Nick was only allowing a late entry to show the MacWilliams’ prowess. He had barely managed to keep his seat with his final competitor. His legs ached, his back was stiff, and his arm cramped in places he didn’t realize were even part of the extremity.

“The O’Malley clan!” the squire called out.

The crowd hushed for a moment, unsure as to what an O’Malley was doing there, but they apparently decided they didn’t care. Cheers, hoots, and boos intermingled as Reilly took his place at the end of the beam, waiting for Aidan to mount his steed and fight one more time.

Aidan cursed him. Reilly gave him a salute.

O’Malley was in earnest, then.

Aidan mounted, then brought his horse around and took his position once more.

He snapped his helmet down, slowed his breathing, and waited, poised, for the sound of the horn.

When it came, he encouraged the horse to faster speeds, hoping to knock Reilly off-balance with a quick joust to the shoulder.

Reilly slammed into him with a force Aidan hadn’t felt from any other, and he tottered on his seat as Reilly’s lance snapped in half, wood shards spraying around him. His horse, bless him, took that moment to turn, which was all that saved Aidan from making his own cloud of dust.

Aidan swore and raised his helmet. He saw Reilly watching him closely. Reilly very subtly rotated his right shoulder—where Aidan had almost, but not quite hit directly—and held back his grin when Aidan’s eyes narrowed. He spun his own horse around to take the position again.

Aidan raised his shield slightly, as though to protect his shoulder, which left his left shoulder all but exposed. He traded his damaged lance for a new one, pleased that he’d made at least some contact with Reilly’s shield, which, even from where he sat, looked roughed up.

The horn sounded, and Aidan kept his shield over his right shoulder.

At the last moment, he moved it to the left, deftly blocking Reilly’s blow, and caught Reilly full on in the stomach, where he hadn’t been expecting Aidan to be able to hit.

Reilly fell spectacularly, and when the dust cleared, Ry remained seated, knees bent, with his forearms resting on his knees.

Aidan didn’t bother to get off his horse. Instead, he walked the beast over to Reilly and shook his head.

“Why did you let me win?”

Reilly squinted up. “Who says I let you?”

Aidan gave him a suspicious glance. “I get the feeling you don’t fail at anything.”

“Strange,” Reilly mused, “I get that same feeling about you.”

Aidan reached a hand down, and Reilly took it, popping onto his feet as though he hadn’t just fallen from a tall horse. The crowd cheered, and Reilly looked at him once more.

“You must realize that I’m not your biggest challenge. That is up in the stands, with very little idea as to what happens next.”

Aidan dismounted. “Do I have a choice, O’Malley? ”

Reilly looked at him silently for a moment. Then, softly, he said, “I know not what the Fates have planned for you, MacWilliam. But I do know what’s happening very soon, and your bride may not realize what’s coming her way.”

Aidan swallowed past the dirt in his throat, and glanced up at Emma’s cheering face.

He wondered if she had any idea as to how serious the prize was at these tournaments.

And if she had any idea as to how serious he was about claiming it.