Page 14 of Falling for the Knight

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Absolutely not.

She had a mind to stay where she was, but the promise of food compelled Hannah forward. Following Tristan into what appeared to be the largest of three towers connected by the walkways, she entered through a door that her host had to duck to use. Once inside, she realized they had simply taken a different route to the great hall. Unlike the ones she’d seen on her tours of Scottish castles, this one was three floors above the ground.

And this one was in active use.

Most of the other great halls she’d seen had been empty, full of crumbling rock, and in Alnwick Castle, the one place the Sutton sisters had visited in England, there’d been several empty tables. All of the people changed the atmosphere entirely.

Conversation died away as she followed Tristan into the cavernous space. The food smelled even more inviting than it had earlier, when the meat was roasting, but that was the only familiarity here. Men and the occasional woman crowded about the tables, eating with their hands. No, that was not precisely true. Some used knives, though the blades looked big enough to gut a deer. No butter knives here.

Hannah had always imagined the Middle Ages to be dark and drab. But nothing could be further from the truth. Color burst from every crevice. From the lively costumes—no, outfits . . . these were no actors—to the wall hangings, bracketed torches and candles made the hall as bright as a sunroom in June.

When Tristan halted in front of her, she nearly ran into him. He leaned down to whisper, “You cannot sit with me. Not as a—”

“I am not a prostitute,” she whispered back, keenly aware of the attention focused on them. “Nor will I pretend to be one. So think of another story, or let me do it. But I absolutely refuse—”

“Come,” he said, walking away again. The man had a tendency to give orders, and it was beginning to grate on her. She’d never allowed herself to be treated as lesser in the twenty-first century, and she wasn’t about to start now. That wasn’t how you got ahead in business or in life.

She followed him to the raised dais at the back of the hall. A long table and four large wooden chairs sat on it, the carvings on the chairs meticulous enough to make a woodworker weep.

He pulled a chair out for her, the gesture not one she’d expect from a man like him. Hannah sat and looked down at the crowd. She lifted her chin, refusing to feel self-conscious. She might be out of her element—hell, a few hundred years out of her element—but her business had required her to become a chameleon. If after being raised in a small town in rural Maine she could rub elbows with some of the wealthiest members of the Boston elite, she could certainly be accepted here.

“Ignore them,” Tristan said from the chair beside her.

“It’s not them,” she whispered, though she was grateful some of the people in the hall had already returned to their meals.

“Something is amiss.”

She looked up at him. Even seated, Tristan was a good deal taller than she.

“What if I can’t get back?” she whispered.

He looked as if he was about to say something in response, but a man approached the dais. “Lord Saxford, my apologies.”

Hannah recognized him as one of the two men who had been with Tristan at the beach. What the heck was in the water here? Although this man was a few years older than Tristan, he was also not displeasing to the eye. If you liked beards.

“I’m told you were looking for me?” the man continued.

“Gerard, you’ve met Lady Hannah. My lady, Gerard is the steward here.”

Steward? How does one address a steward?

“Good evening, sir,” she said, deciding to err on the side of politeness.

“Lady Hannah.” He nodded the way a CEO would nod to one of their employees. He clearly wanted to ask about her but didn’t. Interesting. Was that because of Tristan’s position? Or were the manners of this time not so different than her own?

“We will speak later,” Tristan said. “I do need to talk to Walter. Is he dining in the hall this eve?”

Gerard had started shaking his head before Tristan finished speaking. “Nay, my lord. He has already retired. His stomach . . .” The man seemed reluctant to finish.

“Very well.”

Gerard bowed and left, giving way to a young man of no more than fourteen or fifteen. The boy placed what appeared to be a flat piece of bread in front of them and filled it with some kind of meat. Another boy followed him up onto the dais and filled both of their cups. So much for the idea of the serving wench.

Tristan looked at the food in front of them and then at her. Was he waiting for something?

“My lady.”