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the only one of his wives to have gone to such lengths. Certainly she wouldn’t be the one to inform him, it wasn’t the vessel he deposited into that was broken, but the well itself.
    “Tournaments are no place for a lady. Get yourself together or I shall have one of the men return you to the tent.” He turned to a knight who leered in her direction. “Women are such insufferable creatures.”
    Meekly she nodded and handed her lady’s maid the half-finished cup of cider . Despite how his offhande d comments made her bristle, Kent was right. She did need to get herself together. His attention on her was the last thing she needed, and it certainly wouldn’t get her anywhere but stuck in a stuffy tent with no chance of seeing Michael again. And the way her husband’s man looked like he wanted very much to take her back to the tent and eat her alive… This time she did shudder, but she attempted to hide it by lifting her hand and swiping an invisible curl from her forehead.
    Fear seeped into her bones and mingled with nausea and disgust. She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. Happiness was not a word that had ever entered her marriage, nor would it. Abhorrence, despair, pain, revulsion. Those were things she used inside her own head to describe her union, but dared not utter for there were always people watching, listening. She was sure Kent had his men spying on her. At first she’d thought she was crazy for feeling like eyes were on her. Then one night she’d seen feet beneath a tapestry, and another day she’d seen an eye through one of the stones in the wall. Kent had spies and they were everywhere. The man was paranoid of everything and everyone. He had to know all that happened each and every moment. As if doing so would save him somehow from an untimely death. And truly, she couldn’t blame him. His people rioted. His people threatened his livelihood. Some of his knights lied about her behavior to see her punished for shunning them.
    At least here at the tournament he couldn’t have rigged so many different spots for his spies. She was bound to find some privacy and she certainly wouldn’t risk just a few moments out of the year when she felt she could breathe without someone counting the seconds it would take her to exhale.
    Aye, privacy… To speak with Michael. That was one of her foremost goals for insisting on attending the tournament. She never insisted on anything, it only garnered her the back of her husband’s hand, and an even rougher time in the marriage bed than was usual. But she’d somehow she’d found the strength this time, and the brutality rained down on her was worth it. Deep in her heart, she’d not thought he would—but there was still a part, albeit small, that wished and wished. Just one glim pse at him…
    And then Michael was there. He sat straight and tall on his destrier as he approached. He held his helm in one arm the other deftly holding the reins. He was a vision of black and silver, deadly, intent. Her breath caught, for she knew just how soft his lips could be.
    Oh, how she’d wanted to melt when his oddly colored seductive eyes locked with hers. She licked her lips nervously willing herself to calm down, lest she give away her excitement.
    Fear had gripped her spine as she realized she’d been openly gaping at Michael. She glanced to her husband to make sure he wasn’t paying attention, half expecting him to issue a death warrant to her knight and send her to the hole for a week. Thankfully, he was once again engaged with one of his men.
    *****
    Michael boldly approached the covered stand where Lady Elena sat beside her loathsome husband. When he’d first received the missive , Michael was devastated. When Elena’s family turned him away, he’d spoken to his own father who tried to convince him most young wives torn from their homes and countries sent such letters. Still, it didn’t sit right with Michael and he’d done some investigating