Chapter 28

“Sam of Haywood, you bring honor to your family and to Haywood,” the duke said officiously. “Our first trainee in a hundred years. I can hardly credit it.” She could have been knocked over with a feather. “I’m done with you, boy. Tristan, let’s meet the other one, shall we?” her father said, all but shoving her out of the way. Sam watched stupidly as he greeted Braeden in kind. That was it? She’d dreaded this meeting all night, and he was done with her in under a minute? A feeling suspiciously like rage boiled up inside her. He was her father, gods damn it! Mentally, she berated herself for her illogic. But she just couldn’t countenance that the duke had stared directly into her eyes and saw nothing of his own daughter. She’d always questioned their relationship; here was the damning proof that she was nothing more than an afterthought. “Let’s eat, shall we?” the duke said after all the pleasantries had been exchanged. He gestured for Tristan to sit at the seat of honor beside him. She and Braeden were relegated to dine on the benches with the lesser nobles and knights, a novel experience for Sam. As Lady Samantha, she had a permanent place of residency by her father’s side on the dais. Even when he didn’t join his people for meals—which was fairly often—Sam would sit at the raised platform, eating by herself, or occasionally with the visiting lord or lady she was meant to entertain. It was a lonely existence, being the daughter of a duke. Sam and Braeden sat shoulder-to-shoulder, across from a young knight who looked to be about Tristan’s age, and a portly noble Sam didn’t know. They nodded at one another, staring a little longer than necessary at Braeden. He kept his eyes downcast and yanked at his hat self-consciously. Sam elbowed him gently. “Stop worrying about it. They know you have my fa—the duke’s approval.” Braeden pushed back the brim so he could look at her. “You were right. He didn’t recognize you.” Sam felt a sharp pang in her chest. “I know. I didn’t think he would.” “I’m sorry.” Her heart constricted. “Thanks, Braeden.” Sam’s woes were temporarily forgotten once the servants and pages came round with the first course. She moaned in ecstasy at the interplay of sweet onion, scallop and garlic sauce on her tongue. “Um,” said Braeden, taken aback at her enthusiasm. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “it’s just that this is my favorite dish. I haven’t had scallop in months.” Braeden looked at her crosswise. “You ate awfully fine food, for the bastard of a duke.” Her eyes bulged as he repeated her lie. “Hush! What if someone heard you?” “No one’s paying attention to us.” “Well, be careful,” she said stiffly. Her gaze wandered over to her father and Tristan at the dais. Lord Haywood gripped Tristan by the elbows, talking in low, intent tones. Every now and again, Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose like he was wont to do whenever he was frustrated or upset. Sam asked, “What do you think Tristan’s talking about with the duke? They look so serious.” Braeden shrugged. “If it has something to do with us, I’m sure he’ll tell us.” “Aren’t you at all curious?” “Not really, no.” She sighed. “You’re no fun.” “I just mind my own business.” “And I repeat, no fun.” Braeden glared at her. “Why don’t you ask him? Look, he’s headed over our way now.” Sure enough, Tristan strode towards them in long, angry steps. His handsome face was dark and closed off. “On your feet. We’re leaving,” he ordered, and without waiting for them to respond, marched off towards the Great Hall’s main entrance. Braeden and Sam looked at each other and then hastily pushed back from their bench at the dining table. “Tristan,” said Sam once they stood alone outside the confines of the castle. “Is everything okay?” Clouded, mercurial eyes met with hers and then shifted away. “No, it’s not,” Tristan said. He stared off into the distance, looking vulnerable and alone. She wanted to fold her arms around him, to comfort him as she wanted to be comforted, but men didn’t do such things. Instead, she asked “Do you want to talk about it?” Tristan paused before answering. “A woman of great importance to me is dead." Sam felt her mouth go dry. “Who was she?” she whispered hoarsely. “Lady Samantha, the daughter of the Duke of Haywood,” Tristan said. “And if she were still alive, she would have been my bride."