“I think we could be happy,” he ventured. “If I won. I don’t . . . desire you, as the others do. That’s not a part of me. But there are worse things than a marriage of friends, don’t you think? Once we’d got it over with, had an heir and a spare, well. Your dowry would make us comfortable. And you’d have my respect, and my friendship, and a great deal more freedom than most women.”

Isobelle’s chest felt tight, and she couldn’t find the words to reply. Or rather, the words she couldn’t speak tried to force their way up her throat, past her lips. It was a better option than any of the others she was facing, and a better offer than most women in her position could hope to find.

But how could I want such a gray and cloudy day of a life now I’ve seen a rainbow?

The silence went on too long, and Orson’s eyebrows drew in. “I shouldn’t speak so plainly,” he murmured.

“No, no,” Isobelle replied, glancing up at his honest face with a pang. He was her friend. In his own way, he must dread a marriage too, and she must seem like his best option as well. She searched for the right lie, and when she found it, she let it spill out. “It’s just too soon to think about it. I can’t let myself want anything. Not yet.”

“I understand,” he said. “Will you be watching today?”

“Yes,” she managed, the numb dread surging back in. “My friend’s brother is riding. Sir Gawain.” She tried to speak the name without any emphasis, but she saw Orson’s gaze sharpen on her curiously.

“Right, against Sir Ralph.” He winced. “Well, at least it will probably be over quickly enough. Let us hope so, at any rate. The early rounds in particular, with the less experienced chaps, can be brutal.”

Isobelle started, unable to conceal the pang that ran through her. “Brutal?” she echoed.

Orson’s brow furrowed. “Well . . . yes. More knights are maimed or killed in the opening rounds than any other time.”

An involuntary tremor went through Isobelle, and her cup fell from her lifeless fingers—she sprang to her feet to keep it from soaking her skirts.

Orson pushed his chair back, brushing a couple of stray drops from his shin. “All right, Izzie?”

But now, she truly couldn’t speak. The early rounds could be brutal.

She had been sitting here worrying about her marriage, when she should have been worrying about Gwen’s life.

“Will you look out for him?” she heard herself say. “For Gawain? If you get a chance? I’d—I’d hate to see his sister upset.”