Erling said nothing for several moments, watching the tracking hound ahead of them as it paused to work a patch of disturbed earth at the base of a massive red cedar. The tree's shaggy bark was dark with moisture, and the sweet, warm scent of it cut through the cold air like a memory of summer.
While the party of hunters focused their attention on the hound, Erling thought about Charlotte Otker, a woman he'd never met. He thought about his mother, who had held Fayle Barony together with nothing but her own determination and a handful of loyal knights after his father died in the War of Inches.
More than anything, he thought about the kind of partner he actually needed. He wasn't looking for a woman who would host feasts and manage the household linen, but someone who could hold the barony's walls if he didn't come home from the Holy War that was about to engulf Lothian March…. Just like his father had never come home from the War of Inches.
