“’Tis wrong of me.” He bowed his head. “If it pains you to speak of it, then please pretend I said nothing. I’ve no wish to upset you.”
“I am only teasing.” Mirrie smiled, to demonstrate the truth of this. “There is no cause for shame or secrecy. I am proud of what my father did.”
“Which was?” Tristan watched her closely.
“He stood against the King, in favour of the Earl of Lancaster. ’Twas the time of the old King, Edward II. Many men spoke against him, but few were brave enough to take a stand.”
Tristan nodded slowly. “But your father was.”
“Aye.” She twisted her fingers in her horse’s thick mane, keeping herself rooted to the present moment. “He was executed for it. And my mother died of grief soon after.”
“And then you came to live with us.” Tristan’s voice was caring, as if he could sense the weight of her memories.
“My father was a law-maker.”
“Like mine,” Tristan interrupted.
Mirrie nodded. “That is how they met. Father knew that what he was doing was dangerous. He arranged with your father that if anything should happen—” Mirrie’s voice faltered.
She fixed her eyes on the distant horizon of rolling hills. Somewhere, miles ahead, stood the might and grandeur of Wolvesley Castle, where against all odds she had spent the latter part of her childhood. She remembered how utterly terrified she had been to stand in the vast, echoing entrance hall with servants scurrying this way and that. The earl had been like a giant to her; his castle like something from a fairy story. She thought she might get lost in the maze of torch-lit chambers andspend the rest of her days trying to find the way out. It was all so different from the modest homestead she’d known before.
She didn’t need to glance up at Tristan to know that his face would be creased with compassion. He could be rash and self-centred, but beneath it all ran a rich seam of good sense, courage and kindness.
He cleared his throat. “I am sorry that you came to Wolvesley under such sad circumstances. But I’m mighty glad to have grown up beside you. We all are.”
She smiled, thankful for a faint breeze which lifted her hair from her neck and took some of the heat from her face. “As I am glad to have known all of you. Though at first, I was very much in awe of the mighty de Nevilles.”
Tristan guffawed at this. “I am sure that didn’t last long.”
Her horse stumbled, jolting Mirrie forwards over her neck. She righted herself with some difficulty. “I sometimes feel that way still,” she admitted, as surprised as Tristan by her confession. “Mayhap you have to be born to the wealth of Wolvesley to accept it as the norm.”
He shot her a piercing look. “I hope you are no longer in awe of me?”
How to answer that?
She managed to shake her head.
“Or anyone else?” he added.
In truth, Angus de Neville, the Earl of Wolvesley, still inspired more than a little awe in Mirrie. But she knew that Tristan would not want to hear that.
“The compassion of your parents soon outshone all else.”
Tristan nodded his understanding, his eyes also roving over the horizon. The sun blazed brightly above them, but ’twas as if a cloud had settled over his handsome features.
They rode in silence for a little while before Mirrie found she could not resist asking her next question. “What rift has occurred between you?”
“No rift,” he answered readily, making her exhale with relief. “Just a…disagreement.” He waved a hand vaguely. “To be honest, Father and I have been railing at each other for some years now. I want to bring new ideas to the estate. To try new things. Surely that is our duty, is it not? To improve the lot of our tenants?”
Mirrie frowned. “Your mother would always take food and clothing to the poorest of your tenants or to those suffering from illness or hardship.”
“Aye, and she does so still. But what if we could bring more prosperity into the area? Then they might not need to rely on our charity.”
Mirrie was moved by the passion in his voice. “What ideas do you have?”
“I have heard of castles that host a covered market, so folk can barter and trade all year-round, in one place. Whatever the weather. Even in the midst of winter.” Tristan spoke quickly, his words almost following over one another. “We have room enough for that and more at Wolvesley.” With one hand holding his reins, he lifted the other upwards, entreatingly. “Father has always been first and foremost a law-maker and with our land yielding reliable crops, he has never had to expand his circle of knowledge. But there are new farming practices in the south. A three-field system, with less land left to fallow each year. More crops can be grown. More can be sold.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it was obvious.
Mirrie considered this. “And Angus does not wish to try these ideas?”
