Tristan had neverpassed such a pleasant ride home.
The bright summer sun that had hurt his eyes and caused so much irritation just yesterday, now seemed a joyful benediction on all that lay ahead. With Mirrie looking increasingly confident astride the little chestnut mare, Tristan allowed his attention to wander, noting the pleasing expanse of purple-hued moorland and overhead, the sweet song of a ruddock. Tristan remembered his mother taking him to one side when he was a boy and pointing out the red-bellied bird which sang so loudly for a creature so diminutive in size.
“You don’t have to be the largest or the grandest to stand out,”she’d said.
Young Tristan had smiled, blithely unheeding of her wisdom. He was heir to the largest estate and grandest castle in the land. He would always stand out. It took many years before he realized that that was not always a good thing.
“What has you so deep in thought?” Mirrie enquired.
He glanced down at her and decided to tell the truth. “I was enjoying the call of the ruddock and reminiscing about my mother.”
Mirrie squinted up at him. Her bonnet had slipped backwards and her long hair fanned across her shoulders. “That sounds almost poetic.”
He laughed. “You see, Jonah is not the only one of us capable of deep thoughts.”
She nodded gravely. “I shall remember that.” Her horse trotted a little to keep up with the long stride of his warhorse. “What was it about the ruddock?”
He strained his ears but the little bird was no longer anywhere near. “It is but a tiny little thing, yet the melody he creates is as beautiful as the throstle.”
This time her smile was wide. “I believe Jonah has penned a poem on the very subject.”
He rolled his eyes. “I might have guessed.”
“Mayhap you should attempt the same, then we can compare the merits of the two.”
Tristan glanced again at the woman riding by his side. “Do not attempt to convince me that your assessment would be fair. You would favour my brother, every time.”
“What is this?” Mirrie’s eyes danced as she looked him fully in the face. “Is this insecurity that I can sense in the great Tristan de Neville?”
Aye, it was. At least a little. But he would ne’er admit to it.
“I am content to let Jonah be a man of letters, whilst I am a man of action.”
Mirrie pursed her lips. “Jonah is quite skilled with a sword.” She broke into a laugh as she saw the expression on his face. “I speak in jest, Tris.”
“Nay, you speak the truth. Jonah and I were trained by the same knight.”
“But Jonah does not share your natural abilities,” she pointed out.
His lips twitched upwards into a smile. It was nice to know that his talents were appreciated.
“Nor I his with a quill,” he added generously. They were riding so close that her knee knocked against his calf. The sunlight danced across the ripples in her light brown hair, adding highlights of gold. Tristan knew a lightness of heart thatthis clever, capable young woman would be at his side in the days ahead, helping him with such an important matter.
Albeit, one that no one else deems important.
“Are we nearly there?” Her voice drooped a little with tiredness and Tristan was immediately contrite.
“Over the next hill we will be able to glimpse the castle battlements, but the light will hold for many hours yet. If you would like to stop and rest, we can do so.”
“Nay.” She shook her head. “I would rather press on and get there all the sooner.”
“I too.” He nodded with conviction. “I long to set the wheels of our plan in motion.”
Mirrie’s mouth tightened. “You will tell your parents straight away?”
“Why wait?” He lengthened his reins, giving his horse his head, and looked down at her in puzzlement.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. The only sound came from the clumping of their horses’ hooves over the moorland track and the distant buzzing of flies.
