“Tell me what troubles you,” he prompted, noting that the expression on her pretty face had become rather fixed.
Mirrie shrugged. “I merely imagined you would wait until you’d received the latest news of your father’s health.”
Now it was Tristan’s turn to be quiet.
It was not the first time that Mirrie had floored him with her straight-talking.
“You are right, of course,” he allowed. “His health is my first concern, and I am eager to hear news of how he fares. But I have little doubt that the news will be good. Surely Father will regain his strength soon. I would wager he will be up and dancing for the midsummer ball.”
“Even so.” Mirrie’s voice remained clipped.
“Even so,” he agreed. “Mayhap I am overly enthusiastic to claim you as my betrothed.” He smiled widely, though he was more than a little baffled by the blush that rose up to stain her cheeks. “Forgive me, Mirrie. You know that patience has never been a particular virtue of mine.”
Her expression softened. “I know it.”
He had to be satisfied with that, for the track narrowed and Mirrie reined her horse back to fall in step behind his. The flies were buzzing nearer in the still air, causing him to wave them away. As an experienced knight, Tristan was well used to long days in the saddle, but even he was beginning to feel stiff. It was a relief when they reached the top of the hill and spied the jagged top of granite stone battlements rearing into the blue sky.
Wolvesley Castle.
Though Tristan had travelled far and wide, he had never visited anywhere half so grand as his childhood home. He had always been proud of his family’s lineage and the peaceful, fruitful lands they ruled over. ’Twas only in these last weeks, when the demands on him as first son and heir took such a sudden turn, that a small spiky ball of resentment had lodged itself in his stomach.
“There it is.” Mirrie’s face was transformed by a smile. “I had not realised I missed it so much.”
Her positive words banished his gloom. “I knew you would be glad to be home.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for Mirrie’s expression closed off all over again. “I do not mean to imply that Ember Hall is not your home,” he added hastily.
Mirrie reached down to pat her horse, hiding her expression. “Wolvesley was my childhood home and will always hold a special place in my heart.”
Her voice wobbled and it pierced something inside him. Mirrie had always seemed so content. He had never thought of her as being vulnerable or fragile. He had given little thought toher childhood circumstances, or how it would have felt for her to come and live with them so soon after the death of her own parents.
Was Jonah right? Was he rash and impulsive? Was that why they were here?
Nay, for Mirrie had made that choice of her own free will.
“What of me, Mirrie?” he asked impulsively. “Do I hold a special place in your heart?”
For a moment she looked disconcerted by the question, but then she rammed her straw bonnet more securely onto her head and met his gaze squarely. “Of course,” she answered. “Have you not always known that?”
He inclined his head and met her impish smile with one of his own. “I have always hoped, to be sure.”
“And now we will meet our destiny as a betrothed couple.” She nudged her horse forward and preceded him down the hill.
“It is all I wanted and more,” he called after her.
His horse fell in behind and Tristan reflected on his good fortune in finding such a lovely young woman to join him in this ruse.
Forsooth, he hadn’t had to find her. She had been right there all along.
Minutes later, they reached the wide, smooth road that led right up to the castle. Tristan longed to urge his horse into a trot but, mindful of his companion, he lengthened his reins and sat easily in the saddle as the familiar landmarks came into view. There was the lake where they had all learned to swim, laughing and splashing in the shallows. There was the grassy noll where his mother would spread a picnic rug for the six of them to gather on. The landscape was filled with happy memories from their shared childhood; but when he went to comment as such to Mirrie, he saw that her gaze was fixed straight ahead and her mouth once again set in a grim line.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
“The lie we are about to tell.” Her answer was short.
“We will get it over with straight away,” he declared, nodding for emphasis. “I shall do the talking. You will not have to say a word that is not true.” She nodded slightly, but still looked unconvinced.
There was no time for further discourse as they had already reached the high outer gates. The marshal stood back to let them through with a sharp salute. Tristan heard the shout, and a long line of armed guards stood to attention as he and Mirrie trotted past, the small group of men-at-arms who had travelled with them filing in behind.
He could not deny that it felt good to be home. To know that a hot bath awaited him and that he would not have to fetch his own water, nor bribe any of his relations to do the same.
