“You do not think it a good idea?” he demanded.
“I do not.” She stood up to him, telling herself that it was for Morwenna’s sake and nothing to do with her own, closely-guarded, feelings about Juliana. “It would only cause more distress,” she added quietly.
“Should we not try everything possible to bring about my father’s cure?” His voice grew louder.
“We have already tried everything that isreasonablypossible.” Morwenna stood tall in the face of Tristan’s visible frustration.
“So now is the time to try something bold,” he retorted.
“I forbid it.” Morwenna lifted her head proudly. “This is my home and I will not have you bring sorcery into it.”
Tristan did not falter for a moment. “Juliana is most likely long gone from these lands. But thanks to Father’s protection, the druid camp remains and I have no doubt there will be healers within their midst. I will instruct them to use only what herbs and potions can be found in the natural world. No spells, no incantations.” He shrugged. “Think on it, Mother. If your physician’s pronouncement is correct, then I shall be the Earl of Wolvesley within days. I believe that gives me the right to invite whomever I wish to the castle.”
Morwenna stifled a sob and even Mirrie flinched.
“It appears you will do whatever you wish,” the countess stated, her voice hard. “I will return to my husband’s bedside.”
“And I shall dispatch a messenger to the druid camp.”
Mirrie watched both of them stride out of the solar before sinking back into the tapestried chair she had recently vacated.
She put her head in her hands and squeezed her eyes closed, willing her heart rate to slow and her breathing to steady. Family relationships at Wolvesley Castle were usually loving and easy. She had never before seen mother and son at so at odds with one another.
To think that just hours earlier, she had been concerned only with hiding her true feelings for Tristan. The preoccupation that had haunted her every waking thought since the previous night had now paled into insignificance. She wanted only to offer comfort to the people she loved. Tristan included.
He had been wrong about his father’s imminent recovery.
She only hoped he was not wrong about this as well.
*
She awoke inher old bedchamber at Wolvesley and enjoyed a few blessed seconds of peace before remembering the terrible reality they faced.
Angus, Earl of Wolvesley, was dying.
For many years he had been the closest thing she had to a father. He was wise and fair-minded, his fierce charisma and majestic stature a charming contrast to the gentle nature of a man who loved his family above all else.
Angus was a giant of a man with a big booming laugh and a handshake that could leave knights anxiously flexing their fingers for hours afterwards. He would have made a mighty warrior, but preferred to wield his quill, rather than his sword, to ensure peace and prosperity for his estate and all who lived within it.
Mirrie allowed tears to brim in her eyes as she recalled him swinging her out onto the dance floor at her first ball. They spilled down her cheeks as she remembered how he had praised her studious efforts in the school room. Her achievements could never eclipse those of the bright and brilliant de Neville siblings, but Angus had always made her feel wanted and welcomed.
Aye, she was in awe of him still. Only a fool would not be at least slightly in awe of such a man. But he had never been anything other than kind to her. To everyone.
And now he had sickened, and he might soon pass from this world. Long before his time.
She could understand Tristan’s violent desperation to try something, anything, that might keep Angus tethered to life for a while longer. ’Twas only respect for Morwenna’s deeply-held feelings that had prevented her from saying as much last night.
That and her long-buried dislike of the woman called Juliana. Mirrie had only known her for a few days, many yearspast, but those days had been long and hard. Feelings of envy, spiky and hot, had lodged in her stomach the very first time she beheld the beautiful woman that Frida had welcomed to Wolvesley as her new best friend.
Envy which intensified when Mirrie beheld the admiration shining in Tristan’s eyes.
Juliana was gifted as well as beautiful, that much was undeniable. Beside her, Mirrie felt as plain and ordinary as a dormouse.
Mercifully, Juliana had stayed little more than a sennight at Wolvesley before being “called elsewhere” as she insisted on saying.
Mirrie had ne’er been so glad to see the back of anyone.
Now Tristan was in search of her. Hopefully the woman had wandered far from here and another healer could be summoned in her stead.
