A smile flickered across her lips. “I must attend your mother for as long as she needs me,” she replied, carefully.
“Of course.” He waved his hands dismissively. “Do what you must, both of you. But go, now. Before my father awakens and finds himself alone.”
That was enough to make both of them hurry from the chamber, skirts trailing behind them. Tristan heaved a deep sighand eyed the window seat speculatively. It called to him, soft and comfortable. He could curl up there and rest. His eyelids seemed to droop at the very idea.
Someone cleared their throat behind him and Tristan spun around to see Alfred, his manservant, hovering in the doorway.
“Milord.” He bowed in greeting.
“Alfred.” Tristan crossed his arms. “’Tis mighty good to see you.”
“Can I fetch you refreshment?” Alfred’s eyes lingered on Tristan’s travel-stained tunic. “Mayhap a bath and a change of clothes?”
Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. “All of the above,” he declared. “But first of all, what I need is sleep.”
*
Some hours later,Tristan was dressed and refreshed, presenting his usual golden-hued self to the world—or at least to the now-bustling keep of Wolvesley Castle. It was a relief to hear booted feet treading the stone steps and see the green flash of liveried servants once more about their work. He had slept deeply before bathing, shaving and forcing a fine-toothed comb through his thick and curling hair. Energy hummed within him. After three days of hard-riding and distress, he was ready for some fun.
“Is Miss Mirabel about?” he asked Alfred, as his manservant finished straightening his fresh tunic of dark blue.
“I have not seen her, milord. I believe she is resting.”
“And my mother?”
“Still with his lordship.” Alfred bowed his head. “Though I understand Lord Wolvesley recovered enough to speak some words to her.”
“That is good news, Alfred.” Tristan watched him through the looking glass. “And what of Miss Juliana?”
Alfred cleared his throat. “The healer who was once friends with Lady Frida?”
Tristan nodded.
“I glimpsed her some time past, walking by the lake.”
Where else? It made sense that a druid would feel compelled to be out of doors on such a glorious day. Tristan looked towards the window. The noon day sun had begun its descent and shadows were beginning to lengthen across the lawns, but it would not be dark for a long while yet.
He clapped Alfred on the shoulder. “I shall go and walk with her.”
“Very good, milord.” His reply was rather stiff and it occurred to Tristan that his loyal servant had no great fondness for Juliana.
So be it. The woman had cured his father. That fact alone was enough to elevate her in Tristan’s opinion. And in his well-deserved mood of celebration, he didn’t allow himself to question how much of his approval rested in the woman’s handsome face and arresting smile.
With a final nod of thanks to Alfred, Tristan left his private chamber and tripped down the wide staircase into the sunlit entrance hall. Unlike earlier, the usual low hum of conversation echoed down the corridor from the great hall, where he fully expected fires to be lit and tables laid ready for a celebration tonight. He emerged into the warmth of the afternoon, newly energised by the balmy air which carried the scent of summer grass.
He put his hands on his hips and looked about him. The fountain had never looked grander, the lawns never greener. He was home, in every sense of the word. His keen eyes travelled over the flower beds, which were blue with the cornflowers specially cultivated at Wolvesley as they were a favourite of his mother’s.
And a favourite of Mirrie’s too, if he recalled correctly.
And there was Juliana, more striking than ever as she walked delicately along the gravel path from the lake. She looked every bit the visiting lady, with her glossy hair pinned atop her head. If only his mother could put her age-old fear of sorcery to one side and show a more fitting welcome to the woman who had saved his father’s life.
Morwenna had long-dreaded the finger of suspicion being pointed at them, especially given Frida’s one-time gifts, but that danger had now passed. Frida no longer talked to people who weren’t there, nor did she prophesise the future with unerring accuracy. The de Nevilles had nothing to hide—with or without the might of the Earl of Wolvesley to protect them.
All of which meant that Morwenna had no reason to fear Juliana’s presence amongst them. It was habit and exhaustion, he decided, which had caused her to react with such alarm.
A genuine smile creased his face as he walked towards her. “I am glad to have found you,” he greeted her, simply.
Juliana curtsied low. “My lord.”
