For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to be close to Tristan. This whole charade felt wrong, and she regretted having ever agreed to it. But she couldn’t disavow it now, in front of everyone. The most she could do would be to draw this performance to a close.
She stepped forward, precariously close to the edge of the dais but finally free of Tristan’s grasp.
“Thank you, all of you.” Her voice rang out over the hubbub. She curtsied low as the men cheered once more, then pointedly returned to her seat. Slowly the chatter resumed its usual level. Now it was Juliana’s turn to rise from the table.
“Pray, sit,” she urged the countess.
Mirrie observed she at least had the decency to keep her voice and head low.
Morwenna hesitated, then gave a regal nod. “Very well.” She sank gracefully into the carved chair as Tristan poured her a fresh goblet of wine.
Juliana stood as if she did not know which way to turn. Mirrie almost felt sorry for her, before noticing the druid’s eyes resting on Tristan.
She still wants him.She knew a rush of frustration.Even now.
“Pull up a chair,” Tristan suggested, waving his hands behind him.
Under usual circumstances, some hovering servant would have already fetched a chair for Juliana, but these were not usual circumstances. Wolvesley was not running at full strength.
Juliana shook her head. “I believe this is a family celebration.” She dropped into a curtsy. “I will retire for the evening.”
Good riddance, though Mirrie. But she smiled politely at the druid’s departing back.
“There is much to plan, much to discuss,” smiled Morwenna. “I can’t tell you both how pleased I am.” She laid a hand on each of them, her heartfelt joy so evident that Mirrie thought she could not bear the deception a moment longer.
“You are much too kind.” She shot another glance at Tristan, but he hardly seemed to notice her discomfort. “But I insist that we let the matter rest for tonight. We have endured much these last days. These plans and discussions can wait a while longer.” She leaned forward to fill the countess’s trencher with meat and vegetables, wondering how long it had been since she had last eaten a proper meal. “Here.” She pushed it towards her.
“I am not overly hungry, my dear.” Morwenna put a hand to her heart as she surveyed the offering.
Tristan spoke up. “You must eat something, Mother.”
At least she could count on him for this—he always looked after his family.
“Something small,” Mirrie agreed.
“You are in unison, as you have been for much of your lives.” Morwenna twisted her head so she might smile at them both. “I should have seen this marriage coming.”
Mirrie could think of no suitable response to this. Her smile became fixed as she gazed at the far end of the hall where tables stood empty and pushed against the wall.
“I have long admired Mirrie.” Tristan’s voice was husky.
Her heart beat grew faster, but not with pleasure. This all felt like too much. Morwenna’s words made everything seem too real.
“And I have long loved and admired all of you de Nevilles,” she retorted. “You welcomed me into your home when I was but a child, Morwenna, and now you welcome me again. I am more grateful than I could ever express.” Shaking with emotion,Mirrie once again pushed herself up from the chair, but this time it was she who dropped into a low curtsy at the countess’s feet.
“My dear.” Morwenna put a hand on her cheek and urged her up. “We are family. You do not have to curtsy before me.”
“I fear the events of the day have overtaken me.” Mirrie knew her voice was trembling but hoped it might help her cause. “I have a headache and must retire to my chamber. Forgive me.”
“There is naught to forgive,” said Morwenna.
Tristan rose up from the table. “I will escort you.”
“Nay.” The word came out more harshly than she had intended and she summoned a hasty, insincere smile. “Pray, do not trouble yourself, Tristan. You should stay here with your mother.”
Never had she spoken to him so firmly. Never had she denied herself his company. But just now, she did not think she could bear it.
Mirrie feared her knees might give way beneath her as she descended the steps from the dais and picked her way through the trestle tables. The men-at-arms stood to let her pass, nodding their heads and clearing her path of discarded sword belts and slumbering hounds.
