All three rose up from the table as Tristan swept away.
He must find Mirrie. If only he’d taken the time to pick up more than berries to break his fast. His stomach growled audibly, but he did not want to waste another moment in the great hall.
The front door to the keep stood open, inviting the warm breeze to bring the melody of bird song into the marbled hallway. He stood for a moment, looking out at the deep blue sky and the hues of sunlight reflected in the sparkling fountain. It was another beautiful day. If only he could spend it at leisure.
But Tristan had spent enough time watching his father at work to know that ledgers of accounts would need attention, including matters that were over and above the jurisdiction of his young steward. The castle court was sitting in two days andAngus must give word if proceedings would go ahead. All of this and more Tristan had decided to take to his father’s bedside. It was time to show the Earl of Wolvesley what his eldest son was capable of.
Which meant he must find Mirrie, for he had no hope of concentrating on such mundane tasks if he still itched to make things right with his oldest friend.
First though, the cornflowers by the wall of the keep were calling to him. Tristan strode over and plucked a handful, being careful not to crush the petals in his large hands. He waved to attract the attention of a passing maidservant.
“Would you be so kind as to put these in a vase in Miss Mirabel’s chamber?”
The maid curtsied politely and took the flowers, but Tristan could see that she was puzzled by his choice of bloom.
So be it. He was certain Mirrie had a fondness for the little flowers that were as blue as the sky. Seeing them in her bedchamber would please her, and that thought pleased him in turn.
Something caught his eye down by the fountain—a familiar figure he would recognise anywhere. Tristran wasted no time in running down the steps, heaving a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner to find Mirrie standing by the carved stone and gazing up at the high jet of foaming water. On the occasions he had visited Ember Hall, Tristan had grown accustomed to seeing Mirrie in worn work clothes with her shining hair tied into a rough plait. The Mirrie he knew at Ember Hall was usually found working in the fields or chopping vegetables in the kitchen. She was capable and kind, quick to bring a blanket or a bowl of broth to anyone in need.
He had forgotten how lovely she could look, simply standing still.
“There you are,” he greeted her. Her hair had once again been expertly braided and pinned about her heart-shaped face. Her slender hands, usually so busily occupied, rested against the damp stone of the fountain’s outer wall.
Mirrie did not break her gaze. “I have always wondered how it can rise so high into the air, with naught to support it.”
He followed the line of her hazel eyes. “The water?”
“It amazes me now, just as it did when we were children.”
Tristan pursed his lips. “’Tis all about the speed with which it ascends.”
She threw him a look that would have been scornful from anyone else. “I did not believe it was the work of fairies.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I much prefer that idea.” Mirrie was working to hide her smile, he could tell as much from the brightness of her eyes. “Walk with me,” he entreated, holding out his elbow. When she hesitated, he merely moved nearer. “Come, ’tis a shame to waste this beautiful morn being angry with me.”
“I am not angry with you.”
“Then take my arm.”
Mirrie huffed, sounding annoyed, but she took his arm with an outward display of grace and they began to promenade through the rose gardens. He reached over to pat her hand, carefully keeping his eyes straight ahead of them to ensure no one was near enough to overhear.
“I’m sorry. About last night. You were right.”
“About what, exactly?” She arched her eyebrows.
“About me coming to your chamber. ’Twas not proper and it will not happen again.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
He paused to glance down at her pointed face. “Are you sure you are not angry with me?”
Mirrie let out a sigh. “I am exasperated with you, Tris. I am exasperated of this entire situation. I do not enjoy deceit. And it would seem that I no longer enjoy being laced into fancy gowns which threaten to trip me at every step.”
Laughter bubbled up inside him. “Then pick up your skirts and run,” he dared her.
“Whatever do you mean?” She shaded her eyes from the sunlight and tilted her head to look up at him.
“Let us race to the lake. I seem to recall a time when you oft would beat me there.”
