“Seeing my father so close to death was a shock. If I had known how ill he was, perchance I would ne’er have conceived of this plan.”
Aware of her searching gaze, Tristan lowered his head.
“It is not too late to tell them we have changed our minds,” she suggested, softly.
“But the root problem still exists.” His hand curled into a fist. “My parents see me as little more than an instrument for breeding.”
Mirrie made a strange sound and when he looked down, he found her shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Like a stallion?” she suggested. “Or a prize bull?”
“It is not funny,” he said reproachfully.
“Oh, but it is.” She shook her head. “What’s funnier is that you have no notion of the power you have.”
Tristan frowned but Mirrie ploughed on before he could say anything.
“’Tis in your power to change the way your parents see you. You’ve already shown all of England that you are a skilled warrior and more besides. Now you need only prove to your parents that you can do more than fight and—” she ground to a halt.
“Provide heirs?” he suggested.
“Exactly.” Mirrie made a visible effort to recover her composure. “You spoke to me about introducing a covered market. Why not put that plan in motion? You are quick, I believe, to take the initiative in battle. You could do the same at home.”
“Aye.” He nodded slowly, as his mind turned over her words. “You are not wrong.” He recalled Juliana’s words from just yesterday.
“A man who has not yet come to realise the full extent of the power he wields.”
“What is it?” Mirrie was watching him closely.
“Juliana said much the same thing to me,” he answered carelessly. But when Mirrie turned away from him, he reached out to grasp her wrist. “You cannot blame me for speaking to the woman when you shared details of our betrothal with her.”
Mirrie gaped at him like a fish. “I ne’er spoke of that to Juliana.”
He released her wrist. “Then how did she find out?” He frowned. “I thought you told her.”
Mirrie shook her head. “I thoughtyoudid.”
For some reason this struck Tristan as funny. “Mayhap she looked into my palm and foresaw our actual wedding?”
“Do not be a fool,” Mirrie answered calmly. “You are the future Earl of Wolvesley. You cannot marry me.”
Tristan pushed at the gate and was pleased to find it unbolted. He held it open and ushered Mirrie through. “I think you will find I can do exactly as I please—as I intend to prove right now.”
“Where are we going?” She looked up at him with wide, hazel eyes.
Tristan grinned. “We’re going bathing.”
Chapter Eleven
Bathing!
Mirrie followed him down to the lake, though she knew she shouldn’t. It had felt good to run through the grounds of Wolvesley, as if she were a child again, shaking off the mantle of responsibility and gloom that had dogged her for so long.
It felt even better to beat him!
There had been a time when Tristan was her worthy opponent in many childhood games. Out in the fields and up in the school room, they would endlessly challenge one another. Then Tristan went away to the knights’ training college at Lindum, and when he returned to Wolvesley, he had been a man.
Gone was her childhood friend. In his place stood a squire with broad shoulders and stubbled cheeks. The new deepness of his voice made butterflies flutter in Mirrie’s stomach. Naught had been the same again.
