“Stop flirting,” she demanded. It was the only way she could possibly deal with Tristan and the wealth of feelings she had for him.
He bowed his head. “As you wish.”
Did he mean it? She didn’t think he would lie to her, but flirting was something he did so automatically, she was not at all certain he could bring himself to simply stop. Still, only time would tell—and perhaps it would go better if she helped him.
“Come and sit beside me.” She made space for him on the rock. “And I shall coach you in the art of proper conversation to nice young ladies.”
“But nice young ladies are so dull.” He plonked himself down, bringing with him the scent of fresh water and clean sweat. “I’m joking,” he added, nudging Mirrie with his shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Might I say how very pretty you look this morn?”
“No.” She jabbed him sharply with her elbow. “That is flirting.”
“Then how should I proceed?” He opened his arms entreatingly.
“Begin by telling me something true.” She arched her eyebrows at his silence. “The truth is so much harder, isn’t it?”
“I was telling the truth before.” His voice dropped low enough to bring goosebumps out on her arms. “You do look very pretty in that dress, with your hair pinned up so elegantly. But then, you always look pretty.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
“Very well. If you will not accept compliments, I will find a new truth to tell.” Tristan leaned back on his hands and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Gulls called overhead and a gust of wind rustled through the trees. He thought for a long moment before speaking again. “It was terrible to see my father so weakened.”
Mirrie turned to him, her lips parted in surprise. “It was,” she murmured in agreement.
“Truly, I had not expected his condition to worsen so quickly. ’Twas an unwelcome reminder that death awaits us all,” he finished quietly.
Mirrie bit down on her lip and allowed several beats to pass. “That is very sombre.”
“And very true?”
She nodded. “Undoubtedly so.”
“I have seen death up close on the battlefield. I have lost good friends. Young men who should have had all their lives ahead of them.” Tristan sighed. “But my father, I somehow thought, would live forever.”
Moved by this glimpse of vulnerability, Mirrie reached out and took his hand. It was the impulsive action of a friend, or e’en of the sister that he saw her as, but as soon as his warm fingers interlinked with hers, she began to regret it.
“I’m sorry for being so gloomy.” He threw her a smile.
“Do not be sorry for telling me the truth.”
He cupped her hand inside both of his, caressing the inside of her index finger with his thumb. She told herself it meant nothing. That Tristan would do the same to Flora, his niece. But it did not stop a thrill of pleasure travelling all the way up her arm.
“I know how you see me, Mirrie.”
For a moment she feared her heart had stopped beating. “You do?”
“Aye.” He smiled gently. “To you I am irresponsible. Perchance you imagine that I do not understand the myriad advantages I enjoy as the son of an earl. But you are wrong.”
Relief came over her in a hot wave. “I am glad to hear it,” she managed.
“I have faced assassins in my own home.” He gripped her hand more tightly now. “I have dined with my enemies and risked my life. All for the good of my country. And I would do it all again, without question. I do not shirk from my duty, with or without a sword in my hand.”
She knew this. All of it. Frida’s husband, Callum, was one of the assassins once sent after Tristan. “I see you, Tris,” she whispered. “Good and bad.”
“I will serve my country and honour my parents, whatever that takes. But I do not wish to be pressured into marrying a woman I do not love.”
She could only nod.
“Can I tell you something else that is true?”
