The question made her smile. Aye, naught had changed between them. She told herself that she was glad of it.
“Did you not say that your father wished to see us?”
He grimaced. “I did. You are right, as always, Mirrie. We should return to the keep.”
Mirrie stood calmly whilst Tristan pulled on his stockings and boots. She would present an unruffled demeanour to the de Nevilles, to the world at large.
This subterfuge could only continue for a certain amount of time. Then she would return to Ember Hall and pick up the pieces of the life she had forged for herself.
She had kissed Tristan once.
The memory will have to last me a lifetime.
Chapter Twelve
For Tristan, theworld had tilted on its axis.
Ye Gods, it had felt good and right to kiss Mirrie.
How did I spend so many years in her company, without seeing her at all?
They walked together back to the keep and it took a great effort of will to keep his hands away from her. It would be the easiest thing in the land to take her arm, to offer gentlemanly assistance over the uneven ground. But Mirrie had always been a competent and capable girl, not the type to trip and plead some feminine weakness.
He had always liked that about her.
Earlier that morn, he had drawn her to his side without a thought. Now he was hyperaware of her every movement. How her long stride matched his. How she walked tall and proud, with no hint of hesitation or artifice. How her hazel eyes shone in the shafts of noontime sunshine which fell through the tall trees.
She had always been there, in his life. Like one of his sisters. He had noticed her beauty, of course, in the same objective way he observed the charm and good looks of Frida, Isabella and Esme. But never before had he felt that loveliness imprint itself on his soul.
And she had once been one of his closest confidantes. With that in mind, he wanted to halt their progress; to declare this new confusion in his heart. But what words could he use to describe it?
Tristan appreciated the irony. He had never been lost for words around women before.
As they emerged out of the woods into full view of the castle, he summoned his courage and came to a stop. After a few steps, Mirrie also paused. She turned to face him, her heart-shaped face creased with an emotion that looked like fear.
“What is it?” he asked, immediately concerned.
She put a hand to her heart, also seemingly gathering her courage. “I think I am a little afraid of what you might be about to say.”
He had always admired her straightforward honesty.
She spoke the truth.
“Truly, I don’t know exactly what I am about to say. I only wanted another moment with you. Alone.”
Mirrie gave her head a little shake. “We can’t do this, Tris.”
“Do what?” He stepped closer. If it were any other woman, he would have taken her hands in his. But right now, Mirrie was making him unaccountably nervous.
“Whatever this is.” She flung out her hands in a gesture of confusion. “The task ahead of us will be difficult enough without adding further complexity. We both know who we are. Let us not forget it.”
It took a moment for her words to make sense to him.
“You mean, you are a nice young lady. And I am—”
“You are Tristan de Neville.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Nay, I mean that you have always thought of me as a sister. You told me so just days ago.”
“I did.” He dimly remembered doing so. A sentiment from a different time.
