Whilst Mirrie recovered her composure, Tristan threw open the next of the shutters so the square-shaped room was bathed in light. This had once been a cosy, welcoming space. In winter days, a fire had flickered in the grate and their kindly tutor had read them stories from a rocking chair.
The rocking chair had since been claimed by the Seneschal for his own private chamber. Tristan couldn’t blame him. As a child, he had longed for a turn in the rocking chair.
He was lost in nostalgia until Mirrie spoke up. “What was it that you wanted me to see?”
“Do you remember the rocking chair?” he asked.
She nodded. “I remember it all, Tris.” Slowly, she swivelled around, dust motes dancing around her. “You would sit here by the window. And you would stare outside daydreaming when you should have been learning Latin.”
“But you were the perfect student,” he teased.
“Hardly. Your father would oft help me in the evenings. Otherwise I never could have kept up with you all.” She bit down on her lip as if embarrassed at the memory.
“I never knew that,” he said, softly.
“Well, I have never been one for flaunting my failings,” she quipped. “Especially those that were not clearly apparent.”
“You mean your skills on horseback?” he suggested, greatly daring.
To his relief, Mirrie smiled. “I do.”
“Sometimes I would coax you onto the back of my pony when we were small. Do you remember that?” He chuckled at the memory. “We would all go riding in the woods and I hated to leave you behind. You told me you couldn’t manage it, but I knew you could, if only you would put faith in yourself.”
Mirrie turned away so he could not see her expression. “Aye. None of the others even tried to get me to join in. Perchance only you had the necessary powers of persuasion.”
“Perchance only I suspected the true depths of your courage.” She turned back to him at this, her eyes wondering, and he nodded in confirmation. “Yours is a quiet, steady sort of courage. It may not always be obvious to others, but ’tis all the stronger for it.”
“Do you really think so?” The question was almost a whisper.
“I have long believed it,” he said staunchly, determined to make her smile again. “I am accustomed to assessing courage in those who serve me. But skills on horseback do not count for everything. You oft would beat the rest of us in a running race. As you did again, this morn.”
“That is my strength.” She nodded firmly. “Running…and perchance dancing.”
“We shall dance together at the midsummer ball.” He closed the gap between them and offered her a small bow. “Shall we?”
“You mean dance? Now?” Mirrie put a hand to her heart. “I couldn’t.”
Tristan made a show of looking about him. “There is no one here to see.” Before she could protest further, he took hold of her hands and raised them high, twisting his body so he stood sideways with his face angled toward her. “Pretend we are part of a Quadrille,” he urged.
He thought she might refuse, so rigid was her body, but after a moment’s hesitation, she mirrored his stance. Slowly, he began to walk her around in a tight circle, their bodies moving in unison even as her eyes were fixed firmly on a point somewhere north of his shoulder.
He came to a halt. “Why won’t you look at me?”
“I am not in the mood for dancing,” came her reluctant reply.
“We should practice before the ball.” Tristan was not one to give up easily.
“There is time enough for that.” She forced him to a standstill and met his teasing gaze with a sharp one of her own. “Why did you bring me up here? Not to dance, I am sure.”
He regretfully released her. “Nay, you are right. Come, look at this.” He beckoned her over to the covered desk nearest the wall and lifted up the edge of the dust sheet. “There.” He pointed to an engraving on the rounded leg of the desk. “Do you know what that is?”
Mirrie bent beside him, her hands on her knees. She peered for a few seconds, before uttering a strangled sort of sound. “I think that you know the answer as well as I do.”
He bent down beside her, elaborately tracing the initials that had been roughly carved into the wood. “M and T,” he mused. “Could that stand for Mirrie and Tristan?”
He was teasing, aye, and it was a little unfair. But he did not expect her cheeks to flush quite so pink, nor for her to stand and reel away from him quite so quickly.
“You know very well that it does.”
