“God’s bones, Mother. When will this mess be cleared away?” he burst out one morn.
Morwenna had been on her way to his father’s solar, but now she turned to face him. “I had asked specifically for them to remain in place until the petals begin to wilt.” Her voice was mild. “But as they put you in such a perverse temper, I will order their removal this very day.”
Tristan put a hand over his eyes, immediately contrite but still grappling with waves of frustration. “If the sight of them pleases you, then pay me no heed.”
“You are my beloved son. I pay you every heed.” Morwenna took his arm. “Come, let us not waste the day indoors. Walk with me in the gardens.”
He had little choice but to accompany her out into another lovely day at Wolvesley Castle. The sky was bluer than the sea and the fountain sent up jets of sparkling water which caught therays of the sun and refracted them back in all the colours of the rainbow.
But Tristan’s temper was not appeased.
“Forgive me, Mother, but I cannot walk with you for long. I have much to do before luncheon.”
“Tell me more. Perchance I can help.” She smiled up at him, the very picture of serenity, robed in a simple gown of pale blue with her blonde hair neatly plaited about her head.
Tristan swallowed down his instinctive refusal. For all his mother’s quietude, he knew her life had not been easy. And after his father’s recent ill health, Tristan should know more than anyone not to take either the presence, or the support, of his parents for granted.
They were walking, by long habit, on the winding path which led up through the paddocks. Morwenna had always been happiest and most relaxed around horses. Tristan also felt some of the weight on his shoulders decreasing as he greeted his favourite charger.
“He’s looking well,” Morwenna commented, running her pale hands over his sleek, black neck.
“I imagine he is bored, as I am,” Tristan retorted.
Morwenna made no attempt to hide her smile. “Is it the battlefield you both miss? All that blood and danger?”
At this moment, he would quite happily take the ugliness of a battlefield over the unfathomable machinations of his own mind.
Although he could never miss all the death and destruction that battle brought, even when one fought on the winning side.
He sighed, momentarily lost in thought. “There is something to be said for the clear singularity of purpose one feels at such a time.”
“Truly?” Morwenna raised her eyebrows. “You do not enjoy this hard-won period of peace we are enjoying? A peace you had such a hand in creating?”
“Of course.” The uneasy peace now existing between England and Scotland was not something he would ever dismiss. “Peace, prosperity, stability. They are the very things we fight for.”
“Just so. And speaking of prosperity, I should tell you that your father has read through your proposal to introduce a three-field system. He believes you are right. ’Tis a way to increase our harvest.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Tristan smiled at his mother and regretted his earlier outburst. He patted the horse’s shoulder and accepted him nuzzling at his pockets. “I should take him for a gallop over the moors.”
“Aye, that might be one way of improving your temper.”
“And another?” Tristan eyed his mother speculatively over the horse’s ears. She rarely made pointed observations if there was not something serious that she wished to say.
“Son, tell me what is troubling you.”
Where would I even start?
“’Tis the market traders,” he hedged. “Some time ago I had the idea of introducing a covered market to Wolvesley. I spoke to Father about it as soon as he recovered, for this is the perfect time to build the stalls, before winter sets in.”
Morwenna was nodding slowly. “I can see the benefits of such a plan.”
“So could Father. So could the traders,” he added quickly.
“Where lies the problem?” Morwenna resumed their walk, holding up her skirts as the ground rose into a slight incline.
“The carpenters cannot source the correct wood. The traders cannot decide where they would like to base themselves.” Tristan folded his hands behind his back to prevent himself fromflinging them around like a child in the midst of a tantrum. “In short, everything has gone wrong.”
Everything went wrong on the day that Mirrie left.
