“You mean, careful conversation? Slow walks through the woods?” He raised an eyebrow.
She nudged him with her elbow and laughed. “I mean no hasty decisions. No grand gestures. Court her as if she is a new acquaintance.”
“But I know Mirrie as well as I know anyone in this land.”
“Which is why this transition will be hard, for you both. The question is, are you willing to try?” Her voice rose with emphasis.
A beat passed. Tristan tilted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes.
He was willing totry. But was he willing to face rejectionagain?
He thought the answer must be yes, for there was no alternative that he could see.
Chapter Nineteen
Mirrie placed thelast bread roll in the over-stuffed hamper and nodded to the two waiting farm boys.
“You can take it now.”
“Thank ye, miss.”
Though small, the boys were well used to working in the fields and between them they hefted the heavy hamper out of the kitchen and onto the waiting cart with enviable ease. They then hopped on the back of the cart and settled in for the ride back to the hayfields. Mirrie pretended not to see them each swiping a hot heel of bread from the basket.
Mirrie wiped her hands on a cloth and looked about the untidy kitchen. It was hotter than ever in here, with the bread ovens first fired up since before dawn. Agnes had rolled up the sleeves of her stained tunic to reveal forearms made muscular through hours of kneading and beating.
“Is there aught else I can do?” Mirrie asked the long-time cook of Ember Hall.
“Nay, miss, you should take a well-earned rest.” Agnes pushed back the tendrils of long grey hair that had escaped her plait. “I’ll whip up a last batch of cakes for the evening meal.”
“Methinks there will be many mouths to feed this night.” Mirrie crossed to the sink and rinsed her hands, enjoying the rush of cold water on her warm skin. “’Tis likely everyone now bringing in the harvest will come back to the hall.”
“God willing, this harvest is a good one.” Agnes fanned herself with a floury hand. “Sir Callum said the barn stores are filling up nicely.”
Mirrie nodded. She had counted the sacks of corn herself, just last night. Lammas Day was not long past, but already they had more animal food set aside than at the end of last summer’s harvest.
“God willing,” she echoed Agnes’s plea. If the skies turned to rain, much of the crop could still be ruined. But there was no sign of that. Yet.
“Be off with you then, miss. You look fit to drop,” Agnes said, turning away to fetch butter from the cold store.
Mirrie was not affronted; she had long grown used to the cook’s abrupt manner. But she had no intention of going upstairs to rest. Instead, she slipped off her apron and stepped out into the sun-drenched warmth of the courtyard. Here she paused for a moment, enjoying how the golden rays of light caught the honey-hued ancient stone. Pink roses nodded lazily in the gentle breeze and the only sound was the haunting mewl of a curlew, circling high overhead. Such peace and calm after the fiery heat of the busy kitchen was a balm to her. However, she only allowed herself a short time to enjoy it.
’Twas just days since she had sat in the great hall and asked Callum if she could play a greater role in the running of Ember Hall. And helping to bring in the harvest was the hardest and most important job of all.
Mirrie glanced down at the palms of her hands, which were already blistered after long hours wielding a pitchfork out in the fields. Frida had insisted she spread honey over her chapped skin, and bind her hands in bandages overnight. Now, Mirrie slipped on a pair of thin cotton gloves she had brought down from her bedchamber. They would offer little protection, but would be better than nothing.
“Good morn, Miss Mirabel,” shouted one of the grooms, coming out of the stables with a pitchfork swinging from his hands.
“Good morn, Alaic,” she replied.
Alaic returned to the barn and Mirrie set off for the hayfield with a bounce in her step and a smile that was halfway to being genuine. Within minutes she would be joining a busy group of workers comprising farm-workers and villagers, all working together to bring in the harvest. She enjoyed the feeling of unity and purpose; and long hours outside helped banish the shadows of doubt that had taken root in her heart.
Whenever Mirrie was alone, with little to occupy her hands or her mind, her thoughts would invariably return to Tristan. A little voice would pipe up, asking her if she was sure she had done the right thing.
Should I have left Wolvesley without taking the time to talk to him?
She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder whenever she heard a man’s heavy, booted footstep or gravelly laugh. Sometimes it seemed inevitable that Tristan would come looking for her at Ember Hall. Sometimes it seemed more likely she would not see him again for months, if not years.
She did not know which of these outcomes was the least disturbing.
