“But everyone else has stopped.”
She raised her eyes to the grassy knoll where the cart had halted earlier. Rugs had been spread all around, and tired workers now sat together, eating and drinking. No one spared her any attention.
“If you do not go now, all the nicest cakes will be gone,” he urged, his voice low.
She shrugged, still determined to not look in his direction. “Agnes is already baking more. Besides, I am guided by more than my belly.”
She thought he would stay and argue further. She was disappointed to hear him walk away.
But disappointment was a familiar companion; one she was used to living beside. She flexed her fingers and re-positioned her sore hands on the handle of the pitchfork. A long row of cut grass stretched before her. It was now more important than ever that she finish it. She would take refreshment later.
She straightened up when the ache in her shoulders became unbearable, surprised to see another worker down at the end of the field, where the grass was still uncut. This worker was tall and strong, grass flew up with every swing of his scythe. He worked methodically and accurately, legs braced, bronzed shoulders bare to the sun.
Exertion had already made her heartbeat quicken, now it began to gallop. Her hands slipped on the fork and she stumbled on the uneven ground.
This would never do.
Tristan was working his way toward her. Soon he would be at her side. Talking to her,looking at her, and she was not prepared for such a conversation.
He had kissed her. She had slapped him. Then she had left without saying goodbye. And he had let her.
Too much had passed between them for politeness to be observed in a hayfield. Especially when her dress stuck to her sides with perspiration.
Mirrie didn’t pause to consider her actions. She left her fork laying atop a pile of chopped grass, and turned away.
She couldn’t return to the house; he would only track her down there. Nor did she want to walk past the happy group of workers picnicking atop the rugs. Instead, she ran lightly down the side of the hayfield and through a shady copse of trees, her long legs pounding wildly beneath her as she descended a steep slope. The ground here was often muddy, but the prolonged warm, dry weather made dust fly about her as she rounded the final corner and emerged into Ember Cove.
The hard ground turned to shingle, which was difficult to walk on. She pressed on, breathing hard, heading for the welcome shade of the cliffs. As soon as she reached them, she sank to the ground, uncaring of how the miniscule stones would stick to her tunic. She stretched out her legs and leaned aching back against the coolness of the stone, letting her head roll back and her eyes feast on the glittering expanse of the sea.
She forced her thoughts to quieten, so all that filled her head was the gentle rushing of the waves on the shingle beach and the mournful calling of the gulls.
The air was fresh and clean. There was no one here but herself. Mirrie reached forward to tug off her boots, relieved to rid herself of their weight.
If only she could plunge into the inviting sea, to wash away the dust of the day along with all her woes.
But she could not. Walkers on the cliffs above could look down upon Ember Cove and see her. She would have to be satisfied with cooling off in the shade.
So be it.
Mirrie was used to resigning herself to less than what she truly desired.
She sniffed at the sudden wave of self-pity.
Why should she always be the one to sit in the shade?
The rhythmic rolling of the waves seemed to call to her, inviting her down to the shore. She walked forward, drawn by the sparkling water and the promise of cool release. When a large wave rolled towards her, soaking the toes of her stockings, she merely smiled and shuffled further in. Her feet sank down into the shingle, anchoring her in place. The sea rose around her ankles and a salty breeze caressed her hot face.
Why should she not have this pleasure? And more besides?
She opened her arms and tilted her face to the sun, closing her eyes as the cold waves rushed back and forth. The sound was hypnotic, as was the pull of receding water of her calves and the feeling of shifting shingle beneath her toes.
Her cares began to lessen along with the ache in her shoulders. She allowed her mind to relax; her body to be one with the waves.
She did not hear Tristan walking slowly towards her, across the beach.
When he cleared his throat, her eyes flew open in surprise.
“What a wonderful idea, Mirrie. There is naught better than paddling in the sea on a hot day. Do you mind if I join you?”
