Chapter Twenty-Two
Seven days hadnever passed more slowly.
Mirrie tried not to count them, but her errant brain did so anyway. It mattered not how hard she worked in the hayfields, or how exhausted she was when she finally fell into bed of an evening, a feverish excitement gripped both her body and her heart whenever she thought of Tristan and his promise.
She had not known him ever to break his word.
Some days it was all she could do not to sob with painful anticipation.
But on the seventh day, her emotions took a more fearful turn.What if he does not come?
She served her time bringing in the harvest. The long grass had all been cut and turned. Now was the time to fork the remainder into the big hay carts to be transported to the safety of the barn. It was hard, physical and monotonous work, but she relished the chance to fix her mind on a task so simply defined. When the sun beat down and her blisters stung and her back ached, the endless circling of her thoughts relaxed just a little of their hold on her.
But all too soon, the afternoon shadows began to lengthen and the long lines of workers headed indoors. Mirrie could not bear to be idle. Instead, she made her way to the standing stones, where Tristan had made his final vow.
A vow I should have at least acknowledged.
At the time, she had been silenced by a potent blend of sorrow, anxiety, self-pity and surprise. Now she berated herself for not speaking up and telling him she would count on him keeping his word.
Standing in the centre of the circle was a tall man with a crown of golden hair. Her heartbeat quickened before she realised, a moment later, it was Jonah.
“You do not oft come all the way up here,” she greeted him.
“I had an idea I might find you here.” He leaned his hands against a waist-height stone and hefted himself onto the level surface of it. “I wanted to talk to you.” His wasted leg hung crookedly below him, but he looked comfortable enough. Indeed, with his highly embroidered tunic, polished boots and imperious stare, he was every inch his father’s son.
And Tristan’s brother.
Apprehension rippled through her. Did Jonah know something she did not?
“We talk most days,” she countered lightly, making a show of plucking daisies from the long grass.
“I wanted to talk in private.”
Mirrie gave up. She flung herself down on the grass, stretched her legs out in front of her and met his searching eyes. “What about?”
A smile curved at his lips. “What else but my brother?”
She twirled the daisies, trying to keep herself calm.
“I have an idea what happened between you,” he said softly.
She put a hand to her flushed cheeks and hung her head, but he only chuckled.
“Fear not, Mirrie. I most certainly do not want to talk to you aboutthat.” He shifted on the stone, shading his eyes from the slanting sunlight.
“Please do not embarrass me. I suffer enough.”
“I have no wish to do so.” His voice was grave. “What I meant was, I have an idea that Tristan asked you to marry him. And a strong suspicion that you refused him.”
She nodded. Up to now, the only person she had told was Frida. And Frida, she knew, was no gossip. But Ember Hall was a small household and Jonah had known her since childhood.
“My second strong suspicion is that you are not happy about this?” He left the question hanging.
“How could I be?” she burst out.
“Exactly that.” For a moment she thought he might jump off the stone, but he only leaned towards her. “You have loved Tristan almost all your life. Why ever did you refuse him?”
“You know why.” She swallowed. “You said yourself that he is impulsive. He speaks first and thinks later. How can I trust anything he says?”
