Jonah pursed his lips. “Because to the best of my knowledge, my brother has never before asked a woman to marry him.”
A sob escaped her.
“Even Tristan, for all his fancy talk, would hesitate to make such an offer if he did not mean it.”
His words stirred hope in her breast, until she recalled the exact circumstances of his asking.
“He was… I mean, we were…” She chewed on her lip. The sentence was impossible to finish.
Jonah held up a hand. “My brother is no innocent amongst women. Trust me on this.”
“That is hardly reassuring.” She turned her face away.
“Hardly news, either. Come now, Mirrie. You know Tristan, good and bad. He has taken a long line of willing women to his bed. None of them e’er became his betrothed. And not for want of wrangling, I’ll wager.”
“Jonah. I don’t know what to do.” It was the first time in her life she had felt so lost.
“I myself have called him impulsive. But oft-times, I daresay that which we label impulsive behaviour is but an example of his quick decision making. And you must see that quality is a strength.” He lowered his voice. “It perchance saved my father’s life, this last month. And I’ve no doubt that many a battle has been won because of it.”
Emotion was welling up inside her, like a dam that was sure to burst.
“Would you want to change him?” he asked softly.
“Nay.” She wrapped her arms about her chest. “’Tis as you say. I know him, good and bad.”
And I love him, good and bad.
“Well then.” Jonah leaned back and tipped his face to the evening sun, giving her time and space to process her rambling thoughts.
“How come you are so ready to defend him?” she asked, as the thought occurred to her. “You are hardly his greatest ally.”
Jonah smiled. “I feel the time has come to put my childish envy of Tristan to one side. Does he exasperate me? Aye, and I’ve no doubt he will continue to do so. But he is also a man I am proud to call my brother.”
He shuffled forward and lowered himself to the ground, wincing as he did so.
“Do you need help?” She sprang to her feet, ready to extend her hand.
“Do not fret, sweet Mirrie. I can manage this and more.” He winked at her. “I am endeavouring to mend my long-time reputation asthe Scowler. And I find that walking in these beautiful hills helps to heal my body and soul so that my smiles come more readily.”
Mirrie put her hands behind her back, trying to keep her expression neutral. “I for one never called you that.”
“Nay, but I know it was a common refrain amongst Frida and Tristan.” He thought for a moment. “I even heard it from Esme’s lips. Though Isabella rarely took her attention from her looking glass for long enough to notice anyone or anything else around her.”
She pulled a face. “Your assessment is harsh.”
“But fair?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Fair.” She allowed herself to smile. “No one has called you the Scowler for some time.”
“So my methods must be working.” He clapped an arm about her shoulder in a brotherly way. “I will return to the hall. Pray, think on what I have said.”
“I will.” She nodded.
How could I do anything else?
Impatience gripped at her limbs, but she could think of no place else to go. She hadn’t dared venture down to the cove since she had met with Tristan down there. The memories would be too close, too painful to endure. She could not bear the chatter and bustle of the great hall, filled with labourers come in from the fields. Nor did she wish to leave the safety of the estate so late in the day.
She could only sit with her back to the hard stone, her hands wrapped around her legs, her mind whirling relentlessly round and around the same refrain.
