“Nay.” His words came in a rush. “’Tis only that I hardly dared to hope you would speak to me. Much less that you would be waiting. And wanting to hear what I had to say.”
“I am waiting.” She swallowed. “And I am wanting.”
He hooked his arm through the reins so he could take both of her hands in his. “I have a question for you, and it is one I have thought long and hard over.”
Her heart soared and her whole body trembled. “I would like to hear it.”
He stepped closer, so she could hear the raggedness of his breathing and feel the heat from his body.
“Mirabel Duval, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
She nodded, emotion forbidding her to speak.
“I would rather hear your answer than guess at it.”
“I will.” She flung her arms about his neck, rejoicing in the moment his arms closed around her. “I will marry you, Tristan.”
“Despite all my faults?”
“Even because of them.” She could not wait for his kiss. She stood on her tiptoes and claimed it for herself, closing her eyes to savour the sensation of his mouth on hers. His cheeks were raspy with stubble. His powerful body was her port in a storm, now and forever.
“I will spend the rest of my life working to be the man you deserve,” he whispered in her ear.
“You are already that and more.” She cupped his face. “I love you, Tristan.”
He swung her around so her feet flew in the air and the horse startled in surprise.
“I love you, Mirrie. With my heart and my head and every bone in my body.”
“That is mighty lucky.” Happiness made her giggle. “I recall you were most keen to marry for love.”
He set her gently down. “Aye. You see I was right about that.” His voice was playful.
“You are impulsive and rash. But you are most always right, Tristan. That is one of the things I love about you.”
His hands caressed her shoulders. “If I am most always right, ’tis only because I have always had your wisdom to guide me.” His voice had grown serious. “I am naught without you, Mirrie.”
She tipped back her head to make out the brightness of his eyes, gazing down in hers. “Then I had better stay close.”
He ducked down for another kiss. “I am counting upon it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Year of our Lord 1330
Ember Hall, Northumberland
The silvery songof a ruddock accompanied them as they passed through the corn meadow. Blue skies overhead promised another day of beautiful sunshine, but the temperature had not yet climbed high enough to invite discomfort. Nonetheless, Mirrie was pleased to have abandoned her fine gown in favour of a simple linen tunic, belted at the waist and loose over her shoulders. Perchance her attire was not befitting her station as Lady Mirabel de Neville. A station that, slowly but surely, she was beginning to inhabit with confidence. But for today, ensconced in the familiar surroundings of Ember Hall, she was happy to just be Mirrie.
Beside her, Tristan ran his hand over the brightly hued crops, nodding in admiration. He too was dressed simply, in breeches and a crisp white shirt, with his heavy locks of hair shining more golden than the sun.
“It will be another good harvest,” he pronounced, looking about with satisfaction.
“My husband, the farmer.” Her lips turned up into a smile.
He grabbed at her hand and swung it. “See how I was right about the land rotation?”
“I never doubted it,” she assured him, linking her fingers with his and squeezing.
