Page 15 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

The weight had fallen from his shoulders. Relief made him feel vital and alive. He wanted to swing the druid into the air and kiss her, but instead he stepped forward and grasped her hands in his.

“Truly? He will live?”

Juliana nodded, her intelligent green eyes glinting to show she understood how he felt. “He will sleep a while longer yet. When he awakes, he should eat. He needs to recover his strength.”

Tristan looked across to his father’s bed. Angus slept on, much as before, but his breathing was stronger and colour had returned to his face. He looked like a man who slumbered, rather than a man inches from death.

“I should tell my mother.” He didn’t want to walk away from Juliana, but duty called.

She gave him a slow smile. “Indeed, you should. I will leave so she can visit with her husband in peace.”

“Nay.” Tristan was emphatic. “You are our honoured guest. You may leave this chamber, of course. But please, you must dine at Wolvesley with us this night.” He was already walking towards the door, plans brimming in his mind.

At the other side, stood Molly, just as he had hoped.

“Show Miss Juliana to the best guest chamber,” he ordered.

“And have the kitchens prepare a broth for when my father awakens.”

Molly’s small hands flew to her cheeks. “Milord will awaken?”

Juliana appeared by his side, smiling with soft reassurance. “Before midday, I would wager.”

Molly dropped into a curtsy. “Praise be,” she muttered, wonderingly.

Tristan left the two women together and strode off towards his mother’s solar. Exultation was battling weariness now, for he had not rested since rising at Ember Hall the day before. The keep was still a strange, quiet place. He should tell his mother that a celebration feast was in order.

He flung open the door and stood blinking, for a moment, at the brightness within.

His mother and Mirrie sat side by side on the cushioned window seat, haloed by light.

They had their sewing on their knees, but neither of them applied themselves to it.

His mother’s face was pale and drawn with fatigue.

Mirrie’s eyes were red-rimmed. She was the first to stand when she saw him.

“What news?” she asked, uncaring of her sewing which had fallen to the floor.

He nodded briefly. “My father will live.”

His mother made a strangled sound, her hands going together as if in prayer. Mirrie looked from one to another.

“The druid?” she began.

“Has accomplished what I brought her here to do.” Tristan drew himself up to his full height. Both of them had doubted him.

Mirrie smiled, transforming her into the young woman he knew. “I’m so pleased.” She dropped to her knees beside his mother. “The worst is over.” She gripped Morwenna’s hands. “Your prayers have been answered.”

His mother’s lips shook and tears shone in her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came out.

“Go to him,” Tristan urged. “Go and see for yourselves.” He threw them a smile. “We shall have feasting and revelry at Wolvesley this night.”

His mother drew herself to a standing position, though her whole body still trembled. “’Tis a little early for feasting, my boy.”

“Go to him and see for yourself,” he repeated.

She crossed the room towards him and took his hands. “I will. And if all is as you say, I shall thank you from the bottom of my heart. But I shall attend no merry-making until my husband is at my side.”

He inclined his head, conscious of the long days she had spent in the sick room. “You will at least take some rest.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Aye, if I am persuaded of his recovery. And I must get word to your brother and sisters. Though it seems you were right, Tris, in your decision to wait before sending for them. ’Twould have caused unnecessary alarm.”

Tristan turned to Mirrie. “Go with her,” he urged. “See for yourself that all will be well. Then dine with me, please.”

Mirrie reached up and patted her hair, a little self-consciously.

She looked especially lovely, he realised, in a more formal gown than she was wont to wear at Ember Hall.

He hadn’t noticed, earlier in the stable yard.

Too many concerns had crowded his mind. But now, he wanted her by his side once more, his lifelong friend. His ally.

A smile flickered across her lips. “I must attend your mother for as long as she needs me,” she replied, carefully.

“Of course.” He waved his hands dismissively. “Do what you must, both of you. But go, now. Before my father awakens and finds himself alone.”

That was enough to make both of them hurry from the chamber, skirts trailing behind them. Tristan heaved a deep sigh and eyed the window seat speculatively. It called to him, soft and comfortable. He could curl up there and rest. His eyelids seemed to droop at the very idea.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Tristan spun around to see Alfred, his manservant, hovering in the doorway.

“Milord.” He bowed in greeting.

“Alfred.” Tristan crossed his arms. “’Tis mighty good to see you.”

“Can I fetch you refreshment?” Alfred’s eyes lingered on Tristan’s travel-stained tunic. “Mayhap a bath and a change of clothes?”

Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. “All of the above,” he declared. “But first of all, what I need is sleep.”

*

Some hours later, Tristan was dressed and refreshed, presenting his usual golden-hued self to the world—or at least to the now-bustling keep of Wolvesley Castle.

It was a relief to hear booted feet treading the stone steps and see the green flash of liveried servants once more about their work.

He had slept deeply before bathing, shaving and forcing a fine-toothed comb through his thick and curling hair.

Energy hummed within him. After three days of hard-riding and distress, he was ready for some fun.

“Is Miss Mirabel about?” he asked Alfred, as his manservant finished straightening his fresh tunic of dark blue.

“I have not seen her, milord. I believe she is resting.”

“And my mother?”

“Still with his lordship.” Alfred bowed his head. “Though I understand Lord Wolvesley recovered enough to speak some words to her.”

“That is good news, Alfred.” Tristan watched him through the looking glass. “And what of Miss Juliana?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “The healer who was once friends with Lady Frida?”

Tristan nodded.

“I glimpsed her some time past, walking by the lake.”

Where else? It made sense that a druid would feel compelled to be out of doors on such a glorious day. Tristan looked towards the window. The noon day sun had begun its descent and shadows were beginning to lengthen across the lawns, but it would not be dark for a long while yet.

He clapped Alfred on the shoulder. “I shall go and walk with her.”

“Very good, milord.” His reply was rather stiff and it occurred to Tristan that his loyal servant had no great fondness for Juliana.

So be it. The woman had cured his father. That fact alone was enough to elevate her in Tristan’s opinion. And in his well-deserved mood of celebration, he didn’t allow himself to question how much of his approval rested in the woman’s handsome face and arresting smile.

With a final nod of thanks to Alfred, Tristan left his private chamber and tripped down the wide staircase into the sunlit entrance hall.

Unlike earlier, the usual low hum of conversation echoed down the corridor from the great hall, where he fully expected fires to be lit and tables laid ready for a celebration tonight.

He emerged into the warmth of the afternoon, newly energised by the balmy air which carried the scent of summer grass.

He put his hands on his hips and looked about him.

The fountain had never looked grander, the lawns never greener.

He was home, in every sense of the word.

His keen eyes travelled over the flower beds, which were blue with the cornflowers specially cultivated at Wolvesley as they were a favourite of his mother’s.

And a favourite of Mirrie’s too, if he recalled correctly.

And there was Juliana, more striking than ever as she walked delicately along the gravel path from the lake.

She looked every bit the visiting lady, with her glossy hair pinned atop her head.

If only his mother could put her age-old fear of sorcery to one side and show a more fitting welcome to the woman who had saved his father’s life.

Morwenna had long-dreaded the finger of suspicion being pointed at them, especially given Frida’s one-time gifts, but that danger had now passed.

Frida no longer talked to people who weren’t there, nor did she prophesise the future with unerring accuracy.

The de Nevilles had nothing to hide—with or without the might of the Earl of Wolvesley to protect them.

All of which meant that Morwenna had no reason to fear Juliana’s presence amongst them. It was habit and exhaustion, he decided, which had caused her to react with such alarm.

A genuine smile creased his face as he walked towards her. “I am glad to have found you,” he greeted her, simply.

Juliana curtsied low. “My lord.”

“Tristan, please,” he corrected her. “Will you walk with me?” he offered his arm.

“I have just come from the lake.” She hesitated a moment before placing her slender hand on his elbow. “’Tis a place of great peace and beauty.”

“’Tis a marvellous place to swim on a hot day,” he countered, catching her flash of a smile before she hid it. “Do not tell me, Juliana, that you have ne’er known the pleasure of immersing yourself in cool water under the summer sun?”

She put her head to one side, her eyes glinting like a bird. “For myself, my lord, I prefer to bathe under the light of the stars.”

A laugh rumbled through him. God’s bones, it was good to be carefree. “That is a better plan by half.” He pretended to mull it over. “Will you join me there, after dark?”