Page 37 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Tristan left enough time for Mirrie to flee, then he forced his leaden limbs back to Ember Hall.

He would take his horse and leave. At this time of year, darkness would not fall for many hours yet. He had time enough to ride back to Wolvesley Castle.

Even if that were not so, he reasoned he must leave. There was naught now to stay for. And the fierce energy that had carried him over the moors to this remote northern outpost, was now entirely deflated.

He dragged his booted feet through the shingle, feeling his usual optimism shrivel and die.

He had come here to mend the rift that had sprung up between him and Mirrie; and to see if their relationship might be set onto a different path. But now they were further apart than ever before.

Tristan knew a hot wave of frustration. What else could a man do but profess love for a woman and ask her to marry him?

Naught.

He clenched his hands into fists as the shingle turned to compacted earth and rose up into a steep incline before him.

She had once been a puzzle he was determined to solve. Now she was the woman who had hurt him, without good cause. One who would not see reason; who refused to be budged. He had never before thought of Mirrie as stubborn, but now he saw that the label suited her well.

Tristan put his hands on his knees and took a deep, steadying breath. Anger was beginning to rise up inside him, twisting his thoughts into something dark and ugly.

He must remember that Mirrie was hurting too. She had shed tears; her distress was palpable.

He would have offered comfort, but she would not accept it.

He ran a hand through his hair, conscious of his dishevelled appearance as he passed the hayfields, still abuzz with bustle and hard work.

No one spared any attention to the ill-dressed lord, walking with such great weariness that he could hardly raise his hand in greeting. And for that at least he was grateful.

He reached the courtyard without meeting another soul.

The place appeared deserted; everyone was lending their strength to the bringing in of the harvest. Good.

He could make his departure with no further delay.

He had already spied the inky black ears of his charger when someone said his name, stopping him in his tracks.

“Tristan.”

He turned to see Frida looking none too pleased. Her hands rested on her hips and her mouth turned down in a thin line. Usually his elder sister radiated calmness and serenity, but not today.

“Frida.” He stood where he was, his arms hanging by his side.

“I am glad to have seen you before I leave. Glad also to find you and the babe so well.” In truth, he had spared his new niece little more than a cursory glance before rushing off to find Mirrie, but she had struck him as a healthy, pretty little thing, and he was not quite so caught up in his own affairs to forget that.

Frida made a disgruntled sound. “Thank you, but I am not here to talk about the babe.”

“What then?” He opened his palms in a show of ignorance, though he knew it could only be one thing.

“Mirrie,” she said, walking closer and fixing him with a hard stare. “What has happened between you?”

Tristan found himself wishing for a courtyard full of workers. “You have seen her?” he hedged.

“Just now.” Her voice quavered. “Tristan, if you have done what I think you have done…” She trailed off.

He broke her gaze, looking instead at the pink roses climbing outside the front door of the hall. “I might as well say it. I seduced her.”

“Oh, Tris.” Her hands covered her mouth.

“And then I asked her to marry me,” he added, the fact of it still causing him pain.

Frida relaxed her stance but looked more bewildered than before. “And she refused you?” Disbelief rippled through her words.

“She accepted me, at first.” He shrugged. “But as I understand it, the lady has now declined my offer.” He tried to keep his expression neutral and his emotions tightly locked inside.

“Tristan,” she said again, shaking her head so her silvery blonde hair streamed behind her. “When will you get this right?”

He laughed without humour, the sound bitter and harsh. “I begin to think I never will.” He turned back to his charger. “But do not worry, Frida. I will be gone before Mirrie sets foot outside again.”

“She has not yet come in,” his sister retorted impatiently. “What do you mean, you are leaving?”

“There is no reason for me to stay.”

“You are running away?” He heard her light footsteps running to catch up with him.

“I am returning to Wolvesley,” he corrected her, pausing to meet her gaze before opening the stable door. “I will not stay where I am not wanted.”

Frida seemed to expand with rage. “So that is it? You will go away, give up, leave Mirrie devastated?”

He leaned on the half wooden door, weariness washing over him along with the scent of hay and horse. “What else would you have me do?”

“Fight for her.” Frida stepped closer, looking as if she might land a punch herself. “For the first time in your life, Tristan, fight for something other than land or glory.”

His ire sparked. “That is unfair. I fight for peace and the safety of my family and country.”

“And now I am asking you to fight for the woman you love.” Frida laid a hand on his arm, holding him tightly when he would pull away. “That is, if you do love her, Tris. Truly.”

“I love her.” The words almost ripped him in two.

“Then find a way to win her.” She stepped back, her arms folded provocatively. For Frida, it was all very simple.

“I have already tried.” He reached out to pat his charger, who came to investigate the commotion at his door. “I tried to tell her the truth of my heart but she would not hear me.”

“Then you must try again.” Frida nodded decisively.

“I doubt that Mirrie would want to see me.”

His sister huffed out a breath. “So what happens now? You say you love her, but you will ride off and live the rest of your life without her?”

“Don’t say that.” He pressed his lips together, unable to countenance such a future. Not now that he knew what true happiness felt like.

“Only cowards run away,” Frida stated. The gleam in her eye showed she knew she had struck a blow.

Tristan clenched his fingers around the stable door. He never could stand being called a coward.

But this was new territory for him. He had faced many battles in his life, but none that struck so deeply into his soul.

“I opened up my heart.” He rested his head on his hands.

“In response, she told me I was reckless, cruel and motivated only by lust.” He groaned into his palms. “Ye Gods, this makes me sound as petulant as a child. Is this what love is, sister? Something that hurts and makes one doubt one’s own mind? ”

Frida considered this. “At times, aye. But love can also bring out the best in a person. And that is what must happen now. You must dig deep.” She leaned over and tapped at his chest. “In here.”

He ruminated on this. “I would fight for her. I would do anything.”

But Frida shook her head. “No swords, no grand gestures. Just you, Tris. You need to convince Mirrie to have faith in you.”

“As a man.” He thought of that long-ago conversation in Mirrie’s bedchamber “Where is she now?”

Frida smiled in triumph. “She was heading for the standing stones the last time I saw her.” She fixed him with another stare. “Please try and choose your words with more care, this time.”

The path to the standing stones was familiar from childhood.

Tristan’s feet knew the way, leaving his mind free to roam.

He recalled racing his siblings over these hills, when naught was more important than his small wooden sword, his trusted pony and the enticing smell of honey cakes wafting from the bakehouse.

When he would have never believed anyone who told him there would come a time he would clash with Mirrie.

That she would strike a blow at the very foundations of his self-belief.

For her steadfast refusal to credit him with reason and rationality had indeed made him question what kind of man he was.

What kind of man he wanted to be.

His men-at-arms had always followed him implicitly into battle. He had commanded mighty armies; been entrusted with perilous negotiations with the most powerful figureheads in England and beyond.

But what good were his skills as a warrior if the woman he loved did not trust him as a man?

“You must decide if you truly love Mirrie. If the answer is yes, what are you going to do about it?”

His mother’s challenge had seemed, on the face of it, so easily met. But now he realised that this was no quick skirmish, swiftly executed with minimal planning. This was mayhap the riskiest campaign of his life.

And the stakes were as high as the chance of failure.

Frida had always loved the standing stones; seven granite monoliths rearing towards the sky in an uneven circle atop the cliffs.

She had spoken of an ancient energy radiating from them, but to Tristan they had represented no more than a place to play.

He would dare his sisters to jump from the tallest stone, thrilled to demonstrate his own strength and bravado.

He supposed they were as good a place to come and think as any other.

At least, that was what Mirrie appeared to be doing.

At first, he could not see her. Then he made her out, leaning against one of the highest stones and gazing out at the sea.

It was only the wind whipping at her tunic that drew his eye.

She seemed as one with the landscape, merging into the hard stone in her desire to hide away from him.

For she knew he was there. His battle-honed instincts told him as much.

But she would not look at him, and this stung him more than her emotional refusal to be his wife. For time had passed, but her anger and upset still persisted. Like the calling of the gulls and the crashing of the waves beneath them.

Like his own anger and upset which still flooded his veins, making it almost impossible to think clearly.

He scuffed his boots in the long grass, unfamiliar with such a strong sensation of awkwardness. He knew not what to say, nor how to say it.

Mirrie was the one to finally break the silence. “Did you come here to find me?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Frida told me where you were.”

He hoped he was not breaking a confidence.

“I am not sure I have anything else to say to you, Tristan.”

Her voice was clipped and steady and this also caused him grief. For Mirrie had always spoken to him with warmth, as if he was someone important in her life.

He cleared his throat. “Allow me to speak, please?”

He waited for her small nod of permission. Her face was drawn and he thought he had never before seen her so cold and remote.

And I am the one who has done it to her.

Nay, he didn’t fully understand all the reasons why. But he would take responsibility anyway. He would do whatever it took to make Mirrie smile again.

To make her believe in him again.

“We have spoken much about the importance of truth between us. I must tell you this, I spoke the truth when I told you I love you. I spoke the truth when I asked you to be my wife. There was no recklessness. No flirting. No intent to disarm you. I spoke from my heart.” He put his hand to his chest.

Mirrie looked down at the grass, but not before he had seen tears shimmering in her eyes.

“But I understand that you doubt me.” He left a beat for his words to fall, nodding with resignation when she still did not react.

“I understand that I need to demonstrate my feelings with more than kisses and passion,” he tried again. “I must prove myself worthy of you.”

God’s bones, how he hated to beg. But he would do this and more.

When she finally spoke, her voice was unnaturally high. “There is no question of worthiness.”

He dared take a step closer. “What then?”

She held up a hand, warding him away. A hand he could no longer naught but heed.

“The question is one of consideration.” She bit down on her lip. “Of serious intent.”

Tristan straightened his shoulders. “Very well. That is all the instruction I need.”

Now he had caught her attention. “What do you mean?”

The plan formed in his mind as he spoke.

“I will leave Ember Hall right away. Like you, I have naught else to say. But I will return in a sennight and once again ask you to marry me. If you refuse me, because you still doubt my serious intent, then I shall try again a sennight later. And so this will go on, for as long as it takes for you to accept that this is no mere whim of mine.”

He made her a formal bow.

“Farewell, Mirabel.”

Her hazel eyes opened wide, but he did not wait for a response before turning on his heel and marching away from the standing stones.

He had laid out the plans for this battle. It was one he intended to win.