Page 5 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

The day dawned bright and clear, with cornflower blue skies and a promise of heat to come. Tristan had slept with the shutters open; he woke with a smile on his lips, bathed in a pool of light. The morning chorus of birdsong filled the air, louder than a peal of bells from a cathedral.

Laying on his narrow but comfortable pallet in a small guest chamber, Tristan felt all of this as a blessing. Yesterday, he had been peevish and cross when he had awakened, but today all had been restored to its natural order.

He was happy.

He had a plan that was sure to work.

He would get his way.

A fly buzzed near his head and as Tristan swatted at it, his hand glanced across an unfamiliar growth of stubble which made his lips wrinkle with distaste.

He had ridden from Wolvesley in what could only be described as a blaze of bad temper yesterday, not bothering to take the time to shave beforehand.

Now, what he really needed was a good bath and a shave, to remove away the heat and grime of the road, before enduring it all again.

He sat up, groaning at the pain in his head and remembering, regretfully, the strong wine he had drunk with so much relish last night.

A swim in the sea would put much of this to rights.

Tristan heaved himself upwards and took the two steps towards the open window, breathing in big lungfuls of fresh country air tinged lightly with sea salt.

Aye, a swim was just what he needed. He would go down to the cove before breaking his fast.

Whilst Frida had always been drawn to the standing stones during their childhood visits to Ember Hall, Tristan’s deepest love was reserved for the deserted cove, with its rearing granite cliffs and sandy beach.

It was where he had learned to swim—and where he had first learned to defy his parents, for Morwenna did not like her beloved son to go down to the cove alone, but young Tristan could not stay away.

Sounds reached him from the stable yard; horses being led out and stable hands shouting to one another.

He winced at the volume, wondering why there was so much activity at this early hour.

A knock came at his door and he bade the person enter before remembering that he wore nothing more than his braies.

Thankfully, it was only Jonah.

“Brother.” A faint smile hovered across his sensitively-drawn face as he stood in the doorway. “I see I have caught you before you had a chance to dress. Shall I send up a manservant?”

Still grappling with the last vestiges of sleep, Tristan did not realise he was being baited. “I left Alfred behind at Wolvesley. Frida always tells me there is not room enough for manservants here.” He rubbed his eyes. “Has she been lying to me all these years?”

Jonah laughed at him openly. “I am jesting, Tristan. How long is it since you last had to dress yourself? Can you e’en remember how?”

Tristan looked around for something to throw at his younger brother, but the chamber was sparsely furnished and nothing came to hand. He found the grace to smile and waved him in. “Come inside and shut the door, lest I give one of the girls a fright.”

Unperturbed by his near-nakedness, Tristan stretched both arms above his head and yawned widely as Jonah closed the panel.

The months he had spent in France had turned his skin golden-brown, whilst his regular training kept his muscles honed.

Tristan prided himself on his skills with a sword and on his speed and stamina in the saddle.

He kept his body fit and healthy. Last night’s over consumption of wine was not a customary habit.

He leaned out of the window, once again noting the flurry of activity coming from the stable yard around the corner. However, since his chamber looked out over the paddocks and hills to the west of the hall, he could not see what was causing the disturbance.

“Why all the noise?” he asked Jonah, puzzled.

His younger brother folded his arms and leaned against the plastered wall, an unreadable expression passing over his face.

“As ever, we all rush to fulfil your every command.”

Tristan was in no mood for puzzles. “Speak more clearly, brother. I do not have time for this.”

“Indeed you do not.” Jonah’s voice was smooth. “Mirrie is already waiting in the yard. Her bags are packed and her horse is saddled. I came only to see what was keeping you.”

Tristan frowned. “My intention is to bathe at the cove and break my fast before setting out for Wolvesley.”

“And yet you bade Mirrie to be ready to leave at first light.”

Tristan sank down onto the window ledge, his hopes of a swim in the sea plummeting. “I did, didn’t I?” He sighed. “Damnation. I was over-eager to be gone.”

Jonah inclined his head. “Perchance a little.”

Irritation swirled in his gut, firstly at himself, for speaking so rashly yesterday eve, and latterly at those who so unthinkingly followed his instructions. Was it too much to ask for a little peace? To clean the dust from his skin before embarking on another day-long journey?

“There is no need for such haste,” he declared.

“Tell Mirrie to rest awhile. I will not be overly long.” Jonah’s face remained impassive, but Tristan was a quick reader of expressions, and he could see a flicker of something behind his brother’s blue eyes.

He rose to his feet and opened his arms. “What is it?”

“’Tis naught.” Jonah offered a slight bow. “I will take your orders to the yard.”

“Nay.” Tristan raised a hand to stop him. “Has Mirrie been ready a while?”

“Since first light.” Was there a hint of sarcasm in Jonah’s voice?

Tristan bit down on his lip. His irritation had been joined by another emotion, which he belatedly recognised as guilt.

“No one woke me,” he muttered.

“’Tis a hard life indeed, without a manservant.” Now the sarcasm was undeniable.

Tristan stamped down on his displeasure. “You have made your point, Jonah. I will join Mirrie directly.” He glanced about the chamber and scowled. “Is there no bowl of water with which to wash?”

“Warmed water is available in the kitchen. But I will fetch it for you.” Jonah paused in the act of leaving the room. “For Mirrie’s sake,” he added.

Aye. Just as it was for Mirrie’s sake that Tristan would forgo his longed-for dip in the sea.

But it was for his sake that dear Mirrie was leaving her home and entering into a subterfuge which went against her honest nature. He must curb his impatience and remember this.

Jonah returned soon enough with a bowl of tepid water, much of which had been slopped over the stairs on the journey from the kitchen. Again, Tristan silenced the complaint before it reached his lips.

Much longer at Ember Hall and he would turn into a veritable saint.

He expected Jonah to leave whilst he washed, but instead he walked with his uneven stride towards the window, averting his eyes from Tristan’s ablutions.

“May I make a request?”

Tristan had splashed water onto his face and was now rubbing at the grimy skin on his arms with a washcloth. He did not pause.

“Aye.”

Jonah cleared his throat, his gaze still fixed on the fields outside. “Will you be good to Mirrie?”

Tristan stopped and lowered his brows in confusion. “Of course, I will be good to Mirrie. When am I anything but?”

Jonah pursed his lips, as if there was something he wanted to say but could not find the correct words. “She has a sensitive side. She is not like—”

“Not like me?” Tristan finished for him, water dripping down his chest.

“Mayhap I should not have suggested this plan.” Jonah gripped the window ledge in frustration. “We are sending her off to Wolvesley with little thought for her wellbeing.”

Tristan put his hands on his slim hips and stared, his ablutions forgotten. “What the devil do you mean by that?”

Jonah rubbed at his temples, his eyes squeezed shut. “For one thing, she is not a confident horsewoman.”

Understanding dawned. Tristan tossed the washcloth into the bowl and strode forward to clap Jonah’s shoulder. “Your concern does you credit, brother. Have no fear. I will ride close beside Mirrie. God’s Bones, we have had riding accidents enough in this family already.”

The warm water had done much to restore Tristan’s usual good humour. He flung open the small closet and picked out his tunic and breeches, humming all the while.

“I suppose I cannot persuade you to take the carriage?”

Tristan paid this little heed. “The journey is so much slower by carriage. And I have faith in Mirrie, even if you do not.” He threw his brother a look. “As I said, I will ride close beside her.”

Jonah sighed. “That is all I can ask, I suppose.”

“Have no fear.” Tristan was emphatic. “All will be well. Our Mirrie will have the time of her life at Wolvesley. I will make sure of it.”

Though he still did not appear entirely convinced, Jonah left the chamber, muttering something about victuals in the great hall. Tristan had never seen him so domesticated.

As he pulled on his tunic, a thought occurred to him that left him almost winded.

Could it be that Jonah has feelings for Mirrie?

Tristan straightened his clothing, his eyes wide in contemplation. That would certainly explain his profound concern for her wellbeing.

But it would not explain why Jonah himself had concocted the plan for Mirrie to masquerade as Tristan’s betrothed.

Tristan pursed his lips, casting his mind back to the precise events of last night.

Perchance Jonah had not been the one to suggest Mirrie’s name.

But he certainly had not spoken up against it.

Nay, it was most unlikely that Jonah would harbour anything but brotherly affection towards the young woman who had grown up alongside them.

And, viewed in a fraternal light, his diligence in regards to Mirrie’s safety did him credit.

Although Tristan did not think this diligence was necessary.

He had long ago perceived depths of courage and determination in Mirre, that others did not see.