Page 6 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)
Dressed and ready, Tristan scanned the chamber for a looking glass but found none. He had to content himself with pulling a wooden comb through his tangled locks and ruffling his hair into a style he hoped would be presentable.
He clattered down the narrow wooden stairs, to find his whole family assembled around the dining table in the great hall. Esme started a languid round of applause as soon as he strode through the archway.
“Hail, he appears at last.”
“Do be quiet,” he countered with a smile. He scanned the long table, which fairly groaned with food. Then his eyes travelled over the assembled faces. He paused when he noticed one was missing. “Where is Mirrie?”
“Outside with the horses,” piped up little Flora, her hands clutching a slice of bread spread with honey. “She said the fresh air would steady her nerves.”
Frida shot her a look between Christopher’s flailing arms. “She said that in confidence to you and I, Flora. I do not think Mirrie wanted it repeated.”
Flora shrugged, her big eyes round with innocence.
Tristan had hoped to sit a while and satiate his hunger while ridding himself of what remained of his wine-induced headache with this tempting spread. But it appeared that duty called him elsewhere.
“I will go out to her.” He leaned over Esme and tore off a heel of bread, inhaling the freshly baked aroma and trying to ignore the rumblings in his belly. “May I beg a skin of ale for the journey, Frida?”
“Mirrie has it all taken care of.” His sister smiled benignly. “We will follow you out and say our goodbyes.”
“We don’t need a leaving ceremony,” he protested.
But it was all in vain. The whole family followed him down the stone-flagged entrance hall and out into the courtyard, where Mirrie stood waiting, along with the small party of armed guards who had ridden with them from Wolvesley.
The hilts of their swords gleamed in the morning sunshine and their emerald green cloaks looked overly formal against the background of barns and scratching chickens.
The horses had been waiting for some time, judging by the way they pawed at the ground with impatience.
Tristan summoned a smile for Mirrie.
“I apologise for my tardiness.”
He thought for an awful moment that she might bob into a curtsy, which would imply some difference in their status that he would prefer to ignore, but she only lowered her head.
“It is no trouble.” She wore a pretty straw bonnet, tied beneath her chin with ribbons bright enough for Esme.
Her riding habit was a light sage green.
Tristan’s heart constricted as he realised this was a deliberate choice. Mirrie had worn Wolvesley green to travel home.
His mood lifted and he crossed the ground between them, laying his hands upon her small ones. “Frida tells me you have arranged food and drink for our journey. Pray tell me this is indeed so, for I am famished.”
She met his eyes for the briefest second, long enough for him to see a dart of excitement in their hazel depths.
’Twas good to see she was happy about the adventure ahead of them. Jonah’s doubts were without foundation, just as he’d thought.
“I have,” she confirmed.
“Of course she has,” Esme chimed in breezily. “We were all raised to anticipate your every whim.”
“If only that were true.” He clasped his youngest sister in a warm embrace. “Be good, Esme. Do not cause too much trouble for Frida.”
“I will be the opposite of trouble. I will be a great help. Callum is going to teach me how to shear the sheep.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows at his brother-in-law. “I wish you luck.”
“And I wish you luck in return.”
The two men clasped hands as the ladies embraced in a flurry of swirling skirts.
“Do not be gone long,” Flora demanded of Mirrie.
“I shall not.” Mirrie bent her knees so she was closer to the little girl. “Do not grow overly tall while I am gone.”
“Do not become such the grand lady that you don’t wish to return,” Frida put in.
Mirrie straightened up as something like regret flickered across her pretty face. “There is little danger of that, Frida.” She smiled with determination. “I shall be back in good time for harvest.”
Tristan nodded emphatically, stepping forward to help Mirrie into the saddle. “If all goes well, I might even come back myself and help.”
A few chuckles met this proclamation. Tristan lifted Mirrie high into the air, forgetting, in his enthusiasm, that she was not a natural horsewoman.
At the last moment, she flung out her leg and caught her balance, but she had come dangerously close to tipping over the other side of the little chestnut horse.
He gripped her thigh to hold her steady, laughing out an apology.
Mirrie’s cheeks flushed red as she fished for her reins and Tristan remembered his conversation with Jonah.
“I will look after you,” he said in a low voice, his head tipped back to look at her whilst one hand remained on her leg. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”
When she met his gaze, he realised she was battling a torrent of emotion.
Mayhap Jonah was right after all? Mirrie might prove to be more sensitive than he had realised.
Deep down, Tristan had always sensed that Mirrie was brave and capable.
But even the bravest individuals suffered a crisis of confidence every now and then.
Tristan gave her leg a reassuring pat as he called for his own horse to be brought forward.
He would ride close beside her, every step of the way.
He would keep his promise to Jonah. And he would make sure Mirrie had an experience she would never forget.