Page 7 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)
Mirrie had ridden the little chestnut mare a couple of times before. She recalled that the horse’s stride was steady and her manner sensible, but that didn’t stop her from clinging onto the reins for dear life.
Unlike Frida and Esme, she was not a natural horsewoman.
“You are doing well.” Tristan’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. His manner was soothing and if the man didn’t make her pulse pound simply by being nearby, Mirrie might have found his presence something of a comfort.
They had already left behind the well-trodden tracks leading down from Ember Hall. Gone was the familiar scent of woodsmoke and the contours of the land that she loved so well. Soon even the local village would be but a memory.
This is my last chance to turn back.
“Give the mare her head and lengthen your legs down her sides.”
She could feel his eyes upon her. His unfamiliar attentiveness did little to calm her anxiety.
“I am trying,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“You are succeeding,” he corrected her. “And if I am being a bore, please tell me. My only aim is to keep you safe and happy.”
She silently digested this as they passed a group of villagers who stood aside and bowed.
Usually she would have smiled and spoken in greeting, but her concentration was solely on the horse beneath her.
After a while, greatly daring, she allowed a section of rein to slip through her fingers.
The little mare, happy to gain a sense of freedom, strode out with more conviction.
“There you are,” said Tristan.
She glanced up at him. He was riding close, but his height atop his bright bay warhorse meant that he towered above her.
“I am sorry for being such a coward.”
“You are no such thing.” His horse skittered at a clump of gorse but Tristan held him steady.
Mirrie found her lips turning up into a smile. They were passing through open moorland. Above them, the sky was a deep blue. Bluer even than Tristan’s eyes. Aside from the steady beat of their horses’ hooves, all they could hear was the occasional call of a curlew.
Mirrie remembered her determination to snatch at happiness whilst it was within her reach. Here was a lovely day, and the man she loved was by her side. She would allow herself to enjoy it.
“I oft wish I had learned to ride as early as you and the others.”
“Before we could walk, you mean?” Tristan’s grin was almost enough to make her forget she was perched atop a horse, at the mercy of its whims.
She nodded. “Before fear and reason had chance to set in.”
“Well, none of us had a choice in the matter.” He held his reins loosely with one hand, the other arm hanging down by his side. “As you will know, having met my mother.”
They shared a smile. “Your mother is the only reason I can ride at all.”
Lady Morwenna, Countess of Wolvesley, loved horses almost as much as she loved her husband and children.
“Did she have you up on a horse the first day you arrived in Wolvesley?”
Tristan’s tone was light, but Mirrie’s answer was serious.
“Nay. The first day I arrived in Wolvesley, I had hardly the confidence to speak my name, let alone ride a horse.”
Tristan shook his head, his lips pressed together regretfully. “I hardly remember, though I know I should. We had both of us seen near enough ten summers at that time.”
“Eight,” she corrected him.
“To me, it is as if you were always there.” Tristan treated her to one of his widest smiles, but when she found herself unable to return it, contrition filled his eyes. “Forgive me, Mirrie, ’twas a thoughtless thing to say. You must have had a full life before you came to live with us.”
She had. One with loving parents and a happy home. But she had had years to grieve the life she had left behind, and to come to terms with the one she’d been given instead. Her voice was quite steady as she replied.
“I was blessed with kind and caring parents. When they died, I was blessed again to be taken in by your family.”
The small of her back was aching. Mirrie summoned all her courage and placed her reins in one hand so the other could rub at it. The chestnut mare scarcely altered her stride, but her furry ears flickered back and forth, showing she was aware of her rider’s movements.
“Good girl,” Mirrie tried.
Tristan smiled again. “See this? You are becoming a horsewoman before my very eyes. Jonah doubted that you could manage the journey on horseback, but I was sure that you would succeed. Just as you do in all things.”
“You must not flatter me so. I am not used to it.” Mirrie would have loved to disguise the blush now staining her cheeks, but there was nowhere for her to hide up on the moors.
“I am more accustomed to the company of ladies who expect to be flattered,” Tristan quipped.
Of course he is.
Ladies who had been raised to make a match with a wealthy noble. Ladies who knew how to make charming conversation even whilst sitting atop a horse.
Mirrie fought against her habitual self-flagellation. If she and Tristan were to succeed at this ruse, she must take hold of her courage with both hands.
“Well, you are not conversing with them, you are conversing with me,” she retorted, employing the tone of voice Frida sometimes used with Flora. She took a deep breath and added, “Furthermore, you are not on the cusp of declaring your love for them, but for me.”
Tristan chuckled with delight.
“True enough, Mirrie. I thank you for the reminder. From this point on I will pay court to you and you alone. Methinks that will be rather fun.” He ruffled at his golden hair, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“God’s blood, it is hot. And it seems we are the only ones here for miles about.
” He grinned down at her from his warhorse.
“My men have ridden ahead to source a spot for luncheon, but that is some time away yet. What say we stop for a while, just you and I?”
Mirrie felt as if all the air had left her lungs. What is he suggesting?
Some of her confusion must have shown, for Tristan released a great, bellowing laugh which sent birds squawking up from the trees.
“I meant only that we could rest awhile in the shade.” Tristan composed his face with seeming difficulty. “You are quite safe with me, Mirrie, I give you my word.”
She inclined her head, attempting to hide her scalding cheeks.
“I know that.” She huffed out a breath, desperately reaching for her composure. “You are like a brother to me, Tris.”
How smoothly the lie trips from my tongue.
She was only glad that neither Frida nor Jonah was present to witness it. Though neither of them had confronted her on the matter directly, she suspected they both had some inkling of her long-held attraction to the eldest de Neville boy.
“And you are like a sister to me.” He waved a hand. “In truth, some of the time I like you better than my sisters.”
“Now I know that is untrue.”
The moment of danger had passed.
Still smiling, he twisted in his saddle to look at her. “I will ask again. Would you like to stop and rest? There is plentiful shade nearby, and this may be our last opportunity before luncheon.”
Mirrie’s legs and back were aching, but she knew they had many miles ahead of them and did not wish to delay them by requesting a pause in their journey this soon. And besides, her heart still fluttered too quickly for proper conversation.
“Nay, let us continue awhile yet.” Her horse caught up and they rode for a while in companionable silence, but Mirrie was aware that Tristan’s eyes kept turning down towards her. “What is it?” she demanded, hoping fervently that he would make no further reference to his brotherly affection.
“Since we are on the cusp of such intimate acquaintance, I wonder if I might ask you a question?”
Holy hell.
She would have preferred brotherly affection.
But she kept her gaze straight ahead, looking between her horse’s bright chestnut ears. “Go ahead.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “’Tis a little indelicate. If you do not wish to answer, you do not have to.”
Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. “I will keep that in mind.”
Tristan reined in his long-striding horse so they fell into step together.
“Just now, you mentioned the death of your parents. I recall there being some scandal around your father’s passing.
” He had dropped his voice to a whisper, even though there was little chance of them being overheard.
“I always wondered about it, but Father was emphatic that it should not be mentioned.”
“And here you are, disobeying him.”
“’Tis wrong of me.” He bowed his head. “If it pains you to speak of it, then please pretend I said nothing. I’ve no wish to upset you.”
“I am only teasing.” Mirrie smiled, to demonstrate the truth of this. “There is no cause for shame or secrecy. I am proud of what my father did.”
“Which was?” Tristan watched her closely.
“He stood against the King, in favour of the Earl of Lancaster. ’Twas the time of the old King, Edward II. Many men spoke against him, but few were brave enough to take a stand.”
Tristan nodded slowly. “But your father was.”
“Aye.” She twisted her fingers in her horse’s thick mane, keeping herself rooted to the present moment. “He was executed for it. And my mother died of grief soon after.”
“And then you came to live with us.” Tristan’s voice was caring, as if he could sense the weight of her memories.
“My father was a law-maker.”
“Like mine,” Tristan interrupted.
Mirrie nodded. “That is how they met. Father knew that what he was doing was dangerous. He arranged with your father that if anything should happen—” Mirrie’s voice faltered.