Chapter Five
The horse he had chosen from the stables was surefooted and fleet. Before he fully realized what he was planning, Adam found himself cantering up the overgrown cart track which had once led to Clara’s farm.
He had not intended to travel this far, but an urge to flee had come upon him when his eyes met with those of Lady Esme over the fully laden luggage cart.
There had been danger in the look that passed between them.
Danger rooted in the first flicker of desire, that he must extinguish before it had chance to take hold.
Still, he was cross with himself. ’Twas the first day of his duties in guarding Lady Esme, and already he had neglected her. But Callum had departed Ember Hall only this morning. Surely word would not have spread about the lady’s unprotected status?
He must hope and pray that it had not.
He reined in the horse as it crested the hill, allowing his gaze to roam over the landscape of his childhood.
A landscape that was so much altered it caused him actual, physical pain.
The Gowen farm had once nestled in a wooded valley, smoke billowing from the chimney, chickens clucking in the yard.
Joe Gowen was an honest farmer, up toiling before daybreak and not hanging up his tools till long after sunset.
His wife raised five daughters without ever losing the gleam of love and light in her eyes.
Clara was the eldest, born the same year as Callum.
Both sets of parents had approved of the match between them.
Even when Callum went to serve Rory Baine at Egremont House, there was no question that he and Clara would one day marry.
Adam had visited the farm whenever he had a day free. Which was not often.
“All of this will be yours, one day,” Joe Gowen would tell him.
Adam had never planned to spend so long in the service of Rory Baine. He was raised a farmer’s lad and longed to swap his broadsword for a hoe. His father’s lands had been reclaimed by the estate upon his death, but Adam hoped to earn them back.
More than a dozen summers later, Adam’s heart beat hollowly in his chest as he looked down upon the smoke-blackened ruins of the once foursquare farmhouse.
The whole Gowen family had been slaughtered whilst he, unaware, polished swords in the armory and dreamed of a future that would never be.
Egremont House was less than an hour’s ride from here.
He knew the way like the back of his hand.
If someone had raised the alarm, he might have been able to offer assistance.
Alas, the Gowens had neither the coin nor the will to hire guards.
Not even after the Battle of Bannockburn, when retaliatory Scottish raiding parties had grown indiscriminate in these parts.
Although Adam had never thought this raid was indiscriminate.
The Gowen’s were recognized as hard workers; their lands known to be fertile. The harvest had only recently been brought in.
Adam could not think that any of this was a coincidence.
As if sensing his distress, his horse enacted a side-stepping dance, flinging his head up and down.
“Steady there,” Adam soothed him.
But his own eyes were glassy with tears as fresh memories assaulted him. Up ahead was the oak tree, where he and Clara used to meet. Beneath its boughs they had exchanged their youthful promises, and he had stolen kisses from her willing lips.
That and more besides.
They had been but a sennight from their wedding day.
Enough.
There was a reason he kept such memories firmly locked inside his heart. Emotion had no place in the life of a warrior.
Gritting his teeth, Adam turned the horse around and pointed him back toward Ember Hall. He would return to his duties and not neglect them again.
The September sun was beginning to descend behind the hills as he turned into the gates of the hall.
The guards recognized him and stood aside to allow him through without a word.
He trotted up the well-trodden path, feeling the familiar ache in his legs and back.
In all his five and thirty summers, he had never felt so weary.
The horse knew well which stable belonged to him. Adam was obliged to dismount rapidly, before the horse carried him all the way inside. A passing stable lad laughed at his misfortune.
“He’ll be wanting his oats,” the lad opined. “Shall I take him from you, sir?”
“Nay, do not trouble yourself. I shall see to my own horse.” Adam smiled to take the sting from his words. It was nice to hear the accent of his childhood, even though he had grown well used to the highland brogue spoken at Kielder Castle.
He led the horse into a good-sized, well-swept stable and removed the saddle and bridle, calculating how long it was since he last stepped on English soil.
Those painful months immediately after Clara’s death were all a blur to him. Lady Elizabeth, Callum’s sweet-natured mother, was taken from them at a similar time, leaving Adam with no one to turn to.
No one but Rory Baine, who was determined to return to the highlands.
They had left Egremont House some four and ten summers since.
At first, Adam had journeyed north with the full intention of taking revenge for Clara’s death.
Rory’s relentless insistence on training meant he was battle-ready and strong.
His body was fit and his blood burned for vengeance.
But the Scots, he soon learned, were just normal people going about their normal lives.
He could hardly butcher an innkeeper and call it retribution.
Before he could turn about, they were at Kielder Castle, where Adam had remained ever since.
In place of hatred, bonds of friendship and loyalty grew toward the men he served alongside, every day.
He ate with them, sang with them, grieved with them.
When Kielder Castle was razed by English troops, he shared his comrades’ anger and despair.
He gazed upon the bloody pile of lifeless bodies inside the curtain wall, and did not think those deaths were any less senseless because of their Scottish descent.
It was not until he beheld the youthful beauty of Lady Esme, that he realized how much time had passed by; how old he had become.
Adam patted the horse, who was diligently eating his way through a bucket of oats, before picking up his saddle and carrying it out of the stable.
Despite his misgivings, he had been right to visit Clara’s old home and remember exactly why he had barricaded his heart.
He must take care to ensure those defenses remained in place.
Adam took the horse’s tack to the harness room and nodded to the grooms gathered there. Lips tightening with purpose, he walked through the arched front door of Ember Hall, stepping into a different world.
Heat and light enveloped him, making him blink after the gathering darkness outside. His mouth watered at the scent of roasting meat and garlic which was wafting from the kitchen. But the most transformative element of all, was the singing.
He sagged against a carved dresser in the stone-flagged entrance hall as the emotions he had tried to lock away instead burst free and enveloped him.
With every sweetly sung note, more of Adam’s defenses crumbled.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes when the lady’s voice soared high, and when she finally drew to a close, he was done for.
Praise be, no one was there to witness his temporary vulnerability.
Adam straightened his back and waited for his customary calm rationality to take over. Once he was sufficiently composed, he continued his path to the great hall, where domesticity awaited.
Orange flames flickered in the hearth. Esme sat on a tapestried chair, drawn close to the fire.
On her lap was curled the little black cat of this morn.
Esme still sang, only quietly, as if to herself.
One hand stroked the purring cat whilst the other supported her head.
Her hair, golden as the sun, rippled down her back.
Adam wanted to melt away, to preserve this vision of beauty without spoiling it with his big boots and sullenness. But Esme was already turning towards him, her rosy pink lips turning up in the bright smile he had come to associate with her.
“Adam,” she said warmly as if they were old friends.
He made an awkward sort of bow. “Lady Esme.”
“I am so pleased to see you. Felicity and I have been longing for some company. Come and sit beside me.” She indicated another chair, close to the hearth.
Adam’s legs carried him forward, even as his mind conjured myriad reasons why he should walk away.
“Have you had a pleasant day?” she asked innocently.
Adam gave her another glance as he perched on the chair. She did not seem cross at her abandonment, only happy that he had returned.
“Pleasant enough.” His voice was too rough for this room, for this lady.
“The day has dragged for me.” She threw him another smile. “Tell me, do you know how to play chess?”
The question startled him. Aye, he knew. ’Twas one way to pass the long hours of darkness in a highland winter. He shifted uncomfortably in the grand chair.
He should lie.
But her cornflower blue eyes were fixed upon him, and he could not tell an untruth under her all-seeing gaze.
“I do.”
She clasped her hands together, startling the cat who gave a quiet mew of protest.
“Excellent. There is a set in the solar. We can bring it in after dinner.”
“Do you play, milady?”
He couldn’t help himself. He was curious.
And her smile is radiant, and life is short.
“Badly.” Her expression grew mischievous. “Perchance you can instruct me in how to improve my game?”
He cleared his throat, telling himself that the warmth in his cheeks was due to his proximity to the fire.
“I am hardly skilled enough to be your teacher. I am certain your brother, Lord Jonah, must be a better player.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Jonah is far too clever to waste his time on a dullard like me.” She stroked the cat who resumed its loud purring.
“Besides, my brother has stated his intentions of remaining in the solar. You will have to forgive his rudeness; Jonah has always been a law unto himself. I’m afraid ’tis just you and I, Adam. ”
Just you and I.
Whilst Esme’s attention was fixed on the cat, Adam allowed himself to glance in her direction.
Now that he had spent more time in her company, he could see that her resemblance to Clara was spurious.
They were both slender young women, with golden hair and winning smiles. That was the beginning and end of it.
What had put him so in mind of his lost love, was the way Esme made him feel.
’Twas the way Clara had once made him feel.
Light of heart. Hopeful. As if life was his for the taking.
He leaned back against tapestried head rest and tried to recall why he had been so adamant to stay away from her.
“I am glad to discover you play chess. You do not have the appearance of a man much used to rest and relaxation.”
Surprised, he swung his gaze to meet with hers. “How so?”
“Even sitting in this chair, you are not relaxed. Your body is braced to flee.”
He could not tell her the truth.
That my wariness is on account of her beauty.
“There is little room for relaxation in the life of a warrior.”
She considered this with her head to one side, as the logs crackled in the grate and the setting sun cast a fiery glow about the distant hills, still visible through the open shutters.
“Even now? With peace declared between England and Scotland? My brother Tristan is a knight through and through, but even he has lain down his sword and embraced the life of a happily married man.”
Her words stung like saltwater on a fresh wound.
Adam avoided her gaze and closed his mind to what he might have enjoyed as a happily married man.
“I would argue that now is as fraught a time as any, milady.” His voice showed his strain. “England has a young, impressionable King who stands in the shadow of an ambitious interloper, ever greedy for more.”
“Roger Mortimer.” Esme nodded. “He has dined at Wolvesley, with my father.”
But Adam was no longer thinking of Roger Mortimer. He considered instead that he was an ambitious interloper, daring to converse with the daughter of an earl as if he were her equal.
When his duties were to guard her, as a servant.
He abruptly rose to his feet, making the startled cat jump down to the floor.
“I will bid you good night, milady.”
Esme’s eyes opened wider. “But the sun is barely setting. We have not yet eaten.”
“’Tis not my place to eat beside you,” he said gruffly.
Esme stood up, graceful as a dancer. “You must eat, Adam.”
He was gauche and awkward at her side. “With the servants, in the kitchen.”
“Nay.” She made an impatient gesture. “You are a personal friend of Callum’s.”
“I serve his father.” He fixed his gaze on the knots of wood in the floor.
“Must I beg you for your company?” She folded her arms across her chest and smiled sadly.
Nay, my fragile resolve would not withstand that.
“I beg you not to.”
He must walk away from her; else he might sit back down in the comfortable chair and forget all that held him upright in life.
Adam bowed awkwardly and strode from the room.