Chapter Nine
Adam was both sorry and not sorry that the weather had been so inclement.
Four days had passed since Esme’s first lesson; days of unending rain, wind and fog.
He had told her they could not progress until the situation improved, and he had expected an argument from the feisty young miss, but Esme had demurred as if she did not much mind one way or the other.
But as the days went on, Adam found that he minded very much.
He had been out of sorts for that first lesson. Mostly because of her appearance in those snug-fitting braccae. His mind had gone immediately to a place that was entirely inappropriate.
To cover his discomfort, he had been brusque in his instructions. Mayhap even rude.
“Is she avoiding me, do you think?” he asked the black cat who was purring around his ankles.
Felicity looked up at him, her golden eyes unblinking.
He had anticipated a summons to play chess or… something, in the absence of aught else. But Esme had been keeping mostly to her chamber. And so, Adam had kept mostly to his.
The days had grown long with little to occupy himself with.
Which was ridiculous, as he was well used to finding tasks to pass the time.
But he could not settle to anything. It was too damp and cold to enjoy a ride over the hills.
And once he had finished whittling two wooden swords, a sort of lethargy had swept over him.
He missed Esme’s company. Missed her brightness and energy.
“I am an old fool, which is worse than being a young one,” he told the cat.
Felicity mewed and Adam picked her up, holding her against him as he gazed out of the narrow window of his high chamber. This fifth day had dawned dry at least. Did he dare to hope that things were about to change?
Resolve formed within him. As pleasing as his chamber was, with plastered walls and clean wooden furnishings, he could not skulk about in here any longer. He was a man of action, not philosophy.
A sharp knocking broke into his thoughts.
He put down the cat and crossed the floor to open the door, somewhat startled to find Jonah waiting in the narrow corridor beyond.
He must have ascended the servant’s stairs to arrive here, which would be a difficult climb. But Adam knew to hide his surprise.
He bowed. “How can I be of service, milord?”
The young man was a healthier color than he had been when Adam first arrived. His finely drawn features were no longer pinched with pain, and his shoulders were not so hunched.
Jonah waved his hand. “Please, do not stand on such ceremony. I have grown unaccustomed to it.”
Adam inclined his head. “Would you like to come in?”
He was expecting the young lord to refuse. But instead, Jonah nodded and preceded him into his chamber. He did not glance about but stood politely, just inside the doorway.
“’Tis about my sister,” he announced with no preamble.
“Esme?” Adam raised his brows.
“Indeed.” Jonah pursed his lips, momentarily discomfited.
Is he about to warn me off?
A jolt of adrenaline shot through Adam’s belly, surprising him with its intensity.
“I have come to ask a favor.” Jonah looked him boldly in the eye.
“Go ahead.”
“Please could you resume your lessons?” Jonah winced a little. “Fencing or sword-fighting or whatever it is you were teaching her.”
Adam’s eyes flared with surprise. His knees went weak with relief. “That is the favor?”
“She is skulking about like a bull with a sore head. I cannot write, nay I cannot even think, with her in such a temper. Please, take her outside and distract her.”
Adam found a smile fighting to take hold of his lips. “As it happens, I was thinking that this day would be opportune for our lessons to resume.”
“You mean I climbed all the way up here for naught?” Jonah sagged against the doorframe, causing Adam to step forward with alarm.
“Allow me to help you.”
Jonah shook his head. “I can manage, thank you. And I spoke partly in jest. ’Tis good to challenge myself, every now and then. Mayhap I will join your lessons myself, one day.”
Adam recalled Esme’s comments about her brother’s prowess with a sword.
“’Tis more likely you will have skills to teach me,” he offered.
Jonah clapped him on the shoulder; the gesture had surprising strength behind it.
“Your fine words do you credit, my good man, but nay. I am the son of an earl, but I am no fool. How can a man who spends his day writing poems hope to wield a weapon more effectively than a man who spends his days in battle?” He limped past him back to the corridor. “You will speak to Esme?”
“I shall,” Adam promised.
Jonah gave him a brief nod and went on his way.
Adam turned back to Felicity, who had curled up on his narrow pallet. “I guess the matter is settled.”
Sometime later, he and Esme had returned to the patch of ground by the standing stones.
Esme was again dressed in braccae, but this time he did not permit himself to be so affected by it.
The lady was a little subdued, certainly more outwardly attentive than she had been on the previous occasion.
He demonstrated how to lunge and how to block, and she copied him with pleasing accuracy, but with none of the banter he found himself craving.
“You are doing well,” he told her.
She smiled at that, making his heart lift a little.
“I am sorry if I did not give you that impression, the last time we met,” he ploughed on.
Esme’s lips formed an O of surprise. “’Twas hard work, in the fog,” she suggested.
“Aye.”
“As you said it would be.” Her gaze shied away from his. She lifted her new wooden sword so it rested across her palms. “Thank you for this.”
“’Tis nothing.”
“You whittled it, especially for me. For us,” she amended, blushing slightly. “’Tis not nothing.”
“I enjoy keeping busy.”
How trite that sounded. And unfeeling. Adam had been too much amongst fighting men these last years. He had forgotten how to be soft and open.
But Esme was still looking up at him, as if what he said had value. “You have made many of these?”
“A fair few.” He folded his arms across his tunic, wishing he were not so tongue-tied.
Esme lifted her plait from the back of her neck. “Do you mind if we sit for a while? The sun has surprising warmth to it, and I would appreciate a rest.”
“Of course.” He escorted her to a level stone where she could sit and rest, all the while cursing himself for his rough manners. “You should have said,” he muttered, propping the wooden sword beside her.
She fixed her gaze over the cliffs, at the blue sea sparking in the distance.
“I see that you are blaming yourself for tiring me, Adam. And therefore, I cannot keep up the pretense. I am not tired. I am simply curious about your life and wish to ask you some questions.” She shaded her eyes from the sun and offered her most radiant smile.
A smile that was as disarming as her blunt honesty. Much as he disliked conversations about the past, Adam found himself sinking down onto a nearby stone and reluctantly accepting her request. “What would you like to know?”
“I received word from Frida this morn. They have all arrived safely at Kielder Castle. She says it is unlike anywhere she has ever known. What could she mean by that?”
Adam thought for a moment. “The castle itself is a bleak and cheerless place, it’s walls have seen neither love nor laughter for many summers now.” He paused to throw her an appraising look. “Is this what you wished to ask me?”
“Nay, but Frida’s letter made me think more of your situation. How does the son of a farmer find himself training warriors for Rory Baine?”
Despite his trepidation over the subject, he chuckled at her directness. “My father was a farmer, local to here as it happens.” He spoke on before she could question him further on this point. “But he was also a Scot.” He paused, allowing her to digest this information.
“You are part Scottish?”
“I am.” He noted that she did not appear overly shocked.
“Just as Callum is?”
“Just so.” He nodded. “My father served Rory’s father when he was Laird of Kielder.
Rory was his friend. They came down to join a campaign in the borderlands and became separated from the rest of their troops.
” He pulled at some long grass, letting the stalks fall through his fingers.
It was many years since he had last told this tale, and it had somehow grown more painful to think of his father—and of Rory Baine—as those lost young men.
Esme was sitting forward on the stone, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her expression was rapt. “Go on.”
“’Twas winter. Not a sensible time for campaigning.
” He cleared his throat. “Rory and my father spent several days wandering in the mist. They were cold and hungry. Entirely by chance, they wandered into the grounds of Egremont House, where Lady Elizabeth Kerr took pity on them. She was Callum’s mother,” he added, seeing her look of confusion.
“She showed mercy to her enemies?”
“She was a kind and merciful woman.” A brisk breeze stirred the folds of his belted tunic as he recalled Lady Elizabeth’s gentle smile and calming presence. “You can guess what happened next?”
Esme wrinkled her pretty nose. “She and Rory must have married. But I always thought that Rory was not a kind man?”
He couldn’t help but smile at that, even as a sharp bit of stone dug into his thighs. “That is a fair assessment. But love is a powerful thing. And Rory once loved his wife, very much.”
Who knows what kind of man he may have become, had Lady Elizabeth not died when she did?
Perchance Adam’s future—and Callum’s too—would have turned out very differently.
“What about your own father?” Esme asked softly.
“He also married a local woman.” Adam pushed down his emotions. “You said once that it is not common for a warrior to seek a life of peace. But my father was all too happy to lay down his weapons.”
“And he farmed land near here?” Esme swiveled her head around, as if she might be able to spy Adam’s childhood haunts from where she sat.