Chapter Eleven
To find Esme standing on the other side of his chamber door gave him a jolt of pleasure.
At first, he blinked at the shadows beyond his chamber, thinking her mayhap a specter conjured by his imagination.
But nay. She was flesh and blood; her chest rising and falling after her ascent of the stairs.
He was pleased to see her; that was the simple, honest truth of it.
All day, he had assumed she was avoiding him—and for reasons that were good and understandable—but here she was!
Her golden hair was loose across her shoulders, and she wore a simple gown as blue as her eyes.
Just the sight of her eased the band of tension across his ribs as if her brightness might yet banish the darkness inside him.
Then he saw the panic stamped across her heart-shaped face, and his chest grew tight once again.
“Esme, what ails thee?”
Acting entirely on impulse, he put a hand on her arm, squeezing with what he hoped was gentle reassurance.
But the lady’s eyes filled with tears. “Forgive me.” She sniffed. “I shall be myself again in a moment.”
Adam withdrew his hand, unsure of the etiquette of this situation.
Good manners dictated that he should invite her inside his chamber.
Propriety, surely, did not! But they could not converse on this narrow landing, where the floorboards squeaked whenever anyone moved and the dim light made it hard to see much of anything.
Esme squared her shoulders. “I have come to ask for your help.”
“I will do whatever I can,” he promised, fighting a strong urge to put his arm around her.
“’Tis my brother Jonah. He rode off this morn and has not returned.”
Adam quickly considered this. Jonah was a grown man, and it was not yet fully dark. But Esme’s distress was palpable.
Rather than debate the matter here and now, he pulled his door closed behind him. “Let us go downstairs, where we can talk more easily.”
He should have fetched a candle from his chamber, he reflected, as they made halting progress down the narrow stairs.
The situation put him in mind of the time they climbed the wooden steps to the hayloft, and he had longed to kiss her.
Then of the time when they became entangled in the narrow passage beyond the kitchen, and he so nearly had kissed her.
In contrast to the shadows of the stairwell, the great hall positively blazed with light.
The fire was lit, as were a dozen wall sconces, and flickering candlelight cast a golden glow over the wooden paneling.
The elegant room exuded an air of coziness, but Esme shivered at the bottom of the stairs.
He took her arm and drew her closer to the hearth.
“Sit down,” he instructed. “Shall I ring for some wine? To bring some color back to your cheeks,” he added quickly.
Esme shook her head, although she obediently lowered herself onto a cushioned chair. “Nay. I cannot bide here long. We must find Jonah.” She pressed her hands together, either in supplication or restraint, he could not tell.
Adam forced himself to sit down in the adjacent chair, even though his instincts—as a man—were telling him to put all available distance between himself and this lovely young woman who had seemingly gained control of his heart in the last sennight.
All his resolutions of yesterday had dissolved like morning mist, the very moment she asked him for help.
This was dangerous territory, the likes of which he had never known, where sense and reason did not prevail. He should protect himself from it.
But his instincts as a warrior and a protector of others ruled overall else. For now.
“Tell me what you can.”
Esme pressed her pink lips together. “I watched him ride away. He insisted on mounting the horse himself, even though it pained him to do so. He was in a foul temper.” She hung her head.
Adam’s hand twitched to comfort her. “How do you know that?”
“Because we had an argument.” She lifted her chin, and he saw her blue eyes were glassy with tears. “I said things that I should not have said.”
“I believe ’tis a common occurrence between siblings,” he offered gently.
“Still, there are boundaries one should not cross.” Esme’s voice carried a tremor.
Adam nodded to show he understood. He was an only child, but the men he fought beside were as close as brothers. He knew all about breaching boundaries.
“Where did he go?”
’Twas the wrong question to ask. Esme all but jumped from her chair in distress.
“I have no idea.”
Then how can I find him for you?
He kept this question to himself. “I shall go and speak to the grooms. They may know something more.”
He meant for Esme to remain here, where it was warm and light. But she stood up alongside him and straightened her skirts.
“I am coming with you.”
She spoke as a lady, the daughter of an earl. He was unable to argue.
“At least allow me to fetch you a cloak.”
She gave him a slight smile. “I seem to have requisitioned my sister’s cloak. You will find it on a peg outside the kitchen.”
Frida’s cloak was of serviceable wool. It would keep her warm, he reflected, as he fastened it over her shoulders. ’Twas necessary to keep his mind on the domestic; otherwise, he would gaze at her slender neck and forget who—and where—he was.
As they passed through the arched front door, he grasped a wall torch and held it high to light their way across the cobbles, fixing his gaze at the huddle of outbuildings rather than risk a glance at the beauty by his side.
The yard was peaceful, the air sweet with the scent of hay.
A tall youth with gangly limbs and freckles was talking to a dapple-grey mare as he bolted the stable door, all the while juggling two large buckets.
He startled in fright when he beheld Adam and Esme walking toward him, dropping the buckets which were, mercifully, empty.
Nevertheless, the buckets made a tremendous clatter as they hit the ground and rolled, causing the horse to shy backwards with her ears flattened.
The youth looked mortified. “Beg pardon, milady.”
Esme quickly recovered her composure. “Do not apologize, please. We are the ones who gave you a fright.”
The youth stooped to collect the buckets and Adam saw that even the backs of his ears were red.
He cleared his throat. “We are here to speak to the man who saddled Lord Jonah’s horse this morn.”
The lad looked relieved. “That was John, methinks. I shall fetch him for you.” He scurried away, leaving Adam and Esme standing alone in the pool of light from the torch.
Settled once again, the dapple-grey munched at her hay, occasionally turning liquid eyes in their direction.
Adam was growing increasingly concerned about Esme, whose concern had morphed into an almost frenzied agitation.
She tapped the toe of her boot on the cobbles and hugged herself tightly against the gusty wind.
He cast about for something reassuring to say, but rapid footsteps announced the arrival of John, who bustled around the corner from the barn, wiping his hands on a stiff apron.
John was short, but from Adam’s perspective, so were most men. He looked most alarmed to behold his visitors and gave them both a respectful bow.
“You’re here to ask after Lord Jonah’s horse?”
Esme swept toward him, her sister’s cloak billowing behind her. “My brother has not yet returned.”
John scratched at his thatch of red hair. “I was sayin’ that just now, to the lads.”
Adam intervened. “Do you know where he was going?”
“’Tis not my place to ask.” John calmly stroked the muzzle of a pony, who had poked his head over the adjacent half-door to see what the fuss was all about. “And he said naught to me.”
Esme heaved a sigh of frustration. Adam would not have been surprised if she ordered her own horse to be saddled this instant.
I cannot allow that.
Searching for a man in the dark was a fruitless undertaking. Especially in lands as extensive as those around Ember Hall. And the steep drop of the cliffs could be treacherous. His stomach churned at the thought of Esme exposing herself to such danger.
“Does Lord Jonah have a regular haunt?” He directed the question to both John and Esme, swinging his eyes from one to the other.
John shook his head, regretfully. “I cannot say so.”
“He has not left the house in days.” Esme put her hands on her hips, a desperate glint in her eyes. With her cloak swirling in the brisk breeze, she looked almost like a goddess, or some kind of avenging angel.
Albeit one who must be encouraged to stay safely indoors.
Adam spoke up again quickly, needing to deflect her. “And his horse, is it a steady creature?”
“The steadiest.” John nodded in emphasis. “Whatever else has happened, that horse won’t have thrown Lord Jonah. I swear it on my life.”
“That is reassuring.” Adam crossed his arms and widened his stance, feeling a little as if he were negotiating a fragile truce. “We cannot guess where Lord Jonah has gone. But you can vouch for the reliability of the horse?”
“You have it right, sir.”
“We should go and look for him.” Esme voiced the words he had been dreading.
John scratched at his cheeks. “That wouldn’t be safe, milady. Not ’till first light.”
Adam swallowed down his surprise. He had not been expecting a mere groom to voice dissent to the Earl of Wolvesley’s daughter. But as he recalled, neither Frida nor Callum stood much on ceremony. Before Esme could counter the idea, he spoke up. “Wise words, John. I agree.”
Esme spun around, her blue eyes accusing. “You do?”
He met her gaze. “I agree that upon first light, if Jonah has not returned, we should send out a search party.”
Her nostrils flared, but her eyes had lost some of their fire. “We should alert the guards.”
“An excellent plan.” He bowed his head. “John, could you take a message to the guards on the gate? They should look out for a lone rider approaching the hall.”
John nodded smartly. “I’ll go right away.”
As the man departed, Adam turned to Esme. “I can go myself and keep watch at the wall, if you would prefer it?”
He did not want to, not because he baulked at a night in the open, but because he wanted to stay near her side. To keep her safe.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Esme looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. He began to fear that she might actually send him to the wall.
“In truth, Adam, I would prefer your company inside. But perchance a man like you would not choose to spend his evening with a woman like me?”
Her words did not wound him so much as the depths of feeling in her gaze.
The last woman to affect him so thoroughly, by saying so little, was his mother.
A muscle clenched in his jaw as Adam raced through his choices. It took mere seconds for him to realize that the only option was the truth.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, his words floating through the soft air of the gloaming toward her.
Esme said nothing, but the torch showed the flicker of surprise across her face. It seemed that even the horses stood still in their stalls, waiting to hear her response.
“What are you sorry for?” She stepped closer and he breathed in her scent of lavender.
“I showed my anger to you. But my anger was not with you. My anger was at the whole world.”
For a brief second he looked away from her, fixing his eyes on the cobbles and his own booted feet.
He had erred from the truth, for yesterday, at the standing stones, he had known a rush of anger that was directed toward Esme.
Only it wasn’t Esme the living, breathing woman beside him. The one whose smile lit up his day.
It was Lady Esme de Neville; daughter of the Earl of Wolvesley.
Consumed in grief and bitterness, he had believed, for a moment, that her title defined her.
But he could not hope to explain all of that out here in the stable yard, with a chill wind, whisking up dust and grit around them. He could only hope that she would forgive him.
Esme touched the cuff of his sleeve. A simple gesture that all but brought him to his knees.
“I came to understand something yesterday.”
“What was that?” He longed to take her hand and entwine his fingers with hers.
“You are here as my personal guard, but you are also a man with a past. A very full past.”
A man who has seen and caused death.
He winced at the memory of his harsh words.
“Your life has made you the man you are this day, Adam.” She took a quick breath. “And the man you are this day, is a man I have grown to like, very much.”
Ye Gods, he could not help it. He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him.
How could their hands fit together so well when his was the roughened palm of a worker and her hand was soft and small and white?
How could such an innocent touch send burning jolts of awareness flooding right into his core?
She tilted her lovely face toward him and the temptation to lean down and press his lips against hers grew almost overbearing.
Almost.
At the last moment, he remembered they stood in full view of the grooms, the guards, and any servants who might wander from the house.
And he remembered that Callum—his master and his friend—had charged him with the safekeeping of his sister-in-law.
That did not include ravishment in a stable yard.
Breathing deeply, Adam released her hands. “Thank you for your understanding.”
His actions were too rough, his words too abrupt. But he knew not how to temper them. He was lost and floundering; for the first time in almost twenty summers.
Esme only smiled. The smile that could brighten not only his day, but the darkest of nights.
“Let us go inside,” she said lightly, “and await my brother’s return.”