Chapter Twelve
Adam closed the door on the wind and the cold and the encroaching darkness. They walked together through the stone-flagged entrance hall, bumping hips accidentally as they turned into the great hall.
Esme smiled an apology, although the sensation had been more than pleasant. Indeed, it felt good and right to stand beside this mighty warrior and see her problems become his as well. As soon as he had opened his door to her, she had felt safe.
When he had touched her arm, upstairs on the landing, such a feeling of relief swept over her that tears had sprung to her eyes.
One word came into her head.
Home.
Not home like Wolvesley. All bustle and chatter and gaiety.
Home in a steadier, more contented way. Somewhere she felt safe. Somewhere she could be entirely herself.
Although right now, Adam was looking at her with concern in his green eyes.
“Esme?”
“I’m sorry.” She put a hand to her heart, aware she had been daydreaming.
“I said should I ring for wine? Or refreshments?” They were standing by the fire, and Adam’s hand was hovering by the bell rope. “You should eat something,” he added.
“I could not face it,” she said sincerely. Concern for Jonah’s welfare mixed with her heightened awareness of Adam meant that her appetite was much diminished. “I had some bread and cheese not long ago.”
She recalled her time in the solar and Jonah’s poems which had so evocatively described this altogether new rush of feeling. This peculiar blend of excitement and contentment which made her want to do… all sorts of things.
She wanted to lean into his hard, strong body and feel his arms closing around her.
She wanted to kiss him.
She wanted… so much more! A twisting sensation deep in her core almost made her forget why they were here in the great hall; and why Adam was gazing at her with such anxiety.
Jonah.
Now that she had talked the situation through, Esme couldn’t help thinking that her earlier alarm was a trifle embarrassing.
Caused, mayhap, by a long day of loneliness and a mind that tended toward exaggeration.
Afflicted though he was, her brother was a grown man. Well-used to looking after himself.
But if she said as much now, Adam would waltz back off to his chamber, leaving her alone.
She seated herself in the tapestried chair and smoothed her skirts, realizing a beat too late that she still wore Frida’s cloak. “I will take some wine,” she suggested, glad that Adam would be distracted by the bell rope whilst she tugged the unflattering cloak from her shoulders.
“Let me take that from you.” He scooped up the cloak and laid it on the window seat, stirring memories of the time they had sat here and played chess.
“I know you are still concerned for your brother; but try to take comfort from what the groom told us. His horse is steady, and Jonah is an experienced rider. He is unlikely to come to harm.”
Esme tugged at a crumpled sleeve, trying to organize her thoughts. She did not wish to exercise deceit or hysteria. But she did want Adam to stay with her.
“You are right, of course.” She smiled at Jennifer as the maid carried in a pitcher of wine and two goblets. “But even the steadiest of horses can spook. And even the most accomplished of riders can fall.”
He nodded. “’Tis not common though.”
She took a sip of rich wine as she considered this. “You do not think so? ’Tis lore in our family.”
Adam frowned at her over the rim of his goblet. “Lore that even accomplished riders can fall?”
“Most certainly.” Esme sat back in her chair and cradled her wine. “My sister Frida was unconscious for three days after a fall from her own horse.”
She was gratified to see genuine interest in his face. “I did not know that.”
“’Tis why her hair is now silvery white. She hit her head and her hair was shaved.”
“And the hair that grew back was white,” Adam finished for her, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his dark curls. “I have heard of such things, but never before seen them myself.”
Esme took another mouthful of wine, finding it did much to restore her spirits. “If it were not for a fall from a horse, I would not be sitting before you now as Lady Esme de Neville.”
That got his attention.
Adam placed his goblet onto a low wooden table and clasped his hands. “What do you mean?”
“My father was a younger brother. He never expected to be the Earl of Wolvesley. But his older brother died after a fall from a horse in his own stable yard.”
Considering the gravity of the subject, Esme reflected that she should not have announced this with such relish.
Adam baulked. “That is a sorry tale indeed. For a man to fall to his death in his own stable yard.”
“The girth was not properly fastened.”
Adam whistled under his breath and picked up his goblet. “Such a simple thing.”
“We were all raised to check our horses’ girths before ever placing a foot in the stirrup.
” Esme drained her goblet and held it out so that Adam could fill it again.
“’Tis second nature to us. Even to Jonah.
” She placed her hand daintily before her mouth as she hiccupped. “I watched him do so this morn.”
Mayhap I should go easy on the rich wine.
Adam was gazing at her and the last thing she wanted to be was muddled.
But the wine was in her blood and the warmth of the crackling fire had brought a flush to her cheeks. Esme found she could not sit quietly. There was naught for it but to keep talking.
“’Tis strange, the twists of fate that have such an impact on our lives.”
He still had not lifted his gaze from her face.
“’Tis indeed.”
“If your parents had not died, you would never have worked for Rory Baine. And you would not be here now.”
She thought, but did not say, that if Clara had not been killed, he would never have followed Rory Baine to Kielder Castle.
Instead, she glanced behind him, at the darkening sky still visible behind the open shutters.
Adam cleared his throat. “And if your uncle had checked his horse’s girth that day, I might be here talking to the niece of an earl. Not the daughter of an earl.”
His eyes burned with an intensity that sent another delicious twisting sensation deep into her core.
She placed her goblet down on the table, lest her trembling fingers betray the attraction she could no longer deny.
“Would that make such a difference?” she asked, staring right back into his eyes. Eyes that were flecked with fire.
Adam opened his mouth and closed it again. His voice had grown hoarse. “In truth, sweet Esme, I do not know.”
Sweet Esme.
Her heart began to beat so quickly, she feared he might hear it over the crackling of logs in the fire. “I do not think it would.”
Greatly daring, she placed her hand over his, emboldened to link her fingers with his when he did not pull away. A jolt of heat flowed all the way through her body.
“Not at all?” Adam’s breathing was becoming heavier, matching her own.
“It might make things simpler.” She looked down at their joined hands, because that was simpler than looking into his eyes. “I would have fewer pretty dresses. Fewer ribbons. Fewer bonnets. But I would no longer be troubled by false knaves seeking only my father’s fortune.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Nay.” Her eyes widened. That was not what she meant at all. “I do not think you have a false bone in your body.”
“Good.” He placed his other hand atop hers. “Because my feelings for you, Esme, are entirely sincere.”
His words had stolen her breath. She could only look at him and hold on tightly to his hands, lest she become lost in the whirlwind of emotion rippling through her.
“Misguided, mayhap, but entirely sincere.” He gave her a little smile which tugged at her heartstrings.
Esme swallowed, knowing she must tread carefully even as her instincts screamed for her to dive in. “Why misguided?”
“Because you are the daughter of an earl.”
“By a twist of fate,” she reminded him.
“And I am naught but a servant of Rory Baine. Your sister’s father-in-law.” He sighed deeply.
“You are a trusted friend of Callum; a man I hold as dear as my own brothers.” The fire spat, giving her a glow of inspiration. “He even told me you were like family to him.”
Another sigh. Another sad smile. Then he said, “Callum is kind.”
He was about to pull away again, she could see it in his eyes. She tightened her grip on his hands, so that he would have to wrench them free.
“And you are not a servant. You are a warrior. Your father fought alongside the Laird of Kielder.”
“Your family’s enemy,” he interrupted.
Esme tutted at that. If she were not holding onto his fingers so tightly, she would have flapped her hands at him.
“You think that should stand between us? When Frida has long been happily married to Callum?”
“There is the difference in our status.” His eyes were so full of pain it was difficult to look at them. “And that is before I even think about your tender age to my bitter-long years.”
“None of that matters.” Esme lowered her forehead until it rested against his.
“I wish it did not,” he whispered, his breath hitting her bare neck and sending a delicious tingling down her spine.
“It does not have to, if we do not let it.” She placed her palms on his cheeks and gently raised his head until they were once more gazing into one another’s eyes.
Only she felt as if she were gazing into his soul.
“I am not so grand as you think,” she announced. “My mother was a village healer. In truth, she first went to Wolvesley as a servant.”
She did not expect him to chuckle. “You are full of surprises, sweet Esme.”
“Her mother was a suspected witch,” she went on. “Which is why everyone was so worried when Frida used to talk to people who weren’t there.”
Adam was now trembling with repressed laughter. “I feel I must do something to stop you spilling all the de Neville family secrets.”
Esme shook back her hair. She no longer knew whether her daring or her longing were fueling her decisions.
“There is something you could do,” she said.
She inched closer, feeling well as hearing his next question.
“Tell me what it is.”
“Kiss me.”
She half expected him to refuse. But he did not.
Silence fell upon them as they sat close together in the empty hall, by the warmth of the fire. Esme could smell woodsmoke mingling with Adam’s particular masculine fragrance. She fancied she could hear his heart beating, a steady thump beneath the raggedness of his breathing.
He wants to kiss me.
She knew this as surely as she knew her own name.
But will he?
His lips hovered less than inches from hers. His cheeks were coated with stubble, which was alternately black and grey. His breath smelled faintly of the wine they had drunk.
His arms, slowly, wrapped around her, drawing her closer to him.
She could not help a sigh of deep contentment and deep, deep desire.
His kiss was soft and gentle, his lips feathery light against her. She moved her hands to his shoulders, then entwined her fingers in his tousled hair, bringing him back for more.
Because she wanted more.
But a heavy hammering on the front door made them both freeze. Esme might have been inclined to ignore it, but after a moment’s hesitation, Adam got to his feet. His expression passed from regret to bewilderment, before settling in the fixed lines of duty she was so accustomed to.
“It might be Jonah.” His voice was rough.
Jonah.
She had all but forgotten her missing brother.
The hammering came again.
“Whoever it is, they are most keen to gain entry,” she observed.
Adam gave her a curt nod and strode over to the entrance hall. “Leave it. I shall get it,” he said brusquely, to Jennifer mayhap.
Then came the sound of the heavy bolts being pushed back and the unmistakable squeak of the solid door being pushed open.
Esme put her hand on her heart. Who would come upon them at such an hour?
She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the crackling of logs in the fire. Suddenly unwilling to sit, she pushed herself upright. Just moments earlier, she had been so happy. But now she could not shake a feeling that something terrible was about to happen.