Chapter Sixteen
Adam awoke to the dance of sunlight on his face and the sound of singing in his ears.
Immediately alert, his eyes focused on Esme, who was sitting at her writing desk with her little black cat on her knee.
For a long moment, he was able to watch her unobserved, admiring her waterfall of golden hair and the grace of her long limbs as she hummed a melodic tune.
Then she noticed he was awake, and the spell was broken.
“Good morn,” she said with a shy smile.
“I do not usually sleep so late.” Adam sat up and rubbed at his face with his hands, encountering a rough growth of stubble.
“You do not usually sleep in my chamber,” she responded lightly. “Is this the shape of things to come in our future?”
He smiled at her teasing, even though the idea of a future with Esme caused him equal parts pleasure and pain.
How can I, the son of a poor farmer and the servant of Rory Baine, have any kind of future with Esme de Neville?
But such ruminations were for another day. He must put them aside until the more pressing matter of Crispin had been dealt with.
“I shall have to remember that idleness is a sin.” He swung his legs onto the floor, noticing the deep creases in his breeches. Despite the strain of last night’s events, he felt well rested. Most likely because of where he had slept.
By Esme’s side.
Where he wanted to be.
Unable to deny himself the joy of her proximity, he crossed the chamber floor and dropped a kiss onto her upturned face.
“Good morn,” he whispered.
“Good morn.” She tugged on his shirt tails as he straightened up. “Is that all I am to receive?”
He feigned amazement. “You want more of my kisses, milady?”
“I do not want them. I command them.” Eyes dancing, she wrapped her fingers in his tousled hair and pulled his face back down to hers.
Adam kissed her willingly but then backed away laughing. “’Tis a terrible thing for me to confess, but all I can think is that I have not had my chewstick this morn.”
She pretended to pout. “Your concern is all for your appearance. Next you will be complaining that you have not combed your hair.”
“Ye Gods, I have not. Nor have I shaved the stubble from my cheeks.”
Esme rose from the chair and placed her palms at either side of his face, ignoring the cat’s mewl of protest.
“I like you with stubble on your cheeks.”
“Do you though? Even when I do this?” He rubbed his cheek alongside hers until she squealed with laughter.
“As it happens, I do,” she said airily. “There is naught you can do that displeases me, Adam.”
He could have gazed into her eyes forever. “Naught?” He raised a teasing eyebrow.
“Nay indeed. When I am with you, I feel happy and safe.”
His stomach contracted with a swell of emotion. “That is exactly how I want you to feel.” His words came out gruffly, because she had taken him by surprise.
But they were words that he needed to say.
They must proceed only with absolute truth and openness. Although many more honest expressions of emotion would see him blubbing like a boy.
“This is a grand state of affairs.” Determined to make his mood more playful, he put his hands about her waist and spun her around, her blue skirts flying.
“It bodes well for the future, does it not?” She sighed happily, resting her head beneath his collar bone, so that it was the most natural thing in the world for him to cradle it with his hands.
Her hair was slippery, soft and pungent with the scent of rosewater. Once again, he was reminded that he had neither washed nor changed his clothes since yesterday.
And it would be hard to do either with Crispin locked in his chamber.
A beat of silence fell, and Adam realized, belatedly, that Esme was looking at him expectantly.
“Why will you not join me in talking about the future?”
He should have guessed that she would pick up on his reticence. Esme was too quick-minded and alert to his moods for him to hide anything from her.
Instead of prevaricating, he traced his thumb along her cheekbone and looked deep into her blue eyes.
“Because I am the son of a farmer, and you are the daughter of an earl. Because you are in the springtime of your life, and I am well past midsummer.”
She frowned. “We have already talked on this, at great length as I recall.”
How he hated being the one to ignite such sadness in her expression. But the connection between them ran too deep to countenance falsehoods.
“We talked about why I should kiss you without hesitation.” He rocked her slowly, shuffling until they were away from the glare of sunlight coming through the shutters.
“We talked about why we should not be ashamed of this bond that has sprung up between us. All of that I own, even in the bright light of day.”
“What then?” Esme was gazing at him with such heartfelt emotion he could have begged her to look away.
“We did not talk of a future between us. I am not sure I dare to dream of such a thing.”
Esme’s expression changed. Adam was braced for her anger, but when she spoke, her voice was gentle.
“That is where you are going wrong. You should always dare to dream, Adam.”
A smile stretched across his face as her words resonated inside him. Once upon a time, he realized, he had dared to do just that. “Mayhap you are right.”
“I often am.” She nodded in a most businesslike fashion. “But now you must leave me.”
He blinked at this sudden change. “How so?”
“We have much to do, this morn. First, I must wash and changeout of yesterday’s clothes.” Her cheeks pinked, prettily. “As much as I dare to dream of a future for us, that does not include me struggling out of my underthings in your presence. Not yet anyway.”
He could not help a low chuckle at her boldness. A chuckle that helped to dispel his sharp twist of desire at the picture she painted for him.
“Well, that is a future I look forward to,” he said huskily, leaning down for a parting kiss.
“Away with you.” She flapped her hands. “If you see Jennifer, pray ask her for a fresh bowl of water. Mine went all on the rushes.”
He had all but forgotten the smoke and his sharp fear that the fire would take hold whilst he wrestled with Crispin.
He glanced down at the blackened rushes by the dresser. “We had a lucky escape.”
“I had a lucky escape,” she corrected him. “Because of you. And I will never forget that.”
“I would do it all again, a thousand times.” His voice near trembled with sincerity.
“Let us hope you do not have to.” Esme put her hands on her hips and threw him a glare. “Do you insist on staying to watch me wriggle out of my underthings?”
“Do not tempt me.”
Laughing, he went from her chamber and closed the panel behind him. The long gallery was quiet, with dappled sunlight on the plastered walls. Such joy bubbled up inside him that he could almost forget he had an angry knight to deal with.
And perchance an angry brother into the mix, especially if Jonah had any idea where Adam had spent the night.
He must hope and pray that Jonah had slept through all of the evening’s drama. And the young lord had drunk enough wine to make that probable.
Adam was not sure whether to go downstairs or up to his own chamber. But he had no wish to face Crispin before he must, and his stomach was rumbling with hunger. Humming to himself, he headed for the kitchen, passing Jennifer on the stairs and relaying Esme’s message about water.
If the housemaid was surprised to receive such domestic instruction from a warrior, she hid it well.
The kitchen was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread. Agnes startled to see him, clasping floury hands over her apron.
“Mercy, you gave me a shock. I was beginning to think the place was deserted. Lady Esme is usually down before now.”
Adam carefully said nothing. He had already risked Esme’s reputation in speaking to Jennifer.
“Is milady awake?” The cook’s question was nonchalant, but he felt her eyes upon him as he walked over to the breadbasket.
“I could not say.” He crammed a heel of bread into his mouth to avoid further questions.
“Could not or would not?” Agnes crossed to the sink and picked up a knife which Adam eyed warily. “There’s not much goes on in this house that the servants dinna know about. And there’s plenty that’s gone on over the years, if you know what I’m saying.”
Adam was not sure that he did.
“What happened to that young knight that turned up out of the blue?” she continued, pushing her plait over her rounded shoulder.
Adam cleared his throat. He had not anticipated an inquisition. “I could not say,” he repeated.
“You’ll need drop your airs and your distance if you’re going to stay here,” Agnes observed, reaching for a turnip and beginning to peel it.
“Am I going to stay here?” His eyebrows raised with genuine curiosity.
Agnes turned to face him. “Do you want to stay here?”
Adam’s hand hovered over the bread. He could pick it up and flee. But the cook’s question made him pause.
He had not properly considered where he wanted to stay—or go, for many a year.
He had gone where his master bid him. But did it have to be that way?
“I have not thought.”
Agnes snorted. “I suppose that’s better than I could not say,” she mimicked, with a smile to take the sting from her words. “Think on it, sir. There are worse places to wind up.”
Adam fished for words. “I do not know if the possibility exists for me to stay,” he said at last, folding his arms and leaning back against the scrubbed wooden table.
“Oh, it exists.” Agnes waved her knife airily. “All things are possible up here in the northern hills. People can be who they want to be.”
The idea was preposterous to him. How could aught be so simple?
The cook laughed at his expression. “Many a day I had Miss Mirrie in here, miserable as can be over her unrequited love for Lord Tristan. And look at her now! A lovelier bride I never did see.”
Adam had only the slightest grasp who she was talking about. He could see no comparison between himself and the ward of the Earl of Wolvesley.
“I am sworn to a Scottish laird,” he said, reminding himself as much as Agnes.
She gave him a knowing look. “And my master is the son of a Scottish laird. As I said, all things are possible in these hills. If you want it enough, that is.” She turned back to her turnips, seemingly losing interest in the conversation.
Adam helped himself to more bread and slipped through the back door, desperate suddenly for some fresh air.
As soon as his feet hit the cobbles, he felt better.
Birds sang in a sky that was as blue as midsummer, but the chill of the season kept his senses sharp.
He walked through the stable yard, smelling the sweet hay and rubbing the ears of a little grey pony who whickered at his approach.
“Good morn, mister Adam,” called John from across the yard, carrying a pitchfork over his shoulder.
Adam nodded his head. “Good morn.”
“Lovely day for it,” the groom continued. “Whatever it is, of course.” The man laughed at his own joke as he disappeared into a stable, and Adam’s lips twitched upward.
He smiled, even as reality sunk its teeth into his arm and reminded him what the day must bring—a confrontation with Crispin. Mayhap a similar confrontation with Jonah, who surely could not live through this day without learning the truth of Esme’s relationship with Crispin?
Nor, perchance, the truth of his own relationship with Esme.
It would be a day of reckoning. But whichever way it turned out, Adam recognized that he was more at home at Ember Hall than he had ever been at Kielder Castle, despite all the friends and allies he had in the highlands.
And was that so strange? When he had grown up just a few hours distant?
As his eyes roved over the green hills, his mind raced at the possibility that the cook’s words were right.
Perchance all things were possible.
If he dared to dream.