Chapter Nineteen
Of all things, Adam had not anticipated travelling to Wolvesley Castle in a stately carriage, with gilt on the windows and plush velvet on the seat cushions.
Not had he anticipated being seated beside Jonah de Neville, who occasionally turned his pale blue eyes toward him in an assessing manner.
Adam tried to concentrate on the flashes of countryside he could see through the open window; sweeping moorland and green hills that gradually gave way to smooth roads and wooded valleys. Birds called from the trees and the sound of hoofbeats was regular and soothing; but he felt anything but calm.
How could he be calm when Esme sat opposite him. Close enough to touch, but so far away—in every way that mattered—that he might have been back in the highlands.
How could he be calm when Jonah had insisted he travel with them to Wolvesley, for reasons that were far from clear? Thinking of his role as Esme’s protector, Adam had offered to travel in the second carriage so he might keep a close eye on Crispin. But Jonah had waved his suggestion away.
“The door will be locked from the outside,” he said airily. “With guards stationed at either end of the carriage. You need not concern yourself with Crispin.”
Then why am I here?
Adam stretched his legs as much as he was able in the confined space of the carriage interior.
Every time they went over a bump in the road, he was obliged to grip the window ledge, for fear of barreling into either Jonah or Esme—both of whom were clearly well-practiced in the art of travelling by carriage and seemed hardly to notice the jolting.
Next time he took a long journey, whatever the circumstances, he would insist on riding a horse.
If there ever is a next time.
Much as Adam took care not to let his emotions get the better of him, he could not help a flicker of fear about this turn of events. He recalled that long-ago day when Callum had spoken with him in the solar, and how sound had drifted through the thin walls from the great hall.
His skin prickled with apprehension.
How much does Jonah know of my relationship with Esme?
Esme had given fleeting mention to Adam’s role in rescuing her from Crispin’s advances, but Jonah had hardly seemed to notice. Not that Adam was looking for acclaim, nor even thanks. But would this be enough to save him, he wondered.
Or am I also to face the wrath of the Earl of Wolvesley?
It would have been better if he rode to Kielder Castle, just as he had sworn to do last night. But even as the thought occurred to him, he knew the sentiment was false. He could have no more abandoned Esme this morn, than he could have sawn off his own leg.
For better or worse, his fate was entwined with the de Nevilles.
Jonah was looking at him again. Though young—Adam counted anyone who had seen less than thirty summers as young—his eyes held both wisdom and cunning. Adam fixed his gaze out of the window but could not shake the feeling of being watched.
Enough!
He swallowed and turned to face the young lord. “How far is there still to travel?”
Jonah thought for a moment, his head on one side. “You are best asking this question of Esme. She is more familiar with the journey than I am.”
Adam took a breath and lifted his gaze to Esme. She met his eyes squarely. “When we cross the bridge, we are almost there.”
This was hardly helpful. But Adam could not feel cross with her answer. Not when so much anxiety showed in her face.
“Jonah, are you certain we are doing the right thing?” She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve, unaware how lovely she looked with her golden hair shining over her shoulders.
“Under the circumstances, I am certain we are doing the only thing we can,” came the reply. Jonah folded his arms and made a show of closing his eyes.
“That is hardly reassuring,” she retorted.
Adam could not help silently agreeing with her. When her familiar blue eyes turned beseechingly toward him, his heart turned over.
But what could he say?
It was safer to follow Jonah’s lead and close his eyes, letting his head tip back against the headrest. It was uncomfortable, but it gave him the space to think.
Or to fret.
If things went against him, he must get word to Callum, he decided.
Esme would be safe in the bosom of her family. But would he?
After some insurmountable time, Esme leaned forward and clutched at the windowsill.
“We are almost there.”
Adam’s eyes felt gritty, and his limbs had grown heavy. He forced himself to look out of the opposite window, noting the graceful turrets of a stone bridge and the distant shimmer of a vast blue lake.
But what are those strange white birds swimming on its surface?
Alarmed, Adam leaned closer, prompting an amused smile from Jonah.
“Swans,” he explained.
Ashamed of his ignorance, Adam sat back. “I have never seen them before.”
“Most likely they have not yet reached the highlands,” Jonah offered.
Adam nodded, slightly relieved.
“They can be vicious creatures, but our father likes them.”
“Father likes them because they are so beautiful,” Esme added, and the siblings shared a smile.
“Our father likes beautiful things,” Jonah cast a sideways glance toward Adam. “Which is why my sister here can wrap him around her little finger.”
“That is not true.” Esme smoothed her skirts, though Adam could see the idea pleased her. “Isabella is the one who wields power over all the men she meets, including Father.”
“Ah well, I have not seen our sister Isabella for some time.” Jonah shrugged. “Perchance her much fabled powers have dimmed in my memory.”
Adam was late to find his balance as the carriage swung around a sharp corner. He found himself flung forward against Esme’s seat, with his head all but in the lady’s lap.
“Forgive me,” he muttered, his cheeks burning as he righted himself.
Esme’s laugh was like a peal of bells. “Do not worry, Adam. You will grow used to the twists and turns of this journey, over time.”
Her innocent comment caused a second wave of heat to rush to his face, especially as he felt Jonah’s speculative gaze settle upon him once again.
“Indeed,” Jonah said.
Adam felt as if he could hardly breathe, but Esme’s attention was not on him.
“We are here.” She could hardly contain her excitement as the carriage drew to a halt. “Mother is waiting for us, Jonah.”
All her reservations seemed to have fled. She wrestled with the door handle and jumped out, leaving Adam blinking in the sudden burst of light.
Jonah drummed his fingers on the cushions before fixing his face into a smile.
“Welcome to Wolvesley, Adam Hawker.”
Adam realized a beat too late that he should have risen first, to help both Esme and Jonah from the carriage. As it was, he descended last, his heart thumping in his chest as he looked about him.
A petite woman with long hair, threaded with silver, had her arms wrapped around both her children. Behind her, a row of uniformed guards marched as one toward the second carriage. It had scarce stopped when the door was unbolted, and Crispin was unceremoniously bundled out.
“Take him to the dungeon,” came the barked order.
Before Adam could process the situation, both carriages had been driven back to the stable yard and the guards had dispersed. A gust of wind sent up a plume of dust.
“Let us go inside,” said Esme. “I must change out of this dress. It is not at all right for Wolvesley.”
“Have you forgotten something, dear?” her mother asked mildly. Esme stared blankly back at her.
“Your friend,” her mother prompted.
Esme put a hand to her heart and laughed breathlessly. “Forgive me, Mother. This is Adam Hawker. A great friend of Callum’s. And a man who means a great deal to me, too,” she added.
“Delighted to meet you, Adam.” The countess of Wolvesley extended her hand to him and after a moment’s panic, he kissed it. “I am Morwenna.”
“Milady,” he said, aware of his crumpled clothing and unkempt hair. Morwenna was dressed in a beautiful gown of green and gold. Her fingers sparkled with jewels and her bearing was regal as a queen.
This was the woman Esme had described as a village healer? A woman who had first come to Wolvesley as a servant?
His mind whirred. He must have misheard. Else Esme had been playing some complicated game, one with rules he did not understand. He looked toward her, but her gaze was turned resolutely away from him.
“I am so glad to be home,” she breathed, linking her arm with her mother’s.
Her words sliced through him, like a blade wielded in a personal attack. On leaden feet, he followed them beneath a smooth stone archway, coming up short when his gaze landed on a vertical tower of sparkling water.
In Scotland, Adam had seen vast waterfalls, with white water cascading downwards over rocks at an unbelievable speed, roaring and rushing on its way.
Never had he seen water travelling upwards.
Just like the swans, this was perchance another thing that had not yet reached the environs of Kielder.
It was too much. All of it. Esme’s chatter. The manicured lawns. The two stone lions guarding an elegant sweep of steps and, most of all, this column of rainbow-hued water, shooting up into the sky.
He placed his hands on the rim of the stone basin and breathed deeply. Though the afternoon sun was warm, he felt a shiver run the length of his spine.
A hand fell onto his shoulder.
“Are you well, Adam?”
The voice was Jonah’s. Adam fought for his composure, but his head was spinning.
“I need a moment to myself,” he replied, truthfully, his eyes fixed on the shimmering water.
He expected—mayhap even hoped—that Jonah would protest. At the very least, he needed instruction of what to do once this moment-to-himself had passed. But when Adam straightened up, Jonah was nowhere to be seen.
Adam was alone.
And never had he felt more out of his depth.
“I am not so grand as you think,” Esme had told him.
She had lied.
Adam had seen castles before. But never had he seen a keep as magnificent as this, with walls so smooth they might have been hewn from marble. His gaze traveled up to the turrets, counting arched windows until he gave up.
I do not belong in a place like this.
Kielder Castle was the preserve of warriors.
This was the preserve of the English nobility.
He shook his head. He could not stay. Blindly, he stumbled in the direction of the stone archway. But once there, he ground to a halt. Three paths threaded in different directions, and he had no idea which to take.
He had no idea where he was even headed.
A soft voice came from behind him.
“Adam, is it?”
He spun around to find a lady with kind eyes standing a few feet away. She stepped forward hesitantly, pushing her light brown hair behind her ears.
“My name is Mirrie.” She pulled a face. “I should more properly introduce myself as Lady Mirabel de Neville.”
Adam could not place the name. He bowed low. “Pleased to meet you, milady.”
“Oh, please do not address me as such.” She folded her hands over the swell of pregnancy, making him quickly avert his gaze. “I will never grow used to my title. I am just Mirrie.”
He glanced at her cautiously, taking in the sumptuousness of her cloak and the glint of pearls at her throat. She looked like a lady to him.
“I grew up here,” she said conversationally. “But I well remember the first day I came. How overwhelming it was. That’s why Jonah asked me to come out to you.” Adam raised his eyebrows and Mirrie smiled. “Jonah sees and understands far more than he ever lets on.”
Just like the time in the carriage, Adam reflected that this was hardly reassuring.
“You must be fatigued after your journey from Ember Hall,” she continued, holding her cloak against the pull of the breeze. “I once lived there, you know?”
He was surprised into speech. “I did not.”
“With Frida, before she married Callum.”
Ah yes. Belatedly, he recalled the comments of Agnes the cook. “I am an old acquaintance of Callum’s,” he offered, cautiously.
“Oh, I think you are more than that.” Mirrie reached a hand toward the stone archway and leaned her weight against it. “Callum wrote to Tristan, telling him he had no cause to worry about Esme. He said he had left her in the care of a man whom he loved like a brother.”
It took a moment for him to make sense her words. His initial glow of pleasure quickly faded when he reflected what had happened since Callum wrote that recommendation.
“Callum was wrong,” he said gruffly, lowering his eyes from the slanting sunlight. “Esme was in danger, after all.”
“So it would seem.” Mirrie did not deny it. “She was fortunate indeed that you were there to protect her.”
The lady put a hand to her forehead and Adam cursed his ill manners. “May I assist you, milady? Is there some place you can sit?”
“Many.” She gave a little laugh. “But what I would like most of all is for you to escort me back to the keep. If you like, I can show you to your chambers and you rest awhile before dinner.”
“Before dinner?” He could not hide his surprise.
“Of course.” She offered her arm, leaving him with little choice but to take it. “You are our guest of honor, Adam Hawker.”
Mirrie walked steadily beside him, but he could not forget her show of tiredness, nor her visible swell of pregnancy. He must not meet her kindness with churlishness.
“I have never been a guest of honor before,” he commented, drily.
“A great fuss will be made of you,” Mirrie announced, as if she was delivering good news. “I can already tell that you are a great favorite of Jonah’s, which is no small achievement.”
The idea pleased him, but in truth, he longed for more.
Will she say aught of Esme?
Adam’s heart quickened as they reached the fountain and Mirrie turned to him, thoughtfully.
“Try to look beyond the trappings of wealth to see the de Nevilles for who they really are,” she murmured, so quietly that he had to lean closer to catch the words. “It took me a long time to learn that lesson.”
He blinked at her in surprise, and she gave his arm a little shake.
“Do you promise?” she persisted.
“Aye, milady. Mirrie,” he corrected himself at her sharp look of reprimand.
She smiled and picked up her skirts to better ascend the steps. Adam could only follow close behind, wondering what on earth the next hours may bring.