Chapter Twenty-One
Despite the grandeur of his surroundings, Adam felt light of heart as he returned to the guest chamber which Mirrie had shown him to earlier.
He had feared that once he left Esme’s side, darkness and doubt might claim him once again.
But it seemed that her brightness and confidence had broken through the clouds that had haunted his horizons for too long.
I am daring to dream.
And what a dream it was.
His boots sounded heavily on the polished floorboards as he wound down a wide, well-lit corridor. But instead of the intricately woven tapestries hanging from the plastered walls, instead he saw Esme’s face; her blue eyes and her corn-colored waterfall of hair.
She loves me!
She wanted them to be together. Had even said she would turn her back on her fortune, if that was what it took.
Adam cared naught for the wealth of the de Nevilles. That a woman as vibrant as Esme wanted to weave her life into his was fortune enough. He started to hum with happiness as he reached the arched doorway and pushed the panel aside.
Inside was a chamber fit for royalty. Thick rugs covered the floor, with more piled high on the comfortable bed which was hung with emerald green drapes. The long, narrow window looked out toward the lake, upon which he could just about discern the majestic figures of the swans.
He closed his eyes, wondering if it was indeed all a dream.
A knock at the door broke his reverie. He opened it to find a golden-haired giant on the other side.
The man smiled, and instantly Adam saw his striking similarity to both Esme and Jonah.
“I am Tristan de Neville,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “Welcome to Wolvesley.”
Adam took his hand, unable to help sizing up his obvious strength. The man’s muscles moved beneath his finely tailored tunic, though his stance was relaxed and easy.
“I am Adam Hawker.” He stepped aside to allow Esme’s brother inside.
“I know.” Tristan did not allow a beat to pass.
“My wife, Mirrie, has sung your praises. And my sister seems equally smitten.” He put his hand on his narrow hips and looked at him shrewdly.
“I thought I should make your acquaintance in private, without the distractions of music and food and company.”
Adam realized that he was also being sized up, by a knight whose reputation preceded him.
He recalled the stories of Tristan that had reached as far as Kielder.
His bravery and swordsmanship were the stuff of legend, but Adam had been most impressed by how hard he had worked for peace between England and Scotland.
He was a lord; heir to the Earl of Wolvesley. But he was also Esme’s brother. Adam’s head spun with indecision as to how he should address him.
He bowed his head. “I was fortunate to meet your wife when I first arrived here. Milord,” he added.
Tristan waved the words away, looking mildly irritated to hear his title. “And fortunate to have spent several days in the company of both Esme and Jonah.” He arched his eyebrows. “I believe you have grown especially close to my sister.”
Adam had not anticipated that the challenge would be laid out so quickly. He took a breath. “Lady Esme means a great deal to me.”
For a moment, Tristan’s blue gaze clashed with his. Adam fancied the secrets of his soul were laid bare, so piercing were his eyes. But then Tristan relaxed and let out a little laugh.
“I am glad to hear it. For she is well taken with you.”
“I am not certain I am worthy of her affection.” Adam stumbled over his words in his haste to declare them. “But if I am able, I will spend all the years I have left proving to her that she has chosen wisely.”
Tristan nodded, relaxing his weight against the window seat so that shadows fell across the chamber and veiled his face. “I understand the sentiment. It has been more than a year since my dear Mirrie consented to be my wife, and I still count it as a blessing, every day.”
Adam found himself inexplicably choked with emotion. He fixed his gaze upon a wooden blanket box until he could trust his voice. “Thank you.”
The man strode forward and clasped his arm. “Nay, do not thank me. ’Tis I who should thank you, for saving my sister from the base knave who is now languishing in the dungeon.”
Adam took in the gesture of kinship with a warm flush of relief, gripping Tristan’s arm in return. It was more than he had dared to hope that Esme’s eldest brother would share her down to earth sensibilities. But the thought of Crispin made him pause.
“What will happen to him?” he asked bluntly.
“If it were up to me, he would be horsewhipped,” Tristan replied, with equal directness, leaving Adam with no doubts as to his family loyalty.
“But my father is a man of the law. As such, Crispin de Gough will be turned over to the king’s men.
They are already on their way here, ready to arrest him.
” His head turned toward the window, as if listening out for approaching horses.
Adam nodded, slowly.
“If the man has any sense, he will beg forgiveness of his actions.” Tristan pursed his lips. “Do you think he has any sense?”
“Very little, that I could see.”
They shared a look, before Tristan gave him a bracing smile. “But let us not waste our time speaking of de Gough. This is a night for celebration. My manservant is bringing you some clothing as I understand Jonah gave you no time pack before leaving Ember Hall.”
Adam opened his mouth to protest Jonah’s innocence, but he closed it again, realizing Tristan was too polite to point out Adam would likely have nothing suitable to wear.
It was true enough; and seemed a matter too trifling to take offence at.
“That is thoughtful,” he said instead.
Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Adam Hawker.”
And with that, Lord Tristan de Neville strode from the room.
Sometime later, Adam was dressed in finery such as he had never before seen.
There was more golden thread woven into his dark blue tunic than could be found in the whole of Kielder Castle.
He had combed his hair and finally shaved the stubble from his cheeks.
But still he lingered in his chamber, lacking the courage to step into the keep.
Then he remembered that courage was the key trait that might endear him to the Earl of Wolvesley, and he all but jogged down the torch-lit corridor toward the sweeping staircase.
Strains of music caught his ear as soon as he turned the corner.
Then came laughter, and tempting aromas of roasted meat and garlic.
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, his stomach was audibly rumbling.
A liveried manservant stood in the marbled entrance hall, apparently waiting for him. He recognized the slight but genuine smile of the man who had delivered his parcel of clothing.
“Sir Adam, the family is waiting in the great hall.”
Adam stilled. He could not get through this night on any false pretenses. “I am Adam,” he said, “Not Sir Adam.”
The man bowed, not appearing put out in any way. “My apologies.”
“There is naught to forgive.” Adam took a breath, wishing he had the familiar weight of a sword against his hip to steady his nerves. “May I ask your name?”
“Alfred. I have served the de Nevilles since I was a lad.”
“Then you are most likely better equipped for this occasion than I am.” Adam’s toe tapped against the marble floor. “Do you have any tips?”
“None that you will need.” Alfred flashed him a reassuring smile. “Shall I show you the way?”
“I believe I can find it well enough.” Adam nodded. “But thank you.”
But he regretted dismissing the offer of help as he passed along the high-ceilinged corridor toward the great hall.
Not because there was any danger of becoming lost—the music called him onward like a beacon atop the cliffs—but because with Alfred at his side, there was less chance that he might turn tail and run away.
Breathing deeply, he squeezed his hands into fists and tried to take control of his scrambled thoughts. He had stood on the ramparts of Kielder Castle and faced legions of marauding soldiers with less qualms than he felt on passing through the high double doors.
At once he was met with such brightness and bustle, that he could only stand and blink until his eyes made sense of the scene.
The great hall at Wolvesley was vast, studded with pillars and lit with blazing candelabras which dangled from the vaulted ceiling.
A trio of musicians played a lively jig in one corner, and a host of liveried men-at-arms swarmed around trestle tables which had been laid out across the stone-flagged floor.
Small groups of brightly dressed ladies twirled their fans and threw him inviting glances, but he had already found the only woman he sought.
Esme sat at a long table on the high dais, surrounded by her family. When her blue eyes met his, all his worries melted away.
She stood abruptly and beckoned him forward, smiling happily as she waited for him to climb the steps.
“I have saved you a seat,” she declared. “You already know everyone, so I shan’t bother with introductions.”
Adam’s pulse was pounding once again, but as he glanced over the line of golden-haired de Nevilles and saw their welcoming smiles, he was reassured.
“Sit,” Esme urged, returning to her own chair and nibbling at a delicious looking tartlet.
Adam’s chair was positioned between Esme and Jonah.
Beside Esme, sat Morwenna, who gave him a little wave as he lowered himself down.
The chair next to the countess was high-backed, elaborately carved, and empty.
Tristan and Mirrie sat at the other end of the table, both deep in conversation.
Adam saw the way Tristan gazed into his wife’s eyes and remembered how he had spoken of her with such fondness.
Esme had listed courage, honesty and true love as the traits most admired by her family.
From what he could see, she had spoken the truth.