“Fight for her.” Frida stepped closer, looking as if she might land a punch herself. “For the first time in your life, Tristan, fight for something other than land or glory.”
His ire sparked. “That is unfair. I fight for peace and the safety of my family and country.”
“And now I am asking you to fight for the woman you love.” Frida laid a hand on his arm, holding him tightly when he would pull away. “That is, if you do love her, Tris. Truly.”
“I love her.” The words almost ripped him in two.
“Then find a way to win her.” She stepped back, her arms folded provocatively. For Frida, it was all very simple.
“I have already tried.” He reached out to pat his charger, who came to investigate the commotion at his door. “I tried to tell her the truth of my heart but she would not hear me.”
“Then you must try again.” Frida nodded decisively.
“I doubt that Mirrie would want to see me.”
His sister huffed out a breath. “So what happens now? You say you love her, but you will ride off and live the rest of your life without her?”
“Don’t say that.” He pressed his lips together, unable to countenance such a future. Not now that he knew what true happiness felt like.
“Only cowards run away,” Frida stated. The gleam in her eye showed she knew she had struck a blow.
Tristan clenched his fingers around the stable door. He never could stand being called a coward.
But this was new territory for him. He had faced many battles in his life, but none that struck so deeply into his soul.
“I opened up my heart.” He rested his head on his hands. “In response, she told me I was reckless, cruel and motivated only by lust.” He groaned into his palms. “Ye Gods, this makes me sound as petulant as a child. Is this what love is, sister? Something that hurts and makes one doubt one’s own mind?”
Frida considered this. “At times, aye. But love can also bring out the best in a person. And that is what must happen now. You must dig deep.” She leaned over and tapped at his chest. “In here.”
He ruminated on this. “I would fight for her. I would do anything.”
But Frida shook her head. “No swords, no grand gestures. Just you, Tris. You need to convince Mirrie to have faith in you.”
“As a man.” He thought of that long-ago conversation in Mirrie’s bedchamber “Where is she now?”
Frida smiled in triumph. “She was heading for the standing stones the last time I saw her.” She fixed him with another stare. “Please try and choose your words with more care, this time.”
The path to the standing stones was familiar from childhood. Tristan’s feet knew the way, leaving his mind free to roam. He recalled racing his siblings over these hills, when naught was more important than his small wooden sword, his trusted pony and the enticing smell of honey cakes wafting from the bakehouse.
When he would have never believed anyone who told him there would come a time he would clash with Mirrie. That she would strike a blow at the very foundations of his self-belief. For her steadfast refusal to credit him with reason and rationality had indeed made him question what kind of man he was.
What kind of man he wanted to be.
His men-at-arms had always followed him implicitly into battle. He had commanded mighty armies; been entrusted withperilous negotiations with the most powerful figureheads in England and beyond.
But what good were his skills as a warrior if the woman he loved did not trust him as a man?
“You must decide if you truly love Mirrie. If the answer is yes, what are you going to do about it?”
His mother’s challenge had seemed, on the face of it, so easily met. But now he realised that this was no quick skirmish, swiftly executed with minimal planning. This was mayhap the riskiest campaign of his life.
And the stakes were as high as the chance of failure.
Frida had always loved the standing stones; seven granite monoliths rearing towards the sky in an uneven circle atop the cliffs. She had spoken of an ancient energy radiating from them, but to Tristan they had represented no more than a place to play. He would dare his sisters to jump from the tallest stone, thrilled to demonstrate his own strength and bravado.
He supposed they were as good a place to come and think as any other.
At least, that was what Mirrie appeared to be doing. At first, he could not see her. Then he made her out, leaning against one of the highest stones and gazing out at the sea. It was only the wind whipping at her tunic that drew his eye. She seemed as one with the landscape, merging into the hard stone in her desire to hide away from him.
