“’Twas winter. Not a sensible time for campaigning.” He cleared his throat. “Rory and my father spent several days wandering in the mist. They were cold and hungry. Entirely by chance, they wandered into the grounds of Egremont House, where Lady Elizabeth Kerr took pity on them. She was Callum’s mother,” he added, seeing her look of confusion.
“She showed mercy to her enemies?”
“She was a kind and merciful woman.” A brisk breeze stirred the folds of his belted tunic as he recalled Lady Elizabeth’s gentle smile and calming presence. “You can guess what happened next?”
Esme wrinkled her pretty nose. “She and Rory must have married. But I always thought that Rory was not a kind man?”
He couldn’t help but smile at that, even as a sharp bit of stone dug into his thighs. “That is a fair assessment. But love is a powerful thing. And Rory once loved his wife, very much.”
Who knows what kind of man he may have become, had Lady Elizabeth not died when she did?
Perchance Adam’s future—and Callum’s too—would have turned out very differently.
“What about your own father?” Esme asked softly.
“He also married a local woman.” Adam pushed down his emotions. “You said once that it is not common for a warrior to seek a life of peace. But my father was all too happy to lay down his weapons.”
“And he farmed land near here?” Esme swiveled her head around, as if she might be able to spy Adam’s childhood haunts from where she sat.
“Not far from here.” He did not wish to dwell on this. “So, you see, although I am the son of a farmer. My father was also a warrior. And he taught me how to wield a sword from a young age. When my parents passed, Rory took me in.”
“And here we are,” Esme breathed.
“Here we are,” he confirmed.
For a long moment they did not say more. The only sound was the call of gulls overhead and the rhythmic ebb and flow of the crashing waves far beneath them.
“You are of a noble bloodline? You are the son of a knight?”
“Nay.” He shook his head quickly. “My father’s family were naught of note.”
Her question had unsettled him.
Does Esme wish I was of a more noble bloodline?
No sooner had the idea formed, than he pursed his lips at his own foolishness.
Of course she did. She was Lady Esme de Neville. Their acquaintance—their growing acquaintance—would be so much more acceptable, were he of noble blood.
But he was no such thing, and he would not pretend otherwise.
“That is the end of my story,” he said tightly, fisting his hands.
Even if he were the son of a knight. Hell’s teeth, even if he were the son of alord, he could not allow this simmering attraction he felt for Esme to develop into anything more.
I am too scarred for one so lovely.
He turned away from her, fixing his gaze at the circle of man-sized standing stones that had stood atop these cliffs perchance for hundreds of years. Since the first time he had come upon them, they had somehow called to him. The stones would have seen people, families, come and go. Battles fought. Hearts broken. An ancient energy shimmered between them, like the thinning of a veil. But it did not alarm him. Forsooth, proximity to these ancient monoliths endowed him with a strong sense of peace; reminding him that there was more in this world than he could ever hope to understand.
His breathing began to slow as his limbs relaxed.
I should not have grown so agitated.
“Forgive my lack of propriety.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Esme start to stand.
“There is naught to forgive.” The words fell from his lips before he was aware they were forming.
“I disagree. I have asked personal questions when I have no right to do so. I have even demanded you teach me to use a sword, when a more fitting occupation would be embroidery.”
