He swung his head at the catch in her voice. She stood a few feet away, her blue gaze fixed humbly on the flattened grass.
Her forthright honesty deserved the truth in return.
“I am of a mind that all young ladies should be taught how to use a sword.”
He noted her sharp intake of breath, and the relieved smile that darted across her lips.
“Truly?”
“Aye.” He allowed himself to smile back. The sun shone down on them like a blessing.
“That is a comfort to hear.” Esme slowly took her seat once again. “How do you hold such daring beliefs? Is it common practice, in Kielder Castle, for women to fight alongside men?”
Her question was innocently asked. He did not permit his bloody memories of the siege of Kielder to derail their conversation.
“’It is not.”
She raised her eyebrows questioningly. A dazzling young woman, accustomed to a life of privilege, who had no idea what darkness she was stirring.
Out of nowhere came an urge to unburden himself and explain exactly why he held such daring beliefs. He picked up a flattened stone and rubbed it between his fingers. “I have bored you enough with my stories, this day.”
“I am far from bored.”
His heart began to beat faster. His was a cautionary tale, was it not? One which Esme deserved to hear?
Adam was unused to dwelling in the past. But her questions had already taken him back there. Would he ever have a better time to share this story than here and now, with the shadows of the standing stones reminding him of all that had gone before—and all that would continue to be long after his name was but a dim memory?
Does Esme not deserve to know the truth?
His eyes half closed as he recalled how she had kissed him, quickly and sweetly, in the great hall.
“I was once engaged to be wed,” he said abruptly.
She gave another sharp intake of breath.
“Clara was her name.”
Esme said nothing, but her blue eyes were trained upon him. He could feel the weight of her gaze.
“We were childhood friends.” His stomach churned at the onslaught of so many memories. “Then we became something more. I was to take over the running of her father’s farm. ’Twas the life I wanted. With the lass I loved.” He looked down atthe smooth stone, turning it over in his hands whilst his mind galloped backwards.
He had no idea how much time had passed when Esme spoke up again.
“What was she like?”
Her question brought him back to the present. “She was like you,” he answered honestly. But he regretted his candor almost straight away; ’twas a leap that he had not planned to make. “By that, I mean that she was fair-haired and fair-spoken; honorable and true. She always wore a smile and could make the best of any situation.”
“And you loved her?” Esme’s expression had become unreadable.
“Aye.” He rubbed at his aching back, compelled to add, “This was many years ago.”
“What happened? Why did you not wed?” Esme leaned back on her hands and swung her legs, affecting nonchalance when he knew—from the hard set of her mouth—that she was anything but.
And that was wrong.
This connection between them was real. He knew not what was fueling the flame—when she had both beauty and wealth, whilst he was a man of advancing years and bitter humor—but he knew that the flame must be extinguished. Left to burn, it would consume too much that was good.
Adam had seen lovers come and go. Esme was young, with her whole life ahead of her.
