Adam’s hand twitched to comfort her. “How do you know that?”
“Because we had an argument.” She lifted her chin, and he saw her blue eyes were glassy with tears. “I said things that I should not have said.”
“I believe ’tis a common occurrence between siblings,” he offered gently.
“Still, there are boundaries one should not cross.” Esme’s voice carried a tremor.
Adam nodded to show he understood. He was an only child, but the men he fought beside were as close as brothers. He knew all about breaching boundaries.
“Where did he go?”
’Twas the wrong question to ask. Esme all but jumped from her chair in distress.
“I have no idea.”
Then how can I find him for you?
He kept this question to himself. “I shall go and speak to the grooms. They may know something more.”
He meant for Esme to remain here, where it was warm and light. But she stood up alongside him and straightened her skirts.
“I am coming with you.”
She spoke as a lady, the daughter of an earl. He was unable to argue.
“At least allow me to fetch you a cloak.”
She gave him a slight smile. “I seem to have requisitioned my sister’s cloak. You will find it on a peg outside the kitchen.”
Frida’s cloak was of serviceable wool. It would keep her warm, he reflected, as he fastened it over her shoulders. ’Twas necessary to keep his mind on the domestic; otherwise, he would gaze at her slender neck and forget who—and where—he was.
As they passed through the arched front door, he grasped a wall torch and held it high to light their way across the cobbles, fixing his gaze at the huddle of outbuildings rather than risk a glance at the beauty by his side. The yard was peaceful, the air sweet with the scent of hay. A tall youth with gangly limbs and freckles was talking to a dapple-grey mare as he bolted the stable door, all the while juggling two large buckets. He startled in fright when he beheld Adam and Esme walking toward him, dropping the buckets which were, mercifully, empty.
Nevertheless, the buckets made a tremendous clatter as they hit the ground and rolled, causing the horse to shy backwards with her ears flattened.
The youth looked mortified. “Beg pardon, milady.”
Esme quickly recovered her composure. “Do not apologize, please. We are the ones who gave you a fright.”
The youth stooped to collect the buckets and Adam saw that even the backs of his ears were red.
He cleared his throat. “We are here to speak to the man who saddled Lord Jonah’s horse this morn.”
The lad looked relieved. “That was John, methinks. I shall fetch him for you.” He scurried away, leaving Adam and Esme standing alone in the pool of light from the torch.
Settled once again, the dapple-grey munched at her hay, occasionally turning liquid eyes in their direction. Adam was growing increasingly concerned about Esme, whose concern had morphed into an almost frenzied agitation. She tapped the toe of her boot on the cobbles and hugged herself tightly against the gusty wind. He cast about for something reassuring to say, but rapid footsteps announced the arrival of John, who bustled around the corner from the barn, wiping his hands on a stiff apron.
John was short, but from Adam’s perspective, so were most men. He looked most alarmed to behold his visitors and gave them both a respectful bow.
“You’re here to ask after Lord Jonah’s horse?”
Esme swept toward him, her sister’s cloak billowing behind her. “My brother has not yet returned.”
John scratched at his thatch of red hair. “I was sayin’ that just now, to the lads.”
Adam intervened. “Do you know where he was going?”
“’Tis not my place to ask.” John calmly stroked the muzzle of a pony, who had poked his head over the adjacent half-door to see what the fuss was all about. “And he said naught to me.”
