“I showed my anger to you. But my anger was not with you. My anger was at the whole world.”
For a brief second he looked away from her, fixing his eyes on the cobbles and his own booted feet. He had erred from the truth, for yesterday, at the standing stones, he had known a rush of anger that was directed toward Esme. Only it wasn’t Esme the living, breathing woman beside him. The one whose smile lit up his day.
It was Lady Esme de Neville; daughter of the Earl of Wolvesley.
Consumed in grief and bitterness, he had believed, for a moment, that her title defined her.
But he could not hope to explain all of that out here in the stable yard, with a chill wind, whisking up dust and grit around them. He could only hope that she would forgive him.
Esme touched the cuff of his sleeve. A simple gesture that all but brought him to his knees.
“I came to understand something yesterday.”
“What was that?” He longed to take her hand and entwine his fingers with hers.
“You are here as my personal guard, but you are also a man with a past. A very full past.”
A man who has seen and caused death.
He winced at the memory of his harsh words.
“Your life has made you the man you are this day, Adam.” She took a quick breath. “And the man you are this day, is a man I have grown to like, very much.”
Ye Gods, he could not help it. He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him.
How could their hands fit together so well when his was the roughened palm of a worker and her hand was soft and small and white?
How could such an innocent touch send burning jolts of awareness flooding right into his core?
She tilted her lovely face toward him and the temptation to lean down and press his lips against hers grew almost overbearing.
Almost.
At the last moment, he remembered they stood in full view of the grooms, the guards, and any servants who might wander from the house.
And he remembered that Callum—his master and his friend—had charged him with the safekeeping of his sister-in-law.
That did not include ravishment in a stable yard.
Breathing deeply, Adam released her hands. “Thank you for your understanding.”
His actions were too rough, his words too abrupt. But he knew not how to temper them. He was lost and floundering; for the first time in almost twenty summers.
Esme only smiled. The smile that could brighten not only his day, but the darkest of nights.
“Let us go inside,” she said lightly, “and await my brother’s return.”
Chapter Twelve
Adam closed thedoor on the wind and the cold and the encroaching darkness. They walked together through the stone-flagged entrance hall, bumping hips accidentally as they turned into the great hall.
Esme smiled an apology, although the sensation had been more than pleasant. Indeed, it felt good and right to stand beside this mighty warrior and see her problems become his as well. As soon as he had opened his door to her, she had felt safe.
When he had touched her arm, upstairs on the landing, such a feeling of relief swept over her that tears had sprung to her eyes.
One word came into her head.
Home.
