“By a twist of fate,” she reminded him.
“And I am naught but a servant of Rory Baine. Your sister’s father-in-law.” He sighed deeply.
“You are a trusted friend of Callum; a man I hold as dear as my own brothers.” The fire spat, giving her a glow of inspiration. “He even told me you were like family to him.”
Another sigh. Another sad smile. Then he said, “Callum is kind.”
He was about to pull away again, she could see it in his eyes. She tightened her grip on his hands, so that he would have to wrench them free.
“And you are not a servant. You are a warrior. Your father fought alongside the Laird of Kielder.”
“Your family’s enemy,” he interrupted.
Esme tutted at that. If she were not holding onto his fingers so tightly, she would have flapped her hands at him.
“You think that should stand between us? When Frida has long been happily married to Callum?”
“There is the difference in our status.” His eyes were so full of pain it was difficult to look at them. “And that is before I even think about your tender age to my bitter-long years.”
“None of that matters.” Esme lowered her forehead until it rested against his.
“I wish it did not,” he whispered, his breath hitting her bare neck and sending a delicious tingling down her spine.
“It does not have to, if we do not let it.” She placed her palms on his cheeks and gently raised his head until they were once more gazing into one another’s eyes.
Only she felt as if she were gazing into his soul.
“I am not so grand as you think,” she announced. “My mother was a village healer. In truth, she first went to Wolvesley as a servant.”
She did not expect him to chuckle. “You are full of surprises, sweet Esme.”
“Hermother was a suspected witch,” she went on. “Which is why everyone was so worried when Frida used to talk to people who weren’t there.”
Adam was now trembling with repressed laughter. “I feel I must do something to stop you spilling all the de Neville family secrets.”
Esme shook back her hair. She no longer knew whether her daring or her longing were fueling her decisions.
“There is something you could do,” she said.
She inched closer, feeling well as hearing his next question.
“Tell me what it is.”
“Kiss me.”
She half expected him to refuse. But he did not.
Silence fell upon them as they sat close together in the empty hall, by the warmth of the fire. Esme could smell woodsmoke mingling with Adam’s particular masculine fragrance. She fancied she could hear his heart beating, a steady thump beneath the raggedness of his breathing.
He wants to kiss me.
She knew this as surely as she knew her own name.
But will he?
His lips hovered less than inches from hers. His cheeks were coated with stubble, which was alternately black and grey. His breath smelled faintly of the wine they had drunk.
His arms, slowly, wrapped around her, drawing her closer to him.
