She tried to smile. His word should be enough.
“But if the word of a knight does not satisfy you, I will give you my ring.”
At once, her heart soared. “Truly, Crispin?”
“Of course.” But instead of reaching into his pocket to withdraw a piece of jewelry, Crispin strode over to the fresh straw. He plucked several long strands and began twisting them together.
“A ring made of straw?” Esme blinked.
“’Tis the ring that is of consequence, not the substance it is formed from.”
She pressed her lips together as he slid the hastily fashioned ring over her finger. It was too large, and she clenched her fist lest it fall to the floor.
“This is my promise to you.” Crispin closer his hand over hers. “I will return, and we shall marry.”
It was the assurance she had longed for, but her heart still beat hollowly in her chest. She stepped into his embrace and pressed her cheek against the rasp of his stubble.
“Will you do something for me?” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck.
“Anything.”
“Leave Wolvesley yourself on the morrow. Wait for me at your sister’s home.”
“Ember Hall?” She tipped back her head and looked at him in confusion. “Why?”
“Because if you remain here, your father will marry you off before I have chance to come back for you.”
Salty tears blurred her vision once more. “I will not allow that to happen.”
“Please, Esme.” His voice was urgent. “Do this one thing.”
His worries were unnecessary, but she could see how they troubled him. “I will.” She nodded, to show her assent. “I will find a reason to visit my sister, Frida.”
“Then all shall be well.” His smile was radiant.
Esme was not convinced. This night had not turned out the way she had planned.
“Just be sure to come for me soon,” she said, forcing an answering smile through her tears.
Chapter Two
Esme saw themessenger approaching Ember Hall through the narrow window of her bedchamber. She sank onto her cushioned window seat, one hand pressed to her heart, as the guard stood back to allow the rider through the gate.
Within moments, she would know.
Her heart fluttered like a small bird trapped in a cage, even as she told herself sharply that the message was most likely meant for someone else in the house. She took up her embroidery in a futile effort of distraction, but the decorative swirls of colored thread had never interested her less.
Is Crispin on his way to me?
She put the embroidery down and clasped her hands together in a silent prayer. It had been more than a sennight since the ball at Wolvesley Castle, when Crispin had asked her to be his bride. She deliberately did not dwell on the exact circumstances of his proposal; merely the fact of it.
“I have always loved you, Esme,”he had said that night in the hay-scented stable, whilst the flickering wall torches outside sent shadows leaping around them.
Esme frowned; her gaze fixed on a brightly patterned tapestry hung on the opposite wall. Was that right?
Nay, she realized, wrapping her fingers around the space where—briefly—a ring made of straw had rested. He had not said that.
“I have always wanted you, Esme.”That was what he said.
