Esme scowled at her brother. “Must you always spoil everything?”
“Is that how you would describe it?” Jonah clasped a hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak before reaching for his goblet of wine. “One day soon my siblings will learn to recognize all that I do for them,” he said confidingly to Adam, draining the cup.
“Ignore Jonah. He has already drunk his fill of wine.” Esme looked with concern at Adam’s empty trencher. “Are you not eating?”
Adam had thought he might be too nervous to eat, but the feast was too enticing to ignore. At Esme’s urging, he helped himself to a cut of roasted boar, adding glazed carrots and an onion tart. Jonah generously filled his goblet with rich red wine, and Adam drank deeply.
He was beginning to relax when Morwenna turned to address Mirrie, and Adam’s gaze landed on the empty chair beside her.
“Where is your father?” he asked Esme, keeping his voice low.
Esme pulled a face. “Mother said he would be coming soon.” She shrugged. “I cannot think what’s keeping him.”
The sumptuous food turned to dust in his mouth.
Is the earl staying away because of me?
Adam took another drink of wine, ordering himself to be stay calm. He had been met with naught but kindness from all the other members of Esme’s family. Would her father be so different?
He did not see Alfred ascending the steps to the family’s table. When Tristan’s manservant spoke in his ear, Adam nearly fell from the dais in shock.
“Lord Angus would like to speak with you, in his solar.”
He gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady his breathing. Esme’s wide eyes swung to his; she looked as shocked as he was.
“What does this mean?” he whispered, uncaring that both Jonah and Alfred would hear him.
“I do not know,” she mouthed back. “But you had better not keep him waiting.”
Adam felt as if he had been doused in cold water, but there was nothing for it but to stand up and follow Alfred back through the great hall. He told himself he was imagining the hundreds of eyes watching his progress across the stone flags, and the fact that the musicians had begun to play something that sounded suspiciously dirge-like.
Alfred’s back was straight, and his stride was long. Adam emulated his calmness as best he could; finding himself back in the marbled entrance hall before he had properly processed what was happening. Alfred motioned him toward a forbidding door hewn from oak and positioned in the far corner of the spacious hallway.
“The earl’s solar,” he intoned, solemnly.
He bowed and swept away, leaving Adam to meet his fate alone.
He knocked with all the confidence he could summon, wincing when sound ricocheted off the frescoed walls.
“Come,” called a deeply masculine voice.
Adam walked into a square-shaped room which was lined with books and furnished with a large writing desk that took up most of the wall near the window. On the opposite wall, a fire burned in the hearth, beside two tapestried chairs positioned,seemingly, for comfort. The scent of lavender wafted up from the rushes on the floor, helping to relax his nerves.
The Earl of Wolvesley sat at his desk, his head down. Adam’s first impression was of a great lion, so golden was his hair, and so mighty was his presence. Then he glanced up, and Adam found himself ensnared in the all-seeing gaze of a man who might be Tristan’s double.
Were Tristan some twenty summers older.
Adam bowed as low as he could. “You asked to see me, milord.” He spoke carefully, anxious to betray none of his disquiet.
How much does this man know about my relationship with his daughter?
Angus sat back in his leather-bound chair, linking his long fingers beneath his chin.
“Adam Hawker, I believe?”
“Yes, milord.”
“The man who saved my daughter’s honor. If my son’s account is true, perchance even her life.”
