Page 42

“She likes you.” He nodded to Arwen.

“I like her too,” she said, glancing at him. “I’d love to know more about her previous owner.”

The look in her eyes told him she meant every word. She wanted to hear more about his mother, and for the first time in a long while, Tristan felt compelled to talk about her.

“She died two years ago,” he said. “Just after she agreed to move here with me.”

“I’m sorry, Tristan.”

“Her life was a difficult one,” he said. “I would have enjoyed giving her the security Saxford could offer.”

“She didn’t want to come earlier?” Hannah asked, navigating Arwen as if she were an expert horsewoman. The road to the nearest village was flat, a perfect first ride for her.

“The Swan was the only establishment of its kind not under the control of the church,” he said. “She worried what would become of it if she left. My mother selected the women carefully; all were examined to ensure their humors were balanced before working for her. But she took care to treat them well, something other stewhouses were not always reputed to do.”

“She sounds like a caring, ambitious woman.”

Her tone lacked any hint of derision.

“Aye, she was . . . perfect.”

Maybe not to the world, but to him.

“She died in her sleep. The ladies said a pain in her arm and vomiting sent her to an early bed. And, it seems, an early grave. She should have been at Saxford. With me.”

Hannah grew quiet suddenly, and Tristan ventured to ask her the same question she’d asked him.

“Will you speak of your parents?”

When Arwen suddenly reared, Tristan shouted, “Keep your weight forward. Don’t pull on the reins.”

She did as instructed, and the horse quickly calmed. “That’s it,” he said, grateful he’d chosen a horse with such an easy temperament. “She sensed your unease. You may have pulled back or tightened your legs without realizing you’d done so.”

Hannah took a deep breath and finally looked over at him. “I believe I did just that.”

Neither of them needed to say it aloud—the subject of her parents had clearly upset her. Tristan didn’t bring it up again, instead finding ways to distract her. They spoke at greater length of the differences between their times, though much of what she said was difficult to believe.

Time passed like water with Hannah, and before Tristan knew it, they’d reached the gentle ridge leading in to the village. What would she think of it?

“Slow down,” he said as they reached the top. “And look.”

He watched as Hannah looked down and gasped.