Winter's Bride

by Catherine Archer

  Now it was Tristan’s turn to rub agitated hands over his face. “I do not know. I suppose I must tell her.”

  “I would advise against it. She loves Sabina so and wants to be her mother. How can you take that from her for no reason, when Lily may never remember? As you say, Lily intends to stay for only a short time, presumably merely long enough to convince herself that you have indeed fabricated the whole story. Why not give the situation some time? When you have a clearer idea of what will occur, you can explain it all to Genevieve. But again, it is your decision.”

  Tristan was tired—tired of thinking, tired of trying to ferret out the best course with the realization of each new disheartening complication. All he wanted was to be with Lily, to see her face, hear her voice, think about the moments they had spent in one another’s arms.

  Tristan recoiled from his own thoughts in horror. Lily and the way they had made love were the last things he should allow himself to dwell upon now or ever again.

  What he had told Benedict about not wanting Lily was true. There would be no repeat of those moments at the lodge. Not when Lily did not know him—love him.

  Tristan rose, feeling more weary than at any time in his life. “I will take your advice to heart. I will say nothing to Genevieve for the moment. There is no need to hurt her more than must be.” But as he moved toward the door he felt an unexpected surge of energy.

  Lily was waiting on the other side of that portal.

  He told himself that it was because he was to introduce her to Sabina. He loved the child so, was proud of her. Perhaps seeing the little one would open the locked doors in Lily’s mind as nothing else had. He could not even allow himself to consider what might happen then.

  As he reached for the handle, Benedict’s voice halted him. “I must add this one piece of advice out of love for you. Go carefully, my brother. I know that you believe her story of forgotten memory, but Lily may ultimately prove to be lying. Please, for your own sake, guard your heart so it is not broken again.”

  Tristan paused and smiled at his brother. “There is no need to worry. I know what I am doing, Benedict.” Then he turned away, feeling that the words did not ring quite as true as he would have wished.

  Lily was utterly and completely unnerved. Benedict Ainsworth’s shocked reaction at seeing her could not have been feigned.

  She spent the interminable time until Tristan returned thinking of the expression of recognition and horror on his brother’s face. Something was going on here, but she knew not what.

  Now more than ever she needed to see the child.

  Yet when Tristan did emerge from the chamber, doubt clasped Lily in a tight grip. She found herself studying him closely.

  Tristan returned her scrutiny. “Are you ready to see her?” His eyes seemed to search her own for something…

  Lily looked away. She was too numb to even try to fathom his expression. Stiffly, she replied, “Aye, I am ready.”

  She could see the rigidity that came over his body at her distant manner, but she could not alter her behavior. She felt as if everything was now happening at a long distance from herself. She had no more palatable reactions to give. When he motioned for her to follow him, she hung back farther and farther as he made his way down the long, dimly lit hall, then up the steps to the third story of the keep.

  What would she say when she met the child? What if she did have a sense of knowing, as she had with Tristan?

  As they continued down the hall, Tristan said nothing and simply matched his steps to hers. At last he came to a heavy oak door, stopped and turned, his dark gaze coming back to her. His face showed civility and possibly a hint of pity. He seemed to assess her feelings in the space of a heartbeat. “You have no need to be apprehensive about seeing her. She will be sleeping.”

  Lily crossed her arms over her midriff, daunted that he had read her so very easily. She knew it would be useless to try to deny his accuracy. “I do not know how I will feel, what I might recall and what it would mean to my life.”

  He watched her for a long moment, his gaze softening even more, then he held out his hand. “I understand.”

  Her heart turned over in her breast. God help her, but she responded so very quickly and on such a deep level to his gentleness. She was unable to prevent herself from moving forward and taking the offered hand.

  Then, while still exhibiting that same gentle strength, he opened the door and drew her inside. The chamber was bathed in the golden glow of the fire. It was large but warmly appointed, with small furnishings and brightly colored fabrics. The heavy blue drapes, which matched the bed hangings, were pulled closed over tall windows. These windows must let in a great deal of light during the day. A narrow cot, obviously made up for an attendant, rested against the outside wall. A serving woman sat sewing near the fire directly across the room from the small, carved wooden bed. When they entered, she stood up and said, “My lord Tristan.”

  He nodded. “You may go now, Maggie. You will not be needed this night.”

  As the woman left, Lily realized that the child was obviously well cared for. She was not surprised. Tristan had made no secret of his love and devotion to his daughter.

  And according to his claim, her daughter.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, Lily forced herself to move with him across the room without hesitation. She had come this far, and for the very purpose of seeing the little girl. She would do so.

  Tristan stopped just shy of the bed and moved to stand behind her. Lily looked at him in confusion.

  His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “This moment is for you.”

  Hesitantly, Lily nodded. It would be best if she did not have the compelling power of his presence beside her when she looked at the little one. She knew already how susceptible she was to Tristan’s nearness.

  She took the last steps to the bed alone. The hangings had been pulled back to let in the heat of the fire, and all she had to do was lean over…

  Taking another deep breath, she did so. Lily had to put her hand up to stifle a start of shock, amazement and wonder as she looked at the little girl.

  Sabina Ainsworth’s straight black hair fell to either side of her smooth white forehead. Her cheeks, though rounded with baby fat, were shaped by highly defined bones. Her small mouth was pink and sweetly curved, her chin softly defiant.

  Lily was frozen in place. She could not deny that she was looking down at a face that was very like her own must have been some eighteen years gone by.

  But even while acknowledging this, she felt no rise of recognition, no immediate recall of how they could be so alike. Disappointment and relief swept over her in the same instant. Both were immediately replaced by consternation.

  She had solved nothing. Now even more questions rolled unanswered inside her.

  Slowly she backed away from the bed. She could feel Tristan’s gaze upon her, but refused to meet it. Lily did not wish to talk about her feelings with this man. Somehow she knew it would make her even more vulnerable to reveal her confusion to him now.

  She was not even certain she wished for Tristan to know any of what was going through her mind—though he seemed to be able to read her easily enough that she had little hope of hiding anything from him.

  Tristan moved past her, first making sure the covers were pulled up on his daughter, then tenderly bending to kiss her tiny forehead. He then turned to Lily expectantly.

  Lily faced him directly, aware that she must say something. “There is no denying the resemblance.”

  He spoke up with surprising eagerness. “I knew you could not help but see.”

  She answered just as quickly, “But I did not know her. There was no sense of recognition.”

  Clearly chagrined, Tristan frowned. “That is not too surprising when one considers it. She was born but moments before the carriage accident, and you saw her only as an infant. I simply hoped that seeing her might help you to recall…” He shrugged, his face unreadable.

>   Lily shook her head. “Seeing her has answered nothing.” In spite of her wishes to keep her thoughts to herself, she found herself saying, “There is very dark hair in your own family. Are there gray eyes as well?”

  He shook his head, unconsciously holding it at a proud angle. “All the Ainsworth men have blue eyes. My mother’s were violet.”

  Lily took a deep breath. “I am left even more confused than before. How could a child that I have never met be so very like me in form?”

  He scowled with frustration and censure. “I have told you the answer to that.”

  She gave him an equally disapproving stare. “Ah, yes, you have, and I am to take your word against that of my own family. You, who are a stranger to me.”

  The words seemed to awaken some slumbering beast of frustration and anger in his blue eyes. He took a step closer to her. “Not so much a stranger. Your body knows me, Lily, even if your mind does not.”

  She had no reply to that, for it was far too true. She chose to ignore the remark, which made her own blood rise, though not with anger. “Seeing the little one has not brought about the effect you had hoped, but neither has it settled my mind. I must try to resolve this within myself. I cannot leave here with so much uncertainty. I beg that in spite of this turn of events you allow me to stay on for some days as maid to your child, as you suggested at Molson.”

  He looked at her with obvious indifference. “Of course. That was my intent from the beginning.”

  She stared down at her folded hands. “I simply thought…” She looked up at him again. “I feared you would no longer wish to keep me here, since seeing her has not made me recall the past as you had hoped.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows. “I do not go back on my word. I told you you would be allowed to meet and know Sabina. That is what will happen unless you wish it to be otherwise. Benedict has given his consent as well.”

  She bit her lip. “Your brother…I cannot help thinking about how he thought he recognized me.”

  Tristan shook his head. “As I told you, Benedict does recognize you, Lily. You are the one who does not.”

  She shook her own head. “For reasons I have already explained, I cannot just accept your word for this. I must hold all you say suspect out of love and loyalty for my family, if nothing else.”

  He frowned, but said nothing.

  Finally he motioned to the cot against the far wall. “As Sabina’s personal maid, you may sleep there. That will mean that you do not have to take your rest with the other servants in the great hall.”

  She watched him closely. “You trust me to stay here alone with your babe?”

  Tristan returned the look in good measure. “And why should I not trust you, Lily? I know you. No matter what has occurred, no matter what you have forgotten, there is no possible way that you could be so changed as that.” He paused, then continued, “Is there some reason that you do not wish to stay in Sabina’s chambers?”

  Lily shook her head quickly. “No indeed. I am very grateful for your kindness in allowing me to do so. I…’twould be difficult to spend the night in the hall.” She had not even considered where she might be sleeping. Acting the part of a servant was more complicated than she had anticipated.

  But the admission had not been easy to make. She did not wish to feel grateful to Tristan for anything. He was the one who had brought about this upheaval in her life. He was the one who had set her to wondering, doubting everything she believed about herself and her family.

  Yet Lily could not make herself turn her back on him as she wanted to. That haunting voice of recognition inside her would not let her do so.

  Why this was so she did not know. All she knew was that she had to remain here until that voice was quieted, at rest once more. Only then would she again be secure in her own beliefs about her life.

  Tristan seemed to have nothing to add to what she had said. He shrugged. “I will leave you to your bed then. Sabina is accustomed to waking early and I will attend you in the morn.”

  “What if she awakens before you return?”

  He shrugged. “I am certain you will manage very well indeed. I have no worries on that score.”

  Without looking at him, Lily murmured, “I thank you for your kindness and for your faith in me.” She was not as sure of her own abilities as he professed to be, but pride would not allow her to tell him that.

  “Good night then,” he said softly. A hush followed the words. Their gazes locked and held for a long moment in which she was sure he was waiting in expectation of what she might say or do.

  But Lily made no more reply than an even more quietly voiced, “Good night.” She did not look at him, but she was infinitely aware of the tall, powerful man as he turned and walked slowly from the chamber.

  Chapter Four

  Lily had slept very little on the narrow bed. She could not get the image of the tiny face of Tristan’s daughter from her mind.

  Lily was instantly aware when Sabina awoke. She made no actual noises. It was simply as if Lily was completely attuned to the very rhythm of her breathing, the restless change in the room that marked her returning consciousness.

  Just as she had been with Tristan. She brushed the thought away like an irritating gnat.

  She rose immediately and went to the bed, not giving herself time to reconsider. Tristan was not the reason she was staying here at Brackenmoore. No matter that his motives were still unknown to her, she was determined to try to understand her own feelings and reactions. There would be no more hesitating in this, no more feeling unsure of herself.

  Even having reassured herself of this, Lily was not prepared for the wave of wonder that washed over her as she looked down into the child’s open eyes. If the resemblance had been startling before, it was even more so now, because those gray eyes were the exact same shade as her own.

  The sheer depth of sweet, pleasurable emotion that swelled in her breast as the child smiled and held out her arms brought a weakness to Lily’s knees. She held out her own arms before making any conscious choice to do so.

  In the next instant the little girl was cuddled close, fitting against her as if she was meant to be there. She peered up at Lily and said, “You are so beautiful, just like a princess.” To Lily’s surprise there was complete acceptance in that approving gaze.

  Lily was moved by the child’s words and expression, for they seemed to go beyond the surface meaning to encompass all of her.

  “Who are you?” the child asked.

  Lily paused for a long moment. “I am Lily. Your father has brought me here to look after you.”

  “Da is home?” The little girl beamed, her gray eyes alight with happiness and love. What, Lily wondered, would it be like to have such adoration aimed at herself? Even while she pondered her own reactions, the child began to squirm. “I want to get up now, please, and see my Da.”

  Lily nodded. “Yes, you may get up now.”

  The little one squirmed off her lap and ran to the door.

  Lily stopped her with a soft laugh. She could not help herself, the child was just so ingenuous. “We had best get you washed and dressed first, hadn’t we?”

  Sabina scowled at the words, but raced back to her. “Yes, I will wash and dress first.”

  The thought of washing suddenly made Lily aware of the chill in the air. She smiled at Sabina. “First a fire.”

  The little one nodded, and Lily went to the hearth. Though she had not much experience with such things, it went well, mostly because the fire had been expertly banked the previous night by a servant and there were live coals in the ashes.

  With that done Lily stood and made her way to the chest that sat at the foot of the bed. That was certainly where the little one’s garments were kept. On opening it, she found that indeed they were. And what lovely little garments. Not only were they carefully decorated by a skilled hand with intricate embroidery and fur trim, they were also clearly cut with the comfort of a small child in mind.

  Aga
in, she found herself thinking that someone was looking after this child well. She felt an unexpected stab of resentment that it was not she who had chosen and lovingly embroidered the tiny garments. She just as quickly told herself that she was being ridiculous. In spite of their obvious resemblance, the possibility that Sabina was her child was so remote that she must not allow herself to get caught up in any emotional tug-of-war.

  Lily hurriedly selected a tiny gown of pale pink with spring green embroidery around the hem and sleeves, then a pair of matching pink hose. She poured water into the basin that sat atop the table, then dug until she found a soft scrap of cloth in the chest, wet it and warmed it with her hands. Sabina, who had wandered to the other side of the room to play with some toys, came immediately when Lily called to her.

  * * *

  Tristan looked at the two of them sitting there on the end of the bed, Lily braiding the toddler’s silky black tresses into some semblance of order. He had thought to come to the chamber early so as to help in easing the initial meeting between the two.

  Though he had not known it until the moment when Lily had looked at the child without knowing her, he had hoped—hoped more than he wanted to admit—that seeing Sabina would awaken her memory.

  Yet standing there at the entrance to the room, he was more than surprised to see that Sabina had taken to her mother so very quickly. Though she was a bright, sweet child, she was at times somewhat shy with strangers.

  But then, Lily was not a stranger. Even the babe recognized the bond between them.

  Would that Lily would do so.

  Immediately Tristan stopped himself. She was here for her own sake and nothing more.

  As if sensing his presence, Lily suddenly swung to face him, her expression becoming more guarded as their gazes met. Tristan could barely restrain a grimace.

  “My lord,” she greeted him stiffly.

  Tristan moved forward with a deliberately fixed smile. He was determined to hide her effect on him. “Good morrow. I see you have met your charge.”