Winter's Bride

by Catherine Archer

  She could not prevent herself from asking, “Why do you speak thus of my lord Harcourt?” The others at the table turned to her as if surprised that she would join their conversation. Lily blushed, realizing it was not her place to ask questions of the nobles. Her presence at table was only for the convenience of caring for Sabina. “Forgive me, I did mean not to intrude,” she said quickly.

  Benedict’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You do not intrude. It is your question that causes our distress.”

  Tristan drew her attention to himself as he spoke deliberately. “Genevieve is cousin to the earl. When her father and mother died some four years ago, Harcourt, as her eldest living relation, offered to take her into his household. She was then fourteen. What he did not tell her when he did so was that he fully intended to avail himself of her innocence, with or without her consent. She escaped, coming directly here to Benedict, whom she knew to be her father’s true friend. We took her to Richard of York himself, who consented to have her made ward to Benedict as she desired.”

  Lily’s wide eyes met Genevieve’s before the young woman blushed scarlet and dropped her head.

  Lily could feel the sympathy of the four brothers as they looked at Genevieve, but it was Marcel who reached out and put his hand over hers. Lily could not help noting that that strong hand seemed to be trembling as Marcel looked at her bent head. Lily recalled that it had been Marcel who had seemed to display the most disquiet concerning Lily’s arrival at Brackenmoore the previous day, though he had couched it in terms of jest.

  Glancing about the table, Lily realized that none of the others seemed to show the least hint of seeing what she did in the gesture. She told herself that she was reading too much into his familial care. Surely it was her own wayward attraction to Tristan that made her see hidden agendas of a similar nature in others.

  “Just so.” Benedict’s comment drew all gazes, including Lily’s, to himself. “The man is a knave and despoiler of women. Whomever he marries will be forced to accept his philandering and cruelty, for he is a law unto himself.”

  Genevieve broke in. “Please, I would have us discuss anything but Maxim Harcourt. If we are to think of him in any way let it be of the poor malformed creature who is rumored to be his brother.”

  Lily was surprised by this, as she had not been aware he had a brother. Tristan’s response gave her further pause. “As no one has ever seen him, including yourself, Genevieve, I prefer to think that it is nothing more than rumor. Another Harcourt the world may do without.” He fell silent, the four brothers exchanging troubled glances.

  Lily finished the meal in a daze. She began to wonder if she had indeed discovered a reason for Tristan to lie to her. Obviously they bore a grudge against Maxim.

  Anger suffused her. Tristan had doubtless brought her here, left her confused and tormented about herself and her life, all in aid of revenge. She told herself the disappointment she felt at learning that there was probably no real connection between herself and Sabina—or Tristan—was sheer madness.

  She must learn how he was planning to use her. And how many of the family were aware of this? Lily could not help thinking that it could only be Tristan and Benedict.

  When Tristan escorted them back to Sabina’s room, Lily first watched the child go to her toys. It was not the child’s fault that her father was a blackguard. She then rounded on him, her voice an angry whisper. “I have finally realized what is going on, my lord knave. You may now return me to my family.”

  He faced her with amazement, also being careful to keep his voice low. “What has come over you?”

  She glared at him. “Your giving away the fact that you bear a grudge against Maxim Harcourt has confirmed my belief that all you have said were lies. You have brought me here in order to seek revenge.”

  He put his hands on his lean hips, his face a mask of disbelief and anger. “And what move have I made to put this revenge into effect? By telling him that I have you?” He shook his head in disgust. “You try too hard, Lily. What you say makes no sense if you will but look at it. I would have no aversion to seeking revenge against the bastard, but we have given Genevieve our word that we will not do so. The love we bear her prevents either me or my brothers from breaking that promise.”

  Lily bit her lip. “But it would explain everything.”

  He looked away from her. “There is no explanation save the one I have given you, and it is the fact that you are becoming less and less able to doubt me that has made you come up with a ridiculous tale. I will not be insulted any longer. I am not a liar, and in the event that you are still worried about my plotting some revenge against your betrothed, you have my permission to leave Brackenmoore at your convenience. It was, if you recall, your own suggestion that you come here.”

  She looked at him with haunted eyes. “I do not wish to leave.”

  He was irritated beyond measure when her expression sent a jab of sympathy through him. Before she could say another word, he turned and stalked away.

  Tristan was frustrated beyond any imagining. He spurred Uriel on in the darkness, grateful for the sharp chill in the salty air, though it did little to cool his agitation.

  After leaving Lily, he had informed Benedict that he was going out to check on the workmen’s progress at the signal tower. He had not been able to meet his brother’s probing gaze. Glad that Benedict had kept his thoughts to himself, Tristan escaped without having to explain why he would wish to do so.

  He had spent most of this day pretending to go over the old parchments in his chambers. In actuality he had thought endlessly of Lily and the moments they had shared at Molson.

  The thoughts brought him only guilt and no small measure of impatience with himself. He pined for something that had not been real.

  Lily was Lily, yet she was not. It was becoming more and more difficult to sit and look at her, to see her and know that the woman he had loved was indeed gone.

  She had looked so pale and fragile when she came into the hall in the black gown, yet so incredibly beautiful that he could barely prevent himself from staring like a dumbstruck lad. He had forced himself not to reveal the hungry need he felt.

  He couldn’t help seeing not only that she was beautiful beyond what any mere mortal woman should be, but also that she was as gentle with Sabina as he had expected she would be. Though she had not admitted it and would surely deny the truth, she already had feelings for the little one. It was apparent in her voice when she spoke to her, in the genuine affection in her soft gray eyes.

  Sabina was already beginning to love Lily. This made him feel decidedly uncomfortable, especially after the way Lily had just accused him of bringing her here to seek revenge against Harcourt.

  Now more than ever he wished for Lily to regain her memory. Her coming up with this mad explanation for his actions was simply a defense against seeing reality. She was beginning to doubt what she had been told of her life, he was sure.

  Lily must begin to doubt if she was to learn the truth. And the truth was something he would wish for anyone to know, not only the woman he had once loved so very much.

  He would allow himself no more personal motive than that.

  When he reached the site of the signal tower, which overlooked the sea, he did not feel the expected rush of satisfaction that he should have in its obvious state of near completion. He had worked for over a year on this project. Tristan felt it would save many lives during the winter months on this section of England’s shore, might have saved the lives of his parents had it been in place when their ship foundered offshore. It seemed less of an accomplishment than it had mere days ago, a fact that only served to increase his frustration.

  Immediately after the shipwreck he had spent hours poring over old scrolls in the library at Brackenmoore. He was shocked to find that though there had once been many signal towers in England, they seemed to have fallen into disfavor and disrepair. Perhaps like his brother Benedict, most men with the wherewithal to pay for such a struc
ture were too busy running their estates.

  It had been in the second year after Lily’s death— assumed death—that Benedict had found him scouring those ancient drawings once more. When Tristan had begun a diatribe on the foolishness of forgetting such advances, and the lives they saved, Benedict had told him to stop talking about it and build one.

  Tristan now realized his brother had saved his sanity with that advice. The task had helped him to go on living for his own sake rather than only because Sabina needed him.

  The thought made him realize that there was more than his own pain to live for now. Sabina still needed him, and though she did not know it, Lily needed him.

  He would allow her to go if that was her wish, but he hoped she would not. He knew from his own experience that fooling oneself brought nothing but heartache. He was under no delusion that Lily was the same woman he had loved. The open and joyous bonding they had shared was no longer possible for either of them. Too much pain had come to both of them.

  In the event that she decided to continue on here, he would try to be kind to her—show her the patience she needed to face the locked doors in her mind.

  Tristan turned his mount and saw the enormous outline of the castle, keeping guard over everything in and around it. He rode toward home.

  Lily sat near the window with Sabina sleeping in her lap. After their bath they had combed one another’s hair, Lily having been surprised at how gentle the child was with the comb, a light snow had begun to fall. Fetching a blanket from the bed, she had bundled the excited Sabina on her lap. The babe had been contented to watch out the window until her lids closed over her sleepy eyes.

  Lily ran her hand over the soft black tresses and stared out the window, wishing for one moment that this was her life, her child. Not once in the past three years had she felt as alive as she had since that first moment of seeing Tristan, no matter how difficult he had made things. Not once had she felt as contented as she did at this moment with the soft weight of Sabina in her arms.

  The snow seemed to be coming down just a bit harder now, swirling and dancing in the darkness…and suddenly the scene shifted. The window shimmered and became much smaller, the ceiling lower. The babe in her lap felt smaller, tiny and fragile in her arms, which felt heavy with exhaustion. Even as Lily tried to make sense of what she was seeing, feeling, the scene changed, the air filling with the sound of a horse’s scream, the world seeming to tilt sideways…

  * * *

  Tristan stood in the doorway, his heart turning over at the sight of his daughter asleep in her mother’s lap. No matter how he told himself that he had no feelings for Lily, he did not seem to be able to overcome just this sort of reaction to the sight of her.

  Even as these self-deprecating thoughts passed through his mind, an unmistakable expression of confusion and fear swept over Lily’s face. Not knowing what had caused such a sudden change in her, he started forward, anxiety gripping his chest.

  Quickly he took the sleeping Sabina from her lap and placed her on the bed. He then turned back to Lily, who seemed completely oblivious to his presence, staring off as if seeing something that he could not.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. “What is it? What has happened?”

  Only then did she blink rapidly, her eyes focusing on him with shock. “I…Tristan, how did you…” She put a shaking hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand what is going on.”

  Again he asked, “What has happened? I was standing there watching you and Sabina, and you suddenly began acting very strangely—as if you were seeing something that wasn’t there.”

  She shook her head. It was obvious that she was still not quite herself as she replied, “I was just sitting here. Sabina had gone to sleep in my lap, and I was looking out at the snow.” Her gaze shifted to the window. “Then something happened. It was as if everything was the same, me holding the child, the snow falling…” she met his eyes “…but not the same. I felt as if—as if we were moving, as if…we were sliding…And then there was the sound of a horse’s scream, as the world seemed to tilt.” Her hands moved to his forearms. “What is it, Tristan? What does it mean?”

  Amazement rippled through him as he took a deep breath. “I believe you were remembering. Remembering the night we were in the carriage accident, as I told you. The carriage overturned and we were injured, you and I. You had been holding Sabina on your lap. I believe your body shielded her from being injured as seriously as we were.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. It can’t be true.”

  He willed her to meet his unwavering gaze. “It is true. It happened, Lily. How else do you explain what occurred just now? Could you have conjured such images with your own imagination?”

  She did look at him then, but what he saw in her gaze did not please him. A light of hope shone there. “Yes. That could very well be what happened. You had told me of the carriage accident. I was sitting here holding the babe, thinking how sweet it would be to have Sabina for my own, and the images just came.”

  “No.”

  She drew away from him. “Yes. That must be what made me see. It was that momentary wanting it to be true. The images were not clear, as one remembers events from one’s life. They were clouded and gray and disjointed. Surely the very fact that you told me of what had happened and that I was thinking of how very lovely it would be to have such a child made me remember things that were not real.”

  Frustration rose up to burn his insides like a raging fire. He pulled her to her feet. “First the ludicrous tale of revenge against Harcourt and now this. Why must you do this, Lily? At last a memory has come, something to help you see, to give you something of reality to hold on to, and you pushed it away. What are you afraid of, Lily? Why do you allow yourself to hide behind the lies you have been told?”

  She glared up at him. “There is nothing that I am afraid of and nothing I am hiding from. It is you who wish for me to believe what I cannot. Though I cannot understand why, as you clearly hold me in low regard.”

  His eyes grew round and his voice emerged in an incredulous whisper. “Hold you in low regard?”

  Before he knew what he was doing, Tristan had pulled her against himself, his mouth finding hers. All the tension he had known over the past days found vent in that contact.

  For a moment she seemed to resist, her mouth and body stiff. Then her lips softened, her slender form became pliant and she molded herself along his length.

  A deep throaty sound escaped him as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her even closer to him. As his mouth plundered, hers bade welcome, opening to his questing tongue.

  Lily’s head was swimming. How she had thought about this—him! There was no resistance in her. Where Tristan was concerned it seemed not to exist.

  When he deepened the pressure, she tilted her head to better receive him. When his hand traced the curve of her back, then found and came to rest on her bottom, her hips arched.

  Tristan wanted her, needed her more than he had anything in his life. He would carry her to the bed and…

  His eyes opened wide, his gaze flying to the bed— on which his child slept, oblivious to his madness. Dear God, did he have no control over himself where this woman was concerned?

  As abruptly as he had taken Lily into his arms, Tristan released her. He looked down at her—at lips swollen from his kisses, eyes heavy with passion. And he wanted her still, in spite of knowing how very wrong it was.

  Lily’s eyes darkened with confusion even as he watched, her hand coming up to cover her swollen lips as she whispered, “Dear heaven, help us.”

  A bitter laugh escaped him. “I do not think there is any help for us, Lily, either in heaven or hell.” Raking an unsteady hand through his hair, he swung around and strode from the chamber before he could cause either of them any more harm.

  Chapter Six

  Tristan spurred his horse forward. He was glad to be away from the keep, away from Lily. Away from
the ever-pressing knowledge of just how desperately he wished she might regain her memory. His reaction to what had occurred the previous night told him just how much he did want it.

  Repeatedly Tristan assured himself that his desire for her to regain her past was solely for her sake and nothing more. But the words were beginning to ring hollow in his mind.

  Earlier in the day he had met with the masons working on the signal tower. His thoughts would not stay focused on the task of planning exactly where the huge sheet of polished metal would be mounted.

  When Benedict had tentatively approached him about running an errand to Peterburn, one of the family’s smaller keeps, Tristan had leaped at the task. Benedict had seemed to note his brother’s eagerness with some surprise, but made no comment on it.

  Quickly Tristan had made ready for the journey. He often took over such duties for Benedict. The sheer size of the estates made it a daunting task even for one as dedicated as the Baron of Brackenmoore. Added to that, during recent years, Benedict had often been away in his efforts to support Richard’s bid for the throne.

  Tristan dared not allow himself to go near Lily after what had happened the previous night. He realized his reaction to her brief memory of the carriage accident had made him think, hope that…Well, he had been overcome with feelings he still could not explain.

  Yet to her it had meant nothing. She could not let herself believe.

  Her family and the lies on which they had built her reality meant too much to her. Her unwavering loyalty to them sickened him even as he knew a grudging envy of it. He had once been the recipient of that same loyalty and love. When Lily loved it was with her whole self, holding nothing back.

  Frustration rose inside him like burning tar. The very folk who had done her the most ill were the ones she defended no matter what.

  Even if she did not ever wholly regain her memory of the past, would she not be better off with him?