Winter's Bride

by Catherine Archer

  Tristan was already moving away, completely unaware of her unprecedented reaction to his acceptance. He spoke calmly but with absolute command to the men. “We need get the rest of the stones from the cart. I will use it to take him to his home.”

  As they sprang into action, he warned, “Have a care with removing the stones. Jack lies close to the wheels, yet I do not wish to move him more than is necessary. His pain is great.”

  The men were both swift and careful. Lily was amazed at how quickly they were able to remove the stones from the wagon while leaving the cart still. One man had gone to hold the head of the donkey, but that creature had not moved except to shift its head around to look at them all with a decided lack of interest.

  When the cart was empty, Tristan and another man came back to where Lily knelt beside Jack. They were carrying a hastily built litter. She backed away as they crouched beside the prone man. Tristan spoke with the same grave composure he had shown throughout. “We must move you now, Jack. We’ll do our best to make it swift and with as little discomfort as possible.”

  The man nodded. “I know you will, my lord.”

  Briefly Tristan reached out and put a hand upon the master mason’s arm before motioning to the men who held the litter. Without preamble they got to the task of getting Jack on it and loaded into the cart.

  Lily knew the poor man tried not to make a sound, but when they actually lifted the injured leg onto the litter, he could not withhold a sharp cry of agony. Then his head rolled to the side, and she was certain that he had lost consciousness.

  When they had him settled in the vehicle, Lily said softly, “The bandage is already soaked with blood from moving him. I will ride with him and change it while you drive. That way we will waste no more precious time.”

  Tristan nodded, and she climbed into the cart. Seating herself on the floor, Lily looked up from her position next to the injured man.

  Tristan was watching her with some emotion she could not name. She only knew that it made her feel again that rush of warmth and acceptance, a part of something outside herself. But all he said was “Thank you,” before he leaped up into the driver’s seat and flicked the whip against the donkey’s rump.

  The animal brayed loudly, and they started off with a jolt. Quickly Lily tore another strip from her shift and rebandaged the wound. When it continued to bleed far too profusely, she did the only thing she could think of and placed her hand firmly against it, as if doing so would somehow stem the flow of life from the unconscious man’s body. To her surprise, the bleeding did slow.

  The ride seemed to take a long time, though Lily was fairly certain they did not travel far. She knew the village was only a short distance from the back wall of the castle, across the cleared area and through a narrow stand of forest.

  The cottage they approached at the edge of the prosperous village was neat, with fresh whitewash and a tidy plot of ground with animal shelters in good repair. As they rattled up to the house, a woman came to the door, wiping her hands upon the kerchief tied about her waist. When she saw who was driving the cart, she rushed out to meet them.

  Tristan’s austere expression as he drew the donkey to a halt must have alerted her to the fact that something was dreadfully amiss. “What is it, Lord Tristan?”

  He looped the reins around the pole at the side of the cart as he told her, “It’s your husband, Leena. There has been an accident.” Even as she gasped with shock, Tristan leaped to the ground and took her arm to lead her around the back of the cart.

  When she saw her husband there, she put a hand over her mouth. “Dear heaven, Jack.”

  The woman, seeming oblivious to Lily, had recovered herself enough to call out, “Wallace, come out. We will need your help.”

  A young lad of perhaps thirteen years poked his tousled blond head from the door, then came toward them. Lily watched as several other youngsters followed him out, their gazes wide as they took in the scene. She counted seven in all, ranging from a golden-haired toddler to a girl who appeared to be slightly older than the boy named Wallace. He rushed to obey his mother, even as he asked, “What…?”

  The woman shook her head sharply, clearly barely able to contain her own queries and fears. “No questions now. I do not even know the details myself. First we must get him in and see how badly he is hurt. The rest of you stay back,” Leena continued distractedly. “Perhaps you should go to Gran.”

  Lily realized that here was something she could do to help. “I will look after the children.”

  Leena looked at her speculatively. Tristan spoke up. “Lily is Sabina’s maid. She will do well with the children.”

  Leena nodded, taking Tristan’s word without question. She turned her attention to Wallace. “Come, we must take your father into the cottage.” She then paused, looking at Tristan as if suddenly remembering something important. “We must send for the doctor.”

  Tristan shook his head. “There is no need for concern on that count. I have already done so before we left the tower site. He should be arriving soon enough.”

  Then there was no more conversation as Lily watched them take the injured man into the cottage. Tristan came back to the doorway only a heartbeat later, to say, “When the doctor arrives, ask him to come right in, will you, Lily?”

  She nodded and was rewarded by a brief but warm smile. She felt a rush of heat and yearning that made her heart flutter in her breast.

  Then he was gone.

  With a deep indrawn breath, she willed herself to constraint. There was no good in allowing herself to react to a smile. There could be nothing between them. Not even friendship, considering their opposing attitudes about her family.

  She took another deep breath, forcing the feelings away.

  With her wayward reactions to Tristan nearly under control, Lily turned to survey the fearful-eyed children with a look of encouragement. There was more of import than Tristan Ainsworth and his smiles to occupy her here. She knew that it would be no small task to keep them distracted from what was going on inside the dwelling.

  Taking yet another deep breath, she moved toward the group of children. Surely she could recall some of the games that were played about the keep at Lakeland Park.

  Chapter Eight

  It was some time later that Tristan emerged from Jack’s cottage. Lily had done what she could to entertain the children. They had been quite engrossed in the games she taught them, other than for a few distracted moments after the doctor arrived, and again when he had left a long while later.

  Tristan nodded to the children, who had ceased their play the moment he opened the door. “Your mother says you may go in now, but you must be quiet. Your father is very ill.”

  The children moved to stand before him in an orderly row. The oldest of the girls, whom Lily now knew as Kyla, curtsied and said, “Thank you, Lord Tristan.”

  He waved her formality away with an unconcerned hand. “There is no need for that this day. Go on in and see your father. Only mind you, remember, you must go quietly. Jack has been through a great deal.” He stepped aside then and allowed them in, only reaching out to ruffle the hair of the last as he swept by.

  Lily found herself liking Tristan’s easy manner with the children. She also found herself responding to his concern for the man who had been hurt, his compassion. She, in fact, found herself thinking about Tristan in a way that was quite removed from the physical attraction she had been aware of since meeting him in the inn.

  And far more disturbing.

  When he came toward her, Lily avoided meeting those all too compelling blue eyes. She spoke with studied civility. “The man, Jack, is he going to be all right?”

  Tristan replied tightly, the strain in his voice evident. “Yes, I believe so, though it is not likely that he will walk again. The doctor says he will not know until morning if he must remove the leg.”

  Lily had feared as much. She was aware of an overwhelming sense of sympathy for Tristan, who obviously felt accountable for
the accident. Without even knowing that she was going to do so before the words were out, she said, “None of this was your fault, Tristan. It was nothing but an unforeseeable accident. You must not blame yourself.”

  Tristan shook his head. “The ground was very slippery around the building site. I should have considered that. It will often be thus during the winter months, even when the ground is not trampled and muddy from construction.”

  Lily wanted to reach out to him, to smooth that line of worry from his handsome brow. Again she felt herself drawn to him, to his sense of responsibility for the men working under him.

  Yet she clenched her hands into fists to keep them at her sides, for in some part of herself she knew that she must not allow herself to feel this way.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I must return to the castle now. I have left my duties for too long already. I would not wish to raise comment among your family at any lack of responsibility on my part.”

  His ensuing silence made her glance at Tristan. A brief look was enough to show her that he was gazing at her very oddly, almost—she dared not think it— regretfully. Lily started off toward the castle.

  She had not gone three steps when she realized that Tristan was behind her. She turned with a smile that she feared betrayed more than hid her agitation. “There is no need for you to accompany me, my lord. I know the way.”

  Tristan only shrugged. “It is no trouble to me.”

  She frowned. “But you need not. I am sure you have something of more import to occupy you.”

  “Nay, I do not.” He met her gaze directly, and again she felt that there was more here than was being said. Turning, she started off again.

  Tristan followed her, keeping step with her easily. Though her displeasure with his presence was obvious, he felt the need to be with her. In the midst of their concern over the injury to Jack, the tension that had been so evident between them from the moment they met at the inn had virtually disappeared.

  During the whole episode with Jack, and even for a brief time afterward, when Lily had told him that the accident was not his fault, Tristan had felt as if they had connected again on some deeper level.

  He had felt the softness in Lily when they first began to talk after he emerged from the mason’s house. There were many things he had wanted to say to her. The first of which had been that he had been moved by her offer to help Jack, even though it was obvious she had little experience with such things.

  Thinking on it now, he remembered that was the way his Lily had been—kind and concerned for others. They had once spent a whole afternoon helping an old woman they’d met in the forest to gather firewood. The two of them had gone to great lengths to plan an afternoon alone together but Lily had seemed to begrudge the elderly woman not one moment of their precious time.

  Tristan wiped a weary hand over his face as he looked at the rigid line of Lily’s back. Even in his state of regret he could not help seeing the way the breeze caught at the soft black tendrils that escaped the braids she had wound around her head. They fluttered about her nape, seeming to beckon his lips with every motion.

  Roughly he forced his gaze away. Down that road was sheer madness.

  He had Genevieve, Sabina, his whole future at stake here. He could not destroy the new life he had made for a past that was long dead.

  Gladly he allowed Lily to maintain the distance she had forged ahead of him. It seemed to take far longer than usual to reach the castle.

  When they entered the castle grounds, Lily slowed, seeming to become aware that she might draw attention to them by her demeanor. The space between them closed, until they entered the great hall side by side. And still she did not look at him or acknowledge him in any way, but went directly to the steps that led to the upper floors.

  Tristan continued on up the first few steps with her, then paused, not knowing why he was doing this other than that he felt that there was something unfinished between them. Despite her attitude toward him, there was something he did want to say, felt he had to say. He spoke abruptly. “Lily.”

  She stopped and turned to him, her eyebrows raised in question. “Yes, my lord.” Her expression was cool, remote, and his throat tightened in spite of his resolve to keep from reacting to her opinion of him.

  Without realizing that he was doing so, Tristan reached toward her. As his hand touched hers, he felt a rush of unexpected but overwhelming heat race through him.

  As if she, too, had felt it, Lily started backward. Her wide gray eyes met his with unconcealed despair. “Please, Tristan, do not touch me. I cannot bear…”

  She halted then as something, perhaps a slight sound, made Tristan looked upward over her head. Genevieve and Marcel stood there on the stairs a few feet above them. Genevieve’s expression registered compassion and distress, Marcel’s displeasure.

  Following the direction of Tristan’s gaze, Lily backed away from him slowly. Then, without another word, she spun around and hurried past Marcel and Genevieve, who made no effort to halt her.

  Tristan met Genevieve’s compassionate and troubled eyes with regret. He did not know what to say. At the same time he understood that she would not want to hear what he might say if he did.

  With a groan of frustration, he went back down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time in his haste to remove himself from the keep. It was not until he was halfway across the courtyard that Tristan was halted abruptly by a restraining hand upon his arm. He spun around to see his brother Marcel standing there, his expression openly outraged.

  The younger man wasted no time in getting to the point. “Tristan, what are you about? I thought it was only jesting, those remarks about you and Lily the day she arrived at Brackenmoore, but I am now beginning to wonder if there might indeed be truth in what the words implied.”

  Jerking away from him, Tristan met that angry gaze with strained patience. “You do not understand, Marcel. And I am not at liberty to explain.”

  Marcel’s blue gaze hardened even further. “Not at liberty to explain? What could you say that would make any difference, that would make things aright, other than to assure me that Lily is not your leman? Surely you would not so dishonor Genevieve, who is your intended wife, by such behavior in her own home.”

  Taking a deep breath, Tristan met his brother’s eyes with both anger and forbearance. “Lily is not my leman. Does that satisfy?” Without waiting for a reply, he started away again.

  Again Marcel stopped him by putting an iron hand on his arm. “Nay, Brother. It does not satisfy.”

  Tristan did not waver as he met that gaze directly. “It is all that you will get, little brother. Now leave me be.”

  Marcel’s jaw flexed but he said no more, simply releasing his older brother’s arm. His stormy expression made it clear that he was not satisfied. Not in the least.

  Tristan did not remain to encourage further debate, but strode away with purpose. Even as he made his way through the castle gates, he felt a sense of sorrow. He had never intended to cause a rift in his family. It was more painful than he would have imagined, realizing that he had done just that.

  At this point the right thing to do would be to ask Lily to leave Brackenmoore before any more harm was done. Tristan knew in his heart he could not bring himself to do so.

  His family would simply have to believe him. Lily was not his mistress and that was the way things would remain.

  It was the way it had to be, no matter what their reactions to one another.

  Lily awakened early the next morning as usual, though the memory of what had occurred the previous day came rushing in to leave her feeling anything but usual. She had managed to avoid seeing Genevieve since then, but she knew she could not do so indefinitely.

  How would the young woman react to her when they did meet? Lily knew she would simply have to find out.

  She readied Sabina for the day and took her down to the hall to break her fast. The little girl seemed to sense Lily’s agitation, for she was far quiet
er and more subdued than was her wont.

  As on the previous morning, Tristan was not present. Neither was Marcel. Quickly Lily tried to still the rush of relief she felt at not having them there. Their absence meant that she had only Genevieve to face with her guilt over what had occurred on the stairs.

  Yet Lily soon realized that of the three, Genevieve would be the most difficult to face. It was she who had the most justification for anger toward her. Genevieve made it only more difficult when she met Lily’s questioning gaze with a pitying one of her own as they arrived at the table.

  Lily was shocked by this and even more perturbed with herself and Tristan. Yet she knew she was likely overreacting. Genevieve and Marcel had seen nothing more than a touch, overheard only a few hoarsely murmured words. Neither of them could possibly imagine the degree of sensation generated by the slight collision of flesh.

  Given her attitude now, it was perhaps possible that Genevieve thought Tristan had been offering her comfort for some matter. Clearly Lily had fretted those long hours away for naught. She had been a fool to imagine the other woman’s reaction would be all out of proportion to what had actually occurred.

  With as much aplomb as possible, Lily seated herself at the table and carried on with the task of looking after her charge.

  Benedict was the one to bring up the incident at the tower. He turned to Lily with a thoughtful expression. “My brother tells me that you helped him to care for Jack yesterday, that you may very well have helped to save his leg.”

  Lily blushed, looking down at her hands. “I do not think I can take so much credit. I did very little.”

  “Nonsense, you curbed the flow of blood from the wound. The doctor has stated that this was of great importance in a possible saving of the limb.”

  Lily felt her cheeks heat even more. “You need not thank me for doing what any decent person would do. How could I behave otherwise after your kindness to me?” As she finished speaking Lily realized just how true her own statement was. They had been kind to her—even Benedict, who knew of her real identity.