She gasped aloud, rising unsteadily, reaching out for she knew not what. But there was nothing there and she swayed, putting her hands to her head as the images continued to rush forward. She was besieged by them, pummeled by them…Herself and Tristan seated on a rug before a fire, both of them naked and unashamed; him bending forward to kiss the slight mound of her stomach, whispering sweet words of love to her and their child. And more—her parents’ angry faces, her own tears, her bedchamber at Lakeland, long empty days spent staring out the window in desperation…The letter she had given her nurse, escape in the darkness of night, Tristan’s arms holding her close. Feeling safer and more alive than ever in her life…then the pain that had come unceasingly, and Tristan’s loving eyes, his gentle voice telling her that he would take care of her and the babe…that she must only believe in him—in them.
Lily opened her eyes and found that she was lying in Tristan’s arms. His face, bent over her, was filled with fear. “What is it, Lily? What is wrong?”
She could do no more than whisper, “The memories have come.”
Tristan spoke to someone she could not see, and she could only assume that it was one of the other women who had been in the kitchen. “Lily is ill. I must take her up to her chamber. Please, keep Sabina here.” The next thing Lily knew she was being carried from the room, her face pressed to his chest.
She knew not how much time had passed before she felt herself being lowered to a bed, for the memories had not ceased but continued to pour in. They were not only of herself and Tristan, but also of other times, other people, including her dear grandmother, Sabina.
Tristan bent over her, his beloved face creased with anxiety. “What have you recalled to make you so ill?”
She could only gaze up at him for a long moment, reveling in the sensations of love, belonging—and yes, passion—that continued to swell inside her in wave after undulating wave. Completely overcome by the sensations, she raised her hand to his lean, muscled cheek, a gesture she now knew she had made many times before.
He watched her, and she could not fail to see the hope and fear that warred on his handsome face. “What is it? Pray speak, what have you remembered this time?”
She felt the tears that clouded her vision, but made no effort to hide them. “You, Tristan, I have remembered you—us.”
With a gasp of elation he crushed her to him in a grip that nearly drove the breath from her body. Yet she knew nothing but joy in the act. He drew back slightly to rain hot kisses on her face, and she sighed with happiness. His voice was husky with emotion as he whispered, “My God, Lily, you know me.” He held her back then to look into her eyes. “You really know me.”
She nodded, the tears wetting her cheeks. “Yes, Tristan, I know you, don’t know how I could have ever forgotten.” She laughed aloud in elation. “So much of it is coming back to me! Even now I am seeing faces, hearing voices. I am sure that there is more, much more, and not all joyful, but it is so much better than the empty blackness I have known for the past three years.”
He gazed at her for a long, long moment, his blue eyes glistening even as they asked a silent question. With the memory of her love for him rolling like the ocean inside her, it was a question that Lily could answer only one way.
She raised her mouth for his kiss.
Tristan needed no other invitation. He kissed her deeply, relentlessly, demanding her very soul.
And Lily gave it without thought of restraint or holding back.
When he turned her to him, she raised her arms to wrap them around his neck. Her eager fingers buried themselves in the hair at his nape, and she gave a silent cry of joy at having the sense of doing just this same thing at another place, another time.
She dragged her mouth from his because of a need to say his name—revel in the familiarity of it. “Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.” A sob escaped her on the last utterance.
He laughed huskily, joyfully. “Lily, my Lily.”
An unmistakable gasp sounded behind them. Eyes growing round with horror, Lily looked past him and saw that Maeve stood in the doorway.
At the same moment, Tristan spun around and stood. “Maeve.”
The head woman seemed unable to move for her shock, her gaze fixed on Lily as she sat up on the bed.
Quickly Tristan went on. “This is not as it might seem. Lily is my—”
“I became far too familiar due to my feelings of illness. Forgive me, pray. I will not forget my place again, my lord.” She cast him a glance of warning from beneath her lashes.
His face like a marble mask, he motioned for the head woman to go. Maeve obeyed immediately, though she did send a last bewildered glance toward Lily. Tristan paid her no heed.
He stood staring at Lily for a long moment that seemed to drag on for an eternity. Lily thought she would surely go mad, before he whispered hoarsely, “So nothing has changed.”
She tried her utmost to explain, saddened by the coldness of his face. “Though I am so very grateful to have regained my past, our past—dear heaven, the memory of giving birth to my own babe!—it cannot change what must be done. Both of us have obligations that make anything else impossible.”
He shook his head. “I had thought that I could try to understand your position, but I cannot. I cannot pretend to realize what could make you leave the child you have only just found in order to protect the man who locked you in your rooms to keep us apart.”
She held out her hands in pleading and regret. “I am so very sorry, Tristan, I see now why the memory of all that we once were is so very dear to you. Yet I cannot allow myself to be swayed by that tender memory. My choice is not only in aid of my father. I now know that you were right in what you told me of his actions. My father is not a bad man, but weak and fearful, and Mother is ever wont to follow his lead. I simply wish you could see how he has changed. I believe that all their care of me after the accident was by way of showing me the love that they had never before been able to display. It is true that because they tried too hard they ended in nearly smothering me, but they did try, and desperately. That change of heart has earned them both my pity and loyalty.”
Before he could reply, she went on. “What I do is also for Sabina. It is the love I bear her—bore even before I remembered she was mine—that makes it clear that I must leave her. She has a right to a peaceful life, a mother and father. You and Genevieve can give her that, have done so already.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came. Clenching his hands together at his sides, he turned and left the room.
In spite of Benedict’s advice, Tristan knew he could not bear to be with Lily. Not after what had happened that afternoon six days gone by.
It had been all he could do not to tell her that he and Genevieve were no longer planning to marry. Yet he would not do so, even if it weren’t for his promise to Genevieve. Although Lily remembered the way it had been for them, she had made no mention of loving him now. If she stayed it must be because she loved him. He now knew he could settle for no less.
What had proved less difficult than he expected was trying to explain himself to Maeve. That wise soul had nodded her head the moment she saw him and said, “I expected to see as much sooner or later. Coming upon you just came as a shock to me, since Lily seemed so ill only moments before in the kitchen.”
Tristan shook his head. “It was not as it seemed. Lily is leaving Brackenmoore very soon.”
“Leaving! Leaving her little one? How could she do so when she loves her so dearly?”
Tristan could only throw up his hands. “Is there one man, woman or child in the keep who does not know?”
Maeve shrugged. “That I do not know, my lord. But I am sure there must be several folk who have not taken the time to look at them. I, on the other hand, have known you young lads since before you were weaned. I see all that goes on here, ofttimes before those involved even realize what they are about, and I speak of more than Lily.”
He frowned, having a difficult time
taking an interest in her chatter with this tight band of misery about his chest. “What are you talking about, Maeve?”
She raised her gray eyebrows high. “Ask my lord Marcel, if you wish to know.”
The words made no sense whatsoever. Tristan’s life was in such a state that Marcel would need see to his own troubles for the moment. Tristan felt even more confused and tormented when Maeve added that he had best do something about talking Lily into staying for her own good.
Lily looked down at the encamped army with horror. They had erected their tents at the edge of the green strip around the castle walls. They were well out of firing range, but close enough to have their presence felt by all inside Brackenmoore.
It had been Genevieve who had come to Sabina’s chambers to tell Lily that the army was come and she must keep the child in her rooms while the castle prepared for possible siege. She had left again without another word, but her gaze had clearly indicated that she was certain the invaders were here because of Lily.
Lily had thrown on her cloak and run through the keep. One of the guards in the courtyard had seen the horror on her face and offered some information. He had told her there had been little warning, barely time to get the villagers in behind the castle wall before the army arrived. It had not helped that the weather had suddenly turned very cold and the lowering sky gave a clear threat of snow.
She hurried to the battlements with all haste, hoping against hope that there was some mistake. There was not.
That the army’s colors were not her father’s was readily apparent when Lily first looked out over the wall. They were Maxim’s.
Lily was unable to meet the gazes of the four Ainsworth brothers, who stood along the battlements studying their enemy with four equally foreboding visages. Why had her father told Maxim of her whereabouts when she had so earnestly asked him not to?
If she had realized he might, she would never have sent that letter. Her father had not been able to understand her wish to keep this from Maxim, thus avoiding disaster, a disaster such as was now happening with Brackenmoore under siege.
It was her own fault that this had befallen them, but she could not regret coming to Brackenmoore. Doing so had given her back her life. She had been prepared to go to Maxim, knowing as she now did the whole of her past. She had felt she would be doing so as a whole woman, with her own history clear in her mind and heart, no matter that it was achingly painful to go.
Now she had no notion of what might happen. Would Maxim still want her or was he simply bent on revenge? And even if he did, she feared she would not fare well beneath his hands. She would be willing to suffer, however, if it would make him leave without making war upon these folk.
There was little hope of any outcome other than catastrophe. She could not wish ill upon her father, but neither could she hope for a victory on his side. The people at Brackenmoore had come to mean too much to her in her short time here.
She looked over at the four brothers, who had made no move to speak to her. They seemed so engrossed in their conversation that they appeared not to even notice her presence. As she watched, it was clear that they were about to take their discussion into the keep.
She knew she had to do something, say something. Taking a deep breath, she moved to stand before Benedict as he passed. He stopped, looking down at her in mild surprise and suspicion. “Lily.”
Tristan spoke up quickly. “I will deal with her, Benedict.”
She cringed at the stiffness of Tristan’s tone. He had not so much as come near her in the days since she had regained her memory more fully. Those days had been marked by a loneliness and regret that could not be measured, in spite of her determination to enjoy the precious moments she had left with Sabina. Lily could not allow herself to look directly at the man who so filled her every thought, but concentrated on Benedict, who was shaking his head.
“Nay, I wish to ask her a question,” the baron said. His blue eyes seemed to burn into hers. “Did you deliberately betray us?”
Tristan interrupted then, and Lily was shocked and—dare she admit it to herself?—pleased by his words. “I can assure you, Benedict, that she did not. I am certain that she bade her father come in great discretion to collect her.”
Lily did not waver from meeting Benedict’s gaze. “I did indeed bid him come alone, though I am willing to accept all responsibility for the fact that he did not.”
Benedict watched her for one more long moment, then turned to Tristan and bowed. “I would take your bond for her as I have from the beginning, brother, but I, too, believe she speaks true.”
She took another deep breath. “My lord Ainsworth, please accept my apology for the ill I have done you all. I beg your permission to leave the keep. If I go out to them mayhap they will go away.”
Benedict looked at her, his gaze assessing. At last he shook his head. “I appreciate your offer and the sincerity behind it, but I cannot allow that. They have made no demands, nor have they shown themselves. Until we are clear on what they are even about I will not risk anyone, including you, Lily. Your blood runs through the blood of my own niece. That makes you one of our own.”
When she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her. “Please, Lily, I will hear no more. This situation is no longer about you alone. No one may make war upon Brackenmoore without being made very sorry that they have done so.”
He then stepped around her and continued on his way. His brothers followed, each one so tall and certain and maddeningly stubborn. It was only as they slowed to take the steps to the courtyard that Tristan glanced back for one brief instant.
His gaze was as bleak as a stormy sea. Then he was gone and so was the impression. For why would Tristan feel thus about her?
Tristan strode into the library with grim intent. That Benedict would send for him to come immediately when there was an army camped outside the castle walls did not bode well.
It was especially worrisome in the face of the fierce winter storm that had finally broken that very morning. With each hour that passed, the sky summoned more flakes to spill upon the earth.
When Tristan saw that both Kendran and Marcel were seated on benches placed around the table, he faltered briefly before moving forward.
It was only as he came near them that he noted the man seated at Benedict’s left. He had both hands wrapped around a steaming mug, and if his red nose and cheeks were any indication, he had until recently been out in the cold.
Benedict looked up at Tristan with a smile of welcome, albeit an austere one. “Please come in, Tristan. You should hear this.”
Tristan moved forward and seated himself beside Kendran. “What has happened?”
Benedict turned to the man. “This is Alfred. He is a cousin to our Maeve. He has learned something that he felt might be of interest to us here, and I thought you, Marcel and Kendran should hear it from his own lips. If you are ready, Alfred?”
The man nodded. “Yes, my lord. I was at the seaport of Hywell. I met a man there in an inn near the docks. He was well into his cups when I happened to sit down next to him. I believe that was why he was so free with his tongue.” His face took on a dour expression. “No man would betray Maxim Harcourt lest he was beyond reasonable caution.”
“Maxim Harcourt. Where can this be leading?” Tristan asked. He knew he was being ill-mannered, but he was near the end of his reserves of composure. Things had been difficult enough without the previous day’s addition of Harcourt’s army. “His army is without as we speak. That he means us harm is no secret.”
With deliberate patience Benedict said, “I think you will see where this is heading soon enough, brother.”
Alfred went on. “This fellow told me as how Lord Harcourt meant to attack Brackenmoore Castle. How he had sent his army to sit outside the keep in order to fool you all, but that he and the girl’s father meant to surprise the bastard who had stolen his bride away by creeping up on the seaward side of the keep when no one was watching.”
�
��On the seaward side!” Kendran gasped. “But that is sheer madness on our coast at this time of year. Mother and Father lost their lives in that winter sea.”
There was a very long silence as each of them remembered just how terrible that time had been. How it had taken weeks for the sections of the ship to stop washing ashore. How the bodies had never been recovered.
It was Tristan who spoke first, his grief making his voice even harsher than it might have been. “Coming by sea is very likely something the knave would do without compunction, being a madman. Anyone else would care for the danger to his men if not himself.” His lips thinned in disgust. “But we must be sure.” Tristan faced the messenger with open skepticism. “Are you very certain of this, Alfred?”
Benedict spoke up with impatience. “How can we question that? Was he not forced to sneak into the keep in the midst of a storm in order to warn us?”
Tristan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Of course, I ask you to forgive me. I am driven beyond myself by the events of the last day. I did not mean to imply that I do not believe Alfred. I just do not see how this maneuver can benefit them even if they do manage to accomplish it. They can no better breach the castle from that position than any other.”
Alfred offered, “The man in the inn—the one I told you about—said that the army was coming to distract you from their true purpose of attacking on the seaward side with their ship’s cannons, and to keep you from running once the ship did arrive.”
“Keep us from running?” Kendran shouted with indignation, leaping to his feet.
Benedict stood as well, casting his younger brother a quelling glance. “I thank you for bringing this information. I would ask you to go down to the hall now, where Maeve will be eager to talk with you and serve you a hot meal.” The man got up and went to the door. Benedict halted him briefly. “I welcome you to stay until it is safe for you to leave. You have the protection of Brackenmoore and the deepest gratitude of myself and my family.”
Winter's Bride Page 20
