“Aye, I did. But I now see that I have made many errors. You must understand, Lily, that I had no notion of just how unscrupulous Maxim could be.”
Her brow arched, and he had the grace to look away. “Oh, ‘tis true enough that I knew he was not above underhandedness,” he continued. “But you must believe that I did not know how far he would go. Even when he decided to attack the keep after they had lit the signal fire in order to aid us, I did not think…” His eyes focused on hers, pleaded for her belief in what he was saying. “It was not until he said that he would burn down the keep with your child inside. Then I knew.”
Lily moved to sit down beside him. “I do believe you, Father. But I must tell you that you could not have been so blind to Maxim’s true nature lest you wished to be.”
He blanched. “I cannot deny that what you say may well be fact.” He looked at her more closely. “You are different, daughter. There is a strength in you that I have not seen for a very long time.”
She shrugged. “Before, I was a headstrong girl. I have grown to be a woman in the last weeks, Father. My illness delayed that process, but it has finally come, and rightly so.”
He nodded. “I see that now. Your mother and I, we did not aid you in that. We just felt so guilty over what had happened—your running away, the accident…” His eyes hardened. “Those Ainsworths had left you to die there alone. We thought it was for your own good that we kept the truth from you.”
Lily stiffened. “Benedict believed me dead, and Tristan and Sabina were so very ill that he was afraid—”
“Sabina!” Robert Gray interrupted. “So it is a girl child, and the lad called her after your grandmother.” There was no mistaking the amazement in his voice.
Lily nodded. “He knew that was my wish. He is a good man, Father, and one I would happily spend my life with if I had not thrown it all away by coming here this night.”
He put his hand over hers. “I was wrong to expect you to marry Maxim. Although I was not aware of the extent of his dishonorable nature, I did know that you did not love him. I would not ask that of you again.”
She looked at him with determination as well as compassion. “And you must understand that I would no longer obey. I was wrong to meet Tristan without your consent, but I loved him. You could have tried to take that into account rather than deny me from the beginning. Even an hour ago I believed I should help you, although my main concern in coming to Maxim was to ask him to leave without harming those I love. I have realized that I did not make your troubles, Father, you did. To continue to protect you would only keep you from seeing that.”
He looked at the ground. “I believed York would be defeated. We could not make an alliance with an Ainsworth.”
She took a deep breath and stood. “Yet none of that is of any importance now. I have ruined all hope for any of us. For with Tristan and…Sabina gone—” she could no longer withhold a sob “—with them dead, my life would have no purpose or hope.”
Utter frustration brought her to her feet, and Lily began to pace once more. If only she could think of some way to rectify the situation.
She had made a terrible mistake in coming to the camp. Why had she not listened to Tristan when he had told her that Maxim would not heed her?
Because in spite of everything, she had not wished to face the fact that her father could knowingly give her hand to one such as he. In truth, nothing could have prepared her for the pure evil of the man. Now she had only served to put all at Brackenmoore to death.
Tristan dispatched the guard with one quick thrust of his sword. He knew Lily had to be inside the tent: it was the only one with a guard posted at the entrance. Other than that there was very little activity in the camp, apart from the three watchmen who had been set to patrol through the night. The storm had begun to die down somewhat, but it was by no means over, and Harcourt must feel that he was safe from assault as long as it went on.
Silently Tristan moved to the door of the tent. He could hear no sound coming from inside. He took a deep breath. If he was wrong, he walked into certain disaster. If he was right, Lily was inside. On that chance he had to act.
In one fluid motion he flipped open the door and stepped inside. His gaze came to rest on an older man seated upon the bed.
An instant later, his attention was drawn by a joyous gasp to his left. Lily stood there smiling like the very sun, a torch in her hand, ready to strike. “Now this is a strange welcome from the woman who loves me,” Tristan said pleasantly.
She lowered the torch and ran to him as he dropped the tent flap in place and strode forward. “I feared you might be one of them. Oh, Tristan, I am so glad you have come. I should have listened to you from the start. Maxim is so mad with rage that he would not hear me. We must leave this tent now and warn everyone inside Brackenmoore, for he means to burn down the keep at dawn.”
Immediately Tristan’s teasing expression turned serious even as he clasped her to him with his free arm. In the other he kept his sword ready. He looked to the man on the bed. “I take it you are Lily’s father?”
She answered for him. “He is, Tristan, and we must take him with us, for he has been held prisoner here with me for deigning to say that Maxim has gone too far.”
Tristan gave a brief nod. He was glad that Gray had come to his senses in the end, but he could summon no true respect for the man. “Let us go then and quickly.”
Even as Lily’s father stood to join them, there was a shout from outside. Tristan’s brow knit. From the sounds of it, he was fairly certain that the watch had discovered the fallen guard. “I am found out. There is no time to lose.”
As he moved to the tent opening, Maxim Harcourt stepped though it. His face immediately twisted in a cold smile. “Ah, Ainsworth, how very good of you to come and afford me the pleasure of killing you by my own hand. I did so regret the lack of intimacy in burning you alive. You and your whelp.”
Tristan rushed at him with a shout of rage. “Bastard.” His sword clashed loudly upon Maxim’s, who had barely raised his own in time.
Lily shouted, “Tristan, have a care.”
Even before he could land another blow, several soldiers raced through the tent flap. They grabbed Tristan from behind.
Rage rushed through Tristan’s blood as he tried to break free from the four men and failed. “Fight me, you bastard,” he screamed. His burning gaze fixed on Maxim with hatred. “Are you afraid of me then, that you must set your lackeys upon me? Can you not face me as a man?”
Maxim scowled darkly. “I am not afraid to face you, Ainsworth. You are as nothing to me.”
“Then prove it before your men by meeting me here and now.” Even in his anger, Tristan could feel the excitement from the soldiers. Though he was obeyed without question, Maxim Harcourt was clearly not a man who was loved by his retainers. He ruled by power and intimidation, and Tristan had just brought his position into question.
It seemed that Maxim was well aware of this, for he glanced about the faces of his men, then shrugged with studied indifference. He waved a hand. “Release him.” He then turned to Tristan. “Make ready, sir. I would not have this prove too simple.”
Tristan stood tall as the men backed away. Perhaps he had gained them nothing by this. Maxim was not likely to allow him to kill him even if it did mean calling on his men. But Tristan would have a place to expend this great dark rage that burned inside him like the fires of hell. And perhaps he would put a rent in the fearful hold Maxim had over his troops.
He didn’t wait for another invitation, but charged the other man. Perhaps if he acted quickly enough, he thought grimly, he could manage to kill the blackguard before anyone could stop him.
But Maxim was ready for him and countered the blow.
Tristan set to in earnest, feeling out his opponent. He realized after a few moments that Maxim was quite proficient in the art of swordsmanship. He was, in fact, very skilled. There was a coldness and precision to his technique that had likely proved
quite formidable in many a contest. With his conceited swagger and superior expression, he managed to give the impression that he was somehow toying with Tristan.
But he was not better than Tristan. And he was not fighting to protect those he loved. Tristan began to note that sometimes there was just the slightest hesitation before Maxim recovered from a blow to his left side.
On they fought. Tristan watched, waited and worked his way around to that oh so slightly vulnerable left side.
And just as he was ready to strike, praying with all his might that the blow would do enough damage to kill the man who had come to destroy his family, there was a sharp cry from outside the tent.
Maxim called out to his men, not pausing in his attack, “Go and find out what is amiss.”
They ran from the tent just as total chaos seemed to erupt, if the cacophony of noise from outside was any indication. Tristan realized that his brothers must be attacking the camp.
For the first time, he saw anxiety enter his enemy’s eyes. Maxim called to Robert Gray, “Get your sword, man.”
Lily cried, “No, Father, do not help him.”
The older man shook his head. “There is no need for you to worry, Lily.” He looked to Maxim. “I will not aid you in this, nor in anything in the future. You were prepared to kill my grandchild without compunction.”
Maxim looked to Tristan, who smiled and said, “Make yourself ready.”
Maxim ran at him then, slashing downward in reckless anger. Tristan was prepared for him. He thrust upward and met flesh. Maxim stumbled backward, dropping his sword as he tried to pull Tristan’s blade from his belly. He fell to his knees, his shocked gaze going to Tristan’s. He then toppled and lay still.
Tristan stepped backward as Lily ran to his side. “Dear God, Tristan, you have killed him.”
He held her tightly for a long desperate moment, then drew back. “I have killed him, but we are not out of danger yet. Even if those are my brothers’ men outside, I must somehow get you safely from the battle.”
Tristan turned to Gray. “Are you with us?”
“I am,” he answered, taking up his sword.
Outside, Tristan saw that the sky had begun to lighten on its path to dawn and the snow had nearly ceased falling. But it was still fairly dark in the camp, and the many small battles that raged throughout appeared as dark pockets of turmoil against the white of the snow. It was obvious now, as men continued to come down the hill from the keep, that Benedict’s army had indeed attacked the camp.
Tristan could only assume that Genevieve, bless her, had alerted them.
He kept hold of Lily’s hand as he led her through the fray, hoping that perhaps they could make it out of the embattled camp without mishap. If he could get Lily into the tunnel, he could return to help end the fighting.
Though she held on tightly to him as she moved along at his side, she did not cower. Her bravery did not surprise him, and though he knew it was what had gotten them here, he also knew he would not change one hair of her head. He loved her, body and soul, without reservation.
It was as they reached the outskirts of the camp that they were beset by two of Maxim’s men. Tristan wondered what they would do if they knew their master was dead, but had no time to discuss this as he leaped forward, putting himself between them and Lily. While he engaged one, Gray took on the other. The fighting was short-lived.
Tristan stepped back from the fallen man and shook his head. He’d had enough of killing this day. He drew Lily with him to a higher point on the rise above the camp, raised his arm and shouted loudly, “Harcourt is dead. I invite you to lay down your arms.”
A moment later a voice nearby took up the call. “Harcourt is dead. Lay down your arms.”
More voices echoed the same words. And then Tristan heard the dull clatter of swords being dropped to the snow-covered ground, along with shouts for quarter. As more voices joined in, he saw his brothers appear from the fray. One by one they came toward him, to stand looking down at the gathering as Benedict’s soldiers moved to surround the invaders.
Tristan had not realized how worried he was that something might befall one of his siblings until the three were standing there beside him. He held out his hand to each in turn. “My brothers. You have my thanks.”
Benedict spoke for them all. “We were only looking after our own.” He threw his arms about Tristan and then Lily. “Praise God, you are both well.”
She drew back with bright, tear-dampened eyes.
Tristan laughed, feeling tears start to his own eyes at his brother’s acceptance of Lily. “I have not even had opportunity to do that yet.”
He took her in his arms, his mouth finding her eager one, amid shouts of encouragement from his brothers, including Marcel. Then Tristan drew away, telling Kendran, “Please take Lily and her father to the keep. I will come when we have finished here.” He looked to her father. “There are several matters that need discussing.”
Lily and her father waited in the library. It was less public than the hall, and she did not wish to take him to Sabina’s chambers, as the child would still be asleep, though he had expressed a wish to see her. Lily was not averse to this, but felt it must wait until Tristan gave his consent. She felt a strange sense of unreality about it all and was not sure what would happen now. Did Tristan want them to spend their lives together or did he wish for her to remain here as Sabina’s honored maid, as he had once suggested?
They were served warmed wine and food. Maeve was clearly pleased at the fact that Lily was well. When Lily introduced her father, Maeve said not a word, though she did cast him a long look. Lily told her no details, having decided that it was not her place. Tristan would explain all, or not, as he desired.
Tristan arrived after what seemed an eternity, though Lily knew it had not been so very long. She rushed toward him and he took her into his arms, his lips meeting hers with not only joy, but ill-suppressed passion as well.
Lily felt her body respond to Tristan’s as it always did, in spite of the fact that her father stood by, in spite of the fact that her future here was uncertain. Passionate was the way things were between them, the way they would always be.
Her father spoke up hastily from behind her. “We will return to Lakeland and arrange a wedding. All here will be invited.”
Lily turned from Tristan and spoke with unwavering determination. “You speak too soon, Father. If he will allow it, I will remain here at Brackenmoore, be it as Tristan’s wife or not.”
Tristan swung her around to face him, his eyes hot on hers. “If I will allow it! I want nothing more than that you should be my wife and the mother of my child—of all our children.”
Happiness swept through her in a cleansing tide, and her face flushed with warmth and happiness. “I love you, Tristan Ainsworth, and there shall be as many children as you desire.”
She raised her own mouth as he bent to kiss her, but her father’s voice halted him. “What of Lakeland? What of your heritage? Maxim, God rot him, would have looked to Lakeland upon my death, if nothing else.”
She faced her father with resolve as well as compassion. “Can you not see that my place is here with Tristan and my child?”
The older man reached toward her. “You are my child, my heir.”
Slowly she took his hand. “I am your child, but I am a woman now and you must accept that. I love this man, who has no reason to feel any obligation to you or Lakeland.” She took Tristan’s hand in her free one. “I also love my daughter, who needs me with her.”
Tristan spoke up then. “Perhaps, Lord Gray, there is a chance of beginning again. Perhaps in time we will come to know one another as we should have in the beginning. Perhaps then we will come to some terms concerning the lands you hold so dear.”
The nobleman looked at him, his eyes filled with amazement. “You would offer this, after all I have done?”
Tristan shrugged. “You are Lily’s father, and no matter what has occurred, I know she bears you much
love. No more do I fear that you can take her from me. Her choice is made, and I am not so poor in spirit that I cannot share some small bit of my own happiness.” His shining gaze met Lily’s and her heart filled to bursting as he went on. “For there is so very much of it.”
Lily let go of her father’s hand and turned to the man she loved. Tristan was correct—no matter what happened, he need never fear that she would ever go from him again. She looked into his eyes. “I am yours, love, now and for always, body, mind and soul.”
He bent and whispered into her ear, “Let us away to a more private place, my love, where I might take advantage of the promise in those words.”
Her troubled gaze found his as she whispered back, “What of Sabina, Tristan? What shall we tell her?”
“Why, that we are to be married and you will be her mother, that she has grandparents. Time enough to worry about the rest when she is slightly older.”
Lily bit her lip in anxiety. “But will she understand when she is older? ‘Tis all so unbelievable.”
“Pardon my interrupting.” A voice came from behind them.
Lily spun around to see Genevieve in the open doorway. She held a smiling, pink-cheeked Sabina in her arms, and when she saw that she had their attention, she continued, “Maeve told me you were here. I thought the little one should meet her mother and her grandpa.”
Lily looked to Tristan, who was smiling as widely as his daughter. “That is a fine notion. Bring her to me.” He took Sabina in his arms and turned toward Lily. “Sabina, how would you like for Lily to be your mother?”
The smiling Genevieve then sailed off again as the child beamed like the very sun. “I love her to be my mother.” She held out her chubby arms, and Lily took her into her own, her throat catching on a sob of sheer joy as she breathed in the soft warm scent of her child.
Lily was pulled from this moment of indescribable joy by her father’s voice. “She is so very beautiful, Lily. So very like her mother. God forgive me for the wrong I have done you.”
Winter's Bride Page 24
