She frowned. “You had a bath?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. That was her job. Maybe Brom assisted. Maybe he bathed himself. “Not from the lady of the house?”
“She checked in on me,” he said with a shrug, but she could tell he noticed her concern. “Don’t worry, love. It wasn’t as thorough as your bath.”
“That is the weirdest, wrongest thing,” she muttered about the strange tradition no one else gave a thought to. “I’d rather not do that, as lady of your house. If it’s all right with you, that is,” she hurried to add.
“Whatever you wish,” he said. “I don’t relish the thought of your helpfulness to my honored guests, either.”
She stepped back, horrified. “I would never! That thing with you was a freak accident. It’s all your fault anyway for being so—”
“So what?” he asked, pulling her back into him. Her chest bumped against his and she settled in like he was her favorite easy chair.
With a sigh, she tipped her head up and rested her chin on his chest. “So alluring. Attractive. Irresistible.”
“It’s you who is all that,” he told her, leaning down and pushing her hair behind her shoulders. He slid his lips along the length of her throat. “And so much more.”
He paced slowly backwards, his hands at her sides, guiding her closer to the bed. She fell eagerly into it, melting against his side as his kisses deepened. “I missed you,” she murmured against his mouth. “I tried not to think about you, but you were always there, always in my thoughts.”
His hands pushed her gown up her legs. “I was the same,” he admitted. “It’s as if you’re an enchanted creature.”
She shivered at that, but it may have been his masterful fingers sliding along the backs of her thighs. She wanted to tell him the truth, but was distracted by the cool air hitting her freshly bared skin and sighed. He paused, looking at her with darkened eyes.
“I want to savor you, and yet I fear I cannot wait.”
She pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms around his neck and eagerly placing a kiss on his shoulder, then his neck. “Don’t wait. I most certainly cannot.”
His eyes flared, reflecting her own passion as he pulled her hips down to meet his. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gasped. At last, he was where he was supposed to be. They’d only been together once before, but he moved as if he’d known her for years. Every place he stroked, every kiss he gave her, was exactly right. She wanted to please him just as much, but she was trapped in her own delight and could barely hold on, relishing each gentle caress and hard thrust.
His shoulders shook as she clung to them, finding herself biting down onto his shoulder, very close to a bruise. With a gasp, she released her jaws, but gasped again as he expertly brought her closer to the brink.
“That’s—oh my…” Her head collapsed onto the pillows and she squeezed her eyes shut, wanting the moment to go on forever. “Holy crap.”
Panting, he eased himself to her side, wrapping his arm around her sweaty waist and pulling the covers over them with his free hand. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her chin, then let his head drop to the pillow beside her, a bemused smile on his face.
“I have never heard such a thing be called holy before. I don’t know how to take that,” he said, small hitches in his breathing.
“It’s good.” She wiggled closer so her lips pressed against his bicep. “I love your muscles,” she said, reaching out from under the blanket to squeeze his arm. He flexed showily, a smug smile on his face, eyes closed.
She snuggled against his chest, listening to his now steady breathing. He craned his neck to look down at her, offering a warm smile.
“I thought you were grouchy when I first met you,” she admitted, kissing his collarbone.
“Grouchy? What is that?”
She thought about it, tracing her fingernail along his side, raising a swath of goosebumps. “In a bad mood? It’s hard to explain. I never thought you were unkind, just not that friendly.”
“Why would I be friendly to the youngest maiden of the house?” he asked, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking. “I wouldn’t want to get her hopes up.”
“Conceited,” she said, poking him. “As if.”
She had to hide her blush, remembering the first time she saw him. She’d been interested, much more than interested. Even then, she’d been drawn to his good looks. They definitely had an undeniable attraction to one another, but she hadn’t been sure it was enough to break the curse. Her cozy glow drained away and as hard as she tried to fight reality, it was too late. It had bullied its way back in. She sighed and rolled to her back, staring at the beamed ceiling.
“I apologize for making you uncomfortable then,” he said, mistaking her withdrawal. He rolled to his side to face her and placed a sweet kiss on her temple. “If we’re confessing our first impressions of one another, I thought you odd.”
She turned to see his face was full of concern, like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how. She couldn’t imagine how she must have come across to him. The day she met him was the day she first arrived. She was adrift, in shock. She was surprised he didn’t think she was a madwoman.
She wanted to tell him the truth, just once, for herself. She’d only ever acted like herself so she thought he must actually love her, but everything else was lies. Who she was, where she’d come from—she wanted him to know the real Fay and accept her. Love her despite the fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was. It was the most awful feeling, being jealous of the girl she’d replaced. The real daughter of Sir Walter, the one Tristan thought he was going to marry. The person she couldn’t stop being.
You know who you are. Stop torturing yourself and enjoy this, she thought.
She knew how she felt about Tristan. And the way he looked at her now, she knew he felt it, too. She turned back to him and put her hand on his hard chest and smiled into those blue eyes. It went beyond that, though. She could easily imagine him years down the line. Perhaps his thick, wavy hair would thin and gray, his muscles would soften and sag, his eyes would dim. But he would still look at her the same, she would still see him as the same virile knight before her. She was finally sure her feelings were love. Real, true love.
He doesn’t know who you really are. How can that be true?
Her mind wouldn’t allow her to relax into his soothing caress. She sat up, clutching the sheet to cover herself, shaky and sick to her very soul. She was positive this was why everyone before her had failed. Taking a deep breath, she decided to blurt it all out for the sake of the curse. He wouldn’t understand her anyway, would probably think she had burst into song for whatever reason. He already admitted he thought she was strange and, hopefully, it would put her mind at ease about satisfying the curse.
“Tristan, I want to tell you something. It might explain why you thought I was odd.”
He sat up as well, eyes full of caring affection. “Of course, my dearest. But why do you look so alarmed?”
She took a breath, praying whatever he heard wouldn’t be too idiotic. Maybe it would sound like a love poem to him. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m really Fay and that’s what everyone calls me, but I’m not really Sir Walter’s daughter or Anne’s sister. I was brought here by a curse. It was a wedding dress I put on and it pushed me hundreds of years into the past. I’m from the twenty-first century and, supposedly, there’s no way back. So, I have to play along and hope I can break the curse, which is to prove that true love exists. For what it’s worth, it does. I truly love you, Tristan.”
There. She got it all out and maybe he’d understand the last part. She dragged her eyes up from the blanket she’d been twisting between her fingers to see how bizarre whatever he’d heard had sounded to him.
Instead of looking slightly puzzled the way Anne or Batty did whenever she felt the need to vent and they thought she was bursting into song for no reason, he looked downright horrified. Crap. What did he hear? She reached out to him, but he recoiled.
“What?” she asked. “What did you—” she stopped, defeated. How could she ask what he thought she said without making it worse? All she could do was wait.
“You think you’re under a curse?” he asked in a choked voice. “You believe you aren’t Lady Fay, daughter of Sir Walter Grancourt? Who do you think you are?”
She dropped the blanket in her shock and quickly pulled it back up again. This was no time to be naked. Her mind reeled. “You heard what I said?”
“Of course I did. You’re a hand’s breadth away from me. Did you not think you spoke aloud?” Now he looked even more horrified.
How had it happened? How did he understand her? She’d been whining off and on about the curse when her stress level got too high, and never once had anyone understood what she had actually said. It was always nonsense. Mumbo jumbo. Something that got her laughed at by Batty or a long-suffering “Oh, Fay” from Anne.
“No, I mean, you understood it? It didn’t sound like a song or a request for something?” Oh, she was making it worse, but didn’t know how to get out of her confession. “This must have something to do with it,” she said, grasping. “Maybe you’re supposed to understand.” She felt a glimmer of hope that they could live together, knowing the whole truth between them, until that hope was doused by his fearsome, angry look.
He stood, dragging a blanket with him. He marched across the room, turned and marched back, mumbling to himself. “It’s worse than I feared,” she heard him say as he shook his head at her.
His anger had turned to pity and his blue eyes glistened with tears. It was too much for her to bear. The truth had stood between them and now it would tear them apart. She’d never felt so much hatred. If she ever met the person who had done this to her, she would happily tear them apart with her bare hands.
“Tristan, I—” Once again she stopped dead, not knowing how to explain. “I can prove what I said.”
He held out his hand to silence her. “Stop. Please.” His voice was ragged. “I knew you were ill, but I thought the effects could be reversed.”
“What?” she asked. “What do you mean, you thought I was ill?”
“All the reading you do, the way your father indulges you. I thought it was a weakness of the mind that could be … I see I was wrong.”
Her heart tore in two even as she began to burn with indignation. Weakness of the mind? Yes, what she’d said was a hard pill to swallow, but she was living it. Surely if he loved her he’d have a little faith. A little trust.
“Listen,” she begged. “I didn’t expect you to hear, I mean, understand what I said. I only wanted to get it off my chest, so there would be no lies between us. But the fact you heard it must mean something because, so far, you’re the only one who has. If you just trust me until we get home, I can prove it, I swear.” She didn’t know how. She was buying time, time that had clearly run out. His face was stone cold.
“You’ve spouted this nonsense to others? And no one’s thought to get you help?”
“They don’t understand me,” she said listlessly. “They think I’m singing about birds, usually.” She put her face in her hands to block his cold look. She didn’t think it could have gotten worse, but it could, and it did.
“Lady Fay, I’m sure none of this is your fault.”
“Don’t call me Lady Fay,” she said, slapping the bedclothes. He couldn’t cut her off like that, act like she was a stranger.
“If you think you’re someone else, I don’t know how to help you,” he said, voice cracking. He was hurting as much as she was, so why wouldn’t he believe?
No one could believe it, she thought, going cold all over. She thought of the girls who’d failed, who’d gotten to the point they chose death over continuing to try and, for a brief second, she understood why. She thought the pain she felt at that moment might be enough to drop her.
“Can we forget about what I said and go back to the moment before?” she asked, futilely praying he’d join her again in the bed.
“As you traveled back in time to first get here?” he asked.
If it hadn’t been for the tears still welling in his eyes, she would have shriveled under his disdain. He reached to the ground, finding her discarded clothes and tossing them to her. Turning his back, he shuddered. She threw her clothes on as best she could with her shaking hands.
Standing at the door, she said, “Please Tristan.”
His shoulders shook slightly, but he didn’t turn. She waited for a moment, thinking, hoping, praying. No answers came to her, no way out of the mistake she’d made. She turned and fled, running blindly until she found her way to the lovely rooftop garden, then collapsed in tears next to a potted cherry tree.
Chapter 26
Tristan rode ahead, ostensibly to scout for dangers on the road, but his men could have easily done it on their own. He knew Sir Walter would be wondering why he didn’t ride alongside the family, and that he’d have to make an explanation for himself for why he would continue on to his own land rather than rest at Grancourt Castle. He still had time to decide how to do that. For now, he would continue on at a fevered pace, keeping far enough ahead of everyone else that he couldn’t be questioned.
Except his plan failed the moment Brom realized something was wrong. He was testy about not being able to go at a leisurely pace, flirting with Batty the entire way. When they first set off, he hadn’t raised much of a fuss, thinking they’d scout ahead a few miles and then let the others catch up. The first night Sir Walter and the ladies had stopped, poor Brom thought he would get a nice supper and a warm pile of hay. Perhaps a goodnight kiss from Lady Fay’s maid. Tristan felt bad for spoiling his plans, and worse for snapping at him and pulling rank, refusing to explain why they stayed so far ahead of the others.
“Still not going to talk all day?” Brom caught up with him and started in. He’d been trickling away at him like a stream against a rock, altogether too curious about his sudden change of heart.
Tristan whirled on him, making Brom’s horse snuffle in alarm. With a deep sigh, he finally gave up. “I was wrong,” he said shortly.
He’d been riding along in silence for the last two days trying to make sense of things and that was all it finally boiled down to. He’d been wrong before, about a good many things, but none had hurt this badly.
“You can’t mean about Lady Fay accepting you?” Brom asked, keeping more than an arm’s length away in case Tristan was in a punching mood. Which he was, but he didn’t want to take his woes out on Brom. “Did you speak to Sir Walter and he put you off? Not rich enough yet? No worries, we’ll just keep campaigning—”
“I was wrong about Lady Fay’s … state,” he finished. He wanted Brom to know enough to shut up about it and leave him to his suffering. Tristan had to carefully choose what to tell his squire. As much as it pained him, he still cared about Fay and didn’t want to denigrate her name. She’d been fooling everyone this long. If the greater world was to find out about her madness, it wouldn’t be because of him. “It turned out to be worse than I suspected. I thought her health could be rectified, but …”
His voice broke and he slapped the reins harshly, moving ahead of Brom. If Brom continued to push for more answers, he’d get his teeth rattled. He already felt guilty enough without bandying about tales of her delusions. Brom could rot with curiosity, because Tristan didn’t think he could speak of Fay again, not without some shameful display of emotion.
Fortunately, Brom was wise enough to leave him be and he galloped on ahead, almost hoping for bandits or marauders so he could bash something. The dust of his horse’s hooves had barely settled when Brom caught up with him again. Tristan gave him a warning look and Brom held up his hands.
“I only meant to ask if we’d be continuing on to Grancourt Castle.”
He nodded ahead of them and Tristan realized with a start that they were coming up to the fork in the road that led to the castle. He knew he’d been riding fast, barely giving his men a few hour
s each night to rest, but he was shocked to see how quickly they’d arrived.
“No,” he said. “Leave a few men to continue the escort when Sir Walter arrives. I’ll—” he swore and reined his horse to a stop, jumping down. “I’ll leave a message explaining—”
“Sir Tristan, if I may, perhaps there is nothing to explain?” Brom looked down at him as he paced. “A foolish gesture at the tourney is a promise no one could be forced to keep. Was there more?”
Tristan swore again, thinking of the beautiful moments he’d shared with Fay, of his feelings which he’d been sure were true. Tainted by her ramblings, all of it. As much as he wanted to be the hero who saved her, what if she couldn’t be saved? He’d have to watch her deteriorate before his eyes. The past days on the road, he’d tried to outrun his feelings. The memories of her demented stories. He swore he’d rather take a knife to the ribs than have to keep reliving the look in her eyes. She’d believed what she said! He rubbed his face, grinding the dirt of the road into his skin.
He couldn’t face her. Not so soon. Perhaps, it would be kinder to both of them if he never saw her again. Perhaps, the poor thing would forget about him completely if he just disappeared. He knew he would never forget her, but he was a coward. He couldn’t watch her suffer. He wouldn’t have his people whisper about his mad wife behind her back. Let her stay in the care of her father, who must know the extent of it. He’d determined a man such as Sir Walter wouldn’t do nothing for his daughter. It was more likely that there was simply nothing to be done.
“Leave ten men to continue the escort. The rest of us will return home with all haste,” Tristan said, hoisting himself back into the saddle. He took one look at Brom’s hopeful, wistful face and closed up the rest of his heart. “And no, you shall not be part of the escort.”
Without a glance to the left or right, he kicked his horse to a gallop, hoping to outrun his pain.
*
Fay was dead on her feet as she slid out of the saddle. One of her father’s squires led the horse away and she toppled onto the nearest bench. The late summer evening air rustled the tips of the trees that showed over the wall. Other than the sounds of the others dismounting, the outer bailey was quiet.
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 23
