FOREVER ENCHANTED

by Maggie Shayne

  She met his gaze, tilting her head to one side. "How, Tristan? How, when they hate me and blame me for every innocent child who's died?"

  "Marry me," he whispered.

  She blinked up at him, shaking her head in wonder. "You don't need me now. They love you, Tristan. They see you as a martyr. They'll welcome you back with open arms. Why in the name of the gods would you ask me to marry you now?"

  He stared down into her eyes, and she saw the emotions swirling in his. "Do you really have to ask me that?"

  It overwhelmed her, what she was thinking, what she was seeing in his eyes. And then a bout of dizziness added to the confusion in her mind, and she felt her knees weaken. Tristan's arms closed around her waist, and she heard him swearing softly.

  "Dammit, this is all too much on you. Just lie down. Rest. You're not well. Not at all. The water you took into your lungs has been wreaking havoc on your body, and all the rest of this is only adding to your exhaustion. Rest awhile."

  "I don't want to rest."

  He eased her closer to the bed, nudged her to sit down on its edge. "I brought some more broth."

  "I don't want the damned broth, either, Tristan."

  Tristan tilted his head to one side. "Well then... what do you want?"

  Bridin looked into his eyes, and she knew. She knew exactly what she wanted. The question was, did he? Did he truly want her as he claimed he did? Even now that he no longer needed her help to regain the throne? Her gaze lingered on his, and he didn't look away. But the black centers of his eyes seemed to grow darker, glossier, and she began to see the firelight's reflection dancing there. The sight made her stomach tighten, so she lowered her gaze, only to find it focused on his mouth. The mouth that had taken her to the heights of ecstasy. Lips full and wet, and so very good at kissing her into a state of frustration.

  "Bridin?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

  She licked her lips, swallowed hard, and decided to find out once and for all just how much of his behavior toward her had been part of his act, and how much had been real.

  She met his eyes again, held them steady. "Once we return, Tristan, we'll likely have to separate. Me to go into hiding. And you to begin preparations for war."

  He nodded. "Tate seems to think it's the wisest course."

  "And in war... anything can happen. You could be killed. I could be discovered and murdered by my own people."

  "I won't let anything happen to you, Bridin. I swear it. Are you afraid? Is that what troubles you?"

  He'd been standing beside the bed, looking down at her, but now he turned to sit beside her.

  "Yes, I'm very much afraid. But not of dying, Tristan. What I fear is..." She drew a breath, stiffened her spine. "What I fear is that... that this might very well be the last night I'll ever spend with my most cherished enemy."

  She saw his throat move as he swallowed. "And that would trouble you?"

  "Of course it would trouble me. You saw the way I mourned when I believed you to be dead. How can you ask such a question?" She got to her feet and paced away from him, stopping near the fire to contemplate the flames. But they blurred before her eyes. "Never mind," she said. "Go. Leave me and get some sleep. I'm only being foolish and melodramatic."

  She heard the creak of the bed springs as he rose. Heard his footsteps, imagined him walking to the door, to leave her as she'd told him to do. But instead the steps came nearer, and a moment later she felt his warmth heating her back. Felt his hand gently pulling her hair away from her shoulder. Felt his warm breath on her neck. And then his lips. She closed her eyes and bit her trembling lip. But still a single tear managed to escape and trickle down her cheek.

  "Dammit, Bridin," he whispered. "I didn't come in here because I wanted to feed you more broth. Don't you know that?" He kissed her neck, then his lips worked a path upward, to her ear, tasting it thoroughly before sliding across her cheek and tracing the line of her jaw.

  She was shaking; a deep, stirring tremor seemed to emanate from some forbidden place. Some place she'd never explored. "I thought..." Her words escaped as a tremulous whisper. "I thought you wouldn't want me now."

  "So did I. Foolish idea, wasn't it? I've always wanted you, Bridin. I've hated wanting you. Fought wanting you. And despite all of it, wanted you all the same."

  He clasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him. And for a long moment he seemed to be drinking in the sight of her with his eyes. "And I still do," he said softly.

  "But if I survive, Tristan, I'll find a way to clear my name."

  "I'll help you." And he kissed her lips, softly, slowly, languidly. His mouth moved over hers and she felt herself wanting to melt into his arms.

  Finally he lifted his head away.

  "I'll win back the hearts of my people," she whispered.

  "I have no doubt of that," he said. "You could win the heart of a granite boulder, if you wished it." He slipped his arms around her waist, pulled her closer, until her body was pressed tight to his. She could feel his hardness, pressing into her. And she felt breathless with anticipation. He dipped his head to nuzzle at her throat again, and a heat uncoiled in her middle, spreading its searing tendrils throughout her entire being.

  "When I... ohhh." She closed her eyes, delighting in the fires he was igniting with his touch. His hands clasped her buttocks and pulled her even harder against him, and his hips moved. She drew a breath, knowing it had to be said. "But if I fail... to win back the love of my people... ahhh... I will be a detriment to you, Tristan. Mmm. If they blame me for all of this... don't you see, Tristan? You can't put a woman they despise on the throne as their queen. They wouldn't stand for it."

  His teeth closed lightly on her earlobe. One hand slid up her back and over her shoulder to push the strap of her shift aside, and then he was nibbling a path down over her bared shoulder.

  "Did you hear me?" she asked him, though she was nearly writhing with need now.

  "There's a way," he told her. "There has to be a way, and I'll find it, I promise you that. But not now, Bridin. Now I want..."

  "I know," she told him, and she slipped out of his arms, taking a single step away from him. And while he stared, stunned by her departure, it seemed, she slipped the other strap down, and let the shift slide from her body to pool around her feet. And she stood there, naked, unashamed, and aching for him, the man she might never be with this way again. Because despite all of her talk, she knew fully well that the odds were against her even surviving the next few days. Let alone convincing her people of her innocence, and ruling her kingdom once more, at Tristan's side.

  Tristan stood as still as if he'd turned to stone. Only his eyes moved, dipping to travel a path down the front of her, all the way to her feet, and slowly back up again. And Bridin knew then, by his stricken expression, that he did care for her... perhaps more than was wise. In his eyes she saw that he wanted very much to make love to her. And that would be enough. It would have to be enough.

  Still he didn't move. "Tristan?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

  He met her eyes, smiled crookedly. "I'm not sure, my lady fair, whether to touch you, or to fall on my knees and worship you."

  As she held his gaze steady, letting her hunger for him shine from her eyes, his smile slowly died. "Touch me," she said.

  And he swept her into his arms fast and hard, and he kissed her mouth as if he'd been starving for its taste. Burying his tongue inside her, kneading her backside and pressing his hardness between her legs. His passion seemed to erupt, and they tumbled together onto the bed, and she tore frantically at his clothes, eager only to have him naked and warm and touching her everywhere, all at once. Skin to skin.

  He helped her, as desperate to shed the clothes as she was to rid him of them. And in moments he, too, was nude, and Bridin's hands were roaming his body freely, making discoveries and eliciting responses everywhere they touched. His shoulders and back, firm and hard with muscle under a layer of tanned, salty skin. His thighs, where hers lo
cked around them, tight and powerful. His chest... oh, the smoothness of it, the breadth of it. And his belly, flat and tight, and then her hand closed around the very root of him, and he tipped his head back, grated his teeth and groaned. She moved her hand, learning the feel of him, the shape, and the size and the incredible hardness of him.

  He pulled away, staring down at her with fire in his eyes. She reached for him again, but he caught her hands this time, both of them, at the wrists, and held them down to the mattress above her head. "Better that you don't touch me... just yet," he murmured, and then he bent to resume kissing her mouth, her face, lower, until he captured one breast, tugging and nibbling at it until she twisted and writhed in pleasure and need. Yet still her hands were immobilized above her head. She could only lie there and move against him while he drove her to the brink of madness with need.

  He tormented the other breast in the same manner, then lapped a hot path to her belly, and then lower, and she opened to him when he tasted her there. She whispered his name, then moaned it as his mouth worked her into a frenzy.

  And finally he moved up and over her body again, lowering his weight atop her, releasing her hands. She reached around him, clutching his tight buttocks and pulling him to her. And he obeyed her silent command. Very slowly, very carefully, nudging himself inside her. Bit by bit. Inch by incredible inch. She felt herself being stretched, being filled... with him. And it was wonderful.

  She sighed, and it seemed the elements sighed with her. A gust rattled the window, until the sashes parted and the breeze gained entry. A violet-scented wind swept around them, ruffling the bedsheets and tangling in her hair.

  Tristan was trembling now as he continued moving very slowly deeper inside her. Trembling all over, and she realized that she was doing this to him. Making him shudder. Reducing him to this same state of need that he'd brought on her. She pulled harder, and he slid all the way into her, groaning, closing his eyes. He paused there, and she knew he was waiting for her. Giving her time to adjust to the size of him. But she didn't want time. She wanted more of this.

  She moved her hips to tell him so, and he responded, pulling back and plunging deeply, again and again and again, his pace excruciatingly slow. And that heat in her belly began to bubble and boil higher. And the wind around them swirled with greater force, faster, keeping pace with their breathing, escalating in time with their heartbeats. The heat inside her boiled higher still as she moved faster, snapping her hips to meet his every thrust. His slid his hands beneath her, clutching her hips the way she clutched his, and lifting her, and filling her to still greater depths. And Bridin strained toward the pinnacle she knew lay just ahead, as the mystical wind buffeted her, and thunder rolled. And she wasn't certain whether the sound came from inside her, or from without.

  And when she reached that elusive place her entire body convulsed. The wind became a tempest. The room flashed with lightning that seemed the essence of what she felt, and the thunder cracked like a gunshot. She squeezed him from within, milking him, and she heard his muffled groan, felt his every muscle tighten, and then release all at once as he spilled his seed into her amid the inexplicable storm—the storm created, she was certain, by the two of them. The long-contained emotions of a fay princess and a wizard, finally set free.

  Her body relaxed, bit by bit, and the wind died away slowly. Tristan slid his hands up her back, to tangle his fingers in her hair as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. And then he slid off her body, to nestle beside her. He pulled her close, bundled the covers up over them both, and held her tight in his arms.

  And then he fell asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bridin watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful, so content, a soft smile touching his lips like magic every little while. And she knew what she'd done. She'd let him believe that this was how it would be. She'd given him a hope to cling to that was as unlikely as snow in July, as fragile as a butterfly's wing. He'd made love to her, insisted that he would clear her name, that they would rule Rush together. And the poor, beautiful fool believed it. She'd let him believe it.

  And that was cruel.

  Because she knew what she had to do when she returned to her kingdom. They might despise her, but the people of Rush were still her people, and her responsibilities as their princess far outweighed the importance of her own happiness.

  Or Tristan's.

  It would take him weeks to assemble an army and mount an attack on his brother's forces. And in these weeks, children—innocent babies—would die in the arms of their grieving mothers. Tiny, precious lives would be lost.

  She could stop it. Tate had given her that knowledge, though she was certain that had never been his intention. All she needed to do was turn herself over to Vincent, and the suffering of the people would end. She could save those babies, those children. She could prevent the tears those mothers would shed. No one else could do it. Only Bridin. And so she must.

  Vincent would likely kill her. It had been his plan all along, she knew that. Oh, there was a slim chance he might keep her alive in order to try to extract information from her, but it was far more likely she'd die at his hands by the time Tristan's armies were ready to attack.

  No more children would die, though. If it cost her life to insure that, then so be it.

  And yet, it would be hardest on Tristan. Because she knew now that he cared for her, far more than he'd ever admitted. But perhaps there was a way she could spare him some of his grief, make her loss easier on him, when it came.

  He stirred as if sensing her eyes on his face, opened his eyes, gazed up at her. "You didn't tell me," he whispered.

  "Tell you what, Tristan?"

  His smile was slow, a little uncertain. "That you'll marry me, be my queen. Rule Rush at my side."

  She closed her eyes, averted her face.

  His hand came up to touch her cheek, turning her toward him again. "Bridin?"

  "I..." A slow breath escaped her, and she drew it in again with determination. "I can't marry you, Tristan."

  All color drained from his face. "You love me. Dammit, Bridin, you can't convince me you don't."

  She lowered her chin until it touched her chest. "My husband was chosen for me long ago, Tristan. By my mother. I... I must obey—"

  He narrowed his eyes on her face, his brows furrowing. "No," he whispered. "I don't believe you, Bridin."

  "You have no choice."

  "But I do." And he enfolded her in his arms, and he kissed her, deeply and passionately. She didn't even try to pretend. It would do little good. She kissed him back, gave in to the need that seemed to have been a part of her forever.

  "We'll be together," he told her. "I'll make you mine, Bridin. I'll never let you marry someone else."

  Oh, and he was so right. She'd never belong to another. But as for them being together, he was wrong about that. She'd do what she must. And as he made tender love to her, she cried inside, because she knew that this would be the last time.

  Tristan had sensed, almost from the moment he'd come into her room, that tonight was Bridin's way of saying goodbye. He'd known it. He hated knowing it, but he'd long ago learned to see what was clearly before him, even when it wasn't what he wanted to see.

  She would leave him when they reached the enchanted forests again. And this time she intended it to be forever. But her reasons were lies, all lies. She didn't intend to marry this other man her mother had commanded her to find. She couldn't. There was something else driving her now, and if it took the rest of his life, he would find out what it was. He'd overcome it. He'd convince her that they, belonged together, the two of them. Somehow, he would make her his own. He'd make her love him the way he loved her.

  He would.

  Tristan lay awake, long before dawn, just looking at her. Relishing this time he had with her, to hold her in his arms. To touch her the way he'd always wanted to touch her.

  And eventually, looking at her, knowing that she intended it to be the last
time, but not knowing why, became too painful to bear. And he slipped out of her bed, gathered up his clothes, and quietly left her. He returned only once, to leave her crystal ball behind. He wouldn't make her ask him for it, because he sensed doing so might be hard for her. And he didn't want to make this any more difficult for her than it already was. He'd do what he had to do, and she'd do the same. They were both heirs to a legacy larger than either of them. But he knew he'd never forget this night with her. And he'd never love another the way he loved his Bridin. His fairy princess. And he'd never give up on her. Not ever. If she thought he could walk away and let her go now, she was sorely mistaken.

  Tristan was gone when Bridin woke. She thumped her fist against the pillow in frustration. Damn him for leaving before she'd had the chance to speak to him, to make him accept that they could not look forward to some happily ever after. He'd ignored her refusal to marry him. He'd refused to believe she intended to marry some stranger instead of him. And he was going to be hurt in the end, when he learned the truth.

  She loved him beyond anything she'd ever known.

  She was glad that at least she hadn't told him that. It would be easier for him, far easier, if he never knew.

  The sun was rising over the lake when she rose to stand before the small window. And she greeted this day with her shoulders back and her chin held up. "Today might well be the day I come to join you, Mother. But I'm not afraid." She bit her lower lip and angrily dashed the cowardly tears from her eyes. "I am not afraid," she said again, her voice firm and hard. And if she said it often enough, in just such a voice, she thought she might even begin to believe it. She turned away from the window then, and was brought up short. The scrying crystal rested on the pillow where Tristan's head had been so recently. He'd brought it to her, left it here for her as she slept.

  What did it mean? Was it a gesture of friendship? Of love? Or a token of goodbye? Had he left it for her so that she could find another man to marry, his way of letting her know that his proposal no longer applied? No. More likely, Tristan wanted her to find this other man, so she could see that there was only one in the world meant for her. Tristan, her Dark Prince.