Tristan

by L. L. Muir

  She played innocent. Anyone who’d read Harry Potter knew what it was, but she asked anyway. “Snogging? What’s that?”

  He gestured with his hands a few times, like he was having a hard time finding the right word. “What the two of us were doing when we were so rudely interrupted by that blasted dog.”

  Okay. Now she knew her face was as red as it felt.

  “I don’t usually do that,” she said. “Just so you know.” And just in case he was getting ideas for other things she usually didn’t do.

  “Neither do I, lass.” And danged if he didn’t sound sincere. She couldn’t possibly believe him, though. Even without proof, she knew women must hit on him night and day. Because she would.

  The GPS announced they were about to arrive at their destination, and Audie didn’t know what to hope for—a secluded parking lot where they could get their snog on again, or a generously populated place where she’d have no choice but to keep her lips and hands to herself. Unfortunately, being within reach of him was kind of like being within reach of that puppy. You could tell how it was going to feel just by looking at it, but you had to touch it anyway.

  She also knew that it was nearly impossible to pull her hands away once she started—petting the dog, that was—and she sure as hell didn’t want to have the same reaction with Tristan.

  Tristan... She’d never met anyone by that name in her life. But she couldn’t help imagining herself as Isolde. And if she were the type to hallucinate, she might imagine a certain loch monster whispering in her ear. “Weren’t you paying attention? This man is supposed to be yours.”

  She pulled into a parking lot that was surrounded by trees with drooping, dripping branches. They’d just missed the rain, which made her wonder if they could find a dry spot for their picnic. But when she considered her date, performing acrobatic feats in order to get his body out of the car without exposing himself, she stopped worrying about little details. She stopped thinking altogether.

  Finally, to make things easier for him, she walked in front of the car and glued her eyes on the forest. If he had to get undressed in order to get out, then he didn’t have to worry about her watching him.

  Soon enough, he stood next to her, basket in hand. “It was a far simpler thing to fold myself inside,” he mumbled.

  “It is a pretty small car,” she said and shot a glance sideways to see if he was all in one piece. He was.

  She was still staring at his chest when he gestured toward the start of a path. “This way, lass.” It was the whispering that got her attention. Whispering was, she realized, highly underrated, but she wasn’t going to say it out loud.

  The weather warmed unexpectedly, so she took off her windbreaker and tied it around her waist while she followed that strand of white hair into the trees. He stayed on the main path for a long time, then veered off to the left.

  “There is something I wish to see again, before we find the falls, aye?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I was raised near here, ye ken. After a long week of croft work, nothing was so fine as jumping in the Moriston River.”

  No one would believe me if I told them. She pulled out her camera and started the video, so she’d have proof that someone like Tristan Bain was real. And not only real, but he was there, with her, a simple math teacher from Archer Middle School in Atlanta, tramping through the Highlands to see his old swimming hole.

  If she was anyone else, she could take up writing romance novels after this. But sadly, she’d just go back to her staid, fact-filled life where the poetry that moved her was in the way numbers always lined up like they were supposed to. Imagination just wasn’t her forte.

  The path sloped downward and the splash of water rose to meet them, getting louder with every step. By the time they reached the river, whispering was out of the question. And off to the right, from the direction of Loch Ness, came a constant, booming roar. She could have sworn her blood picked up momentum in her veins in a sort of sympathy with the rushing river before her.

  “The water looks like whisky!”

  He smiled and reached back to offer her a hand. “Aye, it does! From the peat bogs higher up! But ye can drink it. And bathe in it just fine.”

  “I don’t think so!”

  He laughed at her, and the sound melted her heart in spite of the gallons of frigid water rushing past. It was a carefree laugh, maybe a little rusty, from a guy who might not have a lot to laugh about.

  He led her down to a rocky peninsula that forced the water to flow around it. Once she was on solid ground, he released her hand to pick through the pebbles. The flash of that white lock of hair drooped a little from his ponytail and reminded her that at least some point in his life hadn’t been so carefree.

  When he’d casually mentioned that he had seen horror, she hadn’t taken him seriously. After all, there were plenty of people who had a colorless patch of hair that came from some genetic mutation, sometimes passing down through generations. But there were stories of real people whose hair had been turned white from shock. And after seeing him laugh, slightly surprised at his own joy, she could easily believe he was one of the latter.

  Something in the water winked at her, and after setting her phone on a relatively dry boulder, she carefully stepped out onto two partially rocks to reach for the shiny object. Spreading her weight evenly, she held a hand out behind her to keep her balance while she bent.

  Just a little deeper, maybe...

  The water nearly reached her elbow when her left foot slipped. She over compensated and threw herself to the right, then kept on going. With all fours in the air, she landed on her back and gasped quickly before her head went under.

  “No!” Tristan’s shout was nothing compared to the roar of water in her ears.

  Brown water! Brown water!

  She closed her mouth as tight as she could, sealed her eyes, and slowly let air out through her nose, hoping to keep water from filling her sinuses while she fought to keep her head up.

  The water rushed past her flailing arms and she could feel it pushing her away from the bank. She kicked to get her feet under her, but the water pushed her heavy jeans out ahead. So she rolled onto her stomach and started fighting for shore. A massive hand clamped onto her wrist and held. The water pushed harder, but it couldn’t get her now.

  She pulled her knees up and planted one foot, then the next. Then she lunged forward. The grasp on her wrist disappeared, but she was caught beneath both arms and pulled up against Tristan’s chest. At least she thought it was him. He felt more like a tree trunk with flesh-covered arms pulling her close and holding on for dear life.

  “Audie! Audie! Oh, Audie! Ye’re all right, lass. Ye’re all right.” He sounded breathless, frantic. She must have scared him pretty badly. He was shaking.

  Oh, she was shaking plenty herself because she’d just been turned into a popsicle. But it wasn’t the same.

  She looked up at his face to see if he was all right. “Are you kidding me?”

  He was shaking because he was laughing. In fact, he was laughing so hard, he fell on his butt trying to drag her back onto the riverbank. And it left him too weak to stand up again. She had to climb over him to get out of the water.

  “Go ahead. Laugh.” She dug her fingers into the wet knot of her windbreaker now hanging off her like a wet swimsuit. She needed to get her arms covered, even if it was just wet plastic, or she was going to die!

  Tristan looked up at her, tried to look sympathetic, but burst out laughing again.

  It was true, what they say, that anger can warm you up. It just didn’t warm her up enough.

  “I hope you fall in,” she muttered. “Just see if I come in after you.”

  “Lass... Lass...” He giggled between words. “The river... It is only two feet deep all through here.” Then he rolled onto all fours, in the water, with his face barely above it. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, threw his head back, and sighed like he’d just come off the basketball c
ourt. “Ye had yer eyes closed so tightly, it is no wonder ye thought ye were being swept away. But ye moved not five feet from where ye tumbled in.” He pointed just to the right of the rocks she’d been standing on. Saying she’d floated five feet was being generous.

  She grasped for some cutting remark that might make them even. But all she came up with was, “Some swimming hole.”

  He lowered his head like a bull and came at her. She had no idea what he planned to do, but she was already close to the embankment, so there was no dodging him.

  He wrapped his warm arms around her and leaned close to her ear. “If ye wish to go swimming here, lass, ye must go farther out.” He ducked and knocked her legs out from under her, lifting her into his arms as she gasped and grunted, trying to escape. Then escape was the last thing she wanted when he was holding her above that rushing, icy water again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Audie suddenly realized her life was literally in the hands of a stranger, and she freaked. “Don’t let go! Don’t let go! I’m sorry. So sorry! Please don’t put me in the water again! I’m sorry I made fun of your swimming—aaah!”

  He stepped off some ledge and they both went plummeting into a deep spot. She grabbed his shoulders, frantic to hold her head above water, and he went under a second time. When he came back up, he was laughing, so she didn’t feel bad about it.

  The tie had come lose from his ponytail and when he swung his hair out of his face, it splattered her. It felt like ice and she screamed.

  He laughed again and she glared. But then he started backing away from her and she panicked.

  “Shall I give ye space, Audie? I cannae promise ye won’t float away.”

  She was already floating away from him and swam harder against the current. “I’m going to freeze to death. Maybe you’d better take a m…m…message to my parents.”

  “That would be up to ye. I’m fairly toasty myself.”

  The choice was clear. Move closer to the man who had put her back in the freezing water, or head for shore, where she could go back to the car and turn on the heat. But clear didn’t mean easy. And the car wasn’t close by.

  “I’ll settle for toasty, for now. But as soon as I’m warm...”

  “Aye, aye. I’m sure ye’ll think of a fate worse than death. Now, come here.”

  He reached forward and eliminated half the distance. A few frantic strokes later, and their fingers locked. He pulled her easily against the current, which was much less forceful there than near the shore. And she felt his warmth from a good foot away.

  He pulled her tight against him, wrapped one muscular arm around her shoulders, and pressed his wet lips against the side of her head. Even they were warm, dang it.

  She wasn’t going to die. At least not for the moment. And the relief started her teeth chattering. It was then that he finally realized how very cold she was, and he started apologizing. After he went on for a minute without her responding, he paused.

  “Keep going,” she said. “Groveling warms me up, too.”

  He laughed. “Teasing is a very good sign. I predict ye’ll live.” He suddenly frowned at her mouth. “But yer poor lips. They’ve turned blue.” He nodded. “Allow me.”

  He placed a warm hand against the back of her head and angled her mouth up to meet his. Lifting her shoulders out of the water exposed them to the air, but his warm face melting against hers more than made up for it. After about ten seconds of trying to nudge her lips apart, he pulled back.

  “Audie. It willnae harm yer virtue to open yer mouth to me.”

  She shook her head. “But the water is brown.”

  He bit his lips for a second or two, then whispered. “I swear, upon my honor and the honor of the Bains, living or dead, I will not allow a drop of river water inside.”

  It was good enough for her.

  ~ ~ ~

  For the dozenth time since they’d arrived at the river, Tristan thanked God for cold water. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if the temperature rose a bit while he and Audie had been snogging.

  Not far from the swimming hole was a formal camping arrangement where metal rings had been placed in the ground to mark the acceptable spot to build a fire. Unfortunately, the fools that designed the area placed these rings far too close together making it difficult to find any privacy to speak of. So, after he got a fire started, he removed his plaid and strung it from one tree to another and hoped that some of the fire’s heat might travel sideways a bit in order to dry it.

  Naturally, he kept his long shirt on his back, which covered him well enough to be modest. He could only ignore the constant dripping, certain it would cease once the shirt began to dry.

  The lass returned to the fireside with the cooler box, sat on one of the benches that surrounded the pit, and glanced only briefly in his direction before her mouth hung open—as if she were trying to catch flying ashes.

  “Are ye trying to warm the inside of yer mouth, then?”

  Her gob clapped shut with a snap and she lowered her eyes to the flames.

  Sitting across the fire from her, he was careful to push his shirt down between his knees before he bothered warming his hands. “My plaid is up now. Ye can strip out of some of those wet things, aye? Wouldn’t want ye catchin’ yer death when my purpose was...” He waved his hands around to distract her from what he might have said. “That is, my purpose was to have a bit of fun. That is, after ye were already wet.”

  Lord help him, he sounded as nervous as the lass looked. And her eyes had grown rounder still when he’d suggested she remove some of her clothing.

  “Here, now. I will turn my back and ye can remove what pleases ye. Er...whatever ye wish. Erm...” He stood, turned, and sat again with his back to the flames. “Perhaps we should have crawled into the car and gone back to the inn as ye suggested. But the fire’s burning—”

  “I don’t have anything else I can take off.” She cleared her throat. “My jacket it hanging up. My t-shirt is nearly dry, and my jeans are wet, but warm. I’m not even cold anymore.”

  That was a lie. Her chin still shook when she thought he wasn’t watching. But he wouldn’t argue.

  “You can turn back around.”

  He faced her again, tamped down the cloth between his legs, and picked up a stick to poke into the fire. She reached for a wee stick and did the same, and finally, they relaxed.

  “So, you didn’t come to drown me.”

  He chuckled. “I did not.”

  “Or make me drink brown water.”

  “Nay.”

  Her head tilted. “Then maybe you should tell me why you did come.” Her eyes flashed up to meet his. He was, as the Yanks liked to say, busted.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Of all the attributes Soni had pressed upon Tristan, it seemed to him that Audie Hayes was the attentive one. Suspicion had returned to her eyes, the same he’d seen when she thought her best friend had betrayed her. He would be wise to tread carefully.

  He assumed innocence. “We came for a picnic, did we not?” And a bit of snogging.

  She wasn’t biting. “Why did you come to Loch Ness? It wasn’t to look for the monster.”

  “Now, lass. We agreed, if ye remember, that we’ll not judge one another for what we believe.”

  “Right. You seem to believe in witches, but not in monsters.”

  “And Audie Hayes does not believe in either. So I see no point in discussing it.”

  She waved away his distraction tactic. “Let’s talk about last night, shall we? You said you were sent to help someone.” She opened the food box and began handing things out.

  “Aye. And thank ye. Swimming tends to leave me starved.”

  “But you don’t know whom?”

  He nodded while he chewed a piece of sandwich. “Ye were the only one on the beach, as I recall.”

  Audie shook her head. “But then you said maybe your witch was wrong, that maybe I didn’t need help, right?” She peeked between the bread of her own sandwic
h, pressed them back together, and took a wee bite.

  “Aye.” It was difficult to keep up with the questions and watch her mouth at the same time. He was growing quite fond of those lips and the trio of freckles above the top left corner. They only moved when she smiled, and he became obsessed with making them move.

  “Tristan? I think you were making it up as you went. And, now that we’ve—that we’re friends, I would like to hear the truth, if you don’t mind my prying. And if it helps the conversation, I promise not to mock you.”

  “Ye want the truth? Even if it is something ye’ll not believe?”

  “I want to know what you believe is the truth, and I guess I’m hoping your story is a lot simpler than what you’ve told me so far.”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “Simple?”

  She shrugged, then divided her attention between him and her food while she waited for him to confess. He suspected she hadn’t offered him a drink just to make him squirm.

  She would have made a formidable minister.

  He considered the flames for a minute, trying to guess what was safe to tell. “There truly is a lass—”

  “The witch?”

  “Aye. Her name is Soncerae. I have known her all her life.” The truth of his words warmed his heart. He would sorely miss the young lass with the mischievous smile. “In any case, she has offered me a generous reward if I perform some noble deed. I came to Loch Ness hoping to find an opportunity to do just that.”

  “So you’re playing some kind of game, right? For money?”

  “Not money, no. But a boon nonetheless.”

  The light that shone in her eyes might have had little to do with the fire at all. The lass was genuinely intrigued. And as an obvious reward for his confession, whether she believed him or not, she dug a bottle of water out of the cooler and held it out. “How can I help?”

  He laughed aloud. “For starters, it would have helped had ye been a damsel in distress, so to speak. But plainly, ye need no help from me.”

  “You got the dog to warm up to people. That should count for something.”