”It was your mother’s brooch,” Tristan said, eyeing the ring.
Nate blinked.
Scarlet blinked. “My mother’s?”
Tristan nodded.
“How do you know?” Scarlet took another step toward him, starving for information.
Tristan shifted back. “I remember seeing her wear it when I first met her.”
He looked uncomfortable, but Scarlet could feel the warmth that was easing through his body. Her mother was a good memory for him.
Tristan met my mom. He knows about me. My family. Tristan knows so much, but he acts so distant….
“Her name was Ana,” Tristan said.
Scarlet looked down at the ancient piece of jewelry, stunned and awed by the fact that she was holding piece of her past. Her heart kicked as she turned the brooch over.
There was no pin on the back—probably broken off over the years. Her mother, a woman named Ana, had worn this brooch. And Scarlet still had it.
She took a moment to treasure the gift.
Nate leaned over Scarlet’s hand and looked at the ring. “Okay, so…we solved the ring mystery. Yay.” He smiled at Scarlet. “One mystery solved. Only a hundred more to go.”
Gently tucking the ring into the front pocket of her jeans, Scarlet cleared her throat. “Thanks, Nate. For giving it back to me.”
“Sure,” he said.
A few awkward moments passed.
Scarlet cleared her throat again. “I’ll see you guys later.” She didn’t look at Tristan as she made her way to out the front door. Closing the door behind her, Scarlet felt numb.
She had so many questions about her past. Her mother…her relationship with Tristan…her relationship with Gabriel.
Scarlet made her way down the porch steps, staring at her shoes. Shoes that had Tristan’s tattoo drawn all over them.
Agh.
She was so discouraged. She wanted to know who she was, what she liked, where she came from.
She wanted a freakin’ identity.
Maybe if she had her identity back, she would remember other things. Like her mother. And where the fountain was.
Just as Scarlet reached her car, she heard the soft thud of the cabin’s back door and immediately felt Tristan. He was probably going to shoot arrows. Or hunt for bears. Or whatever else moody, green-eyed archers did in their free time.
Scarlet paused as a thought formed in her head. Slowly, she turned around and headed for the back of the cabin.
She wanted memories and Tristan had them.
Scarlet’s steps were soft as she made her way around the side of the cabin and stood watching Tristan shoot arrows. She kept silent, almost holding her breath so as not to interrupt his concentration, but he knew she was there. She could feel the change in him the moment she’d stepped around the corner.
Guilt, love and sorrow had swarmed into him, saturating his soul.
Long minutes passed, broken only by the swift arrows cutting through the frigid forest air.
“What do you want?” Tristan finally said, keeping his eyes focused on a target in the distance.
Still being a jerk?
Awesome.
Scarlet tried to act casual as she walked closer to where he stood. Casual was the last thing she felt around Tristan.
“I want to remember.”
Tristan lined up another arrow. With his arm pulled back, his shirt tightened along his collarbone and stretched around his strong shoulder. “I’m not helping you use a Head Ghost.”
Scarlet watched his arrow fly. “I’m not asking for help with a Head Ghost. I’m asking for answers. About me.”
He glanced at her, his emerald eyes sharp and beautiful as they skimmed her face and neck. Scarlet’s insides tightened with excitement and his eyes went dark in awareness.
Stupid, stupid connection.
Scarlet blushed again and hated herself for it. Since when was she a blusher?
Tristan turned away from her. “What makes you think I have any answers for you?”
“You knew about my mother’s brooch.” Scarlet moved forward, feeling his body hum at her nearness. “You must know more about me than that.”
He pulled another arrow, positioned it, and let it sail.
“I want to know who I am.” Scarlet’s voice came out nonchalant, but it was useless. No doubt Tristan could feel her apprehension and hope.
Because she could feel his anxiety and desire.
She was pretending like she didn’t feel what he felt, and he was pretending not to care.
What a mess they were.
Without responding, Tristan drew another arrow.
Scarlet took another step forward, careful to keep the designated “ten feet” of space between them. “We can start with easy questions, like…where was I born?”
“Spain.” He didn’t look at her. “Your mother was from Spain. Your father was from England.”
Huh.
“Did I grow up in Spain?”
Tristan shot the arrow in his hand and nailed the bull’s-eye. “For a short while, before your parents moved to England.”
Well, that explained how she knew Spanish.
Scarlet cleared her throat, excited to be getting some answers. “What was I like in my first life?”
He kept his eyes on his target but a smile played on his lips. “Challenging.”
Was that a jab?
Scarlet puckered her lips. “What was I like in my last life?”
He glanced at her, but said nothing.
Her last life seemed to be a touchy subject with Tristan so she changed the era. “How did you and I meet?”
Still no answer.
“When did you and I meet?”
Scarlet could feel agitation running through him at her questions.
Frustrated, Scarlet asked, “What was my favorite food? What was the first movie I ever saw? Did I ever have any pets?”
Tristan dropped the bow to his side, sighed, and gave Scarlet an impatient look. “You think knowing if you’ve ever had any pets is going to help you?” He raised a brow. “You think knowing the answer to a thousand questions will tell you who you are?”
Scarlet was exasperated. “Yes.”
He spoke quietly. “They would be answers, Scar. Not memories.”
Scar.
Her heart fluttered at his nickname for her and something deep inside her stirred. Like a flame being rekindled, the wick of something true caught fire and warmed her soul.
Tristan cocked his head to the side. “And isn’t that what you really want? Memories?”
“I want,” Scarlet softened her voice, “to know who I am.”
For a moment, the only sound between them was the chirping of a winter bird and the soft wind rustling the trees.
They stared at one another.
He exhaled. “Fine.” Walking to the side of the cabin, he set down the complicated bow in his hand, and picked up a more traditional-looking bow. He walked back to his shooting post and looked at Scarlet. “Come here.”
Slowly, she made her feet move forward until she was standing right next to Tristan. Up close, he was beautiful.
He was beautiful far away, too. But up close, he was…he was….
He was making it hard for her to breathe.
And not for any reasons related to their curse.
Scarlet said, “We’re not ten feet away from each other. Nate won’t be pleased.”
“I don’t live to please Nate.”
“Obviously.” Scarlet smiled.
Tristan held out the long bow in his hand and waited.
She stared at him. “What?”
“Take it,” he said.
She carefully wrapped her hand around the foreign—and heavy—weapon, holding it lik
e it might bite her.
She caught a ghost of a smile on Tristan’s face as he watched the way she handled the bow. But the ghost quickly vanished into the hard face he normally wore.
Tristan retrieved three arrows from the quiver strapped to his back and held them up to Scarlet. “Pick one.”
Was this some kind of game? Or test? Scarlet hated tests.
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you remember who you are.”
“By…making me choose an arrow?”
“Pick one,” Tristan repeated. “Or our trip down memory lane is over.”
This was Tristan’s idea of “memory lane”?
God help us.
Scarlet clucked her tongue. “Calm down, Archer boy. No need for threats.” She stared at the arrows, each of them different.
The green one was thicker than the others, with a broad tip. The yellow one looked wispy and useless, like it was a toy. And the blue one was thin, but looked strong; the arrowhead sharp and narrow. It looked accurate. Deadly. The blue arrow looked…right.
Scarlet looked back up at Tristan. “Does it matter which one I pick?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “I already know which one you’ll choose.”
Scarlet scoffed. “No, you don’t.”
He was so arrogant.
Arrogant and intimidating and rude—
Tristan plucked the blue arrow from his hand and held it up with a quirked brow.
…and right.
Agh.
He put the other two arrows away and handed the blue arrow to Scarlet. “Here’s your arrow.” He nodded to the spear in her hand. “That’s your bow.” He looked right into her eyes and continued, “Now shoot.”
He stepped over to the side of the cabin, leaving Scarlet staring at the objects in her hand, completely clueless.
“But…I don’t know how to shoot an arrow,” she said.
Tristan crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing against one another. “Yes, you do.”
She looked at him in frustration. Hating her amnesia. Hating the way his arm muscles were distracting her. “Maybe I did at one time, but I don’t remember—”
“Your hands remember.”
Scarlet looked at her hands and made a face. “My hands barely know how to hold this thing, let alone use it.”
“That’s because you’re letting your brain get in the way.” He uncrossed his arms and walked over to where several different bows were leaning against the cabin’s outside wall. Grabbing one that looked similar to what Scarlet held, he walked back to the shooting spot.
Coming up beside Scarlet, he pulled another blue arrow from his back and looked at her pointedly. “Watch me.” His voice was soft and instructional.
In the sunlight, his green eyes seemed softer. Less troubled.
Scarlet nodded as Tristan’s hands set his arrow against the worn bow he held. The arrow lay securely in between his fingers as he carefully drew it back against the wooden bow.
One hand held the limb of the weapon, gripping it steadily in his fist, while the other hand kept the arrow drawn taught against the bowstring.
His shoulder muscles were tight and his eyes were set low and determined on the target in the distance as his chest lifted with a long, deep breath.
Good God, he was distracting.
Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.
She could see Tristan’s beating pulse through the tight skin of his neck.
Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.
Swift and silent, Tristan released the arrow. Scarlet barely saw the spear leave the bow; it flew so fast. But in an instant, the target in the distance was pierced through the center.
Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.
Crap.
Tristan lowered the bow and looked at her. “Your turn.” He took a step to the side.
Scarlet looked down at the giant bow in her hand, jiggling it a little. “Easy for you to say. This thing is more than half my size.”
“That’s because it’s mine, so it’s larger than what you’re used to.”
Scarlet raised her eyebrows. “What I’m used to?” She shook her head. “I’m used to schoolbooks and coffee cups and cell phones. Not…” she pinched the arrow between her thumb and forefinger like it was a smelly diaper, “medieval weapons.”
Tristan sighed.
He was frustrated. He was amused. He was frustrated.
“Fine. Don’t shoot it.” Tristan moved to take the bow from Scarlet’s hands, but she instinctively yanked it out of his reach.
He raised a brow, but said nothing.
“I’ll shoot it,” Scarlet said, not sure why she suddenly felt so determined. Like she had something to prove.
Tristan shrugged and walked back to the side of the cabin, crossing his arms again as he watched her.
With a huff, Scarlet tried to mimic Tristan’s actions as she lined the arrow in her hand up against the bow and the bowstring. She raised the bow and arrow up and slowly pulled back, finding the movement not nearly as difficult as she had anticipated.
The bow was giant in her hands, heavy and thick. But not awkward. The tension on the bowstring made her muscles burn with tightness, but it felt right.
Maybe she did know what she was doing.
Or maybe she was going to accidentally shoot a squirrel.
She looked ahead and saw three targets, all at different distances.
“You can aim for the closer target,” Tristan’s voice said from the side. “You don’t have to aim for the same target I hit.”
Was that a challenge?
Scarlet glared at Tristan over her shoulder for a moment, trying to read his emotions.
Patience.
Nothing else.
Scarlet looked back at the targets. The closer one would be easier to hit. She could probably throw a rock and nail the bull’s-eye on that one.
The target Tristan had hit was farther away and more worn from use. It would be more difficult, if she could even hit it at all.
Which she probably couldn’t.
But then she saw an even farther target, nestled in a group of trees so far away the target was nearly hidden in shadows.
It was an impossible target. And Scarlet readjusted her bow and aimed right for it.
If she was going to fail, she would fail at something impossible.
The muscles in her torso and shoulders began to tremble with exertion from holding the arrow in place for so long, but the burn made her feel strong. She pulled the arrow back even more, the bowstring sharp as a razor blade under the pressure, and she took a steady breath.
Please don’t let me kill any squirrels.
Keeping her eyes on the impossible target, Scarlet released the arrow with a whoosh. It cut through the air, flying into the trees and shadows until finding its resting place.
Bull’s-eye.
Pride immediately exploded inside Scarlet. Strong pride. Warm pride.
But it wasn’t hers. It was Tristan’s.
Tristan was proud of her.
Scarlet turned to look at him with every intention of smirking or bragging, but when she saw his face all thoughts left her mind.
He was smiling at her. Like he never doubted her for an instant.
And he reminded her of something beautiful. Something lost.
“You remembered,” he said quietly.
Lowering the bow, Scarlet kept her eyes on him. “I remembered.”
They stared at each other, passing pride and hope back and forth between their connection and, for the first time since she’d met Tristan, she didn’t hate the curse.
Tristan’s smile went crooked. “Now do it again.” He pulled another arrow from his quiver and tossed it to her.
Scarlet sna
tched it out of the air effortlessly, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth.
With Tristan looking at her like that—like she was powerful and amazing and strong—she could do anything.
22
Scarlet sighed in frustration as she walked through the dead leaves of the forest floor. She and Tristan had been hunting all morning, but had yet to see a single creature.
“It is as if all the animals of the forest have been scared away,” Scarlet said, squinting into the trees.
Tristan came up beside her, looking around as well. “Food is scarce and people are desperate. The animals have probably fled to safer regions.”
Scarlet frowned as they moved on.
“Do not worry,” Tristan said beside her. “You have plenty of food at home.”
“Yes, but winter is coming soon and I have nothing preserved.”
“Do you think I will let you go hungry?”
“No,” Scarlet responded. “But I’d rather not rely on you through the winter months when the snow is so thick your journey to my hut will be impossible.”
He smiled happily. “Nothing is impossible.”
She looked at him with a half-smile. “You are impossible.”
“As are you, my lady.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He laughed. “Why not?”
“Because I am not a lady.” Scarlet looked straight ahead as they walked. “I am a thief.”
He shrugged. “You are a lady thief.”
“Who steals from your father,” Scarlet added.
Tristan was silent for a long moment and Scarlet regretted her words.
She hated reminding him of her crimes. It was probably hard enough for him to overlook them when he was sneaking food away from his castle, let alone while he was traipsing through the woods with her.
She was a fool.
“My father is a greedy man.” Tristan looked up at the treetops. “He takes and takes, and thinks only of himself. Any theft you’ve committed against him was deserved.” They walked on for a minute before Tristan concluded, “I hope to never be like him.”
Scarlet turned to face him. “What do you hope to be like?”
Tristan tilted his head, the sunlight painting his face as he thought. “I hope to live with a purpose beyond myself. I hope to have a life of meaning, a life worth fighting for. Dying for.” He shrugged. “I hope to be much more than I am.”
Awry (The Archers of Avalon, Book Two) Page 10
