Winter's Bride

by Catherine Archer

  The brothers had slipped through the secret passage with no one the wiser. As they had tramped through the falling snow, none of them having anything to say, he had been glad that he had asked that the shield be delivered to the building site rather than the castle. It would have been near impossible to get that out of the gate without the encamped army seeing them.

  Not that Tristan was afraid of them. He felt an intense inner urge to go out there and challenge the whole lot of them to personal combat. But that would gain him nothing but death. And to expect anyone else to enter into such a fight with him was completely unfair.

  Tristan looked over at his brothers, each lost in his own thoughts as they trudged along. He would exercise restraint now at all costs and do what was right by his family, who had stood by him in spite of his foolishness.

  When they reached the tower, Tristan stopped. “The shield is inside at the base of the tower. We can use the ropes to pull it up from the outside or we can try to maneuver it up the stairs, where we will be in out of the snow. It is heavy, but not so heavy that we could not manage. The problem would be with its awkward length.”

  Benedict looked up at the falling snow. “I am not afraid of a little more snow.”

  “Nor I,” answered Marcel.

  Kendran laughed with a youth’s enthusiasm for life. “I am with the rest of you.” He held up his hands. “This weather is actually quite invigorating, don’t you think? Besides, the four of us would look quite graceful all crowded together on that narrow stairway, grinding elbows here and toes there.” He stumbled about awkwardly, starting as he pretended to bang each body part.

  Tristan could not help laughing with him in spite of himself. Marcel and Benedict joined in, and as a hush fell among them again, they exchanged brotherly nods. Tristan smiled. It was impossible to keep castigating himself with such men at his side.

  He shrugged. “Let us to it then.” And he led them inside to get the shield.

  It was as they were actually pulling the shield up the side of the structure that Tristan felt Kendran grow suddenly still, without letting go of his rope. Bracing his weight against his own rope instinctively, Tristan looked up, wondering what was the matter, and saw his brother staring at something behind him.

  Swinging around, Tristan felt a wave of shock run through him at seeing Lily standing there. He blinked, thinking that he must surely be imagining things.

  Yet there she stood, her defiance and determination apparent on her so dearly beloved face.

  But the fact that he loved her did not stop Tristan from feeling a rush of intense irritation. “What are you doing here?”

  Lily stiffened at his tone, obvious outrage tingeing her own voice as she replied, “I came because I had to, Tristan. All of this is happening because of me. How could I sit in the keep knowing the four of you were out here in the storm?”

  Tristan’s anger drained from him instantly. He understood far too well her feelings. He shrugged. “There is really nothing you can do to help.”

  She held up the bag containing the flask of wine and the food. “I brought this. The wine was warm when I left, though I’m sure it isn’t now.”

  Kendran spoke up beside him. “I, for one, am glad to have it no matter what the temperature.”

  Tristan gestured to indicate the ropes they held, then the shield, which hung high above them. “We must see this finished first,” he said. “Benedict and Marcel will wonder what is going on down here. And it is growing dark.” He knew he did not have to tell her that once it was dark the men on the ship had very little hope of negotiating the waters along the coast without the guidance of the signal light.

  That knowledge made him speak to her with gentle care. “Please go into the tower, out of the weather, until we are ready to go up to the top and mount the shield.”

  Lily nodded, and he was glad of that, for he did not wish to be distracted by any worry for her. Their task was dangerous. One wrong move could see the cumbersome metal fall and crush them—or her.

  Yet as she turned to go in, he stopped her. “Lily.”

  She swung around to face him, her expression still defiant.

  He smiled, loving that willful part of her, along with every other aspect of her person. “Thank you for bringing the food and drink.”

  She smiled in return, her face so lit with happiness that his heart turned over in his breast. “It is my pleasure,” she replied, before swinging around to run into the tower.

  It was a moment before Tristan was able to still his racing pulse enough to return to the task at hand. Only Kendran’s knowing laugh brought him to his senses. Looking up into those blue eyes, Tristan shrugged. “What can I say to you, my brother? She has only to smile at me and I am as an unschooled lad. I love her.”

  He was not encouraged by the expression of sadness that suddenly replaced the amusement in his brother’s eyes.

  Tristan turned away, concentrating on the work at hand. There would be time enough in future to worry about his troubles with Lily.

  Some hours later, Tristan wiped at the band of sweat on his forehead. With continued effort, he and Kendran had managed to keep the fire going throughout the night. Benedict and Marcel were to take another shift at dawn if it was required.

  With each passing hour, Tristan was more and more glad that he had sent Lily back to the keep with them, for it began to look less and less as if the ship would manage to find the shore. Even in this storm, which had developed into the worst Tristan had ever seen, it should have come along some time ago.

  He looked out into the darkness, seeing the pelting snow illuminated by the reflection of firelight in the temporarily mounted shield, and shook his head.

  Yet not much more time had passed when he thought he heard a sound from the beach far below, a sound that was not connected to the pounding waves and driving wind. It was a sound very much like the scrape of oars against rocks.

  He listened very carefully, and then finally, the sound came again. It was followed by a faint shout of triumph.

  He and Kendran looked at one another and ran to lean over the short wall. They could see nothing, but more noises came to them. It seemed that someone had arrived at their shore. Tristan could only hope that it was Lily’s father.

  More minutes passed, and Tristan was just wondering if he should go and investigate himself when there was another shout from below. He went to the edge and heard a male voice cry, “You there, is this Brackenmoore?” It was obvious from his tone that the man thought he was addressing an inferior.

  Tristan shouted back, “Aye, it is Brackenmoore.”

  The man called out, “I am Maxim Harcourt.”

  Tristan answered discreetly, well aware that he and his brother were here alone. “I am glad to hear that, my lord. We heard that you were coming and lit the fire to guide your way.”

  There was scornful and bitter laughter from below. “I wish for you to tell your master that I thank him for the aid and that for his trouble I will happily kill him quickly rather than make him suffer as I had planned. His folk, on the other hand, will feel the full force of my revenge. The wrong he has done me cannot be appeased in any other way. He will have my answer to his insult in the morning.”

  Kendran gasped and opened his lips to shout down to him, but Tristan covered his mouth with a firm hand. Clearly Harcourt could see nothing but their silhouettes in the glow of the fire. It would never occur to him that the Ainsworths themselves would be manning the tower. And that suited Tristan well enough at the moment. They were two unarmed men against a troop, however weary, and the bolt at the entrance to the tower would not hold against determined men. He would not see his brother’s life end so abruptly.

  He called down, “Aye, my lord, I will tell him.”

  With that he heard them move away from the base of the tower.

  Lily shook her head in disbelief. “How could he do this after you saved their lives?” How could her father allow it? But she knew the answer to that ques
tion. He would not have the courage or the manpower to make a protest.

  Tristan wiped a weary hand across his face. “Clearly the only reason he did not kill us was that he wished for us to bring the message that he would attack in the morning. I have no doubt that he would have gotten the message to the keep in some other way had he known who I was. You have no idea how much I wanted to kill the bastard myself in those moments when he stood at the bottom of the tower and told me just how great his retribution would be.”

  Kendran stood. “We should have killed him.”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Kendran. I would never spend your life so cheaply. What could the two of us do against an armed troop, no matter how wet and cold they might be?”

  Lily put her hands to her head. “I should not have come back to the keep with Benedict and Marcel. You could have given me to him and this would all be over.”

  The glance Tristan sent her way was exasperated, but he made no rejoinder. He instead looked to Benedict, leaving Lily angry at his disregard of her solution.

  She spoke directly to Benedict, who was sitting with his hands propped under his chin. “I could go to the encampment now. Surely he would leave you all alone if he had me. Perhaps he did not clearly understand that the tower was lit in order to aid him?”

  Tristan cast her another glance of exasperation.

  Benedict gave her a look that was very much like the one she had received from Tristan. “There is nothing to be gained in that, Lily. It is Tristan he wants now. He has said as much. Your sacrifice would be for naught.”

  Lily clenched her hands in frustration. She would get no further by arguing with these obstinate Ainsworth men.

  Benedict shrugged. “There is nothing more to be done this night. He will do nothing until morning at the earliest, and not even then, should the storm continue to rage on as it is.”

  Tristan stood. “You are right, Benedict. We had best all find our beds. The watch will alert us to any untoward action on Harcourt’s part.” His knowing gaze went to Lily. “I will tell the watch that they must alert us to anyone attempting to leave the keep.”

  Lily stiffened. None of them, it seemed, had any sense in this. She turned and hurried from the room.

  She was halted on the stairs by Tristan’s voice. Lily did not know what more he could possibly say to her. She turned to him with her head held high. When she saw that his expression was filled with regret, she wondered at it.

  Tristan spoke quickly. “I realize that you feel a need to do what you think is best in this, Lily. I concede that you have the right to do so. As you told me, your life is your own and I have no more right to oblige you to do my will than anyone else. When this is all over you may leave Brackenmoore without argument.”

  She took a step closer to him, his soft tone of voice making her believe she might be able to make him see reason. “By then it may be too late. I do not want anyone to be hurt more than they already have been. I love—” her voice caught “—Sabina, would have no ill come to her ever.”

  His reply did not encourage her. “It is possible that Harcourt knows all, not only about us but about Sabina. What think you such a madman as he would do to the woman who has wronged him by bearing another man’s child?”

  She faltered, then raised her chin. “I will tell him the truth, that I did not know of what I had done when I said I would marry him.”

  “Your father did.”

  She took a deep breath. “That is upon his head. Not mine.”

  Tristan shook his own head. “I cannot allow it. I…would never forgive myself if any ill came to you. Can you not see that? Can you not see that I cannot allow the mother of my child to put herself at such risk to protect me? Nor would any of my brothers.”

  “Heaven save us from the Ainsworth pride and obstinacy,” Lily cried, throwing up her hands in despair. She then turned and ran up the steps, leaving him standing there. But as she went, Lily began to realize that she was not only angry, but moved by the care she was shown by this family. She could not let these maddening, honorable and overprotective men bear the brunt of her own mistakes. Furthermore, she did not require their acquiescence to act. She knew what had to be done, and needed no more than to find the courage within herself to do it.

  A sharp stab of regret pierced her breast at the knowledge. It was regret that she would be leaving so very much behind her—leaving everything that mattered to her, the only true sense of belonging she had ever known.

  Sabina.

  Tristan. And with him she left all hope of love or passion.

  She paused in her headlong rush as a thought prodded at the edge of her mind. Yes, she would leave all passion and love behind with Tristan, but she was not yet gone.

  What harm would it do to anyone if she took just a small piece of happiness and yes, pleasure, with her when she went? What Genevieve had inadvertently revealed about her feelings for Marcel had left Lily with the certainty that she would be hurting no one with what she was about to do.

  She felt a sweet twinge of longing take her as she raised her head and went on toward Sabina’s chambers. The babe was sleeping soundly, and soon everyone else would be as well.

  Lily closed the door and dropped her cape to the floor. There was no hesitation in any of her actions. Her mind was at peace. She had made her decisions and would live with the consequences of them. But there was one gift she would give herself before she left.

  Tristan.

  Slowly she moved toward the bed. The room was rosy with the light of the fire, and she had no trouble finding her way.

  When she bent over him, Tristan opened his eyes. Lily did not give him any time to speak; she leaned over and put her lips on his.

  He gave just the briefest start before his lips softened, and he reached up to hold the back of her head with one hand while the other sought the curve of her waist. Lily sighed against his mouth, not even realizing until he welcomed her so very completely that she had been afraid he might not.

  A shiver passed through her as he lifted her up to lay her across the expanse of his bare chest. She ran trembling fingers over his biceps, realizing as she did so that his physical strength had always had the power to thrill her. As a girl, she had loved the sense of being protected it gave. Now Lily reveled in this difference between him as a man and herself as a woman. No longer did she feel the need to hide behind another’s strength. Now she had found her own, and it had given her the courage to take this moment. And take it she would, without demur.

  His eyes met hers in the glow of the fire. “I can hardly believe that you are real.”

  She traced her hand over his lean cheek. “I am real, Tristan.”

  He stretched up to kiss the curve of her breasts above her gown. She closed her eyes, delight shivering through her as he whispered huskily, “Have you learned that Genevieve has refused to wed me?”

  She was not completely surprised, given what she had surmised about Genevieve’s feelings for Marcel. “You should have told me.”

  He smoothed his hand over the silky curtain of her hair. “I wanted you to come to me of your own will and for no other reason.”

  She looked at him closely, yearned so very much for…But nay; Lily knew what she had to do. Yet she need not think on that now. This moment belonged to her.

  She leaned over him and sighed. “No more talk now, Tristan.” Then she put her mouth to his, kissing him until she felt her own heart pound, her blood sing.

  When Tristan groaned and moved to roll her over onto the bed, Lily resisted him, shaking her head. “Nay,” she whispered softly. When he looked at her in question, she sat up and reached for the hem of her night rail.

  Tristan watched, barely breathing as Lily pulled the filmy gown over her head and dropped it on the bed. His gaze traced her face, each feature so delicately beautiful and beloved. It then dipped lower to take in her perfect form, those raspberry-tipped breasts, so white against the midnight curtain of her hair, so firm and lovely. Then on he ro
ved to her narrow waist and gently flaring hips, before his eyes settled once more on her face. He felt his breath quicken as he saw that his perusal had caused her own lids to grow heavy in response.

  Lily’s pulse raced at the desire in Tristan’s eyes as he looked at her. She ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips. Again he reached out for her. But Lily felt a need to explore him, to pleasure him and thus herself.

  Tristan was confused by her actions but acquiesced as she gently, but insistently, pushed his hands away. When Lily leaned over and placed her soft mouth, then her hot tongue against his chest, Tristan gasped, his hands twining in the silky fall of her black hair as it spilled across his body.

  Again he moved to bring her down to the bed beside him and again she drew away. She continued to kiss him, her mouth leaving a trail of fire on his flesh.

  Tristan was drowning, lost in the waves of fiery sensation engendered by her velvety tongue and lips, every fiber of his being urging him toward fulfillment. Yet he forced himself up out of that downy darkness of desire, knowing that if he did not he would be unable to control his release for another moment.

  His hands found her delicate shoulders, and this time he would brook no rebellion to his intent. He drew her beside him, his mouth covering hers, plundering that dewy softness.

  Lily’s head spun, and she felt herself melting into a sea of pleasure. She had so enjoyed Tristan’s reaction to her caresses, had so reveled in his unmistakable delight, that she had not wanted to stop. Yet when he kissed her this way she had no power to think of anything beyond her own response.

  As he laid her down upon the bed and leaned over her, she reached up to hold him to her, to bring that knowing mouth back to hers. He did not comply, but whispered, “Nay, little temptress. ’Tis my turn now.”

  Lily had no words to reply, for the instant his mouth found the tip of her breast she was suffused by heat. The more intently he suckled the more it grew, spiraling down to settle in flickering ripples of delight that licked upward from her lower belly to set her every nerve afire.