Winter's Bride

by Catherine Archer

  His hands dipped down to cradle her hips, fitting the curves as if formed to do so, lifting her gently against the hard length of his manhood. Her head fell back at the sweet easing it brought to the aching core of her. But even as it eased her, the gentle pressure made her yearn for more and she arched against him more fully, desiring above all things to have him slip into her heated flesh.

  Tristan knew what she wanted, because he too felt the very same drive to complete their union. Yet he wanted this moment to last forever, wanted to draw out their loving to a fine point of passion.

  When she wriggled beneath him he chuckled, a husky, sultry sound that made her flesh tingle, and held her still.

  Her fingers curled in the thick hair at the back of his head, and she rolled her own head from side to side, gasping in complete abandon, “Please, Tristan, do not tease me so. I need you.”

  That pleading voice brought him to the last of his strength. He could deny them no more. He drew back, then forward, slipping into the warmth of her body in one perfect motion.

  Lily sobbed out his name. “Tristan, Tristan. I love you,” she cried.

  He froze in place, his heart contracting as he looked up into her eyes with both shock and inexpressible longing. “You love me?”

  She met his gaze directly, her gray eyes dark with passion and yes, love. “Yes, Tristan, I love you, love you as you are now, as you were when we met, have always loved you.”

  He closed his eyes and his heart seemed to explode with the force of his emotions, filling his chest with a warmth as bright as the sun. He looked down at her, feeling the intensity of his love pouring from his own gaze. “I have so longed to hear those words again.”

  The impact of the words sang through her blood, bringing each nerve in her body to vibrant life, making the fire at the joining of their two bodies burn all the hotter. She arched beneath him. “Then take me, my love, take me to paradise with you.”

  Tristan gave in to that sweet melding of flesh, lost all sense of himself as being separate from Lily. He was in her and of her, riding pulse upon pulse of everincreasing rapture. “Lily, my sweet Lily,” he whispered against the dampness of her forehead, and she reached out to hold him more closely to her with her arms and long slender legs.

  Lily met his every thrust with equal measure, losing herself, drowning in the wondrous delight of their union as the sensations grew to an excruciating peak of urgency. And then the pinnacle was breached, her body convulsing in rapturous shudders of delight. Joyously she lost herself in Tristan, taking in his breath, his scent, his very essence as he stiffened above her and she felt the spill of his seed inside her.

  Tristan sighed, rolling onto his side, pulling Lily with him, unable to release her from arms that had ached too long to be filled with her softness.

  He wanted to talk, to tell her how much she meant to him, how glad he was that she loved him.

  Dear God, Lily loved him.

  He wanted to make plans for their future together. But the knowledge that she loved him had released such a dam of emotions and pent-up regrets that it seemed to sap him of every ounce of his strength. God, how he had fought his anguish at losing her.

  He closed his eyes, his hand twining in the silkiness of her hair, the same three words repeating in his wearied mind. I love you, I love you, I love…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Driven to accomplish this deed before she lost her courage, Lily slipped from Tristan’s bed. He seemed so very deeply asleep that she was tempted to touch her hand to his beloved cheek one last time, but she dared not. Drawing herself up, she turned away from him and hurried back to Sabina’s chambers.

  Silently, she went to the child’s bed, her hungry gaze drinking in each feature of that so dearly loved little face. Her own tiny daughter, who would grow to womanhood without her. Lily put her hand to her aching heart. Dear heaven, she had not known it would hurt so very much to go.

  Quickly then, before she lost all courage, she crossed the room and dressed in the black velvet gown and white underdress, as they were the warmest of the ones Genevieve had given her. She then threw on the cloak and left the room for the last time.

  Her heart felt so tight in her chest as that door closed that she thought it might surely stop beating from the pain. But it did not. She called on the memory of Tristan’s love, which burned like a torch inside her. It made following through with her decision bearable. She would be worthy of the love he bore her, even if it meant that she would suffer for it for the rest of her days.

  It was right that she should be the one to act here, to set things right. Too many of her years had been stolen by the whims of others. Be her decisions good or ill, they would be her own.

  The snow muffled her footfalls as she made her way through the castle grounds. But she had no need to concern herself with that at any rate. All the men she could see in the light of the flares burning along the castle walls kept their attention fixed without.

  Her pain at leaving Tristan and Sabina had kept Lily from concentrating on her own anxiety about what Maxim might say or do. But now that she was on her way, that worry was fast turning to real fear.

  She tried to tell herself that thinking this way would serve no purpose. She had to remain calm and in control of herself if she hoped to convince Maxim of the truth—that she had come here of her own will and that he need take no revenge upon those inside.

  But that did not make the dread disappear.

  It was made even more powerful by her feelings of apprehension when she pulled open the secret door and looked into the blackness beyond. Dear heaven, but it was dark down there, dark and damp, if the smell that rose up from inside was any indication.

  She had not been able to risk bringing a light with her.

  For a moment Lily balked. She did not know if she could make herself go down there into that all-encompassing darkness alone.

  Yet did she not have to, for the sake of all the folk here who had accepted her without question? For the sake of her own daughter?

  Taking a deep breath, she started down the ladder. Once she had gained the bottom, Lily was surprised to find that the smell was not quite as bad as she had feared.

  Staying close to the wall, she started off, hoping that there would be few twists and turns to confuse her.

  As she went on Lily realized that if there were any twists or turns she might well be in serious danger of becoming lost, for she could see nothing. She had never been afraid of the dark, but this was beyond darkness, so enveloping and deep that she could not even see the shadow of her hand before her eyes. It did not help that the air inside the tunnel soon began to seem musty and close, making breathing almost an effort.

  She did not stop, telling herself that she must go forward, must find the end of this labyrinth. On she trudged, her fingers sliding along the uneven surface of the wall. She closed her eyes, summoning up Sabina’s dear little face, and kept going.

  It was some time later that she realized that the air had become crisper again.

  She moved on with more enthusiasm, sensing that the end of her goal was near. When at last she found herself stepping out into the snow-covered forest, Lily breathed a deep sigh of relief. She raised her head and took a deep breath as the snowflakes fell upon her upturned cheeks. She, Lily, had done it. With no help from her parents or Tristan. She was capable of standing on her own two feet.

  That thought drove her to continue on to the encamped army. Facing Maxim was something she had to do, no matter what the outcome.

  Lily gained the camp with no problem; its location was known to all in the keep. She circled the edge until she located a tent that was larger than the rest. Quickly she went to it and ducked inside.

  Maxim sat at a table, writing on a sheet of parchment. He continued to write with a distracted wave of his hand. “Put it over there and go.”

  Lily stood where she was, unable to say a word.

  As the silence went on, Maxim looked up with an angry gru
nt. “I said…” But the moment he saw her his eyes widened beneath straight gray eyebrows. For what seemed a very long time, he simply sat there staring at her as if she were a mirage.

  She took a deep breath.

  That seemed to break the spell, for he stood and rushed toward her, his expression unreadable. Yet the tight grip he took of her shoulders told her something of his feelings, as did the harsh tone of his voice when he spoke her name. “Lily, how did you come here?”

  Remembering that she wanted to gain Maxim’s acquiescence to her wishes, Lily tried to stand still beneath that grip. She told herself that he was upset, and rightly so in his own mind, but his thumbs were digging into her collarbone quite painfully. She could not help trying to shrug loose from his grasp as she said, “Maxim, please, you are hurting me.”

  He heeded her not all, for his reaction was to shake her roughly. “I said, how did you come here?” He stopped shaking her to look behind her. “Did Ainsworth bring you?”

  She tried to reason with him, to get through the anger. “He did not bring me. I came on my own. I knew that I had to talk with you, to explain what had happened.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Explain! Is there aught you can say that will take us back to the beginning? Can you erase all that has occurred since the moment you left the inn?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying as much as she was able to have patience with his rage. “You know that I cannot do that. But I can tell you that no one here meant you any insult then, nor do they now. Can we not just take our leave and allow them some peace?”

  A sudden and unexpected calm descended upon him, and if Lily had been any less distraught, she would have questioned it. As it was, she simply listened with hope as he said, “So that is why you are here—to tell me that none here mean me any insult? To ask me if we cannot just go on our way and leave them in peace?”

  She peered up at him, her gaze filled with optimism. “Yes, that is what I wish above all else. You will have my undying devotion all the rest of our days together if you will heed me in this.”

  He stared at her for one long, incredulous moment before he exploded in another spate of fury. “Little fool that you are, Lily, you can not actually imagine that is possible.” He made a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “All my men know that I have come here to rescue my bride, the bride they have been scouring the countryside for these past weeks.” His scathing gaze raked her. “Do you imagine that your wishes would outweigh regaining my own honor? Not now, nor ever, will any woman mean enough to me that I would simply walk away from such a slight.”

  She shook her head, aghast not only at his anger, but at his total lack of concern for herself or anyone else in this matter. Clearly he cared for nothing but his pride.

  Never had she thought he would take her suggestion easily. She had felt it would take persuasion on her part, but she had not thought anyone could be this hateful, this self-centered.

  Tristan and Genevieve had been right about him all along. And she, fool that she was, had been suspicious of their antagonism, in order to absolve her father of any conscious wrongdoing in giving her to such a man.

  She could no longer do so. No one who loved her—as she had thought her father did—would ever do something so thoughtless, even in order to secure his position at court. She could not withhold her anger, which was made stronger by her disillusionment. “You are despicable. If only I had not had to regain my memory in order to—”

  It was her father who interrupted her. She could hear the fear in his voice as he said, “You have regained your memory?”

  Lily swung around to face him, realizing they had not heard his entrance in the heat of their discussion. “Yes, Father. I have regained my memory.”

  Regret and sadness colored his gray eyes, and for a moment she felt sympathy for him as he said, “Then you now know…you have seen…?”

  She nodded, rubbing a weary hand over her brow as she said, “Aye, I know all.” She cast him a warning look. She had a sinking suspicion that her father was speaking of Sabina. Lily did not wish for Maxim to know of Sabina, not for her own sake but for the child’s. Something told her this man would not wish her babe anything but ill.

  But it seemed that Maxim was as clever as he was evil, for he turned to her father. “What does she now know? What has she seen?”

  Her father looked at his hands, then back at the other man. Lily willed him to remain silent, yet he did not. Robert Gray started forward, his voice pleading. “Maxim, there is something I must tell you. I know that you bear these Ainsworths much ill will, as I do. Yet they did save our lives by lighting that tower, and there is a child involved. Lily’s child and my own grandchild.”

  Lily cringed as Maxim exploded in rage. “A child, you say? Lily has borne a child to one of these Ainsworths?”

  Robert Gray backed away from him in genuine fear. “Maxim, I know that you are angry, and you have a right to be. But it was some years past and the memory of the man, as well as that of the child, had been utterly wiped from her mind. I did not imagine…did not think—”

  “You did not think indeed! Can you even wonder that I would want the leavings of such as they?” Maxim swung around to face the horrified Lily. “You, whore, will pay for this insult to me. Too many know of my engagement to you to draw back from it now, and I can manage to comfort myself with your wealth. But no one must ever know of this child.”

  She ran to him, grasping his arm as she pleaded in desperation, “Nay, I will never tell a soul. I meant it when I said that I would leave with you and never look back. We have kept my identity a secret from all here.”

  He shook her off, his face as cold and emotionless as granite. “Even if that was true, the Ainsworths know. I will not afford them that.”

  She looked at him in dawning horror, realizing that his hatred for the Ainsworths had driven him past all reason. “What will you do?”

  He leaned over, his burning brown eyes as menacing and evil as anything she had encountered in her most terrifying nightmare. “No matter how long it takes I will burn this castle to the ground. Not one stone will I leave standing.”

  “No,” she sobbed, her heart breaking inside her. “My babe.”

  The words seemed to only make him more cruel. He went to the door and called out, “Guard!” A man entered and bowed deeply, his gaze never meeting his master’s. Maxim spat. “Take her and her father to his tent and make sure they remain there until I say otherwise.” The man bowed again without raising his eyes.

  Lily knew there would be no hope in securing the aid of one so cowed. She did not look at her father, knowing he would be of no help, either. She moved toward the door of the tent without another word.

  Maxim halted her briefly. “Lady Lily—and I want you to know that I use the term loosely.” When she met his gaze, he smiled with cold pleasure. “You had best find some rest, my dear. I would not have you miss any of the festivities that will begin at dawn.”

  “Tristan!”

  Tristan woke to the insistent sound of his own name. Even with the fog of the first deep sleep he had had since the accident three years gone by clouding his mind, he reached for Lily. He reached for her and found emptiness.

  His confused gaze alighted on Genevieve, who stood beside the bed. He shook his head to try to clear it as he peered about the chamber. “Where is Lily?” He had no concern about what his words might reveal to the other woman.

  Genevieve answered hurriedly. “That is why I am come, Tristan. Lily has gone.”

  He bolted upright. “Gone! What can you mean?”

  She wiped her honey-gold curls back from her forehead, her eyes haunted by fear. “She has left the castle.”

  Tristan leaped from the bed and began to pull on his leggings, completely oblivious to the girl’s presence. “I will have the head of whomever is on watch.”

  Genevieve put a hand on his arm as he raised it to tug on his tunic. “There will be no need for that. She did
not go by way of the gate, Tristan. She left through the tunnel.”

  Incredulity made his eyes widen. “The tunnel. By God, how could she even know of its existence?”

  “There I cannot help you,” she told him. “I know only that she was aware of it and that she has gone by way of it.”

  “God’s blood,” he shouted, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he jerked on his boots. He then stood. “You are sure of this, Genevieve? There can be no mistake?”

  She shook her head. “No mistake. From the upper window, as I was coming from the privy, I saw her go into the shed. She was naught but a dark shape against the snow, but I felt it was Lily. I went to Sabina’s chambers to make certain that I was not in error. She was not there. I then came directly here and she is not here, either, though from your reactions I think she was.”

  Tristan faced her. “I will not apologize for that.”

  She faced him with affection in her gaze. “There is no need, brother of my heart. As I am beginning to understand, love has its own order.”

  He put his arms around her, giving her a tight hug. Genevieve pushed him away quickly. “Lily has put herself into the hands of a very dangerous and selfish man. She may be in grave peril. You must not delay.”

  Tristan reached for his sword. “If he harms one hair on her head, Maxim Harcourt will pray for death long before it comes to him.”

  Lily paced the floor of the tent. She had nothing to say to her father, who sat on his bed, his hand clasped to his head.

  Unexpectedly he spoke into the stillness. “Lily, I have no words to tell you how very sorry I am for all of this. I should not have spoken of the babe. I thought that doing so might make him understand.”

  She could not keep the fatigue and frustration from her voice. “Did you, Father?” She met his regretful eyes.