A Gift of Love

by A Gift of Love (lit)

Tristan's blood froze in horror. "You—you knew about that?"

  "Yessir," Gabriel mumbled, snuggling closer against Tristan's shirt, his cheeks staining pink. "When I was playing by your study. I heard you and Burrows talking."

  Tristan's stomach churned at the image of Gabriel standing alone in the corridor, hearing that his world was coming to an end, and the child damming up all the pain and hurt and fear inside him for weeks, realizing that each day that ticked past was one more out of the tiny store of time he had left in his own home before his own father—the father who should have comforted him, cherished him, soothed his childish fears—sent him away.

  "That's why you insisted on staying here for Christmas." Tristan squeezed the words past the lump of self-condemnation blocking his throat. "Even though there wouldn't be any celebration."

  Those old-soul eyes met his, and Tristan could see the shadows of the sorrow he'd caused his child. "I wanted to show you I could be quieter, Papa, so I wouldn't disturb you. I wished and wished that you would smile. Because if you smiled, maybe you wouldn't send me away, even though I know I'm a terrible bother to you."

  "A bother to me?" Tristan's lungs were afire. "God in heaven, boy! From the moment you were born, you were the one good thing in my life."

  "But Mama said that was why you looked so—so angry all the time—because you had important business to take care of and we were in your way. But she said that was all right because she had me to take care of her."

  Tristan froze. Had Charlotte manipulated Gabriel, twining her love about him like a vine, suffocating the child beneath the weight of her neediness? Tristan had always known she was jealous of any attention he'd paid others— his father, his sisters, his mother. But had she been jealous of her own son?

  Anger broke free in Tristan, at memories of Charlotte scooping Gabriel out of the room whenever Tristan entered it, banishing him to the nursery for his supper, memories of the stiff, wary, almost wistful expression on his son's face when he came to bid Tristan good night on those rare occasions Tristan had been home from the office before the child was abed.

  "Nothing is more important to me than you are, Gabriel. Nothing."

  Gabriel grew quiet, a shadow staining across his features. "I didn't do a very good job of it, did I, Papa?" he asked in a small voice. "Watching over Mama, I mean. Mama died, no matter how I tried to stop it. Is that why you're going to send me away to Aunt Beth's? Because I didn't watch over Mama close enough?"

  The words lanced Tristan's soul—God, that his son, his innocent son, should be wrestling such guilt in the night alone, that Gabriel had believed himself responsible for Charlotte's unhappiness and her death. While Tristan had wrapped himself in sackcloth and ashes and bitterness, selfish, so utterly selfish, in his guilt.

  "No, Gabriel. I was the one who failed, not you. Failed your mother. Failed you. I thought—You looked so unhappy, Gabriel. When I'd catch you staring out the drawing room window, you were so sad I couldn't bear it. I thought if I sent you away from all this, you could be happy. You'd have Aunt Beth to love you and other children to play with, and not just—just a bitter man who didn't deserve you."

  "But, Papa, if I went away, you'd get sadder and sadder. There would be nobody here to make you smile. That's what I gave all my wishes for. I promised never to wish again if the angel would just make you happy." His voice dropped low. "Even if it meant I had to go away."

  "Oh, God! Gabriel!" Tristan's voice broke as he gathered his son in his arms, crushing the boy against him, the embrace crumbling years of bitterness, an eternity of lost dreams, leaving him one, fresh and bright and new—a son he'd never really known. "I love you, boy. More than life. More than anything the world can offer. We'll stay together, if you'll let me begin again. I'll do better this time, Gabriel. I swear it. If you'll just give me a chance."

  "I'll give you all my chances, just like I gave you my wishes, except. . ." His mouth turned down in a frown. "I almost wish that I could get one of them back—my wishes, I mean—so that Alaina could stay forever and ever, too. But maybe you haven't used up all your wishes yet, Papa," he said, brightening. "Maybe you could wish her to stay."

  "I haven't dared to wish for a very long time, Gabriel. Maybe it's time I tried."

  Constellations nestled in the heavens in half-finished portraits of scorpions and lions and myth-veiled heroes, the winter night so still Alaina was certain she could hear Gabriel's angels whispering to the moon. She had climbed out the window of her bedchamber onto the sloping roof below. Making a nest of a thick blanket, she'd settled herself on a perch that was like her familiar childhood retreat. Sitting on the roof of the broken-down inn where she and her da had a room, she had been high above the dirt and the noise, in a place where even hunger's pinching fingers couldn't reach her.

  She could sit forever, her legs tucked up, banded by her arms, her chin resting on her knees, and she could look out across the winking lights of the city toward the street where he lived. She could imagine him looking out at the same night sky, capturing the moon in a silvery net of brushstrokes, stringing the stars in a shimmering necklace across a painted sky. She could picture herself in a flowing blue gown, curling up on a stool at his feet to sing to him the haunting ballads her father had taught her so long ago.

  Yet never in her wildest imaginings had she created a day as perfect as this one had been—from Gabriel's first cry of delight to his last drowsy whisper when Tristan had carried him up the stairs, the child hugging, not the familiar stuffed horse, but the awkward bulk of the newly polished saddle.

  Her heart had shattered at the tender timbre of Tristan's baritone as he'd warned Gabriel he could sleep with it only this once, that in the future, it would remain in the stable on its own peg, alongside his papa's saddle.

  She had slipped away, embroidering into the deepest places of her heart the picture the two had made—Gabriel, wreathed with the rare, drowsy delight of a child stuffed with all the joy and love he can hold, while Tristan sat upon the edge of the nursery bed, one strong hand of his clutched by one of Gabriel's small ones, mirroring the hold Alaina knew the child held on his heart.

  If only Tristan would listen to his heart and keep Gabriel at his side, to tame dragons astride the black pony and build smiling snow-papas and chase away the shadows that crept from beneath the bed at night.

  A soft, almost hesitant rap on the door made her turn to where the window was open to the night.

  "Alaina?" Tristan's voice, soft, uncertain. She felt a surge of joy at its sound, and a sting of loss.

  "Come in," she called back.

  He opened the door, and she could see him through the window as he entered the room, then stilled. "Alaina? Can you come downstairs for a moment? There's something I want to give— Alaina, where the blazes are you?"

  She leaned over into the frame of the open window, candlelight spilling across her face. "I'm out here. On the roof."

  "The roof? Are you crazed?" She heard his boots thud in a path to the window, then he braced his palms on the window ledge, leaning out into the frosty kiss of night. "What is it with you and windows, lady? Are you determined to break your neck? Or has Gabriel filled your head with so much of this angel nonsense, you're ready to try to fly?"

  "The roof has always been my favorite place, from the time I was a child. Come out. You can see forever."

  "It's bloody cold out there! And the roofs full of snow. We'll both break our necks."

  "You thought you wanted to cancel Christmas, too, Mr. Ramsey," she teased. "But no one had more fun than you did today. Just think what delights you might find out here if you had the courage to try it."

  Her heart warmed as his scowl shifted, the planes of his face transformed by a smile. "Oh, damn," he said, shrugging one broad shoulder. "After everything else I've done today, why not finish it by freezing my hinder parts off?" He levered himself up, broad shoulders filling the window, his long legs unfolding into the snow. His glossy boots scrabbled for purchase on th
e roof tiles, then he settled himself on the blanket beside her, so close his arm brushed hers.

  The warmth of him shimmered through Alaina like flecks of silver, his closeness her heart's most cherished dream. Never as a hungry-eyed girl had she ever imagined that Tristan would someday sit on the roof beside her, gazing out at the stars.

  When he looked beyond the garden gate, above the city to the blue-black canopy of sky, his breath caught. "The stars—they're so close it seems you could pluck them from the sky."

  "I'd rather have the stars that you gave me."

  "I wish there was something I really could give you, Alaina, to show you how grateful I am for all you've done for Gabriel."

  "I didn't do it for Gabriel. I did it for you, Tristan."

  "For me? But Gabriel's wish— I thought you said— Why did you help me, Alaina? What could I possibly have done to deserve your kindness?"

  "I doubt you would remember. You were constantly being kind and generous. Every time I peeked through the window, I would catch you slipping peppermint drops into your mother's sewing basket or ribbons between the pages of Beth's music books. The year you made Charlotte the Christmas tree and gathered up little presents for everyone in the house, even Burrows and Cook and the little scullery maid—the one whose apron pockets you filled up with coppers until it was so heavy the pocket tore."

  He stared at her, his eyes filled with yearning, his cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "You saw all that? I thought—"

  "You thought no one knew. You'd pretend to be so gruff, as if you didn't care two figs about what some 'mad prankster' was doing about the house. But everyone knew, Tristan. We all knew it was you."

  "It was just a stupid game I played—a boy's tricks. Nothing special. I'm astonished you remember. I'm certain everyone else has forgot. I hope to God they have."

  "I was well acquainted with boys' tricks when I was a child. Shoving and pinching and poking with sticks. What you did was—magnificent. You showed me that there could be goodness in the world. Kindness. That hands didn't have to be rough and cruel and heedless. That sometimes they could be warm and healing."

  Despite the darkness, she could see his cheeks flame. He looked away, raking his fingers through his hair. "I lost all that somewhere, didn't I? God, how disappointed yon must have been when you saw—"

  "You didn't lose it. It was taken from you, one tear at a time—by Charlotte, and by the kindest act you ever performed."

  "Charlotte? Charlotte did nothing. I'm the one who failed in our marriage. She was so blasted unhappy. From the first day my father brought her back from Germany, she needed someone to protect her. She was so afraid, so fragile; she needed a husband to cherish her and—"

  "And sacrifice his entire life to her weakness?"

  Tristan stiffened. "What the— It was my fault the marriage failed. I didn't give her what she needed—security . . . enough love."

  "She is the one who failed, Tristan. She took your love and she used it like a weapon against you. She knew your dreams from the very first, Tristan, watched you spend hour after hour weaving magic on canvas. She knew what your art meant to you. But she willfully stole it from you and flung it away, not caring that she was destroying the part of your soul that made you so beautiful."

  "Alaina, I—"

  "You loved her so much, felt so responsible for her, that you sacrificed everything for her. And she took away everything that mattered to you. Your art. Your son."

  "I never loved her. I only wanted to—to protect her. And I'm the one who stayed away from Gabriel. I was too involved in working to—"

  "You were attempting to save your father from humiliation and ruin."

  Tristan's eyes widened. "You know? About—about my father?" In that instant, Alaina knew how much it had hurt him to watch his father sink deeper and deeper into the hazy half-world that was engulfing him. Helplessness, rage at fates and the heavens and his own inability to stem the tide—they had scarred Tristan's heart.

  "You made choices, Tristan, hideous choices no man should have to make. You did the best you could with the dragons that beset you. You didn't turn away from your father or your wife. I can't believe you would have willingly turned away from your little boy, Charlotte built walls between you and Gabriel. Gabriel was too small and you were too overwhelmed to realize what was happening until it was almost too late. But it isn't, Tristan. Tell me it isn't too late for you and Gabriel."

  Tristan turned his face to hers, candlelight and moonshine limning the sensitive curve of his lips, the hard ridges of his cheekbones.

  "He knew, Alaina." She could see the confession wrench at Tristan's very core, see, too, the fragile dawning of awe. The rapt expression of a man scooping up a palmful of water in his cupped hand and discovering that it was liquid silver. "Gabriel knew from the first that I was going to send him away. But he's forgiven me. My son has decided to give me another chance, just like he gave all his wishes to make me smile. And I—I'm going to make the most of it, I vow. I don't know how I can make up for all the lost years—"

  She pressed her fingertips to the full curve of his lips. "By not wasting another moment on regrets." Yet her own heart was filled with them, brimming, hurting, stinging. He was going to keep Gabriel in his arms and in his heart. He'd found his son and, in doing so, rediscovered himself, peeling away the hard rind of bitterness and resentment, revealing the tender heart of the boy she had met on a snow-spangled Christmas so many years ago.

  Her work here was done. The enchanted moment she had stepped through Tristan's window and into his world was over.

  But how could she leave him? With his kiss still warm on her lips? His touch still branded in every fiber of her being? How could she leave him when she'd loved him forever? As an adoring girl worshiping a bright-eyed boy who had seemed to be every hero she'd ever dreamed. And now, as a woman, loving a bewitchingly tender, beautifully flawed person, with all the pain and heartache, the stubbornness and the regrets, of a man of flesh and blood, not some fantasy-spun hero.

  An anguished cry rose inside her. I love you, Tristan! If you were mine, I wouldn't ever chain you away from the light and the magic and the beauty buried deep inside you. I would give you wings to soar to the sky. . . .

  But they couldn't stay on the roof forever. Before a new dawn broke, they would climb back through the window into a world where Alaina could never belong, where she would forever be a grubby-faced urchin, and Tristan would be the master of this house with its gilded frames and its pianoforte and its library stuffed with books.

  Tristan turned to her, one large hand sweeping up to brush her curls back from her cheek. His palm lay against her skin, the touch perfection, like a dream. But he was warm and hard and real, smelling of bay rum and Gabriel's gingerbread and of hope reborn. "Alaina, how can I thank you? For all of this," he murmured. "For Gabriel. For the most magical Christmas ever. Wish upon a star, angel. I swear I'll make it come true."

  Her eyes sought his, her heart thundering. There was only one thing she wanted before she said good-bye forever, if she dared to ask for it. The yearning in Tristan's dark gaze gave her courage.

  "Kiss me, Tristan," she whispered.

  His gaze flooded with tenderness, with need. He cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth in a kiss so tender it seared her very soul. His mouth traced hers with the loving touch of a sculptor with his masterpiece, his tongue easing along the crease of her lips, tasting her, treasuring her.

  She gasped with pain, pleasure, and his tongue dipped into her mouth, stroking hers in a dance that built need, fed fires, turned her molten and liquid. Her fingers swept up to thread through the dark satin strands at his temple.

  "So sweet, Alaina," he murmured against her mouth. "So sweet. God, how I want you."

  The words shimmered through Alaina like the strains of a timeless love song, until her joy, her pleasure was too great to hold. It burst inside her, drawing from her lips words so bold she could barely squeeze them from her
throat.

  "Tristan. I have one last wish."

  "What is it, angel? Anything—"

  "Love me, Tristan. Tonight. I want to be in your arms, in your bed just once."

  He didn't say a word. His eyes burned hot as coals, a groan tearing from his throat. He clasped her hand tight in his and drew her through the bedchamber window, in from the cold to where her dream was waiting.

  Ten

  FIRELIGHT WOVE SHADOW-LACE ACROSS THE WIDE BED. Candleshine danced through prisms in a symphony of color. Alaina shivered as Tristan lifted her through the window, setting her feet to the ground as gently as if she were spun crystal—a treasure that might be shattered in a moment's carelessness, a dream he never wanted to be awakened from.

  Shadow and light loved his features as much as she did, gilding them with a nobility of spirit, a strength, an inner beauty not even the greatest artist in Christendom could capture upon canvas.

  I love you . . . The words beat an erratic rhythm in her heart as Tristan raised his fingertips to her kiss-stung lips.

  "Are you certain?" he rasped. "Certain that you want this?"

  I've been waiting for you forever. And this is my last chance. Give me one night to hold in my heart when I'm gone. She couldn't tell him, didn't dare let him know the truth—that she was a ballad seller's child. And he, he was as far beyond her touch as the stars shimmering above. Yet Tristan had taken a waterfall of stars and tucked them into her hand to keep forever. She would trade them all away if she could keep Tristan instead. She groped for words that could tell him just enough, free him to seek the release they both so obviously wanted, needed.

  "You promised me you'd grant any wish in your power. Touch me, Tristan. Please."

  With a groan, he caught her in his arms, dragging her against him, kissing her with a fierce passion that drained the strength from her legs and made her cling to him with desperate hands.

  His tongue delved into her mouth, not tentative this time, not tender, but with a man's need, thrusting and withdrawing in a dance that matched the one their bodies would soon indulge in.