The Truth of Tristan Lyons

by L. B. Dunbar

  I met the clear blue eyes of Guinevere, who smiled weakly at me. Her face questioned mine, and I offered the information.

  “Yes, he’s coming,” I offered. Her lips twisted as if she wasn’t sure what to think. Her expression went blank for a moment.

  “But you aren’t here to tell me that, are you?” her voice was falsely light, but a genuine smile appeared. Her face brightened as if she had a great secret that she wished to share. She continued to hold it inside.

  “What?” I pinched my brows at her and felt my lips rise into a responding crooked smile.

  “Nothing. I’m glad to see you.” She reached out to hug me quickly. All was forgiven from her outburst after the concert. We were not overly affectionate with one another; however, I had held her as she sobbed over Arturo in those first months. It was not attraction, but comfort. I had been the one to find her after the miscarriage. That was a memory I’d love to forget.

  Ingrid was the last to greet me. She rose from her chair to embrace me warmly. I held on a moment longer, letting her familiar hug invade my space. I was hurt by her. I didn’t want to forgive her the secrets she kept, but she cared about me. I appreciated her motherly concern, even if I had a slight resentment toward her recent secrecy. I could only hope her secrets revolved around her protection of her son. I might be able to forgive her quickly, then.

  Ingrid told me we would be having a late afternoon lunch in the yard. She encouraged me to take a walk to her garden and collect some roses from the gardener. We were to gather for the meal at a large table set under a natural canopy of honeysuckle and ivy. I thought it an odd request, as I wasn’t one to wander gardens, but I had been in the car for four hours. My legs could use a stretch.

  Because of the location of the home on the lake, the expansive patio outside the living room was part of the yard that bordered the water. The actual gardens to the home were at the end of the patio and around the side of the house. I followed a flagstone path to my destination. I wasn’t paying attention to anything in particular as I walked with my hand fidgeting with something in my jean pocket. I was warm. The summer heat absorbed into my body and the peaceful silence of my surroundings relaxed me.

  The first section of the garden I noticed was in full bloom of red, orange, and bright purple. I immediately thought of Ireland and how she might tell me the names of the flowers, then the purpose of them despite their beauty. I had been telling myself ever since the concert to give up on her. She didn’t want to see me. She certainly wasn’t responding to my initial calls. She promised she would always answer if I called.

  Thinking of her correcting me to say, ‘when,’ I was reminded of our plane ride back to the States. It was as if she sensed that our time was up. She was trying to capture one last moment before we hit reality. I should have taken that moment. I recalled that I had been fortunate enough to have another time to take her: the night of her birthday. Despite the announcement of her engagement, I had her in the bathroom at Mark’s. I wondered if that was the night we conceived a child.

  My heart ached at the thought that she was keeping me from my future son or daughter. I would love Ireland forever. While I hadn’t really thought about children before, I always knew deep down inside, I would love my son or daughter, unconditionally. It would not be like Mark had loved me. Not liked Ireland’s parents had loved her. Unconditionally.

  I glanced up at the sky for a minute and let the bright blue that matched Ireland’s eyes shift my thoughts to Guinevere’s sorrow. How lonely she must have been without Arturo. How desperate she was to be comforted. How guilty she felt to take that comfort in Lansing. I did not want to be in their positions. I did not envy them their plight. I wanted to tell the world I loved Ireland. I wanted to keep her all the days of my life. I let the sun warm my face, for a moment, as I stopped to close my eyes and absorb the heat.

  When I opened them, I noticed a gardener trimming roses in the furthest corner. I could tell by the small frame it was woman. She had no hat on her head, despite the sunshine, and a large braid that curved over her shoulder contained her blonde hair. My heartbeat sped up. Blonde hair. I approached her slowly at first, crossing over the green clipped grass. She was working diligently and her white t-shirt had marks of dirt on the sides where she might have wiped her hands to remove excess soil. I noticed she wasn’t wearing gloves and her thin arms moved with precision. She knew what she was doing with the plants.

  As I drew closer, she stopped abruptly. She didn’t turn at first, but paused as if waiting for something, as if listening for something in the distance. She glanced slowly over her shoulder and sapphire blue eyes met mine.

  “Ireland,” I breathed.

  “Tristan?” she said as she carefully stood and twisted to present her front to me. She had the slightest of baby bumps and much larger breasts. Her body was starting to hourglass slightly, but her beautiful eyes looked even brighter and her blonde hair was definitely longer. She looked absolutely gorgeous, as she stood before me in a slightly dirty white t-shirt and cuffed shorts. Smudges of black earth graced her delicate face. I was never so jealous of dirt.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked quietly.

  “I came to see Ingrid…and she asked me to come out to the garden.”

  Ireland looked at me for a moment, then nodded and smiled weakly.

  “Where have you been?” I breathed again with relief that she was alive and standing before me. I ran a hand through my sandy brown hair and her eyes followed the motion.

  “I’ve been here, for a while,” she replied without further information.

  “Are…are you alright?” I asked, as I eyed her stomach.

  “I am now.”

  I smiled at her, but I seemed to misread what she was saying.

  “Wait? What happened?” I blurted with concern. I stepped toward her, reaching out my hands for her stomach. She didn’t stop me as I covered her small bulge with both of my palms.

  “I had a panic attack that brought on some contractions. I thought I was losing the baby the night of the rehearsal, and I had to go to the hospital. It was dehydration. I’ve been with Ingrid ever since.”

  I blinked at her, unsure whether to hug or hurt Ingrid for her secrecy again.

  “But you’re…you’re okay now? And the baby?”

  “The baby is perfect,” she replied, and finally smiled enough her eyes sparkled.

  I reached for her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Her arms didn’t go around my back and I pushed back from her. I stared into her face, scanning for any signs of what to do for her.

  “Wh…what do I do?” I asked softly.

  “What do you do for what?” she replied, looking down at my feet.

  I used a fingertip to tilt her chin up, so her eyes matched mine.

  “What do I do to make you mine forever?”

  Her eyes opened wide. I watched her, for a moment, as she took a shallow breath. She immediately pulled back her chin from my touch. She wrinkled her nose in that habit of hers when she disagreed with something. Her freckles jumped out at me. I wanted to kiss each and every one of them after I kissed her pursed lips.

  We remained silent for a moment.

  “Why didn’t you come to me at the concert?” I asked.

  “I was there.”

  “I thought I saw you. Did you hear my song?” I was so hopeful she heard my words.

  “I saw the girl,” she said softly and her voice caught slightly.

  “The…Izzy? She’s just a friend. The younger sister of a friend.”

  “Yes, she was rather friendly.”

  “Are you…don’t be jealous,” I laughed. “You know you’re my favorite flavor.” I flirted. She didn’t flirt back. A lone tear traveled down her cheek, leaving a trail through her slightly dirty face.

  “What’s this?” I asked softly, as I wiped the tear and further dirtied her face.

  She shook her head and bit her lip, fiercely holding in words I knew she wanted to say.


  “Did you like my song?” I asked.

  She shook her head slowly as if to say, ‘no.’ I ignored her.

  “It was all for you. I wrote it while we were in the Caymans.”

  She blinked and another tear escaped her eyes. I wiped it without giving it any thought.

  “I knew then that I wanted you. I needed you.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to blink harder when she reopened them, but it was no use. Tears silently fell again.

  “I love you. I think I loved you from the start. I should have told you. It might have given us both strength to stand up for what we wanted earlier.”

  She remained quiet.

  “You’re having my baby?”

  “Yes,” she said on the slightest of whispers.

  “Mark had me buy you a wedding band,” I began.

  “I don’t want to talk about Mark,” she bit, but I caressed her cheek to stop her. I continued.

  “When I was in the ring shop, I picked out something from Mark, which I thankfully returned as I already had something for you from the Caymans. I was planning to give it to you when we returned to New York.”

  She still had not spoken.

  “Isolde Ireland, my Irish Isle, you are mine…and I am yours. We will be forever entwined because of this baby. But most of all we will be one because we love each other.”

  I held out my hand. In the palm was a thin band of tiny silver hearts to form a ring. I picked up her dirty hand and held it in my opposite hand for a moment. I kissed her palm then turned her left hand over, so I could slip the ring on her finger.

  It was delicate looking and could pass as a wedding band.

  “Come to me?” It was the right question. It was more than marry me. It was asking her to be with me willingly. Not because she was forced by her parents. Not because she felt she had no other choice. Not because of the baby.

  “I love you,” she whispered loud enough for me to hear. I remembered at that moment, she had said those words before. It was the same breathy tone and I had the truth. She had loved me all along, as well.

  My mouth crushed hers as I slipped my hands into her hair, despite the braid. Her arms went around my neck in that way she had of pulling herself up against me. I claimed her lips, pulling into me her breath and feasting on her eagerness. She tasted of dirt, salty tears, and fresh Ireland. There was no greater flavor to me. We would be as one forever, and the baby sealed our fate. I would love her all the days of my life, and she would love only me.

  Moral of this tale

  [Tristan]

  Nothing is truer than love

  I barged into Ingrid’s house with Ireland cradled in my arms and demanded a room. Ingrid knew me. She simply told me my room in her home was always waiting. I ignored the stares of Guinevere or Ana as I took the stairs to my place. Ireland squealed in embarrassment until we entered the upstairs hall. The exciting tension grew, as we were about to seal our fate again.

  When two lives are meant to be together, there is nothing that can stand in their way. Political promises and arranged marriages were archaic. These were times for love to conquer all. Whatever Mark wanted, whatever Hurmon Ireland lost, Ireland would not be their bargaining piece. She would be mine.

  She turned the handle of the door, and as quickly as we entered I kicked it shut.

  “I’m sort of dirty,” Ireland said looking down at her smudged t-shirt. She still had brown streaks on her face.

  “That’s how I like it, darlin’,” I drawled. She giggled and reached up to kiss my cheek. Pulling back she looked at me shyly. I laid her down then pulled off my t-shirt. She gasped as she looked at me, and it was more than the warmth of a summer day that heated me. Her eyes set me aflame. I tugged at her shorts as she pulled off her own shirt. Lying back down on the bed was a lingerie model in a light pink satin bra and matching panties, with a slight bulge to her stomach.

  My hand caressed her stretching bare skin.

  “There’s someone in there,” I said, staring at my fingers gliding over her.

  “Yes, there is,” she spoke softly.

  “We are entwined together inside you.”

  She smiled then answered me sheepishly. “Well, that’s what I’m hoping will happen.”

  My eyes met hers and noted the playfulness. She wanted me inside her as desperately as I wanted to be there. I removed my jeans and lay next to her. My hands roved over her skin: her stomach, between her breasts, her shoulders, and her neck. I wanted to know she was real. She turned her head to face me and I kissed her tenderly.

  That tenderness didn’t last long as she reached for me, twisting her body to press into mine as she kissed me hard in return. Before I knew it I was on my back and she was straddled over me. I could hardly catch my breath as she took control. She was grinding against me.

  “Whoa, what’s this?” I laughed against her lips.

  “Pregnancy hormones. I’ve been repressed,” she said into my mouth, hardly missing a beat to continue kissing me.

  “Well, we need to fix that.”

  “Please,” she begged and my hands slid to remove her underwear. My fingers twitched to touch her, and within seconds, they slid through slippery folds. Ireland’s sweet purr into my mouth let me know, this was going to be fast. She didn’t want foreplay; she wanted me. Removing my own underwear, she was over me in an instant. She sat up and impaled herself over me. We both let out a loud grunt of satisfaction. Then she stopped. I filled her and she paused to look down at me. My hands slid to her stomach again. I could see us joined as one, but my hands wanted to marvel at what else was inside her: a part of each of us entwined for eternity.

  A song came to mind about being stranded. A girl was there to save me, and now we would never be torn apart. She rocked gently over me and my thoughts shifted to the feel of her surrounding me. We were one. This was real and honest. The moral of my tale was nothing is truer than love; your heart will always find a way to win.

  A Bit of History

  (complete spoiler)

  The tale of Tristan and Isolde was not part of the original Arthurian legend, but one added in later retellings. It is my favorite story amongst them all. The tradition of this tale includes Tristan going on a journey. On his way, he is shipwrecked on an island: the modern island of Ireland. There, his battered body is cared for by a young woman who is the daughter of a matriarchy. She is to inherit a great deal and her betrothed marriage across the waters is all about business. Unfortunately for this couple, they fall in love.

  Tristan is also a musician – he plays the harp and their attraction grows when he tries to teach her to play. The tale also includes them falling in love with the aid of a love potion: red wine. Tristan must return to England and there he learns that it is his uncle who claims Isolde. He does not wish to fight him for her, because of his family dedication.

  In true Arthurian form, Isolde and Mark would marry. Tristan and she would have an affair for years. Eventually, he would marry another woman with the same name, and on his deathbed request the original Isolde come to him. Legend has it the two are buried together, and nature joins them as the ivy and vines that grow from their burial place, reach for one another and entangle, joining them together forever.

  As I mentioned in previous work, I did not wish to promote the extramarital affairs of my men. Plus, I wished for them to have a happily ever after. So instead of vines joining Tristan and Isolde for life, they have a baby, and love wins.

  What about Arturo? Arthur was absent a long time in his legends. Many side stories took precedence over his before he finally returns to discover, and reveal, some truths of his own. Please read the remainder of the Legendary Rock Stars Series, The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance. You’ll find more Tristan there, as just like in the traditional stories, once he joins the Arthurian legend he becomes a good friend to Arthur and Guinevere.

  To learn about more connections between the Legendary Rock Stars series and the original legend of King Arthur
and his knights, please visit my website: www.lbdunbar.com.

  * * *

  Thank you again and again to Kari Ayasha, cover designer extraordinaire; Brenda Wright, formatter to the queens; and Karen Hrdlicka, editor, advisor, and friend.

  Additional appreciation to beta readers: Karen F., Ashley H., Annie G., Christie P-M, Marnie W., and Danielle R. I am so thankful for your assistance in polishing Tristan. His naughty ways needed cleaning up. Thank you to the members of Novel Love Notes (my reader group) for their amazing support, and the members of the bands’ Facebook group: The Nights. We have so much fun in there ogling guys, talking music, and helping this author write some books!

  Finally, much love to my family who don’t share my excitement for King Arthur and his men, but humor me nonetheless. Dinner will be served from the freezer again.

  Come hang with me in many places:

  Facebook (www.facebook.com/lbdunbarauthor),

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  Instagram: lbdunbarwrites.

  All my books are available at all major retailers of ebooks and print distributors.

  Playlist

  I couldn’t have a series about rock stars without having a playlist for their stories.

  Here is Tristan and Ireland’s mix.

  “Fly” – Phillip Phillips

  “Everlong” (acoustic) – Foo Fighters

  “Only One” – John Butler Trio

  “Iris” – The Goo Goo Dolls

  “Killing Me Softly With His Song” – Katrina Parker

  “Blue Eyes” (Bonus Version) – Cary Brothers

  “Island in the Sun” – Weezer

  “Falling Slowly” - Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

  “More Than Words” – Extreme