"I would be if someone would stop nagging at me and let me sleep."
Tristan eyed the bandage on her head, her blood-stiffened hair, the red mark on her forehead from the door hitting her, and the swelling of her nose. "I don't think you should sleep."
"Tristan, I'm tired. My head hurts. My nose hurts. You refuse to let me take a bath —at least let me sleep."
"Stay awake just a little longer. Please."
It wasn't enough to have her safely in his bed. She might be suffering from the smoke she'd inhaled or a concussion. Maybe if he let her sleep something would happen. He couldn't chance it. He had to make sure she was really all right, that she was going to live. "Just until the doctor comes."
Meg couldn't miss the worry in his eyes. "All right, I'll try."
"Did you hear anything at all? Try to remember," he said as he slid a clean gown over her head and settled her under the coverlet.
Meg shook her head and winced, remembering too late her injuries. "I told you I didn't hear a thing." Meg sighed. "Can I have another glass of water? My throat is so dry."
"Tell me again what happened," Tristan said as he handed her the glass.
"I said it ten times. I was in the barn. I took Star's saddle from the wall and was just about to open her stall when someone or something cracked me in the head. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up."
"What woke you up?"
"I don't know. Either the horses or the fire. Both were making the most horrible noise." She sighed sadly as she thought of Star and the others. "The horses were screaming and kicking at their stalls. They were terrified."
"They were terrified? Can you imagine what I felt when I heard you calling from the other side of that door?" He took her in his arms. Leaning against the wall behind the bed, he cuddled her against him and spoke into her hair, "I thought you were in bed. I've never been so scared in my life."
He gave her a hard look. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"
"I was leaving you. I told you earlier that I was."
Tristan nodded. "You were waiting for me to stop you. Weren't you?"
"I was waiting for you to show me you cared."
"And you think I don't?" he asked in amazement, wondering how anyone could love more than he.
"You didn't even say hello after not seeing me in three days. Is that showing how you care?"
"I couldn't. When I saw you, I almost dragged you into my arms and kissed you. If I had spoken to you, I . . ."
"Might have forgiven me."
"Damn, but you scare me spitless. I have no will against you. Why were you leaving me?"
"I thought you'd been with your mistress."
"I told you I don't have a mistress." Tristan groaned. 'Jesus, that's all I need. Don't I have enough trouble with one woman? Two would probably do me in."
Meg smiled. "And you never will, am I right?"
Tristan's groan was almost pitiful as he pulled her more firmly against him. "You know, there was a time when I was just a normal man, asking little from life except to live as any man might." He shook his head and sighed. "And then I met you."
Meg raised her gaze to his and giggled at his forlorn expression. "And I ruined all your plans."
Tristan smiled and brushed a quick kiss along her lips. "Not ruined them, changed them. I've no doubt that anything I once thought to be normal is out of the question. All I hope for now is to keep my sanity."
Meg chuckled wickedly.
"And a wife who always laughs like that," he added.
Chapter Twenty Two
"You mean she slept through the whole thing?" Meg asked in some amazement.
"Or pretended to. I had Mary look in on her. She never moved."
"Maybe she just sleeps like the dead."
Tristan shook his head. "No one could sleep through that roaring. She did it, all right. We had a confrontation last night. I told her that I knew the will was a fake and that she was to get out by the end of the week."
"What are you going to do?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Tristan, call the sheriff. Have her arrested."
"On what charge? Suspicion of attempted murder?" He shook his head. "Not good enough. There's no real evidence, and I want her out of our lives forever."
"Then have her arrested for forging the will. Surely fraud is against the law."
"It is, but the courts would go easy on a woman like her. Lydia can be very charming when it suits her." He gave a long weary sigh. "What I'd like to do is kill her and be done with the problem. Then I wouldn't have to worry that she might hurt you again."
"You wouldn't!"
"No," he said in disgust, "I wouldn't."
Meg, at Tristan's insistence, was to stay the day in bed. She watched from propped-up pillows as he dressed. "If she wants me dead, shouldn't I have a gun or something?"
Tristan smiled. "There's no need for you to worry. She's more subtle than that. Besides, unless she makes it look like an accident, she knows I'd be suspicious. Just stay in bed. I'm getting rid of her today."
Two hours later, Tristan sat behind his desk waiting for Lydia to arrive. The damn woman sure as hell took her time. More than an hour had passed since he'd sent Mary with a message that he was waiting to see her in his office.
Tristan breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the soft knock at last. "Come in," he called out and then stared in shock as Lydia entered his office dressed in mourning.
"What the — " he began, his expression growing more puzzled by the minute. Surely this bitch wasn't mourning a dead slave. He knew she didn't have the ability to care if a thousand died. Then why was she wearing black? What the hell was she up to now?
"Oh Tristan, darling, I'm so sorry," she said as she glided across the room toward his desk.
"For what?" Tristan asked, obviously puzzled.
But Lydia was too caught up in her act to notice. "You must be suffering terribly, dear. I know how much you loved the girl."
Tristan felt his entire body stiffen with a mixture of shock and rage. Could it be possible? Was she telling him she was sorry because presumably Meg had died in the fire? Of course she was. Having stayed in bed during the entire episode, she'd have no way of knowing Meg had escaped the flames.
Tristan didn't know how the hell he restrained himself. He had never known fury to equal this. His mind screamed, aching for the pleasure of wrapping his fingers around her throat and squeezing the life out of the corrupt, lying bitch.
Tristan sighed, not trusting himself to speak, and waited for her to go on.
"Of course I'll stay on. I know you wouldn't want to be alone now."
He couldn't keep the fury from his eyes. Did she truly think him so dense as to believe she really cared? And was he expected to turn to her now, not twelve hours after his wife's supposed demise? Good God, the woman was a monster!
Lydia saw the wild flash of emotion in his eyes and tried to soothe him. "You need me now, darling. I promise I won't leave you. Would you like to go upstairs and rest?" Her voice lowered with sickening suggestion. "I can make you comfortable."
That did it. He was ill with disgust. It was a miracle he could keep himself from retching. He couldn't let this go on for another minute. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Lydia."
"Tristan, please." She held up her hand as if to hold off his words. "I know you're in pain. Just give me a chance. I can help you."
"I gave you a chance last night and you almost killed her."
"What do you mean, almost? Isn't she . . . ?" Lydia cut herself off and cursed, realizing too late her slip. She'd been so sure. How had the bitch escaped?
"Dead? No." He shook his head and then smiled. "She was hurt, but Meg is very much alive."
Lydia forced a smile. "That's wonderful! I'm so pleased for you."
"Are you? I would have thought you'd be a mite disappointed. After all, your plan to murder her failed."
"Darlin-"
Tristan cut her
off. "Let's stop the games, shall we? I know you for what you are, and you can cut the sweet act. I don't believe a damn thing you say."
"That's too bad," Lydia said as she reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew out a revolver. She pointed it directly at his heart. "You and I could have had some good times, I think." She shrugged. "I wouldn't have minded if you kept your little wife. All three of us might have enjoyed that." She laughed at his look of horror. "Lord, Tristan, you are disgustingly boring." She shrugged again. "It doesn't matter. I'm not leaving Oak Tree. And since I can't convince you to see to my way of things, I'm afraid I have no choice but to kill you."
"Did you set the fire last night?"
Lydia shot him a look of annoyance. "You know I did. Don't ask stupid questions."
Tristan grinned and leaned back in his chair. "What do you think my death will accomplish?"
Lydia laughed. "Everything. It will ensure my ownership of Oak Tree."
"What about Meg? If I die, everything will go to her."
"Then 111 get rid of her as well."
Tristan shook his head, marveling at her amorality.
"Is there anything you wouldn't do to keep Oak Tree?" "Nothing. It belongs to me. It always will." "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Lydia. Miller? Did you hear it all?"
"I heard," the sheriff said as he stepped into the room. "I guess that just about clears up any doubts."
Lydia gasped at the sight of the lawman stepping in from the adjoining room. A vicious curse slid from her lips as she glared in hatred, remembering everything she'd just admitted to. All was lost. And like a cornered animal, she readied herself for the final attack. "You bastard," she said "to Tristan's grin. "Go ahead, laugh. But if I can't have Oak Tree, you sure as hell won't have it either. See you in hell," she whispered chillingly, and the room exploded with gunfire.
Meg was drifting in that deliciously peaceful place just between sleep and consciousness when she came startlingly awake. He was in danger. Terrible danger. She didn't know how she knew, but it was so. Within seconds she'd left her bed and was halfway down the stairs. It was then that she heard the sounds of gunfire coming from his office.
An unnoticed scream began deep in her chest, the sound heavy with pain. It didn't stop until she was kneeling beside her husband's prone body.
"I could kill you! I could just kill you!" Tristan grinned at his wife's anger. "But you won't. Get back in that bed."
She glared at him as she walked toward her closet.
"Get out. I'm getting dressed. The house is swarming with lawmen, doctors, and who knows who else, and you expect me to stay up here, in bed?"
"There was only one lawman and one doctor, and they're both gone. Get back to bed. There's nothing for you to do."
Meg looked at his bandaged arm and leg. "I could really kill you," she said as tears scalded the backs of her eyes and then, despite her best efforts to blink them, away, rolled over her soft cheeks. Her voice was grainy and low as she spoke over the lump in her throat. "Why did you do it?"
"Darling," Tristan whispered as he limped to Meg and took her against him. His left arm was in a sling, his leg bandaged, both having received flesh wounds from Lydia's wildly firing gun, _but his right arm worked perfectly fine. "I didn't know she was going to pull a gun. The thought never occurred to me that I was in any danger. I had to get her to admit to what she'd done and do it while Miller listened."
Meg couldn't hold back a sob as her arms clung to his neck and her face buried itself against his chest. "There was blood everywhere. I couldn't tell where you were hit."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't want to upset you."
"Not upset me? I almost flew out of that bed." She didn't mention she was on her way to him before she heard the gunfire. "It wasn't until they took Lydia's body out that I realized I wasn't wearing anything more than your shirt."
Tristan grinned as he tipped her face up to his and gently kissed away every tear.. "I'd say it was a good thing you weren't wearing one of your new nightgowns."
Meg flushed at the thought of the servants, sheriff, and doctor seeing her so immodestly clad. A few moments later she sighed contentedly, knowing him to be relatively unharmed and safe in her arms. She giggled at the two of them standing there wrapped in their bandages. "We make a sorry-looking pair, don't we."
"At least our mouths still work," he said as he nuzzled his lips under her ear.
"Mmmm," she murmured as he rubbed his hips against her belly. "I see other things are working as well."
A carriage pulled up outside the house, and the sudden calling voices prevented the two from further investigating exactly how well things were working. "You're family's here," Tristan said as he glanced over her head and out the window.
Meg gave a cry of excitement and then groaned as her hands came to hold her head.
Tristan sighed. "I imagine it won't do a bit of good to order you back to bed."
Meg grinned as she moved to her closet. A moment later she flung off his shirt and slid a pair of drawers over her nakedness. "Go downstairs and tell them I'll be right there"
Tristan watched until her chemise was over her head and patted into place. He sighed and went about her bidding.
Bennett had brought the new arrivals into the formal drawing room. Tristan stood at the open doorway and grinned at the shocked expression on his guests faces. "She really didn't want to go with you, did she?"
Edward said as he came from a chair and reached a hand toward his friend in greeting. "Have you any other damage done to you?"
Tristan grinned. "We had a little mishap this morning."
"Meg wasn't hurt, was she?" her father asked anxiously.
"Meg is fine," Tristan quickly reassured. "She did suffer a blow to her head last night, but the doctor said—"
"What?! A blow to her head? What the hell kind of a place have you brought her to? Where is she? I want to see her right now."
"I'm here, Father," Meg said, having just that moment descended the stairs.
"My God," he said as he took in her bandaged head and blackened eyes from the blow her nose had taken.
"It's not as bad as it looks. I promise."
"You should be in bed."
"Father" Meg groaned in frustration, "I told you I'm perfectly fine."
"You don't look fine, you look awful. You should be in bed."
Meg grinned. "Thank you. Now you're nagging just like my husband."
John Fairmont shot his son-in-law a killing look..He hadn't forgiven this libertine for abducting his daughter. He probably never would. "And what kind of a husband allows this to happen to his wife." Fairmont's dark eyes flashed. "Why the hell weren't you taking care of her?"
"Sit down and be quiet," Meg said, for the first time in her life taking control from her father's hands. "I'll explain everything."
Meg sat with Tristan on one of the sofas, leaning into his strength as she told of the previous night and that morning. After she was finished, Lena muttered, "My God! She really tried to murder both of you?"
"Are you sure the woman's dead?" John Fairmont asked.
"Very sure," Tristan responded. "I don't mind telling you, I don't like the idea of my girl in danger."
"We agree on that point, sir. And she never will be again."
Meg laughed. "You don't like the idea? Well, you must have hated our younger years. As far as I can remember, I fell off a horse at least six times, broke my leg once, almost drowned twice and—" Both her father and husband groaned. Lena and Meg burst out laughing. "Ow!" Meg said as she touched her head. "Don't make me laugh. My head hurts when I laugh."
Of course, considering she hadn't seen her sister and father in almost six months, her plea was denied her, and Meg spent the rest of the day, between gusts of laughter, complaining about the pain in her head.
Later that evening Edward and Tristan sat on the veranda smoking while the sisters talked in low, excited whispers in the drawing room, and Meg's father, proclaiming a need to
walk off the enormous meal they'd just enjoyed, strolled about the property. It was cold, but neither friend complained of the chill as they conversed for the first time in private.
"I owe you for forcing me to attend that ball."
Edward grinned. "It wasn't easy. I'd promised not to tell you where she was."
"I know. She told me."
"Your first born should be payment enough."
Tristan chuckled. "How about if we name it after you?"
Edward smiled and asked, "Did she give you too bad a time?"
Tristan laughed. "She's still giving me a bad time." He nodded over his shoulder. "What about her sister?"
"God, she just about drove me crazy. Twice I almost-"
Tristan laughed as his friend caught himself from blurting out one particularly indiscreet incident that was better left unmentioned. "No need to explain. They're very much alike.
"So you decided to settle here?"
Edward shrugged. "I imagine the Colonies could use a bit of refinement, wouldn't you say?"
Tristan grinned. "If Lena's anything like her sister, I imagine you brought her here for the sole purpose of saving London from destruction."
Edward laughed. "She really did give you a bad time, didn't she?"
"She's a spitfire. A wild Gypsy spitfire."
Meg's family stayed on for a week. Tristan worked part of each day, but the evenings were gay and almost holiday in spirit.
Meg was sorry to see them leave, but promises were made to gather again for Christmas, less than two weeks away.
"When we move to the city, you'll be able to see them often."
Meg smiled as she leaned into her husband and covered his hands at her waist with her own. "I'm sorry to see them go, and yet I'm not." She turned her head and smiled into his puzzled expression. "I like being alone with you."
Tristan's wicked grin promised much pleasure. "We're both a little tired. Why don't we take a nap?"
Meg giggled. "A lovely idea, but there is one problem. After one of our 'naps,' I'm more tired than ever."
Tristan's laugh was muffled against her throat.
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