"I only know you want the crown," she whispered, her throat tightening. "And by marrying me, you think you can get it."
He lowered his head, sighing hard. "And what could I do to convince you that you're wrong, Bridin?"
She dipped her head, her eyes focusing on the pendants that hung around his neck.
Tristan closed his eyes. "I can't."
She nodded. "I know you can't. Giving them back would end your power over me."
"And leave you free to run from me," he said. "Straight into the arms of death." He shook his head. "Ask something else of me, Bridin. Anything else."
"Let me go," she whispered.
He was silent as he met her eyes. "All right. Your point is taken. There's nothing I can do to prove myself to you. Not now. But I will, Bridin. I will convince you in the end. And you will marry me. We'll return to the kingdom together, you and I, and we'll stir the people to revolt. My brother will be proven the liar and traitor he truly is, and he'll be ousted. And then you and I will take our places on the castle throne. We'll rule as equals, as king and queen of Rush."
She blinked and turned away. He'd said Rush. Not Shara, but Rush.
"I know you don't believe me, Bridin. I only wish there were some way I could gain your trust."
She wanted to trust in him. Everything in her cried out to do just that. Even with all she knew. Her own weakness toward this man frightened her right to the core of her being. "And how am I to trust the man who took my kingdom? The man whose father murdered my mother? The man who held me captive from earliest childhood, after murdering my adoptive family, Tristan! The man who lied to me and deceived me and let me go slowly insane believing him dead!" Her hands curled into fists and she let them fall forcefully against his chest. "Do you have any idea what that did to me, Tristan? Do you know how I grieved for you? I thought you were dead, and you let me go on thinking it!"
He caught her fists in gentle hands. "I didn't understand. Darling, I didn't know it would cause you grief. I thought it more likely to cause you to celebrate."
She shook her head. "You lie. You knew."
He closed his eyes slowly, nodded once. "You're right. I knew. I'm sorry."
"It's too late to be sorry. I could never trust you now, Tristan. Never."
"But, Bridin, there's so much you don't know. The way your adoptive parents died—I had nothing to do with that. It was a car accident, just as you were told."
She closed her eyes, because her last remaining doubt was erased. He was lying now just as he'd been lying all along. And she'd so wanted to believe him. "You see?" she whispered. "Still you lie to me. The brake line on my family's car was cut, Tristan."
"No." He shook his head as if in disbelief.
"I was seventeen when I found out. I'd... I'd started to let myself doubt the things I knew to be true, you see. That you were evil, and cruel, and a killer. I'd started to... to fantasize about you. To think I'd been wrong about you all along and to believe that I was falling in love with you, Tristan. Raze was the only one I trusted enough to tell. And he couldn't stand by and see it happen. So he convinced a friend to help get the facts for me, and that's what they found out. The brake line was cut. My parents were murdered, and the case was never solved."
He blinked twice, staring at her. "I swear to you, Bridin, by the wings of the gods, I swear, I did not kill your family. I couldn't have, even if I'd wanted to. I—"
"You did whatever you had to do to get what you wanted. And what you wanted was to prevent me from returning to Rush to reclaim my throne. And you did it. Just as you're doing it now. You lied and cheated and killed to do it, and you're doing it again. No, Tristan. Don't ask me to trust you. Not ever."
Tristan lowered his head, and she could have sworn she saw moisture in his eyes when he lifted it again, then got up and left her there, alone.
More alone than she had ever been in her life.
Chapter Eleven
He'd never been so aroused in his life. And he'd never been so angry. Gods, she was determined to disbelieve him! To distrust him! To credit him with the sins of the universe in addition to his own. It was as if she were seeking out reasons to hate him.
He pounded his fist down on the mantel of the front hall, grimaced, and lowered his head to that fist.
"Perhaps, my lord, she seeks reasons to hate you because it's the only way she can continue to hate you?"
Tristan turned, spied Tate standing near the door amid a pile of boxes, and frowned. "What are you doing here? I thought I sent you back."
"That you did, my lord, but before I left you, I thought you could use some supplies. Might make things a bit easier until my return."
Stepping closer, Tristan saw piles of his belongings packed in those boxes. And in others, he saw things that must be Bridin's. The crystal scrying sphere nestled at the top upon a cushion of silk that could only be her clothing. She loved silk. He looked at Tate again. This was his not-so-subtle way of suggesting it was time the crystal be returned to its owner. The thought sent a tremor through Tristan. If that ball told her the true identity of this man fate dictated she marry, he might lose her forever.
"You've been back at the apartment? Tate, you could have been seen. Followed—"
"I'm a Wood Nymph. No one follows me unless I allow it. I was careful, Tristan, you have my word. No one saw me."
Tristan lowered his head with a sigh. "Thank you, my friend."
"Marinda is waiting in the boat," he said.
Looking up, Tristan probed his friend's shuttered eyes. "You knew her before we came through the portal, didn't you?"
"Does a male ever truly know any female?" He turned and left through the front door, pausing just beyond it for only a moment. "We towed a second boat out here, though I'm sure you could probably have conjured one on your own. It's tied up in the cave, should you have need of it. Though I think it would be for the best if you two remained right here, out of sight, until I return with word."
Again Tristan nodded. "No action on my part would be wise without intelligence, Tate. That's why I'm sending you."
"I won't let you down."
With a nod, he hurried off, disappearing down the slope and its corkscrew path.
Alone. Alone in this miniature castle, with Bridin, a woman he... what? She'd been right before. When he'd told her he loved her, it had probably been a lie. Though he couldn't be certain of that. It seemed to Tristan that the way he felt for her was as close to love as anything he'd ever felt before, or was likely to feel again. Certainly he liked her. Despite her biting temper, he found he enjoyed spending time with the woman. Missed her when he was not with her. Wanted her with every cell in his body when he was with her. Couldn't bear the thought of lifting a hand to harm her, much less permitting anyone else to do so.
So if that wasn't love, he didn't think he'd ever feel the tender emotion. He needed her, as well. For Tate had been accurate in his predictions. He couldn't take the throne away from Vincent on his own. Couldn't stir loyalty among the people... not the way Bridin could. Hell, no one could stir devotion in men the way she could. She made a man feel damned... protective of her. At least... that was the way she made him feel.
Damn. He needed a plan of action, and he needed it now. But how could he win the trust of a woman who believed him guilty of so many wrongs—many of them justifiably?
Not the murder of her family, though. Not that. Perhaps if he could prove his innocence to her...
Ah, but how? They'd been dead for so long. Twenty years and more. Solving a crime so old would take a squadron of investigators. And that was something he didn't have. Hell, he couldn't even leave this place without risking her life.
What, then?
As he paced, Tristan absently fingered the pendants that dangled at his throat. Then he stopped, realizing what he was doing. No, he couldn't give them to her. She'd flee him, and he'd be unable to stop her, even to touch her. His stomach rumbled, and he let go of the necklaces, sighing hard. Food
first. He might come up with some solution to this impossible task before him eventually, but meanwhile, he'd think better with some sustenance in his belly.
Though it wasn't food alone he hungered for.
He closed his eyes, recalling against his will the sounds of Bridin's sighs, the texture of her skin, the taste of her musk. The feel of her. Her scent. Gods, he'd wanted her. And could have had her, very easily, this dawn. Yet he'd known her resistance, her unwillingness, and something inside him had been unable to take full advantage of her body's betrayal. Something he didn't understand, for he knew full well that—physically, at least—she'd wanted him, too.
Bridin snatched the comforter from the bed and wrapped it tight around her when she heard him at the door. Then he entered, and fixed her with that somber gaze that sent shivers right down her spine.
He held a platter in one hand, and a swath of fabric over his arm. And he came in slowly, watching her almost warily.
"What do you want now?" she asked as he closed the door behind him. "Haven't you shamed me enough, Tristan?"
"There's no shame in you, Bridin. Nor should there be. I only showed you a small portion of the pleasures you could know each night of your life. If you wanted to." He set the plate on the trunk that rested beside the bed. "As to why I'm here again, I brought food. And clothes." He dropped the pile of garments on the bed, and then he sat on it, the wretch.
"Marinda would have brought me the food and the clothing as well. If you've come, you have other reasons." She stood near the fire she'd rekindled, her back warm from the flames, her belly warming from some other source.
He lowered his head. "You can't bring yourself to believe a single word I utter, can you, Princess?" Sighing, he faced her, his chin coming up, his eyes guarded. "Marinda is no longer here. I sent Tate back to the other side, and it was his desire to take the woman with him, to remove her from the danger we're facing here."
Bridin blinked in shock. "Marinda... left me?"
"I don't believe Tate gave her much choice in the matter."
"If he harms her—"
She stopped speaking when Tristan shook his head. "I believe the two... are well acquainted. Though for reasons only a Wood Nymph would be likely to understand, they chose to keep that fact from us. Regardless, I believe Tate's concern for Marinda's safety is genuine. He's an honorable man, Bridin. He'd no more harm Marinda than... than I would harm you."
"He's your man," she snapped. "And I'd no more trust him than I would you. I warn you, I hold you responsible for her safety."
He shrugged. "As the rightful leader of Shara, or Rush, or whatever you choose to call our kingdom, I'm already responsible for her safety. As well as the safety of all who live there."
"You are not the rightful leader!" She strode two steps nearer before freezing in her tracks, fear making her feet turn to stone. Being close to him was not in her best interests. "I am."
"We both are."
She closed her eyes, turning her back to him and holding her blanket tight to her shoulders, as if by doing so she could shut out the intensity shining from his black gaze. Though she couldn't, of course. She saw that gaze even when he wasn't in the room.
"The throne of Rush belonged to my mother," she told him, though she was well aware he already knew. "And her father before her, and his before him. It was handed down to me by birthright, as firstborn of the fay queen. And I will have it again."
He rose slowly and came close to her. She didn't turn. Refused to turn and face him. Nor would she cringe away from him like a coward. No, she stood her ground. Stiff and rigid. Fearing that he would touch her. Fearing that he wouldn't. He stood so close she could feel his heat, searing her even through the blanket she wore like armor. He did not touch her. And yet it was very much as if he did.
"The throne of Shara belonged to the grandfathers of my grandfathers, more than a thousand years ago," he said. "Long before any of the fay race had ever set foot on its enchanted ground. The homeland of your people, legend says, was a mystical island that moved with the tides, an island shrouded in mists to protect it from prying eyes. Much like this tiny island we're on right now, only larger. Some say it still exists, drifting along at sea. A few mortals even claim to have glimpsed it moving amidst the fog, only to find nothing there when they dare venture nearer."
Bridin wanted to cover her ears and refuse to listen to him. But she, too, had heard whispers of the fairy isle. Though she'd always believed them to be myths, and not the actual history of her people.
Tristan's deep voice came softly, his warm breath bathing her ear as he leaned in close to speak to her. "No one knows what caused your people to leave their magical island. Perhaps the land simply dried up. Or maybe there was a split among factions. Perhaps your family were never truly of royal blood at all, Bridin, but left that island because they wanted to be. They wanted a land where they could make themselves kings—"
Bridin whirled to face him, her cheeks burning with anger as she flung the blanket from her shoulders and stood before him in her torn silken shift, "Look at me, you treacherous liar!"
And his dark eyes heated, burned over her flesh. She'd made a mistake, she knew that now, but she wouldn't back down. The shift had been ripped down the center, and it hung open, clinging to her breasts but leaving the skin between them naked to his gaze. ,
"I am of royal blood," she told him. She drew her fingers over her skin, just above the blond curls, tracing the shape of the berry-colored birthmark she'd been branded with since birth.
"And this mark is the proof of that, as you know fully well. Only a fairy of royal blood bears the scarlet crescent."
He was silent. Just stood there, burning her with his eyes. Eyes that seemed pained for just a moment.
Sighing hard, Bridin strode past him, yanking at the clothing he'd piled on the bed. She found panties, and stepped into them, then let the shift fall from her shoulders and pulled the simple black dress over her head. Its long sleeves and full skirt did little, though, to erase the chill from her bones.
"For whatever reason," Tristan began again, though this time his voice was hoarse, and roughened, "your people left their isle when it came within reach of the shores of Shara. They came in boats. They came with armies, and with the power of their magic, and they took the kingdom by force. Those who fought them were killed, and those who resisted their brutally won rule were banished. My family—the royal family of Shara—was exiled, sent to live in the darkest part of the forest you call Rush. Even our name, the name of Shara, was outlawed, never to be spoken within the city walls again."
She said nothing. She had no defense against his charges. She knew it was true. All of it.
"Do you have any idea, Bridin, what it is like for a child to grow up in a world of darkness? A land without the sun's gentle kiss? To feed on the watery, white-livered vegetation that is all that can grow in that land?" He sighed deeply, heavily, and bent to toss another bit of wood onto the fire. Then he straightened again, staring pensively into the flames as she stood watching him, unable to look away.
"Our people were defeated because they did not know the ways of magic," he said, speaking slowly. "But they learned. During those ten centuries of exile, they drew down the power of the night, which has a magic all its own. They made of themselves a race of wizards, and built a temple where the most powerful were to reside. And when a child was discovered to have powers stronger than most, he was taken from his family and sent to live there, among the masters. Where his every day was spent in lessons and practice and indoctrination. Where he'd be grilled constantly in the single goal of our people. To one day retake Shara from the fay... at any cost."
Bridin felt a lump form in her throat. She tried to swallow, and couldn't. "You?" she whispered.
He turned to face her. "I was the eldest son of our king, Bridin. And gifted in the dark arts as well. I was considered the most important of all the novices at the temple, and I was treated to more intense... teaching... tha
n any other. They told me I had but one reason for existing, Bridin. And that reason was to hold my kingdom for my people."
"You were taken from your family? From your mother?" She bit her lip. Why was she asking him about this? Why was she feeling any sympathy at all for his childhood when he'd robbed her of hers?
"Just as you were, Bridin. I know of that particular kind of grief. And because I know it so well, I could never bring myself to inflict it upon another. I had no hand in your mother's death that night my father's armies laid siege to Rush. And I had no hand in the killings of your adoptive family, either. I couldn't."
She closed her eyes, telling herself she'd be a fool to believe him, and bit her lip to keep from asking the questions that he'd started swirling in her brain. And yet the words spilled out all the same, in a voice soft with some emotion she didn't dare to name. "How old were you when they took you from your mother, Tristan?"
"Five... or perhaps six years of age. I don't really remember. And it doesn't matter now."
"You do remember. I can see it in your eyes."
He shrugged, and averted his gaze.
"Where is she now, your mother?"
"She..." He paused, cleared his throat. "She took ill and died while I was at the temple. My second year there, I believe." Then he gave his head a shake, and met her eyes once more, his own having gone as cold as ice. But it was thin ice. Just a single layer, placed there deliberately in an effort to conceal the pain underneath. But he couldn't hide it. Not from her. "The point of the tale, Bridin, is that Shara is as rightfully mine as yours. More so, in fact. You should be grateful of my offer to share its rule with you."
Bridin stiffened. So they were back to the same argument once again. "Your offer to share the ruling of Rush is based solely on your own desire to have the throne back, Tristan. Don't pretend it comes of your endless generosity. You know full well you have no chance of ousting your brother without my help."
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