Winter's Bride. Catherine Archer
As they passed through the curtain wall, she realized that it must be some ten feet thick at least. The rough stone was dark, nearly black in color, and she wondered if that was caused by the structure’s nearness to the salty sea. Or could it be that the builder, some long deceased Ainsworth, had deliberately fashioned his fortress from the darkest and most intimidating material available?
Her gaze returned to Tristan’s broad shoulders. The sheer determination and ruthlessness he had displayed in abducting her made her think it might very well be the latter.
What would happen, she wondered, should this man again decide that he wanted her? Lily tried to still the shiver that raced down her spine, deliberately averting her gaze from the shoulders her own fingers had clung to with such desperate need.
The courtyard was nearly empty. In view of her own confused feelings, Lily was glad of this. She was very tired and beginning to feel more and more as if what was happening was some product of her imagination.
They dismounted and handed their horses over to a young serving man of whom she barely took note. All her thoughts were now centered on the fact that she was soon to meet the child that Tristan claimed was hers. He led her up the wide stone steps of the keep and opened the great oaken door, which swung inward slowly on well-oiled hinges.
The light inside the enormous, high-ceilinged hall was dim, and there were many folk already stretched out upon their bedrolls. Just before they stepped inside, Tristan bent close and whispered, “I am sorry for any offense that you might feel due to the manner in which I must address you henceforth. We must remember to behave as if you are indeed a personal servant to Sabina.”
She bowed her head. “Of course. I will take no offense.” Lily wished for no one here to know of her true identity. She could act the part of servant for a few days. After that she would be going back to her own life.
What would she say to her own family—to Maxim? She would have to leave that decision until the moment arrived.
Tristan went before her, going directly to a woman who was banking the fire in the enormous hearth at the far end of the room. She turned to look at them, then dipped a curtsy when she saw Tristan. “My lord Tristan. We had not expected you home so soon.”
He shrugged, even as Lily felt the woman’s curious eyes upon herself. She felt them linger on the shapeless gown of faded brown, which had been the only garment Tristan could produce for her at the hunting lodge. Lily twisted self-conscious fingers in the rough fabric. It was of poor quality even for a personal maid. The serving woman who had brought it to her at Molson had informed Lily that it was a castaway of one of the kitchen girls.
Without thinking, Lily raised her chin defiantly. She frowned then at herself when the serving woman’s gaze moved thoughtfully from her to Tristan.
Tristan ignored the questioning expression. “Is Benedict abed, Maeve?”
Her attention diverted, the portly woman sniffed with obvious but fond disapproval. “Nay, not that one. He’s up in the records chamber working. I took him a warm drink not more than minutes gone by and told him he needed to be abed, but he would not heed me.”
Tristan took a deep breath and turned to indicate Lily. “Maeve, this is Lily. Lily, Maeve is the head woman here at Brackenmoore.” He swung around to the older woman again. “I have brought Lily to act as personal maid to Sabina.”
“Personal maid?” Her assessing gaze swept Lily again, who had to suppress the urge to comment on such rudeness from a servant.
Again Tristan ignored the woman’s reaction. “Lily, please follow me.”
He started off without waiting for the “Yes, my lord,” she muttered in reply. Hurriedly, she followed him to an arched opening at the far side of the hall, which led directly onto a winding stair.
As they went up, the stone stairs were lit only by the taper Tristan had taken from the wall holder at the bottom. Lily sighed, telling herself she would have to quell her resentment at the head woman’s manner. Lily was not accustomed to being so summarily treated by a servant, but as a servant herself she must become used to thinking of Maeve as her superior.
At the opening to the second floor, they moved down a long hall until they reached the end. Tristan stopped abruptly before a heavy wooden door and turned to face her.
Taking a deep breath, he took Lily’s arm and drew her forward with him. He seemed preoccupied and oblivious of her reaction to his odd demeanor. He opened the door, and they slipped inside as he closed it quickly behind them.
The first thing Lily noticed was the many shelves of books that lined the long narrow chamber. More books were piled in front of the shelves and atop them. There were also books piled on the desk at the far end of the room, where she now saw a ravenhaired man bent over an enormous tome. He looked up just then, and as his eyes came to rest on her, they widened with what Lily could only call astonishment. It quickly became bewilderment.
Tristan felt a wave of relief that was physically weakening when he saw the look of utter disbelief and amazement on his older brother’s face. The words that exploded from him as he stared at Lily could leave no one in doubt of his shock. “Dear God, is this a ghost?”
Some of the tension that had been growing in Tristan since he’d realized Lily was alive left his knotted shoulders. Clearly, Benedict had not known that she lived, which meant he had not deliberately lied to Tristan by saying that she had died in the carriage accident on that terrible day.
Tristan nearly sighed aloud in relief. He had not wanted to think that his brother would betray him in that way.
Immediately he knew that he must speak with Benedict alone. He owed his brother some sort of explanation for bringing Lily to his keep. As head of the family and baron of the lands, Benedict did have some say in her staying at Brackenmoore.
If word that Lily was here did get out, the wrath of Maxim, Earl of Harcourt, might well fall upon their heads. Tristan’s lips twisted at the mere thought of the man.
It would be dangerous to rile such an enemy. Though Tristan was not fearful for his own sake, he had the welfare not only of Sabina, but of his entire family to consider. Maxim’s displeasure over the king allowing Benedict to serve as warden to Genevieve, who was Maxim’s own cousin, was surely little abated. The earl would certainly have difficulty in making trouble for them at court now that Edward was king, but he could attempt to do so. Harcourt had kept a hand in both camps during the war between Lancaster and York, and still had managed to continue his favor at court. Tristan felt sure that young Edward’s outward friendliness toward many of those whose loyalty was uncertain had something to do with settling old angers. With his father, Richard of York, dead, he had a mammoth task ahead of him in bringing order to England.
Though the problems of state were important to all in the realm, they were not paramount in Tristan’s mind at this moment.
Tristan turned to Lily quickly. “I must speak with my brother alone, please.”
She looked at him with obvious unease in her gray eyes. “This man, as well, believes he knows me?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Lily was clearly unnerved by this, for she looked up at him with confusion. “I—I…don’t understand.”
Sighing deeply in frustration, he shrugged. “Benedict is understandably shocked. He believed you dead. But I have no intention of trying to convince you of that, nor will he. You are free to believe what you will, Lily. However, I would like an opportunity to explain this situation to my brother in private.”
She raised her chin. “I will await you.” Admiration for her courage made a new wave of regret wash over him. If only—
“What is going on here?” Benedict’s deep voice interrupted his thoughts.
Tristan answered shortly, somewhat surprised that his brother had managed to remain silent for so long. “Just one moment,