Catherine Archer - Winter's Bride

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, please?”

He took Lily back out into the hall. “I will try not to be overlong.”

She nodded, her gray eyes enormous in her pale face.

When Tristan concluded his explanation of everything that had occurred since he had first seen Lily at the inn—nearly everything—Benedict looked, if possible, even more amazed than when he had first seen them standing in the doorway. “Are you certain, Tristan, that she is not lying to you, simply saying that she cannot remember in order to evade your anger?”

Tristan’s lips pressed tightly as he shook his head, then spoke wryly. “You sound as suspicious as Lily. But to answer your question, nay. At first, I thought as much myself, yet I am now certain that she does not lie. She was not pleased to admit that she did have some sense of familiarity with me.” He recalled with chagrin just how familiar they had been. “I do not believe she would have come here if she was lying. I am sure it is only her own uncertainty in the matter that has made her come.”

“You mean to try to pass her off as Sabina’s maid?” Benedict asked. “How do you hope to perpetrate such a hoax? As Gray’s daughter she has surely not done a jot of work in her life.”

Tristan looked his elder brother directly in the eyes. “That may be so, but I—we mean to do this, Benedict. In spite of the fact that she is convinced that I have fabricated the whole tale, I feel Lily has a right to know that she has a child, that what she believes about her life is nothing more than a lie told to her by those she most trusts. If, understandably, you prefer that she not remain at Brackenmoore, I shall take her and Sabina to the hunting lodge for a time.”

Benedict raked a hand over his face. “I still don’t fully understand why you felt compelled to bring her here. If she does not believe you and has no memory of what you were to one another, why could you not just let well enough alone—walk away?”

Tristan stood in agitation. “How could I walk away from Sabina’s mother?”

“Genevieve will be the child’s mother. Sabina is loved by her, myself, Marcel, Kendran—all here at Brackenmoore—and has done well enough without the woman who birthed her.”

It was true. Everyone doted on the three-year-old child. But that did not mean that Lily did not have the right to know her, to love her. It was not her fault that the past had been stolen from her.

Benedict said nothing more for a long moment, considering his younger brother. “She is to marry Harcourt.” The disgust in his voice was obvious.

Tristan grimaced. “Aye, she is. And there is nothing that will stop that, unless she remembers. Surely if she does recall the truth and realizes that her parents have deceived her, she will no longer blindly fall in with their wishes in that. Marriage to that man is a fate I would wish on no woman.”

Grimly, Benedict asked, “You are set on this?”

Though it nearly choked him to say the words, Tristan replied with conviction. “I am. I feel I owe her this much for what we shared, no matter that it is gone.”

Benedict spoke very deliberately. “Are you certain of your motives here, Tristan? Could it be that you hope she will remember all that happened between you, recall her love for you?”

Tristan shook his head in quick denial, though the words made him feel a strange unrest. “Nay, ‘tis not possible. As I said, what we had is gone. I will have no poor imitation. You do not understand how I feel in this. I would not want her lest she could come to me as she did before, and that is not possible now. Too much has changed.”

It surprised him no small amount when Benedict nodded his own head in assent. “You are right. I do not understand how you feel. I have not loved like that. I could not allow myself the luxury of putting love before all else. Yet simply because duty to Brackenmoore and all who abide here will ever be foremost with me, I begrudge you nothing in your own desire for such a love. If at any time you realize that you do still want this woman, Tristan, I will accept your wishes as I did not before. You have shown yourself a man beyond your years since the accident. The decision will be yours and yours alone.”

Tristan could not but feel moved by his brother’s faith in him. He decided that there would be little gain in further trying to convince him that all was over between himself and Lily. Benedict was the man he most honored and respected—not simply his elder brother, nor as one of the most influential and respected intimates of the slain Richard of York. Tristan’s feelings stemmed from the fact that Benedict was the most honest, dependable and strong man he had ever known. He had taken over as head of their family ten years before at the age of eighteen, when their parents’ ship had been wrecked returning from a visit to their aunt Finella in Scotland. Benedict had fulfilled his duties with both diligence and love.