Книга - Winter’s Bride

Winter's Bride
Catherine Archer


Tristan of Brackenmoore Was DesperateIf a bouquet of forget-me-nots could but make the Lady Lily Gray remember what they'd once shared, Tristan would have gathered the flowers from beneath the winter snows. But his one true love had no memory of their time together, nor the babe she'd borne.Though Lily's past seemed locked behind an unbreachable door, Lord Tristan claimed to hold the key. And though she could not remember him, something drew her to him with a strength she could not deny. Yet could she trust him enough to help her face whatever terrors had stolen her memories?









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#ubb5fe60e-94aa-5bd0-a557-5b711f2a5a05)

Excerpt (#ufb0b4d9a-2a7b-59e4-8aac-ee5592a6be30)

Dear Reader (#u14490b55-0e14-5101-82ec-9f8ef7bb1a27)

Title Page (#uf56869d6-469b-5b1e-9cc5-81057b28a7e0)

About the Author (#u730f33ad-188c-5ce8-b8cd-16e5df3fb949)

Dedication (#uaa14fe1c-db1d-5ea4-9908-2281c6ce556e)

Prologue (#ubb73cf04-22c4-5c9f-8386-0bbd424cbb74)

Chapter One (#uacd8ac7a-0042-5223-bfc4-d1e9c32e03f1)

Chapter Two (#u4b17a8cc-52fb-500c-b2af-c64cbf60be36)

Chapter Three (#ucf6edd2d-c8ba-57b8-aa12-aceaa8eebc16)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Tristan wanted her, needed her

more than anything in his life.


He would carry her to the bed and…



His eyes opened wide, his gaze flying to the bed. To the heavy blue coverlet on which his child slept, oblivious to his madness. Dear God, did he have no control over himself where this woman was concerned?



As abruptly as he had taken Lily into his arms, Tristan released her. He looked down at her, her lips that were swollen from his kisses, her eyes that were heavy with passion. And wanted her still, in spite of knowing how very wrong it was.



Lily’s eyes darkened with confusion even as he watched, her hand coming up to cover her swollen lips as she whispered, “Dear heaven, help us.”



A bitter laugh escaped him. “I do not think there is any help for us, Lily—either in heaven or hell…!


Dear Reader,



This month we’re celebrating love “against all odds” with these four powerful romances!



Winter’s Bride by longtime Harlequin author Catherine Archer is the first book in her terrific new series, SEASONS’ BRIDES. Keep a hankie close by while reading about Lily and Tristan, whose love, planted years past, blossoms again. Their long-ago secret affair produced a child, but a carriage accident tore them apart, as Lily was thought to have died. But fate intervenes, and the now amnesiac Lily is hired as the nursemaid of Tristan’s daughter—her daughter. Lily’s memory dawns slowly as Tristan’s actions trigger the sweet echoes of a love too strong to be forgotten…

Barbara Leigh’s The Surrogate Wife, set in early America, is about the struggle of forbidden love. Here, the heroine is wrongfully convicted of murdering the hero’s wife, and is sentenced to life as his indentured servant…And don’t miss The Midwife by Carolyn Davidson, about a midwife who must care for the newborn of a woman who dies in labor. She and the child’s stern father marry for convenience, yet later fall in love—despite the odds.

On the heels of a starred review from Publishers Weekly for Midsummer’s Knight, Tory Phillips returns with Lady of the Knight, the frolicking tale of a famous knight and courtier who buys a “soiled dove” and bets that he can pass her off as a lady in ten days’ time.

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals


novel.

Sincerely,



Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Winter’s

Bride

Catherine

Archer













www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CATHERINE ARCHER


has been hooked on historical romance since she read Jane Eyre at the age of twelve. She has an avid interest in history, particularly the medieval period. A homemaker and mother, Catherine lives with her husband, three children and dog in Alberta, Canada, where the long winters give this American transplant plenty of time to write.


This book is for my daughter Rosanna. She introduced

me to Tristan and made me fall in love with him as

she had.



This book is also for Elaina, who, like Lily, is finding her

way out of the sadness of the past.



I would like to say a word of thanks to my editor,

Patience Smith, for her amazing work ethic and her

gratifying directness.






Prologue (#ulink_ffecea07-e5f9-56a1-b501-067ff5dad6d0)


England 1458

Benedict urged his mount to a faster and still faster pace, even though the heavy snowfall made doing so extremely unwise. He had to reach his brother—and his brother’s mistress—before it was too late.

Tristan could not be allowed to tie himself to the wench, whose family supported Lancaster. She may have convinced Tristan that the whelp she carried was his, but Benedict was skeptical. He knew the repute of her family, knew that lying to get what they wanted was not above them. And it was most likely the case with their only offspring.

Benedict had lessoned his own siblings to a higher standard, which was why Tristan held such faith in this girl. He judged her by his own intent. Benedict was less naive. He had been left to look after himself and his three brothers when their parents died, and that he would do, no matter how determinedly Tristan resisted him.

He prodded the stallion again as another wave of trepidation took him. There was more to his haste than his desire to save his brother from such a marriage. Some time ago, he had seen the Grays’ own coach approach the crossroads to Westchurch just as he himself had come from the opposite direction. Their driver had taken no notice of him, a lone rider on the darkened road. They searched for a coach.

Even though the conditions of this stormy night did not favor such haste, Benedict had been able to press his mount to a gallop and thus outdistance whomever else sought the lovers. And even resorting to such dangerous speed might not gain him enough time. He must get to his brother and away before the girl’s family did. He had no wish for this folly to cost Tristan his life.

In that instant he was distracted from his thoughts by a dark shape in the road far ahead of him. His breath caught as he realized that it was an overturned carriage.

Even after telling himself that it could be anyone, he was not able to still the throb of anxiety in his chest as he approached. The Ainsworth arms on the side of the carriage confirmed his deepest fear. It was indeed his own family’s conveyance. The driver lay crumpled beside it.

Benedict pulled the reins so hard he brought his mount to a rearing halt. He leaped to the ground, his hands searching for and finding no signs of life in the poor fellow. He had no time to mourn, turning to open the door of the overturned carriage even as an unfamiliar sound prodded at his consciousness. It was a weak and reedy, high-pitched wailing. The sound of a babe crying.

Grimly, Benedict raked the inside of the carriage with his eyes. He was intent now not only on helping his brother but also in ascertaining the source of that feeble cry.

The inside of the red-velvet-lined coach was drifted with snow, and he realized the window must have broken out. His horrified gaze lit first upon his brother. Tristan lay in a crumpled heap against the opposite door, unmoving. Even in unconsciousness he kept his arms about the form of a young woman, who was clothed in a diaphanous white gown. There was no sound other than the crying of the babe, which seemed to be coming from somewhere in the area of the woman’s lap.

Benedict’s gaze flew back to his brother, and his heart swelled up into his throat as he noticed the spreading red color on the snow. It also darkened Tristan’s gray coat and the white fabric of the girl’s gown, which partially covered his brother as he held her close to him. Both of them lay far too still.

Benedict leaped inside.

As he raised Tristan’s wrist, he also looked to the woman. His lips thinned as he searched the white face, which had been hidden by the folds of her gown from his previous vantage. There was no hint of color. Indeed, she was as white as the snow and her own gown.

Concentrating then on his brother, Benedict closed his eyes in relief as he felt the faint pulse of his blood. But that relief was only momentary. Such a faint pulse meant that though there was life in him yet, it hung by a tenuous thread.

All of this he realized in the space of a heartbeat, after which he quickly knelt and moved aside the girl’s skirts until he found the form of the mewling child. It was so small and blue, so cool to the touch. Fear for the babe shot through him. It was not likely to last the night if he did not get it in from this storm. Even if the child were not his brother’s he could not abandon it here, in the hope that the other coach would arrive in time. Lifting the little one into his arms, he then felt for the pulse of its mother. He was not surprised to find no sign of life.

Quickly he made the sign of the cross on her forehead. Though he had not wanted Tristan to be duped by her, he had wished her no such ill as this. His heart was heavy that one so young and beautiful had met such a tragic end. Then there was no more time for mourning the loss of one he had not even known, when he must certainly act now or lose his own brother.

Only moments later he was riding away, the unconscious Tristan laid across the horse before him, the still-crying babe in his arms. He cast one last glance over his shoulder toward the poor creature who had died this night, before urging his horse to a gallop.

He did feel sympathy for her and for the family who would soon mourn her loss, but he must now think about the two who had survived and keep them alive.




Chapter One (#ulink_34feaa49-1c62-5def-9dde-41b43a4d9c2e)


England 1461

Lady Lillian Gray looked about the common room of the inn with little interest. She awaited the head of her guard, who had disappeared through another doorway. The low ceiling was paneled with dark wood, and behind her a staircase of equally dark wood rose into the shadowy corridor above. A fire was lit in the depths of the hearth at the end of the chamber, and several men occupied the tables that dominated its length. Each seemed more focused on the contents of his cup than on anything else.

The haunting sense of loss, which had been so much a part of Lily’s awareness since waking after an accident some three years gone by, overshadowed all. That terrible accident had claimed her memory of all events preceding the moment she had awoken.

She nearly started as Sir Seymour spoke at her elbow. “My lady?”

She swung around to face the head of her guard, whose face wore a respectful and distant mask. His manner had been thus since he and the rest of her future husband’s men had arrived at her father’s keep to fetch her that very morning. While they had remained deferential, they gave no hint of welcome to their master’s intended bride. She withheld a sigh as she replied, “Yes.”

Clearly unaware of her discontent, the knight bowed. “The innkeeper has assured me that you are to have his very best rooms, my lady, just as my lord Maxim instructed. There will be no need for you to present yourself in the common room for the meal. I have requested that food be brought to you in your own chambers, as my lord has also instructed.”

Lily nodded. “Thank you.” It mattered not if she dined alone. She would have felt alone even in their company. Still, she was displeased at not being asked which she would prefer. It seemed that no one ever asked what she wanted, certainly not her parents. They always decided what was best for her.

Sir Seymour bowed formally and turned away to direct one of the men who stood on alert behind them. “Bring in my lady’s light baggage.”

That man, also a stranger to her, hurried out.

Maxim had insisted that only his own men were to be entrusted with bringing her to his home keep of Treanly.

Treanly. The name seemed so foreign to her still, even though she knew it was to be her new home. Her wedding to Maxim on her arrival there would settle that irrevocably.

She looked toward Sir Seymour’s back with unconscious regret. If only she knew more about where she was going, about what she would find there! But the knight seemed an unlikely source of information. He maintained that mask of deference at all times and certainly would share nothing about his master, whom he referred to with the gravest of formality. Quickly she told herself that it hardly mattered.

What could matter when her own parents seemed near strangers to her at times? Any of the deep love she must once have felt toward them had been wiped from her mind, though their dedicated care had left her with a debt of gratitude that could never be repaid.

She could not deny that there was also some relief in going away from Lakeland Park. The strain of trying to remember a past that she did not recall, her parents’ obvious hurt that she no longer felt the bond of their common experience, were more painful to her with each passing day.

Lily did not want to think about that now. She wanted to look ahead, to concentrate on the new life she was about to begin. Even though she could not dispel the ever-present lethargy that gripped her, some small part of her did hope she would be accepted by her husband’s folk, that her new lord might come to have some care for her.

The marriage to Maxim had been arranged by her father after only one actual meeting between the couple. Although she knew him not at all, Lily had agreed without demur. Her father had been so eager for the match. Lily felt that even if she could not recall her love for her sire, surely she owed him her obedience. She was afraid that she had not, in the past, been as dutiful a daughter as she should have been. She did, at times, feel a sense of rebellion against her father’s wishes, even when she knew he was right in deciding what was best for her.

If Maxim had seemed distant when they met, it must certainly be his greater maturity and the weighty responsibilities of running his own lands that made him appear so. At forty-two, he was over twenty years her senior and likely not given to making youthful declarations or displays of affection. There had been a hot sort of hunger in his eyes when he thought she was not looking, and although it had made her feel slightly uncomfortable, it indicated that he was not completely indifferent to her. And had he not sent her the chestnut mare she rode to Treanly as his wedding gift to her?

Further strengthening her impression of his stalwart character, he had insisted that she journey to Treanly for the marriage, saying that he could not leave his lands unattended. Her parents had agreed with his request, though it was not possible for them to accompany her, as her mother had fallen ill only weeks before and could not risk traveling in winter.

Again, Sir Seymour spoke her name, drawing her from her thoughts. “Lady Lillian.”

She swung around to face him.

He held up her bag, casting a disapproving glance over those seated beyond them in the common room. “If you are ready to go up now?” He seemed anxious to lead her away from this public room. “I will see you safely there myself.”

Lily nodded, wanting to give the knight no cause for worry as to her tractability. “I am ready.”

With no more conversation, Sir Seymour swung toward the stairs and motioned for her to precede him.

As Lily moved toward the steps, she pushed her sable-lined hood back slightly from her face in order to see more clearly where she was going. The lantern that hung from the wall bracket cast its light upon the bottom treads, but little reached the stairs above.

Just as she was about to start up, she heard the sound of booted footsteps moving down. Realizing the stairway was too narrow for two to pass comfortably, Lily stepped back, looking upward…and became very still as her gaze met that of a man.

A man whose face was cloaked in shadow, but who radiated an emotion so raw it held her captive. And that emotion seemed somehow to be directed at her.

Even as she watched, his gaze narrowed and he continued further into the light, his expression so intent that she felt a strange ripple of awareness course down her spine. She wanted to look away, but found that she could not. Though she could not deny that the gentleman was handsome, with his blue eyes and dark, dark hair, that was not what continued to hold her so still.

As she saw his face more clearly some instantaneous and overwhelming sense of recognition washed over her—through her. Like a sweeping wind, it seemed to penetrate flesh and bone to the very inner core of her—the core that she had been unable to access since the accident.

And then, just as abruptly, the sense of awakening was gone. Again there was nothing. She immediately experienced a numbing dizziness.

Completely disoriented, Lily swayed, putting a hand to her forehead.



Tristan Ainsworth looked down at the woman at the foot of the stairs with utter disbelief. The light was not strong, but he would know her anywhere, those wide gray eyes, the sweep of black hair that fell to either side of her fair face from a center parting. Those well-remembered and beloved features were equally patrician and delicate at one and the same time. Each was perfectly in harmony with the others and molded of milky white skin so soft to the touch that it had made him tremble to do so. Her figure, though covered by the lush and enveloping cape, was equally well-known to him. She was tall and slender, her hips and waist narrow, her breasts high and perfectly molded, with raspberry tips. From the first moment of seeing her he had felt that it was as if on that fateful day God had decided to create a woman especially for Tristan’s eyes—his heart.

The woman at the bottom of the stairs was his Lily.

But Lily was dead. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, telling himself that this was only another vision, another specter that would fade away as the others had. For had he not seen Lily in innumerable places, innumerable times, only to discover that she was not there?

Taking a deep breath, knowing with that sinking feeling in his gut that she would be gone when he opened his eyes, he forced himself to do so anyway. There Lily stood.

Still he could not allow himself to believe. Even as he watched, she swayed, grabbing for the railing.

Dear God, there was no mistake. No specter of his conjuring had ever fainted.

Lily.

A great cascade of longing filled him. It grew, washed over and through him as if he was standing beneath a raging waterfall. He was held completely immobile by the very force of it.

As if through a haze he saw that the man behind Lily was moving forward to take her arm. He seemed not to notice Tristan’s reaction, for he was intent upon the lady herself.

It was the man’s presence that finally brought him back to reality. Tristan could not deny his own interest in any man who would be with Lily.

His Lily.

Nay, he corrected himself quickly as a sudden revelation hit him. If she was alive and had not even contacted him in these three years, she was not his Lily.

His tormented gaze swung back to her face. He saw her glance brush his length once again, a strange haunted look in her lovely gray eyes. But there was no sign of true recognition, which made no sense whatsoever. She had known him as well as any human being could another.

Or so he had thought at the time. Perhaps he had only been fooling himself, and she had been toying with his affections, as Benedict had said from the very beginning.

Quickly he focused on her escort, who seemed, if his manner and dress were any indication, to be a knight. The reverence in the man’s voice as he took her arm and asked, “My lady, are you unwell?” told Tristan that he did not hold himself as her familiar.

She spoke in a whisper, and to Tristan it seemed she carefully kept her gaze away from himself. “I…nay, not unwell. I only felt dizzy for a moment.”

The man frowned in concern. “It has been a long day, and I ask your forgiveness for that. I have pushed you so far only because my lord bade me make haste in his anticipation of your arrival. Perhaps I have been overzealous. My master would not be pleased for you to become ill and our journey delayed.”

She raised a white hand to brush the dark hair back from her pale forehead. Even from where he stood Tristan could see that her hand was trembling as she said, “Have no great concern for me. I am sure I will be fine. As you said, we traveled far this day. Morning will see me quite recovered.”

Tristan found himself frowning at this assurance. It was clear that she was quite delicate of constitution in spite of her words, even more so than when he had known her. For then she had been imbued with a vitality of spirit that had made her appear stronger than her physical being. He looked again at that trembling hand. The bones in it and her wrist looked as fragile as those of a dove.

The man spoke again, even as he began to draw Lily up the stairs past Tristan, whom he ignored except for a brief, disdainful glance. “Your lord husband will be very glad of that.”

Tristan froze once more, feeling as if ice had replaced the blood in his veins. Not only had Lily forgotten him and the love they had shared, but she was married. Married to another man.

How could she just forget him, forget all they had shared as if it were nothing? How could she forget the very product of the love they had shared, their own child, Sabina?

The thought made rage flow through him with the force of the winter storms that pummeled the coast at Brackenmoore, his family home. It was too much to be borne.

He would not bear it.



* * *



That night, Lily woke with a start, realizing instantly that she couldn’t breathe. There was something pushing down upon her face. The fingers pressing into her cheeks told her that it was a hand.

She made to move away, but could not. Her body was held by a heavy weight. It felt as if someone must be using his or her own body to hold her down.

Wildly she tried to think as her sleep-fogged mind attempted to make sense of what was going on. She tried to see around that large hand. The room was not as dim as it had been when she retired, for someone, surely her assailant, seemed to have opened a window, allowing the moonlight to pour inside. Briefly, she wondered if the chamber had been entered by that method, even as her desperate gaze came to rest on a man’s face.

She started, her mind reeling as she realized that it was the man from the stairs, the one who had caused such a strange reaction in her. The man had seemed so familiar, though she could not understand why. She did not know him, nor why he would accost her this way in her chamber.

She moved her head from side to side, trying to free herself, wanting to ask this madman why he would do this to her. He only held her more firmly, causing her teeth to dig into her lips painfully. Without thinking, she opened her mouth, sinking her teeth into that hard hand.

“God’s blood,” he cursed in outrage.

He lifted his hand for a brief moment, barely long enough for her to sputter, “Who are you?”

There was no reply. Immediately he forced a scrap of soft fabric between her lips and held it there, then secured it with another piece of cloth, which he tied behind her head.

Driven beyond her usual strength by fear, Lily began to struggle beneath his weight. Even in her frantic state the bedcovers hindered her greatly. Realizing that it was foolish to expend her strength in this hopeless position, Lily grew still. Glaring in frustration and confusion, she met his gaze. Those strangely compelling eyes of his, so close to hers, seemed to mock her puny efforts.

Anger made her thrash anew. Her exertions were redoubled when shame washed through her as she recalled her own folly in thinking him quite attractive, at knowing that she had not been able to forget the chance meeting on the stairs. In the long interval before she had finally been able to fall asleep, she had gone over and over that strange and unexplainable sense of recognition she had felt.

Bitterly Lily told herself not to think about that. She must certainly concentrate instead on finding out what he wanted with her.

As if her own thoughts had triggered him to act, he stood and began to roll her more tightly in the bedclothes. Horrified, she began to struggle harder.

It was of little use. His much greater strength and the fact that she was already covered in the blankets prevented her from freeing so much as a hand before she was completely immobilized from head to foot.

Then there was no more time for thought as she felt herself being lifted and draped over what she was sure was the man’s shoulder.

Desperately she wriggled inside the roll of bedding. Her reward was a jarring thump as she landed on the floor. She clenched her teeth at the pain in her hip, which had hit hardest, telling herself that it was worth it if someone had heard her. But the only sound that followed was a muffled curse from her assailant. He uttered a husky-voiced warning, “Don’t try that again, unless your hope is to get someone hurt. I won’t be thwarted,” before she was again lifted and flung over his shoulder.

This remark did nothing to ease Lily’s fears or explain what was happening. It told her only that the madman was serious. Though she was not familiar with her future husband’s men, that did not mean she could cavalierly put them at risk by alerting them. For whatever reasons of his own, this man clearly meant to take her no matter what the cost.

Perhaps it would be best to allow this knave to get her outside the inn, then make her escape.

With that thought in mind, Lily forced herself to acquiescence as she felt herself being carried out the door and down the stairs of the inn. No sounds came to her within the muffling folds of the blankets.



Tristan allowed himself not a moment of doubt or sympathy as he took her through the darkened inn. The common room was vacant other than for two gentlemen who snored loudly as they slept upon benches before the fire. The depth of their slumber indicated that it might be aided by drink.

He was not sorry. In spite of the cold seriousness of his warning to Lily, he did not wish to actually harm anyone. He would have taken her out the window, which was the way he had entered her room, but that would be near impossible, carrying the awkward bundle she made.

Nay, he did not wish to harm anyone—even Lily, though his heart burned like a hot coal inside his breast at the thought of her perfidy. All he wanted…well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He only knew that he had to confront her, tell her what he thought of her betrayal. He had to make her understand that she could not just look through him as if he did not exist, as if their daughter had never been born.

Sabina deserved better than that from the woman whom they had all thought dead—whom Tristan had mourned with an unceasing agony. Even when he had agreed to an engagement to his brother Benedict’s ward, Genevieve, he had grieved that his bride would not be Lily. Each and every waking moment since his recovery from his accident—that fateful accident in which he had thought she died—had been accompanied by pain at the realization that he must go on without her.

Jagged sorrow sliced him anew, but unlike all those other times in the past three years, it was dulled by a smoldering anger. She would know just what she had done to him.

Lily would acknowledge that she had wronged him—and their daughter.

Mayhap then he would let her go. He would be glad for her to return to her husband and the new life she had made for herself without them.

The very thought of that unknown man made Tristan’s lower belly twist with renewed rage. Quickly he made his way from the inn and out into the courtyard, where he had tied his horse.

He knew it would not be an easy journey to his hunting lodge, Molson, with Lily lying across the saddle in front of him, even with the full moon to light his passage. But they should be able to reach the lodge before dawn. He needed night to mask his escape. The soldiers who now slept so peacefully in their own chamber next to the one Lily had occupied, and the others in the stables, would have no witnesses to tell them where she might have gone.

Tristan was feeling as if things were going even better than he could have hoped as he laid her across the front of his patiently waiting stallion. It was then that she began to thrash about once more, and he very nearly dropped her on the ground. Roughly he whispered, “You are only going to hurt yourself if you fall. What good will that do you, Lily?”

It was as he spoke her name that she became suddenly and utterly still. This seemed odd…almost as if she were surprised that he knew it.

He shook his head, telling himself that it was impossible. She knew him. There could be no mistaking the shock on her face when she had seen him on the stairs of the inn, even though she had quickly pretended otherwise.

He swung up into the saddle behind her, urging Uriel toward Molson.

Daylight was just threading through the trees near the village as he rode up the hill to his hunting lodge. It had been built just before his parents had died ten years ago, and though not nearly as large as the castle at Brackenmoore, was more comfortable and definitely warmer in winter. That he did not make his permanent home there had more to do with his wanting to be with his family than anything else. He felt it was good for Sabina to be surrounded by those who loved her, especially growing up without a mother. His betrothed, Genevieve, seemed quite content to remain there as well.

He did not allow himself to believe that his reluctance to live at Molson had anything to do with the fact that it was there he had been with Lily. That it was there they had culminated their love, shared their innermost thoughts, made plans for a life together. Due to its close proximity to Lakeland, it was filled with memories of their stolen moments together.

He had thought of none of these things as he had left for Molson the previous day to see his man, Wilbert, the craftsman who was making the polished metal shield for the lighthouse at Brackenmoore. It was only by chance that Tristan had stopped for the night at the very inn where Lily had chosen to take her rest. If not for that odd twist of fate he would never have seen her, would not be holding her before him at this very moment.

Tristan rode to the front entrance of the three-story lodge, which was built in the fashion of a manor house and called a lodge only because of its original intended use, and dismounted. He then reached up to take Lily down from where she had lain for the past several hours. As he did so she groaned in protest.

In spite of not wishing to feel anything but outrage, Tristan frowned in chagrin. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, in his anger, that he had given little consideration to her comfort. Of course she was stiff and sore from lying in one position for so long. He looked down and saw that the blankets had pulled away from her face during the ride. Even in the dim light he could see that she was too pale. Avoiding any eye contact, he reached out and removed the gag from her mouth. Immediately she sucked in a great breath of air, closing her eyes as if overcome by the sheer joy of doing so.

Telling himself that he was giving her no more than the same consideration that he would toward even an enemy, he eased her down slowly into his arms. Even then she gave another quickly muffled gasp of pain. He supported her there for a long moment, giving the blood a chance to begin flowing through her veins.

Obviously her discomfort was not completely debilitating, for when she spoke, her voice, though confused, was also demanding. “Who are you?”

His lips twisted in ire as he told himself his sympathy was misplaced. She did not lack the energy to continue the charade that she did not know him. “Do not try to play games with me, Lily. I am not interested in them.”

She replied heatedly, “Please, sir, I play no games. I beg you explain who you are and why you have abducted me!”

He pressed his lips together in irritation at her question. “I’m sure you recall my warning about not getting someone else hurt by being foolish. You will not try to enlist aid here. No one would give it in any event.” Beyond that he would not deign to answer. Once they were alone he would speak. He would not participate in this pointless questioning, which was no more than pretense. Roughly he flung her over his shoulder and moved to bang the knocker upon the oak-paneled door.

It seemed a very long time before it swung inward and Hunter poked his head through the opening. “My lord Tristan?” He pulled the door wide, even as Tristan stepped across the threshold.

The elderly servant’s amazed green eyes focused on the bundle his master carried. Tristan gave a mental shrug. He knew he could not hide the fact that he carried a body. He had not meant to. He knew the servant’s loyalty was without question. Yet the man was a human being and must surely have some curiosity. Unfortunately for him, Tristan was of no mind to satisfy that curiosity.

Now that he was here, standing in the entryway of his own home in the cold light of morning, he was not sure he could explain even to himself what he had done. Tristan could not hope to escape the consequences of this act. For surely Lily would not keep silent when he let her go, after he had told her exactly how he felt about her duplicity. As angry as he was, Tristan knew he could not harm her in order to prevent her from telling what he had done. The very thought made his stomach muscles clench sickeningly.

He forced himself to focus on Hunter rather than try to understand the depth of his reaction. “Are my chambers ready?”

“Of course, my lord, as your letter requested, though we had not expected you until much later in the day.”

“I…yes, there was an unexpected change of plans.” Tristan raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged. “I’m sure you understand.”

The poor man did not look as if he did understand. Not in the least.

Tristan’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “Well, thank you, Hunter. I’ll go up now.”

“Yes, my lord Tristan.” The elderly gentleman bowed. “I trust you’ll let us know if you have need of anything.”

“Of course.” Tristan smiled, glad to have passed this awkward moment with so little commotion. He then turned and made his way up the darkened stairs at the far end of the wide entryway. Not much of the morning light had found its way through the shuttered windows above the door. But Tristan didn’t require much lighting. He knew where he was going.

Upon reaching his rooms, he pushed open the door and went directly to the dark cherry-wood bed, where he deposited his burden without ceremony. As soon as she landed on the mattress, Lily began to wriggle out of the blankets.

He stood back and watched as her dark head emerged, the huge dark circles of her gray eyes finding him with fury and outrage. “Now, sir, will you tell me what is going on here?”

Tristan bent over her, feeling his anger rise afresh at her continued pretense of not knowing him. “I will tell you nothing until you stop this masquerade.”

She sat up straighter on the gold brocade bedcover, clearly trying to gather the scattered edges of her dignity around her as she shook her head. He tried not to notice how the thin fabric of her diaphanous white night rail clung to the curves of her breasts, hips and thighs. Nor would he allow himself to think of the times he had pulled the heavy draperies that covered these very windows closed, undressed her in this very bed and…

As Lily began to speak, he concentrated with determination on her words. “I yield, sir, if it will please you. I have somehow perpetrated some masquerade against you. Now will you set me free?”

He frowned, seeing that she was making as if to humor him. “I can’t do that, Lily, not yet. Not until we have discussed a few things.”

She sighed, the heavy fall of her raven-black hair spilling forward over her slight shoulders to pool about her on the bed. “Such as?”

Tristan watched with an unexpected pang in his chest. He had so loved the way that hair spilled across his body when she kissed him…

He gave himself a mental shake. It had been a mistake to bring her here to Molson, where they had been together. He would never even have met the young maiden had he not, when visiting his own lands, decided to attend the local fair on a whim. From the moment their eyes had met across the greensward, Tristan had cared not what side of the war her family might be on, nor his own. Yet he had been a fool to forget all in her eyes. He must remember that that time was no more, must force himself to concentrate on how she had hurt him in allowing him to think her dead, how she had betrayed her own babe.

His eyes narrowed on hers as he answered her question. “Such as why you refuse to admit that you know me even now that we are alone here. It can serve no purpose. There is no one to hear.”

She turned away from him then and shoved the tangled blankets from her legs, as if she had decided he were not worthy of her continued consideration. Lily looked about the dimly lit room. His gaze followed hers over the heavy brocade draperies, the rich dark furnishings.

She sighed and ran a trembling hand through the hair at her temple. As when he had seen her on the stairs the previous night, this sign of weakness stirred his compassion for some reason.

“Well?” he demanded, his own frustration with himself making his voice gruff.

She looked at him then, her brow raised high. Her expression told him clearly that she had lost patience with him. “I tell you, my lord, I am exhausted. There was very little rest to be had upon your horse, and I had been traveling the whole of yesterday. If you insist that there are things that must be discussed between us, I must also insist that I rest first. I can make no sense of any of it at the moment.”

He felt an unexpected and unwelcome sense of admiration for her bravado. Here was a hint of the Lily he had once known. He had admired her spirit from the beginning.

Perhaps that was why it bothered him so much to see the weakness she tried to hide. That weakness only served to further illustrate how much had changed, how much she had changed.

Yet he could not bring himself to insist that, before she rested, she stand up to the weight of what she had done. What harm could it do to allow her to sleep first?

He shrugged. “Then sleep, if that is your wish.” He indicated the bed upon which she half lay.

She looked at him with a momentary relief quickly masked by hauteur.

Smiling benignly, Tristan sat down on the end of the bed and began to remove his own boots. He was somewhat tired himself. It had been a long night, and it would do no harm to have all his wits about him when he faced her with her perfidy.

When Tristan swung around to lie down on the bed, Lily was still watching him. Her eyes became rounder as she saw his intent. “You do not mean to sleep here?”

His smile widened with unconcealed amusement. “I certainly do. You do not think I would go and leave you here alone so you can escape?”

She bit her lower lip. Ah, he thought, so she had been contemplating just such a move. Well, it would do her no good. Even though the way to her own father’s keep from Molson was well-known to her, she was completely in Tristan’s power until he chose for it to be otherwise.

Casually he got up and went to the door. Fixing his gaze upon her own, he turned the key in the lock, then with deliberate care placed the key in the waistband of his leggings.

Her gray eyes narrowed, and she leaped up from the bed. “I will not sleep in this bed with you. I wouldst rather lie upon the floor.” With that she plopped down upon the gold-and-red-patterned carpet.

He frowned. Lord, but she was obstinate, just as in the old days. Then her obstinacy had shown itself in her desire to see him in spite of her parents’ wishes.

Even as another shaft of regret passed through him, tightening his throat, Tristan strode across the room and scooped her up in his arms. Her eyes grew rounder still as she gasped and tried to struggle.

Ignoring her efforts, he tossed her onto the bed and stood staring down at her for a very long time, during which she did her utmost to glare back at him. But once again he could see her fatigue in the dark circles beneath her eyes and the shallowness of her breathing.

Without another word, he turned his back on her and went to the large overstuffed chair beside the empty hearth. Tristan settled back and closed his eyes, though he was aware of her continued scrutiny for quite some time. Only when he heard her lie back upon the bed and sigh with weariness was he able to even attempt to seek his own rest.

It was some time before he was able to sleep even then.




Chapter Two (#ulink_2e9a9426-7c96-5435-bbea-c20f052a780f)


Lily woke abruptly and to the full knowledge of everything that had transpired the previous night. She had, in fact, slept very little during the hours since she had refused to continue the confrontation with the madman who had abducted her.

A very handsome madman, came an unexpected voice inside her, as a rush of heat flamed her cheeks. Even in the vehemence of anger, those oddly compelling blue eyes of his had had the power to capture and hold her own.

As they had from the first moment, when she had seen him on the stairs at the inn.

Quickly she tossed this thought aside, for it was not comforting in any way. Lily knew she must think about what she was to do now. She certainly could not allow the madman, no matter how compelling, to confuse her. No matter how appealing he was to the eyes, with that dark hair, those strongly sculpted features and intense blue eyes…

From whence had come such thoughts? she asked herself in exasperation.

Lily could not forget the strength of his arms as he carried her up the stairs to this very chamber. And he had left her to sleep in the bed alone. But then, he had had no right to bring her here against her will at the onset.

It had been some time after he settled himself in the large chair near the window that she was able to actually believe that he meant to leave her to her rest. The eventual slowing of his breathing had finally convinced her.

Lily found herself holding her own breath as her attention centered on him now.

A sudden prickling of awareness at her nape told her that he was awake. Unbelievably, she could feel the very force of his presence in the air. Lily lay very still, unwilling to face him as yet, wishing to give herself more time to think.

He must have been as alert to her as she to him, for he spoke from the other side of the chamber. “Well, are you ready to continue our discussion?” There was no mistaking the disdain and anger in his voice. The hours that had passed had done nothing to change his demeanor.

Lily took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as she sat up, quickly pulling the silken coverlet up to cover herself when she saw how much of her was exposed by the sheer fabric of her nightgown. She replied with equal disdain. “Only if you are now ready to come to your senses and allow me to leave.” She could not be blind to the fact that he was indeed even more handsome than her eyes had told her in the dim light of their previous encounter. Those blue eyes of his were narrowed under two eyebrows that were dark as sable, as was the thick thatch of wavy hair that fell across his forehead.

As she watched, he reached up and raked it back with obvious frustration. He rose and strode toward her with the grace and menace of a stalking tiger she had once seen in an illustrated book. When he reached the bed he leaned over her. “It should not surprise me in the least that you are attempting to go back on your word.”

Unexpectedly stung by the insult, Lily swallowed and replied with defiance. “Why would I be bound by my word to the blackguard who took me by force from my fiancé’s men?”

She watched in surprise as his lids flickered at her words. It was almost as if he was disturbed by them.

His rebuttal only served to confuse her even further, and the emptiness in his voice reminded her of the sense of despair she had felt on the day she had woken to discover that she did not recall her own life. “Your fiancé’? So you are not yet married.”

“Nay, not yet. I was on my way to be married when you took me.” She glared at him. “And have as yet no explanation for why those who care for me must wait in fear of my safe return.”

Two deep furrows appeared between his eyebrows as he snapped, “Lily, I have had quite enough of this. You will cease pretending that you do not know me. And you will do so now!” Yet in spite of his anger there was no mistaking the shadow of anguish that darkened his eyes.

The sudden sense that this man was acting from a place of deep pain made her pause and bite back the heated reply that sprang to her lips. Something was wrong here, for there was no mistaking that this man felt she was deliberately antagonizing him.

There must be some explanation. Perhaps he had mistaken her for some other woman, and hearing him out would clear up the confusion. Perhaps then she could use reason to help him see that she was not the woman he sought.

A woman named Lily who bears your own likeness, said the same inner voice that had plagued her earlier. This time it had an incredulous edge.

Lily scowled. It was possible.

Unexpectedly, the memory of how she had reacted to her first sight of him on the steps at the inn rose up to haunt her. In that first brief moment it was as if he were no stranger, as if…

Could her strange reaction, that inexplicable sense of familiarity, be clouding her judgment even now? Could it be making her more willing to try to understand this disturbing man’s point of view?

Nay, she would not think on it. She did not know this man. ‘Twas impossible.

He interrupted her thoughts. “Well, what say you?”

She replied with more care this time, remembering her decision to use reason to help him understand that she was not the woman he believed her to be. “I know not what to say, sir. You have me at a disadvantage. I do not recall where or how we might have met.” She met his angry gaze directly and openly, not wavering as he seemed to search the very depths of her soul with those all-too-adamant eyes.

What he saw in her gaze made him frown, but she glimpsed the first hint of uncertainty in his wellsculpted face. He studied her for another long moment, then shook his head with a bitter laugh as he sat down on the bed near her. She was not concerned about his sitting on the bed now. Ravishing her seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind as he replied with deliberate care, his voice filled with amazement, “At last I see. You do not know me.”

Lily felt slightly encouraged by this seeming acceptance of her position. She nodded eagerly. “I do not. I can see that you are most eager to find the woman you seek, and for your sake I am very sorry that I am not she. Lily is indeed my name, but that is nothing more than an extremely unlikely coincidence.”

He did not look at her, and his tone was so low she could barely hear as he said, “A coincidence.”

Relief at his finally understanding made her voice brighter than it might otherwise have been. “Yes, yes, now you see.”

Before she even knew what was happening he had whipped around to grasp her shoulders in his two large hands, his face so near hers she could feel the hot brush of his breath on her face. “Oh aye, I see. I see everything. You are not the Lillian Gray I met and loved with every fiber of my being, would have given the last breath in my body to spend even a mere instant with. That was not you but another woman who bears your name, whose soft skin covered fragile bones that feel as yours do beneath my fingers, whose mouth spoke to me in her sweet voice, the same voice that comes from your lips. You would have me accept that you are she in flesh and bone, but you are not my Lily.”

Even as she tried to push away from the hard wall of his chest, Lily felt her own heart thud in reaction to the depth of misery and loss in his voice. Even in her trepidation she could not help thinking, God, to be loved as this man loved his Lily.

This man, who was not ill favored by any means himself, had been driven mad by the pain of his loss, mad to the point of wanting his Lily so desperately that he had taken another woman with the same name to replace her.

Suddenly she wondered what had befallen this other Lily. For surely something had. No woman could turn aside from such a deep and true devotion.

Unexpectedly she was overwhelmed by the depth of her own sympathy for that long lost woman. And, surprisingly, for this man.

What was she to do to help him? She had no understanding of how to do so. In the past three years it was she who had been the recipient of the devotion of others, a devotion she did not quite know how to return. Not once in that time had she ever felt that anyone truly needed her, as she felt this man did now. The sense of being needed was at once frightening and exhilarating, calling up reserves of compassion she had not even known she possessed.

Though he had not loosened his grip on her, Lily felt her fear dissipate as quickly as it had come, she knew not why. She also sensed with a strange unquestioning certainty that in spite of his seeming lack of control, he would never harm her.

Without understanding why she did so, Lily reached up and put a gentle hand to his cheek. “I am so sorry, so very sorry that I am not she.”

At her touch his hold on her loosened and he slumped against her, his forehead pressing to hers. “Oh, God help me. I know not what to do, Lily. The wrong words continue to come from your lips, yet I cannot sustain my anger, not when you touch me. Not when I thought never to be touched by you again.” His arms closed around her.

Lily was instantly, yet utterly and completely suffused with warmth and well-being. She gasped with shock at her own reaction. There was no denying how right it felt to have him holding her, his hard chest pressed to hers. This hurting man and his nearness were more real than anything she had experienced since waking from the long sleep that had robbed her of her past.

How could that be? He was a stranger, totally unknown to her. Surely it was only sympathy for his anguish that made her feel this way.

Still, she said nothing, overcome and unable to understand her own responses.

When he buried his face in her throat, drawing in a deep breath as if taking the scent of her into himself, she knew she should pull away. Inexplicably Lily found she could not, for his action made a wave of dizzying weakness sweep over her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

His breath was hot on her exposed nape as he whispered in hoarse desperation, “Lily, Lily.”

She closed her eyes as a shudder of some indefinable sensation raced down her spine. The feeling was terrifying and oh so very alluring all at the same time.

The next thing she knew, his mouth, so hot and strange, yet achingly familiar, was pressed to the sensitive flesh he had just grazed with his heated breath. Again she gasped, even as she was racked by a shudder of reaction that left an odd heaviness in her limbs and chest. The sound seemed to encourage him, for his arms tightened and he shifted so that she lay more fully in his arms.

She turned her head, trying to breathe, to think, to get hold of her scattered senses. He pressed his mouth to her own.

The moment his mouth touched hers, Lily felt herself sinking, drowning in the rise of feelings and emotions inside her, that odd heaviness spreading to her belly. From somewhere inside her, in a place she had not known existed, came an acceptance, even a welcoming of these feelings, a joyous reveling. Without conscious thought she opened her own lips, her tongue flicking out to connect with his. She found herself kissing him, plying his mouth even as he did hers with a passion that was as scorching as it was shocking. It was as if some strange woman inside her knew what to do, how to react to his caresses.

When his hand closed over her breast, she turned more fully to him. One part of her mind was appalled at her behavior, the other, the one that seemed to have taken control of her, celebrated her actions, prodded her to wrap her arms around him and draw him to her.

His mouth left hers to trace a line of heat across her throat as he whispered, “Say it—say my name. Say Tristan.” His thumb raked across the tip of her breast.

Her eyes closed on the spiral of hot desire that raced through her to settle in her lower belly.

He whispered again, “Oh God, say it, Lily, say it.”

Why this was so important to him she did not know, only that it was. She was past thought, past caring about anything but the rage of sensation he was creating with his touch. “Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.” Even to her ears it was a caress as it escaped her lips, lips that seemed to rejoice in making the very sound of it.

Her uttering of his name seemed to end any hold he had over himself as he shifted, groaned and laid them both upon the bed. His hands grazed her every curve, tracing over her from head to toe as if memorizing every inch of her form.

Far from being frightened by his lack of restraint, Lily felt her body respond with even more ardor. It was as if each and every bit of her welcomed and delighted in this man’s touch—his unbridled passion. As if her body was privy to some knowledge of him that her mind was not. Even the fine hairs on her flesh tingled at the stroking of his hands, the heat of his breath as he pressed his face to the low neckline of her night rail.

He drew the garment down, and she did not demur, but reached to hold the back of his head. Her eager hands tangled in his thick dark hair as his hot mouth found the aching tip of her breast.

Her hips rose up of their own accord, and she sobbed with unrestrained delight. Urgently she pressed her body to him as he continued to ply first that tip and then the other with his tongue.

He whispered hoarsely against her, “I have wanted you so long. I have fought the memory of this, the way we are together, without surcease.”

She had no thought of telling him that he was wrong, that she was not the woman he remembered. Her body would not allow such words to fall from her lips. Her hands tugged at his garments of their own accord, wanting to touch. Her lips murmured soft sounds of encouragement and desire.

When he reached to pull her gown up over her, Lily still had no thought of halting him, but shifted to aid him. As he drew away briefly to divest himself of his own clothing, she found herself reaching eagerly for him, drawing his hard warm body back to hers.

She, Lily, and her powers of choice and reason, seemed to exist somewhere outside her powerful and uncontrollable reactions to this man. She wanted only to be closer to him, close enough to ease this throbbing ache that consumed her. Lily sobbed his name again, unable to give voice to the need that drove her except by murmuring, “Tristan.”

He rose up over her, and without even knowing what she did, she opened her knees to admit him. And then he was inside her, gliding smoothly into the warmth of her body. Her hands found his narrow hips, clasping him to her. He rested there for a long moment, breathing raggedly above her, his lips pressed to her perspiration-dampened forehead. Only when she wriggled restlessly beneath him, knowing that somehow the relief to her frustration would come from the moving of their heated flesh, did he proceed. He started slowly, then quickened to a rhythm that Lily herself set. As the pleasure increased in the place where their bodies met, she became a mindless creature, lost in the rising waves of rapture that made her moan and toss her head from side to side.

The sensations built to a peak of unutterable ecstasy. She rose up time after time to meet the thrusting of his body, until she feared she could sustain no more pleasure and survive. And then she was awash in a shower of bright sparks and rapture that streamed through and over her, making her cry out in mindless abandon, her words an unintelligible chant of exultation.

Then slowly, as the storm quieted inside herself, for what seemed the first time since he had touched her, Lily began to realize just what had taken place. Her eyes flew open and met those of the man above her. Shock at her own behavior quickly turned to despair.

She had given herself to this stranger, when even now her own husband-to-be was very certainly wondering what could have befallen her. She felt the blood drain from her face as she raised shaking hands to cover herself.



As Tristan watched her expression change from rapture to chagrin, he felt his own face register frustration. He frowned as she pressed her hands to her face, crying, “Oh dear heaven, what have I done? I don’t even know you. How could I…have let you…myself…?”

Stung to the core, Tristan rolled away, unable to face her for another moment. How could she react thus after what had just passed between them? How could she bring herself to continue to deny…? How could she…unless…?

Tristan stood up, looking down at her as she pulled the coverlet over her now visibly quaking form. He felt a wave of uncertainty, immediately followed by the painful ache that he had lived with each and every day since being told of her death. He did not want to acknowledge what he was beginning to realize, but his own feelings made him see that this was not some act that she was perpetrating. There was no way Lily would react to him as she just had and still pretend that she did not know him—unless she did not know him.

This revelation was more devastating than thinking she had betrayed him. When he had thought she had betrayed him he could feed on his anger, his desire to make her admit that she had wronged him. The connection between them was strong and clear; their feelings, though changed, were still alive. Yet if she did not remember him, was he not as good as dead to her, Lily, the woman he had known and loved?

He closed his eyes, wishing he could make it all go away, hoping that somehow when he opened them again it would not be true. That he would see that everything that had happened after the birth of their baby in the carriage had all been a terrible nightmare.

But when he did lift his lids, there Lily was, staring up at him without any hint of recognition. The misery apparent in her expression was equally difficult to behold. He found himself wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but after what had just happened that could only be a mistake.

Swinging away abruptly, Tristan gathered his scattered clothing from beside the bed, then hastily dragged on his burgundy-colored houppelande and black leggings. He wanted to go from this room, forget that the past day and his own mad actions had ever occurred.

Instead, Tristan sat down on the end of the bed, being careful not to put himself within easy reach of her, while at the same time making eye contact with Lily. It was important to him that she understand that he had not meant to harm her, that he had believed she did know him.

He spoke carefully. “I have only just realized that you are not deliberately lying to me.” He tried to keep the pain from his voice, but feared he failed as he went on hoarsely, “You do not know me. You actually have no memory of me or what we have been to one another.”

She shook her head. “I do not, though what you must think of me…having realized that now…after we…” Obviously she could not go on, and Tristan had to look away from her guilt-filled eyes.

Even as he was trying to find the words to help her, to wipe the sorrow and shame away, she said, “I do not understand what is between us, my lord, why this happened, but I know something is wrong. I have no memory of having known you in any way, yet you do seem very familiar to me…to my body. Else…” She blushed scarlet, her gaze dropping to her hands as they clutched the coverlet against her bosom. “Else I would never…”

Taking pity for her embarrassed state, Tristan nodded. “As I said, I have realized your sincerity in thinking you do not recognize me. There is no need to convince me further.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What I do not understand, though, is how you came to this state. How could I—and Sabina—have been so very effectively wiped from your mind?”

Her gaze flew to his. “How do you know that name? Sabina—”

Tristan grimaced, interrupting her. “Sabina was your maternal grandmother. You were close to her when you were quite small.”

She shook her head. “How would you know that? What I know of it has been told to me by my mother. I have no actual memory of that time.”

“I know because you told me, Lily, with your own lips. I do not know what has made you forget all, but you have.”

“’Tis not possible. My parents have told me how I came to lose my memory. They would have told me if I had loved a man—loved you.” Her eyes pleaded with him to agree with her, to put her mind to rest. “It is a mistake. I cannot be the same woman.”

He shook his head, not believing there was anything to be gained in telling her exactly how he felt about her parents. “There is no mistake, Lily. It was you and no other. You said that if you were ever to have a child you would wish to call her by that name…” Tristan grimaced again, this time even more deeply, realizing that in his frustration he had given away more than was wise. How could he have been so foolish as to mention their child? His doing so could only make matters worse. Lily remembered nothing of their time together, of Sabina’s birth, the accident in which he’d believed she had died.

His long pause made her frown. “Go on, finish what you were saying.”

He studied her for a moment. He was tempted to ignore her directive, to make up a tale that would prevent her from knowing the depth of their bond. He knew that it would be easier for her to walk away and never look back. Yet something would not let him. No matter how deeply buried her memory of him might be, there was still a connection between them, had been from the moment they looked at one another across a greensward dotted with May revelers some four years gone by.

Even more than that, did she not have a right to know? He took a deep breath. “Sabina is our daughter.”

She gasped with shock. “Our daughter. How could we have a daughter?”

Tristan could not resist a wry but pointed glance about the rumpled bed.

Lily spoke hurriedly, clearly trying to ignore her own embarrassment, but that did not keep Tristan’s attention from following the blush that graced her lovely white neck. “I know how. I mean how could I not know?”

He dragged his attention from where it had no right to stray and considered her words. How could she not know? Ah, there was the dilemma indeed. He shrugged with resignation. “That I cannot tell you. Surely you would know better than I.”

She shook her head in helpless frustration. “I do not know what to make of any of this. I recall nothing of what you say, yet my reaction to you, the things I have felt this day—done this day—make me know that something is very wrong. I do realize that there could be much that is truth, but foreign to me. I recall only what has occurred in the past three years, since I woke from a terrible illness. That and what my own gentle family has told me of the past.”

Without thinking, he leaned toward her, his gaze intent on hers. “You were ill three years ago?”

“Yes, dreadfully. I was struck upon the head during a carriage accident and fell into a deep and unremitting slumber for many days. My mother and father feared I would be taken from them. When at last I did awaken, I was as a child. It is only by the great love and care of my own parents that I am today able to go on with my life.”

Tristan could only stare. “They told you you were hit upon the head in an accident?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He shook his head in derision. “You may very well have been hit upon the head in the accident, but they have left out some relevant details. You were with me when it happened, Lily. We were running away together. We had met at a fair at a location not far from this very hunting lodge.” His eyes met hers for one long and potent moment. “We fell in…love, but your parents would not hear of a match between our families, as the Grays and the Ainsworths were on opposing sides of the war between the houses of York and Lancaster. We…met in spite of their disapproval. You became pregnant with my child in this very chamber, and when they discovered your state, they forbade any further contact betwixt us, making sure there would be none by keeping you locked in your rooms.”

Taking the coverlet with her as she leaped from the bed, Lily moved to stand before him, her gray eyes flashing in outrage. “Now I know you lie, for that cannot be. They would not keep such things from me. Would never keep me locked away in that manner.”

He looked at her, his gaze unwavering. “How then do you explain what has happened here? You said yourself that I seem familiar to you.” Again he cast a sweeping glance over the bed. “Familiar enough that you would react to me as you did just minutes ago. If I did not know you, why would I have so overcome my own sense of decency that I would forcibly bring you here? Why would I risk my own neck to take you from the protection of several armed men? What could I gain?”

She shook her head. “That I cannot answer, and I do believe that you somehow know me, sir. That much is clear. You are simply mistaken—” she took his measure carefully as she finished “—or lying.”

He looked at her with pity and a hint of anger that he attempted to disguise. “You know that is not true. I am mistaken about nothing. And I certainly have no cause to lie. Make no mistake, I know you—every inch of you, Lily. I would recognize you were I blind, deaf and dumb.”

She blanched, raising a trembling hand to her face. “I do not know. I cannot explain it. I only know that my parents love me. They would never deceive me that way, would never keep the fact from me that I had a child.”

He shrugged. “So be it. Disbelieve the truth of your own instincts.”

Spinning away from him, she moved to the tall windows and stood staring out of them. “Please, I must think and try to make some sense of all this.”

“Very well then, think away, although I do not know of what use it will be to you. I have been thinking the whole night through and have resolved nothing.”

She stood very still for a long time, then rubbed a hand across her forehead as she said, “If only there was a way for me to see this child. Perhaps then—”

He interrupted her. “But that is a wonderful idea.”

She spun around to face him. “You cannot mean that?”

He met her incredulity with reason. “Why not?”

Lily seemed to come to some resolution within herself. “Then you must take me to her now, before my courage is lost.”

Tristan knew this was mad, that there would be complications to such a brash scheme. He knew they must think this through carefully.

Yet deep inside he felt the stirring of an emotion he could barely allow himself to acknowledge. Hope. Tristan knew he could not let himself hope.

Lily had a life that had nothing to do with him now. If he agreed to this it would be for the sake of her finding out her own truth, and not connected to him in any way. “Are you certain that you wish to do this? Your fiancé is awaiting your arrival.” He was relieved that there was no hint of regret or bitterness in his tone.



Lily knew that she had to do this. It was the only way she could go on from here without the thought of it all preying upon her mind like a gnawing hound. “I will send a note to Treanly, telling Maxim—”

“Treanly,” Tristan interrupted, incredulous. How much worse could this situation get, that she would be marrying Maxim Harcourt, the sworn enemy of his own family?

Lily seemed oblivious to his ire. “Yes, I must tell him that I am safe and he is not to worry. It is partly for his sake that I must discover the truth. If I go to him now without settling this in my own mind, understanding how it is that I do know you, it will not be as wholly as he deserves.”

Lily thought she saw Tristan grimace at the last words, but the impression was quickly gone as he replied, “I will take you to see Sabina. But you must promise me this. You must not tell her or anyone else who you are. If it is your intent to only seek truth for your own benefit, so that you may go on with your life in peace, I will allow it. Anything else would not be fair to her, considering your commitments to your future husband. We have made a good life, and I will not have it disturbed.”

Lily listened to this very carefully. Now, though he seemed prepared to take her to the child, he appeared to wish for this to happen without disruption to his own life. His stipulations seemed odd considering that the most likely explanation for all of this was that he was making it up. What his motives might be for inventing such a tale, she had no idea.

Tristan seemed to have gained complete control of his feelings. There was no longer any hint of yearning in his voice or eyes. The only emotion she could see in him now was the irritation he tried to hide at her saying that he might be lying.

Yet though so much was unclear to her, she was not afraid of this man. Surely, had he wished to harm her, he could have done so already.

It had been her own suggestion that she see the child for herself.

Her thoughts rolled on until she took a deep breath and halted them. None of this would change anything. Enough had occurred this day to make her realize that she had to see for herself, to confirm the fact that he was indeed lying, for whatever reason, so that she could go on with her life.

She nodded. “I will tell no one.” She paused. “Not that I expect there to be anything to tell. As I said before, my family loved and cared for me when I was at my most vulnerable. They would not behave as you have suggested.”

He shrugged. When he spoke, she told herself his distant tone caused her no sense of regret whatsoever. “I will say that I have engaged you as a maid for Sabina. That way you will have just cause to spend time with her without drawing comment. Then, when you are ready to leave Brackenmoore, you can do so with as little disruption as possible.”

She nodded again, calling pride to the fore in the face of his indifference. “That would be for the best. I do not know what is going on here. In the remote possibility that I am wrong—” she met his gaze directly “—and it is remote, I will do what I can to discover the truth. But make no mistake, should you wish me harm, you will face retribution for your acts. If you know of my family as you claim, you know they are not without the resources to repay you in kind.”

In spite of his own reaction of ire, Tristan could not help the feelings of admiration for her as he took in her proudly tilted head and determined face. As fragile as she appeared on the outside, there were still some signs of that unshakable will that had once been so much a part of her. It was one of the things he had most loved about her.

Tristan felt an urge to warn her about Harcourt, to tell her just the kind of man he was. That her loyalty was indeed misplaced in such as he. Yet Tristan knew she would not heed him. What he had told her of her family had already been too great a stress on the locked doors in her mind. Perhaps, if things changed, if she began to recall…But he would place no hope in that. He had no hope left.

He took a deep breath and turned away, for just looking at her made him long for a time that was gone, never to return. If she had been a different woman, not the Lily he had loved from the first day they met, none of this would ever have happened. He would not be faced with losing her once more.

He told himself that he would not regret it when she returned to Maxim Harcourt. Her loyalty to her family was absolute and unlikely to change. Things were as they must be.

He drew himself up stiffly, resolutely. “I will send one of the serving women with something for you to wear. Please make ready for the journey as quickly as you can.”

Rigidly, she nodded. “I will give you no cause for displeasure, my lord.” She paused then for a long moment, and he saw the heat that rose in her cheeks as she took a deep breath. “I…there is one more thing. What happened here was a terrible mistake. I can only imagine that my relief at discovering that you did not mean to kill me left me completely vulnerable to my baser emotions. You must understand that I cannot allow this to occur again. Such behavior is quite unlike me, I can assure you.”

Tristan watched her with both respect and consternation. He did admire her ability to overcome her own obvious aversion to even mentioning the event. Yet on another level, he was annoyed that she could so coolly explain away what had taken place between them. He could tell her that such behavior had indeed been quite like her, as far as the two of them were concerned.

But what did it matter what she thought?

He also knew they could not allow it to happen again. Though theirs was no true romantic liaison, he loved Genevieve as a sister, and she deserved better from him. He replied simply, “I agree most heartily. I also overreacted to seeing you so unexpectedly. You are the Lily I once knew. However, no matter what might happen at Brackenmoore as far as your memory is concerned, you are no longer she. I also have a new life. I must tell you that I, too, am engaged to be married—to my brother’s ward, Genevieve Redgreaves. We will never speak of what occurred here again.”

Her eyes widened as he finished, then she nodded very quickly, turning her back to him. Her voice seemed bright with satisfaction as she replied, “That is very well then. We will never speak of it again.”

Her obvious relief was unexpectedly disturbing. She did not face him as he said, “I will have some things brought up to you so you may make ready for our journey.”

She gave a brief nod and spoke with cool indifference. “Thank you, my lord.”

Unaccountably frustrated with her demeanor, he bowed briefly and strode from the chamber without a backward glance.




Chapter Three (#ulink_443a9e39-fb55-5b20-9107-fa450d12cbe7)


Brackenmoore.

Lily’s hands felt like they were carved from ice as she peered through the evening gloom toward the very dark and imposing edifice of the castle. It seemed to fairly loom over the curtain wall like an enormous coiled dragon, and the salty tang of the nearby sea aided her imagination in the creation of reptilian scales for the beast. Her numb fingers fumbled as the white mare Tristan had given her to ride seemed to balk at the sight as well.

In one of their few and extremely brief exchanges of the day, Tristan had explained that he lived here with his family. He had said that he felt it was of benefit to Sabina to be near them—and his intended bride, Genevieve.

Dear God, the name had the power to bring an ache to her chest. When Tristan had so calmly, so coolly told her of his engagement, she had felt as if he’d run her through with a dull blade. Lily told herself it was because of the fact that she, Lily, had betrayed Genevieve by lying with the man she was to marry. How would Lily face this unknown woman?

Her troubled gaze ran over Tristan’s back as she thought about the note she had written for Maxim. It had said simply that she was not in danger, that he should have no concern for finding her and that she would return to him before long. Tristan had taken the missive, ensuring her that it would be delivered, and in such a way that it would not be traced.

Now she could not help asking herself how she could have had the temerity to do such a thing. What would Maxim think of her undeniably extraordinary request for him to simply await her eventual arrival?

What had come over her? Why had she come here? Why worry her future husband by listening to the wild talk of a man she did not even know?

Surely it was because she had to see the child, as she had told him. And perhaps try to learn why Tristan would fabricate such a story. Yet in the darkest part of her mind she also knew it was because she could not dismiss her own unrestrained reactions to him. Something must account for the fact that he seemed so familiar, for the fact that she had allowed him to touch her, make love to her as if he had some right.

Allowed him? an inner voice chimed mockingly. Lily knew she had done far more than allow. She had encouraged, entreated, rejoiced in him.

No matter how difficult it might be, she simply had to find out what was going on. It did not seem possible that she could have had a child, that she could have loved Tristan enough to betray her own father and mother by running away with him.

Still, he knew so much about her.

She told herself again that his story simply could not be true. Her mother and father had cared for her so tenderly since her illness. They would never do anything to harm her.

It was possible for her to come here seeking the truth without damning her own family, to discover that it was Tristan Ainsworth who lied. She would do so without a repeat of the events of that morning. She was promised to Maxim and would not again reveal her attraction to this man.

That was the only way she might eventually forgive herself for what she had done with Tristan.

“Lily.”

“Yes?” she replied, looking up in surprise at hearing Tristan speak her name. Immediately she realized that, while her mind wandered unchecked, they had reached the castle gates. Drawing herself up in her saddle, she nodded. She would attend to her surroundings more fully. All in this keep, and even Tristan, were strangers to her.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked, his dark eyes studying her closely.

She nodded again quickly, her own gaze dropping to the horse’s white neck. It continued to be difficult to meet that gaze after what they had done together in that big soft bed back at Molson Lodge.

She was not sorry when he turned without further comment and led the way beneath the portcullis, now raised. Her mount followed his without urging, seeming eager for their journey to end.

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, 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.

Though Tristan did not say it aloud, he hoped that love would someday come to his brother. Benedict deserved no less.

Tristan bowed. “I thank you.”

Benedict interrupted him gently. “There is but one matter. What of Genevieve?”

Now it was Tristan’s turn to rub agitated hands over his face. “I do not know. I suppose I must tell her.”

“I would advise against it. She loves Sabina so and wants to be her mother. How can you take that from her for no reason, when Lily may never remember? As you say, Lily intends to stay for only a short time, presumably merely long enough to convince herself that you have indeed fabricated the whole story. Why not give the situation some time? When you have a clearer idea of what will occur, you can explain it all to Genevieve. But again, it is your decision.”

Tristan was tired—tired of thinking, tired of trying to ferret out the best course with the realization of each new disheartening complication. All he wanted was to be with Lily, to see her face, hear her voice, think about the moments they had spent in one another’s arms.

Tristan recoiled from his own thoughts in horror. Lily and the way they had made love were the last things he should allow himself to dwell upon now or ever again.

What he had told Benedict about not wanting Lily was true. There would be no repeat of those moments at the lodge. Not when Lily did not know him—love him.

Tristan rose, feeling more weary than at any time in his life. “I will take your advice to heart. I will say nothing to Genevieve for the moment. There is no need to hurt her more than must be.” But as he moved toward the door he felt an unexpected surge of energy.

Lily was waiting on the other side of that portal.

He told himself that it was because he was to introduce her to Sabina. He loved the child so, was proud of her. Perhaps seeing the little one would open the locked doors in Lily’s mind as nothing else had. He could not even allow himself to consider what might happen then.

As he reached for the handle, Benedict’s voice halted him. “I must add this one piece of advice out of love for you. Go carefully, my brother. I know that you believe her story of forgotten memory, but Lily may ultimately prove to be lying. Please, for your own sake, guard your heart so it is not broken again.”

Tristan paused and smiled at his brother. “There is no need to worry. I know what I am doing, Benedict.” Then he turned away, feeling that the words did not ring quite as true as he would have wished.



Lily was utterly and completely unnerved. Benedict Ainsworth’s shocked reaction at seeing her could not have been feigned.

She spent the interminable time until Tristan returned thinking of the expression of recognition and horror on his brother’s face. Something was going on here, but she knew not what.

Now more than ever she needed to see the child.

Yet when Tristan did emerge from the chamber, doubt clasped Lily in a tight grip. She found herself studying him closely.

Tristan returned her scrutiny. “Are you ready to see her?” His eyes seemed to search her own for something…

Lily looked away. She was too numb to even try to fathom his expression. Stiffly, she replied, “Aye, I am ready.”

She could see the rigidity that came over his body at her distant manner, but she could not alter her behavior. She felt as if everything was now happening at a long distance from herself. She had no more palatable reactions to give. When he motioned for her to follow him, she hung back farther and farther as he made his way down the long, dimly lit hall, then up the steps to the third story of the keep.

What would she say when she met the child? What if she did have a sense of knowing, as she had with Tristan?

As they continued down the hall, Tristan said nothing and simply matched his steps to hers. At last he came to a heavy oak door, stopped and turned, his dark gaze coming back to her. His face showed civility and possibly a hint of pity. He seemed to assess her feelings in the space of a heartbeat. “You have no need to be apprehensive about seeing her. She will be sleeping.”

Lily crossed her arms over her midriff, daunted that he had read her so very easily. She knew it would be useless to try to deny his accuracy. “I do not know how I will feel, what I might recall and what it would mean to my life.”

He watched her for a long moment, his gaze softening even more, then he held out his hand. “I understand.”

Her heart turned over in her breast. God help her, but she responded so very quickly and on such a deep level to his gentleness. She was unable to prevent herself from moving forward and taking the offered hand.

Then, while still exhibiting that same gentle strength, he opened the door and drew her inside. The chamber was bathed in the golden glow of the fire. It was large but warmly appointed, with small furnishings and brightly colored fabrics. The heavy blue drapes, which matched the bed hangings, were pulled closed over tall windows. These windows must let in a great deal of light during the day. A narrow cot, obviously made up for an attendant, rested against the outside wall. A serving woman sat sewing near the fire directly across the room from the small, carved wooden bed. When they entered, she stood up and said, “My lord Tristan.”

He nodded. “You may go now, Maggie. You will not be needed this night.”

As the woman left, Lily realized that the child was obviously well cared for. She was not surprised. Tristan had made no secret of his love and devotion to his daughter.

And according to his claim, her daughter.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Lily forced herself to move with him across the room without hesitation. She had come this far, and for the very purpose of seeing the little girl. She would do so.

Tristan stopped just shy of the bed and moved to stand behind her. Lily looked at him in confusion.

His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “This moment is for you.”

Hesitantly, Lily nodded. It would be best if she did not have the compelling power of his presence beside her when she looked at the little one. She knew already how susceptible she was to Tristan’s nearness.

She took the last steps to the bed alone. The hangings had been pulled back to let in the heat of the fire, and all she had to do was lean over…

Taking another deep breath, she did so. Lily had to put her hand up to stifle a start of shock, amazement and wonder as she looked at the little girl.

Sabina Ainsworth’s straight black hair fell to either side of her smooth white forehead. Her cheeks, though rounded with baby fat, were shaped by highly defined bones. Her small mouth was pink and sweetly curved, her chin softly defiant.

Lily was frozen in place. She could not deny that she was looking down at a face that was very like her own must have been some eighteen years gone by.

But even while acknowledging this, she felt no rise of recognition, no immediate recall of how they could be so alike. Disappointment and relief swept over her in the same instant. Both were immediately replaced by consternation.

She had solved nothing. Now even more questions rolled unanswered inside her.

Slowly she backed away from the bed. She could feel Tristan’s gaze upon her, but refused to meet it. Lily did not wish to talk about her feelings with this man. Somehow she knew it would make her even more vulnerable to reveal her confusion to him now.

She was not even certain she wished for Tristan to know any of what was going through her mind—though he seemed to be able to read her easily enough that she had little hope of hiding anything from him.

Tristan moved past her, first making sure the covers were pulled up on his daughter, then tenderly bending to kiss her tiny forehead. He then turned to Lily expectantly.

Lily faced him directly, aware that she must say something. “There is no denying the resemblance.”

He spoke up with surprising eagerness. “I knew you could not help but see.”

She answered just as quickly, “But I did not know her. There was no sense of recognition.”

Clearly chagrined, Tristan frowned. “That is not too surprising when one considers it. She was born but moments before the carriage accident, and you saw her only as an infant. I simply hoped that seeing her might help you to recall…” He shrugged, his face unreadable.

Lily shook her head. “Seeing her has answered nothing.” In spite of her wishes to keep her thoughts to herself, she found herself saying, “There is very dark hair in your own family. Are there gray eyes as well?”

He shook his head, unconsciously holding it at a proud angle. “All the Ainsworth men have blue eyes. My mother’s were violet.”

Lily took a deep breath. “I am left even more confused than before. How could a child that I have never met be so very like me in form?”

He scowled with frustration and censure. “I have told you the answer to that.”

She gave him an equally disapproving stare. “Ah, yes, you have, and I am to take your word against that of my own family. You, who are a stranger to me.”

The words seemed to awaken some slumbering beast of frustration and anger in his blue eyes. He took a step closer to her. “Not so much a stranger. Your body knows me, Lily, even if your mind does not.”

She had no reply to that, for it was far too true. She chose to ignore the remark, which made her own blood rise, though not with anger. “Seeing the little one has not brought about the effect you had hoped, but neither has it settled my mind. I must try to resolve this within myself. I cannot leave here with so much uncertainty. I beg that in spite of this turn of events you allow me to stay on for some days as maid to your child, as you suggested at Molson.”

He looked at her with obvious indifference. “Of course. That was my intent from the beginning.”

She stared down at her folded hands. “I simply thought…” She looked up at him again. “I feared you would no longer wish to keep me here, since seeing her has not made me recall the past as you had hoped.”

He raised his dark eyebrows. “I do not go back on my word. I told you you would be allowed to meet and know Sabina. That is what will happen unless you wish it to be otherwise. Benedict has given his consent as well.”

She bit her lip. “Your brother…I cannot help thinking about how he thought he recognized me.”

Tristan shook his head. “As I told you, Benedict does recognize you, Lily. You are the one who does not.”

She shook her own head. “For reasons I have already explained, I cannot just accept your word for this. I must hold all you say suspect out of love and loyalty for my family, if nothing else.”

He frowned, but said nothing.

Finally he motioned to the cot against the far wall. “As Sabina’s personal maid, you may sleep there. That will mean that you do not have to take your rest with the other servants in the great hall.”

She watched him closely. “You trust me to stay here alone with your babe?”

Tristan returned the look in good measure. “And why should I not trust you, Lily? I know you. No matter what has occurred, no matter what you have forgotten, there is no possible way that you could be so changed as that.” He paused, then continued, “Is there some reason that you do not wish to stay in Sabina’s chambers?”

Lily shook her head quickly. “No indeed. I am very grateful for your kindness in allowing me to do so. I…’twould be difficult to spend the night in the hall.” She had not even considered where she might be sleeping. Acting the part of a servant was more complicated than she had anticipated.

But the admission had not been easy to make. She did not wish to feel grateful to Tristan for anything. He was the one who had brought about this upheaval in her life. He was the one who had set her to wondering, doubting everything she believed about herself and her family.

Yet Lily could not make herself turn her back on him as she wanted to. That haunting voice of recognition inside her would not let her do so.

Why this was so she did not know. All she knew was that she had to remain here until that voice was quieted, at rest once more. Only then would she again be secure in her own beliefs about her life.

Tristan seemed to have nothing to add to what she had said. He shrugged. “I will leave you to your bed then. Sabina is accustomed to waking early and I will attend you in the morn.”

“What if she awakens before you return?”

He shrugged. “I am certain you will manage very well indeed. I have no worries on that score.”

Without looking at him, Lily murmured, “I thank you for your kindness and for your faith in me.” She was not as sure of her own abilities as he professed to be, but pride would not allow her to tell him that.

“Good night then,” he said softly. A hush followed the words. Their gazes locked and held for a long moment in which she was sure he was waiting in expectation of what she might say or do.





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