Winter's Bride

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.