Chapter Thirty – In the Shadows
Slouched over a glass of ale at one of the taverns he often frequented, Tristan did his best to drown out the noise around him. Raucous laughter, angry disagreements as well as whispered words of flirtation from the bar maids echoed to his ears, all contributing to the unique hum he had come to associate with such an establishment.
However, this night, he found the familiar sounds did not soothe his nerves, but instead irritated him further.
Angry with his wife, his friend as well as himself, Tristan stared at the glass in his hands. Usually, he would have already downed two or three, drinking more and more as the evening wore on. However, that night, he was still contemplating taking his first sip.
For a reason he could not name, Tristan felt as though he stood at a crossroad, and he had to make a choice. Only he could not see his two options as clearly as he would wish.
As pleasant and hopeful as the day had begun, now it ended in a whirl of emotions that Tristan could not even begin to sort through. Some were rather new to him while others had been a part of his life for the past two decades.
Again, he felt the familiar draw to speak to his father, a man he had never met. More than anything, he wished the man would materialise in the seat next to him and offer advice, speak to him about his life with a sense of harsh-learnt truth, putting his own mistakes and wrongdoings in perspective and offering his counsel to Tristan.
What would his counsel be? Tristan wondered, watching the cool liquid swirl around his glass. If his father could judge his own life from an objective point of view, what would he advise his son to do?
What would his uncle advise him?
Tristan sighed, and for a moment closed his eyes.
All his life, his uncle had been the father he had longed for, and yet, never had his uncle seen him as a son. Tristan knew that. Had always known that. And yet, he could not help but desire the man’s approval and respect. It was a burning need like his body ached for air to draw into his lungs. Something he could not live without.
But was it a futile wish? Was there any way for him to satisfy his uncle’s expectations? Or was he doomed to fail because his uncle would forever see him as his father’s son?
Shaking his head, Tristan’s gaze began to travel about the room, gliding over familiar faces as well as those he had not seen before. Quite a few patrons he knew by name as he had spent many nights drinking in their company. Some of them nodded in his direction while others seemed unable to notice anything that happened around them, their eyes glazed over as they stared into their cups. Here and there, he caught a bar maid’s eye, who would wink at him, her smile deepening.
Quickly, Tristan turned away as his wife’s pale blue gaze appeared before his inner eye, and a joyous smile drew up the corners of his mouth as he remembered her jealousy the last time he had come home from a night out drinking. She had been quite adamant in her insistence that he was hers, and hers alone, and it had made him feel…
He could not say.
The feeling had been so unexpected and new that he could not put a name to it.
All he knew was that it had felt incredibly wonderful.
Warm.
Safe.
Complete.
And yet, he cringed away from the memories that her smiling face recalled as though it was wrong of him to experience the feelings she evoked in him. He could not say why, but a part of him thought it wrong the way he felt about his wife, the way she made him feel, the way he wished for her presence even now.
Taking a deep breath, Tristan lifted the glass to his lips…but then stopped.
Again, he felt as though he was about to make a choice, and suddenly, he felt as though it might not be the right one. If he drank now, he would risk losing more than just his memory, but her as well. If he became the man his father had been, she could not remain in his life…whether she wanted to or not.
And she did, didn’t she?
Again, warmth flooded his heart at the thought of her determined insistence, her lack of fear as she had gently placed a hand to his cheek, her eyes glowing as she had whispered words of encouragement, urging him to believe in himself…just as she did.
Tristan groaned at the thought of losing her. It physically pained him more than any torture he had ever endured. Loss had been a part of his life since the day he had been born, and yet, it had never brought him to his knees the way it threatened to now.
He might not ever be able to gain his uncle’s favour, Tristan thought, for the man had more than a good reason to distrust him, and although he tried, he clearly could not shake the sense of foreboding that lived in Tristan’s bones as well.
However, his wife was different.
Freely, she offered him her support, her kindness, her loyalty…and yes, her heart as well.
I think I’m falling in love with you. His heart hummed as he remembered her words, and his arms ached to hold her. Was she his future? Was she the one he had been hoping for, wishing for, praying for all his life?
Did they have a chance?
Tristan sighed. “I love her,” he whispered then as astonishment over such a simple, and yet, astounding truth washed over him.
A moment later, a fist collided with his face.
Crashing to the ground, pain radiating from his jaw, Tristan rolled over instinctively, trying to put as much space as possible between himself and his unknown attacker.
“Get up!” a man’s gruff voice yelled as angry footsteps pounded toward him.
Blinking, a hand on his aching jaw, Tristan raised his head, eyes searching for his opponent, trying to understand how he could have given affront. Had he lost time again? He could not be certain. Sitting at his usual table, he did not know how late it was or if he had done something he did not remember now.
However, his head was free of the usual fog that often clung to his thoughts after such a lapse. Rising to his feet, Tristan met the man’s eyes as he stormed toward him, hands reaching for his throat.
As rough hands grabbed him by his coat, Tristan frowned, watching the man’s face as he snarled at him. Certainly, his voice was gruff and slightly slurred from inebriation and his face distorted in anger. However, his eyes were clear, focused and calculating as he stared at Tristan. Had he seen this man before? He looked strangely familiar.
Unfortunately, before Tristan could follow that thought further, he was flung across the table and once more crashed onto the floor. His shoulder began to throb in pain as the room around him erupted in cheers. Groaning under his breath, Tristan struggled to his feet once more. “I apologise if I’ve offended you in any way,” he said, trying to catch his breath. The last thing he wanted was to fight the ruffian, who now looked at him with a hint of indecision in his eyes.
Something was not right! Tristan thought before the man suddenly stormed towards him once more, fist raised in attack.
Ducking out of the way in the last moment, Tristan stumbled backwards, trying to stay on his feet. As his eyes swept over the crowd, he realised that the angry man did not stand alone. Slightly behind his shoulders, stood two other men, their eyes just as cold and calculated as they watched the proceedings, waiting.
Waiting for what?
“Take this outside!” the tavern owner bellowed from the bar, gesturing to the door. “No fighting in here!”
Instantly, the ruffian’s hands curled around Tristan’s collar, dragging him through the door. Cool night air washed over him, waking his senses as his mind tried to make sense of the situation he so unexpectedly found himself in. Was this a setup? He wondered. Had they provoked a fight to rob him? Were they after his money?
Dragged onward, Tristan found himself in a dark alley around the back of the tavern as the ruffian and his two friends approached him, a murderous gleam in their eyes. Their movements were sure-footed, unhindered by alcohol, and Tristan wondered what he had stumbled into. “What do you want?” he demanded, remembering that he had little money on his person. However, something told him that they were not after monetary means.
The ruffian stopped and his eyes narrowed as he regarded Tristan, a hint of surprise in his gaze. His lips squeezed into a thin line as though he had just learnt something unwelcome. However, in the next moment, he nodded to his companions, who instantly leapt forward, seizing Tristan by the arms.
As his heart pounded in his ears, Tristan tried to pull himself free, but to no avail. Like iron shackles, the two men hung on his arms, holding him in place as the ruffian stepped toward him, his hand reaching inside his coat, pulling out a long knife that glowed eerily in the silvery light of the moon.
“What do you want?” Tristan demanded, cursing himself for not listening to his friend’s counsel. He should never have gone back to the tavern!
As though Tristan’s thoughts had conjured him, Derek silently stepped out of the dark shadows behind the ruffian, his gaze narrowed as he took in the scene. His jaw clenched, and he immediately reached for the knife in his boot.
“There!” one of the men who held Tristan called, his eyes widening as he lifted one arm and pointed over the ruffian’s shoulder.
As the ruffian spun around to investigate, Tristan once more tugged on his arm. This time, with his attention diverted, the man could not hold on, and Tristan stumbled to the side, knocking the other man to the ground.
Quickly regaining his feet, Tristan landed a fist on the fallen man’s jaw. Instantly, a shooting pain went up his arm, all the way into his already throbbing shoulder. However, the man he had struck stayed down, his eyes closed, and Tristan spun around to face his next opponent.
A shadow of doubt clung to the man’s features as he stood before Tristan, his eyes darting back and forth between the man in front of him as well as the ruffian at his back.
Following his gaze, Tristan found his friend facing the ruffian only a short distance away. His knife gently held in one hand, Derek stood with his feet slightly apart, his body leaning toward the attacker as though no danger emanated from him. With steady eyes and a rather terrifying scowl on his face, Derek approached the ruffian like a feline circling its prey.
In that moment, Tristan was more than relieved to have Derek on his side!
Although the ruffian showed no obvious signs of fear, his movements were slow and hesitant, and for a split second, he glanced over his shoulder at his comrades, his eyes widening as he found one sprawled on the ground. Then his jaw set in determination, and he lifted his hand, his knife catching the faint light in the alley.
“Who are you?” Derek demanded rather unexpectedly as he eyed his opponent. “Who sent you?”
As his harsh words echoed in the alley, the ruffian seemed even more uncertain than before. Again, he glanced at his comrade, then nodded toward the fallen man on the ground.
In the next instant, they darted backward, grabbed the unconscious man on the ground and dragged him down the alley, casting uncertain glances over their shoulder as they went.
When Derek started after them, the ruffian flipped the knife over in his hand and hurled it toward Tristan.
In that moment, with the knife flying toward him, Tristan’s heart stopped and all he could think of was Beth.
Then a large force collided with him, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground, adding more scrapes and bruises to his body. Groaning, Tristan held his shoulder, his breath ragged as he gritted his teeth against the pain.
“Your instincts are non-existent, are they?” Derek observed, a hint of disapproval as well as incredulity in his voice as he held out his hand to Tristan. “When a knife comes toward your head, you duck.” Pulling Tristan to his feet, Derek shook his head. “No wonder people are trying to kill you. You’re making it far too easy on them.”
Tristan forced a deep breath down his lungs as he looked at his friend. “Thank you,” he whispered, only now realising how close he had come to losing his life and everything in it. It made him understand that despite his precarious situation, he very much wanted to live. After all, had he not married a woman he had come to love?
Derek gave a short nod, clearly uncomfortable with the look of gratitude in Tristan’s eyes. “Let’s get you home. Your wife will be worried.”
At the mention of Beth, Tristan’s heart sped up, all thoughts of this night’s close call lost in the dark.
All his mind could think of was her.