Chapter 14
Tristan stood on the wall of Dernier Keep and looked out at his land. It was harsh here, so far in the north, but he found it beautiful, too. He’d been all over England on various campaigns and seen impressive cities with their vast cathedrals, calm, serene countryside with rolling green hills, and the craggy cliffs of the sea. None of it compared in his mind to the desolate, rocky expanse he called home. There was some good farmland, too, if one knew how to work it.
He squinted east, knowing that’s where the bulk of his tenants were, thinking it odd enough that he had tenants now. They expected to be kept safe and he was determined to see that they were. He’d put down the small, ragged band of men who’d foolishly tried to besiege him while he was away. When it was over, it was decided they were who he’d originally thought they were. Marauders from the north. Men who didn’t answer to the King, who lived by raiding.
But the more he thought about it, considered the weapons they’d had, he wasn’t so sure it was as simple as that. The few who managed to remain alive, galloped away over the Scottish border. If they belonged to a clan, they hadn’t advertised it, and he didn’t want to bring more trouble down on himself by crossing the border, so he let them go.
He was used to protecting his land, the King’s land, from foreign invaders. And, of course, there was the occasional kerfuffle between lords who were normally aligned. But besides the constant threat from the north, things had been peaceful lately.
There’d been trouble when Sir Andrew first died. But now that he’d pledged himself to Sir Walter, everyone knew the land was rightly his and there shouldn’t have been any new attempts to take it from him. That was what Brom thought, and what he’d thought at first, when they’d easily put down the attackers. He still had a suspicion, just a feeling really, that someone was still angling for his land. And he didn’t like it, so he’d been keeping everyone on full alert since they’d returned.
Tristan saw his squire making his way up the ladder. He strode in the opposite direction to avoid the man. He didn’t want to hear the same things again. That he was being overly cautious, that he should return to Grancourt Castle. Didn’t he miss Lady Fay? It was enough to make him want to punch the impertinent man in the face.
The problem was, he did miss Lady Fay. He worried about her night and day, hoping she’d stay well and that she was thinking of him. Brom had suggested he write a letter to her, but he so feared for her health, he didn’t want to add to the possibility of harming her further by giving her something to read on top of what she already did.
Brom caught up with him. Even the stormy look Tristan gave him didn’t scare him away. So, Tristan stopped.
“This better be serious, Brom,” he said, giving his squire one more chance to escape without getting a knock in the teeth.
“I think it is,” he said. “I lately received a missive from Grancourt Castle stating that Lord Drayton was visiting there. It seems he arrived several days ago. Sir Walter seems open to an alliance.”
“Drayton is already his ally. This does not seem important,” Tristan growled, ready to stalk away to keep from pushing Brom off the wall.
He had an inkling that there was a traitor either in their midst or amongst Sir Andrew’s—now his—alliances. It was of utmost importance that he figure that out before he was attacked again, without gossipy updates about his closest neighbor.
“A family alliance,” Brom said. “About three years ago it was in talks for Drayton to marry Lady Anne. That fell apart and it was supposed he would find a wife elsewhere. But now …”
“Not Lady Fay?” Tristan cut in. He scowled for showing such avid interest, but it was a blow to his pride in two directions. He’d thought Fay had liked him, and he’d thought Sir Walter not only approved of him, but even wanted him for a son-in-law.
He didn’t need the prospect of another possible suitor being at the castle. But now that was the only thing that filled his mind.
“Yes, Lady Fay,” Brom said, clearing his throat. “And that leads me to the message I received today.”
Tristan paced away. “Drayton is a terrible match. He’s dishonest—do you recall the battle for Chevenaux? Of course you do, your arm was broken, wasn’t it? He pledged three hundred men and thirty showed up.” He shook his head in disgust. “And yet I’m sure he was rewarded as if he’d sent the three hundred. All that land he owns is only his through deceit and treachery.”
“Yes, I agree. Lord Drayton is foul. But the message—”
“What is it? Spit it out?”
If Sir Walter wanted that kind of man in his family, then there was little he could do about it. He had his pride, after all. If Fay could forget about him in a mere fortnight or little more, then he would do well to purge his mind and heart of her as well.
“I warned you of Lord Drayton being at Grancourt Castle because I do not know if that will affect your decision to go there now.”
“Why would we go there now?” he asked. Because he had promised to return. He’d said he would be back at her side as soon as he sorted the siege. And while that was technically finished, he still had that bad feeling in his gut that it wasn’t, not really. The person or people behind the ill-planned attack were watching and waiting. Biding their time. “We certainly will not be returning until we know who was behind the siege.”
Brom nodded, pulling out the crumpled message. “Very well,” he said. “It’s only that Lady Fay is dangerously ill. They fear for her life. She’s been—”
“What?” Tristan roared. He grabbed the bit of parchment from him, though it had grown too dark to make out the hasty scrawl. “Do you mean Lady Anne? How could you make such a mistake?” He could tell by the look on his squire’s face that Brom hadn’t made a mistake.
“I’m sorry. It’s Lady Fay. We may already—”
Once again he silenced Brom, shoving past him and making for the ladder. “Ready the horses. We leave at once.”
*
Three days. The priest had come to her room that morning, prayed some words she didn’t understand or was too dazed to hear them properly. By the copious tears that Anne and Batty shed in the background while they prayed along, she had a feeling it might have been last rites.
She was grateful Anne had listened to her pleas and not let their physician uncle leech her, hurrying along the process. As miserable as she was, she still hadn’t given up. As bungled as her life had become by putting on that showstopping wedding dress, it was still her life and she wasn’t ready to stop living it yet. And the pain had mostly subsided, with only a few gut twisting cramps now and then to remind her she actually was still alive. What she was now was weaker than she’d ever been, weaker than she thought a grown person could be.
Anne had to tip liquids slowly from a cup into her mouth and she still managed to drool half of it out, unable to swallow properly she was so wasted from the illness. She forced herself to eat, letting Anne or Batty put tiny bites of bread or the apple pieces she kept demanding on her tongue. She did everything she knew to do to keep from dying of diarrhea, and she sometimes thought she only continued to live because she really, seriously didn’t want to die from pooping. She had her pride, after all.
She faded out after the priest left and when she woke again, Anne was at her side. As soon as she stirred, Anne grabbed her hand and smiled encouragingly.
“Shall I start where we left off?” she asked, flipping open a book.
Fay didn’t remember hearing any of it in the first place and shook her head. Or hoped she did. She was so weak she wasn’t sure her body was doing what she kept trying to instruct it to do.
“How long?” she asked, wishing she could scowl at how tiny her voice came out. But it took way too much energy to scrunch up her brows.
“The priest came at matins, you’ve been asleep since,” she said. “They’ve just rung for supper.”
“You should go,” Fay told her. “You can’t get sick again because of me.”
Anne nodded smugly behind her at the small table laden with food. “Marjorie brought it a moment ago. Do you feel up to a few bites?”
“Yes, please,” she said, giving up on talking for a while. Those few sentences made her feel like she’d run a mile and her heart thudded against her now bony chest. Was it finally going to give out from the dehydration she’d been trying so hard to fight? “Something salty,” she whispered, not sure Anne heard, but unable to repeat it.
“Lord Drayton is leaving tomorrow,” Anne said, placing a bit of stewed ham in Fay’s mouth like a mother bird. “I don’t know if he’ll come to pay his respects before he goes.”
Fay chewed the meat, trying to picture it as medicine that she had to get down. It wouldn’t have tasted that good when she was in full health, she reminded herself. She wanted to shake her head strenuously, to let Anne know how much she did not want Lord Drayton to come up and pay his respects.
He’d come the first day, after she’d fainted and he carried her to her chamber. She barely remembered it and the horrid cramps had started soon after he left. So, if she’d thought it gentlemanly and romantic at the time, it was quickly flushed out of her. Since then, she hadn’t seen a hair of him, which she had mixed feelings about. If he was supposed to be her suitor, and Anne had been pretty adamant that’s why he’d come to visit, then shouldn’t he have been more concerned? On the other hand, she felt terrible and looked and smelled worse, so she was glad he hadn’t seen her like that.
Other than still needing him in the running to help her break the curse, she hadn’t given Lord Drayton a thought since she’d fainted in front of him. She’d been too miserable to think. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, because in the few moments she wasn’t being violently ill, she had thought about Tristan. He kept popping into her head. The memories of his smile, his blue eyes, his kisses, had been the only bright spots. Then she’d wonder why he hadn’t returned and she’d feel miserable all over again.
After a few more bites and having a bit of weak ale with honey poured down her throat, she felt revitalized enough to try a few more sentences.
“How long have I been ill?” she asked, having meant that earlier, but Anne had thought she’d meant how long she’d been asleep that day. It must have been longer than she thought if Lord Drayton was leaving already.
“This is the fourth day,” she said, shaking her head.
Only four days? It felt like four months, at least. She was certain Lord Drayton was meant to stay longer than that. After all, he couldn’t shut up about how long it took him and all his men to make their way out to Sir Walter’s godforsaken neck of the woods. She thought he’d stay a fortnight at least. Why did every man she was trying to fall in love with keep cutting their visits short? She was going to start taking it personally.
“Why so soon?” she asked. “I’ll be up and about in a day or two.” She paused to catch her breath, motioning for more ale and giving lie to her statement. “You said he was here to try and propose an alliance. I thought that meant he might want to marry me.”
Anne looked taken aback. “I don’t know why he’s leaving so soon. I admit I thought he’d stay longer as well. I was probably wrong about the proposal, that’s all.”
“You’re never wrong,” Fay insisted, getting more and more upset. Surprisingly, it gave her enough energy to sit up a little. Anne hurried to adjust her pillows for her. “I think he’s weaseling out of it because I’m sick. But I’m getting better, I can feel it.”
Anne peered at her seriously. “I think you may seem a little less pale.”
“Because I’m outraged.” She collapsed against the pillows, completely spent.
“Calm yourself. Do not worry yourself over Lord Drayton’s comings and goings. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you. And you should take it as a compliment that he didn’t want to hurry a wedding along.”
“Why?” Fay asked, suddenly alarmed.
She’d forgotten the world was run by the men in this time. Her father was indulgent and took her happiness into account, but she supposed if an offer came up that was too good to refuse, she might end up stuck with a man she didn’t love. How could she ever break the curse then? Maybe it was for the best he was leaving so soon.
“Because if he only wanted to assure an alliance with father, he wouldn’t care if he’d be a widower soon. Perhaps he really has feelings for you and is too fearful to face losing you.”
Fay gaped as Anne’s cheeks grew red. “Why would you spew such twaddle?” she asked, then laughed. “Oh, no, I can’t laugh. It hurts too much.”
“Sleep again,” Anne said, patting at her blushing cheeks, but not admitting she’d been lying to make Lord Drayton seem better than he was.
Fay knew Anne didn’t care for Lord Drayton, but she didn’t think it was personal. It was only as Anne had said. She didn’t want Fay to marry and move away. Fay didn’t especially want that, either. So far, she’d only focused on falling in love. If she could honestly do it, it would be wonderful, not only because the curse would supposedly be broken, but because then she’d be in love. That was everyone’s fairytale wish, to find true love. But having to leave the safety and comfort of this castle she’d grown to think of as home? Leave Anne and Batty and Catherine, Sir Walter who’d been so kind to her and who she’d begun to view as a real father? She’d miss the multitudes of servants who stopped whatever they were doing and always asked her if they could help her in some way. She’d even miss grumpy Marjorie.
What kind of life would be waiting for her if she dared to think that far ahead? Would the love last through the hardships of this time? What if she wasn’t allowed to make a single decision or have any freedom at all? Up until that moment, she’d only thought of completing the task that had been thrust before her, not a thing about what would come after.
She was grateful then that her body was so weak and worn out, forcing her harried mind to stop panicking at such thoughts. She smiled at Anne and closed her eyes, finally drifting off into that twitchy, fevered haze that passed for sleep in her sickened state.
There was a far off knocking sound and then she heard Anne arguing quietly. She would have laughed if she could, wondering why, even in her dreams, Anne was taking charge of something.
“If she lives, she won’t thank you for seeing her like this,” she said forcefully.
“And if she doesn’t, I won’t thank you for not allowing me to see her,” a man’s voice said. Sir Tristan’s voice.
Oh, good, she was dreaming of Tristan. That was a nice change of pace from the repetitive dreams she always woke up more exhausted from than when she’d fallen asleep. She couldn’t wait until he appeared before her and she struggled to open her eyes.
He stood beside her bed and smiled down at her. As in most dreams, she moved in slow motion, reaching out to him as if she were underwater. He sat in the chair Anne had vacated and she noticed Anne still hovering in the background. She wished her dream didn’t have to be so properly chaperoned, but she’d take what she could get.
“You came back,” she said, garbled and slow. “I heard of your success.”
His smile disappeared, replaced with what looked close to anguish. “But a half-success,” he said, glancing back at Anne, then reaching for her hand. It felt warm and strong as he gently squeezed her fingers. “I think there might be more to come, that there is someone—I won’t burden you. It’s my clumsy way of trying to explain why I didn’t return sooner. I fear you must think I didn’t keep my promise.”
This last he said in a low whisper, leaning closer to her. If she’d been awake, she was sure she would have been horrified, wondering what kind of greasy, stinky mess he saw before him. But in her dream, she was happy to take in the blue of his eyes that she’d missed so much. Was missing the color of someone’s eyes love?
Don’t you dare worry about the damned curse in your dream, she told herself, going back to admiring him. She saw the apprehension in his eyes and took in why he’d been delayed in coming back.
“If you’re concerned about your land, you shouldn’t be here,” she said, grateful to see his eyes cloud over. Could that mean he cared about her more than his land?
“Do not trouble yourself with that,” he said. “I am where I need to be.” With another glance back at Anne, he smoothed her hair off her brow. “No fever. That’s good.”
He slid his hand so it rested lightly on her shoulder and she closed her eyes, so happy he was in her dream at least.
*
“Is she asleep?” Tristan asked, leaning closer to make sure she hadn’t slipped away from him for good.
She didn’t look at all well. Thin and pasty, with her hair in limp strands. When he’d first entered the room, he was shocked at the difference from the vibrant girl he’d last seen. Sir Walter’s eyes had been sunken with fear and lack of sleep. But the man seemed glad to see him, welcoming him with apologies that it was so crowded. Fortunately, he hadn’t had to lay eyes on Lord Drayton yet, and perhaps he wouldn’t have to at all. The man had come to try and steal Lady Fay away from him, but it seemed he was fleeing in cowardice at a little illness.
He saw now that it was as serious as Brom had made out. She looked in frighteningly poor condition, as if she were already a ghost. The thought made him shiver, so he took her hand again, the elder sister be damned.
“No, no, I’m still here if you’re still here,” Fay said out of the blue, opening her eyes with an obvious struggle.
“Perhaps I should go,” he said, pressing her hand and feeling all the bones. “I mustn’t tire you.”
“I slept all day,” she said stubbornly. He felt a bit of a return squeeze from that frail hand. “I want to be with you.” Her translucent pale cheeks were shaded with a hint of pink at that admission and he smiled.
“Then I will stay, but not for long.” He saw that caused her distress and hurried to clarify. “I will stay until you’re well again. I believe I promised to teach you to shoot an arrow. And I have to admit, I don’t mind being a guest of Grancourt Castle again. I can see why Sir Andrew loved visiting here in the winter. It’s the warmest castle I’ve ever been in.”
She nodded weakly, barely a tip of her chin. “I love it, too,” she agreed, her chapped lips forming a smile. “I hate the cold, so I was worried about that when I first got here. But it’s such a mild winter in this time and there are fires everywhere. It’s as cozy as my flat in London.”
He blinked, not sure he’d heard her correctly, and swiveled around to see if Lady Anne had heard. She stepped forward with a cup in her hand. “She’s thirsty,” she said, pouring a few drops into Fay’s mouth.
“What did I say?” Fay asked with a grimace after she swallowed the drink. “I must have—well, never mind, since it’s a dream.”
He placed his palm against her forehead again, not feeling a bit of fever. And she’d told him she’d slept all day so she couldn’t be rambling from exhaustion. He wondered with a stab of worry if the illness had exacerbated her mental disintegration.
“Have you been reading?” he asked.
She sighed. “Anne says she’s been reading aloud to me, but I can’t recall a word of it.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Perhaps you should leave off the reading,” he told Anne.
She gave him a raised eyebrow of disagreement and he wished he had any kind of power over Fay’s treatment. He’d meant to travel to the monastery as soon as he was able and ask more questions about what Brom had told him, and he prayed it wouldn’t be too late to save her.
Anne huffed and moved to the window, throwing aside the hangings to look outside. He took the opportunity to lean down and place a chaste kiss on Fay’s cheek, straightening up before Anne turned back around. He noticed the medallion he’d left for her on her bedside table and smiled.
“Holy God, you’re really here,” Fay said, touching her cheek. Her eyes were wide and her mouth formed a near perfect circle.
“Yes,” he said, patting her hand. His heart would certainly break if he had to see her like this much longer, but he couldn’t make himself go.
“How long have you been here?” she asked. “When did you arrive?” She closed her eyes for a long moment, then they fluttered open again. “I thought I was—I must look awful.” She glared at her sister.
“He all but broke down the door, Fay,” she said, absorbing and doubling up Fay’s glare and directing it at him. “I told him you wouldn’t want to see him.”
“It’s okay,” she said, pressing a hand against her chest. “I do want to see you,” she told him. “I didn’t want you to see me.”
He frowned, never able to understand the way women carried on about their looks. If their hair was one way or another, it made no difference to him, and one gown was as good as the next.
“You look ill,” he said. “You’ve lost weight and I think you’d be healthier to gain it back. But I think you look as beautiful as I first thought.” Both ladies gasped. He didn’t turn to see Anne’s face, but a smile spread across Fay’s. “Do you believe me?” he asked. “I won’t have you think I give insincere compliments.”
“That was a compliment?” Anne asked incredulously.
He continued to ignore her, only having eyes for Fay. She nodded slightly. “I believe you,” she whispered, then closed her eyes.
He waited a moment, still holding her hand. Her slight grip grew slack and he eased away from the bed so as not to wake her. “I think she’s really asleep this time,” he said, concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest to assure himself she was still alive.
He would have stayed there all night, but Anne shooed him away, brandishing a slipper in an alarming manner.