But she was alive.
She lived!
The euphoria of finding her had yet to wane.
Now . . . he needed to build a fire to warm her. And then locate some food for her belly.
With shivering hands, he stripped off his sodden jacket and trousers, toweling his skin dry with a blanket from one of the beds.
As he dressed in the borrowed clothing—buttoning the shirt and pulling the trouser braces onto his shoulders—he could hear Isolde’s movements. A shuffling noise. The lid of a pine kist closing.
Somewhere out on that ocean, she had become the axis of his world. And now, every atom of his body was attuned to hers . . .
His fingers fumbled in their haste to dress himself and return to her side.
He felt . . . scrubbed raw. Like the newly-birthed lambs of Hawthorn in spring, tottering on unsteady legs and blinking into the brightness of this vast, unknown world.
What now?
The thought winged about in his head, as if held aloft by tiny sparrows.
What was he to do?
Apologize, Allie’s voice came back to him.Swallow your ducal pride and sayI’m sorry.
He nodded as if listening anew.
Yes. He would do that. Why had the idea felt so impossible?
Now, it seemed a simple thing. He had behaved like an ass; he wished Isolde to be happy.Ergo. . . he would apologize.
Then what?
Let the pain forge pathways of love in your heart.
Believe you can be a better man—one that Tristan would have liked to become.
Damn and blast.
Easy for Allie to say. But how did onebecomea different sort of man? And could he change enough to earn Isolde’s regard?
The task of reforming his person overwhelmed him, the sheer impossibility of it.
He could feel his habitual frustration rising.
His cold hands slipped in pulling on his stockings and a curse escaped his lips.
The trousers were a mite short, the shirt too large around, but the thick stockings warmed his feet. He had just pulled on the heavy jumper—a sort of knitted coat that buttoned up the front—when his wife called.
“C-could ye assist me?”
Just the sound of her voice . . .
Tristan closed his eyes at the joy of it.
Swallowing, he crossed the small hallway and pushed open the door to the matrimonial bedchamber.
Every thought in his head evaporated.
