Page 2

Chapter Two

“You can let go anytime you wish,” Tristan told his sister.

Sophia ignored him. Ten years his junior, she would turn ten and eight next month. A woman by all standards, with some her age already wed. But as her arms tightened around him, to Tristan it felt as if she was still a young girl. And as it did so often, the memory of another young girl nearly identical to Sophia in appearance, one who never did see ten summers, reminded him of the preciousness of his sister Sophia’s embrace.

“I thought for certain you would be killed,” she said, finally pulling away. He’d greeted his parents already and then came straight here, to his sister’s bedchamber where she was making final preparations for the evening’s festivities. Tristan was certain he’d never before heard a shriek so loud when he’d walked in.

“I was in France, helping to avoid a war,” he reminded her. “The only real fighting I saw was on a training field,” He added. “There was one tourney in Burgundy that you’d have been displeased to see. A lance did manage to—”

“Stop,” Sophia said, her stomach never having the kind of constitution that could withstand details of his, or any other’s, injuries. “You know I don’t wish to hear such things.”

Tristan sat on her bed. “In your last letter you spoke of a betrothal with Lord Hecklebourne. What news of that?”

Sophia scrunched up her nose. “He was apparently called back to court after I wrote you, so there is no news to speak of. But can you imagine it? Being married to a man named Lord Hecklebourne?”

He laughed. “There is much to concern yourself with, little sister, in a potential husband. His name should be extremely low on that list. I made some inquiries. It seems as if the young baron is held in high esteem, an honorable man.”

Tristan would expect no less from a potential suitor. His parents would not marry Sophia to anyone with questionable character. But Tristan could uncover no ill-reports from his would-be brother-in-law.

“And what of you, dear brother? I thought for certain you might return with a French woman for a bride. Tis said they are most beautiful. Is it true? I wish to know everything. What are the latest styles in the French court? Did they treat you well? Did you truly get injured?”

Tristan was accustomed to his sister’s wandering mind. She rarely remained on one topic for very long. He looked around her bedchamber, the familiarity of it something he’d missed more than he’d realized. She was waiting expectantly for him to answer.

“No French bride for me,” he said. “Though Mother did make mention that Lady Johanne’s father may be visiting soon.” He kept his opinions of his mother’s comment to himself. There would be much to discuss with her, and even his sister, in the upcoming days.

Sophia frowned, though he wasn’t sure of the source of his sister’s displeasure precisely. Typically she reserved her pleas not to marry for after she met her prospects. For all intents and purposes, Lord Hecklebourne seemed like a good match, but he wouldn’t comment on it further. Tristan had someone else to see.

He stood. “I will tell you everything this eve. It’s been a long journey, and I should prepare for the meal.”

And ’twas not just any meal. On this night, the eve before Christmas, a fortnight of festivities would begin. He’d hoped to arrive days ago but poor weather had held up their travels.

“I am so glad you’re home.” Sophia hugged him once again.

“As am I,” he said, noticing a white ribbon on the top of his sister’s trunk. Tristan released her and walked toward it. He knew that ribbon. It was Elizabeth’s. The sister he’d so dearly loved. And lost. Tristan picked it up. Distinctive for the bit of lace on its edges, he ran his fingers up and down the material.

“Mother found it among the garland that decorates the hall. It was tangled in there, somehow missed all these years.”

Indeed, though once bright white, the satin ribbon was now yellowed. Tristan closed his eyes and gripped the ribbon inside his fist. He could see her. Hear her. It was as if Elizabeth were in this very bedchamber with them, smiling and laughing with Sophia. How could it be that ten years had passed?

“Take it,” she said from behind him. Tristan turned. “Tis yours.”

He did not argue with her. For truth, he wanted to keep it. To put it with the flower he’d received so many years ago. Wanted to be reminded that at any moment anyone he loved could be full of life one day and buried in the ground just a sennight later. Their time here was precious and should be treated as such.

“I miss you,” he said sincerely. And there was someone else he missed too.

Someone he did not intend to wait any longer to see.

Chapter Three

“Wear your cream gown,” Cateline called back as she turned toward her home. At one time, the two women had lived next to each other. But as Regina’s father began to sell his bread at market, his status as master baker and appointment as the dean of the bakers’ guild further establishing his reputation, he had achieved a lifelong dream, three years earlier, of building his own manor house. She was so incredibly proud of him.

About to turn the corner, two arms encircled her from the back. Panicked, she spun around as best she could even as her mind registered the assailant’s scent. Looking up, her eyes confirmed it. Tears of joy immediately sprung to her eyes as Regina tossed her arms around him. It was only a few moments later, as the miller’s wife walked by without hiding her mortification at such a public display of affection, that Regina promptly pulled back.

And remembered her appearance.

“You will have the entire village’s tongues wagging, Sir Tristan,” she said, wiping away the tears that had unwittingly sprung in both eyes.

“Sir Tristan,” he spat. “I’ve not been gone so long that I’m ‘sir’ to you, silly girl.”