Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 27

  She had to repeatedly tell herself he truly cared about her and her delicate lady humors, and his ignorance wasn’t his fault. As exasperating as it was, she found it sweet how worried he looked. He’d traveled to that monk to ask about her, and wanted to whisk her away to try and save her from her degenerate habits. She patted his hand and got up, going to the door to call for Batty, who she knew would be hovering, waiting to be needed.

  Batty came in, clasping her hands in front of her, blinking rapidly at Tristan’s banged up face.

  “Batty, remember when I told you I was from another century and came here because of a cursed wedding gown?” Tristan sucked in enough air to create a black hole in the chamber, but Batty only bobbed her head and hurried to the table that had some cleaning up things on it. Fay turned to him and said, “Ask her what I just said.”

  “What did your mistress just ask of you?” he demanded, eyes wide.

  Batty finished rinsing out a towel and went to his side, gently swabbing at his face. “That I clean your wounds, Sir Tristan. Please let me know if I cause you discomfort.”

  He batted her towel away and turned to Fay. “I don’t understand.”

  Batty explained that he might feel refreshed if he allowed her to do it, but Fay said, “I told you they only hear what the curse allows. I thought you would be the same but, for some reason, you understood everything.” She took a breath and told him what year she came from, her true last name, her neighborhood in London, the store she worked for. “I took care of the accounts for an entire department, reading, writing, and doing math all day long, and I promise you my humors are fine,” she finished.

  Batty stood beside them, the towel clutched between her folded hands. When Fay stopped talking, Batty nodded briskly. “Amen,” she said, returning to the table to tidy up.

  “She thinks everything I just said was a prayer,” Fay told him. “Hang on a second, I have more proof.” She ran from the room, up the stairs to her tower, and dug out the book. Returning to him breathlessly, she flung it at his chest. “Take a look at that. Then ask Batty about it.”

  He looked down at it with disgust and mild fear, but eventually picked it up between two fingers. When it didn’t burn his flesh, he opened it, and paged through before stopping and squinting down at a passage.

  “The writing is odd.”

  “I feel the same way about how you lot write,” she agreed mildly. “Let me know if you need help. Here, this one’s particularly interesting.” She leaned over him and turned to the back.

  “If you’re reading this …” he shook his head, but she only leaned over again and turned it to the apology letter. It took him a bit of stumbling and mumbling, but he finally looked at her with new eyes. “Batty, come and read me a passage from this book,” he said. The pages trembled in his outstretched hand.

  “Certainly, Sir Tristan.” She gave Fay a slight shrug, but took the book and began to recite a poem about morning dew.

  “That’s enough, thank you,” he said, waggling his fingers for the return of the book. “You’re dismissed.”

  She curtseyed, cast a quick glance at Fay, and left the room, none the wiser that she’d been part of Fay’s sanity plea. Fay waited patiently for him to digest it all, barely able to breathe. When he finally met her eyes again, she could see he believed. He was shaken, as she’d been when she first arrived and had to accept it, but he believed. Relieved tears sprang to her eyes.

  “How terrible it must have been for you,” he said quietly, reaching for her hand. “And I must have made it so much worse.”

  She took his hand and shook her head. “You couldn’t have believed it without proof. It was easier to think I had an illness.” She stifled a laugh. “I swear to you, though. Our medical knowledge has come a long way in those hundreds of years. Reading or any sort of learning does not harm anyone. Maybe gives you a headache if the light’s bad, but that’s it.”

  “Very well, if you say so. I will do better to believe what you say from now on.” He frowned at her mischievous look. “I pray you won’t take advantage of that.”

  He pulled her close once again, so that she leaned over the side of the bed, barely still sitting on the edge of her chair. Another slight pull would have her on the bed with him. His blue eyes, competing with the shades of his bruises, drew her in so that no further tug was necessary. Next thing she knew, she was kneeling on the bed beside him.

  “I want to kiss you,” she murmured. “But I’m afraid it will hurt you.”

  “I daresay we’ve been over this before,” he said, reaching his hand behind her head to lower her face to his.

  Their lips touched and it was all the same magic that had been there before, but now it was a hundred times better. Now, he knew who he kissed and he still loved her. It might have been enough that he’d wanted to be with her despite believing she was insane. The fact that he was willing to face her possibly deteriorating into whatever he’d feared she would become warmed her heart. He’d be with her through sickness and in health, she was certain of that now. She couldn’t have settled for that, though. She only believed it would be true if there was only truth between them.

  Take that, curse, she thought as his tongue traced her lip. She pulled away, full of alarm.

  “Oh, my God, Tristan, the curse.”

  “Whatever it takes, we will make sure it is broken.” He smiled at her, and it was as if those harsh weeks she’d spent trying to eradicate him from her heart had never happened.

  He gently placed his hand on the side of her cheek and regarded her as if she were a rare painting, something he would cherish forever. It almost made her woozy, her heart was so full. All she wanted to do was hold on to that moment forever. When she realized he was hers now, unreservedly, she leaned forward and put her forehead on his shoulder. Casting back over the course of her life, she knew she’d never been so happy, so content, as she was in that exact moment. Could it possibly be this wonderful for the rest of her life?

  “What is it?” he asked, stroking her hair. “Are you not happy?”

  “I might be too happy,” she said.

  Throwing caution to the wind, she carefully lay beside him, draping her arm across his chest. Great-uncle Edgar wouldn’t check on him for at least another hour and Batty would have died before entering without being asked first.

  His chest rumbled under her ear as he laughed softly at her assessment. “I hope you can get used to it. I only want to continue to make you happy. Send for your father and let me settle it at once.”

  The relief was palpable, like a clamp being unscrewed and pulled off her chest. She didn’t know which was better, beating the curse fair and square or being so thoroughly in love. She felt so warm and cozy she wondered if her skin might actually be turning pink. For a brief second, she was grateful to the curse, unable to imagine finding such a love in her own time.

  But what about Anne? The thought needled its way through her blissful haze and she sat up abruptly, knocking Tristan in the chin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Why do you suddenly look so pale?” he asked. “What are you sorry for? Tell me it’s for hitting me with your hard head and not because that head has any idea about making me wait to speak to your father.”

  She scrambled off the bed and paced, trying to work off the jitters her dilemma gave her. She recalled every kind, sweet, funny thing Anne had done since she’d known her. She was an only child, an orphan, and was miraculously given the chance to have a sister. And such a good one, at that.

  If her theory about the curse was correct, it was set to roll over and start again in less than a month. Possibly as soon as a week, but she couldn’t be sure how long she’d actually been there. If she’d figured it out in the beginning, she would have made a tick every day, like a prisoner, to keep track, but up until recently she thought she had all the time in the world.

  “Do you recall the first time you came here?” she asked, confusing him.

  “
Of course.”

  “When was it, do you know the date?”

  He shrugged. “Close to a year now.”

  She flapped her arms. He was no help, but neither did she know the exact terms of the curse. She couldn’t believe she’d been grateful to it a moment ago.

  She went to the window and pulled away the covering, hoping the icy blast would clear her head. She stared out at the snowdrifts piled up along the edges of the walls and the great icy clumps that the boys had broken up to be able to open the gates strewn along the edges of the path leading into the outer bailey. She’d thought the snow was beautiful when it first arrived, but now there was too much of it, threatening to cut them off from civilization. She didn’t relish looking at the sludgy grounds beneath the window but if she turned back to Tristan, her thoughts would be clouded by her feelings for him.

  Was there a real chance she could save Anne? If there was, surely she had to take it. Perhaps in as little as a week, she could see Anne again. That thought made her fingers jitter restlessly against her sides. Wasn’t that everyone’s dream, to get more time with a lost loved one? And she had the chance to make it come true. But if she took that chance, would she lose Tristan? And then she might fail in her quest to save Anne, and have to go through the pain of her death all over again. She heard Tristan rustling in his bed. A moment later, he stood behind her, holding on to a chair to help support his injured leg.

  “Tell me what you’re stewing about,” he demanded. To ease the harshness of his voice, he put his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.

  So warm, so safe, so strong. Could she risk losing him? The passage in the book flashed in her mind. He didn’t remember me. I can’t live through it one more time.

  Anne was gone. Tristan was here with her now, holding on to her. A tear slid down her cheek and she closed her eyes against the defeat she felt. She was brought here and tasked to break a curse, a curse that had claimed the lives of at least three others before her. Anne was gone, and that would pain her for many years to come. But the thought of losing Tristan forever was too much for her to consider.

  “I’m sorry, Anne,” she whispered, wiping another tear off her cheek. She would let go of her wishful, improbable plan to try and save her, and choose the love and life that was in front of her. She turned in Tristan’s arms and reached around his neck, pulling his bruised and beautiful face to hers for a kiss. Pulling away at last, she searched his blue eyes, finding the answer she’d been seeking. “I’ll send for my father.”

  Chapter 31

  Nothing could dampen Fay’s mood as she got fitted for her wedding dress, not even the foul, wet weather. She thought she’d grown tired of the snow, but at least that had stayed in manageable piles, thanks to the castle workers diligent sweeping and shoveling. The snow had since turned to sleet and hail, and there were slushy, frozen rivers everywhere.

  “I always dreamed I’d get married in the summer,” she said as Catherine measured out her long, woolen sleeve.

  Batty had a baby on one knee and was trying to keep the other one from crawling too close to his mother’s sewing implements. “I think you’re going to look lovely in those beautiful blue tones. It makes me think of one of Anne’s weavings.”

  They shared a sad moment of silence while they thought of Anne. Her final tapestry had remained unfinished, but Fay clumsily tied off the ends anyway and had it hung near her bed. Every morning, she looked at the glorious colors of Anne’s sunrise and wished she could have had more time with her.

  The thought of time made her bounce anxiously, earning a nick in the wrist with Catherine’s scissors. “Oh no, did I ruin anything?” she asked.

  As far as she knew, it could be as little as a week before the curse reset, if it was going to. It was like waiting to find out test results, times one thousand. She jumped at every odd sound, thinking it was a sign, and couldn’t go an hour without seeking out Tristan to make sure he remembered who she was. He took it in stride, bless him, now that he no longer thought she was losing her mind.

  “It’s fine,” Catherine said around the pin in her mouth. “But try to keep still.”

  “I only wish Brom could return for the wedding,” Batty sighed. “But I know he has to help guard the keep with those marauders being everywhere these days.” She sounded both wistful and proud.

  “I suppose he’ll have to come back for his own wedding,” Fay teased. “Or do you think you’ll want to go up there?”

  Batty blushed crimson. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it by speaking out of turn,” she stammered.

  “You won’t jinx it. Tristan told me himself that Brom’s planning to ask you.”

  Her bright red hue turned even darker. “Well, of course Grancourt Castle is my home, and it is much prettier here, I’m sure.”

  “Probably right,” Fay said.

  She still had no idea what her new home would be like. Tristan was the worst at describing things. He did assure her it wasn’t as luxurious as this castle, nowhere near. Every time she worried about not having her own private garderobe or dozens of servants, she thought about the alternative, which would be not having Tristan, and her worries subsided. She’d learned to live in this time and though the castle had plenty of amenities the vast majority of medieval people didn’t, it was still a far cry from twenty-first century living. She’d adapt, she was sure of it.

  Marjorie poked her head in the door of Fay’s chamber, her face drawn and waxy, dark circles under her eyes. Fay knew she’d been trying to keep busy, but Anne’s loss had struck her deeply and she often saw her sitting on a bench or in Anne’s room fiddling with her fingernails or just staring into space. Batty had told her that she might have to live somewhere else now that Anne was gone, especially as they would both be moving to Tristan’s keep soon.

  She smiled wanly at the babies and shook her head. “Sorry, I wondered if you and Batty were going to chapel this morning, but I’ll go on my own.”

  “We’ll be there for vespers,” Batty promised. Marjorie ducked her head and disappeared like a ghost.

  “Poor thing,” Fay said. “Maybe the wedding will cheer her up a bit.” She caught Batty and Catherine exchanging a look. “What?” she asked. “Spit it out.”

  Batty sighed deeply. “It’s only that she thinks it, well … it’s so close to Anne’s death. We don’t think that,” she hastened to add.

  “Not a bit,” Catherine agreed. “And if your father is fine with it, then so should we all be.”

  Fay had been so consumed with trying to meet the elusive demands of the curse that she hadn’t thought about the propriety of being married so soon after Anne’s death. Except for the beautiful gown Batty and Catherine were working so hard on, the chapel wouldn’t be decorated since there were no flowers available anyway. There would, of course, be a feast afterwards. Perhaps she could ask the cooks to make it nothing more than a regular supper.

  Anne would want you to celebrate, she thought.

  It rushed her like a wind through her soul and she felt as if the words had come straight from Anne herself. Anne had always said she only wanted her to be happy.

  She decided to leave the planning alone, only wanting it to be over with so she could finally have everything settled. She was a little peeved that love alone didn’t seem to break the curse. But in these old-fashioned times, it probably demanded they prove it by being married. She didn’t mind that at all. She was jumping for joy to be marrying Tristan and, in the end, she wouldn’t know anything until she’d gone past that elusive marker when the curse would reset itself. Or not.

  If everything carried on normally after the wedding, she’d rejoice that it was broken and, perhaps, the people of the castle could get on with their lives as well. Sweet Batty could have her chance with Brom. Maybe even Marjorie could cheer up and find happiness. And her father could move on from continuously having to mourn his first daughter. The matter of the original daughter—the one whose place Fay had taken—still nagged at her.
What had happened to that girl? Was she lost forever? Had she ever existed in the first place?

  These worries were her constant companions and they nipped at her heels as she was shooed from the room after her fitting was complete so Batty and Catherine could work without interruption. Her stitching skills were still too lacking to be of any help, so she decided to seek out Tristan to settle her nerves. Just laying eyes on him was enough to settle any questions she had. All her fears faded when she saw him, his smile putting her restless mind at ease. There was no risk she wouldn’t take to be with him.

  As she got closer to the door leading out back to where he would be training, she paused, holding her arms close to her sides. The icy, damp air chilled the hallway and a glance down showed white crusts of frost on the stones at her feet. Even for a quick glimpse of him, she was going to need a cloak. She hoped it wasn’t snowing as she turned to fetch it, thinking if she bundled up well enough and if the sky was clear, she could stay outside and watch him train for a while before all her extremities went numb.

  She took the back stairs, hoping she wouldn’t run into any servants. They were sometimes too helpful, offering to carry any little thing she held at the moment or asking if they could get her something. They’d wonder why she was on the back stairs in the first place and worry she’d catch her death from the drafts. She smiled to herself as she ducked her head and hurried along, thinking it wasn’t so bad to be cared for.

  At the landing, she thought she heard someone behind her and turned to assure them she was fine, only on her way to her chamber. However, no one was there and she shrugged, then hurried faster, fearful it was a rat. They’d gotten braver since the weather outside had turned so hostile, finding their way in from the barns and making themselves cozy. While she was scared of them, they had no qualms about going right up to her to see if she seemed edible and thoughts of plague kept her jumping up on benches whenever she saw one. No sign of any crawling critters either, but she was always amazed at what tight spaces they could squeeze themselves into.