FOREVER ENCHANTED Page 13

  "Please!" She caught his good hand in hers, and clutched at it with both of hers, drawing it to her lips to press desperate kisses to his knuckles. "Don't tear my heart away, like he did. Don't make me care only to go and get yourself killed. I thought it would kill me before. It surely would this time."

  He pulled his hand gently from her grasp and cupped the back of her neck. "Bridin," he whispered, and he drew her face close to his, and kissed her. Kissed her deeply, and gently, and with ever-increasing passion. Kissed her the way Tristan had done. The way she'd dreamed of him doing again. And she still felt guilt for caring so deeply for another. But she couldn't let another man slip away from her before she'd had the chance to tell him the truth of her feelings. Before she'd made him admit to her the truth of his own. She wouldn't miss another chance to feel... to feel this.

  When he finally drew his mouth very slightly away from hers, she whispered, "Say it, just once. Tell me you love me, Tristan." And then she bit her lip, and her eyes flew wide.

  But he didn't look angry. He didn't look furious or hurt or even confused. He looked... he looked amazed. Hadn't he heard her? She'd called him by another man's name! She'd called him Tristan. Why wasn't he shoving her away or berating her?

  "I'll do better," he whispered, and it was as if he hadn't even heard what she'd said. Or hadn't understood. Perhaps his wound was more serious than she'd realized. Perhaps the blood loss or the pain had made him...

  "Marry me, Bridin."

  Her thoughts came to a sudden halt at his words. She blinked down at him. "M-marry you?"

  "Be my bride."

  She blinked rapidly, and felt a shudder work through her body. This had happened far more quickly than it was supposed to. She hadn't even had time to prepare him, to explain about Rush and its need for a king. She hadn't...

  "Say yes, my love, before I bleed to death."

  She stared down at him, in awe. And then, smiling tremulously, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, but only if you still want me after I've... after I've told you... some things."

  "I've always wanted you," he whispered, then grated his teeth and clasped at his arm. "Nothing you could ever tell me would change it now."

  She glanced down at the blood soaking his arm, saw it pooling in a small puddle on the floor. "I'll get bandages," she whispered, still not believing the extent of her feelings for this stranger.

  "Not yet," he said, struggling to his feet, reaching down for her and pulling her to hers. "I need to hold you, Bridin. I need to feel you touching me. Gods, I thought I'd lost you when I saw..." He stopped talking, pulling her tight to his chest and kissing her. His good arm held her hard, crossing at the small of her back, while his injured one held her more loosely, his hand massaging the swell of her buttocks and pulling her close to his groin. His tongue drove deep into her, and she felt as if he were... he were marking her as his own. Relishing his victory. Branding her. Possessing her. And a tiny feeling of unease sneaked into her psyche, robbing her of the tingling pleasure the kiss invoked, and replacing it with foreboding.

  "No," he muttered, when she would have pulled away. "Don't stop, Bridin. I need you. Gods, you've no idea how much..."

  The confession seemed wrung from the depths of him, rather than simply spoken. It was more than passion she saw in his dark eyes as they stared into hers. It was longing, and hunger, and a need that went to the core of him. He was breathless and clinging to her as if for salvation. And she couldn't turn away from him. She couldn't.

  He kissed her again, and she felt something inside her slowly melting away. A fiery heat took shape in her belly and spread its flaming fingers outward, and she curled her hands at his nape, her fingers threading into his hair. His mouth slid over hers, tracing a hot path over her jaw, down to her neck. He nibbled her there. Her hands moved to his chest, as if to push him away. But she couldn't... she couldn't. And instead she found herself running her palms beneath the collar of his shirt, pushing it down and away from him and lowering her lips to the column of his throat. The salty taste of him drove her mad with desire. She kissed a trail down the front of his neck, nuzzling the shirt open still further...

  She opened her eyes as an icy chill swept away the heat his touch had created. And she saw the twin pendants he wore. Her pendants. In her mind's eye she saw the scene playing out once again in her memory. Tristan lying there, his hand closing around those necklaces in a pool of his own blood.

  She bolted upright, pulling away from him, eyes widening as she stared at him—at his face. At his eyes. At the necklaces.

  He blinked, confused. And then it was as if sanity hit him, because he glanced downward at the pendants on his chest, and stiffened.

  His face seemed to swim before her, just for a moment. And she felt dizzy as she blinked her eyes clear again. But she wasn't seeing whatever magic he'd used to conceal himself from her now. Not anymore. She was seeing him as he truly was.

  She was seeing her nemesis. Tristan of Shara, the Dark Prince.

  "Tristan," she whispered. And she blinked, but his image remained the same. Anger rose to engulf her. Her hand moved without her volition, and she struck a blow to his face that rocked him backward, as if she could somehow slap the truth away. But it remained. "How could you!"

  Chapter Ten

  Stunned. Tristan stood still, unable to move or take his eyes from her face. His own cheek bore the imprint of her hand, he knew. He felt the stinging rush of blood coloring his skin. But it wasn't the blow that rendered him motionless. It was the pain he saw in her eyes. Devastation. Tears, shimmering and glinting on the sapphire surface of fathomless pools. Anger was there, too, of course. A rage so deep, she trembled with it. But the anger was the reaction he'd expected. The hurt... that came as a surprise.

  Tate cleared his throat, and the tension stretched taut between them snapped. Tristan glanced toward the door, where the nymph stood beside the small female, Marinda. Tate met his eyes, nodded once, as if to say he was aware of Bridin's discovery, then looked beyond him, toward where the dead man lay on the floor.

  "Where there is one Sharan Assassin, there will soon be more," Tate said, his voice low and grim. "We have to leave this place."

  Tristan nodded, and reached out to clasp Bridin's arm, but she jerked free as if his touch offended her. "You can't think I'd go anywhere with you."

  He met her furious glare. "You have no choice, Bridin. You heard what Tate said. There will be others. You're not safe here."

  She took a long backward step, and stretched out one hand, palm up. "Give me my pendants."

  "Why, Bridin? So that you can fasten them around your pretty neck and feel invincible? So that you can return to the other side and launch another foolish campaign against my brother, only to be killed this time?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "He can't hurt me if I wear them."

  "He sliced them from your throat once, Bridin. He'll do it again. You underestimate Vincent of Shara."

  "And you underestimate me." She thrust her hand at him.

  Tristan closed his eyes. "I can't give them to you, Bridin."

  Her hand fell slowly to her side. "You mean you won't. And it isn't because they'd protect me from your brother, is it, Tristan? It's because they'd protect me from you. At least admit the truth. But I forget... honesty is not your strong suit, is it, Dark Prince?"

  Lowering his head slowly, he released all his breath. Then raised it to face her angry countenance once more. "I have a place for you, where you'll be safe, Bridin. Come with me now."

  "Never."

  "Dammit, woman, put aside your bitterness and use your common sense! Your stubborn pride will get you killed."

  Trembling like a small, frightened rabbit, Marinda stepped up to Bridin's side and touched her arm. "He's right, my lady. It would be madness to remain and face those assassins alone."

  She slanted her gaze down toward the woman. "Traitor," she whispered. Then she met his eyes again. "I'm not going with you, Tristan. Get out. Get out now."


  He felt his shoulders slump. He hadn't wanted it to happen this way. He hadn't intended...

  He lunged forward, gripped her shoulders, and turned her around fast and hard, pulling her back tight to the front of him and pinioning her arms to her sides with his embrace. "I'm sorry, Bridin. But I can't leave you behind to die. Not now."

  She twisted and pulled against him, but of course, her struggles were useless. And a second later, Tate was beside him, handing him a roll of gray tape. Tristan gathered both her hands in one of his, and used his free one to bind them in front of her. He returned the tape to Tate. "Her ankles," he ordered. And as Tate dropped to his knees to obey, he added, "Not too tightly, Tate."

  Bridin's hair touched the side of Tristan's face as he held her from behind. And despite her wretched behavior, he was resisting the urge to rub his cheek over hers. To dip his head and taste the salty sweet skin of her neck. He hadn't meant to feel anything for her. That hadn't been a part of his plan. But he was beginning to wonder whether he had any choice in the matter. And whether—maybe—his father had been wrong when he'd told him so often that his only destiny was that of ruling Shara. That it was his only purpose in living. Maybe... there was more than that to his life.

  "So it begins again, does it, Tristan? Once more you become my captor, and I your prisoner."

  "I'm taking you only to keep you safe, Bridin. Tate tells me this place is like a fortress. You'll be protected from Vincent's men there."

  "And who will protect me from you?" she whispered.

  "You've never needed protecting from me," he said, bending close to speak softly into her ear. "Never, Bridin. You know that."

  Tate finished with her ankles and rose, tossing the tape onto the bed. Tristan turned Bridin halfway around, then bent at the knees and scooped her up into his arms. He was doing it. He could barely believe he was actually doing it, taking her prisoner, taking her to this house Tate had found. But by the wings of the gods of Shara, he had no idea what he was going to do with her once he got her there.

  He glanced back only once, from the bedroom doorway. The dead Sharan Assassin still lay on the floor, his spirit, no doubt, awaiting release. Tristan pointed his right index finger at the body. "Go now," he said firmly. "Body to the land of its birth, and soul to the place of atonement, reflection, and peace. I release you. Go." A shaft of pale blue light cut a path from the tip of Tristan's finger to the forehead of the man on the floor. And then the light spread, engulfing the man. It grew brighter, until it was blindingly white, and then it faded, and vanished. When it left, no trace of the dead man remained.

  He looked down at her then, and caught Bridin staring at him, eyes wide with some sort of wonder. She blinked, and shook her head. "It really is you," she muttered. "You're alive. All this time I... and you were alive."

  He said nothing. Just carried her out of the apartment and down the stairs, out to the car he'd left waiting. Tate opened the door, and Tristan eased Bridin into the front seat, sliding her all the way over to the passenger side, before settling himself behind the wheel. Tate and Marinda got into the back. Silent, but often exchanging glances that seemed to speak more loudly than words.

  Wood Nymphs were highly psychic, and Tristan suspected they were having a thorough conversation back there. He wished to the gods he could hear it.

  Bridin stiffened as the car came to an abrupt halt in the middle of what appeared to be no more than a dense forest. Tristan had driven them away from the city, then taken back roads, each one narrower and less traveled than the one before. Until he'd come, finally, to this mere dirt track in the middle of nowhere.

  "You said it wasn't far," she accused. "You lie. We've been driving forever."

  Tristan looked over at her... and she caught her breath again, as she had each time she'd glanced up to see him. Him. The Tristan she'd believed dead and gone. Alive, and every bit as arrogant and beautiful as he'd been before. Gods, how she hated him.

  "I drove around for a long time, Bridin, just to be sure we were not followed. It isn't as far as it seems." He opened his door and came around to her side, scooping her up once again.

  "This foolishness is unnecessary," she told him. "Put me down, Tristan, and remove this wretched tape. I can walk on my own."

  He shook his head. "If I put you down, you'll either strike me or kick me, or both, and then you'll run off. Besides, I like holding you."

  "Swine!"

  "You like it, too, Bridin."

  "Liar!"

  He only smiled at her in the dimness of the moonlight, and carried her through a stand of fir trees along a nearly indiscernible path. She heard the sounds of lapping water, and scanned the area ahead. The lake. He was bringing her to the lake. Gods, if only she were home, in the enchanted forest of Rush, she'd summon a serpent or a lake sprite to come to her aid. As it was, there was nothing here to help her but a few fish and perhaps a frog or two. Then as he carried her closer to the water's edge, she stiffened, wondering if she was about to be tossed into the icy waves, bound and helpless. But of course, Tristan would never harm her. He couldn't, or she strongly suspected he'd have wrung her neck long ago.

  A small, wooden boat bobbed in the water. And he walked into the water up to his knees, to lower her gently onto its foremost seat. Then he gave a mocking bow. "The lady Bridin, princess in exile, must sit in the front, as befits a fairy of her stature," he said. "Would that I had velvet pillows to cushion her tender rump."

  "Bastard," she snapped.

  He laughed, and turned to help Marinda into the boat, then Tate. He untied the ropes that held the vessel in place and climbed aboard himself, sitting in the center, his back to Bridin's. Hefting the oars, he slid them into the oarlocks, and began rowing them away from shore.

  Bridin sat straight and tall in the bow, clinging to her dignity like a protective cloak. Mists rose from the moonlit water, making it impossible to see far ahead. Or even behind them to the shore. It was as if they'd been swallowed up in an invisible world of fog and madness. She lost her sense of direction, couldn't tell where they were going, and wondered how in the world Tristan could.

  Tristan. Alive. The bastard. She'd kill him herself when she got free of this tape. She would. All this time she'd believed his lies. Thought him to be another man—the man destined to rule Rush at her side. The irony of it! If she'd only had her crystal, she could have ruled him out right away, but since it had been stolen...

  Her eyes widened, and she turned to glare at his back. "It was you, wasn't it? You stole my scrying crystal!"

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I made Tate do it, yes. But I guess it would be safe to return it to you now."

  "Damn you, Tristan! That stone was the only way for me to find the man I am to marry."

  He let go of the oars, letting the boat drift, as he turned around to face her. He gripped her shoulders, and his black eyes blazed into hers. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Bridin? I am the man you're going to marry."

  "Never."

  "If s the only way to wrest Shara from my brother's rule," he said.

  "Rush," she told him. "The name of my kingdom is Rush."

  Their eyes clashed, and neither blinked. "It's the only way," he said softly. "I'll find a way to make you see it."

  "You'll get me to the altar, Tristan, but only if you knock me unconscious and drag me there."

  "Shrew." He turned away quickly and began rowing again.

  Bridin turned as well, but she was shaken. Did he really think he could force her into marriage? Force her to make him king of Rush? Gods, the man must be insane.

  The mists seemed to part then, and she saw the shape rising like a miniature castle from the midst of the water. It rested on a jutting island that rose from the lake's surface like a finger pointing to the heavens. It rose high and steep, almost volcanic in appearance, and she wondered why the place wasn't visible from the shore of Cayuga. But it couldn't be, or she'd have seen it before now.

  Beaching the boat on a r
ocky, inclining shore, Tristan tied it, and then scooped her into his arms once more. The path, when she saw it, frightened her. For it curved in a spiral that completely encircled the jutting shape of the land, again and again. So steep was the rise that only this way could one make it to the top. The wind rose and whipped her hair, chilling her to the bone, and reminding her anew of the thinness of the silk shift which was all that covered her. She could hear it whistling and moaning as it buffeted the rocks, and the crashing of the water below.

  She was shivering by the time they reached the flat summit, and surprised to see that they were above the mists now. Moonlight fell like the goddess's kiss to bathe the area, and she saw that it was smooth and level, and covered in a blanket of green grass and wildflowers. And right in the center was the building. No tall, pointed towers like Rush Castle, but a square building all of small gray stones. Like a monastery of old. A single watchtower seemed to jut from the center of the flat roof.

  Tristan went still, staring at the place as if stricken.

  "This place is surrounded by magic, lady," Marinda whispered from behind her, as Tristan set her on her feet. "I'd heard a few such places existed in the mortal realm, but I'd never truly believed..."

  She looked at Tate, brows lifted.

  So did Tristan. "I can see you know more of this place than you've told me, my friend. Come on, out with it."

  Tate shrugged. "Does it seem familiar to you, Tristan?"

  Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Sickeningly so."

  Tate nodded. "I thought as much. It's said this place was built by a wizard, one of your own race, Tristan, exiled from the other side long ago. The cloak of his magic remained long after his death. To mortal eyes, this place remains invisible."

  Tristan sighed. "I don't like this, Tate. But I suppose we have little choice at this stage. And with any luck, the mists will help conceal this place from the Sharan Assassins when they come looking." He opened the huge front door and stepped inside, pulling Bridin in with him. Then he turned to the other two. "Tate, if you would, hide the boat so that our guest won't decide to borrow it. Marinda, you may see to your lady's comfort, if you wish."