Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) (34 page)

“Ah, Aislin—do come in,” Stanis called warmly. “Is Tristan with you?”

“He is...” she said hesitantly.

“Bring him in! I’ve been telling Gwen and Emara how he saved you from Jariath. They’re looking forward to meeting him.”

Aislin put her hand in Tristan’s and pulled him through the door behind her. She stood holding his hand, searching the faces of those sitting at the dining table in front of them.

“Everyone... this is Tristan, chieftain of the Sylvan people. He’s...he’s an elf,” Aislin stammered. Her tongue felt thick; the words sounded stupid to her ears.

Gwen and Emara stood up, eyes wide with shock as they looked him over, and then Gwen’s face lit up with a smile. She walked to him and gave him a big hug. “Welcome, Tristan. Thank you so much for everything you did for us. We never would have gotten out of the dungeon if not for you.”

Aislin leaned over and looked around Gwen as strangled, choking sounds came from the table. Emara had begun to turn crimson, her face twisted in disgust. “What manner of
creature
is this? Why is he in this house?”

“Emara!” Gwen snapped over her shoulder. “Be nice! He saved our lives!”

“I’ll not eat at the same table as this...freak...this...this...” Emara slumped down in her chair and began to fan herself. “Aislin, don’t tell me that you have
befriended
this animal!”

Aislin stole a glance up at Tristan. The dark look on his face promised chaos if she didn’t find a way to make her mother stop talking.

“Mother, be quiet! That’s enough!” she hissed.

“How dare you speak to me in that tone, Aislin,” Emara said. “I am still your mother, Queen Mother of this kingdom, and I’ll thank you to hold your tongue!”

Tristan was studying her mother, his eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what he was thinking—knew any minute, he would explode in anger. Aislin had no idea what to do, so she just stood there, pleading with her eyes, gripping his hand as tightly as she could to let him know she was with him.

Tristan cast his eyes over at Aislin, gave her a look that withered her soul, and tore his hand from hers. His long strides ate up the distance between her and the door, and then he was gone.

“Tristan, stop...wait! Please don’t leave!” She picked up the hem of her dress and ran after him. She could hear the others pushing away from the table and running after them as well. “Please!”

Tristan hit the walkway outside of the manor house, gave Aislin one last wounded look, and disappeared under his gossamer. The white stallion that Bryce had asked about came thundering out of nowhere, hesitated for just the barest second near where Tristan had been on the walkway, and then took off in the opposite direction. Aislin knew Tristan was on the horse.

“Tristan!
Tristan
! Please come back!” Aislin screamed, and tried to run to where he’d been, but Roderic had grabbed her around the waist. “Let me go!
Let me go
!” She pried at his fingers as she thrashed in his grip.

“Aislin, he’s gone,” Roderic said.

“No! No! He can’t be gone...he can’t be gone!” She struggled free from Roderic and turned to him, frantic. “You must go and find him! Roderic...please! She shook him by the lapels on his jacket to emphasize her plea.

“I’m sorry. We’ll never be able to catch a horse like that on foot, and it will take some time to saddle our own horses. Come back inside, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Aislin backed away from all of them, wild eyed and furious. “I can’t believe all of you let that hateful woman get away with that! After
everything
he’s done for this family! How could you...
how could you
?” And with that, in a flurry of silk and velvet, Aislin was through the door of the manor house and up the stairs to her rooms.

Chapter Thirty Nine

A
ISLIN LOCKED HERSELF IN HER rooms and refused to come out. She could cry as much as she wanted at night, and no one heard her. During the day, she knew they hung around outside the door, waiting for some sign that she was in there and breathing.

Let them wonder
, she thought, her mind dulled by pain. She lay on her side on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest.

The love she still felt for Tristan had manifested itself into a physical ache that stole her breath. She felt like she was dying. The one time she’d opened her heart, and it had been handed back to her, shredded and bloody. Life had been a constant struggle for her, and this was starting to feel personal.

Stop it. Stop it. That sounds a lot like self-pity.

She felt foolish that she hadn’t seen it coming. She remembered warning him about her mother, but even she’d been stunned by the vituperative fury of Emara’s attack. Tristan was just
so
different, she knew he would scare her mother to death. Her mother never took the time to understand those things that didn’t fit neatly into her royal world view. It was easier to criticize and insult.

Rage replaced self-pity in Aislin’s heart.

Her mother had fired insults at him like arrows, and her words had been horrible. She’d watched the fear and anger darken Tristan’s face, knew he’d gone back in his mind to that terrible time when he was young, and they were hunted. His expression as he turned to leave told her he was reliving those things in his head. Instead of trusting her,
believing
in her, he’d left her standing there alone.

Damn you, Tristan! Love doesn’t cut and run! Coward!

It was an unfair assessment, and she knew it. For all his bravery in battle, she’d underestimated his overriding fear of humans. She’d watched his face as he told her the story, had heard the terror in his voice. It wasn’t something he would get over easily, if ever.

Aislin choked on a sob, as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Tristan was amazing. Incredible. He’d made her feel things she’d never felt before. The brick wall around her heart had always been non-negotiable. He’d taken it down brick by brick, and she’d allowed it. In fact, she’d
encouraged
it. She’d let her guard down and fallen in love with him, but they were from two different worlds.

Her gut instinct as they’d gotten to know each other in Oakenbourne had been correct. There would be no common ground for them.

It was over.

Colven stepped gently into the garden, and let his eyes scan over the landscape. He’d been informed that Tristan had come back yesterday on a white stallion. Alone.

Colven had seen many things in his long life. One of the most satisfying had been watching Tristan grow from a frightened boy to a confident leader. He didn’t make decisions without weighing them carefully, sometimes seeking Colven’s advice about matters of great importance. He knew Tristan took his responsibilities seriously and cared deeply about his people.

It was for this reason that his fascination with the human woman had surprised him at first. Alarmed him
greatly
. But Tristan wasn’t given to flights of fancy. He didn’t give of himself freely. There was
something
about Aislin that had gotten inside his head and stayed there.

Colven watched him fight it at first, with the same intense focus that he applied to everything in his life. The air had been humming with tension the day Tristan brought Aislin to him for questioning. He’d chained her, needled her, and she’d stood up to him with a strength that pleased Colven. Tristan didn’t intimidate her the way he did everyone else. This woman was more than an equal match for the fiery chieftain of the Sylvan. Being human was her one flaw.

He’d watched the two of them ride off to Arianrhod together with mixed feelings. He could see Tristan loved the woman deeply, and it both warmed his heart and frightened him. He wanted nothing more than to see the elf who had suffered so much find his one true mate. But he also knew life would be close to impossible for them.

He’d not envisioned any real future for them, but for some reason, Tristan returning alone troubled his mind.

Colven found him sitting by the waterfall, splashing absent-mindedly in the pool with a bare foot. His face in profile was a study of harsh angles and planes. He had on a strange ruffled shirt, and he was ragged and unkempt, as though he’d slept in it.

“You’re back.”

“I am,” Tristan said flatly.

Sighing, Colven sat down next to him on the rocks by the waterfall.

“Were you successful in Arianrhod?”

“Yes.”

“No one was harmed?”

“Jariath shattered Aislin’s arm with his cudgel.”

Colven tried to catch Tristan’s eyes, but he was having none of it. “Is she all right?”

“I healed it.”

Colven raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m surprised to hear you say that. It’s always a dangerous thing for a Sylvan to heal a wound.”

Tristan sighed and nodded his head. “I spent some time in Valhar afterward.”

“Really? And they let you come back? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“They sent Starr to the shore to talk to me.”

Colven was quiet. Starr had been the only one who could ever talk sense into the headstrong elf sitting beside him.

“She’s happy there, Colven. Her leg is not twisted. Starr doesn’t blame me for her death. She told me I had to forgive myself and move on.”

“Yes. It’s long past time you put that behind you. You did what you could to save her.”

“Can I do that?”

“Do what?”

“Put it behind me. I’m so full of anger and hate. It consumes me. I can’t seem to let it go. Every time I think I’ve gotten over it, something happens, and I just relive it all over again.”

“You’ve never made much of an effort to put it behind you, Tristan.” Colven pursed his lips at Tristan’s growl of displeasure.

“Where is Aislin?”

Tristan sighed, looked down at his hands, and said nothing.

“My dear boy, this is starting to feel like an interrogation. Please don’t make me work so hard.”

“I left her with her family.”

“Things didn’t go well?”

“She warned me about her mother, but I thought she was exaggerating. She wasn’t. Her mother called me an animal when she saw me. She refused to sit at the table with me. All I could see was Madaheth. I was so furious, I left.”

“And you left Aislin behind without talking to her first.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. I did. And I wish now I had tried a little harder to control my anger. I never should have stormed off like that. I could hear her screaming my name, begging me to stay, but I felt like I was choking. I had to get out of there and away from all those humans.”

Colven shook his head and stroked his beard. “Have you thought about sending her a message?”

“No. You were right. We’re just too different to be together. It’s best if we let it go.”

Colven could see Tristan was grieving, but he didn’t disagree with him. It would have been an uphill battle for both of them.

“You’ll get over her eventually, marry a Sylvan woman, and settle down.”

“I don’t
want
anyone else,” Tristan said through gritted teeth, turning to him with eyes full of pain and regret. “I will
never
get over her.”

Chapter Forty

S
IX WEEKS WENT BY, AND the mood of the manor house was still sad and subdued. Stanis took part of the army back to Wyndham, but Bryce stayed behind to help with cleanup. Many things hung in the air, but no one tried to put a voice to them.

Aislin had stopped talking to everyone in her family, and then she stopped eating. Trenchers of food left at her doorstep were retrieved at the end of the day, untouched. Roderic grew worried as this continued past a week. He gathered everyone but Emara in the dining hall to form a plan.

“We have to find a way to make her eat,” said Roderic. “She has very little reserve as it is. She’ll waste away to nothing if we don’t act.”

“Good luck. Aislin doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do,” said Gwen. “I could just strangle that horrible woman.”

“Emara will never change,” said Devin. “I don’t think she realizes how hurtful she is at times.”

“We deserve Aislin’s anger,” said Bryce. “Not one of us said a word in Tristan’s defense. Knowing what he did for her...for us...why didn’t one of us just tell grandmother to shut up?”

“She can be pretty intimidating if you don’t know her. She’s got a tongue like a razor, but I think half of her attitude comes from fear,” said Gwen.

Roderic instantly brightened. “I have an idea! Why don’t we try sending Maeve in to Aislin with some food? She’d throw the first thing she could get her hands on at the rest of us, but she’d never be harsh with Maeve!”

“Maeve brought a Cribbetts board back with her from Oakenbourne. Maybe we could send her in with that and some food. It’s worth a try,” offered Devin.

Roderic nodded. Their best chance at bringing Aislin back to life was Maeve.

Maeve knocked on Aislin’s door, holding a trencher of scrambled eggs in her hand, and glanced back at Gwen and Roderic. They were hiding on the stairs, peeking around the corner, hoping Aislin would permit the girl to enter. Maeve didn’t like playing tricks on her aunt, but she was as worried about her as they were.

There was no answer. Maeve called through door, “Aunt Aislin, may I come in?”

A few moments passed, and then she heard her aunt say in a weary voice, “I really don’t feel like visiting today. I’m sorry.”

“Go in! Just open the door!” encouraged Gwen in a whisper.

“She hates it when we just walk in!” Maeve whispered urgently, giving her mother a look over her shoulder. “I think this is mean!”

“She’ll be fine. It’s
not
mean. She won’t be mad at
you.
Just open the door!”

Shaking her head, Maeve turned the doorknob, and the door swung open.

The room was rather dark, but Maeve knew the apartment very well. She made her way back to Aislin’s bedroom and found her lying on her side on the bed, facing away from her.