The Lily Brand (33 page)

“Oh, Ravenhurst… Troy…” She did not notice the tears that were streaming down her face as her hands fluttered over his body and reached up to free him of the bridle. “Troy…” When she could not reach the rope that tied his hands, she grew frantic. She sobbed and whispered and clung to him, desperate to set him free, deaf to the soothing noises he made.

“Lillian, it’s all right. Everything is fine.”

Gentle hands closed around her shoulders and drew her away. “Here, my lady, let me.”

Lillian looked up, and through the blur of her tears she recognized Justin de la Mere, his stern features rendered soft by an emotion she could not fathom. He gave her a little squeeze and a smile, then kneeled to work on the fetters, while Lord Allenbright cut the ropes that imprisoned Troy’s arms and hands.

Lillian waited next to them, shivering so violently that her teeth chattered, and fastened her eyes hungrily on her husband.

At last, he was free. He stood and rubbed his wrists where the ropes had chafed the skin. Then he raised his head and his gaze met hers. His eyes, Lillian saw, burned like two bright blue flames.

With two long strides he was before her and hauled her up into his arms. “Lillian,” he whispered against her ear. “Oh, my Lilly.” The voice was hoarse, yet unmistakably his.

She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder and muffled her sobs against his shirt. She did not care that his friends would watch her tears soaking him to the skin. He was here, in her arms, alive, and that was all that mattered. She clutched him as tightly as she could, horrified at how near she had come to losing him.

His strong, long fingers stroked her hair, while he pressed fervid kisses on her ear and cheek and every part of her face he could reach. Finally he lifted her head, so his mouth could close over hers, desperate. Her lips yielded gladly, opening for him, welcoming him, as his tongue thrust deep.

Troy felt his wife’s body tremble in his arms, or perhaps the tremors wracked his own body; he did not care. Only her warm, living softness could erase the memories of the hell of the last few hours, could chase away the all-consuming fear that had enveloped him when she had stepped into the clearing, small and vulnerable, her face as pale as chalk.

He tasted the tears on her lips, in her mouth, in his own. Gently, without breaking the kiss, he set her down, freeing his hands to frame her face so that his thumbs could trace the salty cascade that streamed down her cheeks. Tenderly, he brushed his fingers over her closed eyelids, the wet lashes feather-touches against his skin.

“Hush,” he murmured against her lips, “hush. It’s all over now, Lillian.” He stroked the hair out of her face, loving the silky texture of her curls. They twined around his fingers, tickled the backs of his hands. “Hush,” he crooned. “Hush, my love.” Once more, he enveloped her in his arms, rocked her back and forth while he rained kisses on her face, her mouth. “Everything is fine now.” Finally he drew away so that he could look at her. He brushed at the wetness that clung to her lashes and drank in the sight of her face, red and swollen from crying. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. He leaned his head into the caress before he captured her small hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. Intertwining their fingers, he brought their joined hands down to rest over his heart, while his free hand tilted her chin so she was forced to meet his eyes. “Listen to me, Lillian,” he said slowly and clearly. “
Listen.
You did it. You set us free.”

She blinked, her gray eyes still glistening with tears.

“She cannot touch you now, never again. And you did it all by yourself, do you hear?” He pressed her hand tighter against his chest so that she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. “Through your courage you freed yourself. Your stepmother can no longer harm you or anybody else. In the end, you were stronger than her.”

Under his fingers her face crumpled again, and he drew her into his arms and against the solid comfort of his body. With hands and lips he soothed and cherished her, knowing she would feel guilty about the death of her stepmother, for his wife was made to heal, not to hurt.

Only when she had grown silent did he raise his head to throw a look over his shoulder at his friends. “And thank you, too.”

Justin looked a bit sheepish. “It was nothing. You would have done the same for us.”

“We are just glad that we came in time,” Drake added and reached out to squeeze Troy’s free shoulder tightly. “You look a mess. Why don’t you take your wife and go home so she can clean you up. We will take care of this.” He jerked his chin to where the three corpses lay. Then his lips wrinkled in an attempt at a weak smile. “And do lock your firearms up somewhere safe in the future.”

“Perhaps.” Troy grinned. “Or perhaps you should learn to be faster than my wife.” He pressed a kiss onto the crown of her head, safely tucked into the shelter of his arms. Vividly he remembered the feeling when he had seen the glint of the pistol in her hands. His brand-new pocket pistol—four barrels, two shots—which could be hidden so nicely under a wide coat. He had been horrified, his fear for her increasing in leaps and bounds. Before, they probably would have let her go. Yet with the pistol, she had endangered her own life. Her precious, precious life. The fear for her then had been worse than the feel of the bridle in his mouth, worse than anything he had suffered at the hand of
la Veuve Noire
.

Yet at the same time, a fierce pride had filled his being. Pride in his wife, in her wits and courage, pride because she had fought like a lioness, because she had fought for
him
. Without reserve.

He pressed another kiss onto her lovely, riotous curls. “Or perhaps I should teach her how to shoot properly. You should have turned the breech, sweetheart.”

“What?” She looked up, all red and blotchy, and indignation rose in her eyes.

He grinned and kissed her nose. “The breech of the pistol. You need to turn it before you can make the second shot.”

“Oh.”

He laughed and then bent his head to kiss her mouth, hard. “Let’s go home, my dear. Could I borrow one of your horses?” he asked, turning to his friends. “I have no idea where they left theirs.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “All right, all right, go then and take mine.” He had recovered enough for his voice to regain its usual nasal quality. “Drake here can show you the way. Somebody has to get the magistrate anyway. So shoo, shoo, away with you. Your wife looks ready to drop from exhaustion at any moment.”

Troy looked down at his wife, who was leaning against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He smoothed a hand over her hair, then hoisted her up in his arms.

Lillian gasped. Her eyes flew open, and she found her husband staring at her. “Hush,” he said, even though she had not opened her mouth. “You look a mess. Lean your head back and relax.” He frowned. “There’s a tear in your dress and the hem is all muddy up to your knees.”

“I hurried so. I didn’t heed where I stepped. I…” Her voice caught.

“I know.” His lips brushed her forehead. “It’s over, Lillian. Forever.”

She nodded and huddled closer. Closing her eyes, she murmured: “Your wound…”

“Hush. It’s just an earlobe.” The echo of a laugh rumbled in his chest. “Considering everything else, I feel that I can gladly live without it.” Another brush of his lips, soothing. “Hush now. I can still carry you.” When she swayed gently from side to side, she knew that he had already begun walking.

It was nice, she thought, being thus held by him. It made her feel protected and cherished, surrounded by warmth, inside and out. And strength. Strength to lean on, to count on.

Burying her nose against his throat, she breathed deep and inhaled the smell of his sweat, sharp and musky, with an underlying memory of sandalwood and oakmoss. Content, she nuzzled his skin and let his scent calm her.

You set us free,
he had said, and his eyes had conveyed so much more than that.

You set us free.

Not just from Camille, but from the past. It was as if that one shot had blown away all barriers between them, all remaining anger and hatred; as if that one shot had wiped the slate clean. As if a happily ever after would be possible even for her.

It did not take them long to reach the horses beside the soggy path, where the waning sun glittered in a thousand puddles. The light transformed the water into molten silver.

Lillian blinked. “Oh, look,” she murmured sleepily, “they look like pools of diamonds.”

Smiling, Troy settled her on the saddle in front of him and drew her firmly against his body, with her bottom snuggled into the vee of his spread legs.

“Or,” she added in the same dreamy voice, “as if bits of the sun have fallen from the sky and settled on the earth.”

Clasping the reins with one hand and securing her around the waist with the other, Troy put his chin on her shoulder. “I seem to remember a fairy tale where things like that fell from the skies,” he replied in a husky whisper.

She chuckled and turned her head to look at him. “But those were stars. I would prefer the sun to stars, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm, who needs suns and stars when there are flowers? Candytufts and marigold and roses and honeysuckle and lilies…” He blew a soft kiss on her cheek. “
Especially
lilies.” His eyes had warmed to the loveliest of blues with tenderness.

Lillian felt an answering smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She threw a quick glance to Allenbright, who was riding in front of them and pretended sudden deafness.

Her husband’s warm breath caressed her neck, tickled her ear. “One very special Lilly in particular,” he murmured. And then Lillian felt the delicate, moist pressure of his tongue circling the shell of her ear, and a fiery shiver raced through her body.

As if in silent answer, the hand on her waist tightened. Lillian looked back at him, saw his gaze, darker than before, fasten on her mouth. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and a private, soft smile played around his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent his head and—

“The road,” Allenbright said to no one in particular, “is very muddy. In such conditions a fellow might very easily slip from his horse if he does not take heed.”

Immediately, Lillian felt a blush blossoming on her cheeks. Troy just chuckled and contented himself with nuzzling her temple. “I think that was for my benefit,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin. “And I’m afraid he’s quite right.” He sighed and drew away. “No more cuddling until we are at home.” But he winked at her, his eyes twinkling with happy mischief.

Utterly charmed, she leaned back against his chest and rubbed her hand over his arm around her waist. As she looked at Lord Allenbright’s straight back in front of them, she remembered the day in the gardens, when she had come upon him and Mr. de la Mere.
A love so beautiful…

For the first time, the memory did not hurt.

You set us free.

She felt her husband’s body moving behind her, and a rush of deep happiness flowed through her.

Lord Allenbright left them at the crossroads to Keighlin, headed off to get the magistrate. Troy and Lillian rode on to Bair Hall, while overhead the North Star twinkled in the darkening sky.

“I have thought…” Lillian murmured sleepily.

“Yes?” Her husband tightened his arm around her.

She turned her head to look up at him and found that dusk had turned his features into planes of gray and deep shadows. “I have thought… Could we invite my aunt and my grandfather for Christmas?”

She saw his teeth flash in a quick smile. “Of course.” He pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek. “Whatever you wish.”

The rest of the way they rode in peaceful silence. And when they passed through the high arch that was the entrance to the grounds of Bair Hall, the boughs of the rowan, heavy with berries, bowed low in silent welcome.

Troy cuddled Lillian closer. “Your Nanette once told me that it would guard us from evil.” He smiled down at her. “And it did. It kept us both safe, and now there’s no need for fear anymore.”

“Yes.” Lillian rubbed her head against his shoulder like a contented cat. “Bring us home, Troy.”

The house, when they reached it, was blazing with lights and was a place of general mayhem. Even the usually immaculate Hill had forgotten to smooth down his hair, and now gray tufts stuck into the air, lending him the air of an agitated owl. Upon throwing open the door with unusual force, he ogled Lillian and Troy as if they were ghosts, risen to drag him down to hell. “M-master,” he stuttered. “I mean… I mean… m-my… my lord.”

“Hill.” Troy nodded, his arm clamped around his wife. “Will you please send someone to take care of de la Mere’s horse and—”

A maid, rushing by, caught sight of her master, one side of his neck and shirt sullied with blood. She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes going round as saucers before she threw her apron over her face and started to wail.

“Oh dear,” Lillian said.

Hill looked this way and that, obviously confused about what to do first. “Oh… oh… Well… I…”

Lillian straightened her back and fixed the butler with a penetrating stare. “Hill. Lord Ravenhurst needs rest. And a bath. So please inform the household that he is alive and back, and do send somebody to prepare a bath for each of us. And ask Mrs. Blake to prepare a tray with some wine, bread and cold chicken.”

The butler hurried to bow. “Yes, my lady, at once.” They watched him walking briskly away and making shushing noises to the wailing maid as if she were a panicky hen.

Troy frowned. “Lady Ravenhurst,” he began. As he looked down at her, Lillian nearly burst with the urge to reach out and soothe the troubled line between his brows. “I am afraid I brought you back to Bedlam.”

“Is that so?” Tentatively, she reached up to cup his cheek in her palm, her thumb caressing his skin. “I am sure you will feel better once you have had your bath.”

The lines of his face gentled. A smile warmed his eyes as he put his hand, so large and strong, over hers. “And you, my Lady Ravenhurst? What—”