Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
The moon had hauled itself free of the horizon and hung low over the fields, a coin struck from ice.
Its light turned the meadows silver and the trees to ink, the kind of half-darkness that made the world feel made of secrets.
Tristan’s horse was blowing hard beneath him, flanks damp, but he pressed on.
Every shadow might have been her. Every turn of the path seemed to whisper that it was just too late.
He had scoured the house first, the terrace, the walled garden, even the folly by the lake where she liked to walk when she thought herself unobserved.
Her name had gone unanswered in every room.
It was in the stables that truth had found him.
Two horses missing, both chestnuts with the same smooth mouths she preferred.
The stable hand, pale as tallow, had stammered,
“Her ladyship ordered them saddled, Your Grace. Said she was riding with her brother, Mr. Charles.”
Tristan had needed the full measure of a breath to keep from shouting. Instead, he’d mounted the nearest hunter and ridden out with fury tight behind his ribs.
I have been a fool, and fools lose what they love most by thinking vengeance could be caged.
The night smelled of grass and river. He took the lower trail where the bridle path ran along the slope toward the woods. The fresh prints of two horses shone dark in the dew, leading north. A grim smile touched his mouth. He followed.
Wind whipped the hair at his brow and dried the sweat on his temples.
Somewhere far ahead, hooves struck stone, echoing faintly.
He urged his horse on. When the path narrowed through a copse of hazel, he saw them.
Two riders in the moonlight, moving hard and fast. He spurred forward, and the hunter surged, closing the distance like a hound sighting quarry.
“Christine!” His voice carried, raw and furious.
Both riders turned. Christine’s face, pale in the glow, flashed toward him, and he saw her expression twist between shock and relief.
Charles pulled up beside her, his horse dancing sideways.
Tristan reined in just short of them, the horse shying and stamping.
The silence that followed was terrible. The three of them, the night, and the thin sound of the river.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Christine said at last. Her voice trembled only slightly.
“You shouldn’t have left,” he returned.
Charles shifted uneasily in the saddle. “You can have your lecture later, Duskwood. I’ve no wish to stay for it.”
“Then go,” Tristan said. “But not before we settle what’s mine.”
Christine flinched. “Tristan…”
He dismounted, boots striking the ground hard, “You took my horses, Christine. And something else, if I’m not mistaken.”
Her lips parted. “You know?”
“Of course I know,” he said, “the lock on my drawer was turned wrong. A thief should learn to leave no trace.”
Charles bristled. “If you’re going to call her that…”
“I’m calling you that,” Tristan snapped, “not her.” He drew a slow breath, forcing his voice to steady. “Christine, what’s mine is yours. I can no more stop that than stop my own heart. But you–” His eyes narrowed on her brother. “What did she give you, Charles?”
“A promissory note,” Christine said quickly, before her brother could lie, “from your study. And I was going to leave with him for Scotland. To begin again. I thought…it was the only way.”
Her honesty struck harder than any deception could have. He felt it land in his chest, sharp and clean.
“You thought I would cage you,” he said softly.
“I thought you would never stop chasing him,” she said, “that you’d chase until there was nothing left of either of you and I would always be the thing caught between.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The night pulsed with insects and faraway owls. Then Tristan turned to Charles.
“You have the note still?”
Charles hesitated, then reached into his coat and produced it, crumpled but intact.
“Make it out for any amount you like,” Tristan said, “it will be honored at my bank’s branch in Edinburgh. You have my word as a man and a Duke.”
Charles blinked, uncertain. “You mean it?”
“I have no taste left for vengeance,” Tristan said, “Take it, and be gone before I change my mind.”
Charles glanced from him to Christine. “I’ll not forget this.”
“Forget it immediately,” Tristan said, “It will suit us both.”
Charles wheeled his horse, hesitated only long enough to give Christine a half-formed smile, and spurred away into the dark. Tristan did not follow. He watched the darkness until the sound of hooves faded into the murmur of the river. Christine’s voice, small and uncertain, broke the quiet.
“How can I believe you won’t chase him again?”
He looked at her then, truly looked, and felt the words rise from the place that had no use for pride.
“Because I love you,” he said. “And I am tired of being a man who loves war more than peace.”
She made a sound that was almost a sob. “You said you loved me before.”
“I said it because I needed you,” he said, “tonight I say it because I cannot live without you. Christine,” he dropped to one knee in the grass, the dew soaking into his trousers, the moon turning his hair silver, “will you marry me? Not as bait for your brother or to quiet gossip or heal pride, but because my heart has nowhere else to go.”
Her breath caught. “You…Tristan…”
But before she could answer, a cry shattered the stillness. A man’s cry.
They turned as one. From somewhere beyond the slope came a desperate shout for help, the sound of struggle, of hooves thrashing. Tristan was on his feet at once, drawing the pistol from his belt.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
Christine didn’t argue. They ran toward the noise, branches slapping against her skirts, the path opening into a small clearing lit cruelly by moonlight.
Charles was there, on his knees, one arm twisted behind his back in the grip of a thickset man with a familiar face.
The driver from the cart. The brute who had tried to take Christine weeks before.
And behind them, watching with cold satisfaction, stood Lady Martha and Lord Bingley.
“Well,” Lady Martha said, her voice smooth as glass. “The Duke of Duskwood and his scullery bride. How poetic.”
“Martha,” Tristan said, levelling the pistol, “you have outdone yourself. Kidnapping, assault, and ambush all in one night.”
She laughed lightly.
“Hardly. I’ve merely collected what’s mine.”
She nodded to Charles. “That man seduced me, promised marriage, and stole from me. He fled with my mother’s jewels and half my reputation. I mean to see him answer for it.”
Christine gasped. “Charles?”
Her brother’s face twisted. “It’s true,” he said hoarsely, “at least the part she told. I was a fool, Christine. But she means to see me hang for it.”
Tristan’s eyes never left the thug. “Release him,” he said.
The man only grinned, pressing a knife against Charles’ throat.
“She pays better than you.”
“Not anymore,” Tristan said, cocking the pistol, “last chance.”
Lord Bingley, standing behind Lady Martha, shifted uneasily.
“I wanted no part of this,” he muttered. “You said it would be simple.”
Lady Martha’s lips thinned. “Coward.”
Tristan’s voice cut through them all. “Charles, when I fire, run.”
“Tristan, don’t!” Christine cried.
He ignored her. “Run.”
The pistol roared, the flash searing the dark. The thug cried out and dropped his blade, clutching a wounded arm. Charles tore free, stumbling toward his horse. Tristan reloaded with quick, practiced motions.
“Mount!” he barked.
Charles hesitated, wild-eyed.
“Why, after all this, why help me?”
“Because she loves you,” Tristan said, “and I love her. That’s reason enough.”
Charles swallowed, nodded once, and swung into the saddle. “I’ll go. You’ll never see me again.”
“See that I do not.”
And then he was gone, swallowed by the trees and the road to freedom. The clearing fell silent but for the groaning thug and Lady Martha’s ragged breathing. Her mask of elegance cracked, fury twisting her features.
“You’ve ruined everything,” she spat, “he was mine to punish!”
“Then punish yourself,” Tristan said coldly, “you paid men to hurt a woman in order to lure a thief. You paid men to assault a peer of the realm to delay me from finding Charles myself. You’ll answer for it before a magistrate, if there is a particle of wisdom within you.
Otherwise, you may continue to resist me, and I will decide what justice looks like. ”
Her hired brute had already vanished into the woods. Lord Bingley turned on his heel.
“I’ve had enough skullduggery for one lifetime,” he said, and strode off into the night without a backward glance.
That left Lady Martha shaking, humiliated. “You think this makes you noble?” she hissed, “you’ve saved a scoundrel. You’ve condemned yourselves.”
Tristan turned to Christine. “Do you wish to condemn me?”
She met his gaze, tears trembling but unshed. “No,” she whispered. “You’ve already saved what I thought was lost.”
He holstered the pistol and reached for her hand. “Then we’re finished here.”
Lady Martha made a sound, half-laugh, half-sob, but neither of them looked back.
They found their horses at the edge of the wood and rode in silence toward home.
The night stretched wide around them, the air cold and sweet.
When Duskwood came into view at last, its windows burned low, the last of the guests gone, the grand house waiting like a cathedral after prayer.
Tristan dismounted first and turned to her.
“Come,” he said softly, “we should put one truth right before morning.”
They entered through the side door into the empty hall. The music had ended hours ago, the candles half-spent. The ballroom was deserted, the polished floor reflecting the faint gold of the sconces. Christine hesitated at the threshold.
“After all this,” she murmured, “there should be silence.”
He extended his hand. “Then let the silence dance.”
She stepped into his arms. No music, no witnesses, only the quiet rustle of her gown, the slow, measured beat of their hearts finding time. His chin rested against her hair, and her cheek against his chest.
“I have loved you,” he said, “since the moment you told me I was impossible.”
She smiled through her tears. “And you still are.”
He laughed softly, a sound like forgiveness. They moved together beneath the dying light, their shadows turning slowly on the marble floor, until the first pale hint of dawn crept through the windows. And for once, the world outside Duskwood held its peace.