17. Tristan
Chapter seventeen
Tristan
Earlier in the day
The stable has always been the quietest place at the Glenhaven estate. Except perhaps the chapel. The horses settle. The swallows disappear beneath the eaves. Even the wind seems to lower its voice among old timber and stone.
I pause outside before pushing open the heavy oak door.
Justin MacLeod is brushing Bramble. He glances over his shoulder as I enter.
"Good day, my Lord."
"Justin."
He finishes another slow stroke along the stallion's neck before hanging the brush on its peg.
"He's been favoring his left foreleg. I'll have the farrier out on Friday."
"Thank you."
Neither of us mentions why I've come. We never do. Some traditions require no announcement.
Justin reaches for a small wooden stool near the tack room and sets it beside the stable wall.
The same stool. The same place. His father used it before him. His grandfather before that. The thought never grows easier.
"You've had a busy week," he says.
"I have."
"Is the American keeping you occupied?"
I smile despite myself. "Remarkably so."
"I thought she might." He folds his arms. "My mother says she's inspected half the castle. And she thanked mom for polishing the silver. And for everything she does in the castle."
"Miss Monroe appears to thank people as naturally as she breathes."
"A rare habit."
Silence settles comfortably between us. The horses continue chewing hay. Somewhere outside, a sparrow calls across the fields.
Justin studies me for a moment.
"You're fond of her already?"
The observation is gentle. Not accusing but a statement of truth. I don't answer immediately.
"I find her..." I search for the right word. "...quite unexpected."
"That's not what I asked."
He smiles and continues, “You've been alone for a long time, my Lord."
"So your mother reminds everyone."
"No." His expression softens. "She only says that to my brother and I."
I look away. The sun shines across the old stone floor.
"I have become accustomed to it. To being alone."
I think of Piper laughing over tea. Holding up design pictures on her tablet. Being awed by the stars. Arguing passionately about wallpaper adorned with crowned pheasants. Calling Glenhaven beautiful as though she genuinely meant it.
The corners of my mouth betray me. Justin notices.
"That's the first proper smile I've seen from you in months."
"I wasn't aware I was smiling."
I sigh quietly.
"She's ... remarkably alive."
The words leave me before I consider how they must sound. He nods. The words hang between us, and Justin’s expression changes.
We both understand that, for me, alive is not merely a description.
After another moment, Justin takes off his jacket and then without another word, he rolls up the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
The history of trust written in skin instead of ink.
"I wish there were another way," I say quietly.
Justin looks almost offended.
"My Lord. You've said that every time since I was eighteen."
"And I shall probably continue saying it."
"My grandfather said you always told him the same thing."
I close my eyes briefly. A warm sadness settles over us. Generations of MacLeods. The same conversations. The same impossible necessity.
“Ready?”
I ask every time.
The MacLeods made their promise centuries ago, and by its terms I need not seek permission at every feeding. I do so anyway. A promise made by one generation must never become an obligation imposed upon the next.
Justin holds out his wrist. Only then do I take it. His pulse beats steadily beneath my thumb.
I lower my mouth to his wrist. The first taste strikes through me with brutal clarity—salt, heat, life.
The ancient hunger lifts its head. There you are, it says.
I silence it before it speaks again. My grip tightens before I force my fingers to ease in control.
I drink only what is required.
When I lift my head, several minutes have passed. Justin is pale but steady. I close the punctures with my tongue, then release his wrist.
When I finally step back and wipe my mouth, Justin is already reaching for the clean linen cloth waiting on the nearby shelf. He presses it lightly against the small wound with practiced ease.
A pitcher of water and a plate of biscuits wait on the shelf beside him. I pour the water myself and hand it to him.
“Drink.”
“I know the routine.”
“Humor me.”
He accepts the glass.
I move to the water pump and wash my hands slowly. The change begins almost immediately. The constant pressure behind my thoughts eases. The edge recedes. The world becomes quieter and more civilized.
"You're yourself again. The strain has eased,” Justin says.
“Aye. Right on schedule. As it must remain.”
The pressure has been building since yesterday. Not enough to alter my behavior. But enough that every heartbeat within the castle carried more clearly.
I require fresh human blood every five days. On the sixth, I lose control and after that … there are reasons the MacLeods never allow the schedule to fail.
I dry my hands before turning back toward him.
"Thank you."
He smiles.
"My father always said you'd remember every kindness anyone ever showed you. And every mistake."
"Unfortunately."
Justin nods slowly and sets down the empty glass.
“Then remember that she does not know enough to choose.” I go still.
"Piper. She trusts you. She knows nothing of your world."
"I know."
"She's going to trust you even more, each day she’s here. And sooner or later..." he hesitates, "...she's going to discover what you are."
I rest one hand on Bramble's neck. The stallion nudges my shoulder as though sensing the heaviness of the conversation.
"I've thought of little else."
"What will you tell her?"
“I will tell her the truth. When it’s time."
"All of it?"
“What she must know to decide whether she’s safe beneath this roof.”
"I think she'll surprise you," Justin says.
I return the smile.
"She already has."
When I step back into the cool Highland sun, the hunger has retreated once more into its cage. Not gone but merely waiting. It always waits. As patiently as the stars above Glenhaven Castle at night.
As patiently as time itself.
Now, for the first time in centuries, control is no longer merely a duty.
It’s the only way I may remain near the woman I’m beginning to desire.