29. Tristan
Chapter twenty-nine
Tristan
I don’t follow her. Every instinct I possess urges me to. Not the vampire. The man within.
The man who has watched her laugh at dinner, kneel in the gardens with muddy hands, fill my silent castle with laughter and conversation and impossible questions.
The man who has, quite unexpectedly, fallen in love.
But love is not pursuit. Love is choice.
So I remain exactly where I am as the echo of her footsteps and her blood disappears from the stable and into the castle.
Silence settles over the stables. Justin releases a slow breath.
"My lord ... I’m so sorry."
He pulls his shirt back into place, fastening the buttons with practiced fingers. He presses a cloth to his wrist with the ease of a man who has done this more times than either of us cares to count.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
He looks almost offended. "For what?"
"For involving you."
"You didn't." He shakes his head. "I chose this years ago. My family chose this. It’s an honor, my Lord. And I'd choose it again tomorrow."
That hurts more than if he had blamed me. I lower myself onto the stool that Piper sat in. The stool that he vacated. The same stool his father once used and before him, his grandfather and so on.
The MacLeods have been keeping me alive for centuries. The weight of that devotion has never become lighter.
Justin’s brother Liam comes to the stables and leans against the stone wall, his arms folded.
"You've told her."
"She discovered us. It was a shock for her.”
Neither brother speaks. There is nothing to say. Eventually Justin removes the dressing from his wrist and examines it.
"Healed already."
"Aye."
I stare at the floor.
"I should have told her. Quietly, before now."
Justin is quiet for several moments.
"Would she have believed you?"
"No."
"And if you'd told her the first night?"
I picture Piper standing in the entrance hall, deed in hand, Murphy wagging his tail at my feet.
"Good evening. Welcome to Glenhaven Castle. I'm a vampire."
"She'd have left on the spot."
"Aye."
"So you gave her a chance to know you first."
"I gave her a chance to trust someone who did not exist."
Justin immediately shakes his head.
"He does exist. The laird."
"No. The man she believed me to be is not real."
"I disagree," Liam says.
“He’s right, my Lord. You are that man.”
The certainty surprises me. Justin steps closer.
"You cooked for her, spent time talking, making her tea, showing her the Observatory, meeting with her attorney..."
I look at them.
"You carried that daft dog upstairs to her the first night."
Despite myself, I smile.
"He weighs nearly as much as she does."
Justin smiles back.
"So which part wasn't real?"
I cannot answer. Because every memory he names is true. Every kindness. Every conversation. Every laugh.
The lie was not the man. Only what I am.
Footsteps approach, measured and familiar. Mrs. MacLeod appears in the stables carrying a silver tea tray.
“You all need tea,” she says simply. The woman has possessed an uncanny ability to appear precisely when she is needed for longer than I have been pretending not to notice.
She sets the tray upon a stable table without a word. Porcelain clicks softly against silver. The scent of Earl Grey fills the air.
Only then does she look at me.
"Oh, laddie!"
Two words. That’s all. My throat tightens. I must look horrible.
"Drink the tea and get your bearings."
"I'm not certain I deserve it."
"Nonsense."
She pours a cup for me.
"You've survived six hundred years. You’ve caused a little upset for the lassie. You've earned a cup of tea."
Justin accepts his with a grateful smile. Liam reaches for a biscuit. Mrs. MacLeod slaps his hand without even looking at him.
"Only tea! They're for later."
"I only wanted one."
"And you'll survive the disappointment."
Liam sighs dramatically.
For one absurd moment, the ordinary rhythm of their conversation steadies something inside me.
Then I remember why we’re here. The warmth vanishes. Mrs. MacLeod notices.
"She'll be frightened. And angry. And confused. But she's a sensible lass."
"I hope she remains sensible enough to leave," I mutter.
"Tristan, she'll also be thinking."
That surprises me enough to meet her eyes.
"Piper doesn't strike me as a woman who reaches conclusions before she's examined every side of a problem. She'll be trying to make sense of what she saw."
"If she can."
Mrs. MacLeod places the teapot gently back upon the tray.
"Then don't rob her of that. You’ve spent six hundred years carrying burdens that weren't yours to carry alone. Don't decide what the lass will choose before she's had the chance to choose it herself."
The words settle over the stable more heavily than the silence.
"But I lied to her."
"You omitted the truth. You let her believe you were a gentleman.” A faint smile touches her lips. "As I recall ... you are."
She continues quietly.
"I've known you since I was a wee bairn. My father knew you before me, and his father before him. I've watched generations grow old while you remain the same."
She pauses.
"I've also watched you bury every person you've ever loved."
Justin lowers his eyes. Even Liam says nothing. Mrs. MacLeod's voice softens. "And not once—not once—have I seen you place your own happiness before someone else's safety."
She reaches across the table and lays one weathered hand over mine.
"So don't begin now, laddie."
My throat tightens.
"What if the safest thing for Piper is for me to leave? Or for her to leave?"
"Then let that be her decision."
Outside, rain taps softly against the stable roof. For several moments none of us speaks. At last, I set my untouched teacup upon the tray.
She gives my hand a gentle pat before standing. She gathers the tray with practiced efficiency. At the stable door she pauses without turning around.
"Oh ... and one more thing."
"Yes?"
"If you send Murphy to the lass..." She gives me a knowing smile. She disappears into the rain before I can reply. Justin and Liam follow her.
Left alone at last, I stare out across the rain-soaked courtyard toward the castle. I look at the windows. Somewhere beyond the hedges, Piper is in this castle. Perhaps crying. Perhaps furious. Perhaps packing.
The thought twists something deep inside me.
I deserve her anger. I do not deserve her tears.
A faint whine sounds in the stables. It’s Murphy. I smile despite everything.
"So," I murmur softly, "you're looking after her. And me."
His tail thumps as he leans on me.
I write a note, a promise, on the paper in the stable and tie it with ribbon to his collar.
“Now go to Piper, boy!”
I watch him go. For one dangerous heartbeat, every instinct urges me to cross the courtyard, find her inside, knock upon her door, and tell her everything.
Instead, I remain exactly where I am.
Love, I have finally learned, is not holding on or insisting or pushing.
Sometimes it’s waiting to be invited.