That was impossible. Scarlet couldn’t remember Tristan from her past, but somehow she knew she could never forget him either.
Which was something she didn’t know how to explain to Heather. So she didn’t.
Taking a deep breath, Scarlet said. “You’re right. I’m safe. I’m still healthy. And Tristan being gone is good for me.” She nodded, feeling her stomach drop to the floor. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Heather’s lips turned up, but her smile looked forced.
Scarlet took another sip of her drink, burning her tongue again.
Stupid, stupid hot drinks.
The next day, Tristan woke up to fresh snow falling on the trees of the Avalon forest.
Tristan had tried to put distance between him and Scarlet last week, but he’d only made it to the highway before his body started to revolt in agony.
He spent the first night away from her in a motel at the edge of town, writhing in pain in her absence. Their connection was stronger than ever, making it impossible for him to put any real distance between them.
Realizing he wouldn’t physically be able to leave Avalon, Tristan had made a new plan that would keep him in town, but away from Scarlet.
He remembered the shack, broken and abandoned, on the Archer property and resolved to hole up there. It seemed fitting to isolate himself amidst the trees and the stars. A place no one else knew about. A place of silence.
So Tristan had spent the last week sleeping in the shack. His body had not stopped aching though. Not once.
He looked out of one of the dusty windows at the falling flecks of white. Along with the morning snow came a sense of peace. Tristan wasn’t as far away as he wanted to be from Scarlet, but he was far enough away to keep her safe.
And that was all that mattered.
Maybe in his absence, Scarlet, Nate and Gabriel would find the fountain. Tristan thought briefly of what it would mean to live without the curse.
He would live without pain.
Scarlet would live with a healthy heart.
Gabriel would live with the freedom to love whomever he wanted.
But would any of them really be free of the centuries of heartache?
Probably not.
A chill tickled his spine as he moved away from the window and started making a mental list of all the things he needed to do to fix up the shack. He’d already replaced the door and the couch. Now he needed to gut the place, clean it and refurnish it.
Tristan had his work cut out for him.
Good.
29
Cornelius stared at the peasant woman for a long time. She was probably close to him in age, but she looked much younger. She wore a simple dress with few tears and thin leather shoes, stained with mud and the sun.
Most of her appearance suggested she was rather poor. Everything but the cloak she had draped over her head and shoulders and the silver brooch she had pinned to her chest.
The cloak was a deep red, thick, and made of velvet. It hung loosely around her pretty face, covering her head and gathering at her shoulders before falling to the floor with a short train.
The brooch was a silver circle, shining as if it were polished every day. It was larger than any brooch he’d seen before and had a small design on the side.
Expensive, for sure.
These two apparel oddities, in contrast to the woman’s peasant dress, suggested to Cornelius that she, at one time, had great money.
Which intrigued him greatly.
“What is your name?” He sat back in his court chair.
“Ana Jacobs,” she replied, bowing her head slightly. Her eyes were golden and sharp, not submissive like most women from the village.
Yes. She was definitely from money.
“And what do you ask of me?” Cornelius expected her to ask for money. Or food. Or a reprieve in rent.
“I have a proposal for you. An offering.”
Cornelius raised a brow. “Go on.”
She took a deep breath. “I was told you had searched for the fountain of youth long ago. I was told you were given a vial of water from such a fountain.”
Cornelius narrowed his eyes. He did not speak of this with anyone, let alone a peasant. “Who told you such things?”
Ana looked directly at him. “The Fletcher family.”
Cornelius curled a lip. Figures. The Fletchers were a disgrace and deserved death. If not more.
“Did the Fletcher family also tell you that their vial of poison water took my wife? That she died in agony because of her addiction to the water?”
Ana looked down. “Yes. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Did you come to offer your condolences then?” Cornelius was growing impatient with the woman. Although he enjoyed her beauty, he no longer wanted to speak of the fountain of youth.
“No,” Ana said, stepping forward and looking back up at him. “I came to offer you a map to the fountain of youth.”
Cornelius paused. What trick was this?
“A map?”
Ana nodded. “A map that will lead you directly to the magical water.”
“And what makes you think I would be interested in such a map?” Cornelius narrowed his eyes. “Why would I want access to such a poison?”
Ana stared at him for a long moment. “Because the poison healed your wife before it stole her life, did it not?”
Brazen, she was. Looking at him shamelessly and speaking to him with assumption.
“You are a powerful lord,” Ana continued. “But how much more power would you have if your life would never end? Do you not seek eternal youth?”
“The water takes life, it does not give it.”
“That is because the water must be consumed daily. With a limited supply, one would perish. But with a map to the fountain, you would have an unending supply to the water. An…eternal supply.”
Cornelius stared at the woman and tapped his fingers atop the armrest of his chair.
“And you have such a map?”
Ana nodded. “I have the onlymap.”
He tilted his head. “What do you ask for in return for such a gift?”
For the first time, he saw Ana’s eyes flicker in indecision.
Ah, here is the catch.
She lifted her chin. “I ask that you join our families in marriage.”
Cornelius was taken aback. “You ask what?”
“I ask that your son, Tristan, marry my daughter, Scarlet.”