The Third Son (42 page)

Both Raina and Akira, and generations of women before them had worn the mantilla
. Despite its age, it had been remarkably well preserved, and Esmeralda was proud to wear it. Raina placed the bouquet in her hands and stood back to gauge the full effect. She smiled.

“You look beautiful,” she said, clasping her hands over her heart. Esmeralda saw the glimmer of tears in her mother’s eyes and prayed that they were tears of happiness.

“Are you ready?” asked Akira, walking in a slow circle around the bride, studying her with a smile and a nod of approval. “I think you are ready.”

Esmeralda nodded, slowly. She supposed that she was as ready as she would ever be. She forced a smile, if only for the sake of her mother and the groom who waited for her at the small church only a few miles from home.

Esmeralda followed
Raina and Akira
down the stairs and to the front door where she pulled a cloak around her shoulders to ward off the cold. Desmond waited outside, perched on the driver’s seat of the wagon that would take her to the chapel. He helped Esmeralda into the wagon, then turned and assisted Raina and Akira as well. Esmeralda tried not to notice the grim expression that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

The ride to the church was surprisingly short, and before she knew it, she was standing in the outer hall, waiting for Desmond to walk her down the aisle.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked as he offered his arm. “You don’t have to, you know.”

Esmeralda’s smile was genuine this time as she turned to kiss her brother on the cheek. When had he become taller than her, she wondered? And when had he become so devilishly handsome? His charcoal gray jacket and black trousers set off his dark hair and eyes to perfection. Esmeralda wondered why she had not noticed the moment he had actually become a man. Her heart swelled with pride and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes.

“What a fine man you have become, Desmond,” she said as the doors to the chapel were swung open. The small gathering of family and friends turned to watch Tatiana as she walked down the aisle, clutching her bouquet in front of her. “I know that you are only thinking of my well-being,” she whispered. “But I promise you that I’ll be fine.”

“Promise me that you’ll be happy,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand. 

Esmeralda nodded. “I promise.”

Damien did not know why he was here. It wasn’t as if he could do anything to stop the wedding, but when he’d leapt onto Persephone’s saddle, he could think of nowhere else to go on this day. Desmond had told him days ago about Esmeralda’s wedding and Damien had lain awake every night since, tortured by the news.

He had risen on the morning of the wedding and paced his chambers, trying desperately to drive the image of Esmeralda as someone else’s bride from his mind. He remembered clearly the vision that Akira had showed him and his heart plummeted even deeper into the depths of despair. He had been unable to see the groom in his vision, but he knew now that it was not him.

After a few hours of trying fruitlessly to clear his mind, Damien walked out to the stables. He had not even realized what direction he had taken until he found himself in front of a small chapel. He saw the waiting wagon, decorated with ribbons and bells, prepared to whisk the bride and groom away after the ceremony and knew that he was at the right place. He had managed to enter without drawing any attention to himself and find a seat in the last pew, which was conveniently shrouded in shadow.

He had watched Tristan standing at the altar beside a priest and a man Damien assumed was the best man. Tristan looked nervous as he chatted amiably with the best man. He also looked devilishly handsome, damn him!

He knew that the man loved Esmeralda and knew that he did not have to worry over her happiness.
Damien
wished for it, in fact, even though his own life was decidedly miserable. He hoped that Esmeralda would come to love her husband, and that he would give her everything that Damien could not.

Damien did not know why he stayed, but he did. He
remained
to watch Desmond lead his sister down the aisle. His heart swelled at the sight of her and though he knew he shouldn’t, he imagined that she was walking toward him instead of Tristan. He could not see her face, but he imagined that as he stood at the altar, she walked toward him and her face was lit brightly with the smile that was on her face. Her amber eyes were glowing softly in the candlelight.

He stayed to watch them exchange vows and winced as if in pain when they were pronounced husband and wife. He knew he was only torturing himself, but he could not look away when Tristan leaned down to claim her lips in the kiss that would seal their bond as man and wife. Damien’s fists clenched and he had to fight down the urge to go stomping down the narrow aisle, declaring that no one touched what was his. He reminded himself that Esmeralda was not his anymore.

Damien
stayed in the back pew as the church emptied behind the newly wedded couple. He sat and listened to the sounds of friends and well-wishers out in the front yard of the chapel
and
knew they were tossing rice and cheering for the young couple as they went up into the decorated wagon.

He knew that they would now go to wherever the reception was being held
and
they would dine and dance in front of all their guests and that Tristan would spend most of the night holding Esmeralda close to him.
Damien
knew that at the end of the night, Tristan would take Esmeralda home and to his bed. He knew that she was now lost to him forever.

****

Esmeralda ate and drank large quantities of spiced cider. She smiled and talked with anyone who approached. She danced with every man who asked and with Tristan a few times as well.

Esmeralda
was stalling. She knew it and she suspected Tristan knew it as well. Soon their wedding reception would be over. The food would run out, the guests would grow tired and the time would come for husband and wife to retire together for their wedding night.

The party had lasted well into the night, for which Esmeralda was grateful. She had not really given much thought past the wedding
and
was completely unprepared for the wedding night. Esmeralda noticed her cousin, Morgana, sitting alone in the kitchen. Most of the guests mingled in the spacious living room as much of the furniture had been moved to make room for them
,
some even stood in clusters outside smoking tobacco and sipping mugs of ale.

The food had all been prepared earlier and now the kitchen was abandoned, the perfect place for a young girl to sit and brood. In fact, Esmeralda thought, Morgana had been uncommonly cool toward her recently and she had no idea why. Esmeralda decided to try and find out.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Esmeralda asked, taking a seat beside Morgana at the table. She looked up from her steaming mug of cider and frowned.
Morgana
hesitated for a moment and then nodded slowly before turning her attention back to her mug.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Esmeralda said after a few moments of strained silence.

“You certainly seem to be,” Morgana replied, her tone brisk. Esmeralda’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. She and her cousins had been like sisters. Morgana was a bit younger than Esmeralda and Tatiana, but they had always been close.

“Is something wrong, Morgana?” she finally decided to ask. “You seem agitated. You know that you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

Morgana laughed. It was a short, forced, ugly sound. Esmeralda could hear the malice dripping from her voice when her cousin swiveled toward her suddenly and grabbed her wrist tightly. “Why would something be wrong? I am here, at this wonderful party, celebrating my cousin’s marriage to the man I love!”

Esmeralda’s chin dropped and her mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before she snapped it closed again. That Morgana was still in love with Tristan was news to her. Esmeralda hadn’t seen this, immersed as she had been in her own affairs.

I
t was clear now. Morgana’s wide brown eyes were filled with unshed tears and with the misery that Esmeralda had caused. She felt like the worst sort of friend. “Morgana I didn’t know,” she said, her voice a near whisper. Morgana’s hand was still clamped around her wrist like an iron manacle and Esmeralda felt it tighten brutally. She winced but was otherwise motionless.. “I wish you had told me before now. Surely you know I would not have married him if I had known you still had such strong feelings for him.”

“Would you have? I wonder,” she said. “You have ignored him for years and still he followed you around like a lovesick puppy. You never cared for his feelings!”

“That’s not true!” Esmeralda protested.

“It is! It is true! You had your prince. You were supposed to marry him and leave Tristan alone. If you had, maybe he would have come to see how he really felt about me. Maybe then we would have had a chance. You have ruined everything.”

Esmeralda shook her head, fighting to free herself from Morgana’s grasp. People were starting to notice them, since Morgana’s voice had risen considerably since the start of their conversation. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Morgana flung Esmeralda’s arm away as if she had been burned and stood. “It is too late for that,” she said.

“Morgana!” Two pairs of eyes swiveled toward the kitchen entrance, where Tristan stood. His arms folded over his chest, his dark eyes glistening with fury, he was quite a forbidding sight. “What in the hell do you think you are doing?”

Morgana’s eyes met his and burned even brighter in their intense hatred. “Nothing,” she said nonchalantly, smoothing her hands over her skirt as she edged around him toward the sitting room where everyone was gathered. “I was simply wishing my cousin well. Congratulations,” she said, her voice drenched in sarcasm. “The two of you deserve each other.”

Esmeralda sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands. Everything had gone horribly wrong. She had not wanted to hurt anyone; she had only wanted a father for her child. Tristan was her best friend. Surely
,
she was not selfish in choosing him for her mate, even though she did not return his love. Was she?

Tristan’s hand on her shoulder jerked her from her thoughts. “I think it is time for us to go,” he said, gently lifting the wrist that Morgana had bruised with her rough handling. He placed a lingering kiss on her bruised skin
. Esmeralda endured it, reminding herself that Tristan was her husband now and had every right to kiss her.

She nodded, standing to her tired feet. It was time to stop avoiding the inevitable. “Yes,” she replied, allowing him to loop her arm through his. “I am ready.”

He retrieved her cloak and his coat and led her out to their waiting wagon. Their family and friends followed them into the night, seeing them off with cheers and waves before setting off for home themselves. Tristan drove home at a brisk pace. He concentrated on driving, but Esmeralda could feel the tension mounting between them as if he were watching her.

He reached over and patted her hand reassuringly once, but otherwise kept his hands on the reins. When they reached Tristan’s home, her home now too she supposed, he jumped down from the wagon and handed her down gallantly. “Go on inside,” he said. “I’ll just see to the horse and wagon.”

Esmeralda nodded and went into the small cottage. Someone had come ahead of them and lit a fire. Esmeralda glanced around the living room
,
which was simple and sparsely furnished. Esmeralda had brought several things from home to brighten the room and she busied herself with warming her hands before the fire and thinking over the small feminine touches she would add to the little house.

She was lost in thought when Tristan returned from outside. He stood next to her, holding his chilled hands out toward the fire.
Tristan
stared into the crackling flames as he rubbed his hands together. After a few moments
,
he turned and took her into his arms. Esmeralda went willingly, knowing that she had no right to deny him anything after the sacrifices he had been willing to make for her.

She would yield to him on this night and give him every right that was his as her husband.
Esmeralda
looked up at him as he gazed down at her and realized that she was not afraid. She supposed she had Damien to thank for that. Esmeralda shook herself inwardly. She would not think of him this night; he was in her past, Tristan was her future.

“It seems like I have been waiting for this moment my entire life,” he murmured, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her arms. “I know that you may be frightened...” He trailed off. They both knew how afraid she had once been of a man’s intimate touch. She forced a small smile and shook her head.

“No. You don’t have to worry, I am not afraid.”

Tristan seemed relieved at this and much of the tension left his tall, lithe frame. “I will never forget this night,” he said, inching closer until their bodies were touching. “Hopefully when I am finished, you will not forget either.”