But you have to try.
He wasn’t ready to live without his father. Not yet. Not for many years. That was why he rode through darkness and exhaustion and the sharp sting of his mother’s disapproval. Because Angus himself had taught him to never give up.
Tristan wasn’t sure how he would be received by the druids. Angus allowed them safe passage throughout the Wolvesley estate and turned a willing blind eye to the home they had created some miles from the castle, but Tristan had never had dealings with them. He guessed they might not take kindly to his sudden arrival, mud-splattered and frantic, in the dead of the night.
So be it. I’ll beg, if I have to.
A healer to visit his father. That was not too much to ask of those who would have been persecuted without the protection of a man who now needed their help.
As it happened, he did not have to even enter their camp. Juliana was waiting for him, calm and unperturbed, in the centre of a wide grassy path. She carried a torch which called to him like a beacon, flickering light banishing the black of night. Her pale skin glowed and he wondered if she was a figment of his flailing imagination. But then she smiled and spoke his name.
“Tristan de Neville,” she said, and his horse slowed as if of his own accord.
For a moment he had stared at her, recognising the glossy black mane of hair and shrewd, all-seeing green eyes that hid their intelligence behind a veneer of amusement.
“How did you know I would come?”
He half expected her to claim second sight, but she merely shrugged. “We have lookouts. You were spotted some time since. We do not encourage visitors, especially in the dark of night, but the Elder said you should not be harmed.”
Tristan told himself not to smile at this. He did not fear ambush by the druids. “I thought you had left these lands long ago.”
“And yet you came in search of me?” She lifted her eyebrows and stepped forward to run her hands over his horse’s head. The animal heaved out a sigh and leaned against her, willingly accepting her touch.
“I came in search of a healer,” he corrected her and then thought better of it. “But I hoped I would find you.”
“Your mother all but banished me from Wolvesley Castle,” she countered smoothly.
“And now my father is grievously ill.” His words burst into the warm night air and immediately, he wanted to call themback. To speak of his father’s fading strength was to utter a heresy.
Her eyes showed a flicker of distress, but whether this was for the earl’s wellbeing or for some other reason, Tristan could not guess.
“The Countess of Wolvesley is a wise woman. I would not go against her wishes.” Juliana rhythmically stroked his horse’s neck.
“I am here with my mother’s blessing.” It was a lie, but only a small one. Morwenna knew his intentions and had given no order against them. “Her consent, at least,” he amended, seeing Juliana’s sceptical smile.
The druid healer pressed her dusky pink lips together. “How goes your sister, Frida?”
“Well, thank you.” He did not wish to speak of Frida now.
“Frida welcomed me to Wolvesley as a kindred spirit, but the countess correctly divined that my presence there would bring turbulence to the lands and people she holds dear.”
Tristan gritted his teeth. “My mother would move heaven and earth to save my father.”
It was the right thing to say. He saw something shift in her face. “The earl is a just and fair man. I have been instructed to help you in any way I can.”
“Then come back with me to Wolvesley. He has been bled near to death by the castle physician.”
“If that is so, it may already be too late.” Her soft words sliced him like the sharpest blade.
“I will pay you for your troubles.” His horse sensed his mounting distress and shied to one side. Juliana raised her torch so her whole face was illuminated.
“I do not seek your coin, Tristan de Neville.”
“I will pay in cattle or cloth or anything your people need.” There was no price that was too high.
Juliana nodded slowly. “Then help me up, my lord. We have no time to lose.” She put out the torch in a bucket of earth before reaching up to clasp his arms.
Her long hair smelled faintly of woodsmoke and wild flowers, and the warmth of her body pressing against him seemed to lull him into a state of relaxation. By the time they glimpsed the granite battlements of home, Tristan’s earlier fears had all but evaporated.
