Through the window he viewed a figure in black stride through the rose garden towards the cliffs, shoulders hunched and head bowed.
Tristan placed a palm to the cold glass.
There was another concern.
His brother, Rhys.
After the initial joy, the whys and wherefores and fierce embraces, their conversations over the past days had gradually become stilted and laboured, their old camaraderie giving way to protracted silences and anxious glances from his twin.
As boys, Rhys had always been the studious one, more introverted and prone to dwelling, while he himself had always been less studious and more sociable.
Yet, despite those distinctions, they’d forever been in accord, supported one another, able to speak of the profound and the ridiculous, and he could not help but wonder if Rhys was perhaps disappointed with the shabby, faded version of his younger twin who had returned.
A creak of door announced a visitor to the library, and Tristan spun, nigh ended up on his arse as he’d forgotten his leg wouldn’t support such abrupt movement anymore.
Lady Gwen stood there, eyes widening before lifting to the ceiling. It had been similar each night at dinner. She’d always chosen a seat furthest from him while her gaze had never met his.
Had he offended her in some way during the year he could not remember?
And then there was her attire, for the Gwen he recalled wore pale pastels and pure whites, yet…
That first night home, she’d been dressed in the intense purple of a violet, and today she wore a vivid deep pink, like a late-summer rose. A bright butterfly had emerged from her pastel cocoon, and the hues suited her ebony-dark hair and bright-blue eyes, suited her spirited nature.
He frowned.
Because as far as he remembered, Gwen had always been an unassuming type of person, so he had no idea where that notion of a spirited nature had come from.
She returned his frown. “My apologies, I’ll leave you to your–”
“Don’t leave on my account, Gwen, please. We’ve not had much chance to talk as yet. Although…” He swallowed. “I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to. Plans to make for your travels.”
She dithered at the door, then sighed and entered. “Not at all. You can talk to me of anything. I hope you remember that.”
Gwen crossed to the chaise and perched upon the furthest edge.
As he limped towards her, she closed her eyes.
As he sat aside her, she shifted yet further. He surreptitiously smelled his shirt.
As he cleared his rough throat, she wrinkled her nose.
What the hell was going on?
“Does my limp and appearance…offend you?”
Her eyes snapped open. Then narrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why the wrinkled nose?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I-I cannot bear to think of you in such discomfort, Tristan.” Her pale-pink lids quivered shut. “I see your limp and think of the pain. I see your shadowed eyes and wonder at the distress. I hear your voice and think of the agony.”
Ah.
“You are a fine friend to have such concern for me.”
Her lashes fluttered open and she just…gazed at him, a look he could not fathom.
“And I always will be,” she softly replied at last.
