He wished for home as it had been. For his memories. He wished the pendant would reveal its secrets and that he could gallop along the clifftops with his daughter as they used to. He wished himself and Rhys could return to the brothers they’d been. He wished to know of this woman in the sea who filled his dreams, and there were too many wishes but…
His back met the blanket once more.
In this timeless place, unearthly yet so of the earth, that beat with the heart of Wales, perchance anything was possible.
It was pure greed to want more, he knew that, for he had a home, wealth and family, but when had man ever been content with their lot? Was it not that desire for more which had led to the placement of these stones, built mansions, cities and empires.
He brought the dragon pendant to his lips, and just lay there, feeling the arcane wind buffet his body and the strum of the earth, the dragons breathing deep within, the eternal tempo of life thudding in time with–
Then he realised the thudding was in fact the hooves of a horse cantering along the hillside.
He’d been found.
Had a groom been sent after him?
Keeping his eyes shut, he thought perhaps they’d not notice him.
His docile steed snickered at the interloper’s arrival.
Damn.
Feet landed on the ground – light; it must be the groom Jonnet.
Wind blustered, grass rustled and bracken crunched as those feet stomped, then sprinted.
Another thud but at his side.
Fingers ran over his torso. “Tristan, speak to me!”
He was incapable of uttering a word, tame lavender assailing him in this wild place, those fingers streaking fire over his waistcoat.
His eyes burst open.
Tristan swallowed. “Just…daydreaming.”
Gwen reared.
And walloped him in the chest with her fist.
“Daydreaming,” she shrieked. “I thought you were…” A tear trailed her cheek, so he reached up to pause its descent with a calloused fingertip.
“You were worried for me.”
“Of course, you great cabbage head.” And she glared.
No hat covered her hair and her coiffure had come loose.
Had he ever seen it thus? It lay in hanks of straight liquid ebony. A man could lose himself in that hair and never wish to be free.
He shook his head. What was the matter with him?
He and Gwen were friends. Always had been.
“I came to reminisce,” he admitted. “And watch the incoming tide.”
She drew back. He coveted the lavender’s return.
She harrumphed. He laughed.
