But why had she not said anything?
Perhaps she no longer had feelings for him; perhaps they’d faded in his absence and hence she’d remained mute, considered his loss of memories a boon.
Hope, however, refused to be quashed and he recalled how she’d responded to his kiss at the cov–
“Papa, whatareyou doing?”
He turned to behold his precious daughter who’d been out riding with Isabelle when he’d returned.
“You…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You were wearing a green dress the colour of clover, that morn, still chatting of our theatre trip to Caernarfon. We hugged and…you waved me off from the portico.”
Her eyes widened; a lone tear fell. “Y-You remember!” And she rushed forward, throwing herself into his arms. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t,” she wailed into his half-buttoned waistcoat, “but I was so afraid it would get worse.”
“Ah, Mari.” He hugged her so tight. “I remember it all, and never you fret, I’m only going to get better.” He drew back and placed hands to her shoulders. “And in answer to your question, I am packing a small bag for…”
She cocked her head. “Yes?”
How to explain?
It had been hard enough to explain to his brother after he’d hauled him off the floorboards of the boat shed. Rhys had been thrilled and a little taken aback that he’d never suspected.
But Mari?
She was old enough to hear this and yet…it had always just been the two of them.
He cleared his throat. “Well, in that year, when I was building the boat, I also…well… You see…” He pinched his nose. “I spent rather a lot of time with… But we were taking it slow…”
“Taking what slow? And I thought you built that boat alone.”
Oh, hell…
“No, I mean…” Tristan heaved in a breath. “While I was building the boat, a lady came to visit rather a lot and I developed feelings for…for…”
“Gwen?”
His mouth gaped. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t! But…” She patted his waistcoat. “I suspected. When she came back from London, you never liked any of her suitors. And you always had a somewhat…bewattled look on your face whenever she sang. Still do.”
Bewattled?
“You don’t…mind?”
“Of course not.” She harrumphed. “I adore Gwen.”
“I need to go after her, Mari. To her home.”
“I agree but…” His daughter looked to his canvas bag and screwed up her nose. “You’ll need a larger one than that. It’s bitter outside. And another jacket. And woollen gloves. I’ll help you.” She darted to the wardrobe and began rooting around for a holdall, then re-packing it as though he were to embark upon a Grand Tour of the Continent and not just a trot through Cythraul Woods.
Of course, he could wait until Gwen’s return on the morrow to speak but her words at the stone circle ofBedd Ddraigechoed…
Do not waste a single precious moment that you have been gifted.
He’d wasted long enough without his memories of Gwen, and he wasn’t about to waste a precious moment longer.
In less than a quarter of one hour, he was standing beneath the mansion’s portico with Rhys and Mari, peering at the scant flakes of snow that drifted from the cloud.
Mari handed him a holdall that weighed more than he did. “I’ve packed a compass. Just in case.”
