Chapter 34 Part 2-1

Sam’s mouth fell open. After a few false starts, she sputtered, “Is this some sort of joke?” It would be a cruel jest, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t earned it. Tristan’s cheeks reddened. “A joke?” he snapped. He gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m completely sincere.” “But Tristan,” Sam said helplessly, “you don’t even like me.” His blush deepened. “That’s not true.” “Tristan, be serious. I annoy the hell out of you,” she said. “You think I’m selfish and spoiled and disobedient. A day hasn’t passed where we haven’t squabbled.” Tristan tightened his grasp on her hands. “It will be different now,” he said earnestly. “That was when you were my trainee. If I had known—” Sam pulled her hands from his. “If you had known that I was Lady Samantha Haywood, you would never have allowed me to be your trainee. You would have returned me to my father with a scolding and a swat on the arse.” Tristan flinched, and opened his mouth. She put her finger to his lips. “Don’t deny it,” she said. “You want a wife that you can come home to, who wrings her fingers while you’re gone. I’ll never be that woman, Tristan. It doesn’t matter if you put me in skirts, fix up my hair and call me Samantha—I’m the same Sam of Haywood you knew as your trainee. I’m willful and stubborn and I’m damned near as good as you with a sword. I’m not going to sit home and mind the babes while you wage my war.” Tristan rose from his kneeling position and sat on the edge of her bed. He glared into her eyes, his expression fierce.  “Don’t put words in my mouth.” “I did no such thing,” Sam retorted. “You said as much yourself. Right after…” She forced herself to say the words. “Right after you found out Lady Samantha was dead.” “You speak of her as though you are not one and the same.” Sam turned her face from his. “I have not been Lady Samantha for a long time. Even before you knew me I had given her up.” “I don’t understand it,” said Tristan, “but I have never had to hide who I am to be who I want to be. Would it be so bad to become her once more?” Sam would be lying if she said she hadn’t asked herself that same question. She didn’t dislike being a woman, just the trappings that went with it.  “Yes, if I can’t also be Sam of Haywood." Even as she said it, Sam reconsidered—not the path she'd chosen, but the woman she'd become. Here, a marriage proposal had fallen in her lap, from a man who'd seen her true colors and still wanted to wed her. Must she only be Sam of Haywood, and never Samantha? And did Tristan—or any man—want a woman with her warrior heart? Pride made her say, “You don’t need to marry me because of some stupid promise you made to my father.” Tristan shifted on the bed so that he was lying down beside her, his head propped up on his elbow. “I thought about it a lot over the past week,” he said. “I was angry, you know, when Braeden first told me.  It was bad enough when you were just a girl, but worse when I learned you were Lady Samantha. You let me believe that someone important to me was dead.” “Tristan, I’m sorr—” Now it was his turn to shush her.  “I wanted to yell at you, and I did, for a while. For lying to me, for not trusting me, and for having the damned nerve to get yourself halfway killed. Of course there’s not much point at yelling at someone when they’re unconscious. And once I realized you weren’t going to yell back—that you might never yell back—I got scared. You were barely breathing, Braeden was gone—” “Gone? Is Braeden okay?” Tristan gave her an annoyed look. “Aye, we were separated for a few days. He’s fine.” His frown lines smoothed. “As I was saying, it dawned on me—I’ve grown accustomed to having you around. Far too accustomed to lose you. I want you around.” With his free hand, he brushed his fingers over her knuckles. “Say you’ll be my wife.” At his words, Sam allowed herself to observe Tristan openly. He was sinfully handsome, the golden prince of every girl’s dreams, with the hard muscles of a man who fought for his living. He was strong and brave and good, if not exactly kind. As a young girl, had she not fantasized about just such a man? “Wanting me around is not reason enough to marry me,” she said finally. “Do you remember," Tristan asked, "the night we captured Sander?” “Of course I remember.” “You wore a green gown,” said Tristan, “the exact shade of your eyes.  You were resplendent. Looking at you, I felt like a depraved man. You were my trainee, but…” Sheepishly, he scrubbed at his cheeks. “I wanted to kiss you when I saw you in that gown.”  Tristan tucked his thumb under her chin and brought his face close to hers. “Will you wear it again for me, Sam?” “I burnt it,” she whispered. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, and kissed her. Tristan’s lips were warm and soft, and for a moment, she leaned into their comfort, closing her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw the future she could have had, could still have—the handsome prince of a husband, the cherubic blond children, the beautiful, well-loved home. And then she saw him—silver and savage and alone. His hand, outstretched, held a dagger, hilt facing out. Gently, she pushed Tristan away. “No,” she said. “I don’t want your gown.” She was no longer a girl in need of a handsome prince.