The Amaranthine Law, page 21
“You’re beautiful,” Liv says and kisses Tristan. “And I need you more than I’ve needed a single soul in my life.”
“Good.” Tristan can barely speak, she’s so hoarse, but she runs her hand over Liv’s back and cups her ass. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything, anything at all.”
“Oh, fuck…” Liv’s field of vision shrinks, going blurry at the edges. “I need to be yours. I need you to take me…”
“Like you took me.” It’s not a question, but Liv nods. Tristan rolls them, obviously recuperating fast. “My pleasure.” She grins wickedly as she pulls Liv’s left leg up. “Wrap this gorgeous leg around me. Give me access.”
“Ohh.” Liv complies eagerly.
Slipping her hand between them, Tristan cups Liv’s swollen folds. “Damn, you’re wet.” Without hesitation, Tristan slips her finger through them and finds Liv’s clit. “And hard.” She regards Liv intently as she rubs it in a circular motion. Somehow, what she sees on Liv’s face makes her do it perfectly. Liv panics.
“I’m going to come. I’m too close.” Liv tries to squirm, but her body is on a path now and just wants to be pleasured.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Tristan says and bends down to kiss her. At the same time, she enters Liv with several fingers and keeps her thumb locked on her clit. It takes only a few thrusts of Tristan’s strong fingers and the insistent pressure of her thumb for the contractions to start, but it’s when Liv looks up at the bright blue eyes gazing down at her that she’s pushed over the edge.
From here on, it’s just them. She knows only that she belongs to Tristan, that it’s about them and this immense pleasure. When she sees Tristan’s face contort and realizes that she’s coming again, just from making love to Liv, her vision blurs, and tears run into her already wet hair.
If she ever had a single trepidation about how she feels about Tristan Kelly, making love like this, giving themselves over like this, has proved one thing. No matter what happens, no matter if she’ll be a fugitive for the rest of her life, she loves Tristan and will never abandon her.
Chapter Forty-three
Tristan can’t allow herself to think too much about the afternoon and night she’s just spent with Olivia in the Plymouth hotel room. Taking a break only to order room service, they had turned to each other again and again and made love as if it would have to last them a lifetime. Who knew—it just might, and in her case, it might mean forever.
Now Tristan sits at the foot of the bed, pulling on her boots and smoothing the jeans over them. She glances furtively at Olivia, who is already putting on her jacket. Otherwise, she’s similarly dressed in jeans, button-down shirt, sweater, and jacket. Tristan shudders. They don’t know what the day’s going to bring, which means that no matter how much they prepare, it might not be enough.
“Yes?” Olivia asks, saunters over to Tristan, and sits down next to her on the bed.
“What do you mean?” Tristan pulls on the second boot and repeats the smoothing down of the jeans, thus avoiding Olivia’s gaze.
“You looked at me as if you were trying to decide something.” Olivia takes Tristan in her arms. “Please. After last night, we shouldn’t have any more barriers between us. You know more about me than anyone, and I daresay the same is true the other way around.”
“If I looked at you that way, it was because I was trying to decide what I need to focus on today to not get us killed, rather than the fact that I’d love to drag you back to bed and order in more room service,” Tristan says, and her throat actually hurts since she’s trying to keep her tone light.
“Same. But we’ll be back here later, and then I’m at your beck and call.” Olivia kisses her, slowly, but without deepening the caress. “As I said last night, I’ll do anything for you.”
Tristan closes her eyes briefly. God. “Likewise,” she says, her voice still strained. “And that entails keeping you out of harm’s way if I can help it. We better get going.”
“Agreed. The sooner we resolve this situation, the sooner I’ll have you to myself as a free woman, rather than having someone hunt us down like prey.” Olivia stands and holds out her hand. Normally, Tristan would scoff at the idea of being pulled to her feet, but this is Olivia.
“All right. Let’s drive to my hometown, though it wasn’t a town when I lived there as a child. It was rural and more of a settlement.” As they make their way to the car, Tristan gives Olivia more details. “When we reached Plymouth, I remember how the other passengers regarded us, the little girls, with suspicious glances. I could see in my mother’s small mirror how pale I was. Wraith pale. The other girls had the same pallor, as if we hadn’t seen either sun or moon for weeks or months. My lips looked blood red, and my eyes seemed to have sunk deep into my skull and radiated an almost violet hue. My sister teased me mercilessly until Mother told her to stop. And when my parents and sister saw how people treated us, as if we were indeed cursed, my sister became very protective and my strongest ally.” Tristan doesn’t even suggest that she should drive. Instead, she’s happy to slip into the front passenger seat and tell her story. “We were among a few families that settled just southwest of Plymouth, about a two-hour drive with a horse and cart. There awaited the prospect of owning land and finding work. Mother and Father dreamed of both.”
“How did it turn out? It must have been hard to uproot a family and settle in America. So many unknowns.”
“More than you can possibly imagine. As a child, of course, I went where my parents and sister did. I didn’t question decisions. It didn’t even occur to me. Mother taught my sister and me to read and do numbers. She was an unusual woman for her time and in her social bracket. Illiteracy was more common than not, but she would have none of that. Father worked hard with the land and hunted. He also worked shifts at the mill. I admit my memories of a lot of things are very fuzzy. What I do remember is being loved—and feared.”
Olivia is quiet but places her hand on Tristan’s arm briefly. Grateful that Olivia isn’t offering pity, just quiet sympathy, Tristan loosens her grip on her messenger bag.
“Was it the same for Rosalee and the other girls?”
“I’m sure it was. Rosalee and her family moved farther inland at first, but when her mother passed, not sure why, they returned and lived near us. A few other families from our voyage across the Atlantic did the same, and eventually our small community became a village called Greenfield. It’s a town now, of course, but the last time I was there, our house was part of a protected area. You know, saved for posterity from a historic point of view.”
“Like Colonial Williamsburg?” Olivia asks.
Tristan snorts. “Nothing that grand, but in principle, yes, I suppose so. A moment of history preserved.” She goes quiet and then shakes her head, snorting softly. “Like me.”
Olivia snaps her gaze to Tristan’s for a second. “Hey, it’s not like you belong in a museum.”
“No, but perhaps in a laboratory?”
Olivia groans. “That’s not funny.”
“A little funny, when you think about it.” Tristan feels strangely better. Perhaps there’s something to be said about gallows humor after all.
“Hm.” Olivia still doesn’t seem amused. “Laboratory.” She huffs the last word. “Cute.”
Tristan sees the exit to Greenfield come up and points it out to Olivia. She grips the sides of the seat with both hands, her short bout of dry humor erased. They’re here, and she is certain that their visit to this place that holds the memories of her childhood, also of relentless persecution and ostracization, will bring them the answers they seek, even if the outcome is uncertain.
* * *
The small town hall turns out to be fully digitized. A proud clerk shows them to a room where a row of four computers sits along with a desk, divided into partitions. Liv has a sense of déjà vu from their research in Geneva but sits down at the keyboard, realizing she will be doing the typing. Tristan is so on edge, it seems she will shatter if Liv so much as touches her.
“All right. We need the year when you and your family arrived.” Liv tries to sound matter-of-fact, which seems to be the best course of action right now.
“To this area? In 1770. I doubt the census records go back that far.” Next to Liv, Tristan is rigid, but who can blame her?
“Let’s just do a search for the names. Sarah Stuart and Corinne Stuart. Let’s see. What were your parents’ names?” Liv looks up from the screen.
“Clara and Neville.” Tristan’s tone is short, but she moves her hand and lets it rest on Liv’s knee.
Liv nods and keeps typing. She finds nothing about the parents, but Corinne’s name shows up. “Look, Tristan,” Liv says. “See?” She reads in a low voice in case Tristan doesn’t see the short note.
“Corinne Stuart, born 1753, married John Granger in 1772, four children, oldest son Laurence born in 1786. Sounds like your sister.” Liv squeezes Tristan’s hand.
“It’s her.”
“And here you are. And…no official death date.” Liv’s stomach clenches. “It says…” She squints at the faded, digitalized document on the screen. “I can’t make it out.”
“Probably that my fate is unknown. That I moved away and never returned.” Tristan sighs. “I see my parents’ names. My nieces and nephews.”
Liv has scrolled but now stops and goes back a few rows. “Caroline. Trudy. There.” She presses a trembling fingertip against the screen. “And here it clearly states that they died within days of each other, just like the dates in your ledger, in September 1888.”
“They’re listed here? I’ve never seen that before.” Tristan straightens. “Then again, I haven’t been back in years. The digitization happened after I visited last.”
“Most likely. These are faded old documents. They might have been locked away because of their frailty.” Liv keeps scrolling but can’t find anything else about Caroline and Trudy. “Seems that we’ve hit a dead end after the church records. Any ideas?”
“I’m not sure, but something tells me we should visit the old church not far from my childhood home. We might find documents there that the town hall archives weren’t interested in.”
Liv nods. “All right. Let me just print some of what we found. We should keep those documents in the ledger.” Realizing that she is suggesting things about Tristan’s very private notes, Liv stops in mid-motion. “If you think that’s a good idea.”
“I do.” Tristan gives a quick smile.
Liv prints double copies of the documents, and soon they’re back at the car. As Liv gets in behind the wheel, she thinks of something. “Did you know that Caroline and Trudy lived around here? I can’t remember if you told me that.”
“I did, but it wasn’t for long. My memory isn’t very clear from that time, but I want to say it was only a few months. I can’t even remember who the priest was who must’ve entered them, and their parents, into the church books. I just hope he found it prudent to include more information in other documents. We must find out more to have a chance to solve this mystery.”
“We will.” Liv stops at the parking lot exit. “Right or left?”
“Oh. Right.” Tristan puts on her seat belt. “It’s not far.”
Tristan hasn’t exaggerated. After less than ten minutes, she guides Liv through a wooden portal where a sign says Greenfield Old Town.
“The church is outside of Old Town, but we can park here.” Tristan unbuckles her seat belt again and grabs her bag.
“Want to see your old house?” Liv asks carefully as she exits the vehicle and locks it.
“No.” Tristan stops, perhaps regretting her curt tone. “Not this time,” she adds softly. “One day, perhaps.”
“Of course.” Liv kisses Tristan’s temple quickly before they start walking toward the old church on the outside of the fence.
Tall and well kept, considering that it’s more than two hundred and twenty years old, the white wooden structure pushes its humble steeple toward the sky. Around them, snowflakes have begun to fall, making the neighborhood look rather romantic. Liv knows that’s a ridiculous idea, as the settlers lived under anything but romantic conditions, but the scene of the trees lining the path up to the church door looks idyllic.
“There’s a light on,” Tristan says. “That’s good. Someone might at least be able to point us in the right direction.”
“I hope so.” Smiling, Liv climbs the stairs first and tries the double door. It opens on well-oiled hinges, and they step inside.
“It looks so much like it used to back then, just smaller,” Tristan murmurs. “Even the pews.”
“It’s beautiful in a rustic sort of way,” Liv says.
Afterward, she can’t say what she notices first, the still legs sticking out behind the pew closest to the altar or the sound of the door slamming shut behind them.
Perhaps both.
Chapter Forty-four
Tristan swivels the moment the door closes behind them. She hears Olivia give a short scream, and at the same time, she sees two men standing inside the heavy door. Recognizing them, she steps in front of Olivia to shield her.
“Told you,” the man to the left says with a smirk. “After all the cloak-and-dagger, these bitches are too predictable.” He snorts and pushes his fist against the other man’s shoulder.
“Yeah, but who knew it’d be this easy?” The other man shakes his head.
Looking to be in their late thirties, early forties, the men are both dressed in three-piece suits and overcoats as if they’re on their way to an office on Wall Street rather than ready to attack two women in a church.
“Tristan,” Olivia whispers and moves to stand next to her. “I think they hurt, perhaps even killed, someone over by the altar.” Her voice is trembling, but Tristan can’t decide whether it’s from fear or fury.
Tristan dares to glance behind them, and her heart sinks when she sees the legs sticking out. Whoever it is, he’s not moving.
“What have you done to him?” Tristan snarls as she whips her head back around.
“Oh, don’t get all upset. He’s just out cold. It’s amazing what a little good old-fashioned chloroform can do. Who needs all these new, fancy drugs?” The man to the left, who seems to be the dominant of the two, takes a few steps forward.
Tristan and Olivia back up to keep the same distance. Tristan sees no sign of any weapons, but these are tall and quite burly men, and Tristan figures their only chance is to keep their distance as they try to find a way to escape.
“Why?” Olivia asks, and now Tristan can tell that it’s rage in her voice. Good. “Why are you stalking Tristan? What possible reason can you have? She’s no threat to you.”
“Does your little friend here know?” The left man ignores Olivia’s question and instead stares at Tristan, his demeanor scornful. “You must have told her, right? Why would she help you if you haven’t given her a good reason?” He returns his attention to Olivia. “I bet she hasn’t disclosed that she’s not much better than a murderer.”
“Bullshit.” Olivia spits the word. “That’s a word you should be careful with, considering Anneliese Manz’s fate.” She clenches her fists, looking ready to launch.
“Anneliese Manz,” the man to the right says, sneering. “You mean Iris Schmidt.”
Tristan winces. She can’t help it. These men know. They have to know. “Whatever,” she says, hoping she sounds as assertive as she needs to be. “She’s dead, and you two have everything to do with that. You were in the church in Montreux.”
“Brilliant deduction, old woman. Very old woman. Or, should we say, the last woman standing.” The man to the left raises his chin as he pulls off his scarf, wrapping the ends of it around his large hands.
“What have you done to Rosalee?” Tristan realizes they don’t need to pretend they don’t all know the entire truth.
“Nothing. But our associates found her after some extensive digging.” The man to the left chuckles. “And, as we’re being quite transparent, she’s down for the count, but not out just yet. But when our associates get access to the hospital in Antwerp, it’ll be quick and easy. Unfortunately painless, as she’s comatose.”
“God.” Olivia covers her mouth.
“Hardly. The divine has abandoned our kind a long time ago. What do you say, Sarah…or do you prefer Tristan?” The man to the right performs a mock bow. “Call me Damon.”
More like “demon.” Tristan shifts her foot in her right boot, feeling the knife against her ankle. What she wouldn’t give to bury it in Damon’s neck right this second. “And you? Who are you?” She turns to the other man.
“Tyrone.” The man steps closer to his cohort in crime.
“Related? You look alike.” Tristan wants to know, but she’s also stalling. The men seem to have an innate desire to gloat, to explain. Huge egos, no doubt.
“Cousins,” Tyrone says merrily. “Keeping it in the family, you could say.”
“You didn’t answer,” Olivia says, her tone insistent, even challenging. “Why Tristan?”
“She’s the last one of the girls from the ship, not counting Ms. Comatose. It’s a sad situation, but she has to go. And as you’re her, well, what are you really…assistant, companion, or lover? Anyway, you’re collateral damage. A pity, but that’s what comes from these women being utterly selfish from the moment they stepped off the ship. They had the chance to be more, but they didn’t take it, and that’s why we’re here.” Damon shrugs.
Tristan frowns. He doesn’t make sense. “What are you talking about exactly? You need to explain in more detail. You said it yourself. I’m an old woman.”
