Page 57 of Rose
Chapter Twenty Two
Owen Thatcher stood in the great hall, his amber eyes flashing with anger. “I sent a messenger,” he snapped.
Tristan took a deep breath to ensure his temper stayed in check. “I received your message,” he answered calmly.
His father’s face only reddened as he sputtered. “But…then…why…her?”
Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “Your message came too late. Not that I would have welcomed the match.”
Owen clasped his hands behind his back as he started to pace the room. “I have explained the circumstances to Baron Roxwell.” He stopped and faced Tristan again. “He is not opposed to a quick annulment, and neither am I.”
“Annulment?” Tristan repeated, shocked by his father’s audacity. “You are talking about my marriage,” Tristan said, his voice low but hard. “My wife!”
“I am talking about your future,” his father bellowed.
“Calm yourself, Owen,” his stepmother mother scolded, stepping forward. Then she turned to Tristan. “You know this has always been your father’s dream for you. This marriage will open many doors.”
Tristan took a deep breath, reclaiming his calm. “I open my own doors. I am my own master.”
His father stopped pacing again. “But you aren’t, Tristan. Don’t you see that? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you for years. They are all your masters. You are beholden to them.”
A sad smile curved Tristan’s lips. “Only in their world, a world you fixate upon like a child with your nose pressed against the glass. I live my own life, and it is a good one. I have a fleet of ships, wealth.” He looked through the solar to the small sitting room and glimpsed Rose’s red curls trailing over the side of the high-backed chair. “I have a beautiful wife,” he said in a soft voice.
His chest tightened.
His words echoed in his mind. More than anything, he wanted them to be true.
Owen put his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “This is your destiny, my son.”
Reality pulled Tristan’s mind back to the matter at hand. He shook his head. “No, Father. This is your misguided dream. We are not nobility. That wasn’t our destiny. We were not born to those rights.” Tristan’s voice grew louder, but not with anger. Passion infused his tone. “We were born to rise, standing on our own two feet, not on the backs of others. We are men of pride, not pedigree. We are great because we are. They are only great because it is the law.”
His stepmother laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You could be a lord, Tristan. You have to admit that some part of you recognizes the value of this opportunity.”
Tristan expelled a long breath. He lifted his shoulders. “Why would I wish to join them? Would you have me sit with those who would oppress me? This is a new world, and it belongs to men like me—men of enterprise. We are the ones who are truly free. We have the same means but without the restrictions of convention—the very creed of their worth.” He turned to his father. “I do not respect their class, and I would like to remind you that neither do you. Baron Roxwell enslaves his people.” Tristan shook his head. “You cannot ask me to bind myself to such a man as he.”
Tristan drew back then, distancing himself from his parents. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to collect my wife. We will be staying in my townhouse for the next three nights. If you decide to invite us to supper, you know where to send the invitation.”
“Tristan!”
Tristan jerked around and raced up the stairs, through the solar, to the sitting room. Rose sat on the floor in front of the hearth, rocking Elizabeth in her arms. Tears coursed down his sister’s cheeks while she hugged her hand to her chest.
“What happened?”
“She tripped when she stood and fell forward into the hearth. She grabbed the kettle rod to keep her body from the flames. Her hand is badly burned.”
A moment later, Iris raced into the room. Straightaway, she dropped to her knees beside her daughter. She gently tugged at Elizabeth’s hand. “Let me see, my darling.”
Her hand shaking, Elizabeth stretched out her fingers, showing her mother her red skin, which had already begun to blister.
Rose took one glimpse at Elizabeth’s angry palm and exclaimed, “We need cold water, ground oak bark and honey.”
Isis raised her brow at Rose. “You sound rather sure of yourself.”
“I have treated many burns in my day,” Rose explained.
“Stepmother,” Tristan said sharply. “How many burns have you treated?”
Iris held Tristan’s gaze for several moments before she turned and looked at Rose. “You’re not a physician, but I have heard peasant women often have some knowledge of healing.”
