Briar woke in darkness, still groggy from the lingering traces of nightshade in her blood. She'd ingested a dozen of the black berries—enough to fell a large horse, and just enough to drop her body heat to a passably normal temperature. It also gave her terrible fever dreams, nightmares like she hadn't had since she was a girl. Her master hadn't warned her about that nasty little side effect—not that it would have made a difference. She always did as he asked, and had learned a long time ago not to question his decisions.

It took another moment for her to get her bearings. Her forehead was damp and smelled faintly of herbs from what must have been a poultice. A dying fire in the hearth cast just enough light for her to make out the outline of furniture, including the enormous bed in which she was currently ensconced. Wrapped around her like a cocoon, the sheets chafed against her bare skin. She frowned, suddenly aware she was naked. What had happened to her clothes? That had not been part of the plan. She must have stripped them off during one of her fever dreams. If she didn't have such a Gods-awful megrim, she might have had the wherewithal to be embarrassed.

Briar shifted—or tried to, anyway, under the veritable mountain of blankets. She managed to wiggle her arms free, but because of the damned nightshade she'd swallowed, she was too weak to shove the blankets off her. A little growl of frustration escaped her lips.

"You're awake," said a surprised male voice from somewhere behind her.

Startled, Briar let out a pathetic little squeak and thrust her arms back under the covers, clutching them to her neck. Ye Gods, where had he come from?

"I've been here for hours," the man replied, still out of eyesight.

Briar realized she'd spoken out loud. "Come here where I can see you," she said crossly, before remembering she was supposed to be a damsel in distress.

"Demanding thing, aren't you?" said the man with an arrogant chuckle that made Briar grind her teeth. But he did as she'd asked, stepping out from behind the bed and into the waning firelight. Gleaming like sapphires in the dark, eyes that were unmistakably blue found hers.

Briar cursed under her breath.

Not softly enough. "My face is not so offensive as that," he said with a glint of humor, clearly aware of his own charms. But Briar wasn't focused on his charms. The man's eyes were blue and his hair was yellow. Damn it, neither was the right shade.

She closed her eyes and groaned. The dull ache at the back of her head migrated to her temples. She couldn't think straight. But she could see well enough. This man, whoever he was, wasn't the man who was supposed to find her. Master's plans always went off like clockwork. How had she managed to bungle things so badly?

The wrong man bent over, putting his face close to hers. A handsome face, she noted dispassionately, with chiseled features and a strong jawline. His wavy yellow-gold hair was that of a fairytale prince, but a short beard of darker amber-gold lent him an air of danger. She was certain she'd never met him before, yet something about him was familiar.

"Are you alright?" he asked sincerely.

She glared up at him. No, she was not alright. The wrong man had found her. This was nothing short of a disaster, never mind that it was no fault of her own. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Who are you?" he countered.

"I asked you first."

His gaze narrowed. "I saved your life. The least you could do is tell me your name."

I let you rescue me, she wished she could tell him, and cut his ego down to size. Peevishly, she said, "I could just make up a name. You would never know the difference."

"You could," he agreed, "but I need something to call you besides, 'oi, you girl.'"

"It's Briar," she grumbled, and then immediately regretted it. She didn't like using her real name—not because it would be recognized but because it felt too personal. Clearly, the nightshade still had her brain all muddled.

He tilted his head to one side, studying her. "Like the rose. It suits you."

Briar was secretly pleased by the compliment. She'd chosen her own name when she was just a girl. But he couldn't know that. "You hardly know me."

He frowned at her, stood back and then swept into a flamboyant bow. "Tristan Lyons, at your service. Now we've been properly introduced."

Her heart skipped a beat, but Briar managed to keep her face impassive. Tristan Lyons. Faith in blood, she knew that name! And now she knew why he looked so familiar. She'd seen his likeness before, painted on sign boards posted in and around Heartwine. The artist's rendering didn't flatter him, making him look rather oafish. In person...well, Briar might even call him beautiful, if a man could be called such a thing. To the king's court, the High Commander called him a traitor. Privately, her master called him a disappointment. They had that in common, she and Tristan Lyons. It was almost enough to make Briar like him.

Perhaps her luck hadn't entirely deserted her. The former Paladin was a renegade and suspected of defecting to the Uriel encampment tucked away in the mountain city of Pirama. But unless she'd been unconscious for weeks, she couldn't have traveled so far. Which meant the Sub Rosa's information was wrong, for once. Ha! She hated those worthless little toadies. "Where am I?" she asked Tristan.

"You're in Haywood, Miss Briar," he said.

Briar bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling. These days, Haywood was locked up tighter than the king's treasury. The city had always been closely patrolled, but ever since the High Commander put a price on the head of the Duke of Haywood's daughter, it had become a veritable fortress. No one entered or left the city without the duke's knowledge. Even visiting merchants were granted only temporary access and confined to the market square, where the duke's soldiers watched them like hawks. Yet here she was, inside Haywood's borders. At least that part of the plan had gone right.

"I found you in the woods near the border of Catania," Tristan continued. "You were in...an unfortunate state."

"An unfortunate state," she repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

He looked down at his feet. When he looked up again, his cheeks were red. "You were unconscious, and erm, naked." He held up his hands, his blue eyes wide. "Your virtue remains intact. I swear it on my life."

Briar didn't give a fig about her virtue, and she had no use for honorable men. "Thank you for granting me safe passage, my lord," she made herself say with appropriate gramercy. "I had heard that Haywood still offered refuge to those who needed it. I am glad to see that is still true, even in such times as these."

"And what is it you need refuge from, Miss Briar? Or is it Lady Briar?"

"Just Miss Briar, my lord," she replied, deftly dodging the question.

He shook his head. "I prefer not to use my honorific. Call me Tristan, if that's not too informal."

"You've already seen me in the altogether," she said in a dry tone. "Surely nothing can be too informal at this point."

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Miss Briar, you--" he started to say, the words trickling off.

Illuminated by candlelight, a tall, redheaded woman stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. "Tristan Lyons, are you harassing my patient?"

Tristan turned to look at her, his hand over his heart. "I would never. You wound me, madam."

"Ridiculous man," the woman insulted him fondly. She swept into the room and crossed to the bed, shoving her candleholder into Lyons' hands. "Make yourself useful and hold this." Then she smiled kindly at Briar. "Hello, my dear. I am Doctor Addie Branimir. It is good to see you awake."

Briar jolted at the name. Addie Branimir? Had Briar heard her correctly?

"I assure you, I am as capable a doctor as any man," said Addie Branimir somewhat stiffly, misinterpreting the source of her shock.

Briar quickly regained her composure, even as thoughts bombarded her in all exclamation points. "I beg your pardon, my lady. It is just that I have never before met a female doctor."

Some of the stiffness left the doctor's shoulders, and she smiled again. "Call me Addie or Doc, please. And it is good to see you awake. You had us worried there for quite a while. How are you feeling, Miss...?"

"It's Miss Briar," Tristan answered for her.

"Miss Briar can speak for herself," Briar said sweetly.

"Ha! A rose with thorns. I like her already," said Addie, grinning.

Briar returned her grin, feeling cheerier by the minute. Her master's plan had gone off course, but by sheer dumb luck, she had stumbled upon the Uriel leader's daughter. She was in a better position than she would have been had the plan worked as it was supposed to. Now she just had to convince Master to see it that way.

Addie removed the poultice from Briar's forehead and gently wiped it clean. Then she laid the back of her hand against Briar's brow. Briar held her breath, praying the nightshade had done what it was supposed to.

To her relief, the doctor said, "Your temperature is a little cool, but that's not surprising considering how Tristan found you." She lifted her hand and stood back. "Do you feel up to talking about what happened to you?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember much," said Briar, putting on an expression of remorse. "It's all a bit blurry." She didn't lie; she had been lost to dreams and hallucinations shortly after the nightshade berries passed her lips.

Addie nodded sympathetically. "The human mind can shut out memories it's not ready to process."

Now Briar was interested. Her memory was full of holes. Entire chunks of her childhood were missing. She couldn't remember how she had come to be with her master; she only knew that she'd been all alone in the world until he'd found her and raised her as his own. She owed him a debt that could never be repaid. And though she was grateful, the holes in her memory still chafed. "Do they come back?" she asked.

Addie hesitated before answering. "Not always, but most of the time."

"How long does it take?" Briar demanded.

"It depends. Sometimes a familiar sight or sound will trigger a repressed memory. Sometimes you just have to wait for the mind to heal on its own." Addie sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. "I suspect you saw something terrible, Briar. Something your mind wants to forget."

Tristan cleared his throat. "Miss Briar, Addie found demon blood on your person. Is it possible you were attacked?"

Briar blanched. Fragments of memories—the scent of fear, the salty taste of tears, the scrunch of snow, white snow stained red—flickered through her mind. She closed her eyes, but the fractured, nonsensical memories refused to fade. Damn the nightshade. She hated losing control of her own mind. "I don't remember," she said truthfully.

Addie wore a troubled expression. "Where did you say you were from, dear?"

"I didn't," said Briar. "I came from Heartwine by way of Catania." The truth, if not all of it.

Addie let out a long breath. "That's good." When Tristan shot her a questioning glance, she added, "My father stopped by here before. He told me—"

"Sander was here?" Tristan exclaimed, nearly dropping the candle in his excitement. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Because you were sleeping," Addie said tartly. "On the floor, no less, snoring in front of the fire. Daisy tried to rouse you, and you nearly bit off her hand. I thought it best to let you sleep."

"I was tired," he muttered.

"As I was saying," Addie said with a pointed glare at Tristan, "my father came by earlier. He brought news of a demon attack on a small hamlet just west of the woods, not far from where Tristan found you. There were no survivors." The doctor paused, her watchful gaze on Briar. "Except, I thought, perhaps you. I wasn't looking forward to telling you that everyone you ever knew or loved was dead."

Briar felt her conscience twinge, but she ignored it. "A terrible tragedy nonetheless."

"Aye," said Addie, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, "and you, my dear, must have Teivel's own luck to have survived whatever tragedy befell you."

The good doctor didn't trust her. Briar needed to earn Addie's sympathy. "I must confess I am still feeling a bit ill," she said, punctuating her words with a weak cough.

A flash of guilt slid across Addie's features. "Of course. After such an ordeal, you'll need plenty of rest. We'll leave you to it, and I'll check on you again in the morning." With a stern look at Tristan, she rose from the bed and headed for the door and out into the hallway. Tristan trotted after her, taking the candlelight with him.

"What now?" Briar heard Tristan ask.

Addie heaved a great sight. "Go home, Tristan. Sleep in a proper bed. I promise you'll find it more comfortable than my floor."

Tristan said something else in return, but Briar could no longer make out the exact words.

As soon as they were well out of earshot, Briar pulled her left arm free of the covers and laid it palm facing up in front of her. The skin on her forearm appeared pale and unblemished. Reassured, she slipped her arm back under the blankets and closed her eyes, smiling. 

A/N: I'm alive! I'm alive! I'm reeeeally struggling with Uriel/Tristan, hence the slow writing. Feeling kind of like I hate everything I wrote. Uriel (Plot A) needs to be fixed desperately, and I'm going to have to backtrack. Ugh. Writing is hard.