Summer Siege (3 page)

Madeline attempted
to shrug him off but he held firm.

“We will not be
travelling any further today, I fear. You are not the only one who has come to
harm.”

Madeline made a
small sound of alarm.
“Cariad?”

“Aye, but ‘tis no
more of an injury than yours. Though I dare not force her on for fear of further
damaging her leg, and I think you are no more up to travelling than she.”

“I am well enough,”
she protested.

He fixed her with
his blue eyes. “Sit, Madeline, before you do yourself more harm. I’ll not have
you crippled under my care.”

She scowled at his
words but recognised the stubborn resolve in his demeanour, and she let him
help her to the side of the path, where she sank gratefully onto the dry grass.

“Thomas, you shall
ride on to Ashford with Lady Madeline. I shall bring along Cariad in the morrow.”

“Aye,
my lord.”

“Nay,” Madeline
called out. “I will not leave Cariad! Besides I believe my ankle will not allow
me to ride on this day.”

“‘Twill be a long
night and we are ill prepared for a night under the stars. ‘
Twould
be far better for you to go with Thomas.”

“I have no care; I
wish not to leave Cariad.”

Tristan rolled his
eyes with a wry smile at her stubbornness.
“As you will.
Thomas ride on and tell Lord Reginald of our delay.”

“Aye,
my lord.
When
will we expect your arrival?”

“In the eve of the morrow,
I imagine. Now, off you go. I will see you anon.”

Thomas gave his
master a nod before directing his horse up the forest path. Madeline watched
the young boy until he disappeared out of view and a twinge of nervousness
struck her. She was entirely alone with Tristan. Her breath restricted at the
very
thought.

This was going to
be a long night.

***

After seeing to the horses,
Tristan brought over what little food they had and they sat on the side of the
road in silence as they ate their fare of cheese and hard bread. The birds
chittered and hopped between branches, but little else could be heard save from
the slight rustle of Madeline’s skirts and the scrape of his chainmail. Tristan
studied her profile out of the corner of his eye and noted the tension in her
slender frame.

Why was she so ill
at ease with him? Was it her reaction to him she feared? Madeline thought she
had disguised her response to him but he had seen through her indifference.
When he had touched her ankle it had not been indignation at a bold touch that
had caused her to jolt. It was the blaze of sensation that seemed to dance
about the very air between them that had triggered such a reaction.

He wondered if he had
stroked his hands upwards, as he had so longed to do, would she have
surrendered to his touch? Scolding himself for such thoughts, he turned his
attention back to his bread, picking out the coarse seeds and flinging them
into the undergrowth.

Madeline’s quiet
manner troubled him. Before her disappearance, she could talk endlessly. Not
that he ever minded. Tristan had always enjoyed her talkative disposition,
finding it a welcome change from talk of war and duty. Was it purely the
torment of those events five summers ago or had something even more terrible
happened to her? He shuddered as he pushed aside his loathsome thoughts. He
desperately wished she would open up to him, but he would not press her for he
feared she would retreat further into her fortress of detachment.

A chill had begun
seep into the air, the shady forest hindering the sun’s reach, as the day wore
on and Tristan took note of the slight tremor that wracked Madeline’s willowy
form. 

  “Are
you cold?”

“Nay,” she said
through gritted teeth.

Tristan smirked to
himself but said naught of her lie. Silently, he pulled his cloak from his
destrier and wrapped it about her shoulders. She flinched under his touch
before pulling it tightly around herself, huddling into the mantle gratefully.
Madeline fingered the cloth of the cloak and inhaled slightly, as if taking in
his scent. It didn’t pass his notice and he grinned to himself.

“Will you not be
cold?” she asked without looking at him.

“Nay.”
Tristan shrugged his shoulders
and sat next to her.

He was careful to
keep a slight distance between them, aware of her discomfort around him, but he
was desperate to throw all caution to the wind and wrap his arms around her.
Nevertheless, he remained where he was, fearful of pushing too far lest he ended
up pushing her entirely from him. He had to gain back her trust somehow, had to
break through her barriers, and he knew he would have to be patient.

Madeline glanced at
him out of the corner of her eye. “‘Twas warm today, what compelled you to
bring a cloak?”

“I know not. Mayhap
I am loath to be parted from it again.” He gave her a pointed look and she
quickly flicked her gaze to the forest floor.

A gulf of silence
hovered momentarily in the air.

“Have you been
happy these past years?” he asked gently.

“Aye,
happy enough.”

“Why did you
return?”

She pondered this.
“In truth, I know not. My father would have been loath to see Woodchurch in the
hands of a mere woman. Mayhap I wished to vex him in the afterlife.” She smiled
at the thought.

“What prevented you
from returning and bringing to light the truth of his deceptions?”

Why did you not
return to me?
He
burned to know why she had not sought him out after her escape. Had she been so
angry with his inability to protect her from the horrors her father had inflicted
upon her that she could not forgive him?

“And what should I
have returned for?
A father that hated me?
An arranged marriage?”

She said this with
such little venom; he almost failed to notice the flash of anger in her green
eyes.

 “We did not
know the true nature of Sir Edward. We knew of his temper, but you were such a
happy child.” He gave her a look of regret. “Alice has told me much of your
sufferings. If I had known…”

A sad smile
flickered over her lips. “‘Twas long ago and he
is
dead now. He can cause no more pain.”

Tristan questioned
how true that could be when the anguish seemed so clearly marked in her eyes
but he said naught. Slowly, he promised himself. Slowly, he would draw her out
of her pain and make her whole again.  

***

Madeline shuddered as she slept.
At least, Tristan assumed she was sleeping. She could very well have been
feigning slumber to avoid conversation with him, but her slow breaths indicated
that she was fast asleep.  He had been surprised when she had settled onto
the ground uncomplainingly and begun to doze. There were not many noble women
who would be comfortable sleeping on naught more than grass, and even he
struggled to sleep out of doors on long journeys.

Giving the fire
they had created a prod, he glanced back over to Madeline’s slumbering form.
Still she shivered in spite of the warmth of his cloak. Moving silently, he
settled next to her and wrapped his arms carefully around her back. Pulling her
head into his chest, he froze as she let out a slight sigh, but she remained
asleep and he exhaled with relief.

Gradually her
shivering ceased and the heat of her small body warmed him in more ways than
intended. Her waist felt absurdly small underneath his large hands and her
breath tickled at the collar of his surcoat, kicking his pulse into overdrive.

With naught but the
crackling fire and night creatures for company, he stared at the top of her
head. Her scarlet hair stood out even under the meagre light of the fire, its
flickering flames picking out flecks of gold amongst the silky strands. He
burrowed his nose into the softness and inhaled deeply. She smelt of nature - a
raw, earthy smell that stirred his loins.

Madeline nuzzled
into him and his heart juddered to a stop as her head tilted into the crook of
his neck. Her lips were barely a hairs breadth from his neck and he longed for
her to press them against his heated skin. Tristan chuckled at himself, it was
a good job he had already resigned himself to staying awake that night for with
this woman in his arms there would be little chance of rest.

A twittering noise resonated
through her dreams and Madeline grumbled, the sound jarring her from her
slumber. Dragging her heavy lids open, she remembered where she was, as the sounds
of the forest continued to assail her ears. As her eyes came into focus, she
was greeted by the sight of tanned flesh.

Tristan’s smooth
neck arced in front of her, achingly close. It was then that she registered the
feel of his arms around her, his strong hands burning through the thick fabric
of his cloak onto her back. Was he awake?  He must be, she concluded, for
it would be unlike Tristan to let down his guard. Judging from the grey light
streaming in through the leafy canopy, it was past dawn and that meant he had
not woken her to keep watch. Did he not trust her to or was he driven by his
longstanding need to remain chivalrous?

She had dreamt of
him, dreamt of his hands upon her. But there had been no fabric between them.
His hands had scorched a path over her flesh in a way that she had never
imagined any other man doing. Why was she being engulfed by such thoughts?
Particularly when all she wanted to do was concentrate on gaining back a life
that had once been wrenched from her grasp.

A yearning to taste
his golden skin assailed her and she closed her eyes, feigning sleep once more.

One
taste.

One taste and she
would pry
herself
from his grasp and forget ever being
in his embrace.

With deliberate slowness,
she pressed herself forwards, breathing deliberately as if still captured in
slumber. Her lips tickled at his heated skin and she opened her mouth with a
sigh, darting her tongue out to lick at his flesh. He stiffened under her touch
and she warmed as a craving she couldn’t comprehend began to pool between her
thighs.

The feelings
startled her, her eyes flying open as she pushed against his chest and rolled
away with a cry. Tristan looked as disconcerted as she and Madeline coloured
under his forceful gaze.

Attempting to
collect herself, she sat up. “Why were you…? Your hands…you shouldn’t have…”

Realising she was
rambling she clamped her mouth shut and glared at him, trying to cover her
embarrassment. What a fool she was to believe one taste would cure her of her
need for him.

Tristan sat up and
ran a hand over his rough jaw. “Forgive me, Madeline. You were shivering; I
meant only to ward off the cold.”

Feeling ridiculous
for her overreaction, she attempted a blithe smile. “Aye, of course…”

Tristan’s motives
would undeniably have been pure. The man lived and breathed honour.

Standing and
sweeping the leaves from her dress, she removed the heavy mantle and handed it
to him. “‘I thank you for you care, though you need not have concerned
yourself. ‘
Twould
not be the first time I have slept
out of doors.”

Noting the
curiosity that burnt in his gaze, she regretted her words, wondering if he
would question when she had occasion to do so but he remained silent. Madeline
questioned why he did not probe her. Surely he was curious as to her
whereabouts all this time? Mayhap he did not care; mayhap he was only grateful
that he had not had to go through with their marriage.

Madeline watched
him enviously as he stood to see to Cariad, his lithe movements revealing no
sign of insufficient sleep.

 She wrung her
hands anxiously. “How is she?”

“Well enough,
though she will not withstand being ridden.”

Tristan looked over
Cariad with such care that she almost wished it was her ankle he was inspecting
once more. Feeling her defences beginning to crumble, she found herself
snapping at him.

“Why did you not
wake me? I would have gladly taken watch.”

If Tristan noticed
her ill-temper, he did an admirable job of disguising it. “I am ill at ease
sleeping in the forests; I would not have slept anyhow. There seemed little
advantage to us both being awake.”

“You need not treat
me as some fragile highborn woman. I am more than capable of doing my part.”

 “As I am learning…”
Tristan gave her a wry smile, “But I will not apologise for my manners,
Madeline.” He motioned to the forest path. “Shall we continue on? I fear I will
become irritable if I do not eat soon.”

He
said this with a knowing grin towards her and Madeline resisted the urge to
swipe it off his face with a sound slap. “Come then,” she said haughtily, “I
have little desire to suffer your bad temper because of a complaining stomach.”

Taking a sideways
glance at Madeline as she led Cariad back towards the path, Tristan
contemplated her touch. His neck still tingled from the sensation of her full
lips upon his skin and he had to resist pressing a hand to it. Had she known
what she was doing? He had thought she had awakened but he couldn’t believe
this ice maiden would risk such an endeavour.

Mayhap she had been
dreaming. That would explain her startled reaction when she discovered herself
in his arms.

Was she dreaming
of him?

Tristan couldn’t
help but cling to the hope that he would breach her barrier of indifference
before long. They would be constantly in each other’s company if he continued
to act as steward at Woodchurch. Surely it would be but be a matter of time
before she accepted him as her betrothed once more? He was determined that the
pain of the past five summers would be erased, and they would start again, as
they had intended all that time ago.

Madeline seemed
determined to prove she was wholly altered but, as he observed her, he felt
sure his Madeline lurked underneath. Simple gestures reminded him of how she
had once been – she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sun, her crimson
waves cascading down her back – and he saw how she still took enjoyment in
simple pleasures.

“Do you enjoy
overseeing Woodchurch?”

Her voice cut
through his musing and he realised he had been staring at her.

“Aye, I do.”

“
‘Tis
a far cry from the life of a knight, is it not?”

“
‘Tis
indeed, but I have seen my share of war and care not
for more blood upon my hands.”

His brow creased as
he thought back to the horrors he had seen in previous years. He had been
fifteen when he had his first taste of battle in Normandy and he doubted he
would forget the experience.

Mayhap she sensed
his thoughts wandering to unpleasant events because she interjected quickly,
“And that of a lord?”

“What is your
meaning?”

“Well, the living
at Woodchurch is modest. You are heir to all Ashford; surely you miss the
comforts of a large household?”

Tristan shrugged.
“Nay, I find I enjoy the solitude it affords.”

“Oh…”

He grimaced. She
probably thought he begrudged her returning and invading his solitude. In
truth, he only took enjoyment in the seclusion of Woodchurch Manor because it
allowed him time with his grief. His parents suffered his anguish with
patience, but it did not stop them from attempting to draw him out of his
self-imposed penance, and that oft involved him being introduced to fair
maidens from far and wide.

“I do not resent
you claiming your birth right, Madeline. Your return has shocked many, but I am
grateful that you did. I am grateful to know that you’re alive,” he muttered as
an afterthought.

Madeline attempted
a wan smile and Tristan noted that she seemed to have much difficulty in
expressing any kind of emotion.

“And what of you,
Madeline, shall you enjoy the quiet living that Woodchurch affords?”

“I expect so. I
have fought no great battles but I have had adventures enough.”

“Surely
not!
I recall
you dreaming up all manner of adventures when you were a girl. I think I have
not met anyone capable of such imaginings since.”

“Aye, well, dreams
are for children.”

The disenchantment in her voice
wrenched at his heart.

As they emerged from the shadowy
confines of the forest, the stark sunlight gave them cause to pause, their eyes
adjusting to the sudden brightness. Fields stretched out in front of them under
an almost cloudless sky and Tristan wished he were not in full armour. Though
they were not far from Ashford, in this heat, and at this slow pace, it would
be an uncomfortable one.

Tristan’s stomach
growled and, as Madeline looked at him with mild amusement, he recalled an inn
not far from their location.

“There is an
alehouse not far from here, just past the next village. ‘
Twould
be wise to stop and take refreshment. Cariad looks to be suffering.”

“Aye, so is your
stomach.”

Tristan laughed and
she blinked at him as if she did not understand his high spirits. Oh, how he
hoped he could coax laughter from her lips once again.

***

The inn was a small
establishment, used mostly by travellers journeying to and from the coast. A
single story dwelling, its whitewashed walls were tinged with dirt and mud and
the thatched roof looked in poor repair. A small stable was tended by a young
stable hand and they led their mounts over. There was but one other mare
residing in the shabby stalls, hinting at the likely poverty of most of the
inns visitors.

 “
‘Tis
frequented by some rough types if my memory serves me,
but do not fear, you will come to no harm under my care,” he whispered to her as
they stepped into the inn.

“I am not scared,”
she told him archly.

“You should be. You
are a beautiful woman and there are lonely men within these walls.”

Madeline flushed as
Tristan’s eyes glinted and he ushered her in, his hand on the small of her back.
Torn between wrenching herself away from his touch and nestling into it, she
held herself rigid while attempting a look of detachment.

The inn reeked of
stale sweat and ale, and its rushes squashed repellently under her feet, most
likely soaked in a combination of drink and decayed food. Scarred wooden
trestle tables sat beside one another with worn benches to match. Its occupants
fared no better, weather beaten and threadbare men watched their entrance with
undisguised interest.

An unlit central
hearth sat between the tables, light streaming down upon it from the opening in
the roof, and the rafters were stained black above. Several flea bitten dogs
sat around the fire, as if waiting for it to be lit.

Madeline ignored
the patrons - the stares of men held no weight with her any longer - and
settled
herself
near the end of a table. Her stomach
growled at the scent of food, just perceivable above the more repugnant odours.
She watched as Tristan conversed briefly with the innkeeper – a great bear of a
man, with thick arms matted with dark hair and a countenance to match. Tristan
grinned and Madeline was once again struck by how beautiful he was.

She had always
revered him as Godlike and, amongst the coarse inhabitants of the inn, he
appeared even more so. Her eyes travelled along his simple surcoat to the
contours of his profile. His hauberk increased his bulk and he carried himself
with a confident air of superiority. It was not pride, however, that caused his
demeanour, just a simple self-assurance.

As he settled
opposite her, he turned his smile to her – a flash of white amongst full lips –
and her belly flipped. A vegetable pottage and a jug of ale was dumped
unceremoniously in front of them with little more than a grunt and Madeline
tried to remind herself that she was no longer a lovesick girl as she watched
those lips sup at his ale. A blush rose in her cheeks and she took a healthy
swig of her own ale to try and disguise her discomfort.

“We should reach
Ashford within the hour if we ride hard.”

Madeline’s brow
knitted in confusion. “Cariad will not tolerate being pressed so.”

“
‘Tis
my intention to leave her stabled here for the night.
I will send a hand on for her in
the morrow.”

She shook her head.
“I cannot leave her here.”

“I have spoken with
the innkeeper; she will be well cared for. You need not fear for her safety,
no-one would dare touch a Dumont mount.”

 A scowl came
across her face. She did not like his high handed manner and she had spent far
too long looking after herself to appreciate people making decisions for her.

“You should have
asked me before making such a decision,” she snapped.

Tristan looked
genuinely taken aback by her annoyance. “Forgive me, Madeline, I was merely
thinking of Cariad. ‘
Twould
not do to push her any
further, for I fear she may come to further harm, and I have seen that you are
greatly attached.”

Madeline resisted
the urge to roll her eyes. Trust him to make her feel guilty for her angry
reaction. Tristan’s thoughtfulness was always without equal and she felt
selfish and childlike under his sincere gaze. She was deeply devoted to Cariad,
who had taken her, unharmed, through many trials and she did not wish her to
ail further.