Summer Siege (8 page)

Tristan looked at
her in surprise, and then with concern, as she felt a warm trickle snake down
her forehead.

“You’re bleeding.
Did you take a hit?”

“I am?” she asked
hazily, as blood rushed in her ears, the ground beginning to give way under her
feet.
“‘Twas just a light blow.”

Pressing his sleeve
against her forehead, he kept his arm there as his other arm wound around her
waist, holding her up. His warmth and fragrance assaulted her senses,
compounding her confused state.

“Can you walk?”

“Aye.”
She wasn’t so sure but she was
not going to suffer the indignity of being carried.

He looked at her
doubtfully but continued on, leading her slowly to the forest path.

Madeline was
grateful to see his brown destrier waiting patiently for them as her head
became thick with fog, as if she had indulged in too much wine. Tristan helped
her up onto the horse before mounting himself. His body pressed into hers and
his powerful arms encircled her as he took the reins.

“Lean
against me.”

“Nay,” she
whispered. The rigid strength of his body lured her in and a twinge of
vulnerability resounded in her chest.

“Madeline, lean
against me. You are injured; there is no shame to be had in needing aid.”

Her head dropped
back against his chest of its own accord and Madeline vaguely wondered if he
was really referring to her injury.
Damn the man for understanding her so
thoroughly.

***

By the time they
had arrived back at the manor house, Madeline had fallen asleep against
Tristan’s chest, the exertions of that day having taken its toll. She barely
stirred when he cradled her in his arms and carried her inside. Protectiveness
burgeoned within his chest as she drowsily buried her head against him.
Doubtless, she would be mortified to learn that she had been handled so when
she awoke, but he was grateful for her lethargic state for at least she could
be attended to without arguments.

Alice blustered
around them. “Oh,
me
poor lamb. Is she hurt?”

“Aye, but ‘tis none
to serious. She will awake with a sore head though.”

“Take her to bed;
I’ll fetch some cloths and water.”

As Alice scurried
off to the kitchen, Tristan carried Madeline to her chambers, placing her onto
her bed with care. She merely sighed as she settled onto the bed and Tristan
cautiously seated himself on the side of the mattress, wincing as the ropes
creaked under his weight.

He brushed her hair
from her face to examine the cut to her head but it was hard to tell what the
damage was amongst the thick crimson of her hair. It had bled plentifully
though and blood was smeared across her forehead where he had placed his shirt
sleeve. His stomach clenched when he thought of what could have come to pass
and he regretted that he was not there to have prevented it happening
altogether.

The steady sounds
of her breath worked to soothe him and he looked at her relaxed face, glad that
she seemed to be in free of pain. With her rosy lips slightly ajar, her cold
eyes safely hidden behind a fan of dark lashes, she had regained a look of
innocence and Tristan felt as if he was stepping on sacred territory, viewing
her so shamelessly.

A vision of her
laid
out next to him with the healthy flush of a satisfied
woman, instead of the cool pallor that afflicted her now, flashed through his
mind. Before he realised what he was doing, he found himself brushing a finger
along her parted lips, wishing he could taste their succulence once more. The
door creaked behind him and he recoiled guiltily.

Alice handed him
some cloths and placed some water on the chair at her bedside.

He looked at her
with puzzlement. “Alice, should you not-”

Alice shook her
head. “Ye clean her up, milord. I will make her up a poppy draught – ‘twill
help her sleep and ease any pain.”

Tristan frowned.
She didn’t look like she needed any help sleeping, but he didn’t want her in
any pain so he nodded.

“
Ye’ll
need to remove her gown too.
‘Tis
filthy and she’ll not rest properly in it.”

Used to Alice’s
commanding manner, he found no surprise in being ordered around by her but
surely she did not expect him to undress her!

“Alice-”

“I can’t lift the
mistress to remove it, ye must do it,” she told him determinedly.

Tristan narrowed
his eyes at her, wondering if she was teasing him, but her face remained impassive.

“Well? Are ye going
to sit there all day, milord?” she laughed, before scurrying away, leaving
Tristan convinced that he had just been on the receiving end of Alice’s
scheming.

With a sigh, he
turned back to Madeline who showed no sign of waking, and he thanked God for
small mercies. Who knows how she would react if she awoke to find him
undressing her?

Dabbing gently at
the blood smears, he was glad to see the cut to her head was fairly small and
already healing. Studiously cleaning the laceration, he recognised that it was
about as clean as it was going to get and he would have to remove her dress.
Alice showed no sign of returning and he doubted she was planning to any time
soon.

First he pulled off
her battered slippers, gritting his teeth as he noted the scratches on her
delicate feet and wishing he could run those Frenchmen through a second time.
Had she been scared? Or did she know he would come for her? She showed little
fear when he came upon them and her swordsmanship had astounded him. Still,
these were thoughts for later. Now, he had to concentrate on the task at hand.

His hands trembled
as he pulled gently at the lacings on the side of her bliaut and he felt the
tingle of sweat beading on his forehead.
God’s
blood, was he really behaving like some whelp who had never seen a woman’s body
before?

Gently pulling the
gown over her hips and stomach, he strove to keep his eyes averted as his
fingers brushed against the side of her breasts.
Though she
worse a chemise underneath, the material was thin enough that he could feel the
warmth of her skin through it.
As he finally freed her from the sullied
material, she moaned and he looked at her with a start, praying he had not
woken her. Her eyes remained firmly shut and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Of their own
accord, his eyes drifted over her lithe body. While the white, embroidered
chemise covered every part of her, the material could not hide the curves that
lay underneath and her rosy nipples stood out in stark contrast to the pale
fabric. He wondered what they would feel like pressed against his palm and he
itched to draw them into his mouth and watch her reaction.

He was convinced
she would respond with the same fire as she had to his kiss, but he knew he had
caught her in an unguarded moment, the exhilaration of survival spurring on her
impulsive action. He wondered how things would have continued if they had not
been interrupted.

As Tristan pulled
the sheets out from under her to tuck her in, her chemise rode up, revealing
bruises on her thighs.

Fingerprints.

Nausea struck him
when he realised the significance of them.
Dear God, what kind of a brute was he, lusting over her when she had
just been attacked in such a manner?
How far
had the
Frenchman
got before he had arrived, he wondered.

Shame and anger
boiled within him and he hastily finished drawing the sheets over her before
pushing past a befuddled Alice, sickness churning in his stomach.

 “Madeline,
will you walk with me?”

Her first instinct
was to decline. She was still mortified by her reaction to Tristan yesterday,
acting with such wanton abandon. It was so unlike her. Madeline considered
herself practically emotionless. Her years away, the anger and sorrow she had
nurtured, had stolen all feeling from her. But one look from him and a barrage
of emotions consumed her. He was steadily breaking through her resolve and it
frightened her.

Her head pounded
and she was still tired, though not from her ordeal. The memory of his hot
kisses, his firm body moulded to hers, had plagued her throughout the night,
the power of it so unanticipated. She almost wished for the blissful ignorance
of not knowing what his mouth felt like upon hers. At least she could have been
able to view him with detachment more easily. Well, as best she could, she
conceded, for since her return there was not a moment when his male beauty
didn’t rob her of her breath.

Tristan must have
sensed her reluctance, as hurt flickered in his expression. Though she intended
to avoid any emotional entanglement with him, or anyone for that matter, she
did not wish to cause him pain. She had become acutely aware of the anguish she
had caused, though she suspected a lot of Tristan’s pain was borne of guilt.
His protective nature ran deep and his inability to protect her probably ate
away at him.

Nevertheless, in
attempt to appease him, she agreed to join him.

They strolled out
of the village and across the grassy bank that surrounded much of the village,
allowing a view of the small thatched houses and the modest manor house sat to
one side. The terrain rolled gently, dipping like the waves of the ocean, and
soon they could no longer see the fief.

Walking in silence
for the most part, Tristan took the opportunity to study Madeline as she walked
a pace or so ahead of him, most likely deliberately trying to avoid him. She
wore a pale blue coloured gown, more fitted than most of her garments, which
served to emphasise the slender waist that she had kept hidden most of the
time. Her breasts swelled above the dress, the creamy skin drawing his gaze
whenever she turned to check his progress. The image of her lean legs wrapped
about his hips, assailed him until he remembered the marks that marred them.

Tormented by the
sight of her bruises, he had barely slept and he desperately needed to know if
she had been dishonoured in any way. He didn’t doubt she would bare it as
stoically as she bore all her ills, but if he could help her, convince her that
it mattered naught to him, then he would.

There was also his
mystification at her swordsmanship. The aggressive warrior woman who had slain
those men was a far cry from the sweet, young girl he had known. Which begged
the question, what else did he not know about her? Was there aught of that girl
left? He itched to find out and was determined that today he would learn her
secrets, learn what had caused such a change.

Though
he promised himself he would control it, their impassioned kiss did naught to
dissipate his hunger for her, instead spurring it onto new heights, plaguing
him every moment of the day. This courageous woman stirred him beyond all
reason. She may not be the girl he once knew but he had no doubt he wanted her
still.
Forever.

 “Are you
well?”

Madeline stopped
her brisk pace and turned, well aware she had been marching on ahead, fearful
of his questioning eyes, fearful of her reaction to him.

“I am quite
recovered.”

“Your head gives
you no pain?”

Tristan moved
towards her, reaching out as if to put a hand to her injury. Swiftly turning
from his touch, she shook her head. “Nay, I am in good health.”

“What
about…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

“Aye?”

He shifted. “Did
they hurt you in any other way?” His gaze dropped to her skirts and she
realised he was referring to the attempts made on her.

“Nay,” She smiled
to reassure him, “He did not get far before you arrived.”

He gave a sigh of
relief. “Then will you forgive my actions yesterday?”

She frowned.
Why
should she need to forgive him?
“Your actions..? Tristan-”

“I meant the kiss.”
He glanced at her uneasily. “‘Twas not the honourable thing to do after your
experience at the hands of those ruffians, and for that I am deeply sorry.”

Shaking her head,
she smiled lightly at him. It had not even occurred to her he should feel guilty
for his affections. The actions of the Frenchman had barely lingered in her
mind, quickly erased by the memory of his passionate kiss. Though she tried to
push it from her mind, it endured, resurfacing with every moment spent in his
company.

“There is naught to
forgive.” Much as she wanted to forget the kiss, she knew how much his honour
meant to him and she would not have him punishing himself.

Tristan looked at
her doubtfully.

“The Frenchman’s
deeds do not trouble me, Tristan. I was only grateful that you arrived in time
and I vow to you, you did not cause me grief.”

He considered her,
his anguish still clear in his expression. “Did you suffer my attentions
through gratitude?”

Madeline held back
a frustrated sigh, wishing he would forget the subject, but she knew he was
intent on marking himself as the wrongdoer in this tale. “Nay, Tristan! I
kissed you because I wanted to. ‘Twas a mistake, but I wanted to!”

Startled by her
sudden outburst, he gaped at her. “You wanted to?” he said with a quick grin.

Throwing her hands
in the air with a quiet scream of exasperation, she collected her skirts and
continued up the mound. She slowed as she reached the top, suddenly recognising
where they were.

Tristan came up
behind her. “I will forever look upon this tree as ours.”

Madeline viewed the
tree with sadness. It was the tree that Tristan had asked for her hand under.
Moving towards it, she rested her hand upon the bark as if she could absorb
some of the happiness she had felt that day.

 “What
happened all those years ago? Where have you been, Madeline?”

Madeline remained
silent for a moment, wondering whether to share her tale or not. If anyone
deserved to know it was Tristan. If he was to be believed, he had spent many
years torturing
himself
with guilt and it was only
fair.

“When my father
took me, he had me imprisoned in a castle in Nottingham. I could not even tell
you where it was. When you did not…you know…” she stopped, his remorse marked
clearly in his eyes. “I escaped the castle and I wandered. I’m not sure how far
or for how long.”

“
‘Tis
a miracle you came to no harm.”

“Aye, ‘tis that.”
She glanced at him and, with a sigh, continued on with her story, “I reached a
small village and the Lady of the Manor took notice of me. ‘Twas but a small
fief and strangers were rarely seen. She stopped and asked me if I needed aid.
She was not much older than I yet she spoke with such kindness that I wept and
told her all.”

Tristan viewed her
with sadness and she looked down, unable to bear his pity and with that, his
guilt.

“Her name was
Marian. She was a beautiful, vibrant woman and I was captivated by her. She
took me in and gave me food and board…‘just until I had a plan’ she told me.”
Madeline gave a half smile at the memory. “I could not stay there forever so I
decided to go to Wales.”

“Wales?” He looked
at her in puzzlement.

“My mother had a
sister who married a Welsh Baron. I did not know if she would even take me in
for I had never met her but I hoped for the sakes of my mother’s memory she
would. I knew ‘
twould
be a long and perilous journey,
but Marian said she could find men who could accompany me and offer me
protection.”

Tristan looked
horrified at the thought of her travelling with a company of men but he kept
quiet, waiting for her to continue.

Madeline noticed
his look and grinned. “They were good men who would work for a fair price. Most
were outlawed by the Sherriff for menial crimes; such was the state of the
county at that time. Marian knew the leader well for they were once betrothed and
she assured me I would be perfectly safe.”

Reaching up to
snatch a leaf, she began shredding it with her fingers, allowing her to look
anywhere other than Tristan.

“So we journeyed
across the country until we reached Wales and sought out my aunt. Thankfully, I
am the very image of my mother and she recognised me straight away. She never
liked my father and agreed to keep my whereabouts a secret.” She finally met
his gaze with a wry smile. “So there you have it, ‘tis no great adventure, but
that is my tale of woe.”

Her time in Wales
had been solitary and her aunt was a stern character. While Madeline had
cherished everything that she had taught her, and would forever be grateful for
her aunt’s hospitality, she recognised that she had never been able to give her
the love that she had so desperately craved as a child.

A slight frown of
dissatisfaction marred his brow as he considered her and all that she had
revealed. “And how do
you
account for your newly
acquired skills? When you left you were naught but a young noble woman. Yet,
yesterday you used your blade with great skill.”

“Much of it I
learnt on our journey to Wales. ‘Twas long and tiresome and, with little to
entertain the men helped me learn swordsmanship. I even became a fair archer.
‘Twas beneficial to them to know I could defend myself. Upon my arrival in
Wales, I continued to master the skill with the support of my aunt. The lands
surrounding their keep were wild and dangerous so ‘twas a useful skill to
have.”

Moving towards her,
he plucked the torn leaf from her hand and looked at her with a curious smile.
“So now you are a warrior…”

Letting out a
depreciating laugh, she shook her head. “Nay, but I am changed, Tristan, as I
have tried to make you understand. I am not the girl you once pledged your love
to.”

“You are not, that
much is true. But I desire you no less.”

Madeline blinked at
him as he edged forwards. “I do not hold you to your oath, Tristan. You are not
honour-bound to love me.”

He moved closer yet
again and panic began to bubble up inside of her.

“Tristan, you owe
me naught. No pity, nor warm words or actions.”

“Madeline…” he
murmured.

He towered over
her, a bronzed God, highlighted by the bright midday sun. His hair gleamed as
if each strand had been fashioned of gold and the azure of his eyes burnt into
her, brighter than the clear summer sky.

Her heart hammered
in her chest, yet she was not afraid. Indeed, he looked more like a warrior now
than he ever had, the fierce lines of his brow, the breadth of his torso, all
adding to his look of male dominance. But Madeline knew Tristan, knew the kind
heart that lay beneath.

How then could she
explain the intensity in those eyes? The simple sweetness that used to lie within
them was a thing of the past and the look he gave her now could surely account
for the restriction in her chest.

Madeline found her
back pressed against the bark of the tree, its rough texture grating at her
skin through her thin gown. Yet she felt not a thing, a strange sense of
numbness coming over her as her thoughts became consumed with only one thing.

Tristan
.

Slowly, ever so
slowly, his hand met hers, his fingertips dancing across hers, as he wound
their fingers together. Powerless to resist, all coherent thoughts gone just as
soon as he had locked eyes with her, her fingers played back, grasping the
roughened skin. His other hand met hers, softness against hardness, and bound
together as they both watched, captivated by the twisting union. 

Tristan leant in to
her and his hands, still entwined with hers, reached up until the back of her
hands were pressed against the tree above her head. Tilting her head to meet
his gaze, she found her breath robbed from her as his lips hovered achingly close
to hers. Gone was Tristan the rescuer, the friend, the protector. His eyes
reflected burning desire, a look she did not doubt she shared.

“Do you still think
me honour bound to you?” he whispered as his lips skimmed across her ear. “I
assure you, Madeline, what I feel now
has
little to do
with honour.”

Unable to respond,
she could only gasp as his hot lips pressed against her neck. Her hands still
pinned above her head, she could do little to resist even if she had wanted to.
His mouth traced its way across her jawline, finally slanting across her mouth,
satisfying and yet stoking the unbearable ache deep within her.

Tristan’s warm lips
on hers were enough to set her knees trembling and Madeline feared they would
give way entirely when his tongue touched hers. Her body reacted of its own
accord, her mouth opening to his, her breasts pushing up against his battle
honed frame. A groan rumbled from deep in his throat and finally releasing her
hands, he grabbed at her waist, crushing her to him.