Summer Siege (13 page)

“What is it,
Tristan? What is wrong?”

He had approached her
in one of the large sleeping chambers where she had been attending to a fevered
knight.  Pulling her to one side, his face was etched with grim tension,
and fear danced behind his eyes. A fear directed at her, she had no doubt.

“Our miners
intercepted a tunnel today. They fought the French back but ‘twas deep.”

“What does that
mean?” She pushed a lock of hair out of her face, only to realise her fingers
were still blood stained. Tristan leant over and pushed the offending lock
behind her ear as she wiped her fingers across her surcoat.

“We’ve not
intercepted any others and I doubt that was the only tunnel. By the depth of
it, they will probably succeed in collapsing the wall in the morrow…maybe
sooner.”

Apprehension
leached through her but she attempted to look unconcerned. The sounds of stones
cracking against walls, the twang of crossbows and the shouts of men had become
commonplace to her ears but now they seemed magnified. The French had obviously
made good progress and if they breached the first stone wall, it would only be
a matter of time before they penetrated the second. Their numbers were at least
ten times theirs and she knew not how they would repel such a force.

“When they break
through, we will have to drive them back or they will surely take the keep.”

Madeline nodded her
understanding, a strange sense of detachment coming over her as she looked
around at the injured soldiers and finally back to her lover.

“Madeline, should
aught happen -”

His words brought
her starkly back to reality and she emitted a slight cry as she clutched at his
arm.

“-do everything you
can to escape, you understand? Do not stay to fight.”

“Nay, I will not
leave you.”

“If all hope is
lost, then you will have naught to stay for.  Madeline,” he gripped her
chin in his hand, forcing her to view the dread in his expression, “there will
be no mercy should the castle fall. Do not allow yourself to meet such an end.”

Madeline swallowed,
her mind besieged by unwelcome thoughts of what might await her. “I will not,”
she assured him.

Tristan dropped his
hand with a sigh of relief.

“But I will not
leave your side. I will fight with you.”

His face darkened
and he seized her arms this time, squeezing them with a strength borne of fear
and frustration. “Do not be a fool, love. You may have skill but a battle is no
place for you. You know not the horrors of war as I do and I will not see you
tainted so.”

As she twisted in
his powerful grip, he relented, realising he was hurting her, but his hold
remained.

“I have more skill
than half the men here, as you well know, and I have been privy to my share of
horrors.  You said I could stay and fight, yet you have kept me cloistered
in this stone prison!” Her feelings of impotence spurred on her anger.

“You gave me little
choice!” Tristan hissed, aware of their audience.

 Leading her
out of the chambers, he dragged her through the hall and into the chapel before
pressing her into a deep embrasure. The unlit room cast them in shadow, the
only light seeping through the small window highlighting the lines of fatigue
and worry on his face.

 “You knew
full well I could not eject you from the castle once the siege was underway. I
had hoped we would not see battle, but it appears that we will and I will not
allow you to sacrifice yourself in some rash display of bravery.”

His impassioned
speech surprised her, so rare was his anger. Madeline knew he only behaved so
when deeply vexed and she did not want to be the cause of such anguish. But
while she was remorseful for worrying him, she was rankled by his brash
command; she could not stand idly by while the French took away everything she
loved.

She
wrenched her arm from his. “Allow?
‘
Tis
not for you to decide my fate.
I will not be ordered by any
man, not even you Tristan Dumont.”

Tristan ran a hand
through his increasing beard, eyeing the fiery woman in front of him. Covered
in blood and dirt, she looked so vulnerable. He knew he had deliberately
assigned her tasks to keep her out of harm’s way and she had fulfilled them
uncomplainingly, becoming much valued amongst the occupants of the keep.

But she did not
understand the horrors of war and his mind could barely apprehend the terror he
felt when he thought of her in such a situation. He was being high-handed but
the thought of her coming to harm filled him with such anguish, it near crushed
him.

His voice shook.
“Will you not even listen to someone that loves you so? Are you so selfish that
you would put me through the pain of losing you once more?!”

Tristan registered
the hurt and resentment and he knew he had pushed too far. Yet, he did not
regret his words - only the upset they had caused - for her stubbornness irked
him. He relied on her to keep him strong, to become fearless in the face of
danger, because he knew he had something to fight for. Why was she so insistent
on tearing herself away from him?

Madeline jabbed a
finger in his chest. “Are you not selfish for trying to prevent me from
fighting for what I love? You fear you will lose me, yet you cannot understand
that I fear the same. How are my fears of any less import than yours?” Her eyes
glimmered with tears of frustration and she pushed at his chest, forcing her
way past him.

Taken aback, he
reached for her but she knocked his hand away with a gentle swipe.

“Madeline, I -”

“By your leave, I will
return to my station. There are men here who are in want of my help.”

Without waiting for
a response, she turned up her nose and stormed away from him, her vibrant hair
swinging as she went.

***

Tristan did not see
Madeline until supper, his duties having kept him occupied for the rest of the
day and, in truth, feeling like an oaf for his heavy-handed behaviour. He had
hoped she would have calmed down but she ignored him pointedly as she helped
serve the food. She looked exhausted with her hair curling with damp around her
face, having tended to the sick since dawn, but she continued on nonetheless,
showing more stamina than most of the men. Mayhap she was right, mayhap she
could fight better than half the men here, but it still did not prevent the fear
that churned in his gut.

He would have to
make amends though. Whatever she chose to do, he could not let the anger linger
between them, for not having her close was surely more painful than the
apprehension he felt.

Madeline made her
way towards him with a trencher and studiously avoided his gaze as she handed
it to him.

As he took it from
her, he grasped her wrist causing her to meet his eyes in surprise.

“You have my
heart,” he told her.

A smile flickered
across her mouth, her eyes softening. “And you mine.”

Relief washed over
him, her simple words soothing the empty ache their heated exchange had
created.

“Will you take some
food? You are exhausted.”

“Aye,
in a moment.
The men on the wall still need to be fed.”

Tristan nodded,
knowing he would not persuade her to eat until she had finished her duties. He
laughed inwardly. And she complained
he
was too bound by duty.

“Come to me after -
I will be on the battlements.”

“I will.” She
brushed her hand briefly over his face and continued on with her chores, smiling
and laughing with the men.

He noted the
admiring stares she garnered with a grin, knowing that while she endowed them
with kind words and looks, he held the most valuable part of her and there were
looks and words that she would share with him alone. His heart swelled with
pride as he watched his love. With each smile, it appeared to him that a little
of that hopeful young girl returned, and yet she exhibited such strength and
courage, skills learnt from her time away. The combination moulded a creature
so beguiling that he knew that, in spite of the pain it had caused him, he
would not change the years apart.

Tristan recognised
why she had thought he would not want her anymore. Certainly, she would never
be the obedient wife that most men wanted, but as much as she frustrated him
with her wilful ways, he would not have her any other way. And he realised if
he prevented her from going to battle, if he expected her to submit to his
wishes, then he would be active in damaging that which he loved most about 
her.

***

The night was dark,
in spite of the full moon, which was shrouded with eerie grey wisps of cloud,
stealing its silvery illumination. Torches sputtered sparingly along the walls
and yellow flickers of flame reminded of the ever present threat of the French,
dotted along the blackened bank of grass.  The rancid smell of the
overused garderobes wafted through the air though Madeline had found she was
quickly becoming accustomed to it.

Tristan was easily
found - his shadowy silhouette made distinct by his height and the breadth of
his shoulders. She conceded mayhap it was only distinctive to her for she knew
every ridge of him now.

Coming up behind
him, she wrapped her arms around his broad back, barely spanning the width of
him. Leaning against the cool fabric of his surcoat, she inhaled the musky
scent of him. Somehow, in spite only indulging in the simplest of washes since
inhabiting the keep, his fragrance never failed to stir her.

Turning with a
grin, he returned her embrace, cupping his hands around her waist and kissing
the top of her head, nuzzling into her tangled waves.

“Will you forgive
my anger?” he mumbled into her hair.

“Aye, if you will
forgive mine.” She drew back slightly to meet his gaze.

Tristan moved his
hands to cradle her face, dipping to give her a tender kiss. “Aye, I will,” he
whispered against her lips.

Madeline allowed
herself to become lost in the feel of his mouth upon hers for a moment,
relishing the honeyed warmth. Heat coursed through her body, as he shifted to kiss
at her neck. The cool night air washing over her did little to dampen it as it
unfurled an agonising ache between her thighs.

Arching her neck
into his touch as she clutched at his silky hair, she gazed at the blackened
heavens wondering how it was possible to feel such fervour at a time like this.
The sharp crack of stone upon stone jolted her out of her reverie and they both
turned to check the source of the sound.

The walls remained
intact and Madeline knew it must have been a hit from a perrier, a sound she
should be used to by now, but the knowledge of the impending attack had put her
on edge and Tristan obviously felt the same.

Tristan kept his
grip on her and pulled her back into him, the solidity of him pressing
ruthlessly against her own supple curves. Her fingers teased at the visible
skin at the collar of his surcoat, wresting a resonant growl from him, but
before he could capture her lips again, she placed a finger to his lips.

“I still wish to
fight.”

He surprised her
with a chuckle. “Was it your intent to seduce me into capitulation, wench?”

“Would it work?”
she asked him with a sly grin.

“Mayhap.”

Madeline could
still see the grim tension etched into his face in spite of his blithe
words.  “I understand your fear, for ‘tis the same fear I hold for you,
but I will not go into the fray, if that eases your mind.
‘
Tis
my intent to do battle from the
walls.
I am a fair shot with my bow and could fell many a foe.”

Madeline would have
dearly liked to have fought by Tristan’s side but now she had time to think,
she realised she was being selfish in her demands to stay be his side. She knew
he feared for her but she could not remain inside the castle in the knowledge
that he was fighting for his life and hers. The best solution, she had
surmised, was to offer the aid of her bow.

“I could not bear
to lose you…”

She looked at him
intently. “And you will not.”

“Swear to me you
will do all you can to keep yourself safe. Do not take foolish risks.”

“I will take no
unnecessary risks.”

Tristan gripped at
her arms. “Swear to me.”

“I swear it.”

With a resigned
groan, he crushed her to him, consuming her mouth and drowning all thoughts of
war from her mind.

***

Huddled together on
the rush covered floor, Madeline’s mind should have been on the battle that
raged outside. With Tristan’s arms wrapped around her, the smells and sounds of
the siege seemed distant, as if they were happening to someone else. She was
scared, for who would not be with death hammering at the door but, with Tristan
at her side, her courage prevailed.