Summer Siege (14 page)

The hall was cold,
the sun having departed long ago, and the reeking rushes provided little
comfort – soiled and parasite ridden from its grim inhabitants and heavy feet.
The few sleeping pallets had already been occupied so they settled into a quiet
corner, the darkness affording them what little privacy was available.

Tristan enveloped
her in his embrace, wrapping his cloak about them as her bottom nestled into
crook of his thighs. Their heavy clothing created a necessary but frustrating
barrier and Madeline missed the warmth of his body next to hers. His fingers
laced through hers as his breath stirred her hair behind her ear, causing her
to shudder.

“Marry me,
Madeline.”

She held her
breath, unsure if she’d heard him right.

“If we die here, I
would have us die as husband and wife. Will you marry me?”

Madeline gripped at
his hands as ridiculous joy spread through her, the threat of death somehow
forgotten. After her foolish rejection of him before she feared she would never
hear those words again.

“I will,” she
whispered.

Tristan pulled her
into him and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “In the morrow I shall
make you my wife.”

Oblivious to the
snores and shuffling around them, he placed a kiss to her neck and she turned
her head to meet his lips. The feel of his mouth upon hers was no less
pleasurable for their surroundings, the sensations just as powerful as ever.

Biting his way down
the back of her neck, he pushed his fingers under her short surcoat, a faint
moan of delight sounding as he hit the flesh hidden beneath her shirt. She bit
her lip to keep from gasping as his hand worked across her stomach, causing the
muscles to contract, tracing a path downwards until it was buried between her
thighs. Moving silently against his hand, she tried to turn to face him but
Tristan kept her clamped where she was. The torture of not being able to touch
him with free abandon was almost unbearable, but more so was the thought that
this may be their last night together.

As she whimpered under
his attentions, his fingers slowly plunging in and out, he smothered her sounds
with his mouth, the thrust of his tongue mimicking the delicious movement of
his hand. Tristan’s arousal pressed unforgivingly into her and she reached
back, grateful they had removed their hauberks before settling to sleep.
Slipping her hand beneath his braies, she drew a sharp breath from him. The hot
solidity nestled in her hand was enough to send her over the edge and she
almost cried out until she remembered herself.

With a quick rustle
of movement, Tristan hastily pulled down his braies as she stroked at his heat,
her heart still pounding with desire. Yanking down her hose, he spread her legs
gently from behind, easing her onto his manhood. Momentarily frozen by the pure
intensity, they moved slowly against one another, rocking with deliberate
restraint. Tristan’s hand moved back between her legs and blazing arcs of
pleasure shot through her limbs.

Silently, Madeline
called his name, again and again, as the feelings grew and she hoped he could
somehow understand the love she felt for him. True enough, they were filthy,
tired and hungry, but it all seemed inconsequential as his hands teased and the
heavenly feeling of his heat surging inside of her tantalised. His other hand
snuck up underneath her body to clasp at her aching breast, rasping against her
nipples, and her head lolled back as their breathing came rapidly.

Sensing she was
close, Tristan rammed into her with increasing force as he pressed her onto him
with little mercy. Her lip hurt from being bitten to keep her fevered cries at
bay as her womb tightened and gratification exploded through her. Tristan’s
almost imperceptible cry sounded in her ear as he followed her, gripping her
tightly to him.

Lying conjoined,
Tristan kissed at her ear and neck with tenderness. Madeline marvelled as the
decadent feeling of satisfaction swept over her. Their love-making would never
fail to surprise her, the raw desire able to forge a moment unlike any other.
Tristan’s primeval hunger for her was so unlike the calm, affable man she knew
and it pleased her to think that she was she only person who experienced this
intensely passionate side to him.

And tomorrow they
would be joined as man and wife. She did not know how they would fare in battle
but, with Tristan’s love, her hope burnt brighter than ever.

They awoke as dawn
broke that morning after a surprisingly heavy night’s sleep, in spite of
imminent events. Tristan grinned at the woman resting in his arms. Light
filtered in through the heavy shutters in the hall, casting her face in a warm
glow. A smile of contentment sat on her lips and her lashes fluttered open, as
if aware of his study of her.

Lost in her
nebulous, emerald eyes for a moment, he longed to be able to stay as they were
and he swore, if they made it through the coming days, there would be whole
days devoted to having his betrothed laid in his arms.

His betrothed! Good Lord, she had said aye!
The unadulterated joy struck him
once more and he jumped to his feet, sending Madeline rolling. With a mumbled
apology, he hauled her up and she viewed him with bewilderment.

“We must find the
priest.”

“Aye, but-”

He grabbed her
hand, only allowing a moment to collect their swords and armour. Dragging her
through the hall, he stopped to search in each chamber, ignoring Madeline’s
amused protests.

“Tristan-”

He growled in
frustration as his search of yet another room proved fruitless.

“Tristan-”

Risking a look
inside the king’s quarters, there was no-one to be found.

“Tristan!”

Madeline’s shout
gave him cause to stop.
“Aye?”

“Mayhap we should
try the chapel?”

“The chapel…? Aye,
the chapel!
Well, why didn’t you say so, woman?”

Laughing
at him, she shook her head as he grabbed her hand once more and tugged her in
the direction of the chapel.

The chapel was
positioned not far from the entrance to the castle, just after the drawbridge
which divided the stairway from the keep. It was small, with a thin arrow loop
at the back of the room and a tiny singular room adjoined it, in which the king
would conduct business while attending mass. Small stone archways ran down the
wall and through a larger one was the altar. It was adorned with white linen
and a simple cross and candlesticks. The priest was indeed sequestered in the
chapel and he looked at the couple with mild amusement as they begged him to
marry them.

Concluding that he
would have no peace until he agreed and considering it wise to have the only
woman in the keep married, he consented to marry them. Besides, he had no
desire to rile the fierce looking knight, who looked as if he may well loose
his sanity if he did not.

The stood together at the altar,
their weaponry cast aside for but a moment as the battle became a distant
worry. Tristan had not seen Madeline smile so wide since her childhood and his
breath caught as he looked upon her. With a high flush in her cheeks, the
smears of dirt and tousled curls served somehow to enhance her beauty, drawing
his attention to the glimmer of her eyes and the wide lushness of her mouth. He
did not even mind that she wore no wedding gown. The image of her in a
loose-fitting surcoat would be one he would forever remember fondly, for it was
her courage and non-conformity that had enabled them to reach this point.

His voice caught as
he uttered his vow, gripping her hands in his own shaky one, barely able to
believe that this day had come. Madeline clutched at his hands with the same
fervour as she gave her vow and Tristan couldn’t keep the wide grin from his
face.

Madeline tried her best to look
solemn as the priest blessed their marriage but she could barely contain her
joy. How odd that such a joyous day should take place in a castle under siege.
Sneaking a glance at Tristan, her heart filled with elation. Ever handsome in
his armour, he played the role of a brave knight perfectly, but with every
shared look she could see the good heart that lay beneath. The shaking of his hands
and the bold grin assured her that his love would never falter as she had
feared.

“Those whom God
hath joined together let no man put asunder…”

The priest’s words
filtered in and, with a whoop, Madeline found herself bundled into Tristan’s
arms as he laid a blistering kiss on her lips, much to the amusement of the
priest.

Running a hand
across his
stubbled
cheek, Madeline assured herself
that he was indeed real and she laughed as he gratefully buried his face into
the crook of her neck.

“What I would not
give for us to be in our marriage bed now,” he murmured against her skin.

Madeline’s cheeks
flamed as she glanced at the priest, who had tactfully moved away from the
couple. “Come, Tristan, let’s leave the priest to his duties.”

As they turned to
leave, a fully armoured soldier dashed in through the small doorway.

“My lord…” he
panted.

Madeline recognised
him as one of the men-at-arms from Ashford and a bolt of dread struck her as
she viewed his expression.

Tristan glanced at
her and then back to the soldier. “What is it?”

“It’s happening.
They’ve lit the fires.”

“Aye…” Tristan
nodded slowly.
“To your position then.”

The soldier nodded
and hastened away.

Reaching for their
armour, Tristan wordlessly pushed her into the small room at the back of the chapel
and tugged at her surcoat, wrenching it over her head. In naught but an
oversized gambeson, she stared at him.

“Tristan, what does
he mean ‘fires’?”

“The French are
preparing to breach.” She frowned in confusion and he continued. “They’ll burn
out the supports of the mine they’ve dug and the wall above will collapse as
the ground gives way.”

With a struggle,
Tristan hauled on her chainmail before aiding her with her surcoat. He handed
over her belt and sword and pulled on his own hauberk.

Madeline’s hands
shook as she battled with her belt and, though she tried to hide it, Tristan
noted her nervousness. Efficiently tying it for her, he looked her over, all
joy now replaced with a grim concern.

“God’s blood, I
love you, Madeline. Do not come to harm, do you understand?”

“Aye.”
She nodded vigorously.

Taking her hand he
led her from the room but, before they could leave the chapel she grabbed his
arm, forcing him to stop. Pulling him down to her, she kissed him forcefully.

“I love you,
Tristan.”

She uttered a quick
prayer before they left the chapel, begging God for the chance to show him how
much.

***

As they ran out
into the bailey they could see the smoke that had begun to plume from the ground
in front of castle. It would not take long before the fire ate away at the
wooden supports and the French would have their breach.

Shouts rang out as
men scurried to their positions, archers and crossbowmen taking to the walls,
whilst the men-at-arms crowded into the bailey, baying for blood.

Tristan thrust a
hand into Madeline’s hair and pressed a determined kiss to her mouth. Seizing
her helm, he rammed it onto her head.

“Stay safe, wife.”

“And you, husband.”
She grinned at her words, partly from joy and partly to cover the trepidation
that descended upon her as she was greeted by the sights and sounds of
impending battle.

A soldier handed
him his shield and, with a last anxious look at her, he nodded and threaded his
way through the men steadily filling the space behind the wall.

Making her way to
the wall, she noted the smoke thickening. The hiss of arrows startled her as
they emerged from the fiery grey cloud and she ducked instinctively as they
rained over the wall and into the bailey. Screams sounded out as the arrows hit
home but most of the soldiers were ready with their shields above their heads,
more used to the noises of war than she. Madeline desperately searched out
Tristan and was relieved to see him unharmed.

Stones arced over
the wall, landing with a smash and kicking up debris. Leaning over the
battlements, she could see the French assembling, awaiting the moment they
could storm the inevitable breach. To her eyes, it seemed as though there were
enemy soldiers as far as the eye could see and she wondered how on earth they
could hold the keep against such odds.

Taking her cue from
the crossbowmen either side of her, she began to fire into the mob. Aware she
had a limited number of arrows; she took her time lining up each shot. The
crossbows were deadly and accurate but their reload time was slow while she
could be quick if needs be. However, while they had a stockpile of bolts, she
had only what she could carry.

She successfully
felled many a foe, the sharp tips of her arrows embedding themselves into necks
and chests, and managed to avoid being struck herself. Most returning arrows
went wide, plunging down into the bailey. A rock smashed into the wall, not two
paces from her, and it skimmed across the top, taking a crossbowmen and a chunk
of wall with it, coating her in dust.

As she coughed and
rubbed at her grit filled eyes, she became aware of a shudder beneath her feet.
The trembling increased and, glancing wildly around, she noticed a fissure
forming in the eastern tower of the gate. With a sudden rumble the base of the
tower fell away and the entire thing crumbled before Madeline’s disbelieving
eyes. The tower disintegrated, taking men with it and crushing anyone
unfortunate enough to be close by. A huge cloud of powdered stone kicked up,
obscuring the vision of the waiting armies and covering everyone in a cloying
film of dirt.

***

The French
scrambled through the breach, emerging from the haze with a chilling battle
cry. The two armies clashed together, shield upon shield, chest to chest.
Tristan surged forward with a yell and slammed his shield into that of a
Frenchman’s. He could smell the acrid stench of his breath and view the wild
bloodlust in his dark eyes. Using his shield to avoid his short thrusts,
Tristan slammed his sword through the thin gap between his comrade’s shield and
his, and was rewarded with the yield of flesh. His opponent crumpled and,
swinging forcefully, he stepped over the body, felling several more men.

Shields crashing
together once more and he found himself up against enemy after enemy, the
desperate fight to survive resuming. The never ending wave of adversaries soon
began to take its toll but he fought on, thoughts of Madeline filling him with
renewed strength. His height aided his chances of survival but his large
breadth meant more of his body was exposed to the desperate thrusts of his
adversaries and he received several superficial wounds to his limbs.

Tristan found
himself
constantly aware of where Madeline was, in spite of
the ensuing chaos. Out of the corner of his eye, he viewed her as the wind and
dirt whipped at her, her flame red hair escaping the confines of her grey helm.
His heart had been in his mouth as the stone had barrelled past her but she had
stayed calmly fixed to her position, casually firing her deadly arrows into the
blood thirsty crowd.

Her eyes locked
onto his and he forgot where he was, the screams and wails of fallen men
seeming to melt into the background. With a sudden lurch, he was back into
reality as a sword swished past his nose. He parried and thrust as his
efficient deadliness returned, destroying his enemies with a savagery that he
only ever released on the battlefield.

As he sliced
through the hordes of French, he found himself steadily surrounded, his
men-at-arms fighting bravely to push forwards but unable to break through the
barrier of shields. He retreated back, fending off slice after slice, aware of
every blade that encircled him. As his adversaries closed in on him, he fought
harder, with greater desperation, but he knew he could not continue to do so
forever.

A sudden burst of
pain registered in his mind and he realised the thrust of steel had penetrated
his armour, burying itself in his side. A scream sounded and Tristan hazily
identified it as belonging to Madeline.

***

She had witnessed
the French closing in on Tristan with horror, unable to do aught aside from
pray. Her arrows would have had just as much chance of hitting their own as one
of the enemy in the crush, and she had to concentrate her fire on those still
clambering through the breach.

Her heart came to a
standstill as he secured his gaze on her and she realised with sickening
clarity what a mistake it had been to think she could join this fight. His
protective nature would never cease and even now, in the midst of war, he was
seeking her out, ensuring she was safe.

A scream reached
her ears as she saw the thrust of a blade making contact with his side and she
belatedly realised it was hers. He fought back, slicing through the shoulder of
his assailant, before being pushed back by the unremitting onslaught.

She sprinted along
the top of the wall, aware of only one need.

To
get to Tristan.

She had sworn to
him she would not to put herself in danger, but if he died her oath would mean
naught anyway. Besides, as far as she was concerned, this
was
a necessary risk. The collapsed tower stood before her, its
crumbled remains sloping to the ground and she clambered down it, cursing and
slipping on the rubble until she hit the ground.