Summer Siege (6 page)

The faint strains
of the minstrels drifted through the night air and Tristan grinned. “We need
not an audience.”

She looked up at
him in puzzlement as he reached for her hand. Coaxing her fingers around his
own, he lifted them to his lips and grazed across them as he gave an
exaggerated bow. Glancing up at her from under his brow, he gave her a look of mock
seriousness.

“Tristan-” she
warned.

“Would my lady do
me the honour of giving me this dance?”

A look of amusement
flashed across her face before being carefully disguised under a look of
aloofness. The brief moment of merriment gave him hope and he pulled her away
from the wall to the centre of the courtyard, in spite of her hesitant
movements.

“Well?” he
persevered.

With a sigh and a
roll of her eyes, she nodded.
“Very well, if you insist.
You shall regret it though, when you awaken with sore feet.”

“‘Twill
be
worth every bruise,” he told her gallantly.

With a slight
chuckle, Madeline moved in front of him and gave him a curtsey that put his bow
to shame.

Taking
her hand once more, they moved together in a silence of their own, the music
from the hall becoming slowly muted. Even the sounds of their feet across the
stone seemed diminished; instead the throb of heartbeats and the whispers of
breath seemed to be their only company.

Madeline found
herself completely enraptured by his gaze, wanting desperately to look away but
unable to. She cursed herself for her idiocy; this was not how it was meant to
be. The coarse warmth of his hand leached into every fibre of her being,
reaching to her heart where she felt it take root; a blossoming heat that threatened
to throw away all she had learnt.

Light steps took
them towards each other, then apart, their fingers never breaking contact. It
was a slow dance, one designed to allow the dancers as much contact as
possible, and Madeline wondered faintly if Tristan had deliberately joined her
for this dance. Circling each other, their hips brushed, causing Madeline’s
breath to catch, a sound she was sure Tristan had heard if the glint in his
eyes was aught to go by. Turning in the opposite direction, they repeated the
movement and this time she ensured to keep her body from touching his. As they
faced each other once more, he drew her near, close enough so that she could
smell the
smokey
aroma of him, mingled with the sweet
meady
scent of his breath as he gazed down upon her.

A light breeze
swept over her, tickling her skin, the sensation heightened by the proximity of
the tempting man in front of her. Vaguely aware that the music had ceased, they
remained motionless, separated by naught more than the flow of air between
them. Willing herself to turn away, Madeline’s limbs remained uncooperative,
rooting her to the spot.

Tristan’s thumb
brushed across her fingertips, before tracing circles along her palm and the
underside of her wrist, sending shivers through her and causing her useless
legs to almost buckle. He must have noticed her weakened state as he put a
solid hand to the base of her spine, the heat of it scorching through her
dress. The movement forced them closer, but he must have recognised her
trepidation as still their bodies did not touch.

Desperately torn,
Madeline’s fingers itched to stroke across his broad chest, to encircle his
strong arms and most of all tangle around his neck and pull him down for a
blistering kiss. The rational part of her, the one guided by fear and doubt,
whispered of the dangers, but was hushed as Tristan brought his lips down to
hers with agonising deliberation. His lips skimmed across hers, the sensation
so acute that it resounded through her, forcing her to bolt from him as her heart
hammered painfully in her ears.

Breath
coming rapidly, she stared at
him, her fingers coming involuntarily to her lips where they tingled
incessantly. Tristan’s chest heaved as he regarded her with apprehension, and
she realised she had not been the only one affected.

He reached for her
hand but she turned quickly and, with brisk strides, began to walk back across
the courtyard with the intention of retreating inside.

Heavy footfalls
sounded behind her and Tristan quickly caught up, stepping in front of her.

“Madeline, I did
not mean to…” A mystifying fusion of hope and regret played across his face and
remorse filled her, “I had hoped to court you properly.”

“Tristan, pray
forgive me. I intended not to mislead you.”

“Mislead me? You
deny that you desire me as I do you?”

Glancing away, she
blushed. “I beg of you, do not pursue the matter. ‘Twas a mistake and for that,
I apologise. I have no wish to be courted, I did not return with the intention
of securing your affections.”

“Madeline, we were
to be betrothed. Does that count for naught?” He ran a hand across his bristled
jaw in frustration.

“Nay, ‘twas an
honourable deed and I thank you for it. But I no longer need rescuing. You no
longer have a duty towards me,” she insisted.

“I was not thinking
of duty just now,” he bit out, the annoyance behind his words causing Madeline
to back away.

“’Do not fool
yourself, Tristan.” He went to speak but she continued. “Pray accept that I
have no wish to be bound to…anyone. You have no obligation here.”

He studied her as
she stood resolutely, meeting his eyes boldly as she straightened her back,
hoping he would not see through her staunch mask. Tristan created a weakness
within her, one that frightened her desperately, and she knew she could never
allow herself to be overcome by him for he would surely leave her just a
vulnerable as she had been five summers ago.

“I believe I am not
the one who deceives themselves, but I will not force my affections where they
are unwanted. I will, however, extend the hand of friendship. Will you accept
such an offer?”

Surprised he had
relented so easily, she nodded her assent. “Aye, friendship I will accept.”

A look to his eyes
had Madeline doubting if he had indeed relinquished his hopes for them but, realising
there was little else she could do, she determined she would give him no more
reason to imagine there could be aught but friendship between them. Quashing
the voice that played inside of her, reminding her that such a resolution was
going to be hard to maintain, she allowed Tristan to escort her back into the
hall.

Their return to Woodchurch was
easier than their outward journey. Cariad had almost fully recovered and
handled the short journey admirably. Relief combined with dread pricked at
Madeline, churning in her gut. She was grateful to be free from the oppressive
atmosphere of Ashford Manor but, having barely had time to settle at Woodchurch
before they left, she feared the ghosts of the past that still lingered.

Remorse struck her
for her ungrateful attitude. Lord Reginald and Lady Elizabeth had gone out of
their way to see to her comfort and had treated her as they would a daughter,
but she had been unable to return the sentiments. Indeed, they had behaved no
differently towards her than when she was a child but time had stolen the
solace she used to feel in their care.

As they proceeded
past Woodchurch chapel, Madeline pulled Cariad to a stop. There was one ghost
here that she needed to confront.

Tristan rode
slightly ahead of her and turned his mount around when he realised she had
paused, motioning to Thomas to continue on.

“Is he here?” she
asked him.

“Aye, he’s here.”

Madeline took a
breath and dismounted. Tristan followed behind her, keeping his distance.

The flint walled chapel
was meagre as befitting a village of
Woodchurch’s
size and few gravestones surrounded it. Only the most noble of families were
buried here.  Moving directly towards her mother’s grave, she found the
freshly turned soil that indicated a new burial.

Her father’s grave.

She stared at it
for some time, mayhap hoping to conjure some kind of emotion, but none came.
Only the cold fist of detachment took root in her heart.

“He grieved for
you, Madeline.” Tristan said softly as he came up behind her.

She let out a
disparaging laugh. “Yet I was not dead.”

“A young maid out
in the world alone -‘
twould
not be surprising if he
thought it true.”

“
‘Tis
funny that he should care for me once I was gone.”

“All Woodchurch saw
how he mourned, ‘tis why the lands have been neglected thus.”

Shaking her head in
denial, she met his forceful gaze. “Why do you tell me this?”

“So you know that
you were loved.”

“Loved? Nay, he did
not love. He knew naught of love. Likely, he grieved the missed opportunity of
joining his lands with another through my betrothal.”

“I cannot claim to
have respect for your father, not after his treatment of you, but I do believe
he loved you in his way.”

“Why would he claim
me dead then? Why not search for me? Why not bring me home?” Madeline realised she
was speaking not of her father, but of Tristan. She recognised that she was
still angry at him for believing her father’s lies, for not finding her and
marrying her as he had promised. Yet, would she have even returned with him? By
the time she had made her escape, she was too embittered to even contemplate
returning, whether Tristan had wanted her or not.

Tristan must have
heard her anger building and he laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. It gave
her strength, somehow, in spite of her reluctance to accept aid from him, and
she let it rest.

“Mayhap he was
ashamed of his actions, too ashamed to own up to them. I believe he thought I
would look for you if I knew you were alive and then his deceitful actions
would have been revealed.”

She considered this
before she curled marginally into him. Her body tucked into the side of his and
she found herself unable to withdraw, his presence providing a comfort she
could not bring herself to reject.

“And would you have
looked for me?” She hated the feebleness that crept into her voice.

Tristan twisted her
around to face him, his hands on her shoulders. “Of course, why would you ask
such a thing? Madeline, if I had known you were alive I would have hunted until
the end of my days to find you.”

Aye, of course he
would. He had seen her as his duty and naught could come between Tristan and
duty. His eyes blazed into hers with an emotion she couldn’t identify.
Desperation?
Anguish? She wasn’t sure.

Unable to confront
such emotion, she sighed. “I am weary. Let us return home.”

Tristan watched her
with concern but said no more, frustrated by her denial of his feelings and
mostly her denial of him.

***

The next sennight
was taken up with rediscovering her township and coming to understand her
duties. Her father had devoted little time to instructing her in the ways of a
noble lady and thus she was little prepared for the tasks that befell her.
While most young girls would be preparing for an advantageous marriage and
readying themselves for running a busy household, Madeline had either been
cosseted away or blindly ignored, depending upon the whim of her father. 

Tristan proved to
be a knowledgeable and patient teacher, guiding her through each task - from
the accounts to dealing with neighbourly disputes. It became obvious to
Madeline that he thrived in such a role and Ashford would most fortunate when
he took over his father’s role. Certainly, Woodchurch had not suffered for his
presence.

As he led her
around the fief on horseback, the villagers greeted her pleasantly and she
wondered when she would truly feel at home. Over the previous days she had
gradually become accustomed to being in Tristan’s company. Not that she was
exactly relaxed around him, for he still created a humming tension within her,
but they had a pleasant routine and she drew comfort from the constancy.

Reining his
destrier to a stop, Tristan waited for Madeline to draw up beside him as he
motioned to the fallow fields, currently being ploughed. Hay making and sheep
shearing had just begun and the small village was bustling with activity. Aware
the industriousness of the settlement was all Tristan’s doing, she determined
that she would ensure to thank him for his work.

Madeline smiled to herself
as he animatedly explained the work done, and she could not help but admire his
commitment.
Oh yes, he would make a fine lord.

A slight pain
struck her heart as she recalled the dream of a different life - a dream in
which she would have been his lady.

Trailing off as he
noticed her sudden melancholy, Madeline questioned how it was that he was so
attuned to her feelings. Particularly when she considered herself so practiced
in the art of concealing them.

“Madeline, what
troubles you?”

His concern almost
undid her and she fought the temptation to tell him all, to unload all her
fears and doubts upon him. But she maintained her silence, knowing little could
come of such revelations and unwilling to burden him with her foolish troubles.

Instead she smiled
reassuringly, “Oh, naught.
‘
Tis
a warm day, it not?”

He accepted the
diversion, likely knowing her words were just that. He was too astute not to.

“Are you too hot? I
would seek you some shade if you wish.”

“Nay, I am well
enough. Pray let’s continue.”

Tristan considered
her for a moment, before giving a brisk nod.
“As you will.”
He motioned to a field nearby. “Many fields were left fallow by your father.”

She stiffened
slightly at the mention of him. “Aye…it seems I was not the only one to suffer
neglect by my father’s hand. Will the harvest see us through the winter?”

“I know not. We
have had to work hard to make up for your father’s negligence, but I think that
if we are careful it should see us through. At least the fields can be fully
planted through the next two summers, for there will be no need to leave them
fallow for the next crops.”

Madeline observed
as the villagers tended the hay, turning it so that it would dry. “You have
done much for Woodchurch. I find I have great deal to thank you for.”

“Pray I do not
expect your thanks, Madeline.
‘
Tis
my duty.
My father has no wish to see the villeins starve
any more than I do.”

“Still
‘tis more than most would do.”

He shook his head
and ignored her as she rolled her eyes at his modesty. “I’ve also introduced
bees to Woodchurch,” he revealed with some pride.

“Where?
I’ve not seen the hives.”

How silly of her
not to realise as she had eaten honey just that morn and had not even thought
to question the source.

“We have erected apiaries
to the north of the village.” Tristan paused as some of the village children
scurried up next to them, greeting them both with open delight. Their flame
haired mistress had proved a fascinating diversion to their chores of late.

“Some of the children
were scared by the noise of the bees, so we had to keep the hives well away
from the cottages. Isn’t that so?” He looked at the children with a teasing
grin and laughed as they all shook their heads indignantly and made noises of
protest.

She was aware of a
wistful expression coming across her face. As the thoughts of a future lost
still resonated within her, the realisation struck her that it was not just
Tristan she had lost. Somehow it had never occurred to her that she had also
given up on the opportunity to start a family.

Madeline watched as
Tristan bantered easily with the children. With his fair and loving manner,
Tristan would be a wonderful father.

Would it be worth
it? Would this seclusion she had placed herself in be worth the loss of the chance
for a loving family? There had only ever been one man she had even considered a
future with and now that she had denied him, it was hardly likely any other man
could seem worth the risk. But at least she would be safe from pain.

Tristan turned to
her with an easy smile. “Shall I show you the hives?”

Madeline nodded and
found a smile creeping across her own face in response. Internally she
grimaced. Aye, she told herself, it would be worth that. It would be.

***

Tristan started
guiltily as Alice sidled up behind him. He stood in the manor doorway, watching
Madeline attend to Cariad. She showed the animal such care - speaking to her
with whispered words - that it appeared to Tristan that his Madeline had indeed
returned, even if just for a short moment.

As he observed the
horse revel in the attentions, he could not help but wish it was he receiving
her care. He was sure he was slowly getting through to her, but it frustrated
him that as soon as he appeared to make progress, she would retreat back from him.

Since their
intimate moment at the feast, she had allowed him little opportunity to build
upon it and he was aware that he had promised her only friendship. It was a
daily struggle to keep to his pledge to be patient and offer only what she was
comfortable with. He had to acknowledge that he had little intention of
sticking to his promise forever. Sooner or later, his restraint would snap and
he just prayed she would be ready for his renewed attentions.

“She loves
ye
, ye know?”

Love?
He could but only hope. “I know
not. You have not seen the coldness that exists within her, Alice.
‘Tis
deeply rooted. Mayhap even love is not enough to thaw
such a frozen heart.”

“Ye would be a fool
to lose hope now, milord. 
Ye’ve
pined for her
for five years, surely ye can bide
yer
time and win
back her trust. Even me old eyes can see ye two are made for each other.”

He watched as
Madeline nuzzled into Cariad and smiled at the sight. “I know not how much
longer I can wait, Alice. Lord Reginald wishes me to take a bride and I have
been remiss in doing so for too long.”

“
Ye’d
be miserable with anyone else,” Alice said
determinedly.

He chuckled at the
old woman’s words, Alice was far too perceptive. “
Aye, that
I would. Pray tell then, cunning Alice, how shall I win the maidens heart?”

Alice chortled.
“Just keep being
yer
handsome self, milord. ‘Twill
not
be
long before she yields, I promise ye.”

Tristan shook his
head, if it only it were that easy. “I shall hold you to that promise. Now be
off with you and cease your gossiping.”

She gave him an
affectionate pat on the arm before leaving him to his thoughts. Was Alice
right? Did she really love him? If she did, then there had to be hope for them.
Sensing his observation, Madeline looked to the house and visibly jolted as her
eyes locked onto his. She offered a slight smile and Tristan found himself
grinning. Aye, there was definitely hope.

***

The silvered moon filtered in
through the thin arched windows, shrouding her room in a metallic radiance. A
gentle wind swept over Madeline’s heated skin but could not cut through fiery
thoughts that devoured her.