Summer Siege (10 page)

As she watched his
strong form disappear over the embankment, she concluded that she was indeed a
fool. But she was a damaged fool, her past having ruined her beyond repair, and
Tristan deserved better than that. He deserved a wife who could accept him as
her husband and protector and Madeline could not do that. For life had long ago
taught her that reliance on others was the most foolish thing of all.

***

Infuriated and
disheartened, Tristan arrived back at the manor. The scent of Madeline still
lingered and he ordered a bath poured, mayhap hoping to literally wash himself
of her. With a sigh, he realised it would be harder than that.

He wanted her.
Had
always
wanted her.

Since he had
noticed the beginnings of womanhood he had wished to make her his wife. Even
before then, as children, he was struck by her sweetness, her laughter. Even
when all in her world was joyless, she somehow managed to retain that childlike
belief that all would turn out right.

But then she wasn’t
that girl any more was she? And he knew, in his heart, that he was instrumental
in that. His failure to protect her, to claim her as his wife, had been the
biggest betrayal of all, truly destroying any hope she retained.  Now she
claimed she no longer wanted his protection and he was mystified. He was
offering her everything she had needed, he was attempting to redeem himself,
and yet she steadfastly refused to accept him.

As he soaked in the
wooden tub, he noted the scratches along his arms and did not doubt he had
similar marks across his back from her fingernails. Positive proof of their
ardour - he knew he was not the only one who had been swept away by their love
making. He had seen the reflected love in her eyes, he was sure of it. Aye, she
was no longer that gentle child but he loved the woman she had turned into no
less.

Tristan could not
believe she was not as affected as him. And if that were true, the fact that
she still refused him now meant there was no hope, for surely such an
experience should have sealed his place in her heart. For too long now had he
been haunted by her, by his failure of her, the memory of her, and now by the
scarred soul she had become. It would be no easy feat but he resolved to put
her from his mind. Madeline wanted no aid and he would do as she asked, no
matter the cost to himself.

 His oath to
never let her go would be forgotten.

***

“Oh.” Madeline
gulped at the vision before her.

Upon her return to
the manor, she had checked in on her horse, knowing her quiet presence would
offer some comfort but Cariad had not been herself. Knowing of Tristan’s skill
with horses, she had reluctantly decided to ask for his help.

Curse Alice.
She
had known he would be bathing yet allowed her to search him out.
For certain, it was no unusual
thing to witness a man bathing, but this was different.

This was Tristan.

His head rested on
the rim of the wooden tub, his eyes closed as water trailed along his throat,
over his Adams apple and towards the swells of his muscular chest. His hair was
slicked back off his face, affording her a clear view of his profile as the golden
strands curled around his neck.

It was all the more
torturous to know that just that afternoon she had been fingering those curls,
stroking across his taut skin and enjoying his body in a way she never thought
possible.

Rooted to the spot,
she willed herself to turn but her legs would not co-operate and his eyes
sprung open as he sensed another in the room. Delight flared briefly in his
expression before being swiftly replaced with stony indifference, as if he had
momentarily forgotten his vow to forget her.

“Madeline.” Her
name caressed over her as he uttered it, sending a flutter to her toes.

“Forgive me,” She
lowered her eyes, “Alice said…” she trailed off with a gulp; aware she was
staring at his chest, following the drops of water as they trickled down his
torso. Down to…

“Are you well? You
look flushed.”

She groaned
inwardly. Did he have any idea of the effect he was having on her? Her stomach
flipped at the mere sight of him and desire flowed languidly through her limbs,
creating an awareness of her body unlike any other. Endeavouring to resist a
peek over the edge of the tub, she met his eyes and noted the slight glint.
Oh,
he knew.

Attempting a look
of nonchalance, she strolled to the window, primarily so she had something else
less distracting to look upon.

“I am quite well
but Cariad appears to be ailing, would you take a look at her?”

 “Pray pass me
the towel.”

Madeline turned
with a frown to find him stood in the tub. A squeal escaped her as his large
body loomed in front of her. The water sluiced down his powerful chest and, in
spite of
herself
, her eyes traced the ridges to the
juncture of his thighs. Images of their passionate coupling flitted through her
mind

“Madeline,
the towel?”

Startled, and aware
she was gaping, her skin burned in embarrassment as she snatched at the towel,
holding it out to him at arm’s length while keeping her face averted. She
waited as the water sloshed and his feet slapped onto the stone floor as he
grabbed the towel from her. Glancing up she was relieved to see the towel
firmly secured around his waist, though it did little to calm her racing heart.

“I will take a look
at her shortly.”

He stepped towards
her and she found herself backing away until her back hit the door.

“Tristan, I…thank
you. ‘
Twould
be much appreciated.”

 Her hand
groped for the door handle behind her as he towered over her, no more than one
pace away, his hands encircling her as they lent against the door either side
of her head. What was he attempting? Mayhap he was seeking revenge, trying to
torment her for refusing him. She doubted it; Tristan was not so petty as to
play games with her. Trying to remember all the reasons she had refused him,
she attempted to fortify herself before meeting his gaze.

As he leaned in to
her, she realised he was going to kiss her and, while her body tilted up to
meet him,  her mind screamed, reminding her of the dangers of dependence
on others. He must have noted the flash of panic as he bore down upon her
because a slight frown came across his face.

Bringing a hand to
her cheek, he went to stroke a finger down it before snatching it back and
turning away with a curse. Her hand desperately twisted on the knob behind her
and she took the opportunity to escape but as she made to leave, he turned.

“I will pay a visit
to my father tomorrow. You will have to look for a new steward, my lady.”

She blinked in
surprise. “I would not see you leave the role, you enjoy it so.”

He shook his head
in exasperation. “Nay, my heart cannot bear to look upon you. I fear you shall
sap any enjoyment.”

Madeline looked at
him in shock at his brutally honest words. “I do not behave so deliberately. Do
you not see I am releasing you from a mistaken vow?”

“‘Twas no mistake,
I loved you…I love you.”

He looked at her
with such sorrow, such intensity, Madeline’s heart constricted with regret. He
would soon realise the folly behind his words.

“I am not that girl
anymore, Tristan.”

“Nay, you are not,
just as I am not the same man. But you are strong and kind, just as she was. If
you would just release the demons that taunt you, you would see that you are
not so changed.”

“What would you
have me do? For I cannot change what time has done.”

Tristan studied her
for a moment before reaching for his shirt, pulling it swiftly over his head.

“I know not but I
will not stay to watch you torment yourself further.”

“But what will you
do?”

“The French are
amassing at Dover Castle; they will have a time defending it. My father has
been asked to take the men-at-arms and aid in its defence. I will go in his
stead.”

Dread filled her.
The castle would be the last one between Prince Louis and his crown. It would
be no straightforward battle and the castle’s custodian, Hubert de Burgh was
fiercely loyal to the crown. He would not capitulate easily.

“I beg of you, do
not.”

“Would you have me
ignore my duty? Shall I send my aging father to fight instead?”

“Nay,
but what of your duty to Woodchurch?
What of your duty to…” she trailed of intending to
say ‘me’ but knowing it went against everything she had just said. Knowing full
well she had no right to feel as she did, her stomach churned with fear.

“There is naught to
keep me here, Madeline.” Viewing her sadly, he bundled up the rest of his
garments and made to move past her, but she stood frozen in the doorway.
“Madeline, let me by, I have little time to prepare.”

“So you will die
for the sakes of duty?”

He looked at her
grimly and Madeline shuddered. “I bear the burden of battle just as any other
man.
‘Tis
an
honour to fight
for my country.”

She stared at him,
unable to move, to release him, yet knowing she had to. Cold fear fisted itself
painfully at her heart at the thought of something happening to him, but how
could she persuade him to stay? She could offer him naught, not even
friendship, for it would always be a painful reminder of what could have been.

“You are leaving me
once more then?”

Tristan’s eyes
flared in anger. “I am not leaving you! I do not have you! Hells teeth, think
you that I do not wish I had not left you? Think you I have not lived every day
since regretting that decision, punishing myself for it? I will always repent
my actions that day for I had a duty to you too, but I cannot spend the rest of
my days waiting for your forgiveness.”

Jolted by his ire,
she backed through the doorway. Pausing, she looked to the floor, unable to
bear the cold fury in his gaze. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I do not wish to
cause such anguish. Pray forgive me.”

Madeline turned and
fled, tears spilling freely down her cheeks, to seek solace in her chamber
unable to spend another moment in his presence. She stayed there from night
until morning, not even leaving for food. To watch him leave once more was more
than her heart could bear.

A cloud of fog sat
across the village that morning as the soldiers thundered past on their way to
Dover. Tristan led the group of just over fifty men-at-arms though the thin mist,
their colourful tabards breaking through the cloudy swirls. The journey to
Dover would take them just under two days if they rode hard.

And they would. For
Dover Castle was on the brink of siege. With the support of rebel barons,
Prince Louis held London and much of the South. Dover was to be England’s last
stand. Seen as the key to England, it sat between the French prince and a
successful invasion.

Looking back at the
battled hardened men, he knew they would fight hard to hold the keep. Although
an experienced warrior himself, he took no pleasure in killing and detested
those who did. A man had to kill to defend those he love, a sad necessity of
these times, but while he was a skilled fighter, it was with a sense of duty
that he did so, not with a love of violence. He looked forward to returning to
Woodchurch and resuming his duties.

But he wasn’t
returning.
His
gut churned with regret.

Damp air clung to
his skin, as miserable as his mood. Tristan had not seen Madeline again after
their confrontation for she had remained in her chambers. Trying to remind
himself that he was glad, he could not help but hope for one last glance - just
one last look at her to sustain him for the trials ahead.

In truth, he should
be glad he did not for he was sure his resolution would have buckled and he
would have gone crawling back, praying and hoping that one day she may deign to
forgive him. His resentment towards her burnt bright, troubling him, for he was
not prone to bitterness but her refusal to allow them a chance at happiness ate
away at him.

And yet his love
for her was just as potent as ever.

With a brief glance
to the small manor house sitting below the hill, he spurred on his horse.
Mayhap his love would be forgotten in the spilling of French blood.

***

Alice finally
coaxed Madeline downstairs at noon, tempting her with some food. Her stomach
growled, in spite of the constant feeling of nausea that had swept over since
she had heard the clatter of hooves early that morning.

Sitting in the
small hall, the room seemed colder than usual and, as she looked at the empty
bench opposite, she realised it was due to Tristan’s absence. His jovial smile
and large golden form always had the effect of warming the barren room. It was
as if all joy had been swept from her and all her previous fears seemed trivial
now that he was gone.

Pottering around,
Alice seemed to take little notice of her mistress’ melancholy mood until she
came to clear away her trencher. Patting Madeline’s hand, she sat down
unceremoniously next to her and Madeline looked at her with curiosity, knowing
it was likely she was going to receive some words of wisdom. Alice’s wisdom was
useful sometimes and mildly puzzling the rest of the time.

“I had hoped we’d
be celebrating a wedding when ye returned.”

Madeline stared at
the table, tracing the wood grain with her fingers. “Oh?
Between
who?”

“Don’t ye play
ignorant with me,” Alice wagged a finger at her, “I am no fool. We all knew the
master were heartbroken over ye and ‘twas clear as day that ye still loved
him.”

“I do not -” she
trailed off as Alice raised a brow at her. The woman knew her far too well to
be deceived. Her voice cracked, “It matters not how I feel. I am not wifely
material and Tristan deserves better.”

“Think you that’s
not for him to decide?”

Madeline considered
her words, mayhap Alice was right but there was still the matter of trust. She
couldn’t let herself be that vulnerable again. “I cannot, Alice.” Her throat
clogged with unspent tears. “For all that is holy, I cannot be under a man’s
power again.”

“He is not your
father.”

“Think you I don’t
know that?!”

“Ye think that ye
will not hurt if ye do not marry him. If he were to marry someone else and have
babes would it not hurt ye? If he does not return from this battle, will it not
torment ye for eternity that ye did not declare
yer
love?”

“Oh, Alice, do not
speak so.” The thought wrenched painfully at her heart. Alice spoke true but
doubts still lingered. “But how can I marry a man so honour-bound?”

“Is that not one of
the traits ye love?”

“Aye…” Madeline
admitted grudgingly, “Though I dare not hope he truly loves me. He speaks from
the guilt of a broken vow, I am sure.”

“Milady, you are a
clever woman, so how be it that ye are behaving like a daft mule? Ye need only
look in his eyes to see his love for
ye
.
‘Tis
not honour that kept him by
yer
side.”

Sitting in silence,
Madeline thought over all the moments she had shared with Tristan. Indeed, he
had insisted what he felt was naught to do with his guilt. But how could she
know for sure? She feared he would one day decide that it was not love keeping
him at her side, but duty. And if she gave him all her heart, where would that
leave her? She could not bear the thought of him not loving her as she did him.

Sensing her
indecision, Alice wrapped her scraggy fingers around hers. “Ye need to decide
what the greater risk is. Bury
yer
love and pray it
does not plague ye for the rest of ye days or open ye heart to him and hope.”

Madeline looked up
at her with a start. An unfamiliar sensation burned within her.
A warm, glowing feeling bursting from her heart.

“Hope?”

“Aye, hope. Love is
not without its risks but ‘
twould
be far worse to
live without it. ‘
Specially
when ye have the love of a
man such as Sir Tristan.” Alice grinned mischievously at her.

Madeline chewed at
her lip. “But he is gone…”

“Ye could go after
him…”

“I know not if he
will even forgive me. I have been so heartless.”

“He will, I know
it. Go to him, milady.”

She frowned,
wondering if Alice was being too optimistic. “He will send me back.”

“Ha, ‘tis not the
Lady Madeline I know! Make sure he can’t. Ride to him and show him that ye love
him.”

Laughing at Alice’s
determined expression, she felt that same determination fill her. She loved
him, and if naught else she would tell him so. He had spent all this time
condemning his actions and she had done naught to renounce his
self-condemnation, instead only fuelling his belief that he had failed her.
Aye, the pain of those days would probably always sit with her but look at what
the time had given her. She was strong and independent and would always remain
so. Tristan would never take that from her, he was too noble a man to do so.

Suddenly those
years apart, the skills she had learnt all meant something. She would go to
Dover Castle. She would fight – by Tristan’s side, if he would allow her – and
defend everything she loved.
Tristan and England.

 “Aye, I will.
‘Twill
take
some cunning on my behalf, but I swear he
will not be able to send me away.”

“Then make haste,
milady!”

***

Thomas looked lost
without his master. He tended to Cariad with the same care and attention as he
did Tristan’s destrier and she smiled at the sight of the small boy’s hands
upon her large horse. Madeline viewed him with pity as she realised he probably
felt as she did and lamented the loss of Tristan almost as much as she. Thomas
was a determined young lad and no doubt wanted to fight but as a page there was
no place for him in battle.

“Thomas?”

He looked up at her
before giving her a formal but awkward bow.
“My lady.”

“Thomas, I need
your help.”

“Of
course, my lady.
My lord said I was to aid you with whatever you needed.”

She smiled at his
heartfelt words. “Aye, well, I am about to ask a great favour of you, Thomas,
and I am doubtful your lord would have intended for you to aid me in such a
manner.”

A frown came across
his pale forehead.
“My lady?”

“I wish you to take
me to Dover Castle.”

His eyes widened
and he shook his head vigorously. “Nay, my lady, I am to keep you safe. Sir
Tristan said I must!”

“Well then, you
must keep me safe on my journey to Dover.”

“But, my lady-”

“Do not forget I am
your mistress,” she told him sternly.

Thomas’ face
dropped.
“Aye, my lady.”

Madeline smiled,
feeling sorry for him. “You will not get into trouble, all blame shall lay with
me, I promise. Your lord knows well of my stubbornness and will not punish you
for my actions.”

His teeth nibbled
at his bottom lip as he considered her. She could tell he didn’t believe her
but she knew Tristan would not be angry with the boy for doing as she asked.
More likely she would bear the brunt of any anger but she was willing to risk
his fury if it meant she could tell him she loved him.

“Good. Now ready
the horses and gather your things. Ask Alice for some food, ‘twill
be
a two day journey at least.”

Thomas
nodded and scampered away. Anticipation began to fill Madeline and she found
herself longing to set her eyes upon Tristan. Still, she knew she would have to
bide her time. If she was to prove her love for him she would have to remain
patient, which would no doubt prove to be a most difficult feat in his
presence.  Nevertheless, in spite of the knowledge of the challenge ahead,
she could already feel the heavy shroud of doubt lifting. Hope had once again
taken root inside her heart.

***

Their journey took
a little over two days in the end. Thomas was not as strong a rider as
Madeline, having spent less time in the saddle as she, and Cariad was still
ailing so she had settled upon one of the other horses who lacked
Cariad’s
fleet of foot.

They slept by the
roadside at night, taking turns to keep a watch out, particularly for French
soldiers. It was rumoured that a local man, William of
Cassingham
,
was leading a rebellion against French troops in the area, skirmishing them
with his archers, and the roads remained peaceful, mayhap due to his efforts.

The Kentish
countryside quickly eased Madeline’s nerves, a feeling of comfort that she had
yet to experience since her return settled upon her. The familiarity of the
lush greens and rolling hills contrasted directly with the sharp, breath-taking
scenery of North Wales. While she conceded the beauty of the land surrounding
her aunt’s home was unparalleled, this was the first time she had taken note of
her surroundings and it offered her a joy that she had considered destroyed by
her father’s treatment of her.

It was a joy that
Tristan had somehow replenished. Without her realising, his time and attention
had drawn out that childlike part of her that took pleasure in such simple
things. Whilst others had written her off as forever changed, he had seen that
dormant capacity to love and had worked hard to coax it from her.

They approached
Dover over the cliffs, the scent of sea saturating the air. A sharp breeze
countered the warmth of the sun and beneath them the sea rolled into the white
cliffs, the wave’s collision with the rocks just distinguishable underneath the
bluster of the wind.

Approaching the
castle from the north, they avoided the French, who were billeted in the town.
A wooden palisade barbican was in the last stages of completion and surrounded
the North gate – likely a last minute addition in the hopes of buying time. The
large wooden posts encircled the gate creating a third line of defence. Their
best hope of survival was for them to hold out for as long as possible until
Prince Louis ran out of supplies or men. It would be unlikely the French would
remain during winter, their encampment not suited to the harsh English weather,
so if the keep could remain secure until then they may have their victory.

Dover castle was
one of the most impressive in England, a prime example of fortifications at
their best. Madeline had never seen it before and it was truly a sight to
behold. Towering over the landscape atop the huge chalk cliffs, the square
stone keep dominated the landscape. The surrounding curtain walls were no less
intimidating - with towers positioned to cover all angles - every fragment of
it was designed to protect the occupants from invasion.

As they passed
through the barbican, the North gate loomed over them - two great round towers
between which a portcullis stood. Entering the bailey, the path in front of
them curved around to the second gate, stone walls causing entering forces to
narrow their column. Madeline pitied any enemy who would find themselves within
these walls. The heads of crossbowman could be seen bobbing along walls on
every side. Anyone stepping foot in here would surely be slaughtered.