Summer Siege (11 page)

The doors were open
to allow workers easy access but the Captain of the gate recognised them as
strangers and challenged them. “What say you?”

Madeline dipped her
head, keeping her eyes to the ground. She wore a conical helm which concealed
her distinctive hair and a short surcoat and hose completed her disguise. On
her travels to Wales she had found a male costume an advantageous tool and
almost relished the chance to don her disguise once more. With any luck, she
would be mistaken for a young boy as there was no concealing her small frame.

Thomas cleared his
throat. “I bring word for Sir Tristan Dumont from Lord Reginald Dumont.”

The captain nodded,
recognising the name and motioned them through.

Madeline sighed in
relief.

Moving through the
second gate, they finally arrived in front of the Great Tower. The clanging of
the blacksmiths frantically making ready for war could be heard and the odour
of sweat and animals pervaded the air. Madeline began to doubt the wisdom of
her decision. If the constable truly believed this was to be a long siege it
was likely all the women and children of the household had left so the stores
would not have to feed anyone who couldn’t fight.

In all likelihood
she was the only woman in the castle.

Crushing a pang of
anxiety, she steeled herself. Indeed, she may be the only woman but she would
prove herself just as useful as any man.  

***

As she settled her
horse into the stables, she turned to Thomas, who looked around anxiously. “Be
off with you now, lad. You have done your duty.”

He shook his head
vigorously. “I’m to keep you safe, milady. Sir Tristan will not be happy if I
leave you here.”

Madeline settled a
hand on his shoulder. “You will make a fine knight one day, Thomas, but a
castle under siege is no place for you now.”

Glancing around she
realised it was no place for her either but, with courage on her side, she
resolved to continue on with her reckless plan.

Thomas
fidgeted,
his eyes wide with the sights and sounds of the
castle. “I should not leave you…”

“I order you to
leave now. Return to Alice and ensure that Woodchurch is well looked after.
Lord Reginald will need to be informed of my absence.”

He nodded with
slight relief and mounted his horse. “I will see you soon, milady?”

She smiled with a
certainty that she didn’t feel. “
Aye, that
you will.”

As she watched
Thomas leave, a feeling of loneliness threatened to consume her. She had little
clue as to what she should do now she was in the keep, having never resided in
a castle at a time of war. She began to explore the keep, ensuring to remember
to remain as concealed as possible lest someone recognise her as a woman.

The smell of the
pungent male musk assaulted her senses and she tried not to gawp at the many
hundreds of men crowded into the small spaces. Everywhere she went there were
soldiers and she wondered how she would remain undiscovered. Listening
carefully to the talk of the men, she soon learnt that the siege was expected
to start within a matter of days and she thanked God she had made it in time.

Madeline’s heart
jolted as a flash of golden hair caught her eye. Leaning out of one of the
embrasures, she caught site of Tristan. Out on the inner wall, he was talking
with a distinguished looking older man. In full armour, his hauberk and leather
surcoat had transformed him into a fully-fledged warrior. The open shirted
farmer was long gone and she imagined she could view the toughened steel of his
blue eyes. He motioned emphatically with one hand as his other clutched to his
helm and Madeline itched to join him.

Cobalt eyes flicked
to the embrasure and she darted back, pulse thumping. Realising he could not
have seen her from his position, she laughed at her foolishness. For the
moment, she would have to stay out of his sight.

Just
until the siege began.

Then,
without the possibility of her leaving, she would announce her presence to him.
She just prayed he would forgive her for her deception.

Dover Castle, July 1216

The siege began as Prince Louis’
forces divided, half remaining in the town and the other half moving up to the
hill to the north of the castle. His fleet were sent to sea, enclosing the keep
on all sides. The atmosphere within the keep was palpable, having been building
to this moment for too long.

Tristan stood atop
the inner curtain wall as the French amassed while great wooden siege machines
rolling into view. They quickly set about assembling the wooden
perriers
and
mangonels
– the
stone throwing machines – and construction started on what was to be a siege
tower. Yet, even as the siege began, he could summon no fear. Tumultuous green
eyes plagued him and he wondered if he would ever see them again. Some
inexplicable part of him could always sense her and he could not shake the
feeling that he had left her to some peril.

 The sound of
stones pounding against the outer curtain wall tore him from his thoughts.
Dangerously accurate crossbowmen fired at the operators of the war machines but
there were many thousands of French men and they were easily replaced. However,
while the stone attacks on the walls did but minor damage, the undermining of
the barbican began. Protected by a ‘cat’ – a large wooden shelter covered in
hides - the workers swiftly began work. The Kentish chalk would be easily
penetrated and it would be but a matter of time before they collapsed the
wooden palisades and stormed the barbican.

Now it would be a
waiting game.

***

Madeline had also
observed the beginning of the siege and knew it was now time to act. Days of
being sequestered away had led to this and now her courage seemed to desert
her. He would be angry with her, she realised.
How had she considered this idea such a fine one?
After
several days of watching him from a distance her longing to be by his side had
only compounded, but now she felt foolish.

With a start, she
realised he was moving towards her with brisk strides. Panicking, she attempted
to turn but slammed into the chest of another man. Clumsily she turned once
more to realise he was practically upon her. Dropping her head, she went to
hurry past but a hand grabbed her arm.

“Wait!”

Reluctantly, she
glanced up as Tristan looked at her in confusion.

Knowing she had
little choice but to reveal herself, she whipped off her helmet, her fiery hair
spilling from its confines.

“Madeline! What in
the devil…?”

Swallowing, she
stared up at him, all courage now unquestionably gone.  His armour
amplified the pure strength of him and up close he was more daunting than ever.
What truly struck her was the weariness and remoteness reflected in his eyes.
Was it the strain of battle or had she been
the cause of such a look?

“How did you get in
here?”

“I…I’ve been here
for a while.” She gulped, “I wish to stay by your side, Tristan. I wish to join
you in this battle.”

“What is your
meaning? Madeline, this is no game, we are at war. I have no time for your
manipulations.”

“I have no intent
to neither play games nor manipulate. I am aware of the dangers, which is why I
will not leave your side.”

Tristan frowned at
her. Sounds of chainmail clattered around them as soldier’s barged past. Taking
her elbow, he marched her to one of the small chambers, scowling at her with
blatant annoyance.

Pushing her against
the wall, he glowered at her. “Speak plainly, my lady, what are you doing
here?”

Madeleine opened
her mouth to speak but he held a finger up.

“And speak the
truth. No more cold words with little meaning, I am weary of them.”

Seeing the mistrust
in the bright azure of his eyes, she noted the apathy of his expression, and
with a pang of regret realised it was likely her doing. She vowed she would do
all she could to erase such a look. It would be no easy feat, opening her heart
to him; for she had lived too long trying to conceal all that made her a woman.

All that made her
vulnerable.

“I know not if I
have wrought too much damage,” she gulped as her heart pulsated nervously
against her chest, “but I will stay by your side to whatever end, regardless of
your love for me…because I love you, with all my heart.”

His eyes widened
slightly but his face remained impassive, the mistrust still simmering behind
his shuttered expression. “And you tell me this now? On the verge of battle,
you would reveal your heart? Did you think you could charm me into letting you
fight with sweet words?

Heart sinking, she
became certain she was behind the remote look in his eyes. She had hurt him
more than she had known.

“I expect not your
forgiveness; I know I have been the cause of suffering. But if you allow me I
will do all I can to atone for my callousness, in the hope that one day you
will forgive me.” She grinned unexpectedly at her words. “Do you see, Tristan?
I feel hope once more.”

He considered her
for some time, opening his mouth as if to say something. She reached for him,
laying a tentative hand upon his chest and he jumped from under her touch.
Swiftly turning away, he stormed out of the arched doorway.

Closing her eyes
briefly, she took a calming breath, trying to ease the painful constriction in
her chest. She knew he would not forgive her easily but she had hoped he would
at least take her words for what they were.

The
truth
.

Gulping
back the tears that threatened to consume her, she determined that she would do
as she set out to. She would stay by his side until the bitter end, no matter
the outcome. If she could not prove her love through words then she would prove
it through actions.

***

Tristan stormed out
of the door, heedlessly pushing past the armoured men in the hall
. She loved
him!

 Did she?

 Doubt still
plagued him as his heart drummed relentlessly in his chest. He paused,
indecision tearing at him. He had been sure she loved him - before she had even
said it. Their love making had only proved as much, but she had been unable to
see past her blind pride. She had hurt him grievously with her rejection and
she had hurt him in her absence. Admittedly, she had known naught of the grief
she had caused with her disappearance but even on her return she had managed to
break him all over again.

And now she wanted
to fight? What kind of reckless woman deliberately conceals
herself
to take part in a war?

Madeline,
of course
.

Who was he trying
to fool? He spun around. If there was a chance, even the remotest chance that
she loved him, then he would take it.
Hell
fire, he was already miserable without her – it couldn’t get much worse!

She stood in the
same spot he had left her but with her back to him. He could not help but smile
with admiration at his petite scarlet warrior. Her surcoat and shirt was
shapeless, the belt at her waist providing the only definition, and her sword
must have belonged to a man as it nearly dragged on the ground, but still lust
stirred within him.

Her shoulders shook
slightly and he realised she was crying.
His
proud warrior woman was crying!

“Madeline,” he
called quietly.

Turning with a
small cry, she faced him, her cheeks wet with tears.

Three broad steps
took him to her and he swept her into his arms. She cried out again and clung
to him, wrapping her legs around him as he hefted her into his hold. Sobs
wracked her as he pinned her to him, pressing a desperate kiss to her lips.

He kissed at her
sodden cheeks, at her forehead, her nose, and finally claimed her mouth once
more, her sweet heat opening to him as he thrust his tongue against hers.

“I love you,
Madeline,” he muttered between kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you too,”
she choked, tears still falling freely.

Gradually her sobs
subsided and elation surged through him as he grasped gratefully at her slender
frame.

The shouts of men
in the bailey broke their stolen moment and he placed her down slowly.

Cupping her heated
cheeks, he looked at her gravely. “I do not wish to be parted from you again,
my love, but you cannot stay, the danger is too great.”

“Have I not already
proved myself? The danger is no greater for me than ‘tis for you.”

“Nay, Madeline. For
all your courage there is no place for you in battle.”

She wrapped her
hand around the outside of his, her slender hand barely encircling his larger
one. Nuzzling into his palm, she looked up at him, her eyes glistening but
filled with determination.

“My place is by
your side. Besides, there is nowhere for me to go now.”

He groaned, “God’s
teeth, you are the most infuriating woman. How will I live with myself if you
should come to harm?”

 “And how can
I live with myself if I walk away from you now? If this should end badly I
could not regret that it ended by your side.”

“Do not say such a
thing.” His gut twisted at the thought of aught happening to her.

“
‘Tis
the truth.”

Emotions
warred within him, how could he let her go now he truly had her heart? But he
could not place Madeline in peril to satisfy his selfishness. Never before had
he experienced such a longing to satisfy his own needs. In truth, he did not
even know how he could get her out of the castle unscathed for the French
surrounded the castle on all sides.

As
he looked upon her determined stance, he realised it would be no easy task to
persuade her otherwise. It had taken her this long to finally admit to her love
for him, to cast aside her prejudices. How could he shake her from this foolish
notion of going to battle with him?

With a sigh of
resignation, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She folded herself into the
crook of his arm and for a moment he enjoyed the protective feeling that came
over him, understanding how much trust it must have taken her to even perform
so small an act.

“So can I stay?”

With a roll of his
eyes, Tristan sighed; he must be out of his wits. “I yield, my lady. You may stay
but I beg of you, stay out of trouble. We will have to announce your presence
to De Burgh, you are hard to miss and I do not wish you to raise his ire.”

She grinned. “You
did not notice me.”

“Lord only knows
how, for you have
be
the most beautiful soldier I have
ever laid eyes upon!”

Madeline laughed at
this and Tristan marvelled at the sound. If they lived through this he would
endeavour to make her laugh every day.

***

The Great Hall was
a bright, colourful room – often used as a throne room when the king visited. A
large embrasure at the back of the room led to a great window, in front of
which the thrones would normally sit. Twin fireplaces sat to the left of the
room and blue and red tapestries covered much of the walls.

Its usual luxury
had been sacrificed for the current occupants. The trestle tables that would
normally sit adorned with embroidered white linen and silver tableware had been
packed away to make room for the men-at-arms. Those that were not needed on the
walls sat sprawled on the rushes or sleeping pallets, with little to do besides
wait

Hubert De Burgh,
one of the most influential men in England, stood talking with a knight in the
centre of the room. He was a strapping man and although he had more years under
his belt than to come, they did not seem to have done him any harm. His red,
blue and white surcoat stretched across broad shoulders and he had a practical
air about him. His dismissed the knight and turned to greet the pair, looking
at Madeline with puzzlement.

A light brown moustache
sat upon his top lip, extending outwards and curling around his mouth. His hair
was mostly grey with flecks of the same brown scattered throughout. His steely
eyes flickered with recognition when he set his gaze upon Tristan.

He nodded in
greeting and flicked a surprised look to Madeline.
“Dumont.”

“My
lord.”

He strode towards
them. “Is all well?”

“Aye,
my lord.
May
I introduce Lady Madeline of Woodchurch?”

“Lady Madeline.” He
bowed his head. “While your presence would almost certainly give us all more
reason to fight, I must ask how you came to be in my keep?  We are not
currently prepared to receive guests as you have undoubtedly noticed.”

“I have not come as
a guest, my lord. I wish to offer my aid.”

De Burgh scowled. “I’ll
not have any useless mouths.”

“I can fight, my
lord.”