Summer Siege (4 page)

“Is there another
mount I can ride?”

“Nay, you shall
ride with me.”

She coughed, spluttering
on her pottage, and Tristan reached around to slap her soundly on the back.
Taking a mouthful of stale ale, she recovered herself.
God’s blood, a goodly
distance spent pressed against Tristan!
It would do little for her resolve
to refrain from any more desirous thoughts of him.

“‘
Twould
be easier to walk that rest of the way, surely?”

“Nay, ‘twill
take
three times as long and I’m weary of travelling.”

Madeline looked him
over. Indeed, by his own admission he had not slept but to her eyes he still
looked as hale as ever. She was weary herself, the aches from her night on the
forest floor having not yet eased, but was she tired enough to submit to
sharing a mount with Tristan?

“I could stay with
Cariad. I am sure there are rooms to be had here.”

“Do not even
suggest such folly, Madeline. I would sooner abandon you to the forest than
leave you in the company of drunkards and ruffians.”

Madeline darted a
look around her to see if anyone had taken offence, but if they had, they had
no intention of taking issue with Tristan. A man at the end of her bench gave
her a lascivious look and she narrowed her eyes coolly at him. His ale suddenly
became of interest to him and he stared at it studiously. Madeline smirked
until she realised it was Tristan’s hard stare that had prompted such a
reaction and she turned her narrowed gaze to him.

“I can look after
myself.”

“Be that as it may,
I have no intention of leaving you here.”

She noted the firm
resolution in his eyes and wondered if it was worth pushing him.
And she
thought herself stubborn!
With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. “Oh, as you
will then.”

Tristan had been
right and it took them but a short while to reach Ashford Manor. While Madeline
breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the stone walls, Tristan quashed down
his disappointment that they had made such good time.

He felt almost
guilty for the enjoyment he had taken in having Madeline pressed against his
back with her arms about his waist. In spite of his thick armour, he was
decidedly aware of every part of her flesh upon his. He doubted she was at all
conscious of the way his heart soared when she rested her cheek upon his back.
This little movement of surrender, though likely unconsciously done, spoke of
her slowly growing trust of him.

Ashford Manor was
of no mean size and was surrounded almost completely by a curtain wall. The
back of the house, where the wall stopped, was protected by means of a steep
slope. In his father’s lifetime he had added
crenellations
to the house so that the original square hall and adjoining buildings were
hidden behind structures that gave it the appearance of a castle more than that
of a home.

They entered under
a small arch in the grey stone wall and Tristan directed his destrier towards
the stables. The stable hands greeted him with recognition as Tristan helped
Madeline from the saddle, in spite of her obvious reluctance to accept aid. He
gave her a smile and she bridled under his attention, sweeping her hair from
her face and resuming a regal air.

Ascending the outer
stairs, a small doorway brought them directly into the Great Hall. The hall was
a hive of activity, servants and animals cloistered in every corner. His
mother, Lady Elizabeth, sat in one corner, talking with some of the servant’s
children and fussing over a hound. The image brought a smile to his face and he
studied Madeline for a brief moment to observe her reaction, but her aloof
manner remained. Tristan detected a hint of nervousness behind her tempestuous
green eyes and he took her hand, laying it over the top of his own, as he drew
her towards his mother.

Whether it was the
passing of time or the bustling atmosphere of his family home that caused her
apprehension, he was unsure, but she seemed grateful for his hand under hers and
she folded her cool fingers around his.

Elizabeth’s eyes
lit up when she sighted Tristan and Madeline, and she shooed the children aside
so she could stand. Known as a handsome woman, time had done little to diminish
her looks. Elizabeth’s fair hair was tinged with only a slight amount of grey
and it was currently twisted into an elegant braid, displaying her elegant
profile to its best advantage.

Hastening towards
them, she ignored her son and took Madeline into an embrace. Madeline could not
keep the look of surprise from her face as she awkwardly returned the embrace,
and Tristan supressed a chuckle.

Elizabeth pulled
away to study her.
“Oh, Madeline, ‘tis a joy to see you
again.
We were heartbroken to hear of your death. Tristan particularly
so,” she added in hushed tones.

“Mother-” Tristan
warned.

“But ‘twas all
vicious a lie! Half of Kent is taken with the news of your miraculous return…”

“Mother-” Tristan
growled, noticing Madeline’s growing discomfort.

“And I did not
believe it at first but here you are! And you are positively the most handsome
woman in all of England. Though I always knew you would be a beauty, even as a
child-”

“Mother!” he
snapped.

Elizabeth gave him
a startled look but softened as she discerned Madeline’s unease. “Oh, forgive
me; I am just awash with excitement. You must be weary. Pray sit and I will
call for refreshments.”

Madeline offered a
shaky smile. “Thank you, Lady Elizabeth.”

 She watched the easy affection
between Tristan and his mother as she placed herself on one of the benches
lining the hall. Elizabeth hugged her son and he tolerated it with a smile,
well used to the open temperament of his mother. Madeline felt ill at ease with
such displays, feeling like an intruder. It only strengthened the knowledge of
how much she had changed for once she had enjoyed the warmth of the Dumont
family home.

Adversely, it was
easy to see how little Tristan had changed. He still acted with the same
self-assurance that he always had, a self-assurance borne of growing up in the
knowledge of his parent’s love and support. His parent’s had carefully
instilled in him the knowledge of right from wrong and even as a grown man he
adhered strictly to such principles.

Tristan spoke in
hushed tones and she strained her ears to listen while affecting a look of
disinterest. Were they speaking of her? It was more than likely. She was not
oblivious to the reaction she garnered from those who had known her as a child,
though it was only Tristan who showed more than a passing interest in what had
wrought such a change. She hoped his curiosity would die out soon; she had no
wish to be an object of pity. Though, truth be told, she did not feel her tale
to be a piteous one for it had taught her much of her own strength.

“Madeline?”

His voice resonated
through her, drawing her to him. Her blood fairly simmered under his powerful
gaze. She eyed the lithe movements of his body as he strode towards her and
offered her his hand.

“Come, we shall
make you known to the lord.”

With a gulp, she
nodded. Well aware that Lord Reginald held her future in his hands, her
nervousness made her unusually compliant and she accepted his extended hand.
His fingers closed over hers and she suppressed a thrill of excitement.

Tristan led her to
the back of the hall and through a small door underneath the minstrel’s
gallery, where the small offices sat. An unlit fireplace sat at the back of the
small room. Scattered wax candles lit the room, some skewered upon twisted iron
spikes. A large carved writing desk dominated the room, behind which Lord
Reginald sat.

It was easy to see
where Tristan had inherited his dominating size from. Lord Reginald was a large
man, even when seated, and age had done little to diminish his strong form.
With the same fair hair and bold features, there was no denying their
similarity.

Lord Reginald
grinned widely upon her entrance and stood as Tristan presented her to his
father.

“Dear girl!” he
exclaimed as he stepped around his desk, his voice rumbling through the small
room.

She dipped humbly.
“My lord.”

“No need for
formalities! We are practically
family
after all.”

Madeline frowned
but nodded.
“As you wish.”

Tristan
interjected, “Father, Madeline is here to petition you for the Woodchurch
demesne.”

Lord Reginald
considered her. “Oh, indeed. I suppose with Tristan at your side, it would
prudent to grant you the lands. In truth, I’ve had few satisfactory offers.”

“Aye, my lord…I
mean…I would wish for Tristan to continue as steward.”

The lord threw a
puzzled glance to his son who showed remained expressionless. “Is this what you
wish, Son?”

“Aye, Father.
Madeline has expressed a desire that I continue my duties and I am happy to do
so.”

“Well, then ‘tis
settled!” Lord Reginald clapped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder and continued
before Madeline could thank him. “We are feasting in two days, shall you join
us?” He turned to Madeline.
“
‘Tis
my wish to feast in your honour, Madeline.
Such a miraculous return
should indeed be celebrated.”

“Oh, pray there is
no need.”

“Nonsense!
‘
Tis
the least we can do. Now be off
with you and entertain my wife. She has been full of excitement since the news
of your return has reached our ears.” He looked to Tristan. “I would speak with
you, Son.”

***

Lord Reginald waited until
Madeline had shut heavy oak door behind her before turning to Tristan.

“So, you wish to
continue as steward at Woodchurch?”

“As
I said, Father.”

“And
not as Lord of the Manor?”
The lord raised his brows questioningly as his son.

“It appears not,”
Tristan said with a sigh.

“Your mother had
hoped we would be celebrating your betrothal with Madeline returned.”

Tristan ran a hand
over his jaw. “It seems Madeline does not wish to hold me to my promise.”

“I see.”

Tristan gave his
father a determined look. “I will persuade her otherwise, Father.”

“Aye, I hope so.
‘Tis
time for you to settle and raise some babes.”

Tristan rolled his
eyes, having heard this time and again, as his father considered him.

“She’s not the girl
she was, is she?”

“Nay, she has been
hurt grievously. Would that I could make amends for such hurt,” Tristan added
quietly.

“Would that I could
see you two joined.” His father placed a large hand upon his shoulder. “But
fair warning, Tristan, I would not see you act in folly. I have been lenient
with you in your grief but you cannot play at being a farmer forever. Take her
hand in marriage soon or you shall have to resume your duties here.”

Tristan eyed the
resolve in his father’s face and nodded. He knew his father spoke only out of
love. For too long, he had lived a half-life, trapped by his grief, and his
parents had shown him considerable tolerance.

 “I will have
her hand,” he said with equal resolve. “I will have her hand,” he repeated to
himself.

***

Madeline saw little of Tristan
the next day and she tried to convince herself that she did not mind. Somehow
he had very quickly become the one comforting thing in her life, and her eyes
constantly sought him out. The manor, already busy with guests, steadily filled
to capacity in anticipation of the feast. Madeline was ensconced in the women’s
quarters while most of the men slept in the Great Hall or guards quarters.
While the women gossiped and embroidered, the men hunted and hawked, and
Madeline found it a tiresome existence. Grateful she would be returning to
Woodchurch before long, she suppressed a sigh as she watched the men on
horseback leave for a hunt.

A flash of blonde
hair caught her eye as they left and she watched, dry mouthed, as Tristan
nimbly mounted his destrier, recalling the short time that she had shared the
saddle with him. She could still remember the feel of his rolling muscles under
her hands, the proximity of his body sending a heat surging to the very core of
her.

While she reprimanded
herself for such thoughts, Madeline was honest enough to realise that Tristan
had worked his way back into her soul, creating an especially real ache within
her. In truth, he had probably never really left her thoughts, having only been
hidden under a veil of anger and blame.

Her anger still
existed. She had nurtured it too carefully to let it go, but it was directed
less at Tristan and more at a world in which she had been placed so vulnerably.
Madeline feared the effect of letting go of that which had granted her courage
throughout the years. She resolved that she would not forget all she had
learnt, no matter how tempting it would be to fall into Tristan’s arms once
more.

Her resolve was
sorely tested that eve when they gathered in the Great Hall after supper.
Tristan caught her eye and grinned openly before pushing past several guests to
reach her side.

“I have missed
you.”

She blinked at him.
Sometimes she forgot how forthright he could be. “You tell a fine falsehood.
You have been taking much pleasure in your parents’ hospitality.”

Tristan chuckled.
“And you have not.”

He didn’t ask,
merely stated, and she wondered how obvious her discomfort was.

“I confess I take
little pleasure in womanly pursuits.”

He set her with a
teasing grin. “I would enjoy the entertainments much more with you by my side.”

Madeline shifted
uncomfortably at the promise held in his gaze and she attempted to hide her
unease with a mild smile. “You tease so. You would not wish a mere woman to
hinder you and make you look foolish in front of your companions.”

Tristan leant into
her as if revealing some grave secret, his fingers brushing briefly across her
own as they clutched at her cup. “Ah, but you are no ‘mere woman’, Madeline.”

“Wherefore?
Because I
would choose to hunt rather than sew?”

“You know that is
not my meaning…” His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that spoke to her
far more than his words could. Then, with a blink it was gone, and he resumed
his teasing disposition. “But if you wished to, I would happily lead you on a
hunt. ‘
Twould
be a great pleasure indeed.”

Madeline regarded
him with suspicion. Why was he teasing her so? Did he wish to rile her? He
seemed determined to provoke a reaction from her.