Authors: Samantha Holt
She tilted her
chin. “I can hunt well enough on my own. I need not a man at my side.”
He raised his brow
at her as he took a leisurely sip of wine. “Indeed? And pray tell
,
where did you learn such skills?”
Madeline made a
small sound of alarm, realising she had yet again let slip a detail of her time
away. The past was in the past and she had no intention of dragging up old
memories, let alone giving him insight into the changes wrought within her. She
was susceptible enough to this man as it stood.
She regarded him
with the coolest look she could muster but she suspected his disarming eyes
could see straight through her front.
“
‘Tis
of no matter.
Just be assured that I have learnt many skills
these past years, none of which are of benefit to me in settings such as
these.” She could not help but release a wry smile as she observed the preening
young women that filled the hall.
Tristan glanced
around before regarding her once more. “Aye, you do not behave like a
conventional noble woman, that much is true, but that is no grave thing.
Indeed, you are far more captivating than any other woman here.”
Madeline could feel
the heat suffuse her cheeks, her breath quickening at his words. Flicking her
eyes away, she was grateful to hear supper announced.
A flash of
disappointment darted across Tristan’s face and Madeline tried not to read into
it. Tristan had always been charming and was no doubt behaving as an honourable
man should.
“Will you sit with
me?”
Caught off guard,
she simply nodded. She had been seated next to Lord Reginald at the family
table
yestereve
and, in spite of herself, she had
regretted the distance between herself and Tristan.
As he guided her to
her seat, Lord Reginald nodded approvingly, obviously not put out by the change
in the seating arrangement.
Tristan lowered
himself to his chair next to her and Madeline realised her mistake.
Sweet
Mary, how would she survive the entire meal in such close proximity to him?
His
shirted arm brushed against hers as he reached for his wine. A peek at his
profile convinced her that he had no clue as to the torture he was inflicting
upon her.
As she took a
restorative sip of her own wine, relishing the piquant flavour, his hard thigh
brushed at hers and she coughed.
Tristan watched her
with concern as she gained her breath. “Have a care, Madeline.
‘Tis
the second time you’ve nearly choked to death in my
presence.”
Aye, ‘your
presence’ being the primary cause.
The smells of
supper suffused through the air, the herbs and gravies creating a delicious
atmosphere. Whilst this was no meagre fair, Madeline knew this was naught
compared to the delights they could expect at the feast tomorrow. Already,
servants had been scurrying back and forth in preparation and the aroma of
freshly baked pastries and breads had imbued the air since dawn.
They
shared a trencher, Tristan serving her first as expected. Pulling out his
eating dagger, he jabbed lightly into the meat and she watched his work worn
hand as he drew it to her lips. A thickness caught in her chest as his
fingertips hovered just a short distance from her mouth, and she was shaken by
a blossoming awareness. She risked a fleeting look to Tristan only to be
captured by his bright eyes which focused with intent upon her mouth.
Tristan was aware
he must be staring as her lips closed around the stew. His mouth became dry as
her tongue darted out and he was rocked by images of that mouth against his
skin. Her every movement was completely unconsidered, yet naturally beguiling,
unlike that of most of the women in attendance, whose artificial charms paled
in comparison. He was not merely playing the chivalrous knight when he had said
she was the most captivating woman in the room.
In truth, she had
him well and truly captivated. His initial attraction to her, while palpable,
had ripened into a far more ardent sensation, and was a far cry from the simple
devotion he had felt when he was younger.
Tearing a chunk of
the soft white bread, he dabbed it into the thick gravy and deliberately used
his fingers. A momentary flash of fright in her eyes caught his attention and
he resisted a smug smile. The more time spent with her, the more he became
convinced she felt the same. The sensations that crackled between them were far
too powerful for her not to.
Madeline’s lips
brushed over the tip of his finger as her delicate teeth bit into the morsel
and Tristan bit back a groan.
Why was he torturing himself thus?
Yet, he
could not stop. So he continued, hiding behind the pretence of courtly manners,
as he felt himself harden with her every bite. When it came to his turn to feed
himself, he found he had lost his appetite entirely. There was only one thing
he was hungry for now and, from Madeline’s wide-eyed look, she was thoroughly
aware of where his appetites now lay.
The
rest of the evening passed in agonising torment, having Madeline so close yet
so distant. She sat rigid, forever on guard. Occasionally she would let slip a
smile or the hint of a laugh but as she heeded his reaction, her expression
would shutter once more. Tristan cursed his ardour for he was convinced it was
his overly intimate behaviour that caused her unease. What an enigma she was!
Bold valour combined with such reserve.
One moment declaring
she feared naught, then the next looking at him as if she feared he might
devour her.
If only, he thought wryly.
***
The next day
Madeline stepped into the Great Hall, with even more apprehension. Additional
guests had arrived that morning and after sleeping little that night she felt
ill equipped to deal with such festivities. Almost every eye turned to watched
her enter, some with a smile, and others with curiosity. The feast was now in
full swing but the clamour of voices hushed as she entered. The return of Sir
Edward’s daughter from the dead had provided the local gossips with plenty of
entertainment and the whispers sent a shiver of discomfort through her.
Her time away had
isolated her from gatherings such as these, having stayed hidden away for fear
of discovery. She didn’t mind, having lost a love for the revelries of noble
folk long ago, but she wished she didn’t feel so out of place. Her dress sat
uncomfortably on her waist, digging into her ribs, and the golden embroidery
itched at her skin. Oh, how she wished to wear a simple gown.
The poor servants
had slaved away, adjusting one of Lady Elizabeth’s gowns to fit her, so she had
little choice but to wear it. Elizabeth had insisted that she would need
something fine for such an occasion, lest she stand out.
As if she could
stand out any
more!
With her fiery red hair, there was no mistaking
the girl that had eluded death itself.
Her eyes drifted
across the general splendour of the hall. The feasts at Ashford were renowned
and unsurpassable. The Great Hall was modest by some standards but Madeline
found herself more intimidated than usual by the bustling room. Its timber
framed ceiling created a feature in itself, the rafters spanning the height of
the vaulted roof, while standards hung from several of the beams. The raised
dais sat at the back of the room on which the main table sat, covered in fine
white linen. Wrought iron candelabra’s hung from the rafters and sat about the
room, providing a golden glow which served to only enhance the luxurious
fabrics of the tapestries.
In the centre stood
a central hearth, currently unlit due to the weather and the warm bodies crowding
into the hall. Minstrels were gathered in the gallery above the offices, their
lilting sound doing little to ease her nerves. She pondered how a place that
used to hold such comfort to her as a child could suddenly seem so daunting. To
think, she had once expected to become mistress of all this.
Scanning the room
for a familiar face, her gaze latched onto Tristan. He stared at her with
undisguised interest and her heart contracted under his gaze, adding to her
sense of nervousness. Her palms became slick and her throat dry as he continued
his perusal, his eyes trailing over every part of her. Her skin prickled under
his scrutiny as if it were his hands brushing over her and not his eyes.
Riveted to the
spot, she found herself indecisive as to whether to go to him or not. Part of
her longed to go to his side, to seek comfort in his presence, but she reminded
herself that she could not allow herself to rely on anyone else, particularly
Tristan.
Lord, he looked
handsome!
In a
fine red tunic, his burnished skin contrasted with the general pallor of the
visiting nobles, and his golden hair shimmered under the candle light. He
looked every bit a lord’s son and she was reminded of the difference in their
circumstances. Madeline could never be fully part of this world anymore.
On the approach of
some local women, her decision was made for her and she found herself embroiled
in their mindless chatter. Some she remembered from her childhood, and others
she did not, but she had little in common with any of them. She was grateful,
however, for their lack of interest in her whereabouts these past years and,
after the general exclamations of wonder at her return, talk returned to more
mundane topics.
With a mixture of
relief and trepidation, dinner was served. Madeline found herself at the head
table, once more next to Lord Reginald. As the feast was in her honour, it was
to be expected, but it appeared to her that every eye in the hall was on her
and, as Lord Reginald offered a toast, she cringed inwardly, keeping her gaze
to the table while pasting a serene smile upon her face.
Watching her avidly, Tristan
understood Madeline’s discomfort. While he was used to the open hospitality of
his parents, he took little joy in the never ending merriments of Ashford
Manor. Madeline was considered by the guests as a fascinating diversion, her
tale of escape having become significant fuel for the gossips, and they spent
more time observing her than enjoying the entertainments his father had put on.
Madeline had taken
his breath away tonight. Her bold blue gown encased a figure so sublime that he
had found himself openly staring at her, in spite of the knowledge that he was
only adding to her discomfort. The deep triangle of her neck hinted at the womanly
figure that lay beneath - the gold embroidery drawing his eye - and the same
embroidery snaked across hips that he longed to grab. Long pendant sleeves
accentuated a slender waist and, although she was unadorned with jewels or
ribbons, her magnificence far exceeded that of the wealthiest women in
attendance.
The spark of male
interest flared in many an eye and Tristan tamped down on his jealousy, aware
they would have no better luck than
himself
, though it
didn’t stop him from wanting strike every gawping man in the room. Rarely was
he overcome with aggressive notions and he grimaced at his primitive thoughts.
As the meal ended,
the servants cleared away the trestle tables ready for dancing and he wondered
if Madeline would take part. Tristan wasn’t sure how he would control himself
if he saw another man’s hands upon her. With relief, he noticed her scurrying
out of the room in the direction of the courtyard. Taking a swig of wine for
courage, he thumped down his goblet and strode determinedly after her.
***
“I do not belong
here.”
Tristan paused,
wondering how she had known it was him approaching.
“In
Woodchurch?”
“Nay, here,” She
waved her arm, motioning to the manor, “Amongst the revelries of fine noble
folk. I find I have no taste for it.”
“You used to enjoy
dancing, as I recall.”
He smiled,
remembering the vibrant young girl she once was. To see her now, awash with
silver moonlight, it was hard to reconcile the memory with the hollow woman
stood in front of him.
The suggestion of a
smile rolled across her mouth.
“As did you.
Yet you
have not taken up a partner tonight.”
Easing forwards as
she eyed him, he reached for a silken lock that curled over her shoulder. She
jolted as his fingers brushed against her skin, dangerously close to her
breasts, but Tristan was gratified to note she did not pull away. Her emerald
eyes lingered on his, wide and wary, as her pulse fluttered at the base of her
neck, the rapid beat echoing the hammering of
his own
heart.
“Mayhap that is
because there is but one woman I wish to dance with tonight.”
As mistrust
simmered in her expression, he bit back a frustrated groan.
Did she realise
how much he burned for her
? Years spent apart, believing she was gone for
ever, hadn’t diminished his feelings for her. Seeing the exquisite creature she
had become only served to increase his ardour, heightening it to
an intensity
far more powerful than when they were younger.
If he could only release her from her self-imposed constraints, he was sure the
girl he had loved would reveal herself.
With a disparaging
laugh, she shook her head. “Nay, you would not want me as a dance partner, I am
ill practiced. I would make fools of us both.”