Whee! Another chapter, despite severe tendonitis in my wrists and overtime at work leading to very little writing time. What can I say- apparently the muse is on y'allsside... not mine lol.

Anyway, yada yada, I own nothing but my OCs, yada yada...

Enjoy!

Though the rest of the refugees were gently lead off toward an open air courtyard ringed by wooden tables, the knights and the pair of wagons with the Roman family and the injured respectively continued on through the sheltered town. Aisling forced herself not to gape about like a village fool. It took effort; she had never seen so much stone in her life, even in all the wandering she and her mother had done in her early life and after their capture. The Wall itself had been intimidating, but the village and fortress were just as imposing in a different way. This fortress was built by men, and even all of nature's fury might not easily tear it down. She suppressed a shiver; it was unnatural in the most literal sense.

The wagons finally, finally, rolled to halt at the edge of what looked to be a paddock and stables. Aisling, grateful to be free of the rolling prison, eased down from her seat before Dagonet or Bors' bossy lover could stop her. She shifted to the side to give the others enough space to climb out, and then allowed herself to look around. She tensed as she realized it was not only the knights scattered across the open area.

Roman soldiers lined one side of the open space flanking a finely dressed man, and she guessed he must be Roman himself. At least to her eyes, he clearly seemed to assume everyone and everything should offer him the upmost respect and privildge. She shrunk back against the wagon as he shifted in her direction; she's seen the same glint in his eyes on the eyes of any one of Cerdic's warriors who thought they could sneak a taste of their leader's slaves without him knowing. Only unlike those warriors, she doubted the Roman had anyone he feared might stop him from taking what he wanted.

She was saved by the occupants of the other wagon, or more accurately the carriage. As the young Roman man and his mother clambered down from their cushions, the slimy Roman's face switched to a jovial mask. He cried aloud a name, Alecto, she thought, and tried to embrace the younger man. Alecto only slid to the side, slightly sheltering his mother; his face held the same disgust and contempt Aisling felt roiling inside her. She hadn't expected that: as far as she'd known, most Romans would at least pretend to stand together in the face of the "lesser" races.

Well, all Romans but Arthur, of course. And perhaps that was the cause of the young noble's choice to shy away from his countryman. Aisling doubted it had taken very long into their retreat from the Roman estate before Alecto had fallen prey to the hero worship that everyone seemed to succumb to around Commander Castus.

Everyone except the other Roman, though he tried in vain to hide it. Arthur didn't bother. He made his disdain very clear.

"Bishop Germanius. Friend of my father." With those surprisingly spiteful words, Arthur turned his back on the bishop dismissively and reached to help Guinevere down from the Roman's carriage.

Aisling swallowed as the bishop's eyes traced the lithe young woman in much the same way they had done so with Aisling's own body. She didn't need a vision to know this man was not one she wanted to be near. She moved away from the wagon, feeling it might be wise to keep close to the knights. Dagonet was already among them, leaning heavily on his brother's shoulders, and he smiled over at her as she hobbled closer. Unfortunately, his attention drew the bishop's, and once again Aisling felt herself pinned by the Roman's unwanted stare.

"Arthur, I see you have brought more than just Alecto back with you. How... fortunate for them, yes?" He took a step toward her. "You, girl. Who is your family? When we return to Rome, I would be glad to help you find them."

Aisling was saved from having to answer him, which was just as well as she doubted she'd be able to hide her contempt at his assumption that she must be Roman since she wore a Roman gown.

"She is under my protection, Germanius. As are all of the other refugees." Arthur was coming to her rescue again, or at least to Guinevere's. It didn't not escape Aisling's notice that the knight's commander had kept a proprietary hand on the other woman's shoulder. Obviously, Guinevere would not need to work too hard to gain her Arthur's loyalty. Of course, that did very little for Aisling at the moment. As soon as Arthur made it clear that Guinevere was not to be touched, the bishop's eyes darted back to Aisling.

"Refugees? I have not seen them," Germanius said, as if he cared at all for the peasants. His focus, however was not on the awkward conversation he was making with Arthur. As his gaze made her skin crawl, Aisling began to wonder if she should throw herself bodily at the little cluster of knights in an attempt to scare the slime away.

She didn't have to. Almost as one, the cluster began to spread out into a rough defensive line, first shielding Bors' family who huddled near the horses. Then, without any sign that he felt the bishop a threat, Tristan ambled over to stand directly in front of Aisling. His manner was completely casual and, she guessed, inscrutable. But from where she stood behind him, she could make out the tense set of his shoulders and the easy stance of his feet. If Tristan needed to move into action, he was ready.

The bishop, apparently realizing his prize was out of reach of the moment, moved on to some ceremony about a box of papers and freedom that Aisling didn't understand. She didn't try to understand it, frankly. She was too distracted by the man in front of her. Was he really, willingly protecting her? Again? Twice before he had come to her rescue, but those had been the sort of moments where it might have merely been his instincts that lead him. This, this had to be a conscious, deliberate, and deadly serious choice, despite the careless air he was projecting. Extremely deadly, she mused. From her vantage point, she'd seen the faint imprints of no less than three daggers hidden beneath the scout's clothes, and considering the source, she thought it likely there were more that she couldn't see.

Aisling forced herself to relax despite the Romans, despite her steadily throbbing leg, and despite the heat she imagined she could feel on her skin from the scout's closeness. The last was easily the hardest to ignore. It was a relief in more ways than one when the bishop finally strode away with Alecto and his silent mother trailing reluctantly behind him. The palpable tension in the air dropped abruptly, as each of the knights slowly let down their guard. All but Tristan, she was amused to see: his shoulders did not relax in the slightest. Once the guards were out of sight, he half turned to look about the paddock, still as watchful of his brothers in arms as if they were still beyond the Wall.

Aisling wondered suddenly if the other men knew just how protective their scout was of them. She wondered if he knew.

It was that thought that somehow gave her a moment of courage. As he began to walk back to his horse, she reached out and laid a careful hand on his arm. He froze, looking down at her hand and then following the line of her arm and shoulder up to her face. She knew she was trembling; it was, she realized, the first time she'd dared to touch him. For that matter, for all that he'd manhandled her about, dragging her from the ice and back into the wagon, it was the first time they had touched in anything but a momentary crisis. It was a heady feeling, one she wasn't sure she knew how to handle.

Tristan cocked his head at her, and she realized with a start that she had been staring and likely for longer than she'd admit. She swallowed and ducked her head, fighting against her sudden shyness. She took a breath, and brought her eyes back to his face.

"Thank you." The corner of his lip twitched, and he reached with his free hand to gently remove hers from his arm. She wondered if she dared to imagine his fingers had stroked hers softly as he released them.

"No need for thanks." Then he walked away, striding to his horse purposefully and leading it further into the stables. Aisling averted her eyes, hoping the heat in her cheeks was not quite so flaming red as they felt. She hoped this moment, at least, had gone unnoticed by the knights; she did not want Lancelot harassing her again. And it would be her he chose to pester; it seemed unlikely he'd dare needle Tristan. She breathed a sigh of relief as the men gathered the reins of their respective mounts and followed Tristan. She smiled slightly to see little Lucan leading Dagonet's huge mount under the knight's watchful eyes.

The smile shrank as she heard a knowing chuckle from behind her. She turned slowly and saw not only Vanora, but Guinevere as well, eying her speculatively.

"Now, child, is there somewhat you'd like to share?" Aisling shook her head, fighting back a giggle. It was going to be interesting spending time with women again; she'd almost forgotten the joy of gossip. Vanora waited a moment, as if to see if the younger woman would crack under the pressure of her eyes, but then she shrugged. "We'll get it out of her eventually."

Guinevere nodded wickedly.

"Indeed. She already knows my secrets. Turnabout would be only fair." Aisling huffed, and started to playfully storm off. The sudden step was her undoing, however; her weight landed heavily on her injured leg, and she gasped at the sudden pain. Vanora was beside her in an instant offering an arm.

"Damn, I'd nearly forgot that leg of yours. We'd best get you to the healer's quarters. You and Dag, both. Dagonet!" she yelled, startling Aisling with the sudden volume.

"What woman?" Predictably it was Bors who answered, and Aisling half expected Vanora to take him to task for the tone of his voice. Instead she only rolled her eyes, and called for him to bring his brother and the boy out. There was some grumbling, of course, but the brothers came out as ordered after only a moment, Lucan clutching Dagonet's hand. Vanora looked over the little group the six of them made, and then nodded sharply.

"Right then. Let's be off, yeah?" She all but dragged Aisling away, and she had only the time for one last brief look over her shoulder back toward the stable.

Hope you liked it, my dears! huggle*