The Woad in the Woods
Chapter 10
Tristan didn't need to see what direction Dagonet was heading. Jols had living quarters situated next to the Knights' and if anyone in the fort knew how to patch someone back up it was him, having had the dubious honour of tending to any and every injury the collective had incurred through the long years. He was the ever present anchor that was there to see the knights off on every mission, the first one to welcome them home when they returned and the one who saw to the bodies of the recently deceased, preparing them for their journey into the afterlife. Tristan doubted his own healing abilities and was keen to have the girl seen to.
There was no need to explain this to Dagonet. The large man had a knack for anticipating the needs of others, being naturally observant there was little that he missed. Of all of his brothers Dagonet was the one where verbal communication was needed least, which Tristan had a healthy respect for. He knew that, more than likely, he himself would be ambushed by the two to have his own wounds tended to upon their return.
Tristan made his way to a section of the fort where the regular infantry were stationed. The holding cells would do to accommodate the girl until he had time to figure out what was to be done with her, at the very least she could be questioned in regards to the attacks. He recalled the moment that he had seen her fumbled landing, right into the waiting arms of Lancelot. His mind had warred between relief that she had been spared the harmful descent and some emotion, he hesitated to label it 'anger', that he had not been the one to break her fall.
Was he becoming possessive of the girl, in such a short time? He quietly reasoned that he had brought her here, thus the responsibility of dealing with her fell to him. Yes, that seemed a satisfactory explanation.
Past experience had him analysing her movements immediately, anticipating her intentions as her body had frozen in Lancelot's arms. His warning call had been too late for Lancelot to react to but he still had the means of controlling her in is grasp. He hadn't hesitated to draw his sword whilst using the rope to throw off her momentum.
Some men beat a young horse into submission to break them, a battle of dominance resulting in the animal becoming a servant, a 'tool' to command and use. Tristan had always favoured the slower, trust building approach common in his home village. Though more time consuming, it resulted in a more symbiotic bond between the two and a healthier level of respect.
The Woad was being as stubborn as a mountain goat. He wanted her to stop fighting him so that he could stop forcing her into submission, and yet she would not be the fiery, calculating character he was beginning to identify her as if she did. Unknowingly she had tested his resolve. Tristan recalled the moment she had leaned into his sharp blade and he'd seen the torment in her eyes, unsure if she would force his hand. It had felt like fate had hung in the balance as he waited for her next move. An exterior show of calm masked the sense of relief that had flooded him when she had bowed down once more. He had stayed his hand before, would he have done it a second time, surrounded by his brothers? He was glad he didn't have to find out.
As they approached the holding cells curious eyes turned in their direction. The infantry mess hall was where the garrison relaxed and socialised after their duties, when not heading to the tavern. As Tristan, with girl in tow, passed by the off duty men they piqued the interest of a fair few. Tristan decided he was thoroughly sick of being the centre of attention as he stood to one side of the doorway of the prison for the girl to pass through. She did so placidly, green eyes trained ahead in a dull, unfocused fashion. 'Resigned', that was one description for her expression. Though Tristan preferred her to acquiesce, worry blossomed in the pit of his stomach.
The cell itself was a sparse room, roughly eight foot by ten, with two slivers of openings serving as windows on the back wall, barely allowing any outside illumination into the dark interior. There was a low wooden cot, covered over with hay that was well past being fresh, and one scratchy woollen blanket. A small wooden bucket served as a toilet, thankfully empty. The only only other addition to the room were the two heavy metal rings set high up on one wall.
As the Pict stood passively in the centre of the room facing the cot, Tristan observed her momentarily before entering. He pulled on the rope gently, succeeding in coercing her to turn to face him. She refused to look at him though, grimly focusing on the door-frame behind him, her chin still high. He slowly walked towards her, confident in the knowledge that he could easily subdue her but watching her movements none the less for tell tale signs she would resist. Her body was tense, all her tired muscles wound tight, but she didn't move. When Tristan was before her he slowly reached out to undo the knot that kept her bound wrists leashed close to her waist. Making sure not to make actual physical contact he slowly worked the knot loose. The foremost part of Tristan's mind was calculating and weighing the possibilities of her every minuscule movement, but in the background he was absently absorbing other details about the girl. The way her breathing accelerated in fear when he had reached for the knot; how she smelled of horse and sweat and the forest itself; how small she was compared to him.
Once the the knot around her waist was free Tristan stepped back immediately, being so near in the dark felt too...intimate. Keeping one eye on the Pict he took the end of the rope and looped it through both rings attached to the wall. The only movement the girl made was to turn her head slightly to the right, to watch him through her peripheral vision. As the rope began to grow taut he slowly applied the pressure so as not to catch her unawares. She offered no resistance as she was slowly compelled closer to the wall, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. Once there was no slack between her bound wrists, now high above her head, and the the rings, Tristan secured the loose end to the one furthest from her. Though her head didn't move he could tell she still noted his actions from the corner of her eye.
Tristan leaned one shoulder against the door-frame and looked at her openly, not the furtive glances he had been throwing her way. She looked dishevelled, her curling dark hair falling in front of her eyes much as his was wont to do. Her posture had slumped minutely, taking an inch off of her relatively petite stature, and a certain sense of defeat hung in the air around her. Perhaps the fight had finally left her? Tristan knew fine well that his blatant observation was a form of baiting, but he couldn't help himself. Where had the stubborn defiance gone to? He found himself willing her to look his way, anger fuelled or not, but the damnable woman kept her eyes forward on the blank wall, effectively ignoring him. The silent battle of wills was disrupted by the arrival of Jols and Dagonet.
"Tristan" Jols greeted him quietly with a smile that displayed the relief he felt at seeing his friend's safe return. Tristan couldn't help but let a small smile play on his lips in return, albeit short lived. His momentary lapse of stoicism seemed to amuse Dagonet.
"Dagonet informed me about our...guest" Jols got straight to the point, looking behind Tristan further into the dark room. Tristan stood to one side as Jols took a flaming torch from the exterior and placed it into the free sconce on the opposite wall to where Kyla was restrained. As Dagonet joined them, the room began to feel a little crowded and Tristan noted that the girl was losing her attempt at nonchalance.
The Woad's eyes followed Jols as he placed a leather bag on to the cot and began removing a water skin and various earthenware pots, each identifiable by the different ways they had been stoppered. Some had variations of coloured wax, others had twine wrapped around them in differing woven patterns or knots. Once Jols had his ointments, salves and bundle of bandaging material in order he turned to the girl, craning his head slightly to asses her blood stained front, whilst walking slowly to her left side. Her head whipped around to keep him in her sights.
Jols held his hands in front of him, palms forward in as non threatening a fashion as he could manage. He had her full attention. While still a few feet away, he pointed to her wounded left arm before returning his hands to the same position. The Pict looked equally confused and mistrustful, her sharp green eyes boring into Jols' in an attempt to interpret his actions and the motivation behind them, before briefly searching Tristan's face for an answer that was not forthcoming. Jols once again pointed slowly to the injured arm, currently raised close to her face, before once again raising both hands to her in supplication. Her eyes followed his movements, glanced quickly at the wound, before finding Jols again. The Woad gave no indication of consent, nor understanding, just continued to focus intently on Jols.
He took a slow and deliberate step towards her. Tristan moved minutely in the doorway, making himself ready to act if the need arose, which earned him a wary glance from the girl. Jols paused, giving her time to adjust to his proximity, before taking another step closer. Now within range he haltingly reached for the dressing around her arm, taking care to keep eye contact. The Pict craned her neck back slightly as his hands neared her face. Trusting she would not fight if he took a slow methodical approach, Jols began to unwrap the bandage that Tristan had hastily secured.
Tristan was diligent as Jols relaxed stance informed him that he had gone into 'healer' mode, no longer focusing on the girl but the wounded arm that needed attending. She obligingly lifted her arm out towards him as she watched his deft hands releasing the soiled, blood stained wrapping. She bared her teeth slightly, but otherwise remained still as he probed appraisingly around the damaged area.
'Dagonet?' Without another word, Dagonet reached for the water skin and one small scrap of clean material and handed them to Jols under the watchful eye of the bound girl. He liberally poured water over the affected area, cleaning away what blood had crusted on her arm and gently wiped the area clean, receiving a small hiss in response. Tristan was surprised that she was tolerating the attention.
Handing the skin and cloth back to Dagonet he directed the tall man to one of the pots on the bed, quickly breaking the seal before applying it generously to the slashed skin. Tristan detected a hint of fascination in the girl's guarded expression as she watched the man tend to her. She frequently noted Dagonet and Tristan's position in the room with fleeting glances but otherwise her attention belonged to Jols. He quickly dressed the wound up again before giving Kyla a small reassuring smile. He nodded towards her stomach, indicating his intentions to look at the wound there. There was a long moment of stillness before Tristan barely noticed the slightest bob of her head that gave Jols the permission he needed. He began to gingerly and patiently unwrap the length of material across her abdomen and around her back, passing the cloth from hand to hand as his arms carefully encircled her waist without touching her.
The Pict took a large breath that she held in, making her chest expand but her stomach as small as possible, elbows high, and froze on the spot. She stared resolutely ahead of her until Jols had completed his task before letting out her breath again.
"Em..." Jols did a small swirling motion with one finger to indicate that the she should turn around to face him more. Her mouth dropped open slightly, her eyes a little wider, before she snapped it shut once more. She twisted her body slightly, exposing more of her stomach, but as Jols reached to lift back a section of her tunic she abruptly turned to the wall again, hiding her stomach from his questing hands. Tristan immediately took a step into the room at her sudden movement but stopped short as Jols held up a hand towards him, while still looking at the girl.
'You don't know just how resourceful she could be', Tristan thought, the incident with Lancelot clear in his mind, but he took heed of the request. Jols had managed well on his own so far.
"Please..." Jols entreated quietly, his hands held aloft once more in question. Tristan was at the unwelcome end of her poisonous glare anew before she shut her eyes and turned her hips towards Jols. He made short work of assessing and dressing her stomach whilst trying to ignore her sharp intakes of breath, sensing speed was essential in this instance. Tristan's eyes rested on her face, as she kept hers unwaveringly on the wall until Jols had finished. As he straightened, he circled to her right side to look at her most recently acquired injury.
Tristan felt his right hand contract slightly as Jols very gently, and very briefly, set his fingers along the Woad's jawline, causing her head to jerk back from him in response, baring her neck to his administrations. The modest touch had Tristan feeling uncomfortable again, his insides roiling with an unknown emotion he couldn't fathom. His index finger and thumb rubbed together absently as he fought not to frown. Tristan was a master of his emotions and he'd trained long and hard so that his body obeyed his every command. What was it about this slip of a girl that threw him off balance? As Jols wiped her neck clean of the blood Tristan had spilled, her eyes found his, accusing, resentful and bitter. Tristan was on the verge of tearing his eyes away from hers just as Jols ceased his ministrations and she straightened her head once more. He had been so close to backing down, that in itself was an unsettling thought. What had gotten into him?
Jols nodded at the subdued girl once before gathering his assorted bit and pieces back into his leather bag and making his way out of the cell with Dagonet. Tristan began to loosen the end of the rope from the second ring, pulling the rope through the circlet with a dry rasping sound. The girl's hands dropped instantly to hip level and she took the opportunity to retreat from him a step, eyes flickering to the doorway the other men had left through. Tristan pulled the rope through the last ring and, taking the loose end, threaded through the small rectangular opening in the centre of the heavy door. As he stepped through the doorframe he heard his name being called. Tristan paused, gaze coming to rest on Galahad who was briskly coming towards them, a bowl carefully cradled between his hands.
"Vanora would have my head if I didn't deliver this" he said jokingly, and yet entirely serious. "She said it'd been a long time since any of us 'vagabonds' had brought her such a tasty looking pair of rabbits and that I was to deliver this post haste to the...well" Galahad gestured to the cell with the bowl of hot lamb stew. Tristan assumed that the fact the rabbits hadn't met their demise at the end of one of his arrows was how they had deduced who the successful hunter was.
Before Tristan could respond, Jols had jumped into action, rummaging through his satchel and producing the water skin, now half empty. "Best leave this here too" he supplied, holding the skin aloft momentarily before passing it to Tristan. Galahad ducked in through the door and placed the bowl down in the corner opposite where the bucket lived, sparing a quick grin for the girl hovering near the cot. Tristan gave him a humourless look as he nipped quickly out again.
Tristan looked inside the cell one last time, taking in the confused and angry visage of the wildling woman once more, before tossing the skin to thump solidly and rest beside the bowl of steaming food. He shut the door closed firmly and with perhaps a little more gusto than was strictly need. Tristan's entire being felt unsettled, like he wasn't comfortable in his own skin, and in closing the door on the girl he hoped to shut out the effect she had on him. He dropped the heavy crossbar into it's cradle across the entry with a satisfying 'thunk', securing it with a latch. Aware of his audience Tristan refrained from taking the small moment he wanted to regain his equilibrium. Plenty of time to do that in the solitude of his own room.
Determined, Tristan retrieved the section of rope he had passed through the narrow food hatch, a small opening large enough for a bowl to pass, and began to pull the rest of the slack through. The resistance he felt almost brought a smile to his face. He persistently drew the Pict closer to the opposite side of the door, noting a certain amount struggle, but it felt half hearted. He succeed in drawing the girl's wrists through the opening and quickly latched onto the section that bound them together.
His large hands made hers seem dainty and fragile, and to think she had drawn a blade on him! The skin was stretched white over her knuckles and her nails bit into the palms of her hands as he worked the knot loose. When her hands were finally free she snatched them back inside the cell, quicker than an adder, but not before Tristan caught sight of the angry marks that circled her wrists. Just another injury he had caused to add to the list. Tristan was unused to deliberately hurting people. He offered death swiftly, not painlessly, but those who found themselves at the end of his sword never suffered for long. Tristan started to wonder if what he really needed more than sleep right now was a stiff drink.
He turned to leave and was confronted with two fairly bemused brothers, and one severe looking 'healer'.
"You're not going anywhere until I've had a proper look at you" Jols warned.
A/N Hopefully you'll all enjoy this latest chapter, it's hard to write any sort of vulnerability into Tristan's character! Still extremely busy so will be another long delay for the next chapter, but I'm still here and not giving up just yet!
Thank you once again to everyone following this story and for taking the time to review. It's always encouraging and I love to hear your thoughts! I try to respond in person to those with accounts who review as much as possible (sometimes I do get swamped with work) but would also like to thank the guest reviewers as well, you've been a veritable cheering squad! (you know who you are =) )
Until next time!