No money is being made from this; I only wanted to play in my own sandbox and invite the characters to join me. I own absolutely nothing that may seem familiar to you in this story, I only own Reagan and Ivy though difficult they may be.

Lots of thanks to the beta team! Leigh, Jo and Murt you guys do a great job of editing and making this story that much more enjoyable to read. I really couldn't do it with out you! You've all been witness to my horrible spelling :)

I really hope this chapter lives up to all of the hype I gave it in Chapter 9. If not, well, it is my story I guess I'm aloud to be biased.

This chapter is dedicated to Cricket05 from one Lancelot lover to another :)

Nothing is easier than self-deceit, for what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true. Demosthenes.

Chapter 10

As the day wore on and dawn slowly began to turn into the russet shades of dusk, the party travelled further into the North Country. Lancelot, used to spending long hours in the saddle, quickly settled into the rocking motion of Malachi's stride and fell into an alert but safe rhythm while he and Galahad lead the ranks of the men behind them at a steady pace.

His keen hearing was tuned into the surrounding lands and the people travelling with him. He chose to ignore Galahad's covert glances backwards--as if he thought Ivy didn't notice the pointed looks he gave her—and the sound of the knight's wistful, and in Lancelot's opinion, pathetic sighs, instead listening to the crunch of the horses hooves as they cantered along the dirt packed roads, the grinding rotation of the wagon wheels behind him, and the sounds of the birds nestled in the massive trees along their path.

It was an all-too-familiar melody in his ears, and if he had not been conscious of it, it would have lulled him into a doze. Lancelot listened to each one of these distinct sounds and kept a sharp eye out, all the while under an outward mask of indifference and blithe resignation.

However he may appear the efficient, ever-watchful commander, there was the occasional distraction that took him outside himself, and the hushed conversation of the two people riding behind him was proving impossible to ignore. Ivy's soft yet firm tone floated into his consciousness and then floated out again, as one voice in particular stood out through the din. Reagan's.

Cringing inwardly, for even the mere thought of his squires' name sent a wave of misplaced and completely unfounded panic bubbling through him, Lancelot hoped silently for the sake of his sanity, that Reagan's voice would change soon. He wondered why when the boy was pressed into a corner-literal or metaphoric, he purposely lowered his voice as if he were trying to hide the flaw.

What was even more disturbing was the sad fact that if Lancelot closed his eyes and listened intently, he could almost believe that the voice was female, forgetting momentarily that it belonged to a boy of thirteen whose tenor had yet to change

Lancelot shifted in the saddle and slid a sideways glance toward Galahad as if his friend could somehow read the disturbing thoughts that had been so recently swirling about in his mind concerning his squire. Surely, if Galahad had any idea he would condemn him for it as he so rightly deserved. Thinking of Reagan over the past few weeks had taken a dramatically different and very uncomfortable turn in a very short period of time.

Lancelot was not entirely to blame in the situation either. It was as if his squire almost silently encouraged his disgusting thought process. It was all he could do to pointedly ignore the downright alarming and hungry looks Reagan would sometimes bestow upon him, however innocent they might be.

Familiar with being on the receiving end of that look from women, Lancelot had to remedy that situation; it was a completely different thing when one received such looks from a boy and he had to put a stop to it-soon.

Lancelot was, if not anything else, an intelligent man. He liked to think that very few things escaped his notice, and when Reagan came stumbling into his well-ordered yet stagnant life, things went from normal to confusing in a matter of days. Confusion was one thing; it was that pressing, unsettling feeling he had about this squire that he couldn't seem to tack down.

He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something so obviously off about Reagan, that when it was revealed, he would probably want to hit something hard for not noticing it in the first place.

Having spent a majority of his existence around the Roman military, he was not unfamiliar with a soldier's way of life and he'd been exposed to certain facets of that life that he'd rather not experience ever again. One of the things he'd learned was that not all men preferred the company of women.

Some had tastes that could only be satisfied by other men. While he did not consider himself to be a part of this group, it was not a stretch to guess that perhaps when his squire grew into a man, their tastes would not be of the same palate.

As much as the thought was off-putting to Lancelot, he was beginning to become suspicious that the boy had more on his mind than just training when they were together, and he needed to get the situation under control before Reagan made a fool of himself more than he already had.

Thinking of the current situation and the fact that they were now on this mission together for an indefinite period of time, setting the boy down and having a talk with him about the merits of the opposite sex seemed like the best tactic to address the issue. Maybe if he could sway the boy into his line of thinking they could avoid a very awkward situation in the near future.

He smiled to himself as though he'd just solved a very difficult problem with supreme ease. Unfortunately, Lancelot did not get to enjoy his prowess in problem solving as Galahad's voice interrupted his internal musings.

"I think we should set up camp soon. The horses are getting tired and quite frankly I could take a piss." Leave it to his comrade's bladder to dictate his decisions. Taking a look around the party Lancelot had to agree that everyone was starting to show the first signs of travel weariness.

"If I remember correctly, there are is a copse of trees not a mile ahead. We'll set up temporary camp there, and should reach our destination tomorrow where a more permanent camp will keep the men busy for the rest of the evening." He told Galahad to give the command to the soldiers and sent two ahead of them to stake out a plot. He then followed closely behind, leaving it in Galahad's hands to lead the party the rest of the way.

Reagan watched over Ivy's shoulder as Lancelot and two soldiers rode off ahead of them. Feeling her back muscles pinch in pain, she grimaced at having to sit for so long bouncing up and down on the hard saddle; her legs were sore and it was all she could do to remain upright on the horse and not grab on to Ivy for support. She got the feeling that Ivy would not welcome her touch, innocent though it may be.

"Looks like we're finally stopping," Reagan said, sighing wearily.

Ivy nodded and pulled on the reins, keeping as close to Galahad's horse as she could with out seeming "too close." They traveled another few hundred feet off the path and into the edge of a forest not far from the road. A chill began to set creep back into the air; though the temperature during the day was warm, the evenings grew quite cold. Reagan shivered and pulled her black cloak tighter about her shoulders, trying as best as she could to see where they were going through the fading sunlight.

Eventually completely surrounded by trees, the party stopped and began to dismount, the soldiers looked for temporary supplies for their short stay in the area from the backs of the wagons.

Ivy brought the mare to a halt and slid down from the horse with ease, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she did so. She reached up and offered to help Reagan down. Still smarting from her fall off the horse earlier that morning, Reagan thought it best that she try to dismount herself, in the event that she accidentally took Ivy down with her.

Waving the apprentice healer away, Reagan managed to slide herself off the saddle belly first. She was unused to riding astride a horse and the muscles inside her legs throbbed in agony. As soon as her feet touched the ground, her sore legs gave way and Reagan collapsed in an undignified heap on the ground beside the mare.

She flushed quick and hot with embarrassment, as a few of the soldiers laughed at her expense. She felt someone roughly grab her arm and pull her upright.

"What am I going to do with you, boy?" She turned to see Lancelot frown, his face in profile as he glared at the men who'd been laughing at her, silencing them.

"I'm not used to riding and my legs hurt," she said, hoping that was excuse enough. It wasn't, of course, and he began pulling her along side him once again in that high-handed manner that she found extremely irritating.

Why was it that every man she knew felt the need to grab on to her and pull her everywhere behind them? She could walk, damn it. Pulling her arm from his firm grasp she walked ahead of him, straight toward Malachi, knowing that he would need to be brushed down and fed soon.

Her belly gurgled at the reminder of food--all she'd had was a bit of cheese that she'd shared with Ivy and a few sips of water while they travelled. Knowing that he was following close behind her she purposely quickened her steps to get further away from him.

"Boy!" he shouted after her. "You need to tend to my horse!"

Sighing in frustration because he had decided to keep up with her, Reagan stomped over to where Lancelot had tethered Malachi to a nearby tree.

"It's always, 'do this boy!' or 'do that boy!' Why can't I just have a moment to myself without him bellowing in my ear?" she mumbled, reaching to undo the stallion's saddle.

"Because it's you're duty, squire, to suffer my bellows!" Lancelot called over to her, with a forced look of disapproval. Doing her best to scowl in reply, Reagan decided that supernatural hearing was not a quality she found appealing. Finally, after she managed to get Malachi settled and fed, she made her way over to where some of the soldiers had set up a small tent for Lancelot sleep in for the night.

The green canvas blended well with the trees and she knew it was hard to spot them from the road, despite the few blazing fires that had been started. He was sitting on the ground removing his cloak and taking stock of his weapons.

Reagan looked around the small camp and tried to come up with a good spot to sleep that was out of the way.

"You're going to be sleeping right outside the tent, if that's what you were wondering." Lancelot said, answering her unspoken question. "I'd let you sleep in the tent with me but there isn't enough room for two." At the words "sleep with me" Reagan's treacherous and torturous mind conjured images she fought desperately to repress, with little success. Turning around to hide the embarrassing red-hot blush on her cheeks, she heard him stand and cough quietly to get her attention again.

"Come, let us get some food, we have another long day of riding ahead of us." Turing back around, he looked visibly relieved that she followed him without argument toward one of the campfires at the edge of the forest. They ate quietly and Reagan was glad that Ivy, Galahad and Finn were there to ease the awkwardness she was positive would have existed without their company.

Although Ivy proved to be a limited supper conversationalist, it was nice that she was separated from Lancelot by a blazing fire and common sense. The show put on by Galahad to attain Ivy's attention was entertaining and proved to be very distracting as Reagan continued to eat her supper. The most amusing part was that Ivy seemed to pretend that the younger knight wasn't even there.

It was a poor ploy on Ivy's part though, as Reagan noticed that she would slip Galahad glances on the sly when he wasn't staring directly at her. Finally Ivy stood and excused herself for the night, making her way gracefully toward a great tree and pulling her cloak hood over her brilliant red hair. She had settled her things against the tree trunk and managed to make a makeshift bed of blankets and bracken. Galahad's grey eyes followed her the entire time.

"You're about as subtle as a herd of stampeding cattle." Lancelot said, his voice tinged with mirth and distain. Galahad turned to look at his comrade, his handsome features scrunching up in what Reagan assumed was confusion. Before Galahad could form his question, Lancelot continued.

"That woman knows you're besotted with her. It might actually do you a bit of good to play a little hard to get." Finn and Reagan choked back their laughter, and they both shared a smile at Galahad's expense. Reagan wondered how many times Lancelot had taken his own advice and played hard to get when a woman was after him.

"Just because I want to make sure she feels welcome here, does not mean that I am…" Galahad paused, leaning toward Lancelot as though he was about revoke a harsh accusation thrown his way, "Besotted " he hissed. Lancelot threw another log on the fire, poking at the embers with a long stick, a knowing grin split his face.

"You would make the village hag feel welcome, the way you dote and gaze longingly upon the healer. Ivy is a beautiful woman to be sure, but I would hate to see you lay your affections upon less exalted ground than you deserve."

Reagan watched the look of confusion fall from Galahad's face and turn so quickly into rage that she never had the chance to warn Lancelot before Galahad punched him soundly. The contact of fist to jaw made a sick cracking sound and Reagan grimaced. Lancelot landed on the forest ground with a thud, seemingly unsurprised by the punch. Galahad stood over Lancelot, his fist raised and at the ready.

Much to Reagan's relief, Lancelot put his hands up in surrender, and with a dark glare the younger knight took off. Finn gave Reagan a look of surprise before shrugging his shoulders and following his commander. Reagan stood up and went to help Lancelot off the ground. He waved her away, grinning and then groaning in pain as he rubbed his sore jaw.

"What are you smiling at, my lord? He just hit you!" Getting to his feet, Lancelot ran his fingers through his black curls, moving his jaw back and forth to assure that it wasn't broken. He adjusted his clothing, bushing dried leaves and dirt from his breeches and cloak. Then Lancelot shot a look in Ivy's direction and noticed she was carefully studying the recent path Galahad had taken deeper into the forest. He smiled again, and then groaned once more.

"Besotted, the pair of them. She's too stubborn and skittish and he's too eager and desperate. It would do them well to be locked in dark room with soft bed and come morning see what happens." For the third time that night Reagan blushed to the roots of her hair, and again fought back illicit and strange images that conjured in her mind.

She was an innocent, yes, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew the mechanics of coupling, she just didn't know the details, and Lancelot's sardonic comment about locking Ivy and Galahad in a room together was a little too much for her to handle. This time she could not hide her flush and to her dismay Lancelot noticed it right away.

"Yes, well, follow me, Reagan, there is something I've been meaning to speak to you about." Wondering what in the world Lancelot would have to discuss with her that had him looking so uncomfortable, she followed him back to his small green tent and sat down across from him as he took his time arranging his cloak and weapons. Finally he cleared his throat and looked at her as if he were settling in to have a tooth pulled by the village blacksmith.

"I think it is time that we discussed chivalry and women." Reagan's eyes grew wide in complete surprise. This particular topic was one she had absolutely no interest in discussing with Lancelot. "It is expected that a boy your age would have a natural curiosity of women. Despite the fact that you haven't displayed any outward fascination with wenches, I feel that it is my duty to help you along in that particular department."

Reagan suppressed a very un-lady-like snort and then remembered that she wasn't supposed to be a lady and let it out with gusto.

"Laugh all you want, boy, but you'll thank me in the end. There are other uses for women besides cooking and rearing children." He ran his long fingers once again through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck and trying his best, she guessed, to hide how uneasy he actually was. Watching him in the fading twilight, Reagan was struck with a sense of longing. She'd often wondered what that hair would feel like between her small fingers. Soft and slick, she would imagine, and it would probably smell like the tall pines of the forest.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" he asked, using a hand motion that she assumed was meant to encourage an honest answer.

"Oh no, my lord." Reagan answered a little too vehemently, shaking her head. The look of worry that settled over his features was so amusing that Reagan had to cover her mouth to hide her wide grin. Rubbing his neck again he was silent for a moment, trying to come up with a different approach.

"There is one thing you should always remember concerning women, especially if you don't know where to start. Treat a whore like a lady and she'll become one, treat a lady like whore and you'll get the same result. Now when you take a wife it would be best if you don't forget this: always treat her the way you would treat your horse, with care and affection, and stay away from her when she's in a foul mood or you're likely to get yourself kicked."

It was after he imparted this particular pearl of wisdom that Reagan finally gathered what he was trying to say. He thought his squire had no interest in the fairer sex. While he'd hit the mark completely, he couldn't have been more wrong and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing and make him suffer further. Instead she decided the best tactic was to play along and enjoy watching him squirm. It wasn't very often that she had the upper hand in their discussions and Reagan wanted to relish this moment.

" If I understand you my lord, you're telling me that women are like horses?" she asked with heavy scepticism. Lancelot's worried expression didn't change.

"Yes…no…" he sighed, obviously struggling to get the words right. " I just said that as a comparison. Women are not like horses," he finally answered.

"Good, because you know that I really don't care for horses." Reagan offered, pushing him further, "Poor analogies don't quite get the point across." Lancelot sighed again and rolled his eyes, a gesture of frustration that Reagan was quite familiar with.

"Well, I'm just trying to help you here and have a serious discussion. The way you look at men…is the way a man should look at a woman!" he said, his voice rising despite the fact that he had tried to be discreet. Reagan's earlier amusement faded at his words, and a dark sort of bitterness settled over her.

Why was he so damn blind? Was her disguise that convincing? Granted, the two people who claimed to know her true identity were probably the two most observant in her small circle, but was it so hard to grasp that there might be another reason for her "lack of interest in wenches" staring him in the face? She knew then that Lancelot was probably one of the most self-righteous men she had ever met, and her bitterness further pushed her own frustration. Judging by his expression, she sensed the conversation wasn't going in the direction he wanted it to.

"Forgive me, my lord, for what I am about to say," Reagan began, keeping a tight grip on her temper. "But I find there is little to be learned from this conversation. As distressing as my behaviour has been to you, rest assured I meant you no ill will. While you have claimed yourself to be an authority on women, forgive me if I take your advice with a grain of salt," she said through clenched teeth. Standing, she took note of his confused and slightly shocked expression.

Fisting her hands at her sides, she finished, "You, sir, don't even know a woman when you see one." At that, Reagan turned on her heel and walked away from him, leaving behind her a very silent and very confounded Lancelot.

Reagan walked for an hour, willing herself to calm down. Finally, after she felt marginally better, she made her way back into the camp, grabbed the blankets that were meant for her and staked a claim at a nearby tree. Making herself a bed, she lay down and used her pack as a pillow, hoping that sleep would come soon. Her eyes were closed but she heard the crunch of heavy footfalls coming nearer. Knowing who it was without opening her eyes, she prayed silently that Lancelot would leave her be.

"Be ready tomorrow at first light," he said, his voice low. "I'm glad you came back, boy." Reagan knew that was the closest she would ever come to an apology from him. Satisfied, she turned away from him, listening, as he got ready for sleep. Eventually the camp was silent aside from the low murmurs of the night watchmen, and Reagan found that sleep was not as easy to come by as she had hoped.

They woke very early the next morning and got ready at what seemed like a snails' pace to Reagan. Finally after everything was packed, the party continued to their destination. Reagan resumed her place on the mare with Ivy and neither girl spoke much; Ivy was too distracted by Galahad and Reagan too preoccupied with the fresh and slightly awkward memories of her conversation with Lancelot the night before.

While she should have been thankful that her disguise was still working, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in him. She did not have a lot of time to wallow in her dissatisfaction as a small group of riders crested the hill before them. She narrowed her eyes to try and get a closer look, wondering who they were.

"It's the scouting party. Tristan is leading them," Ivy said, sensing the curious change in her posture. As they came closer, Reagan recognized a few of the soldiers accompanying the knight. Tristan rode toward Galahad and Lancelot and joined the party without stopping. It wasn't soon after that, that they found themselves sheltered in a valley, with high hills and forests surrounded the rough road they traveled. Reagan guessed that that they would be stopping soon as the three knights became more animated with each step. Her instinct being correct, they did eventually stop in a large dense forest just outside of the valley.

The soldiers made quick work of getting the camp together. Three large green canvas tents were erected, one for Tristan, one for Galahad and Finn, and another for Lancelot and Reagan. The day passed quickly; there was much work to be done and Reagan and Finn were put to work fetching water from a near by stream for the horses, helping unload the wagons, and getting their commander's new quarters set up efficiently.

Reagan managed to get everything unpacked and was looking forward to sitting down before supper, but she never got the chance. As soon as it was made apparent that she was without a task she was put to work training with Finn, who was much more versed with a sword than she was and, much to her dismay, Lancelot took this as a sign that she needed to do more strength exercises.

After doing her usual routine, she was bone tired and starving. It did not escape her attention, though, that throughout her strenuous afternoon she had acquired an audience of one. Tristan seemed to take particular delight in her suffering. It also didn't help matters that the temperature rose steadily during the afternoon and she was dripping by the time she was finished, and–as if it couldn't get any worse--some of the men had taken to removing their tunics because of the unnatural heat, Lancelot among them.

She tried desperately not to stare directly at him, as it was almost too much for her. Knowing that her looks made him particularly uncomfortable, Reagan could not help but admire what a spectacular form he had. Feeling her mouth go dry at the sight, Reagan was so distracted by Lancelot's muscular and magnificent chest that she didn't hear someone come up along side her.

"Close your mouth, girl," the scout said under his breath, so quietly only she could hear. "You're beginning to attract flies." Reagan snapped her jaw shut and looked at Tristan, more embarrassed at being caught staring than anything else. She felt her face flush a bright shade of red. Tristan's mouth turned up into what might have been a smile had Reagan been paying attention. As it was, Lancelot remained shirtless as he talked to a few of his men, and the sun hit his skin in a particular way that made all rational thought flee from Reagan's mind. Tristan's dark chuckle brought her out of her strange lull.

"If you keep looking at him like that, Reagan, people are going to become suspicious. Lancelot already knows something is amiss: watch yourself." At that, the dark knight took off in the direction of his horse Skye. Reagan stood there staring at Tristan's retreating back, her mouth once again gaping. To her horror, Lancelot seemed to catch the unusual interaction between his squire and the scout.

He excused himself from the other men and made his way toward her. Smiling, he asked, "Can you write something for me?" She was sure that the comical switch from lust to comprehension that played over her face was plainly apparent. Reagan gulped and nodded as his grin continued to blind her.

"Good, I have another task for you to complete for me. I need to send Arthur some missives. Come." Lancelot led them both back to his tent and lit a candle, directed her to a small desk and handed her parchment and charcoal pencils. He then made his way over to the washbasin she had filled earlier that morning and washed quickly, running water over his chest and arms, and grabbing a clean undershirt and dark green tunic in the process.

"I need you to write a letter to Arthur while I dictate. You can write Latin, can't you?" Reagan felt herself nod in response, forcing herself to blink; she just couldn't seem to get a grip on her sanity or her vocal chords. Latin was the absolute last thing she had on her mind at that particular moment.

"Good," he said, satisfied at her lack of a smart retort. "Arthur, we have arrived ahead of schedule and shall be inspecting the first of the villages tomorrow," he began, and Reagan realized that she was supposed to be writing. Mentally shaking herself, she began to take down, word for word, what he was saying.

War, starvation, murder, rape, all words she was familiar with but had never had to actually write, and never in such constructed, passionate sentences before. The letters went on and on for pages and when he was finally finished Reagan had absolutely no idea what she had written. He approached the desk in two quick strides and she turned the letter in his direction so he could look it over before it was delivered.

Lancelot braced himself with two hands on the table, bending down so that he could get a closer look at the words, and Reagan found herself on eye level with all of that curly black hair. Something inside her snapped and she found she was unable to control her actions. Watching as if someone else was controlling her body, her hand reached up and gently touched one of the glossy curls, feeling the soft hair wrap around her finger.

Lancelot stopped moving and jerked his head up as though he'd been burned. His expression was startled as he looked at her. Now, she thought as they stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, now he'll know. Lancelot's dark gaze lingered on her lips for a brief moment and she felt her fingers curl into her palm, wanting nothing more than to fist them into the front of his tunic and pull him toward her.

A quick and bold sense of victory shot through her. Now he'll see me for a girl and the masquerade will finally be over, now he'll know that I'm not a boy. Before she could react further, he abruptly pushed himself from the table. Lancelot backed away slowly, his face draining of all color.

Reagan watched wretchedly as his mouth opened and shut as if he were trying to say something and couldn't quite find the right words. Blinking at her one last time, he turned on his heel and left the tent so quickly it was a full minute before Reagan realized he'd abandoned her with the unfinished letter.

Embarrassment and humiliation blossomed in her chest, squeezing at her insides and making them ache. Taking a deep breath and feeling dangerously close to tears, she gathered the pages together and started packing up the writing supplies. Her hands were shaking so badly that she lost her grip on the parchment and they fluttered to the ground in a silent mockery of her scattered pride.

Reagan tried to reorganize the pages, but found that she couldn't concentrate. Instead she gave into the brief and indulgent whim of tears, viciously swiping at her eyes as they blurred her vision. Angry with herself for her lack of self-restraint, angry that Lancelot only saw what he wanted to see, not what was right in front of him.

She had to concede that if this was a time for brutal honesty: Reagan was mostly angry with herself for falling in love with a man who would never love her in return, and when it was all said and done, it was her own fault and her own foolishness for living a lie and letting that man believe it. The truth had to come out, and the sooner the better. Because living like this, Reagan was sure, would kill her in one way or another.


AN: Please don't hate me for leaving it there, I had to do it...things are starting to unravel and as much as Reagan would like to think she's in control well...she's going to be in for quite a shock, and she ends up gaining (of all things) a protector, someone who was probably one of the last people Reagan would have ever suspected would help her. Bet you can't guess who it is-or maybe I really have been that transparent in my plot so far.

Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter- you help make writing this story a pleasure.

Until Chapter 11

-S.