Author's note: Lots of thanks to Morwen12, lozcollie and Makayla for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it and here's the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own anything from the movie or the legend.

Narrow Escape

Isabelle blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. The knights had been gone for only four days and already she was bored out of her mind.

She reluctantly admitted that she enjoyed their company. "Ten more days," she muttered. Shifting on the bench she had dropped herself on, she thought about the knights.

Dagonet acted like a nanny around her. He didn't speak much, but one stern look from him made her want to say, "Yes, Dagonet," and retreat to her room immediately to rest. She wondered how a big man like him could be so gentle and imposing at the same time.

He was particularly close to Bors, who made up completely for Dagonet's scarce conversations. Isabelle had never met a man so loud, crude, and boisterous, and yet so amiable. She felt a grin creep over her face. Despite his big mouth, it was not Bors who was in charge at home, however. His lover, Vanora, was an even more impressive presence than him.

Lancelot could boast all he wanted, but Vanora belonged to Bors. Isabelle chuckled. Lancelot flirted with anything that had two legs and a bosom. And generally got what he wanted. Though he was pleasant company to be around, if not a little too persuasive, Isabelle knew he had a very short temper. Just by watching his face for a few minutes, one would see a whole scale of emotions pass, sometimes hidden behind his jokes and banter.

Gawain would joke around like that too. Isabelle liked his low, rumbling voice and loud, rolling laugh. He was big and muscular and rumours had told her he was a true menace on the battlefield. Despite being an fierce fighter, he had a more gentle side, as he had shown to Isabelle. It still made her smile when she thought of him in that chair, asking if he had hurt her.

There was a tight bond between all the men, but it was even tighter between Gawain and Galahad. They were as close as brothers. Galahad was the younger and more rash of the two. Isabelle shook her head. After all the things he must have seen and done, he was almost unaffected by it, killing only because it was his duty and counting the days until he could return to his homeland. It made her uncomfortable, because she could clearly see the difference between herself and the youngest knight.

She felt more at ease around Tristan, who made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed fighting and killing. Like Dagonet, he only spoke when he had something to say and he was extremely guarded around his emotions. His long, black hair that fell in his face made it even more difficult to read him. Though the scout still intimidated her somewhat, Isabelle didn't mind his presence.

That left the knight's commander, Arthur Castus. She had heard many stories about him. His generosity, mercifulness, and justice were praised by the fort's residents. But he is still a Roman, Isabelle thought. She had seen enough of Romans. She decided to save forming her opinion of him for later.

Isabelle closed her eyes and lifted her face to catch the sunrays. She had carefully avoided thinking about her future plans. Going home wasn't an option. She could hardly remember the area where the caves were, let alone find the right one.

She would have to create a life for herself in this time. Isabelle chuckled when the irony hit her. A future in the past.

Suddenly the sunlight on her face was obscured. Isabelle opened her eyes and they widened in shock. "Briar," she breathed. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Her fellow assassin and Maurus's personal bloodhound towered over her. "Anwen. You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Isabelle shrugged when she looked into Briar's ice-blue eyes. "I suppose."

Briar bent over her. "What the hell is taking you so long?" he hissed. "You've been here for weeks now. And why are you not dressed as a barmaid?"

"Calm yourself, man," Isabelle scoffed. "Arthur and his knights are away on a mission. So I took the opportunity to go out riding," she quickly invented, "to stay in shape. These barmaid-affairs are making me soft. And I'd like to see you ride in skirts."

Briar snorted in amusement, but continued more sternly, "Why is the Roman not dead yet?"

"Because I can't get close to him. He hardly ever visits the Tavern," Isabelle said. "I'm thinking about trying to get to him through one of the Sarmatian knights."

Briar frowned. "What do you mean?"

Isabelle leaned back and conjured a confident smirk on her face. "They have a different barmaid of some other wench warm their beds every night. It shouldn't be too hard getting to the commander's room once I'm in a knight's room."

"Well, Maurus will be glad to know you're still in place," Briar said. "He was getting worried. This is an important assignment you've been trusted with."

"Tell him everything is fine. It's only going to take a little longer than we had anticipated. Arthur is well-protected by his knights, but I'll find a way around them."

"For your sake I hope so," Briar said, narrowing his eyes, "because if you fail…" He left the rest unspoken, but fingered the knife in his belt.

"I won't." Isabelle stared defiantly at the dark-haired man. "You had best leave now, before anyone sees me with you. And I need to change into a dress again."

Briar nodded. "Good luck."

"I don't need luck," Isabelle drawled. Briar glared at her and walked away. Isabelle sat still until he was well out of sight. Only then she let her breath escape from her lungs. "That was close," she sighed.

When Arthur and the knights returned , Isabelle immediately went to Arthur's room.

"Enter," Arthur called when he heard the knock. Isabelle stepped inside.

"Isabelle," Arthur greeted her. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Listen, one of Maurus's assassins was here while you were away."

Arthur stopped cleaning his sword. "Are you all right?"

"Aye, I'm fine. He was sent by Maurus to find out why I was taking so long. I think I had him convinced to give me more time, saying you were very difficult to come close to."

"He believed you?"

"I think so."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Just be very careful around the fort. I don't want you outside on your own again. Especially not when we are away."

"But…" Isabelle protested.

"You're not being guarded. As long as one of the knights is within your sight it's fine," Arthur said and smiled. "You don't take well to being locked up, do you?"

"Not really," Isabelle admitted. "Even with Maurus I was free to move around at the estate. But anyway, I still get tired very quickly, so I'll be resting a lot for now."

"Well, I'm glad to see that some sense has entered your head," Lancelot grinned from the doorway.

"Don't you knock?" Isabelle snapped.

"Not when you leave the door open, little harpy," he retorted.

"Pansy."

"Baby."

Isabelle snorted. "Look who's talking."

"That would be Lancelot, your servant, milady." Lancelot bowed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Exasperated he sighed, "Do you mind, Lancelot?"

"Not at all. I just came to tell you that Dagonet has removed the arrow's head from Tristan's chest. He says he'll be fine. It's a shallow wound, so nothing vital was hit."

He said the last words in a reassuring voice, noticing Isabelle's eyes had widened in shock.

"Thank you, Lancelot. I'm relieved to hear that," Arthur nodded.

Lancelot's face contorted a little. "Dagonet says he has to stay in bed for three days…"

Arthur's face contorted in a very similar way.

Isabelle looked from one man to the other. "Why are you frowning like that?" she asked.

"Because, little Belle," Lancelot said, "if you thought that you were a difficult patient, which you were by the way, you're nothing compared to our scout. The man managed to go out riding four days after a Woad almost gutted him. If he was cut only half an inch deeper, his intestines would have been hanging on the outside. "

Isabelle grimaced. "Idiot," she muttered.

"You try telling him that," Lancelot sighed.

"I will," Isabelle growled fiercely. "If that bastard thinks he can keep me locked up in a room when I was only a little dizzy, while he frolics around with an arrow in his chest and a gut wound, he will be sorely mistaken. Excuse me, Arthur."

Isabelle stalked out of the room. Lancelot looked at his commander and raised a sculpted eyebrow. "Tristan? Frolicking?"

Arthur grinned. "That's an interesting image." The two men burst out laughing.

Isabelle opened the door of Tristan's room. She couldn't bite back a malicious grin as she saw the sleeping form in the bed. My, my, were the tables turned now.

She advanced on the bed, making no sound. Tristan lay on his back in a half-sitting position. A large bandage covered his chest and a shoulder. Isabelle studied him. He was quite pale, but breathed calmly. Normally, when Isabelle saw people, they were either healthy, or dead. This wounded man was something new to her.

She extended a finger and poked him in his unbandaged shoulder. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed her wrist, glaring at her. "What are you doing?"

"You're awake now. Good," Isabelle said.

"I was not asleep," Tristan said.

"You should have been. You're injured," she scolded him. "You're an idiot, you know that? Riding a horse when you were nearly killed…"

Tristan was confused. "The wound is not that serious."

"I'm not talking about the arrow-wound – although I will have something to say about that later – I'm talking about your gut. You can't go riding a horse when someone almost disembowelled you!"

"You sound like Dagonet," he said distastefully.

Isabelle moved her face a little closer to him and hissed, "That's because I've spent so much time with him when he would not let me get out of bed. Because of you."

"Is that what this is about?"

"Partly. Now let go of my wrist so I can get a chair and you can tell me what happened," she ordered.

Tristan looked at her arm, realizing he was still holding it and quickly let go. Isabelle drew up a chair and settled herself in it. She looked expectantly at him.

He refrained from rolling his eyes, and began telling what happened. "Woads ambushed us on our way back. One shot me in the chest. It was a weak shot. The archer was distracted by Lancelot's sword plunging into his chest."

Isabelle chuckled. Tristan continued, "I pulled the arrow out, but the head was left in my body."

"So you just rode back here with an arrowhead stuck in your chest." Isabelle shook her head in disapproval.

Tristan frowned. "You do sound like Dagonet." Dagonet had said almost the exact same thing when he had refused to let him examine the wound, saying they had to leave before more Woads showed up.

Isabelle pointed a warning finger at him. "Don't go there." She looked at the bandages and her hand dropped in her lap. "You were lucky."

"Aye."

"Dagonet says you have to stay in bed for three days." The malicious grin returned on Isabelle's face. Tristan narrowed his eyes at her and shrugged.

"Surely you will. After all, you wouldn't want to pass out in the hallway, would you? I'm not carrying you back to your bed."

Tristan shot her a warning look. "Go and let me sleep, woman."

"You can sleep. I'm staying here."

"That's not necessary."

"Dagonet's outside and he says it's necessary." Tristan stared at her. Isabelle smirked. "You may close your eyes. I promise I won't kill you."

"You can try," Tristan mumbled and closed his eyes.

When Dagonet brought Tristan's dinner to his room that night, he found his fellow knight asleep and Isabelle dozing in the chair next to the bed. Smiling to himself, he put the tray on the table and gently shook the girl's shoulder.

"What?" she mumbled and blinked.

"Make sure he eats this when he wakes," Dagonet said softly.

"I'm awake," Tristan said, opening his eyes.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Can't take a bloody breath without him waking up again."

Tristan grinned slightly. "I sleep lightly."

"And we're all very happy that you do," Dagonet said dryly, referring to his abilities as a scout, "but for now, just rest and eat." He nodded at them and left.

Isabelle got up and fetched the tray. She placed it on Tristan's legs and curled herself up in the chair again. He looked at her. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"Help yourself then." He pushed the tray a little in Isabelle's direction. She leaned forward and snatched a piece of bread from the tray.

Tristan studied her while she busied herself with the bread. She brushed her long curls impatiently from her face, only to have it fall back in her face moments later. He had to restrain himself not to stretch out his hand and tuck the rebellious strands behind her ear.

He averted his eyes and bit down on a lump of cheese. He felt oddly protective of the young woman in the chair, who by no means needed his protection. Tristan didn't know whether it was because he regretted what he had done to her or because of the openness she showed around him. The gods knew he hadn't done anything to deserve that trust. He didn't understand.

Isabelle looked up at his annoyed sigh. "Are you not well?" she asked in a concerned voice.

Tristan shook his head. "I'm well enough. How were you these weeks?"

"Bored," Isabelle grinned, "but things are looking up. I'm going to teach Bors that little lesson soon."

"Have you recovered enough for that?"

Isabelle folded her arms and gave him a stern look. "I hardly think that is a suitable question from someone who goes out riding with a fresh gut wound."

Tristan grinned. "Fair enough."

"I…er…had a visit from one of Maurus's other assassins," she said.

Tristan stiffened. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. He came to ask why Arthur wasn't dead yet, so I told him I needed more time, because he was well-protected. I think he believed me."

"You can't stay on your own anymore," Tristan said.

Isabelle chuckled. "That's what Arthur said too. But nothing will happen for a few weeks time. I told Briar I had a plan, which was what I had already tried to do. So I've got at least a fortnight."

"But still," he said, "after that they'll come back."

"I know. But by then I'll be strong enough to fight back." Isabelle fell silent and bit her lip.

"What?"

"It's just that he sent Briar after me. He's Maurus's trustee and the best assassin. Arthur's death must be very important."

"We'll find out when we pay him a visit," Tristan said grimly. "How good are you when it comes to defending yourself?"

Isabelle stopped chewing and threw him an incredulous look. Tristan, however, was completely serious. "I'm an assassin," she said in a tone that this should explain everything.

"You got caught," he replied dryly.

Isabelle huffed angrily. "You don't have to remind me. Fine, I prefer the weapons you saw in Arthur's room. They are double-edged, curved trailing-point knives that were handmade for me, but I'm also good with a sword - the Roman Gladius, not the ridiculously large ones you knights use – shorter knives and daggers, tridents, field axe, poison and hand-to-hand."

"Poison and hand-to-hand?"

"Yes. I'm an assassin, not a warrior."

Tristan looked Isabelle up and down. "You'll never beat any man hand-to-hand," he judged with a small smirk.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "There are more ways to fight hand-to-hand than wrestle, Tristan." She produced an evil grin. "Besides, I'm fast and I cheat. You might be surprised."

Amused, Tristan snorted. "No archery?" he asked then.

"No," Isabelle said, "not of much use to an assassin."

"It is of use here. Galahad and I will have to teach you."

"Galahad?"

"Yes. He's the best," Tristan said. "After me."

"No false modesty, I see," Isabelle snorted.

"We'll start tomorrow."

"No, we won't," Isabelle hissed menacingly. "You're staying in bed for three days."

"And who is going to make me?" Tristan asked, tilting his head tauntingly. "You?"

"I could if I wanted to," Isabelle boasted, "but I think I'll just let Arthur order you to stay in bed. He already knows that you should."

Tristan huffed and turned to his food, ignoring Isabelle's muffled giggle. Annoying girl, he thought. She would probably do it without hesitation. And he could not disobey a direct order from Arthur. Yes, she was definitely annoying. Slightly amusing perhaps, but mostly annoying.