A/N: Sorry, there are no replies to individual reviews this time. It would take another month for me to post for that and I figured you'd rather just read the story anyway. But I really do appreciate any comments and take all ideas and criticisms into consideration. I'm amazed with all the new readers sitting through 25 chapters of straight reading and with all of you have stuck with this story. I hope you (and I) have a long attention span, because it's not close to over.
By nightfall, Arthur, Airell, and Cadell had formed a battle plan to defeat the imposing Saxons. The knights were shown to their quarters after a light meal. Arthur received his own room at the far end of the hall. Kayleigh also got her own room opposite Arthur. The knights were split into two rooms. Lancelot, Gawain, and Galahad sharing a room next to Kayleigh's, Tristan, Dagonet, and Bors settled in the room beside their brothers-in-arms.
Dedric apologized for the cramped arrangements but his father's 200 Champions also needed lodging and invited them to partake in the village's celebrations that night. And so, in courtesy, they went outside to join in the drinking and games.
Kayleigh spotted Dedric, Turi, and Bevyn seated at a table and approached them. "May I join you?," she asked them in their language.
"I wouldn't dream of turning down the company of such an enchanting beauty as yourself, Lady Kayleigh," Dedric replied with a charming smile.
Kayleigh blushed slightly as she sat down next to Bevyn. "I don't want to make you feel unwelcome here, but why have you chosen to sit with us instead of Arthur and his knights?" he asked curiously.
She glanced across the crowded courtyard to the table where they sat drinking quietly. Galahad glanced up and their eyes met. She could almost see the questions swirling around in his head. She dreaded the long trip home. Turning back, she shrugged at Bevyn's question.
"How did you come to be here, on this island with the knights," Turi asked.
Kayleigh began to grow uncomfortable. If she wanted an interrogation, she would have sat with the knights instead. "I discovered the Saxon's plans to overrun Britain," she answered.
Dedric raised an eyebrow. "You did?" he asked skeptically. She nodded. "How?"
"That is a story I do not wish to relive in the telling," she replied.
"Would you at least tell us how a woman came about being assigned the tasks of a spy in the Roman military," Dedric asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.
"I am as capable as any Roman soldier," she said defensively.
"Of course you are," Dedric replied unbelievingly.
Kayleigh rose her chin slightly, "Where I come from women and men fight side by side in battle."
"But the Romans do not practice that," Turi pointed out.
"The knights come from my land as well," Kayleigh explained.
"Ah," Dedric nodded his head, "that's it, isn't it? It's the scout." Kayleigh's brow creased in confusion. "You are accepted among them because you belong to him."
"What," Kayleigh shrieked. "I belong to no one! I am my own person!"
Dedric frowned, "I only meant–"
"Oh, I know what you meant," she exclaimed. She stood up suddenly, the chair falling away. "You believe in controlling women for your own purposes."
"No, I –"
"I make my own decisions. I am free to come and go as I chose," her voice had raised to a yell and the crowd had quieted watching the scene. The knights watched from the table cautiously. Kayleigh turned on her heel and fled out of anger and embarrassment.
Dedric was up and around the table in a second, "Kayleigh, wait." He caught her by the wrist causing her to swing around to face him.
Her stare burned into him fiercely and her jaw twitched with tension, "Let go of me."
"Just let me explain," he pleaded with a hint of irritation leaking through his words. He reached out with his other hand to grasp her shoulder but something in her eyes made him stop. They were wild, angry, and terrified at the same moment, like a beast cornered in the hunt.
She yanked her arm free and ran to her room, leaving him dumbfounded in the street. Turning to rejoin his comrades, he almost ran square into Tristan, who had been standing near protectively. He didn't know what they had said for he did not understand the Scot's native tongue, but he knew that he didn't like the way the leader's son had grabbed Kayleigh.
Dedric put his hands up in gesture that he meant no harm. Tristan continued glaring at him for a moment more before going after Kayleigh, clipping Dedric's shoulder with his own as he passed.
Tristan opened the door to Kayleigh's room. She was pacing the floor and stopped when she saw him. "Do we not knock anymore?" she questioned. He did not answer as he shut the door behind him. "What do you want Tristan?"
"I think we've all seen enough emotional displays from you for the day," he said as he leaned against the back of the door.
"Without one of those 'emotional displays' you would be fighting against 200 Champions instead of along side them," she reminded him.
"And in the same day you're close to putting us back where we started," he told her. "What was that all about," he gestured with his head toward the courtyard.
"That arrogant son of a . . . " she let out a frustrated cry. "He thought you and I . . . " Kayleigh paused, replaying Dedric's comments in her mind, causing her to become more angry. Tristan raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish her sentence. Instead, she snatched a pillow from the bed and flung it at a chair. "I belong to no one," she snarled, teeth clenched.
He did not understand. Did she still feel obligated to his commander? "Your debt to Arthur is paid, so why are you still here?" he asked bluntly.
Kayleigh's body grew stiff at the question and he realized too late that those were the wrong words to use. He was not a fancy speaker like Lancelot or diplomatic like Arthur. He did what he was there to do and nothing more. He did his job and reported his findings. Now he wished he had some tiny sliver of their social skills.
"Kayleigh," he approached her but was stopped by her hand on his chest.
"No," she said ferociously. If he doesn't know now why I'm here, he'll never know, she thought. Then tell him, a small voice in her head said. She shook her head. He wants me gone. He'll have his wish.
He watched as her mind battled with itself to come up with a response. Her eyes were filled with anger, then softened. He thought for a moment he saw tears in her eyes until anger won out and her demeanor hardened again.
"I'm here to finish what I started. After the battle with the Saxons, I'm gone. You can go back to living your cowardly life," she said vehemently.
"What?" he said, unsure that he had heard her correctly.
"You valiantly stare death in the face but when it comes to living, you're a coward," she spat. "Yes, a coward," she repeated, insulting him again. "You run from life, never staying around long enough to finish a conversation, leaving before anyone can understand what you've said. You hide in the shadows, always watching the world around you, but never participating. That is not living. You are not afraid of dying because you are already dead!"
Before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed her and thrown her against the wall, holding her there by her throat. "Do not speak of things you know nothing about," Tristan whispered harshly.
"I know of death," she informed him.
"But you do not know me. I am not to be toyed with," he warned, his voice low and threatening.
"And you do not know me," Kayleigh came back.
Still, he held her against the wall with a firm grip. "Do you enjoy hurting me, Tristan?" she asked in a steady tone.
What she said, and the way she had said it; calmly, without anger or fear, startled him. He pulled his hand away quickly as if he had touched hot coals. He backed away slowly before he turned and left, leaving Kayleigh alone in the room.
Tristan entered his room and slammed the door behind him. It had been a long time since he had felt this enraged and even longer since he had acted upon it. He was angry at her and angry at himself for losing control. What right did she have calling him a coward? She didn't know how many battles he had fought, how many men he had killed.
He is not unafraid of death because he is dead, but because death brings honor and glory. What else did he have to leave behind in his wake? He has no offspring, no family. Her proclamation that he was not of the living was closest to the truth than any of her comments. For almost fifteen years his purpose was to defend an empire he despised. What kind of life was that? It wasn't one. But when Kayleigh came to Badon Hill, each day he felt more enlivened.
He sat down and began sharpening his sword. "The way you're going about that, your sword will be in slivers."
Tristan ignored Dagonet and tested the sharpness of the blade against his thumb. It drew blood which Tristan examined, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. With as much blood that he had seen spilt, it still fascinated him. How could this same red liquid be so vital to the living body yet so meaningless outside of it?
Satisfied with his work, Tristan returned his sword to its sheath and placed it beside his bed.
"What troubles you?" Dagonet asked as he tried to get comfortable on his own bed. "Kayleigh?"
Tristan huffed, "When does she not trouble me?"
Dagonet smiled despite himself, "She does have spirit."
"Spirit of a demon," Tristan mumbled.
The knights had retired early to their quarters. They had only stayed at the Scot's celebration as long as courtesy required. The next morning brought their departure back to Britain and they needed all the rest they could get before the big battle.
Lancelot lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Aside from Gawain's snoring and Galahad talking in his sleep, he was kept awake by the warning bells in his head. He didn't trust the Scots, especially the leader's son, Dedric.
Lancelot rejected the idea that he disliked the man because his charming skills exceeded his own. He also put the idea of being jealous of him out of his mind. Kayleigh responded well to Dedric's flirtations, unlike his own, but that was just politics, right? He had fun with Kayleigh but being in a relationship with her would be more work than he was willing to do.
He rolled over in bed, turning his back to his noisy roommates. Lancelot decided he didn't like Dedric because of the way the Scots switched sides so easily. He didn't trust that their loyalties were truly with Arthur. He shook his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. They would find out soon enough.
Suddenly, he sat up in bed listening into the night. He could hear faint yelling amongst the snores. Throwing away the covers, Lancelot stood, retrieved his sword, and crept into the hallway. The clatter came from behind Kayleigh's door. Lancelot grasped the door knob and flung the door open, blade at the ready. He expected to find her being attacked by Scots.
Instead, he found the room disheveled and empty. Grabbing the torch from the hallway, he entered cautiously. The bed sheets were balled up at the foot of the bed and a pillow was strewn on the floor. As he stepped further into the room, a figure darted out from the shadows tackling him, knocking his sword and torch from his hands and air from his lungs. They rolled around the floor each trying to gain the upper hand. Finally, Lancelot had his attacker pinned beneath him.
Then she laughed. It was a bitter, heartless laugh.
"Kayleigh?" his voice was filled with surprise as he pulled back from her.
She rose to her knees trying to catch her breath. "Do it," she said. "Kill me."
Lancelot tilted his head at her request. He picked up the torch and brought it closer to her face. Her eyes were glazed over, her stare floating across the room as if watching someone who wasn't there.
"Go ahead," she continued. "You've already killed my brother. Nothing can hurt me any more."
"Kayleigh," he grasped her shoulder, "it's Lancelot."
She threw it aside, "Do it or I swear you and your damned Roman citizens will regret it."
Lancelot glanced around the room. It didn't feel right listening to her side of the conversation in the state she was in. It was eavesdropping in the most debased way. He closed the door to prevent others from waking before he returned to her side.
"Kayleigh," he shook her, "wake up."
She pushed him away then charged at him. Lancelot quickly stepped to the side to avoid her blow. A muffled yelp escaped her lips as she slammed into the wall. It only took a few seconds for her to recover and turn on Lancelot again. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the dressings from the bed and threw it over her, successfully entrapping her. Not wanting her to hurt herself, he encircled his arms around her as she fought. Finally, she grew still and sank to the ground.
Lancelot quickly ripped the sheets from her, afraid he had hurt her. He released a sigh of relief when he discovered her chest rising and falling with breath. Gently, he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Sitting in a chair near her bed, he decided to stay with her through the night. The last thing she needed was someone taking advantage of her in her vulnerable condition.
Tristan's mind wandered as he groomed his horse. He had woken early, before the sun had risen and snuck out to the stables. There, he was happy to find his horse well fed and uninjured. He shook his head. It was just like Arthur to bring along Tristan's and Kayleigh's horses with him in hopes of saving them from those who took them.
The door to the stables creaked and Tristan's eyes squinted at the sight of Dedric. Tristan put the brush down and stepped possessively before his horse. Dedric gave him an uneasy smile and said something in his language that Tristan could not understand. He came closer, looking at the horse behind Tristan and gave an approving nod. Then he moved to another stall, waving Tristan over. Again, he said something in his native tongue, pointing to the horse and then to himself. Tristan examined the horse he understood to be Dedric's, running a hand over its flank. It was a fine black mare, strong and sturdy. He gave his own approving nod.
They stood there for a moment in uncomfortable silence, neither being able to communicate efficiently, and only one with a desire to. Finally, Dedric raised his hand slightly before turning and walking out of the stables.
Tristan returned to his horse and threw a blanket over its back. His mind turned to the memories of last night. He was not himself and neither was Kayleigh. They had fed off each other's emotions until both were out of control. A pang of regret shot through his stomach. He didn't want her to see Brogan whenever she looked at him.
He gave the horse one last pat before heading toward the guest rooms. As he entered the hall, all thoughts of what he was about to say were lost. He watched as Kayleigh stepped from her room. He did not expect to see her smiling and the fact that she wasn't still angry gave him hope. Tristan stopped dead in his tracks when Lancelot came into view behind her. His heart hardened as he stepped into the shadows to watch.
"I hope I don't become just another notch in your bedpost," Kayleigh joked as Lancelot closed her door behind them.
"Of course not, Kayleigh," Lancelot chuckled as he began to lead her toward the courtyard, "I don't have an empty space for another notch." She laughed aloud and he added, "I don't think I'll soon be forgetting last night, notch or not."
Kayleigh smiled and turned toward Lancelot, stopping him. "Thank you," she said as she hugged him, then drew back and kissed his cheek.
"Maybe I'll just take you home with me," he said with a wink.
"You better," she cried. "I'm not staying here." She laced her arm through his as they exited the building.
Tristan watched as they left together. He stood there, static and tense, until he heard conversation coming from the other knight's room. The last thing he wanted was company. Turning, he straightened himself before striding away.