thanks so much for the reviews on that last chapter! the response to that chapter was a most welcome surprise...the resonse to this whole story has been a most welcome surprise. thanks again and keep it up if you feel so inclined.
i had a few minutes so i figured i'd better get the next chapter up..hope you enjoy!
same warnings and disclaimers apply...
Chapter 8: Learning something new
She could honestly say from that moment onward she was looking forward to her sword lesson. Learning something new was always exciting to her—and learning something practical and useful was even better…plus, after this afternoon, she would have no need to tell Tristan anything about the previous eve. For if it happened again, she would be more than ready.
Hoping her steps didn't appear too rushed, she walked towards the courtyard, her riding skirt blowing in the breeze. To look at Mirran, one wouldn't have noticed anything too special or odd about her outfit. She had chosen to wear her riding clothes—a forest green slim fitting shirt with a v-heck she cut herself, a durable-material soft brown skirt with a thick brown belt—purely because they gave her the most freedom of movement. Only on closer inspection could one see that the skirt was full of large slits that ran to her mid-thigh and that it was a pair of pants of the same material that filled in the gaps. It made horse riding so much easier as it allowed her to easily move her legs without the restriction of a full skirt. She reached the courtyard and found Lancelot in a corner getting a drink water, two gleaming swords at his side.
"So you came after all?" He asked surprised and glad as he watched her walk over.
"Oh of course…why would I miss out on the chance to learn to fight civilized?" She asked, a sarcastic note to her voice.
"So you know the difference?" He asked interestedly, yet with a dark note to his voice.
"Civilized with a weapon, as opposed to uncivilized without one." She said shortly, knowing that was the distinction to men. 'As if they're any different—one is just bloodier than the other,' she thought darkly. Fighting was still fighting, and something she hadn't particularly enjoyed, but she had to admit it came in handy at times.
"Most women see no difference," Lancelot said, walking over with his two swords in hand, "fighting is usually just fighting to them." She laughed lightly.
"I was just thinking the same thing…but good thing I am not like most women then?" She asked daringly, watching as he walked around her, a knowing smirk on his face.
"How well I know, for you are the only woman who has refused me time and time again." He picked a sword off a bench and twirled it about in his free hand before flipping it and gripping the blade, holding the handle out for her.
"You're just not for me." She said, wrapping her hand around the grip. He backed away from her with the same knowing, subtly seductive smirk.
"Then someone else certainly is…that much I know." He said, flipping one of his two blades into his empty hand.
"Are you going to teach me to fight or inquire as to the affairs of my heart?" She suddenly asked pointedly.
"A little of both, I think," he quickly responded, before raising both swords, "the essentials of sword fighting are not difficult to understand—I thrust, you parry, then disengage." Her brows knitted in confusion.
"And that means…?"
"Basically this—I come at you with my sword and you block my sword with yours, preventing me from hitting you, yet at the same time you want to hit me." He started to circle around her. "And watch your feet. You'd be surprised at how tangled they can become." She smirked, shifting on her feet to keep facing him. The footwork part she was well aware of. 'Even uncivilized fighting requires that much skill…that much I know I can handle.' He raised a sword and instantly lunged towards her. She snapped to and brought her sword to block his, watched him raise it over her head and come towards her right side—clank—the sword in his left hand moved towards her, instantly she swung around. Clunk.
"No fair—you've two swords."
"You can handle it." He moved again, slowly and deliberately, surprised at how well she was parrying his blows. To her, his movements seemed rapid and a blur—but he wasn't even breathing hard!
"Good. Very good." He said, dropping his swords to his side for a minute, watching her catch her breath.
"It can't be—I've no breath left and you're not breathing hard at all. Had you been a real enemy, I would be long dead."
"Well, you just started today," she spun at a sudden voice behind her, "you can't expect to master it in one day!" Galahad smiled encouragingly as Gawain and Dagonet stood silently by.
"And for fighting against a man with two swords, I must say you've done well so far." Gawain complimented as she turned back to face Lancelot who now held his swords at the ready.
"Here we go…" She whispered quietly under her breath, to herself.
"And this time we've an audience." Lancelot quietly said having heard her every word. A blink of an eye and they were at it again. Thrusting, parrying, lunging, blocking, clanking, defending. She swung her sword down onto Lancelot's, instantly he rolled it right off and thrust forward, missing her hip by inches. She brought her sword back in a rush of startled adrenaline to his, hitting it with all the strength she could muster, then watched as it flew across the courtyard, landing in the dust. Gawain's eyes widened as Galahad took a step back, both in awe at Mirran disarming Lancelot. Never had they seen that happen before. Lancelot's eyes were full of a challenge and wounded pride.
"That I must say is a first." He said nonchalantly, forgetting she was a novice. He pitted his all against her as he flew towards her with just one sword. The adrenaline coursing through her was now joined by fear as she fought on instinct, moving and blocking to the best of her natural ability against this skilled warrior. She pushed his sword off hers and they stood back a second, sizing up each other and catching their breath.
"Curse this skirt…." She muttered, reaching for the button at her waist. Once undone, she flipped the skirt out from under her belt and threw it in the dirt, shocking the growing crowd of observing knights as she stood there now in pants. He moved forward again and the fight resumed. A strong, crashing blow from him suddenly sent waves of pain through her arm and her sword fell languidly into the dirt. All the other knights could do was stand and watch, enthralled by what they were seeing. Lancelot's eyes rose from her fallen sword to hers expectantly. 'Oh, this is far from over. Even thought it will hurt…hell, he's already hurt me…' she thought wickedly. A smile of concession formed on her face and his weapon lowered to his side. In the blink of an eye, she raised her leg and brought her foot crashing swiftly into his knees. They buckled as they should and Lancelot fell to the ground, automatically letting go of his sword. She smiled victoriously and backed away, watching him lay on the ground in shock.
"I think I win." She said, nodding slightly as their eyes met.
"You only think that." He flew at her faster than she could think. He wrapped his arms about her legs, bringing her intentionally to the ground with him atop her. He had her pinned the ground.
"No, I think I win," he said pointedly, "so you have to tell me—who is it?"
"Who is what?" She asked curiously.
"Who is it you spend your nights with?" She blanched at his comment in comical surprise.
"Lancelot! Why…this is really eating at your pride, isn't it?" She asked, a disbelieving smile on her face. He lowered his face so their noses were touching.
"Yes if you must know…," he whispered softly, "and I'm dying to know which man has been more fortunate than I."
"Lancelot—let her go! You win." Gawain suddenly called out, making them both remember there were others around.
"I was right earlier then wasn't I…?" Lancelot asked her knowingly.
"No you weren't." She said, pushing against him to free herself from his grasp.
"And you're not leaving until I get an answer…" He pressed. She sighed and turned from his face, her eyes instantly settling on Tristan, who had now joined the onlookers. A small smile crept to her face—it was so great to see him.
"Lancelot…the fight is over." Galahad stressed good humouredly from where some knights had gathered, passing snide comments about why the two were not getting up.
"All she need do is answer a simple question…" He called out, making her head snap back to face him, the smile falling from her face.
"I share no one's bed—"
"But you wish to."
"Can you always read me like a book?" She asked an annoyed edge to her voice.
"Only when it's obvious…" She smiled involuntarily and turned her head again, her eyes automatically settling on Tristan.
"I see now who it is…" Lancelot said quietly, rolling off her but still holding her wrist tight, "our dark and silent scout…." She turned back to face him, a look of truthful vulnerability in her eyes and a blush creeping to her dirt smudged cheeks. He smiled understandingly at her as he rose, pulling her to her feet.
"Lancelot, don't do anyth—"
"Not a thing." He said, smiling honestly at her. She nodded at his smile, believing he would keep his word, but doubting the mischievous look in his chocolate eyes.
"A bloody good fight that was," Bors said, approaching the pair, "Mirran, I think you're the first to ever partially disarm him."
"Pure beginner's luck, Bors." She said downheartedly.
"Besides I wasn't gripping my swords too tightly anyway—she is just a beginner after all." She slapped Lancelot's arm as he walked from her to gather his swords.
"Partially disarm him?" She turned with a confident smile towards Tristan.
"Did you doubt me?" She asked, mock-hurt in her voice.
"I didn't see the skirmish…but I heard you put up a decent fight. And against a man with two swords. Remind me never to engage you in swordfight."
"You would easily win hands down in that situation…" she said quickly, walking from him towards her discarded skirt. She shook the dirt from it and met with Tristan's questioning eyes before they traveled to the skirt then to the pants she was wearing.
"Its part of my riding clothes…," his eyebrows raised questioningly and some doubt crept to his mind as he thought of how during a fight with Lancelot she came to be without her skirt, "it's quite an explanation…." She said exhaustedly, reading the look in his eyes as she moved towards him, feeling his hand wrap discreetly, yet comfortingly around hers as they left the courtyard.
XXXXXXXXXX
She bustled about the pub as usual, even though the crowd was anything but usual. And most fortunately, that bastard of a man who attacked her was nowhere to be seen. 'Thank gods.' There had been no need to tell Tristan and so she hadn't. And she had no plans to…she never actually said she would, and as such felt no guilt or that she had lied to Gawain.
Tonight, the crowd was insane and it was the perfect opportunity for her to lose her thoughts and get swept up in the busy work. A Roman noble, en route to Rome, had stopped for a night at the fort and amongst his travelers were musicians. Needless to say, word had spread fast among the locals and now the pub was packed with music listeners, even though it was late.
"Oh why can't there be musicians every night!" Magda exclaimed excitedly as the girls around her groaned.
"Magda don't wish such things," Halaga called out over the crowd, "or you'll wish us all to early graves."
"That would suit you wouldn't it?" Cayln said under her breath as she brushed past Halaga.
"Oh shut it would you!" Halaga snapped, catching Mirran's attention from across the pub. She slid mugs down the table and smiled thankfully at comments before turning and sighing. Slowly and with some difficulty, she made her way back to the bar, wiping her hands on her apron before grabbing a pitcher. It was late…and the crowd was a relatively subdued one as the music had grown softer and the dances less coordinated as the wine kept flowing.
"You've read our minds, dear Mirran." Bors slurred as she refilled his mug.
"Bors, don't let Vanora hear you call me that—she might get jealous." Bors in his drunkenness missed the joke in her voice and fell into silence. She made her way easily around the table, careful not to interrupt the tale Svent was animatedly sharing. She met Tristan's wandering eyes and smiled affectionately. In that instant, she noticed just how good he looked in the low lighting. The dark shadows from the dim light fell ever so alluringly cross his pale skin and dark hair, and she felt herself instantly drawn in, wanting to be closer to him…much closer. Looking from him, she filled Lancelot's glass, the last one, and turned to go.
"Come on Mirran…you've had no fun the whole evening." She turned, surprised at Lancelot's words.
"Well I've had work to do. But out of sheer exhausted curiosity, did you have something in mind?" His eyes darted mischievously to Tristan before settling on hers. "Lancelot, you won't—you promised." She started as he took the pitcher from her and wrapped her hand in his.
"I know what I said—and this has nothing to do with him. Nothing directly at least." He finished under his breath as he led her from the table towards an open space filled with dancing couples.
"Nothing directly! Lancelot, what—" She stopped short as his hand snaked around her waist, drawing her close against him.
"All I ask for is a dance. Tristan will see, and I guarantee you will see him later," he smiled hopefully at her, "just go with me." Her eyes darted reluctantly around as her feet began to move to the music with his.
His arm was still tight around her waist as hers wrapped around his, they moved in circles around each other. His arms switched and he pulled her to his side as they moved forward a count of two before dipping at the knees, rising, moving back a count of two, dipping again. He stepped behind her, shifting his hands lazily so an arm wrapped around the front of her waist, pressing her back lightly against his chest. Feeling his hands wrapped around her and his breath lightly against her neck, she began to see how easy it would be to succumb to him.
She unwrapped from his embrace and with their joined hands raised near their faces from their bent arms, the dance continued. The rhythm slowed and Lancelot moved behind her, a hand traveling lazily around her waist as she looped an arm about his, feeling their intertwined hands come to rest against her upper front shoulder. Instinctively she turned her face and came within mere inches of his. The final note of the song sounded as they froze. Suddenly they unraveled, bowing and curtseying to the other before walking back to the table.
"What was that supposed to do?" She asked quietly, embarrassment reddening her cheeks
"More than I originally thought," Lancelot said, smiling gleefully, "he's left." Her eyes searched over the table. Lancelot was right. Tristan had gone. 'What have I let happen…?' she thought downheartedly, breaking free from Lancelot.
"Thank you for the dance. I would be lying to say I didn't enjoy it." She said, feeling embarrassment color her cheeks once more as she smiled.
"My pleasure. And believe me, you know your heart—things will turn out for the best." Mirran could only hope so as she quickly and unnoticeably left the pub. She looked down the nearest corridors and walkways for him, but saw nothing. Knowing he sometimes took to the woods in the evenings, she flew to her quarters to get her cloak. She had one hand on the door handle when a strong hand instantly wrapped around her other. The breath caught in her throat as she spun around, only to be relieved it was Tristan.
"Mirran what was—"
"In." She quickly, commandingly said as she pushed him gently inside before closing the door behind her. The corridor was no place for another argument. Breathing deep, she turned around to face Tristan, whose eyes shone with anger and a hint of jealousy.
"What was that?"
"Just a dance."
"And what of this afternoon—in the courtyard...when he would not let you up?" He asked, an edge to his voice that clearly told her he would kill Lancelot without really thinking twice based on her answer.
"It was and is nothing." She answered honestly.
"Mirran—his hands were allover you for the whole pub to see…that can't be 'nothing'…not where he is concerned."
"Jealous are we….? Father? Friend? Lover?" She asked, questioning his role in her life.
"He is more your lover then I—"
"How would you know?"
"You let his hands roam freely—"
"Where?" Had she really just said that? He blanched at her pointblank question and felt a blush creep to his cheeks.
"Your…hips, waist, shoulders…all over your back." He answered a bit uneasily, finding the intimate-frank nature of her question a bit disarming as well as naming. She looked his direction, finding everything else in her mind slowly slipping away, just as though none of it mattered. Last night had made her realize one thing…that life changes without warning, so to not the present moment ever get away. Without thinking, but knowing what she was ultimately asking, she stepped closer to him and took both his hands in hers, placing them firmly on her hips.
"Show me." She whispered, surprising herself and making her choice. His breath caught in his throat. Ever since that kiss, he had found himself hungering to see her and for more of her… but had found himself unable to until now, no thanks to helping soldiers track a band Woads. And now, to finally, be here with her and have her tempting him with such a willing offer….such a moment was oh so rare. And this was the first woman he could honestly say he loved and he wanted to do nothing more than just that—love her.
Without another word, he moved his hands slowly around her waist and hip bones, tracing their contour with his fingers as he moved to her back before slowly trailing up to her shoulders. Her heart was racing and she fought to keep her breathing normal—his touch felt so right and was suddenly driving her mad. Instinctively, he took a step closer to her, wanting to be as close to her as possible. His hands traveled slowly down her arms before returning to her shoulders where they traveled down her torso, savoring every inch. Her eyes closed for a second as she fought with herself to keep from throwing herself at him and loving him completely. His hands came to rest low on her stomach and she looked up at him, seeing the flames of desire in his eyes, knowing they harbored reflections of her own.
"Tristan…"she whispered breathlessly, only wanting and needing to love him. His answer came the moment their lips were in locked in gentle, loving want. She soon felt herself falling back against the bed, wrapped in his arms and welcoming his weight. She kissed him just as fervently as he her and welcomed his increased exploration as clothing became a thing of the past. She began her own exploration, trailing her fingers gently over his scarred skin, as she relied on instinct as skin met skin for her first time.
well there you go. hopefully does not disappoint. review if'n ya want. will get next chapter up soon as possible.
