Why was she avoiding him? Bryanne was rattling him – unnerving his usually cool composure. It frustrated him. She had left the tavern when he had arrived, and this had been going on a week. They hadn't spoken. He hadn't even known about Lorella feeding Genna – my, was that a shock! Lancelot had now got himself into the nasty habit of getting completely and utterly drunk and having to be helped back to his room. He'd then lie in his cot, churning over and over in his mind what could have possibly gone wrong. Was it because he had left before she had woken? Was it because he had kissed her? Had he forced that kiss on her? It was infuriating. The whole damn thing was infuriating. And she was the most infuriating of them all. He down his wine and poured himself another. Galahad and Gawain glanced at each other, predicting the night's outcome.
Why was she avoiding him? She couldn't stay where he was – she'd been avoiding him all week. He caused such a blur of emotions that it confused and scared her. So she had kept to her room all week as much as she could, hoping that the next knock on the door would be him, but equally, fervently wishing that it wasn't. What had she expected? Some concurrence, some sign that showed her that this was the right thing to do? Some confirmation that she and Lancelot were meant to be? She sneered at herself for such a notion – a woad and a Sarmatian knight. As she lay alone, watching the moonlight play itself out across the floor, she reasoned with herself. How could she even demean herself? To desert her own faith, to betray her own people. Consorting with the enemy… she shouldn't even be here. She would leave in the morning, right away. But whenever morning came, her resolve faded with the crowing of the cockerel. She loathed herself for it. For her own uncertainty. She rose from where she sat at her table, staring at the knots in the wood, and decided to put paid to her doubts. Her feet led her to the tavern as if by will of their own, though she already knew what she was going to do.
Dagonet was the first to see her, but he quickly averted his gaze. There was something in her posture that made him feel shy of her. The others saw her too, but no one said a word. Lancelot, only on his third drink, was the last to notice. Her hand laid itself on her shoulder.
"Lancelot." She whispered, but he heard it over the raucous of the tavern as if it had been shouted from the rooftops by a hundred men. He turned to her, and the question in her eyes said it all. He rose, leaving his drink, and followed her into the night. Hey walked side by side, not touching, not speaking. Their footfalls landed light on the grasses of the paddocks they passed. As they came to the rise that marked the end of the Hadrian's Wall territory and the beginning of Southern Briton, Bryanne stopped and turned to him. "I need to know." She said slowly. She tilted her head and looked at him, the moonlight creating light and shadow over his face, so perfect he may have been simply a sculpted figure in a big art hall in Rome. "I need to know you." He frowned briefly, breaking the frozen spell that had alighted on him.
"You know me, Anne." She shook her head.
"No. I don't know you at all." Tentative fingers reached out and clasped his. "I've tried so hard to understand, and perhaps I do a little. But…" She frowned, searching for the right words. "There's still so much to learn. When I… when I converted… a lot of my friends shunned me. But I understood what they could not. I understood the power faith has. I believed… If they could see me now." She laughed, and took a step closer. The tourmaline gems that were her eyes sparked in the moonlight, daring him to believe… begging him to understand. "They would probably kill me for my betrayal. Loving the enemy…" Lancelot reached out and drew her closer in, and she could feel his soft breath on her cheek. "Daring to believe in something I shouldn't…" She murmured, but there was no more room for words as his mouth closed around hers. Her hand reached up and rested on his cheek. His hands held the small of her back through her dress.
It was only them and the night. Somewhere, a fox yipped for its vixen, and an owl found its prey. Their lips parted, and Lancelot sighed.
"My little vixen." She smiled, rubbing the pad of her thumb against the hollow in his cheek.
"My Sarmatian wolf." She breathed back, kissing him again. They remained in this embrace, savouring each other's warmth against the Briton-night chill.
"How can I make you understand me? What can I do to help you realise everything I now know about myself?" He asked, and she wondered if he asked her, or just the air. "You made me believe in something, Anne." He said, pushing his nose against hers and closing his eyes. "When I went away… when those woads attacked. All I could think about was getting back to you alive. I believed in you… I believe in you now." Bryanne smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She nuzzled into his neck and inhaled him deeply. She felt safe. And she felt sure, for the first time in a long time. His fingers traced patterns on her back, and she smiled at the shivers it sent up and down her spine. She moaned in pleasure, and Lancelot glanced down to her, a wicked smile on his face. "Hey." He gently moved her back so that he could look at her properly. "Let's get you back." He smirked and she pushed her tiny hands into his.
"Here." She replied, and they walked back to the flickering lights of the Wall. They paused by the tavern, watching the knights as if it were another life. Gawain raised his head and saw them at the edge of the light. With a inane yell, he raised his mug.
"Lancelot! We wondered where you'd gone!" Lancelot squeezed Bryanne's hand and looked down at her. She squeezed it in reply.
"We have forever." She whispered, releasing his hand and stepping onto the tavern veranda. She turned back to him. "Come on!" She laughed, and he grinned as he followed her to the table.
She sat at the end of the table, nursing her mug of spiced wine between her hands, listening the boisterous conversations around her. Bryanne kept glancing at Lancelot, catching his eye and looking away again, a knowing glint and a smirk telling him what she was thinking. He pressed his lips together, wanting to feel her mouth against his again, wanting to taste the sweetness of her tongue. He wished Gawain hadn't seen them – he wished they had gone, unnoticed, to his room… He banished the thoughts before they soured the evening. Galahad roared with laughter at a quiet joke Tristan had quipped out the corner of his mouth, and Bryanne laughed too, shaking her head. Lancelot swallowed his wine and heaved a sigh.
"Well. I'm far too tired to stay any longer." Bryanne announced, standing. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight!" The knights chorused. She glanced to Lancelot, but he couldn't be sure. Should he follow? Would the knights guess? In their states, they probably wouldn't notice if there was a rampaging bull in their midst unless it upset one of their mugs.
"Anne!" He hissed at her retreating back, snatching her hand when she turned. "This way." He murmured. He led her to the same alley where they had met Decimus and Severino. In the dark, he pushed her against the cottage wall, where the stones were smooth and cold, kissing her fiercely. Bryanne responded just as fervently, tasting him as if he were life itself. Lancelot ran his hands up her arms, moving her hands above her head and clasping them there, pinned against the wall. His whole body pressed desperately against hers. He ran his hands back down her arms, across the curve of her breasts, the ridge of her ribs and the arc if her belly and hips. He could feel her pulsing skin underneath her clothes, and ached to see it, touch it, taste it. Her arms draped around his neck, the fingers of one hand pushing themselves through the hair at the nape of his neck and massaging him through his curls. He groaned against her lips at the sensation, and he felt her smile. He moved his roving lips down her jaw and throat, to the small groove at its base. His teeth nipped the soft skin, inducing a moan. Her breath came out in short pants, and her mouth whispered:
"Lancelot." Time and time again until he covered her words with his lips. His whole body quivered with the sensation of her, and his hands wouldn't be stilled as they explored her every plane, every curve.
The sound of retching came from the end of the alleyway, breaking them apart. There was laughter and footsteps as Roman soldiers staggered to their quarters from a night of heavy drinking. Bryanne pursed her lips to muffle her giggles. Lancelot looked at her, his eyes round with mirth. He took her hand.
"Come on." He whispered, and they exited the alleyway as silently as they had come. They found their way back to their quarters with no encounters, but as they entered the hallway, they heard Galahad's voice raised in farewell. "Sh." He pressed a finger to his lips as they crept to their bedrooms. They hesitated at her doorway, and he kissed her again, the question in his urgency. With huge willpower, Bryanne pulled away.
"I can't. Not tonight." She breathed. "Genna." She offered in explanation, kissing him lightly, and shutting the door on him. Lancelot sucked the air between his teeth, knowing he should have more self control than this. One more night…
