Bryanne wore breeches and a tunic to much out Desra's stall. It was far easier than a cumbersome dress. She rolled the clean straw out with a pitchfork, spreading it across the bare stone floor.
"Jols!" Her heart quickened. Had it just been a dream? Had she imagined it? "How is Solmyr this morning?"
"Restless, Lancelot." The squire replied. Solmyr had gone lame in his left foreleg after the last time the knights had gone out, restricting him to his stall and the occasional supervised walk around a paddock – but no riding. "He's much better, and is putting weight on it."
"Is he ready to ride?"
"I'm not sure. I turned him out this morning, to give him a run – I thought he needed it." Lancelot looked across and saw Bryanne in Desra's stall. He nodded thoughtfully.
"Would you bring him in for me?"
"Of course." Jols took the stallions halter and lead rein from a hook and disappeared. It was just Bryanne and Lancelot in the stables.
"Anne." He whispered, approaching her stall, leaning on the door. She straightened, leaning on her fork. "I –"
"My head bloody murders this morning." Galahad complained to Tristan, holding his temples as if in display of his pain. Tristan smirked.
"Good morning, Lancelot… Bryanne." The quiet knight said, ignoring his companion's announcements.
"Good morning." Lancelot replied, Bryanne only smiled. "Anne… So I hope you've left enough straw for us."
"She used a lot, has she?" Galahad peered over the stall door.
"Not much." Bryanne replied, revealing nothing in her tone. She knew it had to be secret. As she had told herself every night for a week – a woad and a Sarmatian. It would disgust her if she had been in a different position. But it didn't stop the act hurting. "I'm sure there's plenty left."
And so it continued in much the same way – secret looks and soft touches as they passed each other. Every time they were left alone, they were intruded upon. It drove them both mad. And it got worse when, eight days later, Arthur summoned his knights once more to go and counter a woad attack further West down the wall. Bryanne had never known how frequent the attacks had been, and now she loathed the Briton rebels, wracked with guilt at the same time for such traitorous thoughts. She couldn't bear to watch them go, but couldn't bear to hide in her room when they left. They exploded from the courtyard in a thunderous cacophony of hooves and shouts. As he passed under the gateway, Lancelot looked back.
"I believe." He mouthed, before he was gone. Bryanne groaned, resting her head against the wall in the hope that it would drain her pain out.
"It's torture every time." Came a voice. She looked up in surprise. Lorella stood with her newborn in one arm, Genna in the other. She passed Genna to Bryanne and continued. "Wondering if they'll come back hurt, or if they'll come back at all."
"I –" She floundered.
"Don't try to fool me, Bryanne. I've got a woman's intuition." Bryanne laughed and shook her head. Lorella reached out and touched her arm. "When they come back, I'll look after Genna for the night." The woad had no answer but a smile and a kiss on the cheek.
They had to wait nearly a week for their return. On the afternoon of the sixth day, the horn from the watch on the Wall blared out the return of the Sarmatian knights and Arthur. Bryanne, from where she lay daydreaming in the paddock, could see the seven riders coming down the road at a great pace. She forced herself to stay where she was – to hide her eagerness to see him. Lancelot, however, was not so patient. He dismounted Solmyr and looked around for Bryanne. When he realised she wasn't there, he made his excuses and went to her room. It was empty. A jolt of alarm shot through him as he thought of Decimus and Severino and all the other Romans in the vicinity. None of them had taken too kindly to a woad. Had they… Would they… No. No, they wouldn't dare – Bryanne was in Arthur's care and they wouldn't question or disobey him. But still, where was she? Had he all just imagined it? Had it never happened at all? But he couldn't forget the pressure of her body against his, the sound of her breathing, the feel of her pulse beneath his tongue. It was real. It had to be.
Bryanne appeared to the dinner late. They were eating in the hall, and she slipped through the door bashfully. Galahad looked up, but made no remark as she seated herself next to Arthur. Bors shared a look with Lorella, but her eyes warned him not to say a word. The meal was eaten, in most, silently. Broken conversation littered the room, but there was a strange anticipation that awed them into quiet. Lorella waited until her newborn son had finished eating, then rose, politely taking her leave, with the parting words:
"I'll get Genna from your room, Bryanne. You can come and find her in the morning." Lancelot's head shot up, and stared darkly at Lorella, then at Bryanne. She caught his gaze, and he flicked his eyebrows up to express his confusion. Her brow dipped in a frown and she shook her head, to warn him not to say anything.
"Yes. Thank you, Lorella." Arthur stared at Bryanne, surprised that the protective woad had so happily given up her niece. "Genna has a bad tummy." She offered in explanation as the door shut behind Bors' mistress. "Lorella is more educated in such things than I."
"Of course. I hope she gets better."
"I'm sure it's passing." Bryanne replied evasively, bowing her head and taking a mouthful of food.
After a little more silence, Arthur rose.
"Knights." He said, his voice grave. Bryanne's stomach pitched with sudden foreboding. "As you have noticed, the woad incursions have been more and more frequent after the past few months…"
"I should go." Bryanne muttered, standing.
"No, Bryanne, please. Stay. I think that it would help if you heard this." Arthur pleaded, and she reluctantly sat back down. "As I said, the incursions are more frequent. It seems they have had word before it has reached us. I am told that Rome is planning to retreat from its further outposts." The knights muttered between themselves before they were silenced by a raised hand. "It is not immediate, and we may see no effect of it for a while yet, but the empire is suffering from attacks on all sides. The Emperor has decided to pull back the Roman forces closer to Italy. This means, that we may be leaving Briton." There was a stunned silence.
"Does that mean, once the Romans have left, we can go home?" Galahad asked hopefully.
"No." His face fell. "But I feel it is my duty to warn you – the woads have somehow heard of this. They will become more and more confident in the future. It will be more dangerous… and more frequent." Lancelot looked to Bryanne, whose face was unreadable. "Get some rest." Arthur finished. "It's been a long week." He sat back down, and the Sarmatians rose and left. Bryanne waited until the door had closed behind the last knight, before she turned to Arthur.
"Why did you want me to hear that?" The commander looked pained as he replied, his forefinger rubbing the stubble on his chin in thought.
"I felt that it was important to you." He sighed heavily. "The Romans will not leave so quickly as for it to be in the next few months. It may take years. But the woads… your people… they will not know that." He stared at her boldly. "If they hear that you are staying with us… you could be in a lot of danger."
"No." Bryanne replied softly. "I would be putting you in a lot of danger." She looked at him. "That's what you mean. If my people hear that I am with you, they will come to find me."
"Maybe."
"I am dead to them, Arthur. My duty to them was done the day you took me from my home. The day I accepted you." She stood, pressing her fingertips against the table. "I could leave…"
"But then where would you go…" He added.
"And who would I go to?"
"Bryanne. I felt you should know. Before, my future… the future of the others… was clear. It was simple. Now… I don't know what will happen to us." He circled his hand to encompass the table. "There are so many empty places. I could name them… Percivale, Lionell, Kay, Garath, Bedivere, Bleoberis, Lucan, Palomedes, Lamorak, Safer, Pelleas, Ector, Degore, Brunor, Alymere and Mordred. They are all so clear in my memory." He looked at her, something like desolation in his eyes. "I couldn't lose them all, Bryanne. But I am scared that… that…" His voice choked. She rested a hand on his shoulder.
"That you might." He nodded. "Rome never did care for anyone but its own people, Arthur. Be thankful that you are one of them, and not one of the forsaken."
"I won't forsake my men."
"Then don't. Whatever comes, whatever happens… You will do what you can, Arthur, and that will be enough for them. They love you like a brother."
"I love them like my brothers too." He said fervently.
"Then see to it that you fulfil your duty to them. I couldn't fulfil mine to my people. And it's something that will hurt until the day I die. I wouldn't wish that regret on anyone." She let her hand drop to her side. Arthur was stunned at the wisdom she had spoken.
"Bryanne!" He called after her. She paused at the door. "You've gone beyond the call of duty. You have nothing to regret." She showed him a smile that told otherwise, and left him alone in the hall...
The moon shone brightly. It poured liquid silver across the floor tiles through the windows, and melted onto sleeping cheeks as softly as a lover's kiss. The room was eerily quiet without Genna. Restlessly, Bryanne paced the room. How could she go to him now? After what Arthur had said… She looked through the window, it had gone midnight. Sighing in resignation, she picked up a candlestick and lit the wick. It sputtered and burst into life, flickering golden shadows over her face. She crept out and looked up and down the deserted hallway. Somewhere, outside, a dog barked. A vixen screamed, and a rabbit died. She stepped into a pool of moonlight and approached the door with nervous hands, and pushed it open.
His room looked as if it had been lived in for decades. There were memories hidden in the corners, keepsakes scattered through the living space. Curtains hung over the door – heavy velvet to keep the heat in and the cold draughts out.
"Lancelot?" She whispered, closing the door behind her. A tendril of wind caused her candle to stutter. Her hand reached out to the curtain, and she held it there for a moment, demanding that her fingers stop trembling, forcing herself not to be afraid of what was beyond the curtain.
"Anne?" Came the disbelieving voice, and Bryanne pushed aside the curtain, allowing enough room for her to slip through. She paused, letting the drape fall back into place. He was on his bed, and had straightened from a slouch. His boots were in the corner, beside his two swords that were propped against the wall. The embers of the fire crackled and settled on each other, spitting feeble red light before dying one by one. His shirt was open at the collar, and his breeches crumpled from riding across the breadth of the Wall. He looked tired, but his eyes sparked with life. "What are you –?" She hushed him, setting her candlestick on the table. She saw his talisman by a large war helmet. She turned to him, and pressed a finger to his lips as he stood and approached her. Cupping his cheek, she rose on her toes and kissed him delicately. He laid his hands on her waist and kissed her back. Soft, pliant lips that urged themselves on hers, daring her to pull away, yet begging her to stay. For a second she moved back.
"Lancelot. Whatever happens. Whatever is to come; I want you to know that tonight… tonight we have forever." He shushed her, light butterfly kisses following each word.
"Always, my little vixen. We have forever." The fire gave a final snap, and a flurry of golden sparks, and then died. The moonlight overcame the candlelight and bathed them in milky radiance. She closed her fingers around his shirt and pulled it over his head, letting it fall to the floor. There was a new scar – bright red and vivid against his skin.
"Lancelot…"
"It doesn't hurt." He murmured back, as she traced her fingers over the damaged skin, feeling the uneven surface of the cut.
"No." She replied softly, letting her hands run over his chest, touching each scar in turn, each story. He led her backwards towards his bed, pulling her hands, urging her. She watched him through lowered lashes. His movements read to her with such eloquence, that it made her weak to think of it. His tall, square, masculine frame wove its own pattern that was unique to the point that no one could ever hope to replicate it. He ran his hands over her shoulders, opening the buttons there until her dress slipped down to her elbows. He lowered her onto the bed, and she watched him as he undressed her slowly, as if savouring each new exposure of her blushing skin. Time and again his lips would rest on this new part of her body he had discovered, before returning to her mouth. She watched as his eyes danced over the scars – the wound beneath where her ribs pressed against her skin, the long slice across her forearm, and other scars he didn't know of… By her left hip and between her breasts and a curve of pink over her right shoulder onto her shoulder blade and beneath the nape of her neck. Her hands fumbled at his breeches, shaking and restless. He smiled at her innocence, and covered her fingers with his, helping her. His dark eyes met hers as she registered surprise and then apprehension.
"Lancelot, I –"
"Sh. I won't hurt you, I promise." He showered her protests with kisses. He entered her with a long-held sigh. But, as gentle as he could be, Bryanne winced in pain, and he apologised in muted, agonised words. She brushed it aside, kissing his collar bone and flicked her tongue over his throat. He groaned, instinctively moving, drawing out an equal moan from Bryanne. As he moved deeper inside her, she rose her hips to meet his. They found their rhythm, every movement hurried, their bodies breathless with urgency and need. "Anne…" He gasped into her neck, his fingers tightly clenched as the sensations drove him wild, and closer to the edge.
They reached the edge together, hesitating at the precipice before tumbling recklessly over the brink, with unified cries, and into unfathomable darkness and bliss. His breath was warm against her skin where they lay, their movements halted, but their breathing quickened. Eventually, slowly, he moved to one side, and Bryanne instantly missed the warmth and nearness of him they had just shared.
"Lancelot." She whimpered, searching for him again.
"Here. Here." He said, his lips touching her forehead as he pulled her close, curling his legs around hers so they were entangled in a self-made paradise, lit by the moon and a waning candle. "Here." He whispered, as he fell asleep to the sound of her breathing, and the softly sweet scent of her skin and hair.
