MistakenLove, BlackPaintedWhite and LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review. This is another short chapter but I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

Rating: M for mature content. Not in this chapter, though.

Damara took her customary place at the back of the caravan when they moved out that morning. There had been some commotion earlier. She wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but word had gone around that Marius was dead, killed by Guinevere's hand. She supposed she was glad, but Marius was only one evil man among many. His death would change little. At least Alecto would be free from his influence now.

She was bone-tired and the ache in her back was only getting worse. She thought longingly of the wagon, but the caravan was moving at too fast a pace for her to be able to catch up to it. It was all she could do to keep up. While she tried to make the best of it and just put one foot in front of the other, she began to lag behind.

She stopped briefly to catch her breath and allow the pain in her back to subside. The relief was welcome, but did not last long once she was on the move. Every step she took became agony, for along with the pain in her back she now had pain in her womb. Birth pains wracked her body with every step she took. She knew they were false because they stopped when she rested. While the presence of the pains did not mean birth was imminent, she also knew the false labor could turn true if she did not rest. The caravan had moved on without her and she was now quite alone. A tide of panic began to well up in her, but after a moment's indulgence she quelled it. No one was likely to miss her or come for her so it was up to her if she wanted to survive.

She was not inexperienced in the woods; she sometimes spent days at a time looking for certain plants when in season. Her sense of direction could be better, but if she paid attention she would not get lost. She had some food, and her knowledge of edible plants would serve her well. She had blankets and would build a fire for warmth. Hopefully she would find some decent shelter. Her decision made, she headed into the woods. The Saxons would be passing by soon and she wanted to be well hidden from them. They would march right past her and when they did she would be able to return to the road and make her way south.

She found a stand of trees that offered adequate shelter, wrapped her blankets around her and settled in to wait.

Tristan had been busy all morning, scouting first what lay behind and then the way ahead. His tasks done for the moment, he rejoined the caravan. As he rode, his eyes searched for the little healer. She was not walking among the people, so he thought she must have decided to ride in the wagon with the child and the Woad. He rode past the cart, but saw no sign of her.

He asked the knights if they had seen her, but none could remember. It had been a busy morning and they would likely not have noticed if they had.

"Tristan – as long as I've known you, you have never cared one way or the other about any woman. Why the interest in this one?" Lancelot asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tristan looked at Lancelot with irritation. He was in no mood for his mocking banter today, or for examining his motivations. He had a thought. "Where is that Roman?" he growled. He kicked his horse into a gallop and rode to the Roman formation. The other knights, mystified, followed along behind.

Tristan leaped off his horse and yanked the soldier in question out of the formation. He slammed him up against a tree and pushed his knife against the man's throat. "Where is she?" he snarled.

The other soldiers broke formation to go to their comrade's aid. The knights, swords drawn, maneuvered their horses to stand between Tristan and the angry Romans.

Tristan's knife pressed deeper into Aeneas' throat. "I asked you where she is."

"The whore? I haven't seen her since last night!" He grew frantic as the tip of Tristan's knife began to draw blood. "I swear it! I haven't done anything to her! I haven't even seen her!"

"She's not here," called out a voice.

Tristan let go of the soldier, who dropped to the ground. He turned to see who spoke. It was the woman Morag who had spoken against Damara the night before.

Tristan walked towards the woman, pointing his knife at her. "Where is she?"

"She's gone. She fell behind hours ago. The Saxons probably have her by now. Good riddance," the woman said with satisfaction.

"And this is how a Christian treats her neighbor," Lancelot said with contempt.

Tristan quickly mounted his horse. "Arthur?" he said. "I won't be gone long."

Arthur reluctantly nodded his permission. "Go, but quickly. We need you. And when you come back, no more of this." He gestured in the direction of the knights and Romans who were still spoiling for a fight. "We don't have time for it."

Tristan nodded curtly and wheeled his horse around, galloping towards the advancing Saxon army.

Damara sat in her thicket of trees, blanket wrapped around her. She occasionally got up and tried to move around for warmth, but the contractions would stop her almost immediately. She was freezing, but did not dare start a fire for fear the Saxons would smell the smoke and come to investigate. She could hear the faint sound of Saxon drums in the distance and her stomach began to churn. The snow had not fallen much since she had first taken shelter and she was terrified that the Saxons would get curious about the tracks in the snow that would lead straight to her.

She berated herself for being too proud to ride in the wagon from the beginning. If only she had, she would not be in this predicament. She tried to tell herself that everything was going to be fine; that she was well capable of taking care of herself in the woods, but doubts flooded her mind. As she began to cry, she angrily dashed her hands across her eyes. She knew it was her pregnant state that threw her emotions into uproar, but she was furious that she could not control them. She needed her wits about her now. She took a deep breath and concentrated on quelling her inner turmoil. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. She sat there for a moment in silence and then her eyes flew open as she heard the sound of someone approaching.

It sounded like a solitary horse and rider to her ears. Well, she supposed it could be just a horse but rather doubted one would be wandering rider-less through the woods. It was coming up the hill, no doubt following the footsteps she'd left in the snow. A Saxon scout, she assumed, riding ahead of the party. Her breath caught in her throat and her mind raced, trying to think of some way to get out of this. The horse was getting ever closer.

There was no escape. She could never outrun the scout and even if she did, her tracks would lead him right to her. Climbing a tree was certainly out of the question. The Saxons showed no mercy, so pleading was hopeless. That left trying to fight her way out of it. She, who had never wielded a knife against anything more dangerous than a rabbit she prepared for stew. She stood up, planted her feet squarely and waited, knife in hand. She willed herself to ignore the pain that shot through her body.

Tristan followed the girl's tracks through the woods. She had been easy to find; a blind man could have tracked her. The Saxon drums beat louder, so he was anxious to find her and get back to the group. He rounded a stand of trees and came upon her standing in the path, knife held at the ready and with a look of determination and terror on her face. After his initial sense of relief, he felt amusement at the sight of her standing in an attack stance. But he gave her credit for bravery, as useless as it would have been to her.

Damara lowered her knife when she saw who her tracker was. She stood in disbelief and then said, "What are you doing here?"

Tristan thought that would have been obvious, but he said, "Looking for you." Sternly he added, "I told you to ride in the cart."

She was crestfallen at his rebuke. "I know – I should have. I didn't want to be any trouble."

"Well, you've been that," he said.

He was surprised to see her eyes flash in anger. "Please don't misunderstand me – I am grateful to you. But I will be no one's burden," she said in a tight voice.

"I haven't done anything I haven't wanted to do," said Tristan quietly. "You are no burden to me."

Damara blinked as tears began to fill her eyes. "I have always taken care of myself," she told the knight.

"Let me take care of you this time," he said softly, looking into her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

Tristan dismounted and picked up her pack. "Take only what you need," he said. "We must ride as light as possible. Quickly; the Saxons are almost upon us."

Damara took her medicine bag and a few other things she would need from her pack. She began to walk over to the horse and suddenly bent over in pain.

Tristan came to her. "It's not your time," he stated.

Damara shook her head. "Just false pains," she said with amusement. Was he hoping, or demanding?

Relief flooded Tristan. He wanted nothing to do with childbirth. "Let's get you on the horse," Tristan said.

Tristan mounted back up and reached down to Damara. She held up both arms to him and he lifted her easily and swung her around behind him. The horse shifted nervously, but quieted when Tristan placed his hand on the beast's neck and spoke softly to him.

"We'll cut through the woods," Tristan said. "Hold on."

Damara wrapped her arms tightly around the knight and held on for dear life as they rode away.

TBC