dellis: Thanks for reviewing. Yeah, it does kind of figure he'd cut her loose and then wonder why she's off with some other guy. Here's another chapter, and I hope you like it, but beware - Angry Tristan is back again. I've tried to explain his motivations and I hope it works for you. :)

BlackPaintedWhite: My character's name means Divine Cow? How funny! I'm sitting here LMAO about that. I didn't intentionally go for god/goddess names but I did go to some Celtic name websites. There were names that I liked but some of the pronunciations didn't go with the written version. For instance, I really like the name Bride as it is pronouced, Bree-dju, more or less. However, on the page it looks like, well "bride." So finally I just went - oh pick a name and be done with it. And I ended up with a Divine Cow, lol. I also want to get the theatrical version of KA - I really liked the scene with the knights in the rain and getting to know the characters a little better. I wished they had put that stuff in the DC. I haven't seen any interviews with Mads but there are a few you can read at mads-mikkelsen net (just put a dot in it between his name and "net". When I type it that way this thing keeps editing it out). It's not an official web site (his official one has been "coming soon" for a while now) but it is a very good site.

KnightMaiden: Thank you so much for reviewing. Here is the next chapter and I hope you enjoy it. I think Tristan is going to become far more deadly and fearsome in battle than he ever was before, and I think serious injuries are going to be very few and far between.So, you're not going to see him injured anymore at my hands. The poor guy's had enough I think. ;)

Ailis-70: Yeah, Tristan is an angry man. His character enjoys killing, so I've never seen him as particularly well adjusted. I sort of envision him as one of those kids who suffered from attachment deprivation syndrome or whatever it's called. When the kids don't get held and loved and they end up being unable to form attachments very easily. I doubt he would even be able to fall in love, but that would not suit the purposes of my story very well, would it? ;) I could be all wet about that and I would love to hear your theories on him.

Dazzler420 - No, Lancelot doesn't want her for himself, it's just that Tristan made himself scarce after he saw Lancelot and Damara "together". He went back to what he knows, off in the woods brooding and just generally being anti-social.

Cardeia - I know what you mean about writing stories being exhausting. I once wrote a poem that threw me into a depression for a good long while. Dredging up old stuff and all that. Writing doesn't come easily to me so I have to sit here and try to think how the character would feel, what they would do, how they would react, etc. Then I'll read it again and think I got it all wrong. It's sort of hard. It's easier to write about what you know, and I throw quite a bit of that in my writings. For instance I can't count how many times a fellow soldier would drink up their taxi money and show up at my door wanting a place to crash because I happened to live downtown. Invaribly they would want to share the bed or show up in my room in the middle of the night asking if I felt like having sex.I could see Lancelot having that attitude - never hurts to ask. Lancelot and his "less than lovely" girl from the second chapter - I knew guys like that. They like to pretend they're choosy, but in a world that is comprised mostly of men, a lot of times they take what they can get. Even the really, really good looking guys.

Disclaimer - not making any money from this.

Warning: This chapter contains mature subject matter of a sexual nature. If you object to such subject matter, please avoid this chapter.

Special Thanks to Cardeia for being my beta on this chapter. Hersuggestions were invaluable as was her reassurance and support. I highly recommend her story Cerys at Knight to anybody who may not have read it yet. It is a gorgeous, incredibly well-written story from an incredibly talented author. Thanks, Cardeia:)

Now, on to Chapter 14:

The knights were gone before dawn the next morning and Damara waited anxiously for their return. She'd checked her medicine bag a dozen times making sure she hadn't overlooked anything. She paced, waiting, until the cry came out that the knights were returning.

She was relieved to see that there were very few injuries, none serious. Some deep cuts, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Most of the knights took care of their own injuries since they weren't that bad. Lancelot came to her with a jammed finger, which really could have been taken care of by anyone.

"I see you're back with another near-fatal injury for me to take care of," Damara said wryly. "One might come to think that you are soft and weak."

Unable to resist, Lancelot grinned. "Oh, I'm hard enough where it counts."

Damara blushed but laughed at his audacity.

"So, I heard you came in with Tristan yesterday. How did that go?" Lancelot asked.

Damara's blush deepened and she made a non-committal response. Then she asked, "Did you not have a chance to speak with him? He seemed very angry at me."

"Tristan has not been around for me to speak to," Lancelot said. "But if he is angry I will make sure he gets the truth of it." Lancelot recalled her blush and his interest was piqued. "So…tell me what memory it is that put the color on your cheeks."

Damara sighed, exasperated. "If you must know…he came upon me while I was swimming," she said.

Lancelot raised his eyebrows. "And you were wearing…?"

Damara shot a look at him.

The dark knight threw back his head and laughed. "Oh gods…that I'd been the one sent to find you!"

Damara smacked him on the arm. "You're incorrigible!" she cried in mock outrage. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Come to me after. I have some suggestions…" Lancelot said with a sly grin on his face.

She threw him an exasperated look. "And become yet another name on your long list of lovers?

"The list may be long, but it is distinguished," Lancelot smiled.

"That's not what I've heard…" muttered Damara.

Midway through their exchange, Tristan was brought in by Gawain, who had deemed the scout's injuries to be serious enough to require a healer's touch. Tristan was reluctant to go to Damara, but he absolutely refused to see a Woad healer at the infirmary. Gawain threatened to knock him out and drag him if Tristan did not go willingly. The sour look on Tristan's face turned dark when he saw the light flirtatious exchange between Damara and Lancelot, and his suspicions over their guilt were confirmed when they quickly moved away from each other upon seeing him.

Tristan plunked himself down in a chair, and he slowly removed his tunic, which was stained with blood. Damara left Lancelot's side, concerned by the deep cut below Tristan's collarbone. She noted that he had a smaller cut on his thigh, which had bled profusely but was merely seeping now, thanks to the pressure bandage that had been placed there.

Lancelot watched as Damara examined Tristan's injuries. He was surprised that the scout had not been more badly hurt - the man had been a veritable madman on the field. Whatever demons he battled, Lancelot thought, may well end up being the death of him. He said as much. "You seemed determined to die in battle today – it would be a shame to waste all that energy Damara spent dragging you back from death's door."

Tristan turned on Lancelot. "I don't recall ever asking her to! She should have just left me the hell alone - as should you, " he snarled.

The sudden tears that sprang up stung Damara's eyes. Lancelot jumped to his feet to confront Tristan, who in turn stood up to meet him, anger spitting from his eyes.

"Whatever you may think, Tristan, I have never laid a hand on Damara, and she deserves better treatment than this from you." Lancelot said.

"I know what I saw. If you persist in treating me like a fool we can decide the matter outside," Tristan spat.

"Stop it!" cried Damara. She put herself in between the two and placed her hands on Lancelot's chest to keep him away from Tristan. After a few tense moments, Lancelot looked down at Damara.

"Go, Lancelot. I need to stitch his wounds and you're not going to be of any help."

Lancelot looked down at Damara's whose hands were still flat against his chest. He discreetly wiped away a tear that fell from her eyes. "You don't deserve this. Come out with us tonight to celebrate – we'll have fun, we'll dance," he said softly. He smiled at her. "I'm not going anywhere until you promise me."

After a short hesitation, Damara nodded. It might be nice to go out and help celebrate their victory. "But you need to go now. I'll deal with this." Damara realized that Tristan's mind about the two of them was clearly made up. Maybe he would listen to reason later, but for now she was weary of it.

After a last sharp look at Tristan, Lancelot left the room, with the others following along behind.

Tristan sat back down in the chair, his demeanor sullen. Damara brought a bowl of water and began to clean the blood away.

"So, you seek to prove yourself on the battlefield again?"

"I seek to replace the images of that battle with images of my enemies bodies."

"Lancelot seems to think you take foolish chances."

"Lancelot," growled Tristan "is a soft old woman."

Damara smiled, remembering Lancelot's rejoinder when she'd accused him of being soft.

As Tristan observed her smile, his lip curled. "I see you favor Lancelot now," Tristan snorted. "How long did it take for you to fall to him?"

"I have not fallen to him, nor will I," snapped Damara. "Speak to Lancelot, he will tell you."

"I saw you together. I saw him go back into your house and the light go out. I am not a stupid man. The only time I have been stupid is when I believed words of love from a whore."

Damara clenched her jaw, willing herself to be silent. The man was hateful, and if he would not listen to her explanations then he deserved to think the worst. Having cleaned Tristan's wound thoroughly, she now commenced stitching, shoving the needle through his flesh rather more roughly than she should. Though he made no sound, she immediately felt guilty. She was a healer and deliberately causing pain was against her calling.

So, she concentrated on her stitching – as well as she could anyway. She had not been close to him in months and his nearness was distracting, even as angry as she was at him. As she stitched she tried to avoid noticing the warmth of his skin and the tautness of his muscles. She tried not to feel the coldness of his gaze upon her for he radiated with hostility. His anger made her nervous and caused her stomach to squirm in discomfort. Her hands brushed against him as she worked, try as she might to avoid unnecessary contact.

She tried to make the stitches as small as possible, to lessen scarring. She leaned in closely upon beginning and ending a stitch and realized at one point that his skin was only inches away from her mouth. Out of nowhere the image came to her of her tongue snaking out and tasting the saltiness of his skin. She tried to imagine Tristan's reaction if she were to do such a thing and while the picture in her head almost made her giggle, the squirmy feeling in her stomach increased tenfold. Her breathing became shorter, she was losing her ability to concentrate, and she had a decidedly uncomfortable ache in a decidedly uncomfortable place.

She tried to think what might be wrong with her, that she felt so horrid and queasy. Was it simply nerves? Was she ill? She'd felt similarly in the past, but thought it was related to her pregnancy. Obviously that was not the case anymore. She realized that the other times she'd felt like this had been when in close contact with Tristan. It figured that even when she'd liked him, the man made her ill.

"What's the matter with you?" Tristan asked her. He had noted Damara's reaction to his proximity with great interest. She was brazen – brushing his skin with her fingers, her rapid, heavy breathing. He knew desire when he saw it. Was Lancelot not quite what she wanted?

"I don't know," Damara replied. "I'm not feeling well. My stomach aches and I feel warm. I suppose I'm coming down with some sort of malady."

Tristan looked at her dubiously. Was she being coy?

Damara finished up with the cut on Tristan's chest and turned to the cut on his thigh. "I'll get some clean water while you remove your pants or…" her voice trailed away. 'Gods,' she thought – 'this will be intolerable.'

She heard a ripping noise. Tristan had taken his knife to his pants, opening a hole in them so that she could tend to his cut. She felt great relief that he would not be sitting in front of her without pants on until she heard him say, "I'll have Sorcha stitch them back up."

Damara was glad that she was busy filling the basin – she knew her face would betray the stab of jealousy she felt. Sorcha was a prostitute and Damara was sure she'd take care of his pants for him – along with any other needs he might have. But then, what did she care - Sorcha was welcome to have him.

She composed herself and returned to the wounded man. This would never work. She would have to kneel in front of him, between his legs, to stitch his thigh wound. "Why don't you get up on that table? It'll be much easier."

"I'm content here," Tristan said. He knew very well what she'd been thinking – it pleased him to do anything that would add to her discomfort.

With a sigh of irritation, Damara knelt down and set to work. The cut was not large, but it was deep. He had been lucky - it had only nicked the artery. Just a fraction closer and the bleeding would have been very hard to stop. As it was, the wound was still seeping. As she worked, she told him, "You'll have to stay off this for a few days. There is a small slice in the blood vessel. I'll stitch the skin but you can easily tear that vessel if you do too much too soon."

He didn't say anything, so she looked up at him to make sure he understood. His eyes were on her, intense, and she blushed and forced herself to concentrate on his wound. That squirmy, ticklish feeling in her stomach was back in full force. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, and went back to work.

Tristan had never enjoyed being stitched up before, but Damara's discomfiture was well worth any pain he was feeling. Her breathing was coming faster – he could feel her breath against his thigh and had to suppress a groan. He noticed she could not concentrate on her tasks. She dropped the needle twice, and had difficulty threading it. As he watched her, head bent to her tasks, he began to fantasize about the other services he'd like her to provide him with while she was down there. Accompanying these thoughts was an uncomfortable swelling in his groin.

He shifted in the chair, and Damara looked up at him in annoyance. Her eyes lit on his swollen groin and Tristan was amused to see her face flush bright red. If she had difficulty with her tasks before, she now became positively clumsy.

"What's the problem?" Tristan growled. "Have you forgotten how to do your job?"

Damara did not acknowledge him; she could think of nothing to say. She simply redoubled her efforts to complete this task so she could be on her way. As a healer, she had been confronted with the occasional erect male. It happened, and was involuntary. The polite thing to do was to ignore it and continue treatment. But this was different. Most men seemed embarrassed when it happened – Tristan acted quite the opposite, and seemed to be flaunting it.

Growing bold, Tristan reached down and loosened the laces of his pants, lessening the pressure on his aching member. He grabbed his tunic and held it at the ready in case anyone happened to come in.

Damara was appalled - and determined to ignore Tristan's behavior. She considered getting up and walking out, but decided she would not give him the satisfaction. He was trying to get on her nerves – trying to intimidate her. She simply would not allow him to.

All the same she found his…presence difficult to ignore. Her mind began to wander. She knew how to please a man if she wanted to. If she had a mind to she could have Tristan at her mercy. It would be good to have him under her control. As before, she wondered what his reaction would be if she acted upon her thoughts. An involuntary groan escaped her lips at the thought of Tristan, head thrown back, whimpering for release.

'Enough,' she thought. She had stitched him up; he could damned well bandage the thing himself.

Tristan heard her moan and felt a great sense of satisfaction. He wanted her to feel what he felt, unable to get her out of his mind, with torturous visions of her pleasuring someone else. Then he realized, as he looked down on her, that her desire would only send her straight to the dark knight; that Lancelot would be the one to benefit from Tristan's efforts.

He growled slightly at the thought. Damara looked up at him -what was his problem now? She was angry and growing increasingly so. Her eyes challenged his, and his met hers with a challenge of his own.

Tristan badly wanted to hurt her, the way he was hurt at her betrayal. "You know what to do with that, don't you?" Tristan said softly, eyes flicking towards the erection that was barely hidden under his loosened trousers. "I'msure the Romans taught you all about that. So…go ahead, while you're down there. There could be a few extra coins in it for you."

Even as he said it he knew he was being incredibly cruel, and while a part of him hated himself for it, another part relished it. He waited for the tears, to see the hurt cross her face and was surprised when instead he saw anger.

In a rage, Damara leaped to her feet with the intention of slapping Tristan full in the face. He caught her hand in mid-flight and twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her closely against him.He looked down into her face, eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you want to hit me, little girl? Ask yourself if you are sure I won't hit back." Pushing her up against the wall, he ground himself against her so she could feel his hardness.

"That's what you're wanting right now, isn't it? I can smell it on you, how bad you want me." His mouth came down on hers and though she struggled at first, her lips parted involuntarily for the invasion of his tongue. He kissed her slowly, deeply, until he heard the deep groan of desire that she was powerless to restrain. In triumph, he abruptly let her go. "Did you get that from Lancelot? Does he make you feel like I do?"

She stood there, breathless, aching, helpless, and angry. Forgetting his warning of only moments before, she drew back her hand and slapped him as hard as she could. Her hand stung with the pain of it and she hoped he'd felt even a fraction of that pain.

Then she opened her mouth and let him have it.

"No man will ever touch me again without my permission and that includes you. Whether you believe it or not, I have never been with
Lancelot. He has never so much as touched me! But if he had - so what? You rejected me, remember? You're the one who didn't want me!" She stood in front of him, fury blazing in her eyes.

For just a second, Tristan wondered if she might be telling him the truth. Was it possible? "He stayed with you that night! I watched the two of you embrace!" Tristan's voice was ragged with pain.

If Damara had been less angry she might have heard the doubt in his voice. Instead his words sounded like more accusations. "He slept there, nothing more! And we embraced only as friends, but go ahead and believe what you want to believe."

She took a deep breath and pointed a finger at him.

"But let me tell you something right now. If I'm going to bear the brunt of your anger for something that I have never even done, then
maybe I'll just go ahead and do it."

She looked at him a moment, their eyes meeting defiantly. She wouldn't back down; not now.

"When I go to Lancelot I'll be sure to tell him he has you to thank."

Before he could react, she ran out the door and disappeared.

TBC