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Chapter Two

At first he thought there was a man in his horse's stall.

But as he continued to walk silently, his scout trained eyes picked out the curve of hips and buttocks, against the background of her green cloak.

She was standing with her feet placed slightly apart, to keep her balance, and his stallion's head was nestled against her shoulder. She stroked his forelock with a delicate, small-fingered hand and whispered into his ear.

Tristran continued to walk towards her, keeping his approach as silent as he could, and when he was close enough to reach out and touch her, he stopped. And strained his ears to hear what she was saying, but her words remained a mystery to him.

Her hair was short. So short, if you saw her from behind, or afar, she could be mistaken for a man. It was black as jet, and straight as an arrow, sticking up in points here and there.

She reached her other arm up, tucking its fellow beneath his stallion's chin, and he saw the leather of a bridle in her hand.

Tristran stepped forwards angrily, and latched onto her wrist. She gasped in anger and surprise, and her fists uncoiled, letting the bridle slip from her fingers. Tristran, with his free hand, yanked open the stall door, and after pulling her roughly from within, he slammed it shut.

His horse whinnied with surprise and fear, and he lashed out with his hooves in anger sending chips of wood, and straw flying.

The woman in his hold gasped again in outrage, and slammed the flat of her hand against his chest, not even trying to pull herself free of his bruising hold. "You're scaring him!" She yelled, and reached straining, towards the frightened horse that was now trembling, with eyes rolling in his small stall.

Tristran jerked on her arm, and she pulled back roughly, throwing her weight into it, and making him lean. He whipped her to him, and crushed her against his chest, the top of her head right below his chin.

"You were trying to steal my horse...why?" Asked Tristran dangerously. The stallion was all he had left of his village. His one link to his past.

"I wasn't. I only wanted to see him." The woman answered, pushing against his arms.

"You lie. You had a bridle in your hand."

"I...I only wanted to..." She started.

But heated, Tristran answered, "To what? Steal him!" He pinned her to him with one arm, and with his other, he freed his dagger. "Tell me why I shouldn't just save the magistrate the trouble, and cut off your hand right here?" He hissed in her ear.

She stopped struggling, and answered coldly, "As you wish."

And Tristran halted. He hadn't expected that. He had thought she would fight him, striking out uselessly in terror, and giving him a taste of her fear. But instead she stood there, languid in his arms, and he thought if she could of, she would have held her hand out for him.

He shoved her away from him in disgust, there would be no battle tonight...

She flew forwards, her lithe frame bending over the door of the stall. And stayed as she was, laughing as his horse moved forward to lip at her hair, and her neck. The stallion whuffed, and whinnied softly. And she straightened.

Tristran wondered bewilderedly why his horse treated her as if she were familiar. Then she turned, and leaning back, smirked at his face. Tristran's heart began to pound rapidly for the second time that night, and he took in her face quickly.

Her face had not lost the sharpness from her youth, though now her mouth was fuller, more sensual and her nose looked like it had been broken once...or twice. She had also gotten the ceremonial tattoos of their people.

Hers were what looked like a swipe of ink, going away, and up from her eyes, giving them a slanted, and exotic effect...Where his had been two quick bands of ink across both of his cheekbones.

He had received his when a boy of his village was said to become a man...at age thirteen. Whereas she must had gotten hers at fifteen...the proper age of womanhood, and the age when a girl becomes eligible as a bride.

Her green eyes became even more noticeable, and expressive because of it, and the ink accented the smirk on her face.

"You cut your hair." He said simply, schooling his features. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he sensed her getting angry. "Did it not suit Mikhil?" He asked again, if only to cause her discomfort. He was taken aback by the pain of her face.

Then she stepped forward, and slapped him hard, the sound of it ringing in his ears. She still said nothing. Tristran resisted the urge to lay a hand on his stinging flesh, and stared at her. "Have I said something wrong?"

She shook her head. And he asked, "Why have you come?"

She shrugged, and when she answered, her voice was deeper, and more womanly then he remembered. "I had to give you something."

She walked calmly over to her bags that were discarded on the floor, then bent double and removed a coil of what looked like black rope. It was thick and braided, and wound with a leather strip to keep it in place.

She walked over to him, and pressed it into his hands. It was her hair. He looked up bewildered, and a little angry. "Why?"

"I told you not to touch it, don't you remember?" She said as if he should have known, not bothering to remove the knife-sharp edge from her voice.

"I...I didn't touch it. Not after you told me not to. I respected your wishes, I kept my distance." He replied coldly. How dare she just show up, like a demon from his past, come to torment him with words, and glances? To tempt him with her smile and eyes and body...

But she only nodded fervently, and continued. "You touched it the day they took you...with you eyes. And your sorrow. And I couldn't stand to have it trailing down my back day after day after day, a constant reminder of you..." She said sadly.

"I never wanted you to cut it." Tristran answered, letting it slip back and forth beneath his fingers.

"I know." She said hotly. "No one did. But after only two years of it...I couldn't take it any more. I had to get rid of it. Every time it touched my skin, I imagined you...your fingertips brushing over me...grasping me the way you did just now... leaving a bruise to remind me of your presence."

Tristran listened rapturously, and she continued. "I...I cut it after my fifteenth birthday. And I made sure to wrap it up tight and save it for you. And when everyone saw what I had done...they got angry with me. I suppose I reminded them all of you, and your mother slapped me when she saw it."

He shook his head, and imagined her walking out into the morning light, wearing the red dress that he hated, and everyone loved, with hair shorter then anyone's in the village...

"Mikhil hit me too. But HE waited until no one was looking. He accused me of ruining what we HAD. But I never thought he meant anything to me. He said it was a good thing I had done it now, because in a few months, I was supposed to marry him. And his didn't want to be married to a...a whore, he called me. I found out that day, that my father had already given him my hand. Which he threw back at me, of course." She said sharply, laughing.

"Then I left, and spent the next five years looking for you. By then your training was already done, and you were tearing across the country side, Knightly, and fighting for your cause." She finished sarcastically, and Tristran visibly flinched at the scorn in her voice.

He didn't know what to say. So he just looked at her, and her ragged hair that she obviously kept cutting, so it stayed at this length. But then, Ina was horridly good at keeping grudges...

Then she strode forward, and slapped him again, screeching, "Gods Tristran! You make me so angry!" His face stung once more, and he was reminded of when they were ten, and she had pushed him into the dirt after he had brushed her hair.

"I didn't do anything to you!" He shouted back at her. And the horses around them stamped, and whinnied in protest.

But Ina had already forgotten about that, as it seemed. Now she walked closer to him, and tilting her chin up, she started to speak...He could feel her breath on his neck and shivered. When he realized what she was saying.

"HIT me!" She commanded. And his eyes sparked with surprise. "No." He answered.

And she stepped back, regarding him coolly. "What's the matter, Sir Knight? Has it been so long since you've received a direct order? Has Arthur gone soft, then?" She said spitefully, stirring his anger more.

"I am not going to hit you." He answered, gritting his teeth.

"Why? Don't you HAVE to do what a Lady tells you, sir Knight? Or is that the problem, you don't see me as a LADY, do you?" She snapped. And he wondered why she was so angry.

He stood there, silent instead, and she continued. "I know I've made you angry, and I know I've caused you pain. Now I order you to cause me some." She said calmly, staring him in the eyes. But he was abstinent. And so she raised a hand, and slapped him again.

" I said, hit me!"

And by that point, he was so angry that...he did.

He slapped her with all his of his strength. Sending her face turning away from him, and breathing heavy. Afterwards, he stood there, hand still poised in the air, horrified at what he done. But she only straightened again, and faced him, her nose bleeding slightly, with the side of her face pink, and bruising, and smiled.

"Finally." She breathed. "Do you feel better, my old friend?" She said softly.

And Tristran stood there, still not understanding... ready to ask why, when she answered his unspoken question.

"We both know that felt good, Tristran. You and I...We mixed up pleasure and pain a long time ago." Her eyes glinted with pain-tears.

The sight sent Tristran awash in a wave of excitement and guilt...He had never seen her cry before...

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