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CHAPTER 2

The seasons had passed by one by one and summer was once again chasing away the last moments of spring. It had been almost a year now, since the day Vanora and Prue had stood watching with excited eyes, the arrival of the Sarmatian knights. With them, they had indeed brought the winds of change that the two friends had wished for, although sadly, not a change that was welcomed by both.

Vanora was now wife in all but name to the burley, shaven headed knight Bors. They had been constant companions since the moment of their first meeting on the road. Bors was brusque, loud and crude but held a heart that was as loyal and true to his woman, as it was to the knights he considered his brothers.

The recent arrival of a strong healthy baby boy, who sported a flash of fiery red hair and a temper some scream that more than matched that of his beautiful mother, had brought with him such pleasure. Just the thought of the babe and of the wonderful woman who had blessed him so, made his lion heart burst with pride.

In truth, Bors never could quite believe that such a beautiful creature as Vanora had chosen him as her lover. Although, being the proud, bull headed man he was, Bors would never be heard to confess it as so. It never the less ceased to amaze to him and caused, at times, bouts of jealousy so uncharacteristic of the normally devil-may-care knight. This unusual new trait of course, had not slipped by the ever sharp eyes of Lancelot. The dark, handsome knight made much sport from Bors' insecurities and relentlessly flirted and teased the rather too receptive Vanora, in full view of her lover.

For all her owning of a flirtatious nature and her love of attention from the men – to Vanora, it was nothing more than innocent gaiety. Bors was her man and she had grown to love him more than she would ever have imagined possible. One look into the sparkling, emerald eyes of his lady was always enough to calm the raging lion in Bors. No man, however unsure, could mistake the absolute devotion that shone there.

But, the last year had not been so kind to her friend Prue.

The knights came and went as their military orders demanded. Every time the watch tower sounded out their return upon the oncoming horizon; Prue and Vanora would run out to road, waving furiously, their relieved and excited welcome home to the men. And every time, Prue hoped & prayed that this would be the time Tristan would finally unfurl.

But all her longing was in vain. Whatever the man's secret thoughts and feelings were – if indeed he possessed any at all, which Prue was now seriously beginning to doubt – he kept them securely locked away from all.

Over the many months of acquaintance, Prue had smiled at him, frowned at him, chatted to him and ignored him, yelled at him and once, even made a rather dismal show of flirting with him. When it came to the art of enticing glances and flirtatious banter - Vanora, she was not. And of the reciprocating of such encouragement - Lancelot, Tristan most certainly was not.

The whole embarrassing episode had quickly developed into a very awkward and thus, mortifying moment that Prue swore she would never live down and would forever, pale at the memory of.

But with every endeavour she made - nothing. He never rose to any attempt of society from Prue.

He continued to be aloof, difficult and sometimes, just down right rude.

He treated her with seeming indifference. He tended to avoid her eyes at all costs and rarely – if at all-spoke to her. Then it was often nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt if he were so inclined.

She had long since given up any hope that he would have any interest in her that would reach beyond her filling of his ale mug. She thought constantly that had she been blessed with the beauty and sparkle of Vanora, then she would have had him begging at her feet for her smile. But she was not beautiful - she was just Prue – plain and ordinary. Why would a man like Tristan show her any regard?

With every rejection, her longing for his attention and love, had slowly and painfully been twisted until all that was left was bitterness. This simmered quietly inside her heavy heart and had painted a cruel look of sadness across her young face which she had neither the ability nor the inclination to hide. She longed for the merciful feeling of indifference to release her weary soul, but as yet, she was still powerless to fight the desire he aroused in her whenever she was in his presence.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Prue had cast her anxious eyes over the crowds in the tavern time and again, searching as always for Tristan among them, but he was nowhere to be seen. The knights had been in preparation for the morrow's journey, a call to the west where unrest had been rumbling due to frequent raids by the Woads from the northern territories. Arthur and his men had received orders to travel across to the western settlements, gather what intelligence they could and flush out the Woad enemy responsible, once and for all. Preparations now all complete, the men had wandered over to the Tavern for a drink or two before retiring for some well needed rest before their arduous journey the following dawn.

Prue hardly noticed the arrival of Dagonet and Lancelot as they sauntered up to the bar in search of their usual beverage to quench their rising thirst.

"Evenin' Prue" Dagonet spoke first. On hearing his familiar deep, dulcet tone, Prue snapped from her thoughts, look up and smiled affectionately at the big man.

"Hello Dag, Lancelot," she nodded a greeting to both men and added "Ale?"

Dagonet nodded and smiled gently back. Lancelot winked and then scanned the room for a pretty face to sit upon his lap.

Dagonet watched every move as Prue reached for a half filled flagon and poured two large mugs for the knights.

She carried such an air of sadness in her smile that whenever he looked upon her face it was enough to send a dull throb beating through his lonely heart. Over the past months, he had grown to care deeply about this sad woman but he knew that she had eyes for another and that it was his indifference that caused her pain.

But he was a patient man and would wait, hoping that the toil of her unrequited love would eventually fade and die and she be released of its bondage. Maybe then, Dagonet hoped, she might see him as he now saw her, and take him into her heart.

As she carefully handed the brimming mugs to the men, Dagonet began to chat away and Prue smiled politely back in answer, hardly hearing a word and unable to stay her attention from scouring the crowds for any sign of the scout. Her wandering, anxious looks past his shoulder did not go unnoticed by Dagonet. He seen them so many times before and knew who her eyes searched for. He stopped his talk and heaved a despondent sigh.

"He won't be over tonight, Prue" he said quietly, a sad look clouding his grey eyes. The words quickly grabbed the attention he longed for as Prue finally looked towards him, wide eyed and lost for words. The sudden awkwardness she felt was thankfully dispelled by the appearance of Vanora.

"Who's forgotten their provision pack then?" She shouted loudly, as she thumped a heavy leather saddle bag upon the bar next to Prue. "I thought Jols had taken them all over early on."

Dagonet glanced over. "It's Tristan's" he murmured "I'll take it over to him, later"

Prue's heart gave a flutter, as it always did at the sound of the scout's name. Lancelot immediately cast his dark, teasing eyes upon Prue.

"Knowing Tristan, he'll want it now." He mused, smoothly "You know the man can't rest until every piece of kit is just so." With a dark mischievous grin spreading across his face he added "Prue, my dear girl, why don't you run across with it now. He'll be most grateful, I'm sure."

Picking up the provisions, he held them out invitingly towards her.

Prue flushed, she knew Lancelot was making fun of her as usual. He knew her feelings towards the scout and thought the whole scenario highly amusing indeed.

Vanora gave a scowl at Lancelot's mischief "Leave it there, Dag will take it" she snapped haughtily.

But before anyone could say another word, Prue had gathered up the satchel in her arms and was gone. Vanora cursed under her breath and shook her head despondently, while Dagonet lowered his disappointed eyes and walked silently away.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Prue stepped gingerly inside the stable, surrounded instantly by the warm glow of the torches that seemed almost to beckon her in. She looked but could see no one within and so made her way towards the stall where Tristan's grey stallion stood, rested and groomed.

The horses within stirred a little as her gentle footsteps passed them by and so Prue offered them soothing words of reassurance, which calmed them instantly.

Still a little nervous but disappointed not to have found Tristan there, Prue placed the leather pack down amongst his other carefully placed kit next to the stall, knowing that he would find it easily on his return. As she turned to leave she noticed his thick woollen cloak hanging over the wooden stall gate. She knew it was Tristan's without even considering it. She knew every inch of that man, from the seemly unconscious habit his tongue had of gliding across his lip every once in a while, to the sound his boots made as they strode across the reed strewn tavern floor.

A small smile crept upon her face as she stared, affectionately at the heavy, garment. How many times had he wrapped that cloak around his body, shielding himself from the ravishing wind and driving rain? She thought for a moment how she wished she could be that cloak, enfolding him with her love and shielding him from harm. Prue reached out and ran her hand gently down the length of the finely woven cloth, stopping to gather it between her fingers she brought it slowly up to her face and softly caressed her cheek. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his scent.

'Tristan' she whispered, smiling as she breathed him in again, the pleasure filling her heart for just an instant and then being chased away as always, by the thought that he would never be hers.

The fleeting moment of pleasure was replaced by pain that gathered in her throat and threatened tears to waver upon her lashes. Prue lowered her head in sadness and watched as the fabric slipped lightly from her fingers. As elusive from her touch now as Tristan, himself, would always be.

An unexpected rustling of hay startled Prue from her melancholy and she shot around just in time to see a figure rising up from hay bale in the opposite stall behind her.

Her eyes widened & her face flushed as she found Tristan stood staring straight at her. Wearing just breeches and boots, his chest bare and his hair tussled even more than usual, it was obvious she had disturbed him from his sleep. Saying nothing, he took a slow step in her direction and then leaning upon his shoulder settled himself upon a wooden pillar. He remained silent, silhouetted within the dim light which rendered his expression invisible.

Prue felt her heart drop to her feet. How long had he been watching her? Had he seen her ridiculous caressing of his cloak? Had he heard her whisper his name?

'God in heaven, open the gates of hell and swallow me up, I beg you!' she cried inside.

"I brought your provisions" she spoke finally, her voice unsteady, "I…I didn't know you were here... Jols must have forgotten to..." Prue bit her lip and curled her toes, the embarrassment excruciating.

Tristan neither moved nor spoke.

"I left them there…" she made an erratic gesture in the direction of his kit and then clasped her hands tightly behind her back. She then proceeded to twist her fingers painfully over and over, desperately trying to stare anywhere but at the scout's lean, muscular body.

Silence fell once again until.

"I hear you leave early tomorrow... that you could be gone sometime." Prue was trying so hard to sound natural and easy but it was useless her trying to stay the tremor in her voice and her cheeks still flushed intensely with every moment. Still he did not speak, but Prue could feel his gaze burning through her. 'Why does he not speak, have I angered him?' she thought anxiously and then hurriedly continued,

"I…I hope you have a safe journey...and… and that…"

Tristan suddenly leaned up from the post, giving a low rusty cough as if clearing his throat and moved a little closer, this time stepping into the light of the nearby torch. Now Prue could see his features, unmoved and expressionless as always. Although she could not see his eyes, his face spoke of only indifference and disinterest to Prue. As he nonchalantly scratched his fingertips through the dark curls upon his chest, the shy, embarrassed glow in her cheeks slipped rapidly away as she grew pale and the tense anticipation she had felt, fell from her body and was replaced by a heavy, dark sorrow.

'My words are nothing to him, I am nothing to him.' Her heart wept. With her eyes brimming with tears once more, she spoke one last time, her voice sounding broken and hoarse,

"No matter what, I pray you return home swiftly and unharmed, my lord." With that she turned on her heel and was gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The knight's absence had proved a long one and as such, of great personal torment to both Vanora and Prue. Vanora had found comfort for her lonely heart through her own unselfish support of her desperately unhappy friend. She was all too aware of Prue's love for that good-for-nothing Scout and was at a complete loss to understand what on earth attracted her to such a cold & arrogant heart. The eve of their departure Vanora had found Prue hiding away in the larder, sobbing uncontrollably. She had flown to her side and gathered her up in her arms.

"Oh, Prue! Prue...what ails you my sweet?" She cried, then immediately, her tone turned to anger as she demanded "It's that bloody Tristan, isn't it? What's he done now?"

Prue shook her head furiously and sobbed "Nothing, I swear, he's done nothing."

Vanora held her friend closely and spat "He's done something, Prue – I am no dim wit, the only tears I've ever known you to shed are caused by that man."

Prue let out another uncontrollable sob "I love him, Vanora. I love him so much and he doesn't even see me. Why couldn't I have been born as beautiful as you? He would see me then."

"Prue, you are beautiful! You are the most beautiful person I know. You have the kindest, sweetest heart anyone could wish for."

"Who sees a kind, sweet heart, who doesn't see fair of face first Vanora?"

Vanora's heart tore at her friends words.

"A man worth having, that's who!"

Poor Prue, Vanora knew all too well how much she loved him but what could she do? If she could heal her friend's heart she would, if she could weave a spell to give her the love she craved, she would, despite her dislike of the man.

Even though Prue had never spoken of it, Vanora had soon become aware of her friend's growing affection for Tristan. In the beginning, she had hoped that it was nothing more than infatuation that would run its natural course and be in time forgotten, albeit an infatuation that Vanora was a loss to understand. But no, much to her despair it had done nothing but grow an envelop Prue to such a degree that this was the pitiful state she was reduced to. How Vanora despised that scout.

Just lately though, Vanora had also become aware of the growing attention the quiet, but incredibly arresting knight, Dagonet had begun to bestow on her friend.

'Dear Dagonet,' Vanora had thought, for she was fiercely fond of the gentle warrior. He was a towering man with a heart every inch as huge as his gigantic frame. He always seemed so temperate and shy around Prue, as if he feared his hulking statue may frighten or harm her in somehow. The way he stood at the tavern bar night after night, patiently waiting for any moment he may capture in which to engage Prue in gentle conversation and how his eyes would follow her every move around the tavern, gave Vanora the sincerest hopes that just maybe Prue would succumb to his shy, tender courtship and begin to forget that disparaging Scout. But sadly, Prue had seemed almost as oblivious to Dagonet as Tristan was to her.

With another barrage of sobs, Vanora held her friend to her breast tighter than ever.

"You have to let it go, Prue, for your own sake. Look what its doin' to you. I can't remember the last time I saw happiness in your eyes, my sweet friend. You deserve so much better!"

Prue allowed the tears to fall freely as she stood within the circle of comforting arms, her head downcast to the floor, feeling Vanora's warm hand stroking away the hurt from her tawny head.

"He is incapable of love, Prue. You're far too good for the likes of him. You heard the rumours; even the wenches don't like him. How can you possibly still care for a man like that!"

Vanora's words struck through her heart leaving her almost unable to stay standing. Of course she had heard the rumours. Had not every whisper left her tormented & wretched? It was not the whispers of his 'preferences' or lack of them that broke her heart but the mere knowledge of him in someone else's arms she found unbearable. Sometimes she saw him leaving the tavern dragging some wench behind him by her arm. Those were the worst nights of all for Prue.

Night after night she had lain, alone & desolate, tears soaking the linen beneath her face, wishing desperately that he would hold her in his arms. Imagining the touch of his lips upon hers, the caress of his finger tips across her warm skin, only to remember it was someone else's lips that felt his touch as she lay there in broken hearted despair.

Lord god! How she hated the way he made her feel! Vanora was right, she had to try to let go before it destroyed her completely.

Her sobs calming now, she leant up from Vanora's embrace and wiped the tears from her stinging cheeks.

"You're right, Vanora" she sniffed "You're always right" Prue heaved a weary sigh and resigned to herself that from this moment she would push all thoughts of him from her mind and completely ignore him from this day on. That way, if shewere able to avoid his presence then maybe, just maybe she would be able to nurse the wounds he had left and her heart would be free once more.