My sincere gratitude to you all for reading and for taking the time to review! I cannot thank you all enough.
Lucillaq, I agree, poor Prue – there's nothing more heart breaking than being in love with someone who you feel hardly notices you exist. I know Tristan came over as very mean but I hope that this chapter will show you a little more from his point of view. But, then again, he does get meaner! Thank you so much for reading.
Thank you Knightmaiden and Jessipurrmalfoy I'm so glad you are both enjoying it so far. I will update as fast as I can, I promise. But I'm not the fastest of writers! lol!
MedievalWarriorPrincess, your continual support and encouragement are so gratefully received and appreciated. I can't thank you enough! Revel in your madness, my friend – I shall meet you there! LOL!
Summary – The knights have been back at the wall now for a few weeks, following their latest time away. After the somewhat embarrassing moment in the stables on the eve of the knight's departure, Prue is now trying hard to push Tristan from her thoughts and accept that he will never care for her.
Chapter 3
It was the usual rowdy evening in the tavern as Vanora & Prue busied themselves as always, feeding and watering the hungry men and women. True to the promise she made to herself, Prue had neither spoken to Tristan nor even looked in his direction since his return, some three weeks ago.
She had not accompanied Vanora to wait upon the south road to welcome them home, as was usual when the guard tower sounded their approach and she had made deliberate and long detours in order to stay well away from the location of their quarters. Any where in fact, that chance might lead her to happen upon Tristan's presence. The tavern, on the other hand, was unavoidable.
There was drinking, whoring and typical high spirited merriment all around the torch lit tavern.
At one table sat Bors and Lancelot, engaged in a game of dice. Lancelot was winning of course and at Bors's bawdy shouts of protest; Vanora had clipped him sharply across his shaven head & exclaimed
"Bors, what have I told you about playing dice with him 'ey? You can't even count for Gods sake!"
"He's bloody cheating again Vanora! I'm tellin' ya!" he shouted back, rubbing his stinging head and frowning over at his smirking companion.
"Best of three, Bors?" came Lancelot's smooth & amused request. Vanora shook her pretty red head in distain, grumbling away to herself as she wandered off to serve the other thirsty revellers.
Next to them sat Gawain, a buxom wench on his knee as always. He loved his drink almost as much as his women, so of course, was very drunk and in great spirits.
Across from him sat Tristan. Long legs outstretched in front of him, chin on his chest and a blade held tightly in his deft fingers, whittling skilfully away on a small, inconspicuous piece of wood. Quiet and detached as always.
Across the room, Prue had just drained the last of the ale from the large flagon she held in her hands and was about to make her way back to the barrel in order to refill. Tristan had been watching Prue, as he always watched her, secretly and unobserved from beneath his down-cast brow. He had barely seen her since his return and she was so obviously ignoring him. He found this to be of great irritation and had been feeling a rather dull & heavy mood of late, which he found difficult to shake.
It was rather like the feeling he had experienced on his return this time, when he had looked out expectantly to see Vanora and Prue as always, stood waving their furious welcome to them all. But, for the first time, Vanora had stood alone.
It was the same aching mood that he had sensed, all too intensely, the whole time he had been away.
As his eyes followed her light figure meandering through the crowds, his thoughts turned to the early days here at the wall and of his first acquaintance with the woman his sharp eyes now watched so keenly.
At first her attention had been nothing more than a source of annoyance to the scout. She was always there to fill his mug whenever it ran dry - constantly yakking away at him and smiling.
He could never quite understand why she seemed to favour him above the others but favour him she did and back then, he'd wished fervently that she would take her bothersome prattle and untiring smile elsewhere.
He had never been a man recommended for his manners around the fairer sex. Admiration and flirting were not among the many talents he sported and most certainly were not ones he had the least wish to master.
If a woman wanted flattery and empty sweet talk – then they could have Lancelot or Gawain. He thought such foolishness a waste of energy. He had not met a handsome woman yet who didn't know the favours Mother Nature had bestowed, without being told so. Why should he waste his breath on flowery words meant only to boast their overbearing vanity and ultimately get them on their backs? Coin did the job just as well, he found and needed only the effort it took to spill it from the purse.
But even he was not so cynical as to be blind to the reality that Prue was not one of these women.
She was not beautiful, he had thought on occasion, whatever beautiful is – and he doubted any man had ever told her anything to the contrary quite simply by the distinct lack of vanity in her demeanour. She neither courted nor expected admiration from anyone, not even himself. That she so desperately wanted his admiration was a knowledge he had eventually begun to comprehend - but expected it, she most certainly did not.
When she had spoken to him all he saw in her eyes was genuine affection – sometimes clouded with sadness, sometimes anger and on several occasions, embarrassment, but always affection. This had constantly puzzled him most. Why him?
He had neither encouraged her attention nor responded to it. At first, because he simply had no wish to. More recently, because he simply didn't know how.
When she had come to the stable that night, he knew he could have tumbled her in a moment. Neither coin nor words would have been needed. He could merely have reached out for her and she would have been his. He couldn't deny that the thought had raced through his mind as he had stood watching her from the shadows. But something deep within him had held him back.
Tristan was not akin to the feeling of deep emotions, but when he heard her voice so softly whisper his name as she caressed her cheek with his cloak, he had nevertheless felt himself deeply moved.
He had been lost for words when, startled by his movement, she had spun around to find him standing there. Her face so clearly mortified at his having born witness to her private moment.
He had just stood there looking at her. His desperate struggle to find the words to ease her discomfort hidden, as always, behind his expressionless veil
When he had finally approached her in order to speak, he saw her face grow desolate and pale. She had stuttered words about wishing him safe on his journey and then fled out the stable door before he was able to stop her, leaving him at a loss to understand what he had done to cause her such pain.
For a short while he had pondered on what to do next; he'd even dressed and gone over to the tavern, albeit with no idea what he should say to the woman, when he got there. But, he needn't have concerned himself. He'd waited a while but she was not to be seen again that night – only Vanora, who'd thrown him the most vicious of looks at every opportunity. Even Dagonet had appeared distant and unable to meet his eyes.
Ah yes, Dagonet! He had noticed the attention she had been receiving these days from his tall friend. He was to be seen often of late, leaning at the bar, making use of every available chance to talk with her. Tristan was aware of him stood there right now. Dagonet smiled at her far too much for Tristan's liking and she too, at him.
The scout realised at that moment how long it had been since she had smiled at him that way. With a sudden stab, the heavy mood he carried became a sharp pain which caused Tristan to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Never before had he experienced a feeling such as this.
He had no idea when this peculiar mood of his had begun in regard to Prue. It had not been an instant attraction by any means. She seemed to have tiptoed, almost unseen, into his very being and now wrapped herself tightly around it, refusing to let go.
He frowned at the thought and bit down hard on his lower lip.
Tristan could see her approach in the corner of his eye now and as she passed by, saw his opportunity to steal her attention.
"Ale and something to eat!" he growled, immediately cursing himself for such a curt and boorish remark.
There was a momentary pause in Prue's step as the unexpected demand registered; biting her lip painfully, she stayed her desire for a furious retort and instead marched off toward the stove without a word or a glance towards him.
Standing behind the bar now, she glowered across at the scout who was sat with his back to her, the anger bursting within her. How dare he speak to her that way!
Without even a single thought she snatched up an apple from a large wooden barrel beside her and hurled it with all the strength she had, at the back of his arrogant head.
It would have been a mighty shot, had it hit her intended target, but the apple had whistled straight passed him and crashed across the table of a couple of startled Roman foot soldiers.
'Damn that insufferable man!' she screamed silently, enraged at herself for missing.
The scout saw the apple come whizzing past his head and knew instinctively from whose hand it came.
He smiled to himself, but did not move. He just continued his whittling, seemly unfazed.
He had her attention again, finally. He liked that feeling.
The familiar hearty guffaws of the knight Gawain bellowed through the usual tavern noise as he had witnessed Prue's attack & it had amused him greatly.
"Tristan, how do you do that?" Gawain asked, shaking his head in bewilderment while caressing the thighs of the wench upon his knee.
"Do what?" Tristan replied as he drew in his legs and sat up in his chair.
"Go through life so utterly unaffected? What you need is a good woman to share your life my friend. It would do you good, lighten your mood!"
"Women!" grunted Tristan contemptuously, whilst carefully replacing his blade in the sheath that hung at his side. "They're good for only one thing!"
A statement such as this from Tristan a few months ago would have been an honest reflection, but even as the words fell from his lips Tristan felt a curious sense of male bravado and untruth beginning to surface. Something he himself had never displayed before.
"What's that then, Tristan?" Came the roar from Bors, who had now given up the fruitless dice game for the more enjoyable task of swilling ale. "Cookin'?"
Bors was laughing uncontrollably at his own wit and Tristan bore the ridicule as he bore most things in life, silently, with nothing more than a sharp glance at his tormentor. He had little sense of humour today and was less than impressed.
From her position behind the tavern bar, Prue had heard all that had passed between the men and felt her anger ever more at Tristan's easy disregard for her kind. Cursing viciously under her breath yet again, she slopped a ladle of broth unceremoniously into a wooden bowl, filled a large flagon of frothy ale and marched back to Tristan's table. There she slammed down the bowl of steaming stew under the downcast shaggy head of the scout. As it hit the tabletop the impact sent the hot broth spluttering out across the sleeves of Tristan's tunic. He moved back slightly, flinging his arms out widely in order to avoid the offending bowl. He sat very still, the thick, steaming liquid, now beginning to drip slowly from his outstretched sleeves with an undignified plop on to the table.
His fellow knights fell into quiet amusement for a moment, taken aback by Prue's show, but waiting with great interest to see how their unpredictable friend would react. Dagonet shifted a little uneasily at the bar, not quite as amused as the others, as he too tried to anticipate the scouts move.
Tristan simply lifted his head slightly and looked at Prue from beneath his dark brow.
She had never looked as beautiful to him as she did at that moment and he almost broke into a smile thinking what a brazen pup she was to challenge him like that. But instead of a smile, a faint frown passed over the scouts face, fuelled by the startling charge of emotion he felt. He fought the sensation back, as he always did.
"And you can damn well pour that yourself" she snarled slamming down the flagon of ale with equal passion.
Gathering his feelings back together, Tristan merely gestured with his hand to Prue to get on and fill his mug. The typical audacity of the man proved once too many for Prue, so inflamed was she, that she let out a sharp cry and grabbed the handle with all intents to pour it over his arrogant head, but as if anticipating the woman's thoughts, Tristan's hand shot out and quickly enclosed over her tiny fingers, preventing her from raising the heavy flagon.
Never before had she felt his touch and the moment it left her breathless. His slender fingers felt strong and warm enclosed around her own as they were, just as she had always imagined they would and she swallowed painfully as a gasp fought to escape her lips.
She lifted her gaze from their entwined hands and found his eyes starring back, almost hidden behind the familiar curtain of his dishevelled long hair. What she saw there confused and troubled her.
Had she been a woman of self confidence and experience, she would have understood all too well what smouldered beyond that dark, dangerous gaze and rejoiced in her triumph.
But she never had understood the thoughts that haunted this man and this look that simmered within him now, least of all.
Powerless to contain her desperately guarded feelings of love and desire any longer, Prue wavered on her feet as the tidal wave of emotions flooded painfully back through her heart, the agony of it almost finishing her there and then.
'Gods above!' she thought miserably 'will my soul never be rid of this man?'
At that moment, her eyes traced across the downward curve of his mouth and the desire to kiss him screamed through her whole being. The heat rose up through her delicate white neck & flushed her cheeks and she felt the sharp sting of tears beginning to build on her lashes. She turned her face from his lest he should see them there and quickly snatched back her hand from his firm grip, almost upsetting the flagon of ale as she did so.
So confused & distressed was she then, it was all she could do to cry out
"You filthy, heartless, shell of a man!" Then turning quickly on her heal she hurried away, back to sanctuary of the tavern kitchen.
Slowly & without a word, Tristan relaxed back in his seat, picked up his spoon and began to eat.
Awkward silence ensued for a mere moment until Gawain began chuckling and slapped Tristan on the back laughing,
"You know, I think she likes you, Tristan!" he slurred drunkenly. The momentary tenseness of atmosphere was dispelled in an instant as all the knights seemed to relax and amusement once more returned. All, that was, except for Tristan.
Bors & Lancelot both joined in with the laughter. Tristan continued to eat.
"My dear Tristan" Lancelot cut in "If her attention bothers you, you know I will gladly take her off your hands. I have a little spare time and I'd soon put the smile back on her face!"
"You'd might as well, Lance!" roared Bors, now back in his usual boisterous humour "He wouldn't know what to do with her anyway!"
Tristan put down his spoon and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic, stood up and made a move to leave. He had watched Prue's flight through the kitchen door and had also seen Dagonet put down his ale and follow after her. Tristan was restraining his rising anger with everything he had.
As he turned to go, he stopped and with a sideways glance at Lancelot, he raised one eyebrow and said with a faint, humourless smile resting on the corner of his whiskered mouth.
"You know, we're all gonna die someday, Lancelot. You touch her and your someday will be a hell of a lot sooner than you think"
The laughter erupted again and as Lancelot watched his retreating friend he too, laughed along. But deep in the pits of his stomach he felt the slightest disquiet. He never had felt at ease with Tristan's jests!