Tristan awoke the next morning relieved to find that Jillian's body felt warmer against his own and that she was no longer shivering as violently. Tristan looked down at her sleeping peacefully against his chest. He had not even remembered falling asleep; yet it had been one of the most undisturbed sleeps he had had in a long time. Tristan ran his fingers through Jillian's soft, brown hair and kissed her gently on her forehead. He then rose from the bed and returned to his seat by her side. He prepared to spend the day as he had the one before, watching over her. If he were a Christian, he thought, this would be a moment when prayer was appropriate. He realized, however, that he did not know how to pray.
To his utmost relief, Jillian had started to regain consciousness by midmorning. Her head tossed from side to side as she mumbled incoherent strings of words. Tristan caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, and she leant into his touch. Her eyelids parted, and she looked up at him.
"Tristan?" she whispered in a raspy voice.
"Jillian!" Tristan answered leaning over to her, "Jillian, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"For what?" she asked in the same breathy voice.
"For forcing you to go on the mission---for making you risk your life for something you didn't even believe in," he replied with sincere regret in his voice. His words were rushed, but he had wanted to say that to her since the moment the arrow struck her.
"Why?" she asked, closing her eyes and drifting back into sleep, "You do it all the time."
The truth of her words hit him like a punch to his gut. She was right. Even in her incapacitated state, she was as perceptive as ever. He had spent the last fourteen years of his life fighting for a country not his own for a cause he did not believe in. Here lay a girl who had dedicated her life to fighting for the freedom of her people. Who was the greater warrior?
Jillian had fully regained consciousness by dusk when Dagonet came to check on her. Dagonet expressed his great relief, but Jillian simply dismissed him as worrying too much. She insisted on getting out of bed and walking around, despite Dagonet's objections that she still looked very pale. A few minutes later, one of the maids entered, offering to draw a hot bath for Jillian. Jillian accepted the offer eagerly. Meanwhile, Dagonet and Tristan decided retire to the tavern to give Jillian her privacy. It was the first time since their return to the wall that Tristan had even considered leaving Jillian's side.
Jillian sat soaking in her hot bath, trying to wrap her mind around where she was and what had happened. She had never dreamed that she would ever find herself at Hadrian's Wall with Arthur and the great Sarmatian knights, much less that she would ever find herself waking up in one of the knight's quarters. She had never felt so awkward in her entire life as when she woke to discover she had been sleeping in Tristan's bed. She would have laughed at her situation if she had not been so ill. He had immediately explained to her, of course, the events leading up to her current location. He had sensed her nervousness and seemed a little nervous himself.
As she sat pondering in her warm bath, she still could not account for Tristan's tenderness towards her. When she asked, he had confessed that he had stayed by her side throughout her entire state of unconsciousness. His confession touched her to her very core. Could he really care that much for her? Suddenly the realization struck her that she wanted nothing more in the world than for Tristan to feel the way about her that she felt about him. She truly, deeply loved him. She had loved him all along, though she had tried to convince herself time and time again that he was as much her enemy as any of the Romans. Upon this realization, however, Jillian's heart broke. They could never be together.
Tristan sat leaning back in the corner of the tavern with his feet resting on top of a table. He was in his own world, immersed in thought as he used his spare dagger to slice through an apple. His thoughts drifted to Jillian. He could not help but feel overjoyed. She was alive. He had never felt about anyone the way he felt about her. He respected her; he admired her; and against all the odds, he loved her. More importantly, he wanted her to know that he loved her. It did not matter to him that she was a woad, while he fought for Rome. He loved her, and he wanted nothing more than to be with her.
Refreshed from her bath, Jillian headed down the corridor and saw Dagonet walking towards her. Dagonet immediately noticed her sullen face and asked, "What's wrong?"
"I'm leaving," she announced.
"What? Why?" Dagonet asked, befuddled.
"I-I can't stay. I have to return to my people," she explained.
Dagonet was about to object, but decided that she perhaps knew what was best for her. Dagonet slid a silver band from his finger. "Here," he said, offering her the ring, "to remember our friendship."
"I couldn't possibly take that," Jillian objected.
"Return it to me when we meet again," Dagonet said, "This can't be goodbye forever."
Jillian nodded and smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, "Please, give Tristan my thanks as well. Tell him I will never forget him."
"Why don't you tell him in person?" Dagonet asked, "He's down at the tavern right now."
"I-I can't," Jillian replied.
"Please, for his sake---don't just leave," Dagonet pleaded.
"It's better this way," Jillian responded meekly, "Please, please give him my message."
"I will," Dagonet replied. Jillian patted him on the shoulder gratefully and retreated.
Jillian walked briskly through an alleyway, hoping not to be seen, especially by Tristan who always seemed to have eyes everywhere. She headed purposefully towards the outer wall. Once she reached the other side, she would be free to put everything behind her. She would return to her people, and perhaps her life would begin to resemble what it was before Tristan, before the Gaius estate, before Einar's death. Suddenly, she felt a hand encircle her wrist and spin her around. She looked up and saw Tristan's dark brown eyes staring deeply into her own.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"I-I'm leaving," Jillian responded, "Please, let go."
"No," Tristan answered, still holding onto her wrist.
"Tristan---please," she said, pulling away from him.
"Why do you always run?" he asked.
"What? I do not always run!" she objected.
"From me, you do," he replied.
"I have my reasons," she said firmly, trying to prevent herself from breaking into tears.
"Stay," he said simply, "Stay here with me."
"You know I can't," she said.
"Why?" he asked.
"I-I don't belong here. My place is with my people," she answered. The words sounded lame, but she meant them. Jillian took another step back, but Tristan suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. He cupped the side of her face with one hand and moved the other slowly up her back. She felt her arms wrap around his neck. It was a perfect moment, like out of a painting or a poem. Suddenly, she snapped back to reality and pulled away from him, tears streaming down her face.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I can't do this," she cried, "Ever since Einar died, all I've had left in this world is my people—fighting with them, fighting for them, for freedom---but you---you confuse everything!" Tristan moved towards her, but she recoiled from his advance.
"Come here," he said, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her back against the outer wall of a building. Their lips once again met, and their fingers interlocked. Their kiss lasted for what seemed like several minutes until they finally parted and gazed into each other's eyes.
"Stay," Tristan whispered.
"You still fight for Rome," she answered, "I'm sorry."
"One year," he said, as though suddenly remembering.
"What?" she asked.
"I receive my discharge papers in one year," he replied. He watched as hope flickered in her eyes.
"In one year," she said firmly, "If you still feel the same in one year---"
"I will," he interrupted.
"Promise you will come and find me," she said.
"I will," he responded.
"Promise me," she whispered.
"I promise," he said. With that, she reached up and gave him a gentle kiss. She pulled her hands from his, and walked away unable to look back for fear she would change her mind. For the third time since they had first met at the attack on the caravan, Tristan watched Jillian disappear into the darkness. He promised himself it would be the last time.
"That was over four months ago," Lancelot said, "He hasn't seen her since."
"You still battle with the locals often, do you not?" Cassia inquired.
"Yes, quite frequently," Lancelot responded.
"Yet he has never once come across her since then? Not even by coincidence?" Cassia argued.
Lancelot shrugged. "I suppose she has perhaps been avoiding that kind of confrontation and those kinds of coincidences," Lancelot speculated.
"Lancelot, I must say, I am not quite satisfied with your story," Cassia scolded.
Lancelot seemed taken aback by her words. "Why is that?" he asked.
"There wasn't a happy ending," answered Cassia, teasingly.
Lancelot laughed. "Maybe there will be---someday," he said.
Cassia turned to see Tristan riding back towards the caravan, finally returning from his scouting. He rode over to Arthur, and they exchanged words briefly. Arthur then pulled on his reigns and turned his horse to wait for Cassia's carriage to catch up to him.
"Your ladyship," Arthur addressed her with a ceremonious bow, "We are only a few miles from the wall, now. I hope the journey has not proved itself too uncomfortable for you."
"Not at all," Cassia answered cordially, "Your knight has been entertaining me with stories. He's quite the storyteller."
Arthur raised an amused eyebrow. "Is that so?" he asked.
"It was nothing," Lancelot replied, slightly embarrassed by Cassia's flattery.
"Don't be so modest, Lancelot," Cassia teased. She then turned to Arthur, "Your knight is quite the expert in the areas of love and romance."
Arthur laughed, "Oh, I already knew that."
Lancelot cleared his throat. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. "If you'll excuse me," he said, and cantered his horse away from Arthur and Cassia who let out hearty laughs at his expense.
Cassia rested her head on her hand and gazed out her carriage window at the silent scout with the braided hair. He seemed so stolid and unaffected. Jillian must have been an extraordinary woman to kindle passion in such an unlikely hearth. Cassia thought that she would like to meet this Jillian one day. She had always admired the strength of a woman in such a male-driven world. Tristan felt the heat of Cassia's stare on his face and turned to look at her. Cassia gave him a slight nod, and then averted her glance. She let an amused smile cross her face. Despite her words to the contrary, she had enjoyed Lancelot's story.
I hope this chapterwas ok. I'm not very good at writing the romantic/intimate stuff. Many thanks to all who havereviewed thus far!
