Conviction

by Peppermint Stick

Medieval Trory. Tristan had Rory's family killed, but she escaped. Years later she's brought to the castle, but until he figures out who she is, who's to say a king can't fall for a fiery peasant who hates him for reasons he can't figure out?

11. Chapter 11

A/N: Alright kiddies, make yourselves comfortable because we have here a novella of a chapter. I promise I didn't mean for it to be nearly so long, I don't know what happened.

2: And yes, the rating has jumped, but that doesn't mean there are going to be any raunchy sex scenes now or in the future so you wicked children get your minds out of the gutter :) I'm not positive that the story is absolutely deserving of an M rating right now, but just to be on the safe side...there are a few questionable scenes and I would be quite angered if this fic were deleted because of a rating issue.

********

Rory yawned in half-consciousness, closing her eyes tighter and snuggling deeper against the warm body next to her. Her head rested on a shoulder and a leanly but solidly muscled arm was wrapped around her, warming her and holding her in place protectively. Another head was in her lap, using her as a makeshift pillow. The scraping of boots and snoring of men surrounded her. She pushed her face deeper into the shoulder below her, wanting to fall back into slumber but knowing it wasn't going to happen. She sighed quietly, sagging against the body next to her for another moment before opening her eyes.

She was sitting on a hard wood floor, her back against the wall, and her body was swaying back and forth gently with the motion of the stagecoach she rode in. A sheathed sword dug into her thigh. She looked down to try to see whose it was, but they were packed in so tightly there was no telling. She sat up straight and the head that had been on her lap thunked heavily to the ground. She cringed and looked down to see that Dorian, who had been using her as a pillow, still dozed heavily on despite the bruise he was sure to get. She almost laughed, but was too tired to be really amused, and yawned again, stretching her arms above her head. Callum, who she had been sleeping on, felt her shift and woke up halfway. He squinted one eye at her, tightening his arm around her, "Wassa matter?" he asked groggily, his voice thick with sleep and his eye unfocused.

She shook her head, speaking quietly so as not to wake the men around her, "Nothing. I just woke up. Go back to sleep."

He muttered something unintelligible before conking over, landing heavily on the wooden floor now that he was no longer keeping her comfortable. She almost had a twinge of guilt, knowing that he hadn't been completely comfortable in his previous position because he wanted to keep her warm, but it quickly faded considering she hadn't asked him to do it. As soon as they'd sat down to sleep she'd shivered and he'd wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side.

They'd set out before sunrise that morning for the border of Hartford to drop the new guard off for their newest task, to find their way back to the city quickest in the groups they were assigned. The three dozen or so men had been piled into three stagecoaches and throughout the day they'd talked quietly and examined their weapons for any weaknesses or imperfections as they were gently pitched from side to side with the movement of the stagecoaches. Groups of men occasionally jumped from the moving wagons to run alongside the swiftly traveling caravan and stretch their legs, not wanting to suffer from cramps or muscle pains once they started their journey back. But mostly they'd ridden in a taught silence, strained with stress and tension as the men worried about what was ahead of them.

The stagecoach they were in was made of thick slats of wood angled downward so that if you were inside, you could see strips of the world around you. The slant allowed air to circulate through the stagecoach but prevented rain from getting inside. The back of the wagon was open but rolled against the top was a pliable cover from the hide of some animal that you could pull down and secure in a heavy rain so that the inside wouldn't get wet.

She squinted out into the darkness, trying to figure out what time of night it was, but couldn't even begin to guess. She wondered briefly what had awoken her, but then heard voices outside. Rory bit her lip, looking at the men packed in tightly around her and silently wished not to wake or disturb any of them before sliding away from Callum and Dorian and slipping lithely and silently through the bodies on the floor. She kneeled at the back of the wagon, looking out. The caravan was slowing. Mark, a member of the old guard, was driving the second stagecoach; so kneeling at the opening of the first she was facing him. He raised a hand in greeting to her. She smiled, waving to him as well. Most members of the old guard rode on horseback at the front and back of the caravan, as well as flanking the wagons that carried their apprentices.

Rory shifted to the side, clutching the solid beams that lined the large opening she crouched in. She looked up to make sure that no horseman was close before casting her eyes down to the ground that was moving out from under the wooden wheels. She gauged the speed of the stagecoach and the distance to the ground before jumping lightly from the wagon. She hit the ground running.

When she landed her feet didn't hit the roughly trodden forest trail she'd expected, instead they landed on packed earth. She looked around as she jogged to the front of the stagecoach to see that they were out of the woods and were traveling on a worn path through a rolling countryside. Ahead of them the lights of a small village burned in the distance, a tiny illumination in the otherwise complete darkness.

She jogged to the front of the stagecoach she'd been riding in and swiftly grabbed one of the handle holds on the side, swinging herself up onto the seat the driver, in this case Logan, perched on. "Hey Leigh." he said without taking his eyes off the path in front of him. He sat tall, the reins clutched in his hands to control the six horses that pulled the stagecoach.

She grinned, "Hey Logan."she shifted closer to him; it was much colder riding in the front in mid-autumn without anything to protect her as the chilled night air assaulted her face and blew her hair behind her.

He glanced over at her for a moment before holding the reins out to her, "Here, take these for a minute." Her eyebrow arched questioningly. He grinned crookedly, "Just for a minute. I don't think you can crash it in that short of a time.

She shrugged, taking the thick leather straps from him, "Fine. But if I kill us all it's on your conscience."

He shook his head, still amused, as he pulled his thick wool cloak over his head and dropped in onto hers, pulling the hood up to cover her eyes before snatching the reins back, "There. We wouldn't want you to catch your death."

Rory laughed lightly, touched by the action, as she pushed the hood back but pulled the surprisingly soft wool around her. It was much too large, which only made it better, "Thank you."

He nodded, looking back to the road, "You're very welcome."

"But won't you get cold?" she asked.

He shook his head lightly, "No, not for a while."

She nodded and they fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds surrounding them were the creaking of wood and stretching of leather, the beating of hooves against the hard ground. No one spoke in the entire caravan, the vast majority of the trainees asleep in the wagons while the trainers rode in silence. Rory sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back to let the wind run through her hair and over her face. They were in the first of the three wagons, so there was nothing before her to cushion the wind. It took her breath away when she leaned her head back, making inhaling an effort. But she still did it, opening her eyes to stare up at the expanse of stars above them. She should have felt exposed, unguarded with all the open space above them and the bare land around them with only rolling pastures and fields, the faint line of mountains in the distance, but she didn't. Instead she felt free.

After a stretch of silence she spoke to Logan, dropping her head, "Why are we slowing down? Are we stopping in this village?"

"Yes." he spoke again without looking from the road, "This is a heavy load for the horses and we don't want to exhaust them, so we're switching them out at an inn here."

She looked over at the six stallions galloping before her, "Will there be eighteen horses for us to use?"

He laughed lightly, as if she'd asked a childish question, "Leigh, this is the king's personal guard. We can have whatever we want."

Rory scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Nice." she crossed her arms over her chest; it always seemed to slip her mind exactly how infuriatingly cocky Tristan and Logan were.

He nudged her playfully with his elbow, "Calm yourself. We're just going to borrow them. These will rest for a day and we'll exchange the borrowed ones back for them on our return journey." She felt him look over at her, but she ignored him. "And," he added, "We already contacted this innkeeper. He has them for us to borrow."

Rory turned to look at him and see that he was smirking, having purposely annoyed her. She stared at him expressionlessly for a moment before arching her eyebrow, "You're obnoxious."

Logan just laughed, the wind carrying his voice out into the empty world around them.

*********

Late the next afternoon Rory walked back to the wagons with Logan, looking at the ground. They'd dropped the men off at the border of Hartford and Gildren and gone with them to the place they would camp for the night. The next morning the new guard would begin their trek back to the castle on foot. Half of the old guard would stay back to set up tests and ambushes. She, Logan, and the other half of the old guard would return to the castle. The old guard was returning to protect Tristan if the need should arise and she and Logan were returning because Tristan's friends would be arriving in two days. They were scheduled to arrive back at the castle the night before his friends did. Max Medina was driving himself mad with preparations, and taking Rory down into his insanity with his strange conviction that she could make the tenth anniversary of Tristan's father's death easier on him.

She and Logan walked in silence, the sun hanging low in the sky. "You're quiet."

Rory pressed her lips together, blinking slowly into the pink glow of the waning sun, "Yeah. Logan?"

He looked over at her, caught by the question in her voice, "Yes?"

"I have a favor to ask." she said quietly.

He hesitated for a moment, "What's that?"

She nodded to the southeast, "My home village is a few hours ride that way. And I know we're not supposed to see our families until the training is done, but I'm not really part of the guard." she bit her lip. He didn't speak and so she continued, "And I'm sure my parents are losing their minds. When your father brought me with the other men from my village we weren't even sure if I'd be staying and now it's been almost three months since I've seen them. I know they were sent a letter telling them that I would be staying but..." she trailed off, trying to keep the longing from her voice. She looked up at him to see that he was staring in the direction she'd motioned towards. "It's only a few hours ride, and if I could have half a day, just to let them know that I'm alright....I can ride fast. I wouldn't return to the city that far behind the wagons."

Logan didn't look at her, but kept his gaze locked towards the southeast. His forehead was screwed up in concentration. He looked up at the sun, "We could probably get halfway there tonight and ride the rest in the morning."

Rory jolted in surprise, partly from his seeming permission and partly from his word choice, "We?"

He looked down at her, grinning lightly, "You don't honestly believe I'd let you travel on your own? Over night?"

She opened her mouth, but had no words, and so she closed it. He smiled lightly, putting his hand in the small of her back and guiding her towards the wagons and the horses that the old guard had been riding, "Steven, Kenneth!" he called. Two of the old guard turned. "You'll be driving the wagon back, Leigh and I are taking a detour and we'll be riding your horses."

They looked at him strangely, but nodded and said nothing. "Get two warm cloaks, two sleeping rolls, a map, a compass, some money, a water pouch, and some food." that was directed at Rory. She walked off slowly to the wagon that had held supplies and started pulling things from it, recovering from the shock of how easy it had been and watching Logan as he walked around to the back of one of the wagons and jumped up into it effortlessly, trudging to the front and pulling a box from the corner. He pushed it open and pulled out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. He scribbled something onto the paper quickly before putting the ink and quill back in the box and jumping out of the wagon. He came to Mark and handed him the note, "Give this to the king. We'll be a few hours behind you returning. It might even be the next morning."

Mark nodded slowly, glancing at Rory as she approached, supplies in hand. "Is everything alright?" he asked slowly.

Logan nodded, easily taking the pile of things that was making Rory stumble, "Yeah, everything's fine. We're going to one of the near villages. Just give that note to Tristan." Mark nodded slowly but Logan had already turned away and was guiding Rory over to the two horses they'd be using. He tied the sleeping mats, water pouch, and bag of food onto the horses deftly before wrapping one of the riding cloaks around her shoulders and tying it swiftly, "How fast can you ride?" he asked, looking at her face rather than the knot as he tied it.

"Uhm...." she trailed off, still reeling from her easy victory as well as how fast he kept moving. She'd been prepared to beg and plead and grovel to convince him to let her visit her home. She found her voice after a moment of him smirking at her, "I can ride as fast as you can."

He laughed lightly, bending down and lacing his fingers with his palms up next to the horse, "I doubt it."

Her eyebrow arched as she stepped into his opened hands to push herself onto the horse. She swung her leg over, settling down heavily, "Try me."

Logan grinned, throwing the other cloak on and hauling himself easily up into his own saddle, "You don't want me to."

Rory just quirked her lip, amused and annoyed at the same time, before digging her heels into her horse's side and shooting off. She heard Logan's laughter as he took off after her.

********

Later that night, long after the moon had risen, they stopped to sleep for the night. Thy camped in a small clearing, laying their sleeping mats on either side of a fire Logan kindled, just enough for heat and light as they slept. Rory sat heavily, her thighs aching from the hard ride. Logan moved around lithely as if he were used to it and so she made an extra effort to hide her discomfort, although she was sure he knew she was in pain and enjoying it. She'd kept up with him, surprisingly, and she was nearly positive he hadn't been holding back for her. Although next time she would put more thought into it before posing a challenge like she had, telling the second-in-command of the military that she could ride as fast as him....not her brightest idea. She felt worse for the horses than herself, though.

Logan, from across the fire, tossed her an apple. She caught it reflexively, distracted as she heard him bite sharply into his own. Rory held the hard fruit between her hands, pressing her fingernails against the shining red surface but not with enough pressure to puncture the skin. She pressed her lips together, staring at the fire as it crackled and popped. They sat in silence, the fire and wind through the trees the only sound besides Logan's chewing. "You're quiet." his voice was hoarse. They hadn't spoken much since they'd left the others. "I thought you'd be jumping around all night because you get to see your family."

"I am excited." she said quietly, glancing at the apple in her hands, "But I'm confused, I guess."

"Why is that?"

She looked up at him, "Why did you give in so easily? I mean, I thought it was a slim chance that I'd even be able to go, let alone you coming with me. I thought I'd have to beg and plead and scream and yell, but you just...." she trailed off, shaking her head, "let me go. And came with me."

Logan looked at her without speaking and she could tell that he was trying to figure out the best way phrase what he was going to say next. "I let you go, because I think you deserve to see your family. But I came with you because I wanted to talk to you."

She pulled her knees to her chest, knowing where this was going, "About Tristan?"

He nodded slowly, staring into the fire. "Yes, partly. But mainly it's about your friends."

Her eyebrows drew together. That wasn't what she'd been expecting, "What?"

"You spend most of your time with men. Marty, Callum, Dorian, Nick. Me. And Tristan notices." he shook his head lightly, his gaze caught by the fire. She watched him in silence, unsure of what to think. She'd rather he looked at her than the fire. Logan exhaled quietly, pressing his lips together as his eyebrows pulled together in thought, "Leigh, Tristan....he's possessive of things. I think it's because, despite the fact that he oversees an entire kingdom, he doesn't really have anything to call his own. So when there's something that's his, something that is absolutely and irrefutably his, he wants to hold onto it as tightly as he can because he's afraid that he'll lose it." he sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "This land, the kingdom, it isn't his, not really. Leadership is revolving. If something were to go wrong it wouldn't be his anymore. He's just watching over it for now, taking care of it until the next king comes along. All of it. Nothing really belongs to him. It's like his whole life everything that he has is only temporary, so whenever there is anything that is completely his he feels this urgency to claim it and keep it in his sights always, because he's frightened that soon he won't have it anymore, that it will be taken away just as easily as everything else." Logan bit his lower lip thoughtfully, staring into the fire for another moment before sweeping his gaze up to Rory, his face pained as he struggled for words, "I think Tristan feels like that about you. I think he feels that you're the only thing he has that hasn't been won by someone else. You're the only one who sees him for who he is, not as the role he was born to play. There are those of us who love him, of course, but we've known him for all our lives and so regardless of what he does or who he becomes we'll always stand by him. I think he thinks that you're the only one who has seen him and accepted him for the person he is now, not because he's the king or your family or because you're duty-bound to do it.

"You're the only person I've ever seen him let his guard down with who he hasn't known for all his life. He feels like you're the only one who he's ever gotten all on his own, the only one who wanted to know Tristan rather than the king, the only one he ever got without his title." he sighed, shaking his head lightly, "No, that isn't right." he looked around, searching for a way to phrase his thoughts, "I don't mean the only one he ever got. I mean that he feels like you're the only person he's ever met and befriended and cared for, you're the only one who has ever cared for him because of the person he is rather than his crown. And because of that he feels like you're his. And I don't mean that in any way. I don't mean it as you're a possession rather than a person. I don't mean that he sees you as only a body and not an individual. I mean that he wants you, more than he's wanted anything in his life, and he's terrified to losing you.

"You're the only one I've ever seen him care for, be gentle towards. You're the only one I've ever seen him sacrifice for. But it's confusing for him. He doesn't know what to think or what to do because he's never cared for a woman before–" Logan broke off suddenly, snapping his gaze up to hers.

Rory blinked, shocked as his head jerked up. She stared back at him, having no idea what to make of his speech as her mind reeled, "What?" she asked quietly.

He squinted his eyes at her thoughtfully, "He's never cared for a woman before. And I hadn't thought about it, but I just realized, you're the only person I've ever seen him be possessive of. The only one he's ever been afraid of losing." She shook her head lightly, uncertain of how to respond, but Logan went on, "He's possessive of things, but never before you has he been possessive of a person. Back to my original point, though, Leigh, is that you need to be careful with your friends."

"Why?" she asked, pressing her lips together. Tristan got jealous occasionally, of course, but she didn't think that any of her friends were in danger. She knew Tristan was dangerous, but he wouldn't possibly harm any of them on her account.....would he?

It was a moment before Logan spoke, his eyes back on the flames between them, "I don't have any brothers, Leigh, and neither does Tristan. But we grew up together, closer than most siblings. We are the closest thing each other has to a brother. I mean, I'm closer to him than I am to my sister or my parents and the only person I know of that he was as close to as he is to me was his father. He's my closest friend and confidant, my brother by more than blood. Tristan and I are closer to each other than to anyone else on this earth." he paused, raising his face to look at her, "But Leigh, there have been times when he's walked into a room and seen me with you, seen us laughing or talking or playing around, and the look he's given me has made me almost fear for my life. I don't think it's conscious, I don't think he even realizes it. But he's given me the darkest, most threatening looks I've ever gotten from anyone in my life."

Rory opened her mouth, lost for words. "I..." she trailed off helplessly, "I'm sorry?" she whispered weakly, uncertain of what he wanted her to say.

Logan waved her apology away, "No, no. I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty. I told you because I want you to understand what I'm saying. Tristan looked at me like that because, even though he knows that nothing would ever happen between us, he's worried. You and Tristan take each other seriously. More seriously than you take any of the rest of us, Marty, Nick, Callum and Dorian, myself. And because you take him more seriously, because you care more for him, watching you with us shows him a side of you that he doesn't often get to see, and he's bothered by it."

She shook her head, guilt at his words roiling in her stomach. She spoke quietly, "Logan, I don't care for him more–" she broke off, tasting the lie even as it slid from her lips.

Although he didn't smile immediately, his expression was amused as his gaze trailed down to the side of her neck. At first Rory didn't realize what he was looking at but after a moment she remembered the night before they'd set out to take the men, when Tristan had pushed her against the tree. Amid the pressure of his ever-wandering hands and his never-satisfied mouth he'd bitten her neck and then soothed the spot with his lips, sucking on the skin until he marked her. She raised her hand reflexively to cover the fading mark, but couldn't push back the small smile that forced it's way onto her lips. The corner of Logan's lip quirked, shooting her a crooked grin, "Differently, then, if you won't admit that it's more. But my point is this, Tristan cares for me more than he cares for nearly anyone else he's ever known. We're family, we grew up together, we've known each other all our lives. And you, after being here for three months, have burrowed your way so completely into his heart and his soul, that he will look at me in a way that men only employ to threaten each other with death." She opened her mouth but he cut her off, grinning, "I know, Leigh, that Tristan would never actually hurt me. He wouldn't. But your friends...." he trailed off, sighing, "Martin especially, I would be worried for." he shook his head lightly, "I don't think that Tristan would actually do anything. He learned long ago the mistakes of rash decisions when it comes to dealing out death." Rory's head snapped up at that, but Logan didn't seem to notice, "I don't really think they're in danger, but I think you should be careful."

******************************

It was late the next evening that they headed out of Stars Hollow and back to the castle. It had gone shockingly well. They'd arrived late in the morning and Rachel had been hanging linens when Rory and Logan had come to the inn the family ran and as soon as she had seen Rory approaching she'd thrown the laundry to the ground, screamed her name, and sprinted to the gate. Rory had barely slid from the horse before her adoptive mother had her in a hug tight enough to strangle her. She hadn't complained though. Rachel had cried silently, burying her face in Rory's hair as she held her closer than she had since Rory first came to live with them as a child.

There had only been two tense moments the whole day. The first was introducing Logan to Jess. After Jess's initial greeting of staring at her as if she were a ghost and then grabbing her and swinging her around in a wide circle so that her feet came a foot off the ground and they almost fell over from relieved laughter, he set her back on the ground and hugged her to his chest, his solid arms holding her close. She'd pulled back after a moment and nodded towards Logan, introducing him as the king's cousin and the second-in-command of the military. Jess had fixed Logan with a cold glare, ignoring the hand that was stretched out for a greeting. Rory had nudged her cousin and he'd glanced down at her before nodding to Logan stiffly. The second had been at the end of the visit, when Luke realized that Rory was returning to the castle. He'd stepped towards Logan threateningly, fists clenched for a fight. Logan hadn't flinched, just looked over at Rory with a bored expression. She'd had to lay a hand on her adoptive father's chest, reassuring him that it wasn't nearly as bad as they'd initially thought, and he'd reluctantly backed down.

Other than that she'd split the afternoon between sitting with Luke and Rachel and spending time with Lane, Dave, and Jess. Lane and Dave hadn't married yet. He and Jess were still building the house the couple would live in; several weeks earlier a storm had blown through and collapsed the unfinished roof and one of the unprotected walls, setting them back several weeks. Once the house was finished they would marry, but between working with their respective parents and helping Lane's father with his house and work they had little time to put towards the new home.

Nothing had changed in the three months she'd been gone. But nothing ever changed in a village like Stars Hollow. She'd wanted to tell Lane about Tristan, confess everything that had happened and everything she feared would happen, but hadn't gotten a chance to. That was what was on her mind when Logan suggested they stop to give the horses a rest.

She looked at the woods around them, following him into a small clearing before dismounting and petting the horse's neck gently. She took a step back, looking up at the fading light that turned the sky to a rosy pink. Logan dismounted in silence and led the horses to a stream that cut through a corner of the clearing. He rotated his shoulders, stretching his arms out from the hours of riding. But said nothing. Rory watched him in profile, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure him out. She looked away after a moment, yawning as she pulled her riding cloak tighter around herself. They'd ridden in silence, no goading or kidding, and now the stillness surrounded them and pressed in. It wasn't an awkward silence, exactly, but it was thick, thick and unnatural because they were never silent when they were together. He held out an apple and a chunk of bread wrapped in a cloth, but she shook her head and he tossed the food back into the satchel on the horse's saddle, apparently not hungry himself either. A word hadn't passed between them. He pulled out the map and compass, turning slightly and moving the map around. He glanced between them quickly before sliding them back into another bag on his horse's saddle.

It wasn't long before he retrieved the horses and tossed her the reins to the one she'd been riding. They mounted without a sound and set off, Logan in the front and Rory trailing closely.

Before they'd stopped he'd been running the horses at a swift pace, making Rory wonder what kind of rush he was in to get back to the castle. But now they walked slowly, the head of Rory's horse even with the neck of Logan's, not even trotting through the darkening woods. Logan shifted thoughtfully before her. "Your family loves you." he said quietly, his voice awed.

She looked over at him but he stared forward, his forehead tensed in puzzlement. "Yes." she said quietly, a note of amusement in her voice at his observation of and shock at something so completely obvious.

He bit the insides of his cheeks, blinking slowly, "You should cherish that." She didn't respond. If anyone appreciated being loved, not taking their family for granted, it was her. "Your mother especially," he went on after a moment, "she must love you very much."

Rory couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face at that, "Rachel just worries about me, especially being away from me now...." she trailed off, pressing her lips together.

Logan looked over at her for the first time, "What?"

"What?" she asked, looking forward.

"You just called your mother Rachel." he said without inflection.

Rory opened her mouth, her stomach dropping, "Did I?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes still on her, "Yes. You did." She said nothing, refusing to look at him. He spoke after a moment, "I don't know anyone who refers to their mother by her first name." he said lightly. He didn't say it accusingly, but there was a lilt of interest in his voice.

She breathed slowly, licking her lips as she steeled herself to what she was about to say, "Well Luke and Rachel....they aren't really my parents."

He didn't answer but she felt his shock radiating as if in waves. Whatever he had expected it wasn't that. She inhaled deeply closing her eyes for a moment before looking over at him. He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "What?" he said finally, shaking his head lightly.

Rory bit her bottom lip, exhaling heavily, "They aren't my real parents. They took me in when I was young."

"Wha...." he trailed off. She could almost see his mind working, trying to catch up to what was happening. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died." she said quietly, cursing herself silently for her big mouth.

"I'm sorry." he muttered.

She shook her head jerkily, a strange rushing sound in her ears nearly muted him out, "No, don't be. I barely remember them."

"How did they die?" he wasn't harsh, he didn't seem to disbelieve what she was saying or have unwarranted suspicions, but he was obviously still in shock.

"A flu." she looked over at him, "My mother came down with it early one winter. Then my father." she stopped, wondering what to say next. Then she decided she might as well make it as close to the truth as she could. "My parents sent word to a cousin of my father's, asking her to take me away before I got it too. So she came and took me back to her village–"

"How old were you?"

She froze, blinking slowly, "Four." she whispered, unsure of where that number had come from.

"So Rachel is your father's cousin?"

Rory felt panic deep in her chest as words spilled from her mouth, "No. No she isn't. I lived with my father's cousin and her husband for a while and then–" she broke off, searching for something, "then one day while I was swimming with some children from the village the house caught fire." she pressed her lips together, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't give herself away. Maybe he'd think it was from grief, "Neither of them were able to get out." she opened her eyes, refusing to look at him, "Rachel was close friends with my father's cousin. She and Luke took me in and brought me to Stars Hollow."

"How old were you?"

Rory clenched her jaw, opening her mouth for a moment before she spoke, "Eight."

He nodded slowly, taking it all in, "But they gave you their last name?"

She nodded, "They raised me as their daughter."

Logan didn't speak for a stretch as everything soaked in, "But what about your cousin?"

She glanced over at him, "Jess?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head lightly, "What about him?"

"How did he come to be there? What happened to his parents?"

His question was followed by silence. She wasn't sure how to respond, uncertain of whether it was her place to tell Jess's business. After a moment she decided it wouldn't hurt anything, "His father was a village troublemaker, gone before Jess was even born. And his mother is unstable, she constantly goes from place to place, Jess was on his own so much he was practically an orphan. Finally she gave him to Luke, saying that he needed a man to raise him, to teach him how to be, but really she just didn't want to hassle with him." she fell silent, exhaling quietly, "He was almost ten when she left him." she broke off again, feeling like she should have added more, but there was nothing more to say.

Logan watched her in the falling darkness, her features becoming harder to distinguish as the night rose blue around them. "I had no idea." he said quietly.

She looked over at him, tilting her head. It was close enough to the truth, the lie she'd told him. How old she was and the ways they all died was off, but other than that it was true enough. "How could you?" she whispered, turning away from him to look back to the forest ahead of them.

He looked at her guiltily for a moment, "When–"

She cut him off, "Don't tell Tristan, please."

His head cocked back, surprised, "What?"

"I just, I haven't told him." she shook her head, "I don't know, please don't tell him."

"I..." he trailed off.

"Logan." she pressed, pleading.

"Okay, I won't tell him." he said quietly.

"Swear it." she said sharply.

His voice was gentle, "I swear."

She exhaled quietly and nodded, "Thank you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she'd already dug her heels into the sides of her horse, pushing it rapidly into a gallop, and Logan had nothing to do but follow.

********************************

As soon as Rory entered the castle the next morning she was snatched by Anna and dragged upstairs in a flurry. Before she knew what had happened she was sitting in a tub of water in her power room, soap suds floating through the air. There was a sharp yipping from the ground and she looked around the tub to see that her runt mastiff puppy, Duke, was jumping around, scratching at the tub to try to get to her. She smiled down at him, "Ohh hello." he barked manically, whining as his tail wagged so hard that his whole backside moved. She laughed, reaching a hand out to him, which he bit lightly, rubbing his nose on her fingers, "Oh I missed you too, Duke, yes I did." He whined, jumping up and scratching his front paws at the tub, frantic. "Aww, you don't want to get in here with me, I promise you won't like it."

"Duke, go." Anna commanded, walking over to the tub. He barked at her and stayed where he was. Rory laughed and sat back in the tub. Anna came over and grabbed Rory's head roughly, rubbing the coarse soap through her hair, working it into a lather as she muttered about pig-headed girls running to all parts of the country the night before they were meant to be presentable and look like a lady, no matter how insurmountable a task that may seem.

Then again, before she could react, she was pulled from the water and the maid had thrown a terrycloth around her and was chafing it against her skin and hair, pulling the moisture out. Anna directed her to sit still as she went to the windowsill and picked up the jar of amber wax that Rory hadn't noticed before. At that she stood, the towel wrapped around her chest fell to just above her knee. She protested but Anna ignored her, pushing her back into the chair. Her hair, still heavy with water from her bath, hung lankly on her shoulders. She pushed it behind her as Anna swirled the wax with a smooth strip of wood, ignoring the grumblings of the girl before her. It always went quicker when she didn't fight and Anna was uncharacteristically malaise this morning, so Rory sat in silence, only making noise when she cursed as Anna ripped off what felt all her skin to the bone.

When she was finished Anna disappeared through the heavy door that led into Rory's bedroom, but she was only gone for a few minutes before returning with a smaller jar of a light green cream in one hand and a hot teacup in the other. She kneeled in front of Rory and handed her the cup. Rory looked down at it and sighed, not even bothering to put forth the effort to protest the pregnancy preventing tea that Anna forced down her throat every other day. She pressed her lips together, watching as the old woman smoothed the thick cream onto her legs that calmed the inflamed skin and helped to pull up any residue of wax that was left behind. The towel was pushed to the very tops of her thighs so that Anna was able to reach her whole leg and when her surprisingly warm hands moved to the highest part of Rory's leg she felt a thrill of fear deep in her stomach, a wave of heat passing over her forehead. That always happened whenever Anna's hands or eyes ventured anywhere near her covered crest.

Rory was still surprised that she hadn't fainted the night before she left to take the men to the border. Tristan had had her outside, by herself, his hands all over her. The thought of him finding her crest had merely been a nagging at the back of her mind, annoying because it prevented her from focusing all thought on his touch that was everywhere and his mouth that was consuming her, his presence and the energy that radiated from him making rational thought and worry impossible. He'd gripped her hip bone painfully, his fingers pushing against her crest through her dress. And she hadn't even thought anything of it. If things has gone even slightly farther he could have easily found her crest and she hadn't thought anything of it. Yet here there was no reason that Anna would lift the towel any higher and expose her brand, but she was nearly paralyzed with fear. She didn't make any sense even to herself.

As soon as her legs were coated Rory was ordered behind the changing screen and she pulled the floor-length slip over her head. Anna came around and laced up the corseted back with quick, wicked motions until Rory could barely breathe, then she directed Rory to step into a light grey dress so she could lace it up tighter than the first.

Still muttering about impossible girls that Tristan insist she look after, Anna twisted her around and pushed her so that she fell into the stiff-backed chair in front of the vanity. The terrycloth came back and Anna rubbed it fiercely through her hair, pulling as much water out as she could. She came around to face Rory and grabbed her chin in a pincer-like grip, turning Rory's face up towards her. Rory, who wanted very much to protest, refrained. She'd never seen Anna in such a foul mood, which was definitely saying something. Anna parted Rory's hair off to the left side and slid her fingers through it, ruffling it so that it dried faster and with more volume, cascading down her back in full waves. The old maid pulled several sections of her hair back, weaving a plait down the right side of her face, the side with more hair. The braid wound down her hairline and behind her ear, where Anna secured it with a cord tied into a knot. The rest of her hair fell around her in waves and Anna pushed it back, sliding her fingers down the braid that would keep the hair out of Rory face.

Anna glanced at the container of powder sitting on the vanity behind her, but seemed to think better of it, because she turned back around to face Rory, sighing as she waved a hand at her dismissively, "Go. Go. You'll just rub it all off as soon as you leave the room anyway."

Rory stared up at her in silence, unsure of how to respond to the first thing Anna had directly said to her in the hour she'd been in the room. "Uhm...." she trailed off, opening her mouth, "Go where?"

Anna shook her head, waving her hand, "Wherever you want. I was just told to make you presentable." she wrinkled her nose, "And looking at you now as opposed to what you came in looking like I'd say I'm practically a miracle worker. Now go." she turned to empty the tub, "I didn't do all that so you could sit there and stare at me." Rory opened her mouth to speak, but had nothing to say and so, still confused, she stood. She was almost to the door when Anna spoke again, "Tristan is in his study, I believe, being difficult. As usual." Rory glanced back at Anna before pressing her lips together and pushing open the door, stepping in the direction of Tristan's study.

By the time she reached the room it was afternoon. She and Logan had arrived late in the morning and Anna's torture had taken the rest of the morning and the very beginning of the afternoon, what with the bath and the waxing and the time it took for her hair to dry. She was surprised, on reaching the study, to see that the door was bolted shut. She glanced around, confused, before knocking quietly.

"Go away, Paris. You're annoying." he called out from inside without opening the door.

Rory's head cocked back, surprised, "Paris?" she asked, loud enough for him to hear her. There was movement from inside. "It's not Paris–" She heard the lock of the door sliding before it was flung open to reveal a grinning Tristan, cutting her off.

"Leigh." he wrapped an arm around her and swung her into the room, using his other hand to slam the door shut and bolt it again. He turned, his arm still around her, and leaned his head down, catching her lips in a warm, unexpected kiss; cutting off whatever she might have said. She gasped initially, not from the surprise but from his unexpectedly rough and itchy skin. It took her a second to realize that he had stubble on the lower half of his face, she'd never thought about it before, that he was always clean-shaven. He must have just decided he couldn't be bothered with it this morning or the day before because it obviously hadn't have been long since he'd shaved; his beard was still invisible, she hadn't even seen the wheat toned hair when she'd entered. Rory brought her hands up to either side of his face, the coarse facial hair chafing against her palms. It took only a moment for her to get used to the rough barbs poking her and once she was no longer surprised, she realized she didn't dislike it.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around his neck, giddy from being so close to him again. Usually when he kissed her it turned serious very quickly, but this time it didn't. He twisted around, walking backwards and bringing her with him without breaking his lips away from hers. His other hand came to curl around the side of her neck, his thumb brushing against her jawline as his lips moved fully against her own. She could feel a smile in his kiss, a playfulness and an energy she didn't feel with him often.

He stopped moving once they were on the other side of the room, next to the large window and bench set into his wall filled with books and she broke away slowly, smiling up at him, "Hi."

He grinned at her crookedly, his eyes bright, "Hello. How was Stars Hollow?"

She nodded, "It was nice."

"Good." he collapsed down onto the cushioned window seat, pulling her to sit next to him.

She laughed but allowed him to guide her to the seat, "Who was it that you thought I was?"

"When you knocked on the door just now?" he asked, slipping his arm between her back and the stone of the wall under the window, wrapping it around her to bring her closer.

"Mhmm." Rory shifted, making his job of pulling her against him easier. She curled her knees up and rested them on the cushion in front of her, angling her body towards his.

"Paris. A girl I grew up with, her father is a nobleman who owns an expansive estate to the south of the city. She's the one that decided she was going to bring some of my friends to stay for my birthday–"

"Oh!" Rory cut him off, laying a hand on his chest absentmindedly, "Are they here?"

He nodded lightly, "Some of them. They've been arriving all morning." he made a face and she could tell that while he was slightly annoyed, he really was glad to have them.

"How many are there?" she asked, trying to remember.

He touched her hand that was over his chest, bringing it away so that he could look at it, skimming his fingers over her wrist and the back of her hand thoughtfully, "Seven are coming, Logan and I grew up with them." he brushed his fingertips over hers, counting his list off on her hand, "From Gildren there's Finn, the prince; and then Henry, who is actually from Koral–"

Rory sat up in surprise, cutting him off, "What?"

He looked up at her, "He's from Koral but his father is an ambassador to Gildren so he's lived there since he was young. You know, to the north we're bordered by Gildren, which is coastal. Across the sea is Koral–"

"No." she laughed in disbelief, shaking her head lightly, "I know where it is. My best friend Lane is from Koral. I've just never met anyone else from there."

His head cocked back, "Someone in your village is from Koral?"

She nodded, "Yes, her parents came to Hartford right after they were married. I just...." she trailed off, "I've never met anyone but her." Tristan nodded thoughtfully, still surprised, but said nothing. Rory relaxed back against him, "Sorry, go on. That's two."

He smiled at her lightly, looking back to her hand that was still in his own. He touched her middle finger lightly, still counting, "Madeline is also from Gildren, her father is one of the highest lords there." he stopped pensively, tracing down the side of her finger lightly. She felt herself shiver. Tristan's lip quirked in amused satisfaction, obviously feeling it, but said nothing about it, "You'll like Madeline, I think. She's too gentle and naive not to like. And I know you'll love Finn." there was a lilt in his voice at the end that she couldn't read, but he went on before she could say anything about it. "The rest are coming from parts of our kingdom. I already told you about Paris. I think you will get along with her," he laughed lightly, "after a little while, at least." She wasn't comforted by his laugh, but said nothing, allowing him to continue. He slid his fingertips lightly down the sides of her thumb, her fifth finger, before pressing her nail between his fingers thoughtfully, "Louise is coming, but she doesn't have far. Her father has an estate not far from Paris's, but by the time she was fourteen or fifteen she couldn't stand to be that far from court, so she moved to one of the mansion houses in the city with her aunt and uncle." he traced his fingers down her thumb and across the bottom of her palm, brushing against the inside of her wrist. Rory pressed her lips together, pushing down a shiver that was a mixture of shock and something else at the gentle tingle that radiated from his nails trailing along the thin skin. His touch swept up the outside of her little finger, running gently across the tip of her short fingernail as he continued speaking, "Colin McRae, he's coming from the north. He lives close to the border between Hartford and Gildren."

"Will I like them?" she asked.

Tristan laughed out loud, "Possibly the day before they leave you'll start to like them. At first Louise is abrasive and malicious about petty things, but once she gets closer to someone she drops it towards them." he fell silent for a stretch before opening his mouth thoughtfully, "But I think she'll like you. More than you'll like her at first." He grinned at her and then finished, "And the last is my cousin Stephanie, on my mother's side, so she isn't family to Logan. Her family's estate is out in the country to the far east."

Rory nodded lightly, still unsure of why she was getting pulled into all of this, but not bothered by it. "How many of them are here now?"

He glanced towards the door, "Paris, Stephanie, and Colin, as far as I know." he smirked lightly, "But I think Colin is trying to coerce one of the dairy maids into lecherous activities, Stephanie is stuck talking to my mother." Rory grimaced with empathy and Tristan laughed, squeezing her to his side playfully, "Because she's family, she's the only one coming who can't get out of it. And Paris....I'm not really sure where she is now." he nodded towards the room around them and Rory saw that it looked more used than it had before. Across from the fire place was a couch she'd seen before, but had never really noted. The cushions were thrown around, one resting against the arm of the couch as if it had been used for a pillow. Books, letters of complaint from citizens, and charts of military strategy littered the low table in front of the couch and the floor around it. She only took a moment to glance at the couch before Tristan spoke, "She was following me around after they got here, trying to make me be excited and badgering me about–" he broke off suddenly. Rory turned her head back towards him smoothly, a question in her gaze, wondering why he'd stopped. He bit the insides of his cheeks, grinning and shaking his head minutely, "Anyway, I came in here to get away from her but she just followed me and it took an hour to finally get her to go away. Once she was out I locked the door to keep her away, but she keeps coming back and sending Colin and Logan to try to get me to come entertain her."

"So you're hiding?" she asked, amused.

He looked down at her, straight faced, "Hell yes I am hiding."

Rory laughed out loud and Tristan grinned at her, his face lighting playfully, "Yes, however my self-imposed isolation is looking so much more promising now that you've arrive to entertain me."

Another bout of laughter escaped her uncontrollably as he pulled on her hand that was still clasped in his, using the arm around her waist to swing her over onto his lap so that she was straddling him. Her laughter was cut off as he pulled her face to his, fusing their lips together. Her toes were now pointed towards the floor and her backless shoes slipped from her feet, clunking loudly to the floor. The rough material of Tristan's shirt was clutched in her hands, over his shoulders, where she'd grabbed him to steady herself. Her grin faded as he deepened the kiss but the light, playful air didn't fade as he parted her lips with his tongue, nipping at her lips gently. She couldn't stifle the quiet giggles that evoked and rather than wait for her amusement to pass, Tristan just grinned and let her ride it out, laying light kisses over her laughing mouth. He trailed his lips down her cheek, scraping his teeth temptingly against her jawline. Her soft laughter hitched at that, but didn't completely die out until he reached her neck, where he alternated between warm, trailing kisses, biting her gently, and running his tongue along her skin. Her amusement was cut short at that, their light touches and playfulness fading as she let her head drop back, supported completely by the hand knotted in her hair. He kissed down her neck, biting her slowly and then soothing the skin with his lips, sucking it too gently to leave a mark anywhere but in her mind.

She started to shift her body to a more comfortable angle but was jerked back as she tried to move in a way her dress didn't allow. Tristan broke away from her neck with a start, looking up at her in confusion, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just..." she trailed off, her cheeks burning, she was sure women like Kira didn't do hopelessly awkward things while kissing the king. She picked at her skirt which, because she was straddling him, her legs were holding in place against the bench, "...I can't really move that well. My dress is stuck."

Tristan looked down at her legs to see that she was indeed in a predicament. His eyes flicked back up to her, amused, "Here, sit up."

She gave him a strange look but did it without a word, putting her weight on her knees and pushing up so that she was no longer in his lap but kneeling on the bench, her knees on either side of his legs and her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He leaned forward, his arms going around either side of her to reach towards her ankles. He grabbed the hem of her skirt before stopping and looking up at her, his forehead at the level of her chin, "May I?" he asked politely, though there was a devilish glint to his gaze.

Rory glanced over her shoulder to look at the skirt in question. She turned back around to face him, "Mhmm."

"Yes?" he asked, to clarify.

She rolled her eyes, not convinced by his innocent act, "Yes."

He grinned, leaning over to see around her body so that he could pull her skirt up to get it out of the way. He brought it up slowly, his fingers brushing against the smooth, bare skin of her legs. A part of her he'd never seen except for the time when she'd first arrived at the castle three months ago and a thoughtless comment from him had resulted in her being shoved into his room in the middle of the night in a short gown. But he hadn't really seen them then, only for a moment before giving her his robe to cover herself while she glared at him. Now, however, she wasn't glaring. She was chewing her bottom lip, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns into his shoulders as she allowed him to pull the cloth away from her legs so he could get back to kissing her. Her legs were still perfectly alabaster, untouched by her days of riding in the sun and training outside. He ran his hands slowly up the backs of her calves, itching to touch any part of her that he could and surprised by how smooth the skin there was. He couldn't imagine that this was of her own volition, which left him to assume Anna was forcing her into waxing her legs. There would only be one reason that Anna would do that and knowing Anna, she wouldn't keep it a secret from Leigh that this was in preparation for him. His reaction was mixed. There was guilt, because he didn't want her to think that he only spent time with her to get her into bed. But there was also a carnal satisfaction to know that it was done because of him. To know that this one thing about Leigh was done because he wanted it. Anna, in the small act of waxing Leigh's legs, was marking her as his. It was Anna's way of preparing Leigh for him, for what might happen, without explicitly saying it. He glanced up at her face to see that she was looking down at him, trying to gauge his own reaction while he looked to see hers.

The look in her eyes, the open uncertainty, made his chest burn. He wanted to gauge her reaction because he'd just realized that for months she must have been dealing with not only Anna, but others throughout the castle hassling her. Telling her that he only wanted one thing. Asking her if he'd laid her out. Probably not believing her when she denied it. And she had to know he wanted it. She had to realize, even through her innocence and naivety, that he wanted her body so much it hurt sometimes. He wanted to know what she thought, knowing that everyone expected her to sleep with him. And though she tried to hide it, he saw in her questioning gaze that she wondered if it was good enough. Not because everyone had told her that he'd want to bed her, and not because she felt like she had to, but because she wanted him to approve.

It made his chest constrict and his stomach hurt to see that look on her face, the veiled fear that she wasn't good enough. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to convey to her that not only was she good enough, but she was the single most amazing thing he'd ever seen. How could he possibly explain to her that he would rather run his hands up the back of her calves than touch any part of another woman's body? How could he tell her that he would rather pull her skirt up to her knees just so that she could move easier than take off anyone else's entire dress? What could he possibly say to convince her that he would rather kiss her neck than have someone else's lips on any part of his body? Was it even possible that she would believe him if he told her that he'd rather kiss her just like this than go to bed with someone else? She wouldn't believe him, and even if she did he couldn't bring himself to say it. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd ever said. He wished, desperately, that she would see something in his face that communicated all that.

Her expression was indecipherable however, as he leaned back around to gather the skirt at the backs of her knees, "Here." he whispered gently, sliding one hand around to the front of her leg and tracing it up her shin to curl around her knee, lifting it up so that he could pull the skirt out from under it. Her bare kneecap came to rest on the cushion. He did the same to the other leg, pulling the dress through so that it bunched around her but was no longer under her.

Tristan slid his hands up her thighs, on the outside of her dress, until he came to her hips, which he wrapped his hands around gently before bending his head down to place a trail of slow kisses up her rib cage through her tight dress, squeezing her hips affectionately before pulling her down again. But he didn't only pull her down, he pulled her closer, so that she was nestled more intimately against him than she had been before. He didn't stop at her hips. His hands continued up her body slow and gentle, as if in prayer. They trailed up her sides and he felt her shiver above him, blinking rapidly. Her hands were still holding his shoulders, the pressure of them keeping him on the earth.

Tristan held her face between his palms reverently, his fingers sliding into her hair. "Have I ever told you how unbearably beautiful you are?" he spoke quietly, his voice hoarse for some reason, and he cursed himself mentally for how raw it sounded. How weak.

She looked at him in silence, nodding her head lightly, "Once." she whispered back.

He shook his head slowly, his voice tender and so quiet she almost couldn't hear him, "I should have told you everyday." She didn't reply, just looked at him cautiously. After a moment Tristan sighed shakily, his eyebrows drawn together, "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Rory's eyebrows knitted together and she pressed her lips together, uncertain of how to respond. Tristan looked at her eternally, running his thumb over her bottom lip, "No. You must not. If you did then you would never look at me the way you are right now."

Her face instantly cleared of any readable emotion. She looked at him through heavy lashes, her eyes wide, "How was I looking at you?"

He shook his head helplessly, not positive that he could stand the pain of putting it into words. Finally he spoke, "Lost. Unsure. Like you're worried that something utterly impossible will happen."

"Something utterly impossible?" she asked quietly.

He traced his fingers lightly down the braid at her hairline, "Like that I wouldn't be absolutely awed and enraptured by you." his hand slid from her braid to skim through her hair, "Or that you would ever, in any way, pale in comparison to anyone else." he brought his hand back to hold her jaw lightly so that she looked into his eyes, "Or that I could ever, in any world, not want you."

She didn't react at first, just looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. He shook his head, his expression warm as he pulled her face down to his, his lips meeting hers in a deep, reassuring kiss. The hand that was on her face slid to tangle in her hair and hold her close, his lips gradually moving against hers with increasing pressure and intensity, forcing her to open herself up to him again, refusing to let her keep him out. The other hand slid to wrap around her waist, holding her body securely against his.

He broke his lips from hers, trailing them across her right cheek, brushing a kiss on her temple, before bringing her earlobe gently into his mouth, scraping his teeth over it to whisper into her ear, "Don't, Leigh. Don't do this." She was about to turn to him and ask what he was talking about, which would have been futile because they both knew perfectly well what he meant. But he spoke before she could, his breath dancing across her ear, "You know that I want you. You know that." he laid a gentle kiss under her ear and then another, trailing his lips down her neck. "Relax." he breathed against her skin, making her shiver. But she couldn't fight him anymore and it was with a flood of relief that he felt her muscles loosen as she melted into him

He trailed his lips down to the curve of her right shoulder, the side where she held her sword, biting the extremely lean but sharply defined muscle gently. Rory murmured silently, biting her lip. She shifted, rolling her head around to the left to give him more room. Her hands slid up into his unkempt hair, pulling gently at the thick blonde mess that seemed to stay up on it's own. Rory felt herself leaning back, exposing more of her skin above the low neckline of her dress, pulling Tristan along too. She didn't move her lower body, content with where it was, nestled so closely against him, only stretched her upper body, curving her spine back. He shifted beneath her, his lips not breaking from her skin as he kept his hands behind her while she tilted back. She relaxed against Tristan, allowing him to hold her up as his mouth continued to work over her shoulders. The hand that before had been tangled in her hair to keep her close now supported her head as she leaned back, his arm that had been wrapped around her waist was shifted, his warm palm was now pushed against her upper back, holding her up as she leaned out over the empty air. She could picture that hand, large and warm, his palm rough over certain areas. The back of his hand, like the rest of him, was tanned from the time he spent out in the sun, walking his kingdom and practicing sword fighting with his cousin, wrestling with his soldiers. He was physical, she'd always known that. He loved human touch, always keeping a hand on her when they were together. She'd even been told on numerous occasions that whenever he was in the city he played ball and raced with the children, sometimes with one of the smaller ones who would tire quickly or couldn't run fast enough riding on his back. All the time outdoors made his skin sun-kissed and all the physical work made him defined. His hands, even, were defined: the backs were threaded with prominent veins that continued to snake up his arms all around, cording his forearms so that she could run her fingers over the raised trails. Or at least that was what she wanted to do. Such defined veins in the hands and arms was a trait she'd only seen in men who were as cut and toned as their bodies could get. The strongest of them. Jess's arms were riddled with them. Logan had them as well, but not like Tristan.

Rory ran her hands through his hair, a contented sound escaping the back of her throat as Tristan's lips trailed down her shoulder to her collarbone, sweeping gentle kisses across it. She shivered when his chin scraped across the flat line below her collarbone, the stubble from his beard scratching her skin and warming her from the inside. He kissed his way back up her chest and neck to connect his lips fully to hers again, pulling her forward to sit up. She ran her fingers through his hair, scraping her fingernails over his scalp and down the back of his neck lightly. Tristan's reaction was instantaneous and powerful; his body did something between a shiver and a jerk, his muscles tensing beneath her as he swore savagely against her lips in a quiet exclamation she was sure he hadn't intended for her to hear. And that carnal part of her hummed with satisfaction as he crashed his mouth violently to hers, forcing her lips open with his own.

He must have felt the smug grin she tried to push back because in response the hand that was on the top of her spine slid down her back slowly, pressing into her lower back so that she was pushed harder against him. She gasped, her self-satisfaction draining as it was replaced with awe at what she'd done to him. He smirked against her mouth, his hand slipping over the curve of her side to grip her hipbone. He kissed her deeply, in that all-consuming way he sometimes did, as he used his grip on her hip to shift her lower body so that she was positioned slightly differently but unbelievably closer. She clenched her hands in his hair, returning his deep kiss with one of her own. Tristan's hands didn't stop at her hips. They trailed down her legs until he came to her knees where, without hesitation, he slid them up under her skirt to trail back up her thighs, this time against bare skin. Her breathing sped up and she felt her body heating up with every inch his hands gained on her skin. She had never. Never, ever been touched where Tristan's hands were traveling. She felt them move up the sides of her thighs until he came to the very tops of them, where he gripped her, kissing her harder as he pulled her down against him and held her there, as close as was humanly possible. She could feel him pushing hard against her. She raked her fingernails back down his scalp and over the back of his neck like she had before and was satisfied as his body once again jerked and a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth. He gripped her thighs tighter, now holding her slightly away where before he had been pulling her close.

"Mmm." she muttered against his lips, protesting. She tried to think through her clouded daze, wanting to come up with another way to get that reaction from him. It was by far her favorite one. She didn't know what to do, but as always happened, her body moved without command from her mind. Her hands slid down his back, through his shirt's open neck. She reached halfway down his back, her fingertips slipping down lightly and she felt him shiver in appreciation. But when she brought her hands back up, it was to rake her blunt fingernails none too gently up the sides of his back. Even as she was running them up his back she felt the muscles jump and contract beneath her hands and this time he swore loudly. In one swift motion he'd broken his lips from hers and grabbed her, smoothly twisting around so that her back was on the cushioned bench and he was on top of her, one of her bare legs wrapped around his waist. He was heavy on top of her and so....male. There was a power to him, an innate strength that made her only want him closer.

Rory mewed softly, satisfied as Tristan crushed his lips violently to hers. She started to wrap her arms around his neck but her wrists were instantly in his steel hard grip and before she knew what had happened they were pinned above her head. "No." Tristan said, his voice shaking. He broke off, dropping his head to collect himself before speaking again. The muscles of his arms and back twitched randomly, as if his entire body were trying to jump into her but he was holding himself back. When he spoke again his voice was still slightly shaky and raw, "No. You cannot use your hands if you aren't going to behave."

She opened her mouth, the carnal part of her reveling in his loss of control. But she had nothing to say and so she just raised her upper body without the use of her hands, kissing his neck slowly. She felt him shake. He said her name quietly, in warning. She just grinned, scraping her teeth over the junction of his shoulder and his neck before biting down sharp enough to make his body jerk. Or maybe that was for a different reason. Either way it worked and he released her hands, his lips once again meeting hers in a fierce explosion. One of his hands fell heavily to the cushion to push himself up, supporting his weight so it no longer rested on her. The other hand was already on the knee of the leg not wrapped around him, sliding up her thigh at a dangerous rate. She bit his lip languorously, raking her teeth over the sensitive skin and forcing an animalistic sound to bleed from the back of Tristan's throat before he slammed his lips into hers, all teeth and tongue and fighting each other for control. He gripped the back of her thigh hard enough to bruise and pulled her against him, adjusting her lower body to a new angle that sent delicious tingles up her spine. She felt herself shiver and whisper his name, tangling her fingers in his hair.

Without warning he broke away, ignoring the sound of protest she made. He buried his face into her shoulder, his breathing labored. Rory tried to shift her hips against his, wanting to convince him to bring his lips back to hers, but his hand slid around to grip the side of her thigh and hold her in place; not to push her away, she was still nestled against him, but to immobilize her.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, not raising his head, "You really should stop me." he whispered against her skin.

"Mmm." she kissed his neck lightly, "I know."

His breath escaped in a sigh before he inhaled deeply through his nose. He exhaled just as slowly, his breath warm against her skin. After a few moments of deep breathing he spoke, "Don't move...okay?"

She blinked in surprise, dropping her arms from around him, "Alright."

He took another moment to steel himself before releasing her leg and slowly letting it fall to the bench. Then he pushed himself up creakily, as if in pain, and pushed himself back to that he was kneeling in front of her. She propped herself up on her elbows, staring at him through clouded eyes. His hair and shirt were disheveled, his lips swollen to a shocking size and his face was pale and flushed at the same time. There was a red mark pulsing where she'd bitten him. And the look in his eyes made her stomach tighten all over again.

Rory glanced down at herself to see that her skirt was pushed up to the top of her thighs, and it wasn't until she saw how rapidly her chest was rising and falling that she realized how heavily she was breathing. She didn't imagine that she looked much better than him. She ran her tongue over her lips to realize that they were just as swollen as his. She could feel the heat and flush on her cheeks. Her dress was much too tight for the bodice to have been displaced but she was sure her hair was unsalvageable.

She allowed him another moment to even out his breathing and get control of himself before she asked him about her hair. He blinked as if having forgotten that she even had any and then she saw his eyes shift to the messy waves that tumbled around her. He laughed out loud, but not unkindly, before holding his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her into a sitting position, holding her chin gently and turning her head so that he could reach behind her ear to pull out the string that held the braid in place. He slid it slowly from her hair and dropped it on the cushion between them before sliding his fingers up her hairline, pulling out the braid as he went. She was surprised at how gentle his hands were as he ruffled her hair, getting the braid untangled without pulling her hair. Once it was completely out he slid his hands through the loose locks and she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his as his fingertips pressed against her scalp soothingly, sending tingles down her spine. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, opening her eyes to look at him, "Are you good?"

He laughed lightly, nodding, "Yeah." He brought his hand up to skim the back of it down the side of her neck, his forehead creased, "Sorry about that."

She looked up at him in confusion for a moment before realizing that she would be carrying around several bite marks from his ministrations. "Oh." she laughed lightly, waving a hand, "Everyone thinks we're having a torrid love affair anyway, so it isn't an issue."

His eyes clouded momentarily and a look of unmistakable guilt washed over him. She shifted closer, tilting her head in question. It was a moment before he spoke, his voice quiet, "I am sorry about that too. I didn't realize..."

Her mouth opened, surprised, "Oh, no, Tristan, I didn't....I was kidding." his eyebrow arched, unconvinced. She shrugged, touching his face gently, "I mean, not about what they're saying, but it doesn't bother me." she shook her head, "I don't care."

He blinked slowly, opening his mouth to speak but a knock on the door interrupted him. He glared over at the door but didn't make a move to answer it. He turned back to her but before he could speak the banging started again. Tristan swore under his breath, looking at her longingly for another moment, as if he wanted to say something but the time had passed. Another round of banging resounded through he room. Tristan sighed, his entire body deflating, "Go away, Paris!" he yelled towards the door and Rory laughed, kissing his cheek.

"What?" a girl spoke through the door, her tone clipped, "What was that, Tristan? Is someone laughing? Do you have a girl in there with you?"

"Go away." was all he said, sliding off the bench. Rory followed him, slipping her feet into her shoes and pressing the back of her hand against her lips, trying to push down the swelling.

"You do!" she cried, "You have a girl in there!"

Tristan turned to Rory and rolled his eyes. She grinned up at him, biting her lip, and his expression changed to one of disbelief, his eyes wide, "No." Her grin widened as she stepped towards the door and he lunged after her, "Leigh!" he whispered sharply, glowering as she danced inches out of his grasp, running for the door. He bolted after her but right before he reached her she'd gotten to the door and flung it open to reveal not one, but two blonde girls. The first, who only seemed to be a year or so older than herself, was severe looking with sharp brown eyes, thin lips, and dark golden hair that probably fell halfway down her back but at the moment was piled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Just behind her was a girl that looked closer to Tristan's age. Her hair was much fairer than the first girl's, a bright blonde that fell just past her shoulders in large, loping curls. She had bedroom eyes and at the moment looked unbelievably bored. Her eyes swept over Rory with disinterest before she looked into the room behind her.

As soon as the door was opened Tristan reached her, groaning. He shot Rory a dirty look and she just smile at him brightly before turning to the one in the front, presumably Paris.

"Hi, I'm Leigh."

The girl's sharp expression shifted, one eyebrow lifting. She looked surprised, her eyes widening, though Rory couldn't imagine why. Maybe she wasn't used to Tristan's bed mates being so cheeky. "Are you?" her eyes darted towards Tristan over Rory's shoulder.

"Uhm, yes." Rory answered slowly.

She opened her mouth to say something else but the girl behind her leaned into the doorway, "Wait. You're Leigh?" she asked, amused.

She opened her mouth but it was Tristan's voice that rang out sharply, "Louise."

She glanced at him before looking back to Rory, shrugging one shoulder, "You're not what I expected."

Rory's eyebrow arched as she looked at the girl before her, "Excuse me?"

"I mean you're just so different from the others. And from what I heard you're not at all what I thought you'd be." she explained. Rory felt Tristan stiffen next to her. Louise smirked at him before dropping her gaze to Rory, "Of course, when Logan told us there was a woman trainer I didn't expect someone so..." she trailed off, glancing at Tristan as one eyebrow arched suggestively, "...feminine, I suppose." she looked back at Rory with a poisonous smile.

"Louise, shut up." that came from Paris, to Rory's surprise. She turned towards them, her gaze on Tristan for a moment before it slid hesitantly to the girl next to him, "I'm Paris and that's Louise, but you can ignore her."

"Hey, I was just pointing out facts."

"Louise." Tristan snapped again, stepping forward.

Rory touched his chest gently, "No, it's okay." he stopped, staring down at her in disbelief. She shrugged, throwing him a bright grin, "I have to go anyway. I told Logan I'd help him write up training schedules for when the men get back." Tristan's look told her he didn't believe her but he didn't say anything. She cut her eyes over to the two girls in front of them to see that both were staring at her hand on his chest as if they'd never seen one before, eyes wide and jaws sweeping the floor. She went on, looking back to Tristan, "So, I'm going to go help him with that before everyone else gets here, I guess, okay? So I'll see you later?" he nodded slowly and she could tell that he'd rather her stay but understood that she didn't want to deal with Louis and Paris and their staring.

"Alright." he leaned down, laying a light kiss on her lips, "I'll see you later tonight."

She smiled at him, biting her lip lightly before turning to Louise and Paris, stepping down the hall, "It was nice meeting you."

Louise was still staring at her, too surprised to respond. Paris, who could speak through her obvious shock, nodded back, "You too."

****

It didn't take her long to find Logan. He was outside with a girl who looked to be the same age as him; her skin was as pale as Rory's own usually was and raven black hair fell down her back in straight but full locks. She was wearing a light yellow dress, her shockingly girlish laughter carrying across the yard as Logan handed her a puppy from the same litter that Rory's dog had come from. She came towards them slowly, not sure if they were having a moment. But at her approach Logan turned and grinned hugely at catching sight of her, "Leigh!" he waved, beckoning her over. The girl twisted around, her bright gaze turned towards Rory.

"Hi." she smiled upon catching up to them.

"Hey." Logan nodded towards the girl next to him, "Leigh this is Madeline. Maddy, this is Leigh, one of our trainers."

She looked Rory over with open curiosity, not judgement like her two friends had. She tilted her head after a moment, her dark hair swirling in the light wind, "He was right. You are beautiful."

Rory laughed, rolling her eyes as she turned to the blonde between them, "Logan, what have you been telling?"

He opened his mouth uncertainly, torn between amusement and confusion, as if he knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Madeline rescued him, "It wasn't Logan." was all she said.

Rory's gaze snapped over to her, surprised. She just smiled lightly, shifting the small dog in her hands. "You are different though, than the others. I can tell. He wasn't lying about that one either."

"Maddy." Logan chastised, wrapping an arm around her, "There is something to be said for tact, love, and you aren't gifted in it."

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly as she looked over at Rory, genuinely surprised, "Oh, I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I won't say anything else about what Tristan has said. I promise."

Logan groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead, "Madeline, Madeline, Madeline."

"Whaaat?" she whined, looking over at Rory when Logan refused to raise his head from his palm.

Rory felt herself smile, watching the two of them interact. Tristan had been right. She would like Madeline. She shook her head lightly, "Nothing, it's alright."

The puppy in Madeline's hands yipped, reaching up to lick her arm. She bounced it, smiling now, "Okay, I really am sorry. I won't say anything else." she nudge Logan in the ribcage hard enough to make him grunt, "See, Logan? Did you see that? We made up without you. You can come out now." Rory laughed and Logan dropped his hand from his face, giving Madeline a dirty look. She scrunched her nose at him playfully before turning back to Rory, "It's very nice to meet you Leigh."

She nodded, smiling, "You too, Madeline."

Logan looked up towards the castle, "Did you meet Paris yet?"

"Yes, I met her and Louise."

"At the same time?"

She laughed, "Yes."

Logan's eyebrow arched as he reached out and grabbed her hand, lifting it above her head to twirl her in a circle, "You don't look too injured."

"They weren't so bad."

Her comment was followed by complete silence. Logan and Madeline both stared at her blankly for a moment before looking at each other and erupting into laughter. Rory opened her mouth, but said nothing, closing it and leaning back on her heels. Logan threw an arm around her shoulders, "Oh Leigh, you shouldn't try to be sweet. It confuses me. It's so uncharacteristic." She rolled her eyes, elbowing him like Madeline had. He grunted again and the raven haired girl burst into a second bout of laughter. Logan glared at her with mock anger, "Cruel." he snapped, "Ganging up on me." he tsk-ed at the two girls.

Rory smiled up at him innocently, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Actually, I am being sweet. I came out here to help you."

"Oh yeah, you're doing a wonderful job."

She laughed, shaking her head, "No. I was coming to help you write up training schedules for next week. I thought we could get it out of the way now."

"Oh, yeah." he nodded thoughtfully, "Madeline, do you want to come with us?" She nodded and followed them, toting the puppy with her as they led her up to the castle and in through the military wing entrance.

They came to one of the largest training rooms and Logan grabbed several stretches of paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink before joining Rory at the center of the room, sitting next to her on the stone floor. Madeline sat with them part of the time, looking at the lists and drawings they laid out and wrote down, asking about some of them. She played with the dog in her arms, once losing control of it and it ran to Rory, jumping in her lap and attacking her hair, chewing on it like a toy. Logan laughed, nearly rolling on the floor....until Rory pulled the dog off and tossed it at him. He caught it reflexively, his face changing as he realized she'd thrown it in close proximity to his own hair. He swore loudly as the puppy snapped at his head and got a hold of the blonde locks. The two girls laughed as he grappled with a seven pound dog.

They weren't in the room long before the puppy fell asleep in Madeline's arms. She was looking around the room with a restless curiosity and Rory got the feeling that Madeline couldn't stay still for long. She held her hands out and Madeline beamed, handing him to Rory and standing up. The dog shifted slightly but went right back to sleep. And Madeline moved around the room, looking at the various hand held weapons ringing the walls. Swords and daggers and knives. Crossbows and long bows, throwing knives and throwing axes. Spears and maces and axes.

Logan glanced up at her every few minutes, "Don't touch anything sharp." he called out finally.

"Uh-huh." she waved a hand at him, "Write up your training schedule."

He shot Rory a look and she shrugged, turning back to the paper between them. They wrote out workouts and schedules for a little longer before Madeline's voice, coupled with the sound of metal dragging, broke their concentration, "Ooooh." she crooned excitedly, "What is this?" she turned to them and both of their heads shot up to see that she was awkwardly holding a solid wooden pole a little shorter than her arm, the top rounding out into a ball twice as large as a fist. A large metal spike protruded from the top of the ball and more metal barbs were scattered all over the ball, tapered to wicked looking points. "Augh, this is heavy." she observed, not able to pick it up very high.

Logan jumped to his feet quicker than Rory had ever seen him move, "Aehh, Madeline." he approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her and make her drop it, "That would be a Morning Star." as soon as he was close to her he reached out with one hand, grabbing it towards he head to slide it from her grip. He easily picked it up one-handed, where as Madeline hadn't been able to get it with two. "Very dangerous. Very sharp." he gave her a look.

She smiled innocently, her eyes wide, "It didn't look that sharp."

His eyebrow arched and he motioned to the viciously pointed fingers of metal all over it. "No?"

She shrugged, still amused, "Well, they're baby spikes, really. And the big one at the top didn't look that bad."

Logan blinked slowly, in disbelief, "Baby spikes?" he said airily, turning towards Rory, who watched the exchange with a grin. He motioned towards the weapon in his hand, "Baby spike, Leigh."

She nodded, "Well yes, they are much smaller than the rest of the spikes we have." she looked over at Madeline, playing along to torturing Logan, "So really, yes, I guess they would be baby spikes."

"Huh." he looked between the two girls distrustingly before setting the Morning Star back in its place. "You." he pointed towards Madeline, "Behave. And you." he pointed to Rory as he came back to sit with her, "Not cute."

She glanced up to Madeline who was watching them, biting her lip to hide a smile. Rory snickered lightly, turning back to the work between her and Logan.

****

By the time she finished with Logan it was evening. There was only one more close call where Logan had to potentially save Madeline's life. She'd picked up a mace, twirling it between her hands to watch it twist. In her defense it wasn't exactly sharp, but the bludgeoning weapon twirling through the air to close to his friend's head had made Logan turn an unhealthy shade of green.

Now she walked slowly towards the very back of the castle, in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn't seen Marty in several days and wanted to tell him about what Logan had said while they were camping. Not all of it, of course, and she certainly didn't want to divulge what had happened earlier that afternoon, but just to try to convince him that he was wrong about Tristan.

When she came to the kitchen, however, she didn't see Marty. But there was someone else she'd never seen before standing with Sookie. He looked to be Tristan's age, maybe a year older. He was tall, with extremely messy hair a darker brown than hers sticking up in all directions. His face was angular, his features striking and his eyes shining, but at the moment it looked as if flour and another, dark red food were smeared on parts of his face. He moved with a pent up energy, seeming to be jumping up constantly. He was talking loudly to the entire kitchen, telling them about how amazing he was at cooking as they went along with their tasks, amused by him but not distracted. Sookie stood next to him, laughing as she "helped" him to make something in a large metal bowl on the counter in front of them. From what Rory could see Sookie was doing everything and his contribution was to grab containers around them, which Sookie had most likely pre-measured, and throw the ingredients in with a flourish while the castle's cook stirred. His clothes were obviously expensive, tailored to fit him perfectly. He had an apron on, new smears in so many colors that Rory couldn't imagine it was all from cooking. She glanced around to see that one of the girls on the other side of the kitchen, who kept casting lusty glances at him, had the same red stuff in her hair that was on his face. It was smeared across her apron in a splattered pattern, as if he'd thrown it at her, which, watching him now, Rory didn't doubt. She guessed that was probably what the many-colored smears on his apron were from.

He reached over to dip his finger in the bowl and Sookie smacked his hand with her large wooden spoon. "Oooh. Feisty." he smirked down at her, bringing his finger, now coated with a thick yellow sauce somewhere between a liquid and a solid, to his mouth and licked it. Judging from his accent he was from Gildren.

Sookie rolled her eyes at the young man before her, "Don't stick your fingers in the food."

"But love, I'm just such a gifted creator of substances consumed for nutrition and pleasure! I positively cannot contain myself. Really, if you tried it you would understand." her eyebrows arched and he shot her a devilish grin, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers, "I solemnly swear they've been nowhere indecent such as would corrupt this bountiful feast of pleasure we are creating in this wee little bowl." he reached around her again but she smacked his hand away. He pulled his hand back and gave her a smoldering look that Rory was sure usually got him whatever he wanted.

But it didn't work on Sookie. She laughed, obviously entertained, but was insusceptible to his charms. "Finnegan Morgan." she pointed her spoon, covered in the thick yellow sauce, "You will not turn my kitchen into a circus or a brothel."

He fixed her with a wounded stare, all except for his eyes, which still glittered with wicked amusement, "But Sookie, kitten, I can't help it if women fall at my feet and people stop and stare in amazement at my very presence." he wrapped his long arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

She pushed him away, laughing, "Try it on an unmarried woman twenty years younger than me, Finn."

Rory laughed from the door and Finn turned around sharply, his ears pricked. He smiled widely at her, his interest piqued, beckoning her forward, "You. Try this."

Her eyebrow arched and she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest, "Excuse me?"

His grin widened, obviously pleased with her refusal to cooperate, "What I meant, love, was come try this delicious custard and tell me if you think it is positively the most heavenly thing that has graced your lips." his eyebrow quirked as he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl, "Yet."

Rory laughed, her head falling back, and walked into the kitchen, pulling up a stool to sit across from them, "Hey Sookie."

She smiled warmly, "Hey Leigh, how are you?"

Finn gasped, his jaw dropping. Rory looked over at him, confused. He was grinning so widely she thought his face might split. "Leigh?" he said in delight, as if she'd brought him a gift, "The Leigh? Beer and bedsheets, love, why didn't you say so?" he looked more excited now than he had when he'd been flirting with her. He held the spoon out, "First, give this a bite. It's lovely, if I do say so myself."

She laughed, taking the spoon from him, "Thank you." by now she wasn't shocked by his reaction to her considering it was the fourth time around she'd had one of Logan and Tristan's friends stare at her and repeat her name several times. She licked the spoon and looked up at them, "Mhmm yes, it's delicious Sookie."

Finn grabbed his chest as if his heart hurt, "Come again, love? I've slaved over the stove and you compliment the woman?"

Rory laughed at him, "I'm sure you were fabulous moral support too."

His face broke into a grin, apparently satisfied with that, and pulled off his apron before coming around the counter to stand next to her, sweeping into a low bow, "I am Finnegan Morgan; Prince of Gildren, corrupter of maidens, maestro of pleasure throughout the realm, master chef, and closest friend of Tristan." he laid a light kiss on the back of her palm, meeting her amused gaze with his own wickedly glinting one, "And I must say I most enthusiastically approve." She laughed and he continued, leaning towards her and whispering conspiratorially, "That being said, I would like you to remember that if you ever tire of my dear friend, Finney's bed is always open to a lonely maiden."

Rory grinned, knowing that he wasn't serious. But she leaned forward as well so that their faces were close. His expression brightened. Her lip quirked as she whispered, "You have flour all over your face."

He gasped in mock shame, "Lord, I am completely out of countenance!" he twisted around, "Sookie, love, a towel, please, if I may?" the cook rolled her eyes and tossed him a damp towel. He turned back around and grinned at Rory, holding it out to her. "I would do it myself, but there's no glass to see my pretty face." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head lightly as she took the towel from him and started wiping off his face. He grinned, closing his eyes and humming contentedly. Every few seconds muttering, "Oh yes." or "Right there." or "Again please."

Finally, her sides splitting in laughter, Rory punched his shoulder lightly, "Stop it."

He opened his eyes, looking at her innocently, "I'm sorry, did I say something?"

Rory sighed, clicking her tongue as she tossed the towel on the counter, "You're clean."

Finn laughed out loud, "You are quite mistaken." he grabbed her hand, "But I have somewhere to deliver you. Come love, come."

Rory looked up at him, "I'm not sure I trust you to take me anywhere."

He grinned at her, "Smart woman. But don't worry, I love my gorgeous face the way it is. I wouldn't want Tristan to rearrange it." he pulled her from the chair and dragged her out of the kitchen, waving to Sookie on their way out. He continued in the corridor, "However, if that weren't a threat, you should have been extremely smart not to come." he flashed her a devastating smile and Rory had the inkling that he spoke this way to anyone of the female variety.

"Where are we going?" she asked, following him, but she wasn't sure why.

He tsk-ed her, "Patience, patience." But it wasn't long before they reached one of the lounging rooms in the residential part of the castle where most of the bedrooms were. She heard laughter and shouting from behind one of the closed doors and that was the one that he pushed open, pulling her in with him, "Look what I found!" he called proudly.

Everyone inside looked up, though the laughter didn't cease, most of them called greetings to her. Tristan and Logan called to her, of course. Madeline greeted her warmly, waving from her spot next to a light haired girl Rory hadn't seen. Paris waved politely and Louise wiggled her fingers in greeting. Other than the girl next to Madeline there were two dark haired young men she hadn't met. She could pick which was which, though. Henry was obvious because of his Koralean descent. The other must have been Colin.

Finn motioned around the room, pulling her in and closing the door behind them. "Leigh this is Madeline and Stephanie and Paris and Henry and Louise and Colin. Everyone this is Leigh the Magnificent."

Stephanie, Henry, and Colin all waved to her in greeting and she smiled back at them. The laughter and talking started back up and Finn dragged her across the room but he hadn't gotten halfway to the other side when Tristan called, "Get your filthy hands off of my trainer, Finn." his voice was light, laughter underlying it. But when Rory looked over at him she saw that although he said it jokingly, he meant it.

Finn, unruffled, shot his friend a disappointed look, "Fine." he pulled her over to one of the couches, "I'll just sit her here with Colin where her virtue won't be in any danger."

The dark haired young man in question shot up, "Hey!" Colin broke off and grinned over at Rory as Finn dropped her next to him on the couch, "Hello."

She smiled back politely, "Hi."

He turned back to Finn, "Watch your tongue on foreign land, you filthy barbarian."

Finn smirked, shaking his head lightly, "You're just calling me that to get on my good side."

***************

Rory was woken the next morning by sunlight slanting through her window, falling across her face. She stirred, turning over to burrow deeper into the covers and hide her face from the light. Judging by the position of the light through the windows it was late morning, maybe even early afternoon. Last night she'd stayed in the lounge room with Tristan, Logan, and all their friends until early in the morning. Now it was all a blur of laughing and goading each other and the others reminiscing about when they were little. Madeline, Stephanie, and Finn took to her instantly. Colin liked her also, but she didn't think as much as the other three. Henry like her well enough but she didn't see them ever being great friends. Louise had warmed up to her some, but she still seemed to think Rory was below real consideration, only one of Tristan's conquests, and Paris was still suspicious of her. She guessed she couldn't blame Paris. It must have been hard to watch someone you'd grown up with hurt himself over and over like Tristan did, touching everyone but never letting anyone in. Not to mention that he was the king so Paris probably assumed she had nefarious intentions.

She yawned, groaning lightly as she buried her face into one of her pillows. Several of them had been sopping drunk. Namely Finn and Colin. Well, mainly Finn. He'd spent most of the night propositioning each of the females in the room. Over and over. Finally he stopped doing it to her when Tristan had told him to piss off. The other four girls didn't get a reprieve though. Madeline and Stephanie had become delirious, laughing at everything and falling over each other, they would keep starting stories and conversations without finishing, their words slurring. Sometime during the middle of the night Logan and Louise had disappeared, returning several hours later. Rory hadn't drank any, and neither had Paris, and so naturally they mainly talked to each other.

And several hours of talking to her had made Rory realize that she and Paris probably could have been wonderful friends under different circumstances. Paris was naturally distrusting and she was really the only one who seemed not to trust Rory. The others liked her, except for Louise who pretended she was just an amusing little servant. She could tell that her intelligence and ease around so many people of higher birth than her surprised Paris and she'd made some off-handed comment about how that was probably why Tristan liked her so much. She and Paris also spent a lot of the night with Colin and Tristan, who hadn't really drank less than the others, but were better at controlling themselves.

The sky had been lightening when Tristan walked her to her room that morning, the sun not yet rising but on it's way. He'd walked her to her room, tracing his fingers lightly up her arm in a stupor of alcohol and tiredness. Once they'd reached the door she'd turned to face him, nearly falling over with fatigue, but he'd caught her before she fell, shockingly given how drunk she'd thought he was. They'd both laughed, delirious with exhaustion. She'd been surprised that he hadn't invited himself inside, but considering how tired they both were it made sense. He'd just leaned down, kissing her slowly, his lips and tongue still stinging of strong mead, before pulling away and bidding her goodnight. Getting her tightly corseted dress and slip off on her own had been a hassle but as soon as she'd hit the bed she'd been sleep.

Rory groaned again, rolling over and sitting up, stretching. "Nice of you to finally join the living." Anna snapped from across the room, mending a rip in one of her dresses while Duke dozed at her feet.

"How late is it?" she asked, slipping out of the bed. Her nightgown fell to the floor, sweeping across it as she shivered at the cold stone.

"Well you slept the morning away." she said crossly, watching as Rory came across the room to pick up the sleeping puppy. He whimpered, rearranging himself in her arms and burying his face in the crook of her elbow before he resumed snoring softly. Once he was settled Anna went on, "And you nearly might as well not have gotten up. It's the middle of the afternoon." she nodded towards Rory's armoire, "Your tea is stone cold."

Rory made a face at that, "I could always just not drink it."

Anna actually laughed at that, though she didn't really sound amused, "Now, of all times. You are drinking that."

"What do you mean, now of all times?"

The old maid fixed her with a look, staring at her as if that was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard Rory say, "I know everything that goes on in this household, Leigh." Rory opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but then she closed it, biting her bottom lip. She sighed in defeat, walking towards the dresser and Anna smiled in satisfaction, "Now, drink up. I want to wash your hair."

Rory's nose scrunched, partly from the tea and partly from Anna's words, "Why? It was just washed yesterday."

Anna nodded, "Yes, that's true. But you need to look your best today." Rory looked at her, lost for a moment, before she remembered Max telling her weeks ago that Tristan's friends would arrive the day before the anniversary of his father's death....which would make that today. She opened her mouth to say something about it but Anna cut her off, "Tristan likes your hair down best, I'm sure, so that's how we'll so it." she stood, "I brought water in this morning but since only your hair is getting wet there's no need to heat it." Rory thought that there most definitely was a need to warm it, but she didn't voice it, knowing that it would just take longer that way.

She set the dog on the foot of her bed before laying on the ground where Anna motioned, two large buckets of water rested on the ground and she laid with the first behind her head and propped herself up on her elbows, leaning her head back until she felt the freezing water touch her scalp. Mercifully Anna worked quickly, working soap through her hair until it was lathered and then rinsing it, using the second bucket to get all the soap out when the first bucket became saturated with it. Rory sat up and Anna wrapped a towel around her hair to help her dry it before she motioned Rory behind the changing screen.

Today, of all days, Rory decided to be docile and easy. She knew that Anna had practically raised both Tristan and his father. She couldn't imagine that today would be easy for Anna. She rubbed the towel through her hair before handing it to Anna and slipping behind the screen. She missed her own family, of course, but she felt as if she'd dealt with their deaths. It had been ten years so by now it was just part of her life, part of who she was. It still hurt, but usually she could think of it without excruciating pain. Sometimes without any pain at all. But she'd been able to deal with it. Jess or Rachel had always been there for her to cry on or yell at, many a time Jess had been her punching bag, giving her an outlet for her inexpressible anger when they were young adolescents. Even at that, she'd dealt with it, come to terms with it. She didn't see how Tristan could have. She doubted he had anyone to talk to about it, to take his own anger out on. How could he have moved on, when he didn't even know why his father was dead? She knew, realistically, that she shouldn't have felt sorry for him given that he was the one who had taken her own family away from her. But really it was that she could empathize with him. Tristan's father had been his family, not his mother. And she knew how it felt to lose your family. So even though a part of her hated it, she still felt for him. Still didn't want him to hurt.

She pulled the slip over her head, today it was a corseted one with a low square cut neckline and thin straps holding it up. It fell just above her knees. Anna came around the screen to lace it up, not tying it as tight as she had the day before. It still squeezed her in and accented her hips, pushing up her chest, but she could breathe easier. Anna then helped her into the cap sleeved light blue dress with white stitching and soft lace that was hanging behind the screen. The bodice of this one was tight as well to her hips where the skirt flared out full and flowing to the ground. It's square neckline was low for her, but not nearly so revealing as a lot of women wore. Anna adjusted the dress before lacing it up the back tightly. She then led Rory around to sit at the vanity and picked the towel up again, running it through her hair to pull out the excess water. She pulled at sections of Rory's damp hair, twirling them tightly around her fingers so that her natural waves were almost curls.

Once Rory's hair was dry Anna looked at her, opening her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't bring herself to. She looked up at the old woman, confused, "What's wrong?"

Anna sighed, leaning against the vanity. She looked tired, at a loss for words. Rory didn't think she'd ever seen her look so....human. The old woman looked up at her and for the first time Rory realized how tired she must be. She'd always thought of Anna as old, but never as deteriorating or worn-out. It was a moment before she spoke, her voice scratchy, "You really are beautiful, Leigh, and I know I haven't been the most welcoming, but..." she trailed off, sighing, "Tristan actually cares for you. More than I've seen him care for anyone in years. I wasn't sure of you at first, but the more I see him with you the more I realize...." she broke off again, stopping herself. "I thought at first that you were only entertaining him because he's the king but now I realize that isn't it." she stared at the young woman scrutinizingly, her expression shifting back to it's normal scowl. The physical weakness that Rory had seen moments ago was gone, "I just wanted to say that I misread you in the beginning. Now go on." she motioned towards the door, dismissing Rory.

She pushed herself out of the chair, confused and thrown off and shocked by Anna's erratic behavior. Her stomach growled once she left the room so she headed in the direction of the informal dining hall where the occupants of the castle ate their everyday meals. When she entered she was surprised to see that the table was rimmed with nearly everyone from last night, all looking as if they'd just woken up as well. Stephanie's head was on the table, breathing deeply as if she were asleep. Madeline was holding her temples, squinting and complaining about how bright the sun was. Rory looked around the room. The sun really wasn't bright in here at all. Colin was staring at the plate of food in front of him as if he were going to be ill; Louise was drinking water, a hand on her forehead and her cheeks red. Logan was sprawled out in his chair, looking ruffled and tired. Paris and Henry were more alert and far less hungover than the others, talking quietly at the end of the table. Tristan was missing.

Everyone was bleary-eyed and silent. Except for Finn, who brightened when she entered the room, "Love!" he called, sitting up from his place at the head of the table. Everyone present cringed and then in a wave of annoyance nearly all of them shouted at him to shut up. She smiled and waved a hand at him, too afraid to speak in this breakfast party. He beckoned her over, patting the chair next to him. He didn't seem put out by having five people scream at him at once, but Rory doubted that anything at all really bothered him. She took the seat next to him and his grin widened, "How did you sleep?" he asked, taking a long pull from his drink.

"Pretty well." she looked around the table at the others who looked like the living dead and then back at Finn, who was chipper and bright. She looked at him for a moment, sniffing, "Finn." she looked at the cup in his hand, "Are you drinking already?"

He shot her a grin over the rim of his cup, "Keeps the headaches away." he took a long drink before holding it out to her, "Would you like a nip?"

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. She was about to speak when two more chairs were pulled up close to them and Paris and Henry sat down heavily. She looked over at them, "Hi."

Henry nodded, smiling, "Good morning."

Finn shook his head, "It's not morning, mate. It's afternoon. Like, not even early afternoon."

Paris narrowed one eye at Finn and when he turned to look at her he jumped back in surprise, "Euhh!" he made a cross with his index fingers and held it in front of him, "That's not natural, Paris love." he stared at her twitching eye and grimaced, clicking his teeth, "Erm." he flexed his fingers, pulling them back so that they were no longer close to her, "Yes, anyway, as we were saying." he looked to the other two.

Rory and Henry laughed as Paris's eye returned to it's normal size and she turned back to Rory, "As we were saying, hello."

Rory nodded, "Hi."

Finn grinned widely, "Hello–"

Paris cut him off, "Not you." Finn's face fell and he pouted his lips, 'humph'-ing under his breath as he brought his drink back up to his lips.

"Leigh, we wanted to talk to you about Tristan."

She nodded, "Where is he?"

Paris sighed, biting her bottom lip, "Well that's the problem. He came through here early this afternoon on his way to the cellar. Henry and I tried to talk to him but he ignored us." she pressed her lips together, "He came back through here with a few bottles of alcohol and then locked himself in his room." she shook her head helplessly, "We've been trying all afternoon to get him to come out, or to let one of us in. But he just yells at us to go away and throws things at the door."

Rory shook her head lightly, "And what do you want me to do?"

Paris shrugged and Rory could see that it caused her pain to have to ask a stranger for help with someone she cared for so much, "He let you in yesterday, didn't he?"

"Yes." she said quietly.

Paris looked down at her hands, pressing the palms together slowly, "He locked the rest of us out." Rory watched her, uncertain of what to say. Sorry? She wasn't, and she didn't think it would help anyway. She could see that it clearly hurt Paris to have her friend let Rory, or 'Leigh', in, a girl he'd only known for a few months when he shut out the people he'd known for years.

Rory looked around the table to see that they were all now looking at her. She hadn't even realized that the others had been paying attention. She turned back to Paris, speaking quietly, "He wouldn't let any of you in today?"

She shook her head, whispering as well, "Not even Logan."

Rory looked down at her hands, drawing her eyebrows together as her cheeks burned, uncertain of what to do with all of them staring at her. She pitied Tristan for his situation, she did. But now that she was looking at it, now that she was actually faced with it, she didn't think that she could comfort him on the day his father died. Didn't think she really had it in her. She licked her lips before pressing them together, squinting her eyes at the table, still speaking quietly enough that only Paris, Finn, and Henry could hear her, "I think you should try again. If he doesn't come out then I'll see if I can get in." Paris didn't answer at first and after a moment Rory looked up to see that her eyes narrowed as if she'd let her down, as if everything that she'd suspected about Rory had been right all along. "Don't look at me like that." she snapped.

Paris blinked, surprised, "What?"

Rory shook her head, "Don't look at me like that. I know you hate this whole situation, I know you don't like the way he and I are, but what do you want from me? Yes, he let me in yesterday but that doesn't mean he's going to do it again and you glaring at me like I'm using him or like I betrayed someone isn't helping the situation. Stop acting like I have wicked motives and goals. I'm not using him, I'm not faking it, and I don't want to take anyone's place so stop looking at me like I'm a thief." Paris stared at her in silence, speechless. Rory sighed, deflating. She bit her lip, shaking her head lightly, "I do care about him, Paris. But I don't know that he'll let me in."

**

And that was how, several hours later, Rory found herself standing outside of Tristan's door, staring at the dark wood. Paris had come to her and asked her to make good on her offer. She, Logan, Finn, Colin, and Stephanie had all tried to get him to either come out or let them in, even talk to them through the door. But nothing. Paris's confidence that he would let Rory in had faded, but she still wanted her to try. And because she'd promised, because she wanted him to talk to her; because she cared, disturbingly enough, she now stood at his door, plucking up her courage to knock. She hadn't been in his room since the night Brad have shoved her in, the second day she'd been in the castle. That trip hadn't ended well. Tristan hadn't looked at her for weeks after. She ran her hands over the smooth wood, resting her forehead against it for a moment before knocking quietly.

She heard him sigh and then call through the door, "Go away, already."

"Tristan." she said, loudly enough for him to hear, her face inches from the door, "Tristan open the door."

He didn't answer at first and she didn't hear movement anymore. There was a stretch of silence so long she wondered if he'd gone to another room. Finally he spoke through the door, his voice empty, "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you." she heard a note of trembling in her voice and bit her lip, trying to push it down. She wondered briefly how drunk he was.

"Really this time, what do you want?" there was an acidic snap to his voice.

Her head cocked up, moving closer to the door. He sounded like he was just on the other side, "That is what I want." he didn't say anything and she sighed, looking down, "Tristan, please. Open the door."

"What, no one else could get in so they finally sent you?" he asked, and she was sure this time that he was right on the other side. When he spoke next there was a note of bitter amusement in his voice, "That's smart. Low, but smart."

"Tristan." she snapped, pounding her open palm on the door, "Open up."

"No." he snapped back and she heard him walk away.

"You have it all wrong, Tristan." she yelled through the door, banging her hand on it again. It stung her palm but she didn't stop. "Tristan!"

"What?" She gasped, staggering forward as the door was suddenly flung open. He stood before her, his hair sticking up in all directions; he was shirtless. Rough cotton pants hung low on his hips and he still hadn't shaved, his wheat colored stubble now visible against his tanned skin. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. He wasn't angry, exactly, but it was close. He held a bottle in one hand; she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She opened her mouth to speak but her gaze was drawn down to his bare chest and her breath hitched. She'd never seen him without a shirt on. The skin of his chest was as smooth and as tanned as his arms; his chest and abdomen, which she'd felt before but never seen, were just as prominent and defined as she'd imagined. Without his shirt on she saw how broad his chest really was, the muscles clearly visible and smooth. His stomach was rippled with muscles, feeling it before had made her think of a washboard and now she found that she'd been right to make the comparison. Her gaze swept back up, running over his shoulders and arms for a moment, taking in the broad muscles and arms that flowed together so perfectly she had to take a moment to catch her breath. His entire body was ripped with defined and muscles rather than pure bulk. She could almost feel his warm skin under her hands, against her lips.

Her gaze snapped to his face to see that he was leaning one arm against the doorframe, blocking the entrance as he watched her, his lip quirked in self-satisfied amusement, "See something you like?" she glared at him and he just smirked wider, "Your mouth is sill open." She shot him a dirty look, pushing his arm out of the way and coming into the room. It looked the same as she remembered, a comfortable looking couch, a large cushioned chair, a table and some books. A fireplace. And five doors leading to other rooms. Tristan turned, not following her inside but staying in the doorway. His voice was empty when he spoke, the amusement gone, "What do you want Leigh?"

She turned around, "I told you."

He shook his head, his voice bitter, "Leigh, Paris has probably tried to get in here five times. Finn and Logan too. They've sent Colin and Stephanie multiple times. Louise, Madeline, and Henry have all had a go at it. Don't pretend that you came here on your own. They sent you."

Rory bit her lip, exhaling quietly, "I didn't think you'd let me in."

"That's shit and you know it." he snapped. She froze, staring at him. He shook his head, "You knew perfectly well that I'd let you in, Leigh, so don't even try that one."

She looked at him across the room, running her hands through her hair nervously, "I don't–" she broke off, looking away from him, "You've known them for your entire life, Tristan. I didn't want to throw it in their faces."

He shook his head, "Throw what in their faces?"

She looked back to him, speaking quietly, "The fact that you would let me in when you wouldn't do it for them."

Tristan exhaled heavily, kicking the door shut as he came further into the room, "Now that I believe, even if I think your reasoning is off." he collapsed on the couch, his anger gone to be replaced with the arrogant, languorous air he'd taken on when she was staring at his body. He took a long drink from the bottle in his hand before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, "But I'm not in the mood to talk right now, so unless you've come with a different form of entertainment planned...." he motioned with the bottle, not opening his eyes, "The door is there."

Instead of going to the door she walked over to him and grabbed the bottle, pulling it from his grip, "You shouldn't be drinking again."

He looked up at her, "Give it back."

"No." she leaned over to set it on the table, out of his reach, "You're drunk."

He looked up at her for a moment, his egotistical attitude fading. His voice was quiet when he spoke, wanting her to believe him, "I'm not drunk, Leigh."

She looked down at him, surprised by how soft his voice was, how different from how it has sounded only moments ago. She didn't take her eyes off of him as she stepped closer, kneeling in front of the couch between his outstretched knees, her hands on top of his legs to keep her balance. She stared into his clear eyes and he looked back at her with as much intelligence as he always did. Rory was silent for a moment, caught up by his focused gaze. "You aren't, are you?" she said gently, surprised.

He shook his head, sitting up straighter to bring himself closer to her, "No."

She had to lean her head back now to look up at him and she was about to speak but the words were cut off in her throat as he reached forward, brushing her hair back from her face. Her automatic reaction was to close her eyes but she fought it, not wanting to look away from him. She watched Tristan as he swallowed hard, tracing his fingers over the contours of her face, his expression torn between pulling away and bringing her closer. She brought her hands up to wrap around his wrists, holding his hands securely where they were, against her skin. She felt him shudder gently before leaning down, capturing her lips against his.

He kissed her slowly at first, sliding his fingers over the sensitive skin of her face and the line of her jaw, down through her hair. When his hands reached the tips of her hair they slid to her back, moving slowly up until they were tangled in her hair at her scalp. Tristan kissed her deeper, pulling her head upward gently, coaxing her to move. She climbed from the floor up into his lap without breaking her lips from his, giving him what he wanted. She straddled him, her hands coming to wrap around the back of his neck, her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck.

His tongue swept over the line of her lips, parting them, and she opened her mouth wider for him. His hands were at the back of her head, tangled in her hair and keeping her head tilted slightly so that their lips connected smoothly. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping against hers, his full lips against hers and his teeth scraping the sensitive skin around her mouth and the inside of her lips. Rory pulled his bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it gently; she grinned against him at the guttural sound that escaped from the back of his throat as she slowly released his lip, scraping her teeth over it with a pressure that she was sure bordered on pain. As soon as she released his lip his mouth was on hers, harder than before.

His right hand moved, releasing its grip on her hair but the other held firm. His free hand slid down the natural path of her face, trailing under her ear and down the line of her jaw, his fingers brushing the side of her face. He moved it slowly down her neck, pressing against the smooth skin of her pulse, running along her collarbone. Her hands slid from his neck to clench his bare shoulders, pulling him closer. The formal dresses she was given to wear when in the company of nobles or for specific events, as the one she had on now, always exposed more of her chest than the ones she wore everyday. And Tristan took full advantage of it, running his fingertips across her collarbone before scraping them languorously down her breastbone. His fingers brushed against the top of her breast, made more prominent by the corsets she'd been forces into. The pressure of his fingers immediately decreased, tracing over the swell of her breasts just visible over the neckline of her dress. She inhaled shakily through her nose, pressing her lips harder against his. Her left hand released its grip on his shoulder and jerked down to grab his upper arm, clenching the biceps controlling the hand that was sliding across her body. She gripped his arm, feeling the muscle like she never had before, skin on skin. She was momentarily caught off guard by how large and defined it was. She always forgot how solid he was, how powerful, and every time she touched him it was like realizing it for the first time. She tightened her grip on his shoulder as well, eyes still closed but able to picture the broad, solid planes and lines of his muscled shoulders.

But her reflection didn't last any longer because his fingers dipped lower, pressing just under the neckline of her dress. She broke her lips from his but only barely, moving them far enough that they were no longer pressed against his so that she could breathe, with hadn't been an option when his lips and hands both assaulted her. She kept her eyes closed, her forehead touching his lightly. Their breath mixed in the fraction of an inch between their mouths; when she exhaled in shaking breaths her lips brushed against his, not in a kiss, but a touch. She could feel her chest rising and falling heavily and she bit her lip, swallowing hard in an effort to stop herself from laying down and pulling him on top of her, giving him what she knew he wanted. What she wanted.

Tristan stared at her, his breathing labored as well. He watched across the minuscule space between them, her forehead hot where it touched his lightly. Her eyes were closed, her full, dark eyelashes fluttering as she fought herself for control. Her normally alabaster skin was darker now, lightly tanned from the days of riding in the sun. But she was still delicately light skinned, giving a soft background to the lust induced flush that collected on her cheeks. Her hair was full and so dark, some of it fell down her back but the rest was tangled in his hand, the silk strands sliding through his fingers. He wondered if she knew that she carried the faint scent of wild flowers. He watched her, the gracefully designed bone structure that was only made more evident by her arousal; her flawless skin and the heat that kissed her cheeks and turned them the color of sunset; and her lips, always full and perfect but now swollen and red as the roses that climbed the walls of his castle. She still radiated an innocence, a nameless angelicness that made him know that she was utterly unattainable to him.

And with that thought came the bitter turmoil it always brought. Now that he'd touched her, now that he'd tasted her, the knowledge that he could never really have her made him hate himself. From the first moment he'd kissed her, after warning her against it, he'd had the unquenchable need to do it again. And again. He'd needed more. He needed all of her, everything. Always. And it wasn't all carnal. Wasn't just lust. It was a desire, an innate and deep rooted necessity that had always been within him but he'd never recognized before he kissed her. She'd touched something inside him, called to something within him. Something he'd just found and recognized. And it wasn't a want. Kira was a want. Reading was a want. Even eating and sleeping, when compared to her, were frivolous excesses. Leigh was a need. She wasn't an option or a choice. She never had been. But his need for her was complicated by the fact that he knew she was unattainable, no matter how much he wanted her. But looking at her now, he made himself push the thoughts away, focusing on nothing but her breathing and the heat that pumped from her body into his. He couldn't think about it, not now while she was so close. And looking at her now he couldn't hold back still, couldn't watch her lips instead of kiss them. He shifted his head forward, closing the minuscule space that separated them to fuse his lips against hers again.

She gasped into his mouth, digging her fingers into his biceps and shoulders. The heat still pounded through her body, slamming in all directions in her chest and her head and her stomach and even in her thighs. She kissed him harder, shifting her body against his to get as close to him as she possibly could. She felt his lips twitch against hers, a small smirk as she kissed him back hard, meeting him and betting higher. And he delivered.

It was her turn to gasp and Tristan's turn to grin in self satisfaction as he slipped his fingers further down the front of her bodice, brushing against the full curve of her breast, his touch running down the valley between her breasts and then fully over the smooth curves. She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering open as she ripped her lips from his, not knowing what to do as her body responded to his touch, engulfed in a wave of heat so that she felt she would explode if she didn't break the kiss and breathe. Her mouth didn't close after her gasp, rather it stayed wide, her mind and body too overwhelmed with sensations to react. He locked his dark gaze with hers, his normally clear eyes were deep and so dark, filled with some emotion or want she couldn't put a name to but her body recognized. She felt the muscles of her open jaw flex, her entire body reacting as his fingers moved across her as light as a kiss. At first she couldn't make a sound, her body shimmering and pulsing from where his fingertips moved slowly against her and spreading out to envelope her until it came to rest in the very pit of her stomach, warming her and banishing any worries or fears, expelling any thought but Tristan from her mind. She clenched her fingers tighter where she held him, feeling his muscles flex in response. She felt herself tensing, as if Tristan were only warming her up and her body knew it. She felt her skin heating and every one of the muscles in her arms, legs, and stomach contracting; she even felt the arches of her feet flex. Tristan shifted her slightly, his hand still trailing slowly and tantalizingly over her, and leaned forward, tracing his tongue over her bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it hard, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. It did something to her, broke something within her, the mixture of his giving, feather-light touch coupled with his fierce, demanding kiss.

And a sound escaped from her throat on it's own, a gasping whimper that inexplicably communicated her innocence, her inexperience. It was an instinctive sound that, if Tristan had ever wondered if she were really pure, would have expelled any suspicions; that one sound of uncontrollable surrender, of a hunger she didn't understand, spoke volumes and attested to how very untouched she was. The sound that bled from the back of her throat was innocent, but it was no less carnal or uninhibited than Tristan's; it was the sound of virtue dying.

And it seemed to be connected directly to Tristan's libido. It was a sound she'd never heard, let alone made, that would make sense, of course, being as how she'd never been touched as he was now touching her. The day before she'd been pressed against him, felt him, but he hadn't actually touched her, never his skin against hers.

She was shocked as she felt him fuse his lips against hers and stand swiftly, bringing her with him. His hands were all over her, touching everywhere as he pulled her out of his lounge and into one of the other rooms. She didn't see where they were because her eyes were closed, too consumed in his touch and his lips to care what happened next or where they went. She heard a door close and then his arms were around her, pulling her close as he kissed her deeper than he ever had before, so much that she thought her body might be melting into his until they were inseparable.

Then without warning Rory felt Tristan's mouth break away from hers and a whimper of protest bled from the back of her throat. She opened hazy eyes to stare up at him, her breathing rapid. Tristan was looking down at her with eyes darker than she'd ever seen. It made her already burning skin heat up even more. His hand against the small of her back held her body tight against his own, close enough that she could feel him pressing hard against her hip. His other hand, tangled in her hair, held her head back and prevented her from reconnecting her lips to his. She shifted her lower body and felt his fingers clench reflexively in her hair, his breath hitching. Tristan's chest was rising and falling heavily and she saw the muscles in his throat working as he attempted to bring himself down.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse and it shook, "You should go. Before I do something you'll regret."

Rory blinked slowly, looking down. She stared at his chest, pressing her lips together. She forced herself to breathe slower, tried to think straight through the cloud of heat clogging her brain and the smell of Tristan's skin. One of her hands was clasped on his muscled shoulder, holding her to something solid so she didn't lift off the ground or fall straight through it. The other was on his washboard abdomen, where before it had been pushing against him but now rested limply.

She licked her lips, knowing that she couldn't go. Knowing that it wasn't even an option. The hand that was on his stomach slid slowly upward and she watched, her mind disconnected from her body, as it moved up to rest on his chest, over his heart. Her hand was pale against the tanned expanse of his skin, fragile looking and slim against the broad muscle. But beneath it she felt his heart racing. Beating violently against her hand. His breathing was slower now, controlled, but she felt his body, felt all of his muscles tensed for her answer. She felt all of him rigid and warm, holding her against him but tense with the belief that it wouldn't last. Her mind snapped back to the other night when she'd been sitting across the fire from Logan. She thought back to the way she'd looked at her, completely open and worried as he told her about Tristan. About the way he cared for her. The way he longed for her more than anything but was terrified of losing her. The only thing he'd ever been in danger of losing. The only thing he would have cared about losing.

She stared at her hand for another moment, his heart still beating wildly against it, and then raised her gaze slowly. It passed over his neck, where she could see his pulse jumping rapidly and the muscles still working hard as he fought for self-control. She looked up at him from hooded but now clear eyes and he stared back at her. His face was naked, stripped of all the masks he'd always buried himself under.

When she spoke her voice was quiet but unwavering, "I'm not leaving you."

She felt him shudder beneath her hands and his heart started beating faster. His expression changed, melted in a way that broke her heart. He looked down at her, caught between black disbelief and shock He shook his head lightly, uncertain of what to think, "Why?"

"Because you shouldn't be alone tonight." she whispered.

Silence pressed in around them following her hushed answer. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. She could feel his skin against hers, warm and smooth. His chest was rising and falling deeply. "Why?" he repeated, fiercer this time.

She didn't answer at first, uncertain herself of why. "Because you're always so alone." she whispered after a moment, her hand shifting from his shoulder to run along the strong line of his jaw, "I have never met anyone who is so absolutely alone as you are. But you shouldn't be." She pressed her hand firmly against his heart, uncertain of where this all was coming from, but knowing it was true, "I know what it feels like to be alone, Tristan, I've been there before too. I know the hurt. And the emptiness. But you don't have to do it anymore."

He stared down at her in the silence that followed, his eyebrows drawn together. He breathed rapidly, thrown off balance as he tried to figure her out the way she'd so obviously read him. He opened his mouth, his throat working as he tried to find his voice. But he couldn't. He clenched his teeth shut and she saw him fighting internally, struggling to fight back some emotion she could almost read. Struggling because he'd never had anyone. Never had anything to call his own. She knew that feeling, knew the overwhelming sensation of finally not being alone. The battle between pulling someone else into yourself or banishing them away because you couldn't stand to lose anyone else when you'd already lost so much.

She brought her other hand to his cheek and held his face between her hands, refusing to let him look away from her eyes. She pulled his face close to hers, resting her forehead against his as she whispered , "I'm here, Tristan. I'm here."

And she felt him change. Felt him surrender. She felt the relief rush through his body in a wave as a weight lifted from him. Felt him lighten. She watched as he exhaled in a rush, almost a reverse gasp as he grabbed her and pulled her against him, his lips descending onto hers. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her fingers curled reflexively against his cheeks. His mouth was warm and inviting and he kissed her eternally. She felt his lips curve upward as he almost smiled, kissing her so deeply he was pulling her out of herself an further into him.

He moved forward, pushing her against the wall. Rory locked her arms around his neck, pulling his lips harder against hers. And, to her own shock, she only felt warmth from the bottom of her stomach to the crown of her head as Tristan's hands slid from her body to her back and pulled at the knot that held her corseted dress in place. It gave with a snap and he moved his hands down her back, loosening the criss-crossed leather strap that laced through the back of her dress. She felt the cloth loosen around her and knew that she should have been panicking, but wasn't. She knew she should have been nervous or afraid, but she wasn't. Any fear or apprehension was melted by his warm hands covering her back, his lips moving slowly and fully against hers. When his hands came to the bottom he shifted them out, sliding them sideways across the bottom of her back to come to her hips. He squeezed her hips affectionately before pulling up at her skirt. She felt the hem leave the ground and move up. He continued pulling at it until it was bunched in his hands, and then he slid his hands up, running them gently up her sides, bringing her dress with them. She broke her grip around his neck to raise her arms above her head, allowing him pull the dress completely off of her.

His lips left hers long enough to pull the garment off, leaving her in her sleeveless, low cut, knee-length slip. He didn't look down at her now nearly exposed body, though. Instead he locked his lips back to hers, backing her up until she hit the wall. He pressed her against it with bruising force, one of his hands holding her face and the other clutching her hip, holding her in place while his body was pushed fully against hers. She felt the warmth of his skin burning through her thin slip. He shifted, pushing one of his knees between both of hers. She gasped, clutching her arms tightly around his neck as he used his leg to gently spread hers until both of her thighs were straddling one of his. A whimper escaped Rory in a sigh and she felt him grin against her lips as she pushed her lower body against his, wrapping one of her legs around his waist to pull him closer so that he was nestled against her intimately.

Tristan made a sound low in the back of his throat as she pulled him harder against herself and she heard him swear against her lips, taking a step back but dragging her with him before he grabbed the backs of her legs and lifted her from the ground. She wasn't pushed back against the wall anymore. Instead he held her weight completely, as if she weighed nothing. The feel of his bare skin against hers made her lower stomach tighten wonderfully. She felt the skin of his hips against her bare thighs as she tightened her legs around him. Her arms against his warm shoulders, his chest pressed against hers over the low neckline of her slip.

Rory felt his muscles tense and he broke his lips from hers, looking at her with clouded eyes, "Leigh."

She put a finger over his lips, silencing him, "Shh." she pressed her lips against his slowly, moving her hand down to slip her fingers lightly over the side of his face.

He pulled slowly away again and looked up at her, his expression nearly pained, "I don't want to hurt you." he confessed weakly, and she could see him fighting with himself.

Rory shook her head gently. Bringing her hand back to his mouth, she traced her thumb over his bottom lip, her heavy breath dancing across his lips, "You won't."

"I..." he trailed off, glancing between her eyes and her lips, his throat working.

She still shook her head comfortingly, tightening her grip around his neck, "Tristan." she whispered, kissing his eyelids gently, "You aren't going to break me." she connected her lips to his, lightly at first, but in a moment he'd deepened it and his mouth was working against hers hard enough to bruise.

She knew, realistically, that she should have been stopping him, should have been pushing him away. But she couldn't. She didn't want to. And she knew that this was it. She felt him turn and step forward. She knew she should have made him stop. But pushed this close against him she couldn't bring herself to. She didn't have the will-power to even attempt it. Maybe, possibly, she might have eventually been able to convince herself to do it, but when her back hit the cool sheets of his bed all rational thought fled from her mind.