A big 'thank you' to all of you who have supported and encouraged me over the last few months and everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review – you know who you are and you are wonderful!
Sorry it's taken so long to get this story going again but I think I'm getting my mojo back now! :D
Chapter 3 - Cinnamon
A sudden, indignant thump at Tristan's door seemed to rattle his teeth as much as it rattled the old wooden door it was battering.
"Sunrise!" The voice of a night patrol soldier bellowed outside, telling the scout it was time he was up from his bed. Tristan raised his heavy, aching head to spit out a curse in reply and groaned from the pain the effort caused.
The Gods be damned!... but had he really supped so much ale last night? He rubbed at his eyes and then opened them with tentative care, squinting at the warm glow that still emanated from an iron brazier in the corner of the dark room.
Evidently he had so supped that much judging from the less-than-enticing body that lay sprawled beside him in audacious disarray. Tristan groaned with mild regret as the fragmented memories of the previous night's ghastly drunken tussle began to creep their way back.
Damn Bors, it was all his fault! Drinks all round for the father-to-be...again! And then another...and another.
Grimacing at the reek of unwashed bodies and spent lust which assaulted his already fragile senses, he muttered an oath, hoping he wouldn't be paying the price for his dubious taste in bedmates last night. Not that he'd ever really been the fussy sort. So long as a wench didn't have the pox, had at least a few of her own teeth and was willing that was usually fine by him - but if this one next to him now, looked anything like she smelled…..another groan… Just at this moment in time, he was thankful for the lack of decent light.
Tristan rose up slowly, bracing himself for the inevitable thrust of pain that would sear between his brows any moment. Squeezing the bridge between his eyes with thumb and finger, he gave a hiss and a curse as it did just that. The naked tangle of hair and limbs beside him stirred and then settled back down, snoring softly.
Tristan's frown deepened, irritated that the woman was still in his bed. He couldn't recall who she was and didn't really care either, she wasn't one of his usuals. If he could have remembered it, he was sure she'd probably not been worth the coin anyway and he wanted her gone.
"Get outta here!" he growled suddenly, slapping his companion's scrawny bare rump.
The woman swore but paid no further heed, instead just snatching up the single woollen blanket that lay heaped at her feet and entwining herself within it.
Tristan rose up from the bed scratching at his whiskers and grimacing at the rough, stale memory of wine and sex on his breath and tongue. He felt sick.
Spying a large pitcher on the table nearby, he grabbed it and quickly guzzled down what little wine there was left, pursing his lips as he swallowed the bitter dregs. It did little to alleviate the foulness of his mouth but it was better than nothing.
Tristan slammed the pitcher back down with deliberate force but the woman didn't flinch, she merely continued to snore. He stared dispassionately at the black-haired form for a moment, realising that the wench wasn't for moving any time soon and so he pulled on his breeches and boots, grabbed his shirt, hauberk and weapon off the floor and made his way to the door, kicking the wooden cot as he passed.
"Don't let me find anything missin' when I get back"
vvvvvvvv
Outside, Tristan strolled the few yards to a large horse's trough that stood close to the stables. With each step he took, he breathed in deeply of the cool dawn air, slowly clearing his head and glad to be free of the stench of his room. He threw down the weapon and clothes he carried as he reached the trough, then closed his eyes and thrust his head and shoulders deep into the icy water without hesitation. Coming back up he shuddered, catching his breath, running his long fingers through his sodden mane. The water never felt so good.
Opening his eyes, he saw her.
She looked different today. He could see it even from that distance and despite the still grey dawn light. She wore no hooded mantle and her long hair, which had been hidden from Tristan the last time they had met, lay loose upon her shoulders - somewhat tousled and wild he could see and yes, all the more attractive for it he thought. But then after the night he'd had, he told himself, most anything would please him at the moment.
She was bent over slightly, loading trays of bread upon a small hand cart when an older man appeared at the door of the bakery. He spoke quietly, Tristan could not hear what but Aithne glanced over her shoulder at him, laughing in reply.
How at ease she looked at that moment. She was taller than he remembered – her form strong and curvaceous, her face radiant even in this light. Vanora was right then, it must be him that made her wilt, body and spirit.
Tristan frowned at the thought and then dunked his hands into the water swilling it over his torso and arms. Keeping a pensive eye on the woman, he rubbed away the stench of sweat and coupling from his exquisitely formed warrior's body.
That done, he opened his breeches and scrubbed his manhood thoroughly without shame, before drying himself on his shirt, putting it on and then tying his breeches back up. She did not look his way but even in this dusky light, he knew at that moment, she saw him.
Shying away from his gaze, she swept swiftly back into her home, stumbling a little in her haste to get through the door. Tristan chuckled to himself at the sound of her murmured curse as the door closed to and she was gone from his sight. He was still grinning to himself as he turned toward the tavern with thoughts of a much needed morning meal and the smell of warm cinnamon in the air.
vvvvvvvv
"Are you gonna take all morn with that plate, Tristan?" Vanora hollered back over her shoulder as she walked into the tavern kitchen. "I've got kids that need feeding as well as you, y'know!"
Ignoring Vanora, Tristan took another small mouthful of cheese and chewed slowly, lingering over his food much longer than was usual. Next he picked up his mug and drank even more slowly than he ate. She was late this morning and he knew why.
It was just then the smell of cinnamon enticed his senses, moments before she appeared soft-stepped up to the tavern counter. He knew she'd tarried as long as was humanly possible and the thought made him smile and for the first time ever, he looked up at her arrival.
Aithne blanched as she glanced over to see the familiar figure sat leaning upon his elbows, still at his morning fast – a pair of dark honey-eyes staring back at her through a curtain of bedraggled and still damp locks.
Catching her eye briefly, Tristan acknowledged her with a silent nod but she turned her back swiftly without reply.
Hell's teeth, had that little wench just slighted him? Tristan frowned at her impertinent back for a moment and then quietly put down his mug.
"Is that you Aithne? My, but you're late this morning, Lass" Vanora called from the kitchen "I'll be right with ya"
Aithne was just contemplating how quickly she could dispatch her delivery and get out of there when she felt an unmistakable aura looming just a hair's breath behind her. She stood iron-rod still, praying for it to be anyone but him, but knowing that just couldn't be. After all, he was the only other there.
She flinched as he stepped beside her. Leaning upon the counter, he moved so as to see her face and just stared.
Aithne could feel the blaze of his eyes as they trailed up and down her entire length, slowly and deliberately brazen.
'My god, but if he isn't looking me over as if I were a marketplace heifer!'. Instinctively, she drew her mantle more tightly around her and tried her hardest to ignore him.
"I bid you, 'Mornin'" an accusing tone growled suddenly.
Aithne cringed and looked not at her accuser but at the tray of loaves on the counter top in front of her, wishing with all her might that she could be anywhere but here.
There followed an acute silence which Aithne knew she could not ignore.
"I'm sorry?" she asked finally, glancing up at Tristan but careful not to meet his eyes
"Just now, when you walked in… you didn't answer"
Aithne's cheeks burned. "Forgive me, Sir. I meant no disrespect. I'd no reason to suppose t'was I you greeted." she lied. Tristan gave a slow, sweeping look around the empty tavern and raised a sardonic eyebrow. Aithne cringed even further into her mantle, cursing herself silently for the idiot she was.
Tristan said no more, he merely watched, fascinated as the glow on her face and neck spread and deepened. He really wasn't accustomed to women who shamed so easily and oddly, he liked it.
He was more familiar with tough, brazen women - women more devoid of shame, who knew what a man wanted, who gave easily and expected little in return. Those were the women that usually suited his rather singular qualities, for he had always been essentially a selfish man where women were concerned. Selfish with his words, his attention and his emotions and the less he had to give anyone, the better for him. He had little need for the company of anyone who would want and offer him anymore.
And so it was, Tristan didn't really know to what ends he was taking the time to single this woman out as he did this morning. He knew her type - hard working, soft hearted - the type that makes a hard working, soft hearted man a good wife.
Not one that makes a hard hearted, selfish warrior like him, a good whore.
She was neither brazen nor easy that was for certain. This one would most surely want back far more than he'd ever been willing to give woman. But still, there was just something in those fawn-like eyes that had stared up at him so fearfully the previous morning that had intrigued him. When she'd arrived a few moments ago, he'd had no intention of an exchange of words with her. He simply wanted to satisfy his curiosity, amuse himself with her reaction to him…and perhaps get another look at that bonny figure she chose to hide away, into the bargain.
But here he was, regardless and there she was, staring up at him doe-like once again. Wrapped up tightly in her woollen mantle, more was the pity for him and waiting nervously for his reply. He had no idea what to say.
The silence stretched out unbearably between them. Aithne turned away from Tristan unable to stand the scrutiny of his unfathomable gaze any longer.
'Hurry Vanora, for pity's sake!' she begged silently, deciding that she was indeed just going to leave right now.
As if sensing her imminent flight, Tristan leaned closer and took hold of a stray lock of her tawny hair that peeped out from beneath her hood. It was as much a performance of mischief as it was an instinctive act to keep her from running away, for at that moment he just couldn't think of anything sensible to say to her that could serve just as well in keeping her next to him.
Without thinking, he raised the soft tendril to his nose and breathed in. Gods but she smells good.
"…cinnamon..." he whispered huskily. How was it that he had never noticed this comely, sweet smelling woman before now?
Aithne stood rooted to the spot in stunned silence. Her heart beating 10 to the dozen…confused…breathless…overwhelmed. What on earth was he doing? She thought desperately, there really is something wrong with him.
"May I have my hair back?" she eventually dared to ask, a soft tremor in her tone, as if she were soothing a wild animal she was desperate not to provoke. She gently pulled on the strand of hair which laced through his fingers until she was free.
He stared at her a moment longer, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips and then he lowered his still outstretched fingers.
"My name is Tristan." He offered, as if it were the most natural response there was.
"I know" Aithne replied quietly and then left - surprised by the mild regret she felt in doing so.