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This chapter carries straight on from the last, it being just an hour or so later in the day.
Chapter 5 – Talking to Ghosts
Tristan drew the arrow firmly through the warm fleshy rabbit carcass, wiping the blood from its shaft and tip on his breeches before reaching over his shoulder and dropping it back into his quiver. Holding the lifeless quarry up, he admired his shot before tying it feet first to the saddle of his waiting stallion. The horse snorted and stamped the earth impatiently with his hoof. He was bored with chewing at thistles and eager to be away.
"Alright now, you bad tempered old bastard...I'm done' Tristan growled as he hauled himself up into the saddle.
The stallion moved eagerly on without encouragement, heading straight for the path that would take them back to the fort. Tristan, who had every confidence in his faithful companion, was happy to give him full rein and just relax in the saddle a while.
They meandered their way quietly through the trees at a leisurely pace, their thoughts on nothing much else but cooked rabbit and fresh, sweet oats respectively, when the sound of a distant voice caught the attention of both man and horse. Tristan pulled on the reins and cocked his head, listening intently, trying to establish where and what he was listening to. Another faint monologue whispered over the breeze. A woman's voice without doubt and just over the hill to the west of him if he wasn't mistaken, and he never was. A distinct giggle followed - 'not in any trouble then.'
At that, he would normally have just gone on his way, but it seemed to Tristan something more than idle curiosity was inviting him to ride up to the brow of the hill and take a look. Knowing better than to ignore his instincts, he turned his stallion's head and spurred him on up.
The trees faded out on the other side, he saw and as he gazed below, he could see the stream and beside it a small mossy glade. Lying at the foot of a large oak tree, which stood at the edge of the clearing, was a woman - just as he'd thought, but not how he'd expected - on her back, skirt fallen to her hips, bare legs stretched up in the air, wiggling her toes and chatting away as if a companion lay next to her. This, Tristan thought odd indeed, as with a sniff of the air and a swift, sharp scour of the surroundings, he had already established there was no one else around.
He watched fascinated, leaning forward, his elbows across the saddle and scratching thoughtfully at his whiskers, enjoying the sight he'd stumbled upon and not concerning himself that he was trespassing on this woman's secrets. Besides, he thought, what harm was he doing? He'd move on quietly again in a moment and she'd be none the wiser.
She laughed again, dropped her naked legs to the ground with a playful thud and sat herself up.
Tristan didn't recognise the limbs that had been flaying about so brazenly. They were not particularly long or as spectacular as some he could think of, but a pleasurable sight on a spring afternoon, none-the-less. He grinned suddenly - that autumn coloured hair which lay braided upon the back now facing his way, on the other hand, he did know...
Aithne lay on her back staring up at her moss-stained toes silhouetted against high oak tree branches and the spring-blue afternoon sky. She wiggled them lazily above her head and laughed as she continued the tale she had been sharing aloud with the memory of her husband.
"Oh, Heith," she sighed, dropping her legs down and sitting herself back up "y'shoulda seen him. Bold as you like, stripped to the waist and dowsing himself down without a morsel of shame! I swear!... And then there's Guyon and y'know what I feel about that. D'you know what he said to me today?…."And on she twittered, picking the moss from her toes.
Aithne often came to the old oak tree to talk to Heith. As a rule, it seemed no one but she ever ventured there. It was perhaps the only place she could be entirely alone and she liked that. She could mull over her thoughts in silence or share her troubles aloud to a husband long gone but whom she fancied could hear every word, and that was comfort enough to ease the niggles and doubts of most of her day-to-day woes. And Heith was not a one to answer her back or offer advice she didn't wish to hear either, like her father was always set to do and that was always a welcome relief. Well, not always perhaps. Yes, she loved the solitude of this special place more than anywhere else she could imagine. Besides, if anyone were to hear her seemly conducting a conversation with herself, they would surely think her a loon, which was why her heart flew to her mouth the moment she heard the familiar tarnished voice call out.
"Do you make a habit of talking to your toes, then?"
Aithne's head snapped round and she gave a cry of horrified dismay. Her worst fears confirmed to see Tristan aback his grey stallion, looking down at her from the brow of the small incline close behind her. Humiliated by the thought of his eavesdropping on her nonsense and utterly mortified that he'd witnessed her baring her legs like a hussy in the most undignified manner, Aithne lost all sense of composure and panicked. She scrambled to her feet and began to flee bare-footed towards the forest across the stream, her sandals forgotten.
Surprised and somewhat piqued by the reaction, Tristan immediately took after her. Perhaps not the most sensible decision he could have made, but he'd be damned if he were going to have some chit of a baker's daughter running around accusing him of spying on her in the woods or worse, threatening her precious virtue. Which - he surmised - must be what she thought he was about, to have taken off screaming like a harpy in that way.
He urged the stallion on, catching her up easily as she stumbled over the rocks in the stream, her feet slipping and sliding on the wet grass of the embankment as she ran to make her get away. Tristan reined his horse around in front of her, cutting off her escape, and then swiftly round once more as Aithne cried out and frantically switched direction.
"Don't run from me!" he commanded angrily, as he took chase once again.
Aithne soon realised that his horsemanship was more than a match for her blundering attempts to evade him and so like a cornered doe, she froze. Horse and rider stopped before her, the huge stallion snorted, stomping restlessly from hoof to hoof, agitated and impatient from the scent of pursuit. He was eager for the chase and angry that it was denied him. Rider and quarry regarded one other in anticipating silence. Neither, it seemed, quite sure what action to take next.
Tristan frowned, cursing himself and wondering just how in the hell he had got himself in this predicament. 'So, you stupid bastard...what now?' The woman was terrified… 'just what else did you expect?'…and he had no idea what to say, no idea what to do and absolutely no idea what had possessed him to think that taking chase after her was a good idea, in the first place!
Well, he'd always been an impulsive creature by nature, prone to acting on his normally consummate instincts, but this hadn't been one of his best, it had to be said. However, he could not deny that the episode had kindled in him a somewhat predacious and wholly male excitement. But he knew he mustn't think of that now though… maybe later, when he was alone.
He had to do something and quick – (but alas, not what he had a mind to do, for he was not an animal, despite what many thought of him, including this trembling, frightened woman in front of him) - the silent standoff was becoming rather absurd.
He decided diplomacy was the best choice. First, he had to ease her fear and glaring down at her from the saddle of this great, snorting beast was not going to achieve that in a hurry.
Aithne watched and waited, as he eased himself down from the saddle. She could barely breathe, such was the constriction of her fear-filled lungs, but she was determined to find escape somehow. Just as both his feet hit the floor she seized her chance and took off again, hopeful that if she could just reach the forest, he would give up and let her go, not wanting to risk his horse through the sharp spiny thickets. But she'd gone no more than a few strides when she was felled, the sound of linen tearing as she hit the ground knees first, pulling Tristan down with her as he grasped the torn folds of her skirt in his fist.
Profanities and shrieks rang out in unison; Aithne twisted and struggled onto her bottom to face him, all the better for her to attack, which she did with panic-stricken determination, smacking and kicking blindly as she tried to wrench herself free. Tristan scrambled to his knees, ducking and swerving the onslaught of arms and legs.
"Fuck's sake, will you calm down!" He yelled, just as Aithne clouted him across the head. However, there was to be no truce. So forgetting peace talks, Tristan simply dragged the hysterical woman towards him by the handful of skirt he still had grasped in his fist and dealt her a swift, well-timed slap across the face.
Much to Tristan's relief, the hysterics ceased immediately, with Aithne left gaping open-mouthed in stunned silence, a look of utter disbelief on her face.
"Bloody Hell, woman!" he snarled as he let go of her dress, somewhat breathless himself now "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. Still on his knees, he leaned back on his heels, regarding her with bewildered annoyance. Aithne just stared back at him equally bewildered and unable to speak. Rubbing the sting from her cheek, she felt her eyes fill with tears and a sudden sob broke.
Tristan felt panic rise 'Shit no, anything but this…. please!' he could face a legion of barbarian berserkers across a battlefield without a shiver, but a crying woman…
"Don't start that," he grumbled half command, half plea as he leant over to pull her torn skirt over her exposed knees. His rather ill considered thoughtfulness however, was rewarded with another thump right on his whiskered chin. He'd let her get that one in, he knew he deserved it.
"Get away from me you animal!" Aithne spat, dowsing the tears from her eyes and drawing her knees up tightly to her chin. Pulling her senses together now, Aithne glared, the fury of self-protection quickly diminishing her frightened tears.
Tristan held his hands up in a submissive gesture "You've nothing to fear…I swear it…"
"You terrify an unprotected woman by chasing her 'round the countryside on that four-legged devil" she hissed "and then say she's nothing to fear?"
"I didn't start the chase…t'was you who ran!"
"How dare you blame me!" Aithne gasped "I suppose y'think it a great sport runnin' defenceless women down like prey!"
"Not quite defenceless" Tristan replied with a sardonic arch of a brow as he rubbed the sting of her fist from his jaw. "Look, I was just on my way back to the barracks when I saw you"… 'and your legs'… "sat by the stream. I just thought to pass a friendly word is all."
"Friendly word?" She roared, anger flushing her cheeks "I swear, I dare not even think what an 'unfriendly word' might mean to you" with her courage returning, she hauled herself to her feet, careful not to expose her legs through the tear in her skirt. Tristan followed her. "You're shameful, sir!" she scolded, now face to face with him.
"So…" The suspicion of a smile flickered on Tristan's lips as he regarded her closely. "There is a little fire in you after all"
Tendrils of wild autumn curls had escaped the confines of the tightly bound pleat that hung down her back and now fluttered upon her cheeks still wet with forgotten tears. A sudden image came to Tristan of her freeing the binds for him, smiling and shaking her head as untamed waves fell tumbling in a flurry of twists and turns across naked shoulders…'What the f...!'
Tristan cleared his throat, "Look, I didn't mean to scare you… but you took off screamin' an' yellin' and I just wanted to know why…I didn't want ya to think I was …I just thought that…"
What had he thought? He was beginning to feel out of his depth, here. An alien emotion for him and one he was not prepared to allow to raise its ugly head. Not today. Not in front of this woman. He scratched at his whiskers, deep in contemplation and then asked,
"Why do you always squirrel away from me as you do? I've never caused you offence, have I…before just now that is?" he added, throwing her an unexpectedly apologetic smile and shrugging boyishly.
That threw her. How was she to respond to that? Aithne felt her anger begin to slip away and in its place rose the familiar feeling of inadequacy and foolishness this man seemed always to stir in her.
"Well?" he asked, happy now to gain back his control and have the responsibility of explanations manoeuvred away from him.
"No, Sir," she muttered, feeling more than subdued.
Tristan waited, but it was clear he could expect no further enlightenment than that.
"You don't like me do you?" it was a simple, matter-of-fact observation.
Aithne didn't quite know how to answer that either. It would not be the truth if she simply said 'yes'. Tristan remained silent, compelling her to attempt to reply somehow.
"I…well...your manners do leave a lot to be desired, Sir. And if you don't mind me sayin' " Aithne gave him a wry glance "they tend to be a little…disturbing"
"So, you are afraid of me?" it was a rhetorical question "… and so you should be, woman"
Aithne snatched an anxious look and then relaxed again when she met a teasing smile. He gave a smoky chuckle and shrugged again.
"There are many with cause to be afraid of me, Aithne…" Tristan went on "…but you are not one of them. Let us begin again, shall we?"
Aithne looked on perplexed as he took a step back and gave a short bow, a roguish glint in his honey-brown eyes,
"My Lady, greetings to you on this fine spring afternoon" he smiled as he came back up and added "I think that's how it's done"
It was no good, she couldn't help herself, she dropped her head trying hard to keep a straight face, the ridiculousness of the situation completely overwhelming her.
Tristan's own smile broadened knowing he had finally begun to whittle away the fortifications of her resolve. "There, now we can be friends"
Exactly what did he think he was doing?…Friends?..Friends?...just hold on, you selfish whoreson…if you want anything from a wench it's a good lay and an empty bed in the morning…not this woman, you bloody fool, you'll not get anything for nothing here…just leave her be.
Tristan's conscience was forgotten the moment Aithne looked up and bestowed on him one of the sweetest smiles he could ever remember having been blessed with. A mixture of shyness, relief and maybe something else that he wasn't sure he ought to be hoping for. It rocked him for a moment…she really was quite delicious, despite her unremarkable legs.
His scrutiny sent her glowing again from top to toe and it occurred to Tristan that he was developing a rather perverse enjoyment from making her blush. He trailed his eyes along the heat from her cheeks to her neck and wondered with a sly curl of his mouth, just how far below her neckline it travelled. Stop it!
Disturbed by the curious pang of pleasure his look was giving her, Aithne quickly dropped her eyes.
"I must go" She said suddenly, her voice sounded shamefully husky to her and her colour deepened even more. "Tis nearin' supper time and…well…"
Tristan's eyes flickered back to her face, studying her thoughtfully for a moment. Without a word, he turned and strode towards his horse and began fumbling about with something tied to the saddle.
Aithne felt her whole body begin to relax with a strange combine of relief and disappointment, thinking him about to ride on his way. But it dissipated swiftly as he turned back to her and threw the carcass of fresh rabbit meat at her feet.
"You can cook, I take it?" He asked, amusement lacing his voice at the look of shock on Aithne's face. Bending over, he pulled a small, sharp blade from the inside of his boot and held it out to her hilt first. "I'll build the fire"
Stunned, Aithne just stared at the knife and then found herself admiring the long slender fingers which held it. Grubby and callous-tipped as they appeared, they were still beautiful to her, like his hand and the wrist that disappeared beneath a roughly stitched leather sleeve…yes, beautiful…just like the rest of him, she mused, remembering the morning he had stood washing beside the water trough.
Her heart was pounding ferociously once more and her breath so shallow that she felt herself waver on her feet. She forced her eyes to look up at the wild beauty of the face that was watching her closely from beneath lengthy, untamed locks and waiting for her response.
A line had been severed, she knew that. He had noticed her and she would be able to avoid him no longer. No more could she hope to hide safely behind the shadow of anonymity from this man who had always appeared so intimidating, so distant and aloof to her…and… damn it, Aithne admit it,… so bloody attractive. The thrill of it frightened her.
"Don't fear, Aithne" The God's above, but she almost swooned at the sound of her name spoken in that deep, rusty accent of his! "You're safe with me"
He gave her a coy smile, his warm eyes sparkling as if he understood her every thought. She knew at that moment she had nothing to fear from this man. It was the betrayal of her own treacherous basic instincts, starved and denied for so long, that she needed to worry about if she dared to stay alone in his company much longer.
For shame, you stupid woman' she cursed silently, chasing such ridiculous thoughts away 'what's wrong with you?'
She looked down at the furry, lifeless body at her feet, grimacing at the thought of gutting and skinning it and said,
"I'll build the fire"