As always, thank you all for reading, reviewing or for doing both! :)
This is actually the first instalment of what became an extremely long chapter, so I cut it in half - mainly for the sake of my own sanity, because editing & re-writing it was becoming a major migraine - so it is now in two, more manageable halves. The second half should be up in a few days or so when I am happy with it. It is written, it just needs fleshing out a bit. :)
A special thanks to my very dear friend 'Incognito', who shares my love of a certain scruffy scout, a dark, brooding sheriff's henchman and the use of copious amounts of comma's *g* and who so graciously spared her time to look over my scribbles, correct my mistakes and point me in the right direction. *love you*
Chapter 9 - '…So Long at The Fair'
Aithne stood alone on the edge of the windswept wharf, her mantle clasped tightly to her breast, keeping the harsh sea breeze that whipped her hair from its braids at bay. Despite the biting wind she was smiling, her eyes closed as she breathed the salty air, filling her lungs. Her senses soothed by the sound of the anchored ships, their tired timbers groaning gently as they rocked against the white crested waves lapping at their resting boughs.
It had been an age since she had last seen the sea and it filled her heart with joy to find it just as wonderful as her fond memories had promised. So much so, she had to confess she almost felt grateful that Guyon had hijacked her so artfully into accompanying him to the Arbeia docks, such different feelings from those of resentment that had been simmering away just an hour or two ago during the journey there. And oh, hadn't Guyon be well aware of that - with her sulky pout and obstinate stare fixed anywhere as long as not on him. She had been unyielding in her determination to speak to him only when necessity provoked it, leaving him with no doubt as to what she thought of the jaunt that he had manoeuvred her in to.
This had understandably vexed the prideful Guyon deeply. However, despite the slight to his dignity, he had strived to keep a smile on his face and a courteous tongue in his head during their awkward, one-sided conversation for well over half the journey. Then at last, he had felt a glimmer of hope as he began to coax an occasional glance in his direction and a civil word or two, with his calculated persistence finally rewarded when he had spied the first smile shape her lips.
Guyon, well pleased with his efforts, had given himself a well-earned pat on the back for surely, he had thought, that ungrateful little chit would try the fortitude of the Christ himself? She was nought short of a good thrashing that was all - he'd always thought her Da was far too soft on her, her flights and fancies too often indulged. Women should mind their tongue as they mind their broth and never forget who was master. Not to worry though, he would soon straighten the order of things…once she was his.
Back on the dockside, Aithne still stood happily basking in the cold oceanic breeze until disturbed by the sound of her name called, loud and bold from the far end of the dockside. She opened her eyes and turned to look over her shoulder.
Guyon was striding towards her, his long raven locks swaying with each confident step, revealing the familiar disparity of his dark, brooding brow against the enticing crooked smile on his attractive face. Aithne watched him, surprised by a sudden flutter of admiration. There was no denying it, she thought, he really was a fine looking man. Wide hipped, long legged, tall and broad chest-ed was he and a face predacious and sharp, giving him a fascinating, almost dangerous appeal. The looks from the busy fishwives and their daughters that followed in his wake as he strode towards her, reminded Aithne she was not the only one to think so.
He had an undeniable charm, of this there was no doubt and for a fleeting moment, Aithne wondered if maybe her father was not right after all. Would it really be such a bad lot to share her life with him? A sudden chill rippled down her spine and then disappeared as quickly as it had begun, taking with it any such notions of a future with Guyon. It would be so simple, she resigned to herself, if another were not clawing at her heart and that was certain.
Tristan - she felt so far from shore in regards to that man, for she truly had no understanding of him.
Her own feelings towards the man, on the other hand, were becoming painfully clear to her. But what of Tristan? What game was he playing? Naive as she could be at times, even Aithne knew he must have come to the tavern seeking her that morning. He had no other reason to be there and it was to her that he had spoken - well, sort of – if merely her name used as a greeting can be construed as being 'spoken to', that is.
But why had he come - to simply amuse himself at her expense? The suggestion seemed so ludicrous when examined with rational thought, but had she any right to think his reasons could be anything more? The idea that, just maybe, she could mean something to that strangely unsettling knight flew straight to her breast, piercing it with an intoxicating rush of joyful hope, but it passed all too briefly, leaving in its wake only the dull, despondent thump of her more sensible, unbelieving heart. A gentle resigned sigh slipped through her lips as her contented smile faded away.
"I'm sorry it's taken so long, Aithne" Guyon apologised as he reached her side, mistaking her now grim face as an unspoken scolding for keeping her stood there alone.
"You're vexed with me, again?"
She smiled reluctantly and reassured him she was not. "I'm just a little cold is all"
"Well, tis high time I took you into the town," He looked down at her, his blue eyes sharp and bright and eager to see a glimpse of enthusiasm in his companion "would you take a mug and a bite to eat with me Aithne?"
Aithne readily accepted, anxious for a distraction from the low spirits that seemed threatening to settle upon her.
"Lets get y'outta this cold breeze, the stock's all sorted, we'll come back for it in a while when its bin loaded on the cart." Laying a lazy arm about her shoulders to shield her from the cold sea breeze, Guyon steered her off towards town. Aithne allowed herself be led away without complaint. She wasn't sure she was entirely comfortable with the arm about her, but, she considered, she was rather famished and the eagerness for good food and drink far out-weighed any concern for his familiarity at that moment.
…...
After feasting on a much-welcomed mutton pastry and a cup of hot-spiced apple cider each, Aithne and Guyon spent the midday hours meandering around the market stalls and tents. The town was a hive of activity; crowds pushed and bumbled their way through the maze of silk merchants, weapon masters, food sellers, and wine bars who yelled out their pitch, beckoning all who would listen to come try their wares.
Leading Aithne by the hand, Guyon, just by his sheer height alone, carved an easy path for them both as they went from stall to stall, stopping occasionally to admire the craftsmanship and beauty of trinkets and baubles far removed from anything they could ever hope to procure.
"A token fer y'pretty lady, master?" a small girl called out, thrusting a basket full of finely carved hairpins and strips of coloured ribbons towards him. Guyon brushed her gently aside, laughing but the little girl persisted "Please master, wot 'bout a ribbon fer 'er pretty hair."
Guyon stopped and changing his mind, he picked up a length of nettle green. He turned to Aithne and smiled coyly at her from behind his black mane.
"Nay, Guyon...I couldna accept that" Aithne insisted, realising his intent.
"Tis just a ribbon, Aithne" He teased, his voice lazy and deep "doesna mean we're hand-fasted y'know."
"But…"
Dismissing Aithne's protests, he flipped the child a coin and turned to face her.
"Y'don't have to wear it, if y'don't want…." He shrugged as he handed Aithne the finely woven knick-knack "I'll not take offence…but t'would be an awful shame, the colour suits you well"
He smiled boyishly, his eyes sparkling with such innocuous persuasion that Aithne could do nothing other than accept the gift. She reached over her shoulder and quickly knotted it around her thick tawny plait, puzzled by a most peculiar sense of disloyalty as she did so. What's wrong with you, woman? Tis only a ribbon for heaven's sake she scolded herself, as Guyon took up her hand and led her through the crowds once again.
…...
All too soon, the time approached to be making a start back to the Badon Hill fort. It was mid afternoon and if they were to make it back to the gates before the twilight curfew, then Guyon knew they should be making tracks. Oxen weren't, after all, the most speedy beasts of burden. It had crossed his mind more than once, to tarry in Arbeia deliberately. They would miss curfew then and that would mean a night out together…alone.
However, as tempting as this prospect was, Guyon was shrewd enough to know that he would be pressing his luck. The day had gone well, one wrong foot now, would spoil all he believed he had achieved in regards to winning over Aithne and he had strived too bloody hard trying to please that damn woman to chance that. He wanted reward for this in time, which he fully expected Aithne to bestow. Besides, old man Smithy expected him back today and who needed that cantankerous old bastard spitting and cursing when they didn't make it home on time?
And so Guyon and Aithne walked back to the docks where the old ox stood waiting patiently to haul them and the now heavily laden cart back home. To both, it seemed hard to believe now that their day together had begun in such abhorrent humour. Guyon had appeared both respectful and considerate at all times and in turn, Aithne forgiving and appreciative. In truth, she had expected him to be bombarding her with objectionable advances the whole day through, but he had not. He had talked, listened, laughed and entertained her without so much as even an inappropriate glance from beneath that dark, handsome brow of his. She had enjoyed her day at the Arbeian docks; she had enjoyed her day with Guyon.
Guyon noted with satisfaction the faint look of disappointment that befell her eyes when the time came to leave. Although he suspected her disappointment was more likely due to the prospect of leaving Arbeia and not himself, he cared not… only that she was disappointed at all mattered, for it meant that she had enjoyed her day and she had shared her day with him. Next time maybe he wouldn't have to stretch to such devious means to secure her company, she would be glad to go with him...the rest would all fit into place after that, he was sure.
…...
They had chatted amiably for a while as the cart trundled along towards home, laughing and reminiscing over the pleasurable day they had both had and from time to time, whenever she believed herself unseen, Aithne would peruse the man next to her.
He was an enigma, this tall, quietly spoken man. He was attractive, no doubt of that and he had always treated her courteously, today more than any other in fact. But what was it about him that held her at a distance? It wasn't just that she thought he desired her paltry dowry more than he desired her – after all, her father was right – even poor folk like they were looked for advantages in wedlock, even the smallest promise such as hers. It was something more, something she just couldn't quite see. Her eyes swept over him secretly once more, as if the answer lay somewhere upon him, trailing slowly up the lengths of his long, muscular legs to the strong hands that held the rein easily between slender fingers…
"Look, we're almost home..." Guyon said, pointing ahead to the towering gatehouse, which loomed up from the old emperor's wall far in the distance before them.
…...
Tristan stood motionless; his weight leaning upon both hands placed either side of the stone battlements on top of the high fortress wall, his expression grave and silent as he watched the lonely road that stretched out east, towards Arbeia. He'd been nursing a peevish, bad temper all day long and was none too pleased to find himself still within its grip, despite his concerted efforts to quench it.
He had spent the entire morning on the training yard seeking a distraction, dispatching wood and straw dummies with maddening effortlessness. But that proved no cure, so he had turned his attention to dispatching any King's soldier that was foolhardy enough to volunteer to spar with him instead. He quit the yard several sword parries and a few near-misses later, breath heavy and body sweat-soaked but still feeling no better for it.
After an hour spent in contemplative silence, cleaning and paring his weapons, followed by a deliberately orchestrated verbal scuffle with a poor, unsuspecting Galahad, he still couldn't keep thoughts of the baker's daughter and that whoreson of a smithy out of his head.
Lacking any military duties that day, all that was left to occupy his troubled mind was his stallion. The bad tempered old devil needed the exercise anyway and so he saddled him up and set off over the hills to wile away the rest of the afternoon. Of course, it was only coincidence that he had chosen to ride back and to across the hills to the East, with the Arbeian road in easy sight.
Dusk was fast approaching now and with it the baffling petulance that had lain decaying like slow poison, deep within the scout the whole day long, began to swell.
Up on the battlements, Tristan was consigning himself to the prospect of a night of abject wretchedness that was sure to haunt him, no matter how many flagons of ale he was apt to consume. He had no idea what ailed him and even less idea what he should do about it bar drowning it in an ale mug. However, it had struck him so abruptly and with such a ruthless clarity from the very moment Aithne had disappeared from his sight that morning, that there was only one thing he was sure of - he wanted her back. There would be no solace for him until then.
Still watching, still silent, the tension clear from the taut muscles along his jaw line, Tristan's hawk-eyes suddenly strained as a silhouette far away on the horizon crept in to view and he stared at it, unfalteringly, for what seemed an age. He almost withered with relief as the familiar sight of a bonny little figure with wild tawny hair fighting from its braid, came trundling towards the gatehouse atop a small ox-driven cart.