This chapter follows straight on from the previous one. I've added a couple of sentences in italics, just to paint a brief picture of where I left Aithne & Tristan last time.

Sorry it's been such a long time in the writing. I hope it's okay.

Just a little warning - this chapter is a bit on the naughty side, but not gratuitously so, lol! - so please, if it offends, do not read.

Big thanks to all!

Chapter 12

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back upon his shoulder and sighed raggedly as arms circled around her waist from behind and pulled her back, close up against him.

"Lie with me, Aithne" he whispered, still kissing her gently"…be mine."

Slowly and with tumultuous effort, Aithne raised her head from where it had fallen back upon Tristan's shoulder and opened her eyes, fixing them on the closed door before her.

His declaration had been made, simply and clearly and she knew she must be answerable to it. Humiliation and rage brought her to his door and now those driving emotions were slipping away with every warm, bated breath that kissed her neck, waiting for her to respond.

A small cry escaped her lips when, tired of waiting, restless hands began exploring her body. One hand, brimming with the flesh of her plentiful breast, caressed her greedily through the rough cloth of her gown. The other grasped impatiently for the hem of her skirt, gathering it up, exposing her trembling thighs with determined intent.

No! She cried inwardly, appalled at her own weakness, but she could do nothing to stop him. The smell of him, the touch of his long graceful hands enticing from her soft cries and gasps as the strength in her legs melted into a pool at her feet. She knew that if the arms curled about her should let go, she would simply crumble to the floor.

She wanted to surrender, to lose herself in passion that had been so long absent from her life. But those painful, wounding words he had spoken replayed over and over, pricking at her through the onslaught of his fervent, needful touch, forcing a battle between her traitorously aroused body and her sagacious mind.

'Not woman enough,' he had said. 'Feeble…frigid...'

"Stop!" she cried out suddenly, as his fingers slipped between her thighs. "Let me go!"

Tristan cursed loudly and spun her around in his arms, shoving her backwards up against the door with a thud that made Aithne wince as her head bounced off the wood. He planted his hands firmly against the door either side of her shoulders, barring any escape.

"Too late!" he whispered brusquely, holding her with a look both tenacious and desperate.

Then slowly, with control he was hardly able to execute, he leant in and brushed her jaw with lips that barely touched, though burnt her to her very core.

Aithne was lost. Her face flushed scarlet and her pulse pounded painfully against her chest. She could scarcely breathe let alone speak and felt herself grow woozy and frail. Pride had no place here; whatever he thought of her, whatever his insults. How could she fight him when every part of her being wanted to be his? His magnetism was too powerful for her, overwhelming in its animal-like maleness. Primal, feral, intoxicating, he had enslaved her from the start and she could not deny it.

It was true after all, she was a feeble creature and no doubt he would revel in reminding her of it when he had his fill. She could imagine his triumphant mockery already and her eyes began to swim with anxious, bewildered tears, and so she closed her eyes to them. She knew only that she wanted him, so let him do what he will. She would suffer his smug contempt afterwards; take what crumbs he felt inclined to offer whatever they may be.

If this was her fate, then so be it.

Tristan sensed her failing spirit and growled inwardly; watching in frustration as her eyes closed and her body withered languidly against the door, defeated and placid before him.

Was she going to surrender to him like this? Just lie down and let him take her like some passionless whore?

By Christ, Aithne! Tis not your submission I want! He cried silently.

He wanted her to give to him, take from him, devour him. To want him as he wanted her, to need him, love him. He wanted it all. He knew her veins crackled with passionate strength, he had seen it more than once and it excited him, so why was she failing him now?

"For fuck's sake, woman!" he yelled angrily. "Where has my little fire sprite gone, hmm?" Tristan snarled, his voice teasing and husky, desperate to rile her again. "The one that came spitting and biting through my door just moments ago?"

Startled, Aithne's eyes flickered open and she scowled as she sobered to the abrupt change of mood. Seeing the fire rekindle in her eyes once more, he pressed on with relish.

"All spit and no bite…is that you, Aithne?"

God's bones, Aithne mused anxiously, he must be the most conceited whoreson in the empire! He's enjoying this, curse him.

"Do I scare you? Does the thought of a real man scare you? "

"Stop tormenting me and let me go!" she spat suddenly, her beleaguered emotions embroiled in anger yet again. "I want to go home."

"No you don't," he quipped back, ignoring her as she began shoving at his chest. He simply leant closer, as if her struggles to push him out of the way were nothing, and crushed her against the door.

"You want to come to my bed…" he whispered in her ear, nipping once at her lobe. "You're just too spineless to say 'yes'!"

Aithne let out a mortified gasp and thrashed against him with definite purpose, swearing angrily as she tried to wriggle out from under him. Almost escaping beneath his arm, Tristan grabbed her shoulders, whisked her swiftly around and let her go, sending her stumbling towards the straw-mattressed cot at the other side of the small room.

Aithne threw out her arms, just managing to steady herself before she ended up sprawled across his bed. Furious, she stood up tall and swung around to face him.

"You are a pig and a bully!" she yelled.

A seemly nonchalant Tristan leaned back upon the door, folded his arms across his bare chest and amused himself by letting his eyes burn a brazen trail from her feet to her face.

"An' you, madam…" he smiled wickedly, "...are a cock-tease."

Fuming, barely able to believe what she was hearing, Aithne's mouth opened and closed several times before any sound escaped.

"How dare you...! How dare you?"

Tristan continued to stare, admiring the outraged sight before him.

"Oh, I dare…!" He admonished, his eyes dark and teasing. "We both know what you really came here for, don't we?"

"I came because you insulted me in my own home, you conceited pig and I'd not had a chance to defend my pride! I wanted to speak my piece, t'was my right!"

"And so it was and so you did…and when you'd finished your 'piece', I gave you fair-warning enough to get out, but…." He cut a formidable figure stood there so relaxed in his confidence, devouring her within his voracious gaze, a knowing smile touching his lips. "You stayed."

He grinned and cocked his head knowingly.

Aithne swallowed, but dared not attempt another retort for she had none, so shamed was she to hear the simple truth spoken aloud before her. Feeling a fool and suddenly desperate to be anywhere but where she stood; she looked around for an escape. However, she knew that unless Tristan chose to move, there was none. She had no choice therefore, but to stay put.

Dropping her eyes to the floor, she gathered up her braid in her fingers and stood twiddling the ends like a petulant, anxious child waiting for whatever offense he might offer up next.

The wait was a torturously long one, until

"Take that off!" Tristan growled with a curt nod of his head in her general direction. Aithne's hand instinctively flew to the neck of her gown and a flush raced up her cheeks.

"I beg y'pardon?" She exclaimed, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprised indignation and dare she admit it? Thrill.

Pausing deliberately, Tristan swept the tip of his tongue along his lower lip before he answered her.

"That rag in your hair. Get rid of it!" He snarled, stabbing his finger toward the ribbon Guyon had bought for her. "Now!"

Aithne looked at him dumfounded until his meaning became clear.

"No!" She retorted indignantly, with a haughty tilt of her chin. "I'll do nowt of the sort!"

"Get rid of it, Aithne...I'll not have you wearing the trinkets of another man."

"And I'll not be havin' you tellin' me what I can and can't wear in my hair, when you've no such right t'be doin' so!"

"Is that so, and what does give a man the right, ey? A kiss…? A grope between your legs…? THIS?" He snarled, lunging forward suddenly, snatching up her hair and brandishing the end of it beneath her nose, just as he had done when they had stood in the alleyway behind the tavern, a short while ago.

"Does he have the right?" he yelled, suddenly incensed with jealousy "Is that your price, baker's girl? A shoddy green rag for a fumble in his breeches?" he felt his anger soar, but not from belief of his own accusations. It was simply that the thought of it was unbearable to him.

That was enough! He had insulted her way beyond any self-respecting woman's limit yet again. Wasting no time thinking, Aithne swiftly raised her hand to strike Tristan's face but this time he saw it coming and caught her wrist.

"Well, I'll ne'er be fumbling in your breeches an' that's the truth!" she cried struggling to free herself.

Failing, but still determined to have the satisfaction of slapping his conceited face, she swung at his head with her other arm, but he ducked quickly and secured that one just as easily.

"I'll not let you hit me again, Aithne…do you understand?" he glared at her as if daring her to try.

And so she kicked him as hard as she possibly could instead.

"Damn it, woman!" He roared, letting go of her arms to grab his stinging shin.

Seeing her opportunity, Aithne tried to slip by him but he moved quickly blocking her way. Seeing only a closed fist rising from the man's side Aithne flinched, snapping her eyes shut and bracing herself against the blow she was certain would follow.

A rigid silence settled on the room. She felt no blow.

Tentatively, she opened her eyes to see Tristan staring at her in disbelief with his fist, still stained with Guyon's dried blood, now uncurled and stretched out mere inches from her face.

"By Christ, Aithne." he whispered his voice hoarse with bitter reproach. "Do you truly think I would strike you back?"

He glared at her unmoving, for a few moments more and then moved with his original intent to snatch up her braid again and promptly yank Guyon's ribbon from its binds. Without a word, he tossed it into the gently glowing brazier in the corner of the room, where it curled up and fizzled away to ash.

If to shame her for her unjust thoughts of him was his aim, then Tristan had succeeded. However, the thought of an apology stuck like lead in her throat, so she hid her embarrassment behind a haughtily raised eyebrow and a sneer and reminded him of the slap he had dealt her not a few days hence, when he had chased her down across the river on that huge monstrous nag of his.

Tristan was livid.

"I have ne'er had a taste for beating women but by God wench, was I to raise a hand to you in cruelty, t'would be to throw you over my knee and thrash your behind!" Tristan hissed at her, bitter with resentment "I dealt you no violence that day, twas a painless slap, to quiet a hysterical child! Had you thought anything other, you would not have stayed."

"Move away from the door," Aithne pouted, thoroughly chastened and so determined to ignore him. "I want to leave!"

"I've already told you, Aithne. You are staying." She made a move, but was instantly gathered up in his arms again.

"You wanted me to kiss you in the woods, didn't you?" he said sharply, drawing her up close. Aithne struggled half-heartedly in his arms, protesting, agonizingly aware of the powerful heat emanating from his naked skin. "Just as you wanted me to kiss you behind the tavern tonight...Aye, just as you want me to kiss you right now."

She became still. There was no sound but that of their breathing. His - deep and determined. Hers - light and anxious, both in perfect synchronicity as Aithne felt the fervent beat of Tristan's heart, pounding with her own as the arms about her tightened, molding her body ever closer to his own.

"Shall I kiss you now, Aithne?"

Shallow, soundless pants began to escape through her lips as he bent his head to taste the warm flesh of her throat. The nip of teeth and ragged whispers grazed her skin between kisses as he spoke to her - low, husky murmurs in a tongue she did not understand, but which mattered not for their meaning was unmistakable.

Arousal pierced through her body like a lightening strike once more and instinctively she arched toward him, powerless to stop it. Tristan growled appreciatively, grabbing her hips and thrusting back in answer and then wolf-like bit down on her neck, just enough to hold her steady as he continued to move against her. Tristan let out a groan, a deep, throaty, feral-like sound that sent the fire soaring through Aithne's veins. The need to feel her warm, bare skin against his own was excruciating. He longed to touch her, ached to lie her down and fill her.

How much longer was she going to hold back?

Tristan released her neck, licking the faint indentations his animal bite had left and heard her whimper longingly.

"For fuck's sake…Aithne!" He pleaded, his voice husky with need as he lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes, "No more of this battle"

Tristan reached up and laced his fingers through the wild curls that were escaping from her loosened braid, sending her locks tumbling free over her shoulders. So soft, so beautiful, with the faint smell of cinnamon rousing his senses, just how he'd imagined it would. She looked up at him, silent and tense with anticipation.

"I meant none of those cruel things I said to you." He whispered "t'were falsehoods spoken only to hurt you and I am ashamed of it." He hesitated, considering his next words carefully, afraid almost to speak them for fear of what she would do. "The door is no longer barred, Aithne. I shall not hold you against your will. But please…" He took her face in his hands. "…Stay."

To his relief she did not pick up her skirts and run, as he feared she would. Instead, they simply stared at one another for what seemed an eternity and Tristan wished with all his heart that he were able to voice the words to tell her what he truly felt, but it was impossible for him. The few words he had already spoken had been hard enough. Apologies, concession - these were not things that came at all easily to Tristan. His only hope was that she knew enough of him to understand what he could not yet express in words.

Aithne studied him, still silent, still unmoving and then slowly, she relaxed and the smallest glimmer of a smile ghosted her lips. Tristan's saw it and relief flooded his heart.

"Don't be afraid…." He soothed huskily, feeling his passion soar for he was certain now, she was about to become his. "Kiss me, Aithne…touch me. Just take yo..."Aithne laid her fingertips upon his mouth and shushed him gently.

It always seemed to her that Tristan had an uncanny knack for speaking the tactless at the most inopportune moments and were he to do so now, it would shatter her completely.

Obeying, Tristan remained silent. He heard her swallow, then the whispering intake of breath as she gathered her courage.

He waited - desperate, trembling until slowly, tentatively Aithne raised her hand to his chest and touched. He stifled a low guttural moan as her quivering fingertips grazed his skin, like those of an angel gentle and warm, marveling at the beauty of him, worshipping him. His heart pounded deep within, a rhythmic throb, pulsed in his loins as her fingers slid through the dark curls on his chest, then down, down and over the solid contours of his abdomen, so excruciatingly close and then up again. He let out a gasp as if starved of breath, when lips kissed along the trail where fingers had touched.

Expert it was not, but no skilled leman could have given him more pleasure. The sheer honesty with which she caressed him, so tender and adoring, drove him beyond all his endurance.

When she fell to her knees before him, he almost buckled. He felt her hands shake as they tugged at the laces on his breeches. He groaned in joyous disbelief and immediately buried his hands into the soft tendrils of her hair. He lent over and gently kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him and he kissed her again on her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth.

"Oh Aithne," he breathed between kisses, his voice rusty and laced with desire. "You don't have to do this."

"But…I want to." She whispered back and unthreaded the ties.

Sighing with grateful pleasure, Tristan coiled fists of hair around his hands and threw back his head. Exposed now, he could feel her breath caressing his rigid, burning flesh and knew any moment he would feel her soft lips and warm, wet mouth upon him.

Christ! Fuck! Had he yelled that aloud? He neither knew nor cared for her hands were upon him and moving with shocking subtly, sending pulses ricocheting through his spine to his throbbing core. He cried out her name when she began to taste him with her tongue, coiled her hair tighter and tighter around his hands as her mouth opened to take him in.

She had barely touched him when a fierce, uncontrollable shudder wracked his body. He knew what was coming and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

His knees collapsed and he fell before her, burying his face into her neck as he cried into the wild disarray of her unbound hair. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Aithne threw her arms about him, soothing and rocking him as he came in convulsive gasps, "I'm sorry…so…sorry" he gasped hoarsely between heaving breaths "I didn't mean to…" he moaned again as the delightful spasm still pumped through his body. "Not happened to me before... so long since…a woman like you…" his voice eventually trailed off with the subsiding orgasm.

They remained silent and still in each other's arms for a while, and then slowly he unwound his hands from her hair and lifted his head from her shoulder. He looked for all that it was worth, like a little boy – sheepishly ashamed and barely able to meet her eye. He cleared his throat self-consciously.

"I just need a moment..." he mumbled gruffly as he rearranged his breeches. "I'm not normally so…quick…"

Turning away from Aithne, he fumbled about on the floor, grabbed his shirt and used it to wipe the damp stains from her skirt and hand, all the time mumbling gruff apologies and bewildered exclamations under his breath.

"My God woman, what did you do to me...?"

Aithne just watched him, eyes wide with amusement and heart full of endearing affection to see this man so undone and then she began to giggle.

Tristan stopped dead, cringing at the sound, and then forced himself to meet her eyes. However, the derision he expected to see was not there. She was laughing at him, but there was no malice or mockery in her bright eyes.

"Oh Tristan!" she chuckled, cupping his whiskered cheek in her hand, her eyes glowing affectionately "I swear, I don't know when I've ever been so flattered!"

Tristan shook his head, embarrassed but somewhat relieved.

"It's been…." He shrugged, throwing her a reluctant grin whilst he tried to find the right word "a difficult day!"

Getting to his feet, he reached down and gathered Aithne up into his arms. Still laughing, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

"I thought you said you'd never fumble about in my breeches," Tristan teased, pressing her cheek against his chest, enfolding her in his arms. He felt her chuckling against him, and knew she was probably blushing profusely. He smiled at the thought of it; he liked that shy, bashful quality about her, as much as he liked her spit and courage when riled.

Aithne coiled her arms tighter around his waist, loving every moment the simple pleasure of being held in another's arms for it had been so long since she had shared intimacy of any kind. She sighed contentedly, feeling as if a sense of balance had settled between them, as if they had met at some level above that of the mere physical. Did they finally understand one another?

Well that would have to remain to be seen, she wasn't sure if she'd ever fully understand Tristan, did anyone? But she had seen the man inside of him at least, vulnerable and real just like any other man and she liked what she saw.

Slowly, leisurely she felt his hands begin to stroke the contours of her back as they stood in one another's embrace. It was the simplest caress, but the fire that lay unquenched within her, kindled instantly.

Tristan sensed it and responded. She had been patient long enough.

This time when he reached for her hems, she did not protest but instead lifted her arms as he eased the dress over her head and he took a moment drinking in the magnificent sight of her naked flesh.

"By the Gods, Aithne, you really are beautiful." He whispered, reaching out one hand, trailing his fingertips across the swell of her breast in almost disbelieving admiration.

He saw the colour rise at her throat but she didn't shy away from his touch. So, emboldened he pulled her close, swung her up in his arms and laid her down upon his bed. He then struggled out of his breeches, cursing under his breath when his foot caught and he almost toppled over.

Once off, he flung them across the room and lay down beside her. Their naked limbs brushed and entwined as he stroked his hand over her breasts and stomach. She moaned gently, and moved against him. Urging his hand lower, lower to where she ached and burned. They kissed as he teased her. His fingertips gliding from hip to hip, up to her breasts and then down low once more. But not quite there, not quite.

"What do you want, Aithne?" He whispered as he closed his mouth over a breast and suckled the soft, warm flesh. Aithne gasped and writhed against him. "Tell me…" he demanded, his tongue circling, teasing her beyond endurance. "Is this what you want?"

His hand glided down and her thighs parted willingly, she cried out as he brushed her moist, swollen flesh and then slid his fingers inside of her. My God, but was she ready for him! Tristan lifted his head to watch her as she writhed gently against his hand. Tiny rhythmic cries escaping her lips as her movements became bolder, more determined. Such an incredible sight! Wide, enticing hips. Strong thighs, large firm breasts. Such a beauty, how could he have taken so long to notice her? He felt himself throb painfully, desperate to be sheathed where his fingers now explored. His endurance would not last much longer.

He felt small pulses begin to milk his fingers and pulled away. She cried out in protest at first, but clung to him greedily when he moved between her legs. Before he was able to, she had already taken him in her hand and was sliding him into her heat. It was Tristan's turn to cry out, delightfully surprised at the wanton way in which she took from him. He grew rough in his need, knowing it was what she wanted and he filled her with deep, ravenously hard strokes. She answered him in kind, dragging fingernails across his shoulders and meeting his every thrust.

He grabbed her hips, holding her still as he filled her - higher, deeper, faster - both of them crying out with every spine-tingling stroke. Aithne let go of him and grasped the mattress white-knuckled, as he took her. Eyes closed, back arched. A shimmering sheen of perspiration now glistened on their bodies, making their lovemaking slick and frantic.

Tristan was on the edge and knew he could not hold on much longer. Desperate that he not disappoint a second time, he let go of her hips. Bracing himself on one hand, he reached between her legs with the other, touching her as he pushed deeper and deeper.

"Dear God!…Yes, yes!" she cried, as he encourage her on. Feeling her tighten and throb around him, he knew she was almost there and with frenzied relief, he let himself go.

Aithne whimpered, then sobbed as her orgasm engulfed her. Wave after wave, she trembled and pulsed, and just as she thought she could not possibly take anymore more, her soul shattered.

Somewhere, in the distance, far beyond her ecstasy she heard Tristan roar and knew he was shattering too.