Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.
Author's note: Warning: Adult situtations and implied naked bits. I apologize heartily for the adult nature of this chapter (I did rate this story M for a reason) and if you are too young to be reading this story, stop now. I'm afraid that my Titus Pullo muse had a little fun with my brain. As before, responses to my wonderful reviewers is at the bottom.
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VISIONS OF DEATH
Chapter Eight: The Tavern
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Brigid dropped onto a bench and rested her elbows on the tabletop in the tavern, dropping her head into her hands as exhaustion finally began to take its toll. She had spent hours setting up a healing room, laying out her healing tools, herbs and bandages in preparation for the coming battle. She was happy that Fulcina had followed her, if not love then, lust for the dark knight Lancelot. The woman had been the wife of a troll and deserved some happiness. As for Gueneviere, after Arthur had announced to the knights that he would be staying at the wall to fight the Saxon hordes, she had gone to Arthur's room and had not reappeared.
Which left five more knights for Brigid to worry about. Well, four, she thought as she watched Bors hold Vanora in a surprisingly tender embrace. The oldest knight was a marriage of opposites: brutal fighter and tender husband and father. Brigid rested her cheek on one of her hands, watching Bors and Vanora. In the morning Bors, Vanora, and their bastards would all evacuate from the fortress. Brigid's breath caught as she thought of the knights leaving her behind. She couldn't go to Rome or Sarmatia--she was Hibernian and her task lay at the wall. But that didn't mean that she wouldn't mourn the loss of these wonderful people that she'd met. Perhaps one more than the others. But self-honesty was not Brigid's strong suit and she quickly threw that thought into a bottomless pit. Instead she turned her thoughts to the battle ahead.
Her skills as a healer would be sorely needed, especially since the only other healers in the fort were leaving with the Romans. She was as prepared as she could be and the only thing left to do was attempt to get enough sleep to be of any use to the wounded. Standing from the table, she started towards the entrance of the tavern, waving a farewell at Vanora. If Bors lover had not been determined to follow Bors, Brigid might have asked for a position as tavern wench should they survive.
But if wishes were fishes she would never starve.
Stopping at the entrance to the tavern, she pressed a hand to the wood doorway, closing her eyes against the tiredness that swept over her. Opening her eyes, she swallowed a groan as she watched Gawain and Dagonet heading towards her. She held up a hand to stop them when she saw both Gawain and Dagonet open their mouths to speak.
"I am exhausted. If you have something to ask then you can ask me while you walk me to my room," she advised, starting across the courtyard towards her quarters.
Dagonet and Gawain shared a look before Dagonet fell in step with the petite healer, leaving the golden haired knight to amuse himself in the tavern.
"What have you seen?" asked Dagonet.
Brigid sighed and concentrated on putting one step in front of the other. "The Saxons will attack, Arthur will fight and many will die," she answered in a monotone.
She looked at Dagonet, struck with how calm he appeared without his heavily armored vest. "You, Dagonet, have visited my visions enough," she announced firmly, finally reaching her room. She started to open the door when Dagonet's much larger hand closed over her hand. "What more would you ask of me?" she pleaded.
Dagonet fixed her with an uncompromising gaze. "Swear that you will evacuate with us."
Brigid closed her eyes and let her forehead drop against the door to her room. "I am sorry, Dagonet. I must stay."
Dagonet took a step closer. "Not if I bind you and tie you to my horse," he growled.
Brigid met his gaze over her shoulder, her smile icy. "And I would slit your throat to get back here," she answered, venom lacing her voice. "My choice, Dagonet. Mine, and mine alone."
Dagonet glared at the woman. "No, milady."
Brigid shook her head and opened her door, expecting the conversation to be over. She crossed to the window opposite the door, her hand pushing the door shut behind her. The door did indeed shut behind her and she heard the lock being turned as it could only be done from within.
Surprised, she spun to find Dagonet glowering at her. "Why do you care so much?" she demanded mutinously, stomping up to the giant Sarmatian. She was tired, frustrated and certainly not in the mood to go to war with Dagonet.
Dagonet leaned down and captured her mouth, swallowing her gasp of shock. He was surprised at how soft her lips were and wrapped his arms around her waist, his calloused hands cradling her hips against him. He pulled her tighter to him, feeling gratified when she opened her mouth to his, allowing entrance. Lifting her by the waist, he walked her to the wall opposite the door and pressed her into it. He rested his foot on the edge of her bed and settled her on his thigh, her skirts pooling over his leg.
Brigid had initially stiffened under Dagonet when he claimed her mouth but she quickly relaxed beneath his kiss. She slid her arms up and laced her fingers behind his head. She didn't understand why she found the giant Sarmatian intriguing but he had captured her imagination since she had first watched him tend to Lucan.
Dagonet had not intended to kiss Brigid. Gods knew that he just wanted to keep this strange woman safe. But she was stubborn and unyielding and bewitching. She'd saved his life, cared enough to try to save his comrades, and never whined at her lot. However, when she had dismissed him to claim her bed, Dagonet knew that he didn't want the conversation to end.
Why did he care, he wondered even as his mouth roamed down to her throat, her hands clutching his shoulders. He nipped the tender flesh under her ear, satisfied when he heard her moan. He traced the line of her throat down to the collar of her gown, his fingers making short work of the lacings holding the gown to her body.
Brigid gasped as Dagonet's hands cupped her breasts through the wool, her eyes closing at his touch. "Dagonet," she whimpered, hands dropping from his shoulders to cup his buttocks through his breeches. Too many clothes, she thought. Her silent plea was answered as she felt Dagonet lifting the woolen gown over her head.
Dagonet grinned, his stubbled cheek raking her skin. He gazed down at this oddity of a woman, wondering how he had managed to get to this moment. Clad only in a thin shift, she reminded him of the stories his mother had told him of fearless women of old. Stroking her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, he wondered at the fact that he, the most frightening in appearance of all of his fellow knights, had captured this petite woman's attentions.
He captured one of her breasts through the linen, his eyes open as he watched her arch against him as he drew the flesh into his moth. Brigid leaned into his touch, grey eyes closed. When she had imagined her first lover, he had been a faceless grey shape with no form or passion. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this fierce, noble man who seemed determined to possess her body and soul.
Dagonet lifted the shift from her body, tossing the linen garment to the floor to join her gown. He stared down at her, blue eyes burning into her soul. Not saying a word, he lifted the woman before him into his arms and carried her to her tiny bed. Laying her on the straw mattress, he let his eyes sweep over her as he stood above her.
Brigid shivered and began to reach for the thin blanket, cold and bashfulness wanting the covering.
Dagonet shook his head, denying her the woolen covering, and tugged on his belt, the heavy leather falling with a thump to the floor. He pulled his jerkin over his head, the heavy leather also falling to the floor. Next came his rust-colored linen tunic. He sat on the edge of her cot to pull off his boots, his eyes never leaving hers as he looked for any sign of fear. Finding none, he dropped his boots and pulled his woolen stockings from his feet. He stood and let his breeches fall to the floor.
The look in Brigid's eyes lured him to the bed. He lay down beside the pretty Hibernian and gathered her to him.
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Tristan's eyes widened as he passed the Hibernian healer's door, recognizing a roar that he'd heard often enough in battle come from within. Gawain had mentioned in the tavern that Dagonet had walked the pretty redhead to her rooms to speak of her visions. Tristan remembered the wise women of his own tribe who used blood and fire to see the future and thought that the small woman looked nothing like the women he remembered. He'd been headed to his own bed to prepare for the long journey home in the morning when he'd been stopped by Dagonet's roar from within Brigid's room.
He paused, hand on his dagger, as he listened for trouble within.
Instead, he found himself listening almost voyeuristically as he heard the Sarmatian healer chuckle from within, a very feminine chuckle joining in.
Tristan shook himself and offered a rare smile to the empty hallway. It was about time that Dagonet, often the loneliest member of their troop, found a woman to be happy with. Tristan moved towards his own bed, thoughts on the morning occupying his mind.
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Brigid swung her legs over the edge of the cot, looking back at the sleeping naked Sarmatian who had claimed her bed and her heart. She smiled, touching the reddened skin on her cheeks and throat that Dagonet had left with his stubbled nuzzling. Slowly rising, she wondered at the aches in her body. Making love with a Sarmatian was demanding even though Dagonet was a gentle lover.
She quickly donned her shift and dress and began to look for her shoes, the cold of the room suddenly far more apparent since she had just left a very warm bed.
"Good morning," grinned Dagonet from the bed, his body levered up to lean on one arm. "What are you doing?" He seemed completely unaware of either his nakedness or the effect his powerful form had on the woman in the room.
Brigid slipped on her slippers and smiled at the warrior. "I am going to the healing rooms to prepare for the wounded."
Dagonet's jaw dropped. After they had spent the night in lovemaking, he had assumed that Brigid's decision to leave the fortress would change. He grimaced and threw his long legs onto the floor and shook his head. "No, Brigid, you are coming with me."
Brigid stiffened and looked at the impressively naked man, shoving away her physical and emotional reactions to his body. "I told you before that I was staying, Dagonet." She stepped away from Dagonet and turned, staring out the window rather than look at her lover. "Last night does not change that."
Dagonet stiffened and glared at the woman whose body he had memorized in the few hours they had enjoyed each other. He pulled on his breeches and grabbed his tunic from the floor where it had been discarded. "So it meant nothing?" he growled as he stood and stalked towards Brigid.
Brigid spun and fixed Dagonet with a fierce glare. Her slap seemed to come out of nowhere and she gaped at the red imprint she left on his cheeks, almost shocked that she had hit her lover. Dagonet's blue eyes hardened and moments later he stormed out of her room, his tunic, jerkin, and boots in his arms as he made every attempt to ignore the woman he was leaving.
Brigid watched as the door swung shut and crossed to her narrow bed, sitting on the bed and drawing her legs up to her chest. Resting her cheek against her knee, she felt the tears slip unheeded from her eyes onto her gown.
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Dagonet glared straight ahead as his fellow knights climbed atop their steeds. He ignored the jokes and jibes traded by Bors, Gawain and Lancelelot. He ignored the happy words of Galahad. Thankfully, Tristan was easy to ignore since he did not speak much. He would be glad to be rid of the forsaken country and the mad Hibernian who had shared her bed with him, he decided, grinding his teeth in impatience.
The caravan could not begin rolling forward soon enough.
TBC….
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To My Wonderful Reviewers:
homeric: Yay! Glad that you like Dag being alive--I just had to save him. I also am glad that you enjoyed Gawain. Yup, I would imagine that seeing the future would get you thrown into a padded room today or burned as a witch then. And, no, you obviously were not silly in seeing them together, though the road of true love was never easy. More is coming, I promise.
Scottishgal12: Yay! I also am so glad I didn't kill him. Nothing is more depressing than seeing Dagonet die. Again, no promises that none of the other knights die or any main characters die, but I'll do my best. J
BleedingTwilight: I'm glad you enjoyed Dag's reaction to Brigid's being on the ice. And I'm also glad that you are enjoying Brigid's little dilemma with trying to keep all of them alive. As for Fulcina and Lancelot, well, you can thank my husband for that little idea. I'm glad that you're enjoying so far and I hope that it continues to amuse and hold your interest.
Lady Marek: Don't worry, if Tristan lives I'll give him a good woman or at least a feisty one. Glad that you like Lancelot and Fulcina, again, my husband is to blame. Sorry I couldn't give Brigid to Tristan but, as my husband pointed out, the one she had the most interaction with was Dag. It would seem very weird for her to throw herself at Tristan.
shariena: Thank you. And here's the next installment. More is coming.
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