Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Injury
Abigail found herself visiting the healing wing far more often than she would have liked because Neasa made her run errands while her wrist healed. This was the fifth batch of herbs Abigail had had to carry to the fort's healer, in as many days. It seemed that every time that Abigail entered the dreary wing, she could not help but run into one of the knights. Abigail loved the knights as she would her own brothers, but it had been Tristan who had introduced her to them. After her experience during the storm, Abigail had not spoken to the scout. She had even vowed not to think of him even, though that promise was nigh impossible to keep.
Luckily for Abigail, Tristan had been out scouting for most of the past week. Though Abigail found herself upon the wall every evening staring at the horizon, she still felt less uncomfortable when Tristan was not within the gates. It was unfair either way because if he wasn't around she couldn't help but worry about him, and if he was around she was constantly frustrated by him. Abigail was beginning to wonder what she had seen in the thick headed scout, in the first place. More so, she couldn't understand what had possessed her to return to the fort. Her honor was forever tarnished here because she had left betrothed and returned unwanted. She had no family here since her father considered her dead to him since she left her betrothed. She had never had many friends inside these walls other than Vanora and a select few others. But as soon as things turned sour, she had come running back anyway.
No matter how much Abigail tried to deny it to everyone else, she could not lie to herself or Vanora, for that matter. She had come back for Tristan. He was the only reason that she had had the courage to pack her bags when Antonius had ended the engagement. Tristan was the only reason that she had not taken her own life after she had found herself completely alone in the world. He was the reason that she did most things in her life. As much as Abigail hated to admit it, she still loved the scout with every fiber of her being. His dismissal of her had wounded her pride far more than the fact that her betrothed had thrown her away for a local whore. No, Abigail did not care what any man thought of her other than Tristan.
Everyone had just thought that she was looking for attention when she had begun her friendship with the scout. Attention was what she received, but it was not what she had wanted. Her spitfire temper and complete disregard for any other man's opinion of her had been a sore topic around the fort. Everyone would whisper that Tristan was using the poor girl and she feared his jealous temper. However, in reality Tristan had never been jealous of Abigail and other men because Abigail had come to him. He had no claim over her, and he would kill himself before forcing her to do anything that she did not wish to do. Abigail did not care for others opinions simply because she had only ever loved Tristan. What use was there in the opinions of those who simply looked at her as an object? Tristan was the only one who saw her as a person, an equal, and he was the only one whose opinion would ever matter.
Now, Abigail felt lower than the moss beneath the stones of Hadrian's Wall since Tristan seemed to be unpleased with her presence. She could understand it if he had found someone else to fill his bed, but from what Vanora let on, he had been nothing short of celibate in her absence. Had she been so naïve as to believe that he had enjoyed her intimate company when in fact she had turned him off from the deed completely? No, Abigail shook her head. That could not be the truth; he was a man after all. But Abigail couldn't understand why he had thrown her age in her face. She was young but that had never meant anything in the past. How dare he confuse her as he did? She had left him, but she had had no other choice. If he chose to continue to act as though she meant nothing to him, then she would simply return the favor.
Abigail had thoroughly worked herself into quite a temper as she stormed down the halls of the healing wing. The sooner that she found Wade, one of the fort's healers, the sooner she could go back to Neasa and cry into the folds of the older woman's skirts. Abigail was not above showing her sorrow and desperation to elderly woman because Neasa never judged her, and the woman had a way of knowing exactly what Abigail felt before ever being told. If Wade was not here, she would simply leave the herbs on his mixing table and leave.
After another few minutes of searching, Abigail decided that it was a useless search. Wade had probably been sent to attend one of the sick villagers who was too old to be moved from his or her home. Abigail didn't care that the young healer was nowhere to be found. In reality, it was quite a relief. Wade had a way of making Abigail feel unbearably useless. It was obvious that he liked her from the way he nearly worshiped the ground she walked on. However, Wade didn't believe that women were of any use unless they were producing children or cooking. Abigail had other ideas, but she did not wish to alienate one of the few men that she could call friend. Whenever she was in the healing rooms with him, he insisted that she stay far away from any patients for what reason she was unsure. After all, Abigail was becoming quite the healer herself. With Neasa's help, Abigail was able to tend many sorts of injuries as well as determine types of illnesses and treatments.
Abigail wasn't really paying close attention to the world around her as she stepped into the main chamber of the healing wing. It had several cots but was mostly used for mixing herbs, salves, and teas for patients. Usually it was only used for tending small wounds or broken bones, but patients never spent the night in this room. For that reason, it was always eerily calm, and Abigail never enjoyed being there.
The room was dark, and Abigail felt no need to light a candle. She knew the layout of the floor enough to slip into the dark room and place the sack of herbs on the bench and slip out without incident. However, just as Abigail was placing the small bundle on the bench, she heard a shuffling noise in the corner of the room. Abigail nearly hit the ceiling, she had jumped so high. She nearly tripped over the small stool beside the table as she rushed out of the room. Within seconds, she had returned with several candles lit by a torch hanging in the hall.
No sooner did Abigail cross the threshold than she saw the slumped shoulders of a cloaked figure. In the corner sat a man that Abigail would have known if only his little finger was visible. "What are you doing in here? Wade does not let anyone stay here while he is out," Abigail spoke with a distinct edge to her voice as she approached the huddled scout. When she received no reply, she was only further incensed by his ignoring of her words. "I asked you a question, scout," she prodded as she reached the cot only to face his back. Tristan shuffled away from her a bit, only to reach the head of the bed having no where else to go.
"I am waiting for Wade," the hunched scout replied but his voice was as rough as a bed of shattered glass, cracking and scraping as he spoke.
"Do I disgust you so much that you cannot even bear to look upon my face when you speak to me," Abigail asked angrily as she noted how Tristan did not even turn to acknowledge her presence. Abigail was furious that her small errand had resulted in the one thing she had dreaded all week, a confrontation with the scout himself. "I know that I mean nothing to you anymore, but is it so hard to at least be civil to me? What have I done to warrant your disgust? Do not bother to turn around, I do not need to hear your lies only to see your eyes telling a different story," Abigail spat angrily as she turned to leave. Her anger completely blinding her to the fact that Tristan would not be caught dead in the healing rooms if it were not for a good reason.
"You have it all wrong, Abby," Tristan said in barely a whisper.
"Oh really," Abigail said sarcastically but paused none the less because her heart fluttered unwillingly as he called her Abby.
"It was you that I did not wish to disgust by showing you my face," Tristan spoke the words with the slightest hint of shame.
"What is that supposed to mean," Abby asked in confusion as she tentatively approached the cot again. She watched as Tristan slowly turned to face her with his eyes determinedly staring at the floor. Abigail gasped in shock at the mess that was Tristan's face. Tristan looked into her eyes when he heard her gasp knowing that he would see sympathy, which he didn't want. However, all Tristan could see in Abigail's eyes, as she gazed at him, was worry. "How did this happen," she asked as she quickly rushed over to the healer's bench to retrieve a basin of clean water and bandages.
"Ambush," was all that Tristan said as he hung his head again in shame at his failure to notice the threat before it was too late. Abigail tsk-tsked as she rounded the end of the cot to sit in front of the beaten scout.
"Were you just going to sit here all night until Wade returned," she asked as she took a cloth and submerged it in the clear water. She wasn't surprised when she received no reply. Abigail simply grumbled to herself as she wrung out the wet cloth and looked up at the scout's battered face. His nose was obviously broken from the odd angle that it pointed as well as the dark bruises around his eyes. Had it been any other occasion, Abigail would have thought that the black circles around his eyes made him look rather boyish and cute. However, the circumstances prevented her from paying any mind to that thought. Other than the nose, Tristan had several cuts and bruises on his cheeks and forehead. Slowly she rose to her knees and reached up to begin the task of washing the blood from the scout's face. After rinsing the cloth only twice, the water in the basin was a sickening red color. Abigail paid it no mind as she slowly reached up again to run the cloth gently over Tristan's right temple where a particularly nasty cut rested.
"I swear you do this on purpose," Abigail mumbled as she dropped the cloth in the basin for the time being.
"Do what," Tristan asked confusedly as Abigail fetched a small needle and began heating it over the candle flame.
"Whenever I decide that I am through with you and never want to speak to you again, you go and get yourself injured. You know I can't bear to see you suffer, even if I do hate you," Abigail said with a hint of a smile as she removed the needle from the flame. Quickly, she rushed over to retrieve the stool so that she could work at his level. When she returned, she found Tristan staring at her through heavily lidded eyes. "Don't give me that look, Sir Tristan. I will not forgive you so easily, but I will not see you suffer either," she said as she raised the needle to his skin.
Tristan knew that Abigail was one of the gentlest and steadiest hands that could work on an injury, but that didn't stop his head from hurting like hell by the time she finished. As she put the needle down and looked at her work, Tristan noticed the bandages still over her wrist. "You arm," he said by way of a question.
"…Is thankfully the only thing wrong with me. I never got the chance to thank you for coming back for me. If you hadn't, I don't know if anyone would have come for me," she said as she lowered her eyes in her own abyss of shame. "Thank you."
"I was duty bound to go after you. After all, you had stolen a knight's stallion," Tristan tried to ignore her gratitude in hopes that she would not forgive him so easily. He could not deny that he loved her, but he refused to believe that he was good enough for the spunky Briton. "I just hope that it is healing properly," he added as he reached out to touch her bandaged wrist lightly with his gentle fingers.
"Healing fine, I assure you. I'll be well enough to be stealing horses again, very shortly," she snapped as she pulled her wrist from his grasp angrily. "Why do I even kid myself into thinking that maybe you returned because you cared or… or… I give up! Fix your own wounds, I cannot deal with you right now," Abigail cried as she threw a roll of bandages at him and stormed toward the door. Abigail would have left too, if she had not heard a sharp gasp from the cot then a distinct thud. Turning abruptly, Abigail saw Tristan on his knees gasping for air. He had obviously tried to follow her.
"Stupid scout," she admonished as she rushed over to his side to help him back onto the cot. "Why didn't you say that you had broken ribs as well? Now I have to treat them as well," she sighed in frustration as she helped him lean back against the wall as he lay on the cot. "Lift your arms," she told him as she pulled up his tunic.
"I'm fine, their just a bit bruised," Tristan insisted but lifted his arms anyway, knowing that it was futile to argue with Abigail.
"Of course their just bruised," she nearly yelled as she gazed at Tristan's battered torso. His ribcage was nearly black or purple due to the number and size of the bruises across it. Abigail would have gasped, but she was too incensed at his stupidity to react to the mess he made of himself. "I can't believe you," was all she said as she began feeling his ribs to see the extent of the damage. She could feel Tristan shuddered under her fingertips, but was unsure if it was due to pain or pleasure. Knowing the scout as she did, it wouldn't have surprised her if it was a combination of the two. "Miraculously only one is cracked. However, I would say that about six or so are badly bruised," Abigail diagnosed him as she finished running her fingers across him ribs in a technique that he had actually taught her many months ago.
"I was careless," he admitted as Abigail began to wrap bandages around his midsection. "I was distracted, and it nearly cost me my life," Tristan growled as she pulled the bandages securely. "If I hadn't been thinking of you, I wouldn't have missed the warnings of their attack," he ground out as she abruptly pulled the cloths tighter than she meant to.
"You're blaming me for this," she asked in disbelief as her bright eyes met those of the scout. Abigail nearly finished the job for the Woads at that moment, but reined her anger as quickly as it had come. She could see the sincerity in Tristan's eyes, and she sent a silent prayer to the gods to smite her right there because she had no reason to continue living.
"I am sorry that you feel that my presence is such a distraction," she replied emotionally as she swiped at a tear that threatened to escape her eye. She finished wrapping his ribs as quickly as possible before standing and moving toward the door. "If my presence is so unwanted, I will leave in the morning. You do not have to worry for me ever again, Sir Tristan because you will never need to gaze upon my dreary face ever again after tonight," Abigail spoke through the tears that fell unhindered down her porcelain cheeks. It tore Tristan's heart to see her heart breaking right in front of him, but he knew that this was for the best. If she left this fort, she could start over somewhere else. She would have her honor back, and he would not feel guilty for being unable to give her the life she deserved. It was for her own good he kept telling himself.
"Just tell me one thing before I leave, Tristan," Abigail said with a slight plead tugging at her already weak voice. "Was I truly that bad a fuck that you can't even bear my presence anymore," she spat, but instead of waiting for an answer she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. The last thing Tristan saw of her was her long auburn hair as the door blocked her out of his life forever.
"No… it was because you were the best I ever had, that I can't bear to drag you down with me," the defeated scout replied to the vacant air. With a solemn sigh, Tristan lay back on the cot and willed sleep to take him away from his pathetic existence for even a moment.
Abigail could barely see where she was going as she ran through the fort. She wanted to go home and curl up and bawl her eyes out, but she frankly didn't care at this point. She would cry right here in the middle of the fort for all she cared. She barely noticed as she ran headlong into a firm body and fell to the ground. She let out a soft whimper as the impact wrenched her broken wrist, but gave no other hint of the pain surging through her arm. She didn't look up as the startled Roman soldier lifted her into his arms realizing that she was one of the redheaded wench's friends. She didn't protest when he began to carry her in a different direction.
Darius was nearly attacked when he carried the sobbing girl into the tavern. Before he even made it to the edge of the outdoor tavern, several of the knights were headed in their direction. He swallowed hard at their deadly expressions, but steeled himself for the interrogation. "Before you attack me, know that I had nothing to do with the fact that she is a sobbing mess," Darius explained as he held Abigail out to Dagonet who was the first to reach him. "She ran straight into me as I was head toward my watch, she was sobbing before she hit me," he continued when no fists came flying in his direction.
"Abby," Vanora cried as she rushed toward the group. "Poor child, what happened to you," she mumbled more to herself than the unresponsive girl. Vanora quickly ushered Dagonet toward the kitchens where she could tend to her friend in private.
"Is she going to be alright," Darius found himself asking as he watched the redhead and the large knight rush the girl away.
"I'm sure that Vanora will have her right as rain by the end of the night, but if I find out that you had anything to do…" Bors was cut off by the young soldier's voice.
"You will do unspeakable things to me. Trust me, I know. I had a younger sister once, I know how to be protective," Darius said as he turned to get to his position before he faced punishment for being late. "If it isn't too much to ask, I would like to know that she is well," he said before leaving.
"Arthur will let you know," Lancelot sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had not idea what had happened to Abigail, but he had a feeling it had to do with the mysterious return of the scout that afternoon. Unlike Bors, Lancelot had no doubt that Darius was innocent. He had been on guard duty with the young soldier enough times to know that the boy was incapable of harming a kitten never mind a young woman like Abigail. He was one of few Romans with any morals at the fort.
Lancelot just sighed again as he returned to their table, where Galahad was passed out drunk. For once, he was happy that the youngest had drunk himself into a stupor because Galahad would have killed Darius even before he reached the tavern if he had been awake. Lancelot smirked as he thought that though Abigail never noticed it, men constantly sought after her. She was just oblivious to their attentions because none of them were silent, brooding, and dangerous like a certain scout they all knew and loved.
XxXxX
Please don't hurt me, I didn't forget about this story. I realize it has been a month since I last updated, but I was trying to finish my other story and a ton of summer work so this got put on hold for a while. However, now it is back and will hopefully be updated regularly once again. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please tell me what you thought of it. Thank you to those of you who reviewed because you are the reason that this story is being continued.