Chapter Twenty-Four: And She Is Avilon Once More

Tristan and Cavan had been riding for three hours. They were moving at a leisurely pace - about two miles out of the town, Tristan had slowed Maura to a smooth, ambling walk. It was very cold. The sky was white, the clouds low and full to bursting with unshed tears of snow, and Cavan was shivering inside the thick woolen cloak and heavy boots that Tristan had given her.

'Why are you doing this?' Cavan asked for the twelfth time, her voice shaking slightly from the cold.

'Keep you safe,' Tristan replied shortly - the same answer he had used for the other eleven questions.

Cavan rested her head on her brother's back, and felt with satisfaction the knife just beneath her cheek. During the hours that had passed since they left Castellum, she had been planning how she could escape from her brother. She would cut through her bonds, knock him out, take Maura and ride back to Castellum to confront Arthur about why he had ordered Tristan to kidnap her - for where else could the order have come from?

The knife Cavan leant on was the only one of Tristan's knives that she could reach, her hands being tied and unmoveable. Gently, using her teeth, she took ahold of the dagger and slowly drew it out from within the folds of Tristan's clothes.

It fell from her mouth and she caught it with difficulty, her numb fingers proving to be more hindrance than help. Cavan smiled triumphantly to herself as her fingers finally curled around the blade; she turned it over and started to cut through the rope that tied her hands together.

It took about five minutes to successfully sever the rope. Keeping her fingers wrapped around it - so the slack wouldn't fall and alert Tristan of what she had done - she slowly slipped the knife into the pocket of her breeches and rubbed her sore wrists.

'What would you have done, if it had been warm, and I had been naked?' Cavan casually asked Tristan.

'Made you dress.'

'You wouldn't have been embarrassed?'

Tristan grunted in reply. Cavan wondered why he was so silent. Then she turned her mind back to the task at hand: escape. She gazed around for something that could make Tristan get off the horse. Her eyes alighted on the water skin that bulged next to her right thigh. Carefully - making sure she didn't let go of the rope - she loosened the tie that attached the skin to Maura's saddle. It hung low - ready to fall.

'I need to drink,' Cavan said shortly.

Her brother seemingly ignored her; he made no attempt to slow Maura or to reach for the skin. Just as Cavan was about to ask again, Tristan pulled gently on Maura's reins and she stopped, snorting quietly. Then he leant backwards - causing Cavan to mimic him or else risk being pushed off the horse - and extended his hand towards the water skin. As he did so, Cavan gently nudged it with her thigh and the tie that she had loosened unlaced completely. The skin, dropping with a thump onto the grass below, rolled a few inches before stilling.

'Tristan, I really need a drink!' Cavan urged, hitting him with her wrists.

'Stay on the horse,' Tristan replied quietly.

He slid off Maura, landing almost delicately on both feet, and bent to pick up the skin. Taking her chance, Cavan kicked out with a booted foot, and felt the sickening crunch as her heel connected with Tristan's jaw. He stood up quickly, reeling from the blow - but not unconscious. She punched him, knowing it was her last chance before he was able to come back at her. Her fist hit his temple so hard that flames erupted over her knuckles. Tristan's eyes rolled backwards and he sprawled on the grass as his body shut down to escape the pain.

Cavan allowed herself a few seconds to revel in her victory over the man - her brother - who had kidnapped her, then jumped forwards into Maura's saddle, pulled her round in a wide circle and spurred her forwards with a cry.

Why had Arthur ordered Tristan to kidnap her? Tristan said he was keeping her safe… but from what? She would rather know what it was that she was being protected from that be coddled like some weak, naive girl. I am not a child! she yelled to herself.

Cavan rode for forty minutes at Maura's fastest pace. But when Castellum appeared on the horizon, she pulled the reins and stopped Maura dead. A wave of cold swept over her. I have made a mistake, she thought, frightened. Something had changed - Cavan had suddenly realised that Tristan had a reason for kidnapping her. Whatever that reason, she knew that he would not have done it if it were not to protect her. But she had been so angry - it had been impossible to realise that.

But then the memory of being tied to the stable post came back to her and for a second she was back in Evin's estate, her wrists bound and secured to the railing of the balcony as the night fell and the dark surrounded her and the cold creeped through her muscles and penetrated her soul and she was so afraid and so angry and so pathetic and then everything dropped away. She was Cavan again - and ridiculously furious at her brother, and at Arthur.

She deserved an explanation. The way she had been treated - by the men she trusted the most - was, in her mind, disgusting. Her trust had been betrayed and they were all going to pay.

Lancelot woke up angry. His vexation only grew when he remembered what had happened the previous night. And then, once he realised what day it was, he felt so incensed by the world that the only thing he could think of to diffuse his anger was to train. He went to Tristan's room - the Hyrci was always up for a fight - but the scout wasn't there. Lancelot turned to Galahad's door and kicked it open, only to find his brother naked, limbs entangled with Sansa's. They were both fast asleep. Cursing the rest of his brothers, Lancelot lashed out at the wall and dented it with his fist. Heat exploded in his knuckles and he felt all the more angry for being so stupid.

'Veka sas huora!' Lancelot yelled, roaring the curse as loud as he could. Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor.

It was cold outside, and the ground had frozen overnight. The icy wind was a welcome relief from the heat of the anger that burned within him, but he was also infuriated by it because he hated the cold. A few flakes of snow dripped from the white sky above him.

The Sarmation knight swore again as a snowflake landed on his cheek. He glared at the clouds and muttered a light-minded prayer to Arawn begging vengeance on the sky itself if the weather got worse.

Lancelot decide he needed a drink, so he sent one final dirty look upwards and set off for Vanora's. The town was empty - it seemed to be taking a breath after the Samhain festivities of the night before. Reflecting on the fact that it was possibly the first time he had woken up on the day after Samhain without a girl in his bed, Lancelot entered the square and saw Hani inside the taproom.

'Won't you let up?' she said when she noticed him. 'I will not bed you!'

'Get me some wine,' Lancelot said tersely, ignoring the words she had yelled at him.

He sat down heavily and pulled a blade from his belt, shoving it into the table and cutting out a sliver of the dark wood.

'Can I cheer you up?' Hani asked, setting a pitcher and two cups down on the table and sitting down beside Lancelot.

Lancelot poured himself a cup of wine and downed it in one. Then he refilled his cup and drank that, too. Then he shook his head.

'Not even with... Vanora's honey?' Hani said, her voice full of hidden glee.

She produced a round pot from behind her and pushed it towards Lancelot with a smile. When he simply frowned at it, Hani reached over and took of the lid. The sweet smell of honey overflowed and poured over the sids of the clay container. Lancelot didn't move.

'Come now, Lancelot, I have never seen you in such a dreadful mood!' Hani said jubilantly, dipping her finger into the honey and licking it.

Lancelot didn't respond, so Hani grinned and smeared some honey on the side of his face. He still did not move. She dunked her finger into the honey once more and this time spread it over his lips.

Suddenly Lancelot opened his mouth and his teeth gently clamped down onto her forefinger. Hani felt him taste the honey and then lick her finger. A shiver ran down her spine. She leaned into him and ran her tongue over the honey she had streaked on his cheek. She could feel their closeness - it was electrifying, like the heavy air just before a storm.

Then Lancelot's hands passed over her neck and she turned her head ever so slightly and then their lips met and she couldn't help but push her body closer to his and her hands were knotted in his hair and he tasted like honey and wine and smelt so deliciously male.

And Lancelot kissed her back and felt her soft curves underneath his steady hands. All his anger seemed to fade away. He forgot Tristan's anger and Cavan's tears, and he forgot everything that that day would bring. All he could think about was the soft lips against his own.

'I still won't bed you!' Hani said brightly as their kiss ended. She touched her lips once more to his cheek and then was gone.

Lancelot watched her go, knowing that he didn't mind that he could not touch her thighs and kiss her breasts - she made him calm and that was all he cared about.

A sharp cry brought Lancelot from his pensive state. He looked around for the source and his eyes alighted on Arthur, who was standing just outside the stables. He was gesturing vigorously, indicating that Lancelot needed to join him.

'The caravan has been sighted,' Arthur said breathlessly as Lancelot came into hearing distance.

'Iera sjata!' Lancelot swore.

'Lancelot, please,' Arthur admonished. 'We have to meet them, in case something happens.'

'I don't want to go anywhere near that fucking -'

'Lancelot!' Arthur broke in. 'We have no power over this situation. Go and find the others. Now!'

Lancelot turned and set off for the Knight's rooms, spitting out a stream of curses unusually vulgar, even for him. A mixture of Latin and Sarmation curses, the list seemed endless. He had not exhausted his plethora of swearwords even when he reached Dagonet's room.

He didn't bother with knocking; the door banged against the wall as he kicked it open.

Inside, Dagonet was laying in the bed, a girl draped over his chest. She seemed to be asleep. Dagonet was watching her, a contended smile hovering around his lips.

As Lancelot came over the threshold, his face a mask of storming anger, Dagonet held up his hand to stop Lancelot from making any more noise.

'Hush!' he said quietly.

Slowly, Dagonet slipped from underneath the sleeping and climbed out of the bed, making sure she was covered with blankets. He pulled on some breeches, poured himself a cup of wine, and then turned to Lancelot, drinking deeply.

'What is it?' Dagonet asked, his deep voice rough with sleep.

'Caravan's been sighted,' Lancelot said shortly. 'We're leaving now.'

Dagonet looked at the floor, taking the information on board and controlling his reaction. Then he looked up at Lancelot. He reach out and put his hand on his brother's shoulder, gently.

'There is nothing we can do,' Dagonet began, but Lancelot scoffed him and spat on the floor.

'Lancelot,' Dagonet started again.

'We could have done more!' Lancelot shouted over him.

The girl in the bed stirred and sat up, woken by Lancelot's cry. As he turned to leave the room, Lancelot saw who it was: Irri. But then he

'Dag?' Irri questioned, clasping the blankets over her naked body. She gazed at Dagonet as he turned round to face her, his eyes saddened by what he had heard.

'We're going scouting,' he lied. 'I'll be back in a few hours. Will you be alright?'

'If you come here and kiss me once more.'

Dagonet smiled and sat down on the bed, and took Irri in his arms and felt her wrap her body around his and tasted her warmth on his tongue and smelt the soft perfume rising from her velvet skin.

They broke apart and Irri smiled up at him and laid her fingers ever so gently on his cheek. Then she stood up, wrapping the sheets around herself like a dress, and crossed the room to the door, where she turned round and met Dagonet's tender gaze.

'Come back to me,' she whispered.

Cavan slowed Maura as they trotted through the gates, waved in by the uniformed Roman sentries at their posts. Cavan nodded her thanks the the two men - one on either side of the gate - and guided Maura through the narrow streets and towards the stables. Once there, Cavan brushed Maura down and made sure she had water before leaving the stables and heading for her room.

Cavan didn't want to let her anger control her; she forced herself to walk slowly, to take all the time she could over everything. She reached her room having met no-one on the way. It was strange - there seemed to be no-one awake. She knocked on Dagonet's door, but no-one answered, so she opened his door and looked inside. His room was empty.

She went into her own room and shut the door behind her. Everything was where she had left it when Tristan had taken her. Cavan pulled off her boots, breeches and shirt and washed herself quickly from the basin on the table behind the door. She searched through her chest for something to wear; she chose a pale green, long-sleeved peplos and sandals.

Cavan sat down to force herself not to run out of her room and find Arthur. She ran her fingers through her hair and twisted it into two long sections. Using a thick strip of blue fabric as the third part, she braided her hair and coiled it at the back of her head, securing it with a long pin.

Making sure she was presentable, Cavan took a deep breath and prepared herself for facing Arthur. She had some reservations about confronting him; he had been so kind to her, allowing her to stay at the fort, offering her protection… Why would he have ordered Tristan to kidnap her? Everything was so confusing.

She set off down the empty corridor, Her dress hung softly on her, making small whispering noises as the hem brushed the floor. Cavan decided that it would be a good idea to check the fortress hall- the knights could have been given new orders from the Romans. She turned left at the bottom of the stairs and followed the passageway to where it opened out into a high-ceilinged anti-chamber that would lead through to the fortress hall.

It was empty, save for the elegant chairs that lined the walls, interspersed with tall marble statues of women wrapped in gossamer. The ceiling and walls were painted white, with small round windows through which shafts of pale yellow light came. Having been inside the fortress hall, Cavan knew how much different the anti-chambers were. The fortress hall itself was dark, the walls black and gold, with barely any natural light. She wondered why the building had been created that way.

Suddenly Cavan could hear voices. They were coming from behind the door opposite her; the door that led into the fortress hall. She stepped forwards.

'Please don't go in there,' came a quiet, but deep voice from behind her.

Cavan turned around, although she already knew who it was. She crossed the room and put her hand on Gawain's cheek.

'Why not?'

Gawain suddenly grabbed her arms and pulled her close.

'Cavan, don't go in there!' he insisted.

'I'm going to find out, whatever it is that you're hiding from me.'

'I know you are,' Gawain replied miserably. 'Please know that it was never my intention to hurt you. I would never want any harm to come to you.'

His voice was so sincere that Cavan was a little taken aback. Suddenly she forgot that there was something waiting in the room behind her that she was not going to like; instead, the only thing she could think of was how beautiful the man standing before her was. She wound one of his braids round her finger, and then traced his jawbone with her thumb.

Gawain pulled her into his arms and kissed her. But the kiss scared her; there was too much pressure, too strong an edge in the way his lips crushed hers. It was as though he felt they only had a few more seconds together before they would be ripped apart forever.

And then, suddenly, a door behind them opened, and they had broken apart and both turned to see who had come through and Gawain gulped in a gasp and his hand gripped Cavan's like a vice and then the silence was shattered by a laugh and then one word was spoken.

'Avilon.'

And for Cavan, the world ended.