Surprise! To make up for my late update last week, I'm giving y'all an early one now!

Now to the not so good news. I've decided to make a lot of changes to the next few chapters, which means they'll need a lot more work than usual. Also, my son's operation is in exactly a week, so depending on how things go, I might have to take a few days off from writing. I'm going to try to get as much done as I can between now and then, though, and hope that I can still stay somewhat on schedule. Thanks in advance for your patience!

Also, this chapter starts off with a little bit of spice, because…well, why not? I'm not changing the rating of the story yet, though, because it doesn't feel necessary. Just a heads up!

Enjoy!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Breck moaned with pleasure, her back arching and her fingers clenching into soft hair. Lips and teeth and tongue lavished her neck with attention, making her throw her head back into the pillow to try to provide more access. A warm, strong body pressed her into the mattress, one of her legs lifting to wrap around his waist in an attempt to bring him even closer. A hand slid along her body on top of the nightgown she wore, the material so loose and flimsy that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. She could feel the heat of that touch, of that body against hers, as if it were touching her bare skin.

The lips left her neck, and then they were on hers, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. When the lips retreated again and Breck finally opened her eyes, Tristan's face was above hers. His hair was mussed from her fingers, his lips swollen from their kisses, his cheeks flushed from the heat between them, and his eyes hooded with desire. He looked so handsome that it almost hurt.

He looked back at her for a moment, his nose brushing hers, then he kissed her again, harder and hungrier this time. Breck moaned again into his mouth, the fingers of one hand tangling into his hair, the other sliding against the bare skin of his back, desperate to feel more of him. She felt his hand grip her hip, pulling her body tightly to his, making her breath hitch as he pressed against her so intimately. That hand then made its way down to the hem of her nightgown, slipping under it and then boldly traveling upwards.

She tore her lips from his with a gasp as his fingers found their destination between her legs. She trembled against him, her breaths coming hard and fast, her eyes squeezed shut with ecstasy. Tristan trailed his lips down her jaw, to her neck, and then to her shoulder, where he pushed the neckline of her nightgown down and out of the way, revealing her shoulder first, and then her breast. He wasted no time pressing kisses to the skin revealed, his lips closing around her nipple, all while those skilled fingers never once ceased their steady movements.

"Tristan," Breck gasped, her whole body feeling as though it were on fire. "Tristan…"

Breck's eyes snapped open. For a moment, she simply lay there in the darkness of her quarters, chest heaving, heart thundering in her chest, sweat clinging to her skin, and desire throbbing between her legs. Even though she was awake now, she could still feel Tristan's touch from her dreams, feel his body against hers and his lips on her skin. As if it had been real, and not just something her mind had conjured up.

Finally, Breck let out a shaky breath and sat up, rubbing her hands through her messy curls and then pressing them to her warm cheeks. She needed something to drink, anything to cool her down a little. Breck tossed off the covers and got out of bed, heading for the pitcher of water she had left on her table the night before. She filled a cup to the brim and gulped it down quickly. When that served to do nothing to quell the heat in her body, she took what was left in the pitcher and poured it into her washing basin, where she proceeded to splash her face and neck.

That, at least, somewhat helped.

It was still very early – there wasn't even so much as a hint of sunlight outside yet – so Breck got back in bed and pulled the covers back on, settling on her side and diligently closing her eyes, willing her heart to stop beating so hard, for her mind to stop spinning so that she could try to get a little more sleep.

It didn't work.

Breck sighed and rolled onto her back after several minutes, frowning up at the ceiling as she tried to get comfortable on her old, squeaky bed. After a little bit of wiggling about, she went still again and shut her eyes in an attempt to fall asleep once more.

But the moment she closed her eyes, all she could see, all she could think about, was Tristan.

It had been like this all night, ever since Tristan had kissed her within an inch of her life and promptly taken everything she thought she knew and turned it completely upside down. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop thinking about him. How his fingers had tangled into her curls. The scratch of his beard against her face. The scent of him in her nose. His body so warm and solid against her own. His lips so fierce and determined and hungry as they claimed hers.

It had taken her ages just to fall asleep in the first place. Given her train of thought, and given the desire that still resolutely simmered in her veins, it was really no wonder she'd ended up having such a delectable dream about him. Enjoyable as the dream had been, the images her mind had teased her with really did not help matters. Because now she could not help but think about what it might feel like to have Tristan do those things to her in real life. To have him in her bed, with his body against hers and his hand beneath her nightgown, showing her a world full of pleasure that she had never before experienced.

That heat swiftly returned, her lips suddenly tingling with desire to touch Tristan's again and her body positively aching for him.

Breck's eyes opened again and she growled with frustration, trying to ignore the feeling as she rolled onto her stomach and punched her pillow to soften it, her old bed creaking and squeaking with her movements.

She was done for, it was as simple as that. Her attraction to him had already been strong, but that kiss, the passion behind it, had sealed the deal. If she had not known it already, then she absolutely would have known it now.

Breck desperately wanted to be with Tristan.

Being his comrade, being his friend, would not be enough for her. She wanted him for her own, and she was beginning to strongly suspect that he was the only man she ever would want. Because how could anyone else possibly compare? It might have been hard to break through that cold, guarded, unfriendly front he had first shown her, but once she had, she had found a loyal, intelligent man that could make her laugh and understood her for who she was, without judgement and without ever expecting her to be anyone but her true self.

He was not at all what she had been looking for when she had come to Hadrian's Wall. But now that she had found him, he was exactly what she wanted, what she needed.

The fact that he had kissed her should have made her ecstatic. Because usually people did not just go about kissing other people without it meaning something. Yet, Breck was finding it difficult to feel excited about much of anything, which was largely why she had been fretting so much. Yes, Tristan had come after her upon seeing her leaving the tavern so obviously upset. And yes, he had kissed her in a way that ensured it would be burned in her memory for likely the rest of her life. But then he had left so abruptly afterward, without any sort of warning or explanation, and that very much bothered her.

What if he had not meant to kiss her? What if he had just gotten caught up in the heat of the moment? What if he had left so quickly because it had all been a huge mistake that he now regretted?

Her mind wouldn't stop spinning with all these questions, making Breck growl and whack her hands on her bed in pure frustration. She rolled onto her back again, the screeching of her bed shrill and loud within the confines of her room. The nightgown she wore for sleeping had gotten tangled around her legs during all her tossing and turning, and the minor inconvenience only irritated her further. She kicked her legs around almost violently to get free from the cocoon she'd made around herself.

That kiss couldn't be a mistake, she told herself. She might not know Tristan as well as the other men, but she knew him well enough by now. He was not the type to make impulsive decisions or act out on a whim. He was a calculated man who meant what he said and meant what he did. So, if he had kissed her, it could only have been because he had wanted to.

Then again, she reluctantly admitted, she did seem to bring out a side of Tristan that not many did, even Galahad had said as much. Maybe it had just been an impulsive decision – maybe, given how foul of a mood he had been in, their arguing had pushed him past his limit and kissing her had merely been his unexpected way of just trying to get her to shut up. Maybe it had meant nothing to him at all.

But even as she thought it, she didn't believe that to be the case. That kiss had not felt like nothing. He had kissed her like a man starved, like it was something he had been wanting to do for a very long time. There was no mistaking the desire she had felt from him, the hunger that drove him to kiss her in such a way.

So then why had he run away from her so quickly? And how would things be between them when they saw each other next?

Breck had no idea, but she knew she would be finding out very soon, seeing as they would be due for another training session come noon tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that Tristan still actually showed and did not decide to start avoiding her completely.

At the thought of being alone with him again after what had transpired between them, she felt her heart skip out of both excitement and nervousness. Would he act strangely around her? Would he explain why he had run off so quickly? Would he perhaps kiss her again? Or, she wondered with a distinct feeling of trepidation, would he just pretend like nothing had even happened in the first place? Would he tell her that it had all been a mistake and that they would be better off just forgetting about it completely?

Breck sincerely hoped that Tristan didn't regret what had happened, that he would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had run off and assure her that kissing her had not been a mistake. If that did happen, then she knew it would be time to finally tell him the truth about how she really felt.

But that was something that truly, genuinely scared her.

Her heart was fragile after all that she had been through, and the fact of the matter was that she did not know what Tristan's feelings for her were. He could very well only desire her for one thing, and have absolutely no interest in anything beyond what her body might have to offer him. To put herself in such a vulnerable position, to open herself up to him knowing that it could very well end in rejection and disappointment, terrified her. Furthermore, she wasn't even entirely sure how she should even begin to tell him how she felt about him. She had never really cared for someone this way before, so she had never had a conversation like this. How in the world was she supposed to tell Tristan how much she cared for him? Did she just come out and say it?

Breck sighed loudly and rubbed her face. When it came to fighting or tracking Saxons or surviving in the wild, Breck had no problems. But admitting to a man that she cared for him and wished to be with him?

The thought nearly made her quiver with fear.

Breck shook her head and kicked the sheets off of her body in irritation. She was not convinced that even having such a conversation was wise yet, not while Gawain still seemed to believe that he stood a chance with her, not when she had not yet been able to tell him that there could never be more between them.

Thinking about Gawain only made her feel even more uneasy about everything. Breck had not expected anything would happen between her and Tristan, that she would never have to explain to Gawain that she had rejected him because she cared for someone else – and not just anyone else, but his comrade. But now Tristan had gone and kissed her, and she was suddenly terrified that Gawain would find out about it before she had a chance to talk to him. Hearing it from her would be bad enough, but hearing it from somebody else? That would be infinitely worse.

Either way, Gawain was going to be hurt when he learned the truth, which made Breck feel utterly despicable. The man had spilled his heart out to her and somehow had convinced himself that she felt the same. When he finally learned that she did not wish to be with him, he was going to be disappointed – once he realized that she wanted to be with Tristan instead, he was probably going to be crushed.

It was yet another conversation she was not looking forward to, but she knew she would just have to be open and honest with him so that he would not be blindsided if things did end up progressing further between her and Tristan.

Gawain was her friend first and foremost, and he deserved to know the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.

Even though it was still very early in the morning – so early that she doubted even the farmers had woken up yet – Breck finally gave up on trying to get back to sleep. She decided that she needed to get outside, get some fresh air, find something to do that would take her mind off of things.

Breck's eyes turned to her bow and arrows propped up by the wall. A hunt suddenly sounded very good to her. If nothing else, at least it would give her a good reason to be away from the fort for a little while.

Breck, still agitated after a night of little sleep and entirely too much fretting, got out of bed and stomped over to her trunk, yanking the lid open to retrieve some clothes to change into. She let it close with a slam and hastily changed, making a few items clatter to the floor when she tossed her nightgown aside and it hit some things sitting on her table. She then plopped down onto her squeaky bed to pull on her boots. When that was done, she stood again, making the bed creak again as she stood, and then went to grab her bow and arrows, fixing the quiver to her back securely.

All the while, she sincerely hoped that this was one of the days where Tristan, who was often an early riser, decided to sleep in. She did not want to run into him just yet, not when she didn't feel even remotely ready to face him.

Suddenly the door to her quarters swung open, banging loudly against the wall. Breck had her bow raised and an arrow nocked in the blink of an eye, already aiming at the intruder…but it wasn't an intruder at all. It was only Galahad, sporting wild hair and tired eyes, looking completely unbothered by the weapon pointing at him. In fact, he just looked downright annoyed.

"What is all this racket in here?" he demanded, glaring at her incredulously as she returned the arrow back to her quiver and slung her bow over her shoulder, her tense muscles relaxing now that she knew she was not in any sort of danger. "Have you any idea how thin these walls are?" he asked, motioning to the wall that separated her room from his. "All night I have heard naught but your squeaking bed and rustling about. Have you a man in here?" he accused, now looking around the room as if searching for some late-night visitor.

Breck rolled her eyes. "Does it look as though I have a man in here?" she asking, gesturing around the room that very clearly was only occupied by herself.

"What is all the commotion about then?" Galahad demanded.

"I simply cannot sleep," Breck answered.

"And nor can I, thanks to you," he said grumpily.

Breck could have easily snapped at him, given her own less than pleasant mood. But it had been a long, confusing night – actually, it had been a long, confusing few days. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and the last thing she wanted was to be at odds with Galahad on top of everything else. So she sucked in a deep calming breath, reminded herself that taking her frustration out on Galahad would be uncalled for, and offered him an apologetic look.

"Forgive me for all the noise," she said. "I did not mean to disturb you."

Galahad looked at her for a moment, then also seemed to decide that arguing with her about anything would not be worth it. "It is alright," he said, the anger leaving his tone. "I also share a wall with Lancelot, so my sleep being disrupted by noisy beds is not all that uncommon," he offered with a shrug.

Breck pulled a face in response. That had been entirely too much information – she didn't need, nor want, to know what Lancelot did in the privacy of his own quarters.

Galahad yawned widely and shoved a hand through his already wild curls, making them look even messier. He finally noticed the weaponry that she had on her and gave her a curious look. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I am going hunting," she told him.

A silence passed between them as Breck shoved her fingers through her hair to work out the tangles, then made quick work of braiding it. The stress of the night must have been showing on her face, because when she turned her eyes back over to Galahad, he was looking at her with concern.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked.

"What makes you believe I am not alright?" she asked evasively.

"Because you do not look well," he said, taking a few steps closer. "And because you looked utterly devastated when you fled the tavern last night," he added, making her fidget nervously on the spot. He stopped in front of her and crossed his arms over his chest. "May I ask what happened with Tristan after you left the tavern?"

Breck's spine stiffened. "Why do you think anything took place?" she countered, her tone more defensive than she had intended. She did not want Galahad – or anyone – to know what had happened yet, because she really did not want to risk the chance of it getting back to Gawain before she'd had a chance to talk to him herself.

Galahad's eyebrows rose at her response and he crossed his arms, his expression a knowing one. "I ask because I saw Tristan chase after you the moment you ran away," he said matter-of-factly, which made her tense. "And if that is not proof enough that something occurred between you two, then your defensiveness just now certainly is."

Breck said nothing, just turned her eyes away in the hope that her traitorous face would not give anything away. She only looked back to Galahad when he stepped forward to place his hands on her shoulders, his head tilting in such a way as to put them eye level with one another.

"Something is clearly bothering you," he said gently. "Whatever it is, I am here to listen. I am here to help you. You can always trust me, Breck."

Breck softened at his words, and she did feel the sudden, strong urge to tell him what had happened, just so that she could get it off her chest and maybe get some insight from someone who knew Tristan far better than she did. But it didn't take long for Breck to decide against it. She didn't know with certainty that he would run off to tell Gawain what had happened, but, given how close he was to Gawain and how loyal he was to his comrades, there was always a chance that he might. She could not take the risk, not when everything was so muddied and confusing already.

"Thank you, Galahad," she said, reaching up to grasp one of his arms and give it a squeeze. "But you need not worry yourself with my troubles."

"That is what friends are for, though," Galahad reminded her. "To help shoulder one another's burdens in difficult times."

Breck smiled gently. "I know. And I appreciate your concern. I will tell you, I promise. Just…not right this moment."

Galahad finally nodded in understanding. "Very well." He gave her shoulder a squeeze and then released her, his eyes glancing toward the window, where the sun was only just beginning to cast a faint light over the world. "It will not be long before the sun rises, and I doubt I shall be getting anymore sleep. May I join you on your hunt?" he offered.

She almost told him no, just so that she could have a little more time to sort through her thoughts. But that was exactly what she had been trying to do all night, and what good had that done her? Absolutely none.

So Breck smiled and nodded her head. "I would like that."

Galahad seemed pleased. "I shall get dressed then."

As Galahad returned to his quarters to change his clothes, Breck stepped outside to wait for him, breathing in the cool, morning air. It was quiet outside still, with the twittering of the morning birds only just beginning to start. She glanced around at the rest of the men's quarters, noting that all of them were still dark as the occupants undoubtedly continued to sleep inside. Her eyes lingered on Tristan's the longest, her heart thudding in her chest at how close he physically was, and yet how far away he still felt given all that had happened.

She only tore her eyes away from his door when Galahad reappeared a short while later, now dressed and carrying his own bow and arrows. They started off toward the stables together, Galahad already beginning to chat away as he so often did. Breck could not resist glancing toward Tristan's door one last time as they passed by. Then she turned her eyes forward and firmly pushed him out of her thoughts, determined to enjoy her time with Galahad and give her mind a much needed break.

OOO

By the time she and Galahad returned, the fort was bustling with its usual activity and Breck was in a better mood than she had been when they had left.

Getting away with Galahad had been just what she needed. It had been good to be away from the fort for a bit, where there was no risk of running into either Tristan or Gawain. She and Galahad had ridden their horses to one of Galahad's favorite places to hunt, then they had spent the morning chatting comfortably with one another while they competed to see who could take down the biggest game. Breck did not talk about Tristan or Gawain, or about what had happened the night before, nor did Galahad ask, for which she was very grateful. They kept the conversation light and the mood easy. The calm, relaxing morning had left her feeling better than she had in days.

Granted, when they returned to the fort, any semblance of peace she had managed to obtain quickly began to fade. She would need to speak to Gawain, and soon. And though she might not have seen Tristan yet, they were due for another training session at noon, so it wouldn't be long before she was faced with him again…assuming, of course, Tristan still intended to show up.

Breck and Galahad stopped by the town butcher to sell off the animals they had killed, then headed toward the stables to return their horses. Breck, who needed to get some work done in the stables anyway, promised Galahad that she would see his horse back to its stall and bid him goodbye. Galahad left, squeezing her shoulder as he went, and no sooner had he stepped outside when Jols came in from the field, where the rest of the horses were running freely for exercise.

"Good morning," he said in greeting as he went to put two buckets away in the corner. "You and Galahad must have woken very early. I was quite surprised when I arrived this morning only to find your horses already gone." He finally turned to look at her fully, and his eyebrows immediately shot upward. "Why is there blood on you?" he asked unsurely.

Breck glanced down at her clothes, which were stained with a few streaks of blood, then shrugged as she began unsaddling Lugh. "There was no foul play, if that is what you are worried about. Galahad and I went hunting this morning. This blood belongs to the animals I slew in the forest."

It seemed that was a relief to Jols, who nodded in understanding, looking far less concerned now. "Brave of you two to even venture away from the fort," he said conversationally. "With the men due to be released from service soon, the Woads have been spotted more and more this side of the Wall. Nasty bunch, them Woads. You'd not want to get caught unawares by them."

"Aye, I should think not," Breck agreed, having heard plenty of unsavory stories about the Woads by now.

Their conversation lulled as Azia, Tristan's mare, poked her head out of her stall and stared directly at Breck, as if the horse somehow knew exactly what had transpired between her and Tristan the previous night. Breck cocked an eyebrow as she secured Lugh in his stall, then walked over to where Azia was standing to pat her nose. The horse snorted and leaned into the touch, nudging her hand and nibbling at her gently, but never turned that unblinking stare away.

"Do not look at me with such judgment," she whispered to the horse in Gaelic, narrowing her eyes as she scratched behind the horse's ears. "This is all your master's fault, not mine."

"What was that?" Jols asked.

"Nothing," Breck said quickly, patting Azia one last time before finally moving away to store her saddle on the saddle rack. "Has anyone come by searching for me?" she questioned to change the subject, thinking that perhaps Arthur might have come looking for her so that they could have that discussion about Gawain and his offer to help with Cerdic – as well as his offer of his affections.

"Yes, actually," Jols confirmed. "Tristan stopped by barely an hour ago, trying to find you."

Breck's heart skipped a beat and she looked at Jols sharply. "What for?" she immediately asked.

"He wished me to inform you that he expects to see you at the training arena by noon," Jols said, brow lifting with slight confusion. "Though I know not why he felt the need to deliver such a message, seeing as your training sessions are always at noon," he commented idly. He just shrugged to himself, dismissing it as nothing, then looked at her again. "He also said that you will require your weapons for this session."

Breck nodded slowly, her heart racing. "I see."

Jols turned and resumed his work, beginning to chat away about this and that, as he often did when they worked together. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Breck wasn't paying attention, her mind suddenly and totally consumed with all of the possibilities of what her session with Tristan could hold that day.

For the most part, she was relieved that Tristan apparently wasn't going to be avoiding her after what had happened between them, as she had previously worried might be the case. Considering the fact that he had essentially disappeared into thin air for days after she had stitched his wound, when nothing had even happened between them, she had worried their kiss might make him vanish again. It had to be a good sign that he wanted to carry on with their sessions like normal, did it not?

Then again, he had already told her that he would continue their sessions because those were his orders, so maybe his determination to keep training her wasn't so encouraging after all. And then another thought occurred to her, which made Breck frown to herself.

If he wanted to carry on as usual, then what if that meant he planned to pretend as though nothing had even happened between them?

Breck shook her head at the thought. Surely that couldn't be the case. The way he had kissed her, the way he had held her, even that groan he had not been able to hold back meant that Tristan had to have been as affected by that kiss as she had been. That was not something that could simply be ignored.

Despite their resentment towards each other when they had first met, being with him felt right. Even when they had despised each other, even when they hadn't been able to be in the same room with each other, there had always been a certain chemistry between the two of them, a fire that drew them together even when they hadn't wanted to be. That chemistry had only become more apparent the better they had gotten to know one another, and there was no denying the heat that had practically exploded between them when they had kissed. Breck had felt it, and she was certain that Tristan had, too.

Surely it was time to acknowledge that, wasn't it?

OOO

It was noon before Breck even knew it, and with a jittery feeling that could have been from either giddiness or anxiety, she went to collect her weapons and then set off to meet Tristan in the training arena.

As she walked, she could not remember the last time she had been so nervous. Her palms were sweating and her heart was beating so fast she thought it might break through her sternum. It was all because Breck simply had no idea what awaited her at the arena. Would Tristan be happy to see her? Was it going to be horribly awkward? Would it all be just business as usual?

Or, she wondered with a tingling feeling in her lips, might she be lucky enough to be on the receiving end of another heated kiss?

It probably wouldn't help matters – not when she still hadn't had a chance to talk to Gawain, not when she still didn't know what Tristan's feelings were. But…she certainly wouldn't mind it if he did kiss her again.

Tristan was in the middle of the arena when she finally arrived. Butterflies immediately erupted to life in her stomach, fiercer and stronger than ever before. He had not yet noticed that she was there, though, so Breck took advantage of that fact and lingered by the gate to watch him. He swung his sword around smoothly, cutting the blade through the air in precise, strategic movements to warm up his muscles. Breck had to admire the grace and ease with which he moved, so comfortable with his blade that it was as though the weapon was a part of him. It was clear that he was an expert with his sword, and he maneuvered around the wooden dummies so effortlessly that it might as well have been a dance.

Tristan had decided against wearing any armor, dressed only in a shirt, belt, and trousers. It gave Breck a good view of his broad back, allowing her to see the way his muscles moved and flexed as he trained. It was impossible not to immediately think back to the night before, how it had felt to have that strong, solid body against hers as he kissed her with such passion and desire. Breck's eyes swept over him again, longing awakening within her, making her body begin to feel far too warm.

A loud screech to her left made her nearly jump out of her skin. She swung wide eyes over and spotted Tristan's hawk perched on the fence nearby, the creature eyeing her with its beady eyes and looking like it was contemplating whether or not to come and peck at her. Breck glanced at Tristan and cringed when she saw that the noise had drawn his attention as well. He was now staring right at her, his sword stilling by his side, eyebrows raising expectantly as he waited for her to come into the arena.

Breck shot a glare at his bird. As grateful as she was to the hawk for the crucial part it had played in stopping Gerland's attack, that didn't make her any less annoyed with it now. "Snitch," she hissed at the hawk in Gaelic.

The bird just cocked its head, leaving her to wonder if it was trying to be snarky.

Breck finally sucked in a breath and pushed through the gate, leaving the bird behind.

"You are late," Tristan said by way of greeting.

Breck lifted a brow as she reached him. "Barely so," she said.

Tristan said nothing, and for a long moment they merely stared at each other. Breck felt her nerves grow with each passing second. The look on his face was hard to decipher, as always, but his eyes were trailing over her in a way that only made her feel anxious all over again. What was he thinking about? Was he thinking about the kiss? Was he thinking about kissing her again? Was there a chance that he was as nervous as she was, only he was far better at hiding it?

Breck had come to the resigned realization that if they were going to talk about what had happened, then she would likely have to be the one to initiate it first. She did not want to have all these unanswered questions between them, did not want to draw this situation out any longer than was necessary. So she took a deep breath to gather her courage and decided to just be blunt.

"Tristan – " she started.

"There is blood on your clothes," he interjected, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Breck glanced down at herself again, and nodded. "Aye, I hunted this morning with Galahad," she said.

"Good. Then your muscles should be warm and ready for training," he said with a nod.

"Aye, but – " Breck tried again, wanting to talk about their kiss while she still had the bravery to do so.

"How many battles have you fought?" Tristan interrupted, cutting her off once again.

Breck frowned, her brows pinching together unsurely.

The fact that Tristan kept interrupting her when she was trying to talk to him about what had happened last night did not bode well. She took in his indifferent expression as he looked back at her, that look on his face just a little too similar to the one he had often worn before they had finally become friends, and realized with a sinking feeling that she had been right to fret and worry the way she had. Because in that moment, it was very clear to her that all of her fears about last night were coming true.

Tristan must have regretted what had happened. He must have thought it a mistake. Whatever she had felt, he had not felt it, too, despite her desperately wishing he had. He did not even want to discuss it, seemed to just want to pretend like it had never even happened.

Breck did her absolute best to hide the crushing disappointment that swept through her.

"Well?" Tristan asked, his tone verging on impatient.

Breck swallowed hard and lifted her chin. If he was going to pretend like the kiss had never happened, then she would, too. There was no way she was going to let him see how hurt she was by the rejection – Breck absolutely refused to give him that power over her.

"I have never fought in a true battle," she admitted, her tone all business now. "But I have participated in a good number of skirmishes throughout the years."

He nodded, and then, without a word, he moved away from the wooden dummies toward a more open part of the arena, where there was plenty of room to move around.

Breck eyed his back, lips pressed into a grim line, then followed.

Eventually Tristan turned back around to face her, lifting his sword once more and taking on a defensive stance.

"Attack me," he instructed.

Attacking him actually sounded rather cathartic at the moment. He had hurt her on purpose by letting Orella fawn all over him, she was convinced of that. Then he had gone and kissed her, and now he was acting like it was nothing, and Breck was just so horribly confused by it all. But she still hesitated, one eyebrow inching upward. Despite everything, she did not want to actually hurt Tristan.

"You are not wearing any armor," she pointed out.

"You will not hurt me," he responded matter-of-factly.

Breck narrowed her eyes, unsure if he was trying to reassure her that he would not let her hurt him, or that he merely thought her incapable of doing it in the first place. "Will not hurt you, or can not?" she asked, already feeling her competitive side come to life.

Tristan shrugged a shoulder. "I doubt your ability to get past my defenses," he stated bluntly. "Prove me wrong, if you can."

Breck's eyes narrowed further at the insult, her hurt over his rejection now only acting as the fuel to the fire of anger beginning to burn in her belly. Tristan met her glare unwaveringly, and in that moment, the tension between them was so incredibly thick that she was certain she could have cut it with her sword.

He wanted a fight? Then he was going to get a fight.

Breck unsheathed her sword, taking a defensive stance of her own. Tristan did not move an inch as he waited for her to make the first move, his gaze locked on her. Breck waited for a moment, then, as his hawk let out another screech from its perch on the fence, she lunged.

Tristan blocked the first swing of her sword easily, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the air. She reared back and tried again, but Tristan dodged and counter attacked so swiftly that Breck barely managed to stop the blow.

Tristan was fast. He did a fancy trick with his feet and lunged to the left, striking again, making Breck scramble to keep up with him. Before she could think to even strike back, his blade was swinging at her from an entirely new angle, making her jump back to avoid getting her nose cut off. Breck did finally manage to get another swipe in, but he fended it off like it was nothing and then he was charging again, forcing her backward as he jabbed and sliced at her over and over.

If she had thought the addition of dangerous weapons might make Tristan go at least somewhat easy on her, she had been mistaken. He was relentless, never giving her a break, never backing down, his strikes swift and powerful. She did her best to keep up with him, but it became clear very quickly that he was far more skilled than her.

It also didn't help that the memory of last night would not leave her, even now. Seeing his hands gripping his sword made her remember how they had felt when they had been on her. The scent of him in her nose now only made her think of when he had held her so tightly to him, his scent invading her senses as he had kissed her. And even just looking at his lips, remembering what they had felt like against her own, what he had tasted like, only made her want to feel them again.

The combination of everything – the distraction of the memory of their kiss, the night she had spent tossing and turning, her confusion over the situation and now her hurt over his rejection – had put her incredibly out of sorts, making her clumsy and uncoordinated. Tristan took advantage of that, too, suddenly swiping his blade down at her legs, making her dodge hastily to avoid losing a foot. Even still, she thought she felt the graze of his blade against her boot. Before she could recover and try to attack, he rammed his shoulder into hers, knocking her off balance. Breck stumbled, but managed not to fall.

"Is this your best?" Tristan asked critically as they circled one another.

"I can fight far better than this," she said quickly, hating that she was embarrassing herself in front of him.

Tristan's brow quirked as they continued to size one another up. "You do seem distracted," he commented, and something about the way he said that left little doubt as to what he thought that distraction was. "Perhaps that is the reason for your poor performance."

Breck narrowed her eyes. First he didn't even wish to discuss their kiss, now he was taunting her with it? "And what would be distracting me so?" she shot back.

Tristan said nothing, merely hesitated for a split second and then lunged at her again.

Now that she knew what to expect, now that anger was boiling hotter in her veins, Breck started to meet him hit for hit. She blocked two jabs from him, then sliced at his left side, making him dodge and swing his sword around to block it. Breck ducked beneath a wide arc of his sword and tried to jab her own blade up toward his stomach, but he spun out of the way before she could get too close. Back and forth they went, more evenly matched this time around, neither truly gaining the upper hand, nor backing down.

She understood now why he had put her through such rigorous conditioning. Her muscles were not tiring as quickly as they normally would have, and her energy was not depleting as fast as it might have in the past. Had it not been for his training, Breck was fairly certain this match would have been far more uneven than it currently was.

Breck dodged away from his sword when it came towards her head again then counterattacked, only to have her sword blocked away yet again. In the next moment, she made her first true mistake – she misjudged where Tristan was going to attack, trying to block left when she should have gone right. His blade met her arm before she could get out of the way, opening up a long cut along her forearm.

Tristan froze, and Breck immediately made a sound of pain, stumbling back away from him. She looked down at the cut, now bleeding freely, before swinging disbelieving eyes at him.

He had actually hurt her.

His gaze was trained on her arm for a moment, then lifted to hers. If he felt bad about what he had done, it didn't show anywhere on his face. "Shall you yield?" he asked.

The cut stung and she could feel warm blood soaking into the sleeve of her tunic, but she was not about to back down. She was not about to show weakness in front of him. "Absolutely not."

"Then if this fight is to continue, I suggest you focus," he said firmly. "It would be a shame to lose an appendage simply because you are too distracted."

What a complete and utter arse. No apologies for hurting her. No pausing their fight to make sure that she was alright. Instead, he knew she was still thinking about their kiss and he was now using it against her. Belittling her, even having the audacity to mock her.

Anger rushed through her. With a growl, Breck attacked again, this time with purpose. A vicious slash toward his arm, a hard strike in the direction of his leg, and a quick swing at his face were all blocked, but his eyebrows rose at her newfound aggression. He didn't make any further comments as he fended off her now fervent attack, and for one small moment in time she thought she might have actually gained the upper hand.

But just as quickly as that thought flew through her mind, she misjudged a step of his and was back on the defense.

Tristan swung at her and she blocked it quickly, their blades colliding loudly. For a moment, they just stood there, blades entangled, so close to one another that the scent of horse and earth was strong in her nose, his breath stirring the hairs around her face.

His eyes suddenly dropped down to her lips, and her heart lurched.

Was he thinking about kissing her again? Why would he even do so, when he so obviously regretted the first one? Or maybe he wasn't thinking about kissing her, actually. Maybe he was just trying to distract her further, she thought, using the affect he had on her against her.

The mere possibility that he would use her feelings for him against her in such a way only drove her fierce anger even higher.

Breck swore she saw his head tilting in her direction, his eyes still locked on her lips, and even though she did not like how he was behaving, the temptation to taste his lips again was strong. She ignored it though, and instead threw her weight toward him, forcing him back just far enough so that she could free her blade from his. Then, with her other hand, she landed a hard punch to his jaw.

Tristan backed off, and for once, his expression was plain as day. He looked at her in complete shock, his hand lifting to touch the place where she had hit him. Even if she was not winning their spar, just knowing that she had surprised him, knowing that she had gotten a hit in, was enough to make her feel immensely gratified.

Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, she lunged for him again, making him quickly lift his sword to avoid losing an arm. There was a lull in their fighting after that, where Breck smirked tauntingly and where Tristan narrowed his eyes at her.

"Distraction leads to injury," she repeated mockingly. "I suggest you keep your eyes away from my lips, otherwise I will hit you again," she added warningly.

Tristan only narrowed his eyes even further, and then he attacked again with very little warning.

This time, Breck knew she was done for.

He launched a series of attacks that she had little hope of fending off, before pulling off a maneuver that had her landing flat on her back. Breck grunted as she fell, but had no time to recover, because Tristan was already above her, lifting his sword high into the air and then bringing it down on her swiftly. She lifted her own sword, bracing her free hand against the blade and cutting her palm as the two weapons met with a loud, hard clang.

Finally, Tristan relented and took a step back, sheathing his sword again to signal that the fight was over.

Breck slowly sat up, breathing hard, eyes turning down to her hand. As she watched the blood flow from her wounds and drip onto the sand, the anger that she had felt continued to pulse in her veins. She had expected Tristan to be tough on her throughout their training, but something about the way he had fought had felt personal, as though he were punishing her for wronging him in some way.

Breck's teeth gritted together at the thought that he might be blaming her for their kiss, when it had been him who had initiated it in the first place.

"You have more skill with a blade than I gave credit for. Whoever trained you previously trained you well," Tristan said, his tone, for the first time since she had arrived, a little kinder. Breck ignored the compliment. "You should allow Dagonet to treat your wounds. Best to avoid any infections," he added after a short pause.

He then offered a hand to help her up, but Breck merely glared at it and then smacked it away. Tristan's brows shot up in surprise as he watched her climb to her feet and roughly shove her sword back into its sheath.

She was deeply unhappy with the way he had behaved, not to mention how hurt she was over his blatant disregard for what had occurred between them. What she was about to say would probably only make the situation worse, but if she did not speak her mind, she knew she would regret it. If they were going to continue training together, then he needed to understand that she would not tolerate this sort of behavior again, nor allow him to walk all over her.

"If this was your way of punishing me for what happened last night, then I should like to take this opportunity to remind you that it was you who kissed me, not the other way around," she said forcefully. "Since you so clearly regret what happened, then very well. It is over and done with. But if you wish to take your anger over it out on someone, then take it out on yourself next time."

Again, Tristan seemed surprised. He opened his mouth to say something in response, but Breck was in no mood to hear it. Before he could speak, she turned to walk away, fully intending to leave him behind without another look backward, just so that he could be the one to know the feeling of being walked away from.

But she took one step and then froze.

Gawain was there, holding another handful of familiar looking flowers, standing just inside the gate of the arena. When he had arrived was a mystery to her, since she'd been far too distracted by Tristan. But as he stared at them, she felt her stomach drop with horror.

There was unmistakable shock on his face, making it very clear to her that he had overheard what she had practically shouted at Tristan just moments before.

"What did you say?" Gawain asked as he came closer, his face falling into an expression that looked angrier and angrier with each step. "Tristan kissed you?" he demanded, his gaze bouncing from her, to Tristan, then back again.

Tristan was deathly silent behind her, offering no assistance whatsoever as Gawain quickened his pace. Breck moved so that she was between them, already sensing that things were about to escalate very quickly. "Gawain – " Breck started to say, holding up her hands in a placating gesture.

But that, too, was a mistake. Because there was blood dripping from her hand and from her arm, looking starkly red and impossible to miss against her skin and clothing. Gawain's eyes dropped to the wounds, he saw the blood, and very quickly pieced together just how she had gotten hurt in the first place. When his blue eyes turned to Tristan once more, they were absolutely murderous.

"You wounded her?! You fucking bastard!"

Gawain dropped the flowers in his hand, shoved right past Breck, and swung at Tristan, catching him right on his tattooed cheekbone with a hard punch. Tristan's head snapped to the side with the force of the hit. Before he had the chance to recover, Gawain was on him again, grabbing him by the shirt with one hand and throwing punch after punch with the other.

"Stop!" Breck immediately shouted, running over and making a grab for Gawain to try to stop his brutal assault. "Cease this madness at once!" she shouted, latching onto him and tugging with all her might.

But Gawain was bigger and stronger than her, and at the moment he was fueled by pure rage. Trying to contain him felt like trying to contain a wild bull. "Get out of the way!" Gawain growled, yanking his arm free from her grasp and then roughly shoving her away.

Breck stumbled backward and fell arse first to the dirt, her face one of shock, not just because of how hard Gawain had pushed her, but because of the fact that he had even done so in the first place. Gawain was always so gentle with her, so kind and so caring. It was clear he was past rational thinking, that he was definitely not himself, but still…Breck would have never thought that Gawain would ever put hands on her in such a way.

Tristan apparently hadn't thought so either, and when he saw what happened, something in him seemed to snap. "Keep your filthy hands off her!" he growled with enragement, before clocking Gawain straight in the eye.

His fist landed with a hard thud, drawing a sound of pain from Gawain as he stumbled backward a few steps, some space finally forming between them. But Gawain seemed to forget his pain quickly, the man only growing even more irate at the fact that Tristan was fighting back. "You are the one who made her bleed!" he shouted, pointing a threatening finger at him. "You are the one who forced yourself on her!"

Breck had to blink in confusion at that statement. What in the world made Gawain think that Tristan had forced himself on her?

Tristan, however, was not confused. He just looked angry as he glared at Gawain, his chest heaving up and down. "Do not speak of matters you know nothing about," he countered.

Gawain let out a cry more suitable for the battlefield, then lunged for Tristan again. This time, Tristan was ready for him.

There was no more talking as they fought one another, fists flying left and right as each man tried to get in as many hits as they could. With how strained their friendship had been, with all their shared dirty looks and arguments, it had been like watching a terrible storm rolling in and knowing that it was only a matter of time before the skies opened up and the storm was unleashed. Tristan and Gawain had finally reached the breaking point, and now they were both determined to do as much damage as possible.

Breck scrambled back up to her feet, watching with fear and helplessness as the two kept going for one another over and over again, cuts opening up on cheeks and on lips, knuckles starting to split, more blood spraying the dirt that was already stained with her own. It was horrible to witness.

"Stop this! Please!" she begged, moving forward again, trying to figure out the best way to break up the fight without getting herself hit in the process. "Tristan," she said, grabbing hold of his arm as she tried to stop him from throwing anymore punches. "I beg of you! Stop!"

But Tristan ignored her pleas. He slipped out of her grasp and threw Gawain to the ground, where he began to pummel the man. He only got in a few hits before Gawain caught his fist and then wrestled him to his back, getting the upperhand again as he hit Tristan in the gut, then in the jaw.

Breck clutched her head with distress, watching helplessly as they kept going at it. She couldn't let them continue on like this. Things had gotten completely out of hand and it didn't look like either man was about to stand down. If someone didn't intervene, one of them was going to get very hurt. But how was she supposed to stop them when they wouldn't even listen to her?

Suddenly there was a shout behind her, and Breck turned to see that Dagonet and Lancelot were there. She had no idea why they had come to the arena – it was probably just sheer, dumb luck – but she felt relief sweep through her as both men immediately rushed forward to intervene with the fight that Breck had not been able to stop.

Dagonet grabbed Gawain, using his size and brute strength to his advantage as he locked an arm around the man's chest and hauled him backward off of Tristan. Once Gawain's weight was gone, Tristan shot back to his feet and made a move like he was going to try to get in one more hit, but Lancelot quickly got in the way, shoving Tristan backwards with firm hands on his chest so that he could not get any closer.

"Enough!" Lancelot shouted, looking very displeased as he shoved Tristan yet again when he still did not back off. "I said enough!"

"I shall be the one to say when it is enough!" Gawain growled, still trying – and failing – to break free of the iron grip that Dagonet had on him. "I am not finished with him!"

"Yes, you are!" Lancelot said, pointing furiously at Gawain. "Someone tell me what the meaning of this is!" he said loudly, looking from Gawain, to Tristan, and then to Breck. His eyes almost immediately dropped to her arm, a dark look passing over his face. "Which of you made Breck bleed?" he demanded forcefully.

Gawain finally shrugged Dagonet off, though Breck had the distinct feeling that it was only because Dagonet had let him do so. Either way, Gawain shifted on his feet and clenched his fists, looking like he would go for Tristan again at any moment. "It was that bastard who cut Breck!" he said, pointing an accusing finger in Tristan's direction. "Worse still, he forced himself on her! I had no choice by to defend her honor!"

Both Lancelot and Dagonet turned looks on Tristan at those words. "Is that true?" Dagonet demanded, his tone taking on a dangerous edge.

"No," Breck interjected before Tristan could answer, making all the men look to her. "My injuries are from our training, aye," she confirmed. "But Tristan did not force himself on me!"

"I heard what you said!" Gawain argued. "You said that he kissed you! That he was angry and punishing you because you did not want his advances!"

Breck shook her head in exasperation over how vastly he had misconstrued what she had said. "That is not the way of it, Gawain," she said firmly.

"But – "

"I wanted him to kiss me!" Breck interrupted bluntly. "And I kissed him back!"

The moment the words left her lips, Breck wished she could take them back. Of all the ways she had planned to let Gawain down, to tell him about the truth of her feelings for Tristan, yelling out the fact that they had kissed – and in front of an audience, no less – had not been one of them.

Gawain blinked with shock, his anger seemingly forgotten. Dagonet pressed his lips together tightly, no longer looking quite as angry now that the record had been set straight, while Lancelot's brows shot upward, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Breck, Tristan, and Gawain. Breck chanced a look toward Tristan and saw he was watching her intently, his bruised, bloody face carefully blank. When she looked at Gawain, all of the fight had left him. Now he just looked nothing but confused and hurt.

Seeing that look on his face, knowing that she was the cause of it, made her feel utterly wretched.

"Well," Lancelot said to break the silence. "This seems like a bloody mess, literally and figuratively." He let out a sigh and shook his head. "You two," he said, pointing to Gawain and Tristan, "come with me. Arthur will need to be informed of this and I am certain he will have a thing or two to say to both of you."

Neither man put up an argument over the order. Gawain headed off first, looking as though he couldn't get away fast enough. Tristan followed a little slower, his eyes holding Breck's for a moment longer, before he, too, walked away. Lancelot gave Breck one last indecipherable look before trailing after them, leaving her to watch the three men depart, guilt and uncertainty gnawing away at her. She only looked away when Dagonet appeared by her side, sighing heavily as he glanced from her, to the men, then back again.

"Come," he said gently. "Those wounds need to be looked at."

Breck just nodded mutely, unable to say anything around the lump in her throat, that heavy feeling of dread in her bones. Then she let Dagonet put a hand on her shoulder and lead her to his infirmary.

See you next Friday!