Love & Vengeance - A rewrite of A Lady's Vengeance

by Carrot Top

After the murder of her family, Breck dedicated her life to hunting the one responsible - Cerdic. For years, she knew only hatred and vengefulness. But when her quest for revenge leads her back to Hadrian's Wall, back to her best friend Arthur, Breck finds herself on a brand new journey. One that teaches her to live again, to love again, and helps her find her true self once more.

16. Chapter Fifteen

And it's finally happened – I fell behind on an update.

I'm sorry I couldn't get this out on time, but making so many changes to the previous chapter meant I had to make a lot of changes to this one, too. Plus, this is like, a REALLY important chapter, so I wanted to get it right. Anyway, it took longer than expected to finish it up, hence posting a day late.

I do feel like I should warn y'all that there's a chance updates will get a little unpredictable over the next few weeks. My older son is having a minor operation done in about a week and a half (which scares the hell out of me), plus my mom is coming to visit for a few months and then we've just generally got a lot of things going on. I'm going to do my best to stay on schedule, but it might not happen. Just a heads up!

Anywho, I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's a good one!

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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Breck woke the next morning with the distinct feeling that it was not going to be a good day.

Perhaps it was because her sleep had not been the best. It had been an odd day yesterday, what with the man she had sent to contact Melcon returning practically dead, her unpleasant interactions with Orella, the ever growing unrest between Tristan and Gawain, and the unexpected way the night had ended. She had spent a long while tossing and turning, her mind so busy replaying everything that had happened that day that sleep had taken much longer than usual to come.

Or perhaps it was because of the fact that Gawain had finally rallied the courage to confess his feelings, and now she had no idea where they were supposed to go from there. How would he behave around her when they saw one another? He had not seemed angry the night before – a little disappointed, yes, but not mad. Still, she had to imagine that things between them would likely be awkward for a while, and that strain that would undoubtedly hang over their friendship was something she was not looking forward to.

Or maybe, she thought to herself, that ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach was because of Tristan. There was something about the night before that just did not sit right with her. It bothered her that Tristan had seen her and Gawain in what would have looked like a very intimate moment, again, simply because she did not like the thought of him getting the wrong idea about what had been going on. What she liked even less was that he had not even acknowledged her before disappearing into his quarters, had not spoken to her or even so much as looked at her. It had just seemed so…cold.

As Breck dressed for the day, she tried to shake off the odd feelings that kept nagging at her, telling herself that she was probably just overthinking things, as she so often seemed to do since coming to the Wall. Gawain had seemed alright when they had parted ways, and he was an understanding man. Their friendship would be fine. And perhaps Tristan had not said anything because he had merely been too tired. Surely he was not angry at her. There was no reason for him to be.

The day would be fine, Breck tried to convince herself, just as soon as she stopped fretting so much.

So Breck finished getting ready and then went outside to meet Tristan for breakfast, just as she had been doing every single day since they had begun training with one another. It was a little surprising to see that he was not there yet, seeing as he always seemed to wake before she did and was always outside before her. But maybe he was just running a little late – perhaps from oversleeping, or some other completely innocuous reason.

She made her way over to his quarters and leaned against the wall right next to the door, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for him to appear.

And she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After several minutes, she finally knocked on the door to make sure there was nothing actually wrong, but…silence.

Tristan was not there.

Breck frowned to herself, that unpleasant feeling in her stomach returning once more, but she told herself not to jump to conclusions just yet. Perhaps he was not at his quarters because he had already gone to the tavern. Perhaps he was just waiting for her there.

Breck swiftly made her way to the tavern, hoping that she would find the scout there and that all would be well. Yet, as soon as she walked inside and did a quick sweep of the few patrons having their morning meals, she rapidly deflated.

Tristan was not there, either.

Breck could not help but feel confused, uneasy, and more than a little disappointed. What was going on? Where was Tristan? And why, exactly, had he decided to skip their breakfast without giving her any word or warning beforehand? Was he just busy? Or was it that he was angry at her for something?

She could not help but think back to the previous night again. She did not know exactly how much of her conversation with Gawain that he might have seen or heard, but she knew he must have seen enough. It was the second time he would have seen them in such an intimate position, the first time being that day outside the infirmary after she had stitched him. But…surely he would not be angry at her for that, she told herself. Because why would he be? To be angry about seeing her having a moment with another man would indicate that his feelings for her were not as platonic as he had been letting on, and that was something that she simply did not believe to be true.

He was her friend. That was it. That was all he had allowed himself to be, all that she believed he ever would be.

Breck shook her head to herself. Maybe she was thinking about this all wrong. Just because he was not there, that did not automatically mean it was because he was angry at her. Tristan did have responsibilities outside of training her, after all. It was possible that he was not there simply because he was busy elsewhere, and maybe he just had not had time to tell her he would not be able to join her for their usual breakfast. She was positive she would see him at the training arena come noon, and he would undoubtedly have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had not shown, and then everything would be perfectly fine.

With that thought in mind, Breck went to the bar, ordered a large amount of food to go, and then began making her way to the infirmary, both to check on the man and to make sure Dagonet had not stayed up all night worrying over his patient, as she knew he was wont to do.

But the day that had already gotten off to an strange start would take a turn for the worse when she arrived, because when Dagonet opened the door, an all-too-familiar scent wafted toward her nose – the scent of death. One look at the somber expression on his face only confirmed what she already suspected had happened.

Breck felt her stomach drop. "The man did not make it through the night," she stated.

Dagonet shook his head. "He did not."

Breck sighed heavily and slowly nodded her understanding. Dagonet stepped aside so she could come in, her gaze immediately finding the body that had already been wrapped with fabric and rope to be transported. She absentmindedly set the food she had brought down, any semblance of an appetite completely vanishing, then stepped a little closer. A sick feeling came to her stomach, though she wasn't sure if it was because of that scent that was only stronger now that she was so close, or because of the guilt that slammed through her.

"I hoped he would live," she said quietly.

"As did I. But he was weak, and he had lost much blood. There was little hope for survival," he said gently.

Breck pressed her lips together tightly. The poor fellow had died because she had hired him to carry out a dangerous mission, and she knew nothing about him. She did not know his occupation, where he was from, did not even know his name, for God's sake. Did he have family? A mother who would now grieve for him? A wife who would agonize over losing him? A child who would now grow up without a father?

"This is my fault," Breck said with a shake of her head.

"The Woads killed him. Not you," Dagonet responded without missing a beat.

"But I – "

"But nothing," Dagonet interrupted. "He made his choices. He knew the risk. You are not to blame and I shall not tolerate hearing otherwise," he said with finality.

Breck still did not agree with him, but she saw no point in arguing with him about it, either.

"Was his passing peaceful?" she asked hopefully.

Dagonet nodded. "He merely went to sleep and never woke again," he told her.

"And what will be done with him?" she asked next.

"He woke briefly in the small hours of the night. He told me his name was Finneas, and that he had a brother named Wyot who lives here at the Wall," Dagonet explained, his eyes trained on the man – Finneas' – body. "I have located where he resides and was about to go to him now, both to deliver the news and deliver Finneas' body to him, as was his dying wish."

She supposed she was somewhat glad that the man, Finneas, at least had a family member that would hopefully give him a proper burial and that he would not just be discarded like trash, as was usually the case when it came to people who died without having anyone to claim them. That did not curb the feeling of guilt though, especially so because she now knew there would soon be someone mourning the loss of a brother.

"I will join you," Breck immediately offered, which made Dagonet lift his brows ever so slightly. "T'was I who hired him to leave the Wall in the first place. The least I can do is offer my condolences."

Dagonet nodded in acceptance.

Working together, they moved Finneas' body to a wagon outside the infirmary and then began making their way across town. Near the edge of the fort's boundaries, in a section of housing that had not been there when Breck had lived at the Wall previously and which she'd had no reason to venture to since returning, they went to a small little house that had chickens in the front yard and smoke puffing up from the chimney. As they parked the wagon beside the little walkway that led up to the front door, she could hear laughter inside, both from an adult and from children, the family clearly having a normal, happy morning.

Which she and Dagonet were about to ruin.

Breck went with Dagonet to the door, standing next to him as he knocked twice. There was a call from inside, and then a few short moments later the door opened to reveal a man that was probably in his early thirties. He had been smiling at first, but as he looked from her to Dagonet, his expression turned to that of wary confusion.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"You are Wyot?" Dagonet asked. The man nodded in confirmation. "I am Dagonet. And this is my friend, Breck."

Wyot looked between them again. "Yes, I know who you are," he said slowly. "Is something amiss?"

Dagonet's expression was somber, sympathetic, yet professional all at the same time. "I fear I come bearing bad news," he said bluntly. "Yesterday, your brother Finneas was brought to my infirmary." Hearing his brother's name mentioned immediately made Wyot pale. "He had sustained grievous wounds on his travels northward. We did all we could to help him, but…his injuries were simply too severe. I am sorry to inform you that Finneas has passed."

Wyot seemed shocked at first, then he nodded slowly and looked to the wagon they had brought, his eyes turning glossy and his chin wobbling just slightly. No doubt he recognized what was on the wagon now. "What happened to him?"

"From what I was told, he was lost for several days and suffered from malnourishment and dehydration. He found his way back to the Wall, but was already very weak. That was when he was happened upon by Woads, who are not known to be merciful to outsiders," Dagonet explained with a shake of his head.

"I see," Wyot said. Then he sniffled loudly and shook his head, hastily wiping away a single tear that slid down his cheek. "I warned the fool not to go," he said with the sort of frustration that only an older brother who had spent far too much time keeping a younger sibling out of trouble could master. "I told him it would be the death of him. But he always yearned for adventure. Always wished to be a brave knight, just like you lot," he said, smiling bitterly.

Dagonet said nothing, merely nodded his understanding, but Breck could not keep quiet any longer.

"I feel I am also to blame for what has become of your brother," she spoke up, making the man look back to her, the pain in his eyes only making her feel even more wretched. "It was my message he carried. My money that hired him for such a dangerous task. Had I known what would happen, I would never have involved him. My words and sympathies may not mean much, but you do have my sincerest apologies, and my deepest condolences."

Wyot honestly looked as if he couldn't decide whether or not he should be angry at her, and she couldn't blame him for that. He had just learned his brother was dead, and the person who had put him in such a dangerous position to begin with had been the one to not only deliver the news, but also the body. Had she been in his shoes, she probably would have been angry, too.

In the end, though, he just let out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumped, as if trying to be mad at her was just too exhausting. "Your words and condolences are appreciated," he said quietly. "And I thank you both for bringing him to me, so that I might bury him proper."

Dagonet and Breck both inclined their heads, before looking to one another. Dagonet raised his brows in a way that stated they should probably leave, to which Breck nodded her silent agreement.

"We do not wish to intrude upon you and your family any longer in this mournful time," he said to the man. "We shall take our leave now."

Wyot just nodded mutely, his eyes still fixed on Finneas' body. Breck and Dagonet turned to leave, neither saying anything and neither expecting anything more from Wyot, but the sound of his voice made them pause. "Lady Breck?" Breck and Dagonet both turned, wearing similar questioning expressions. "I expect I shall be able to hold Finn's funeral tomorrow," he said. "If you wish to attend…you may."

Breck immediately nodded. "I will attend."

Wyot just nodded, then finally took a breath and began making his way to where Finneas was.

Breck and Dagonet left him to his privacy and began making their way back to the infirmary, the two of them walking in silence at first. Eventually Dagonet looked down at her, a small, appreciative smile pulling at his lips.

"I am grateful you came with me," he said. "Tis never enjoyable delivering such news. It was more bearable having a friend by my side this time."

Breck gave a smile of her own in return. "You are welcome."

Dagonet's brows pinched together curiously. "Do you wish to tell me about the letter he was supposed to deliver?" Breck nodded and informed him about her contact to the north, and how she had written to him for any information he might have had on the movements of Cerdic and his Saxon army. When she had finished, Dagonet was frowning pensively. "Tis understandable, why you would want such information. But what will you do now that your letter did not reach its destination?"

Breck shrugged a shoulder. "I have not thought that far ahead," she admitted. "But I do know I will not be sending anyone else to carry such a letter for me again."

Dagonet lifted a brow at her. "I do hope that does not mean you intend to make the journey yourself."

"I shall have to obtain information somehow. Besides, it would not be the first time I have made such a trek through dangerous lands," Breck stated pointedly, which only made Dagonet frown.

"That is not exactly comforting to hear," he responded.

Breck just offered a reassuring smile. "Do not worry yourself over this, friend. I still have much more training to complete before I will be ready to take to the road again. I have no intentions of going anywhere just yet," she placated.

Dagonet did look relieved to hear it. "Good," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder to give it a brief squeeze, then releasing her again.

They continued on in companionable silence, and they had very nearly made it back to the infirmary when the day pulled its next trick on them. The infirmary was within sight when Devran suddenly appeared and came running toward them.

"Sir Dagonet!" he said in a rush. "Lord Arthur has called for the knights to assemble, for another order from Rome has arrived," he revealed, out of breath from undoubtedly running all around Hadrian's Wall to locate the Sarmatian Knights. He then looked to Breck. "Jols will be expecting our help in the stables to prepare the horses."

"Of course," Breck said with a nod. She then looked to Dagonet expectantly. "Shall we?"

"Continue on without me. There are items I must collect from the infirmary first," he told her.

Breck nodded in understanding, then continued on with Devran to the stables to meet with Jols.

They got to work as soon as they arrived, the three of them falling into their usual routine as they began to ready the horses for the journey to come. It wasn't until nearly half an hour later, after they had very nearly finished preparing the horses, that the knights, now armed with their weapons and dressed in their fighting gear, began to filter in.

Lancelot was the first to arrive, giving her his customary wink as he passed by, his annoyance and apparent betrayal from the night before evidently forgotten. "Good morning, my lady," he greeted.

"Good morning," she said back.

She looked away from him when the next knight arrived, her heart skipping in her chest when she saw that it was Tristan. Her worries from that morning forgotten, Breck smiled and stepped forward to greet him…but he merely spared her a brief glance before turning his eyes forward and continuing on right past her. No nod of greeting. No words spoken. Barely any acknowledgement at all.

Breck's smile immediately vanished, disappointment and confusion settling like a heavy rock in her stomach.

There was hardly any time to dwell on it before Galahad appeared, his eyes catching hers as he came to stand next to her. "Good morning, Galahad," she greeted half-heartedly, her eyes cutting toward Tristan again as he went to attach a traveling pack to Azia's saddle. He still would not look at her.

"It is a morning, though whether it is good or not is debatable," Galahad responded.

She noticed then that his expression was uneasy, almost grim. Breck frowned with uncertainty. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

The answer to the question walked through the door less than two seconds later, when Bors came stomping in with a defiant look on his face, Dagonet right on his heels and looking deeply displeased.

" – I am telling you, you are not fit for the mission," Dagonet was arguing.

"And I am telling you, that I do not give a bloody damn!" Bors said loudly. He had most of his gear on, but seemed to be struggling to finish with the ties that held it in place because he could not yet move his still-healing arm far enough to do so. "If you think I am going to remain here and twiddle my thumbs while you lot go have your fun, you have lost all sense in your head. Now someone come help me with these bloody ties!"

Dagonet held up a hand, as if silently commanding that nobody should take so much as a step toward Bors. Not that anyone in the stables did so, since all of them were too busy watching the argument unfold. "This is not a mere friendly outing," Dagonet said with forced patience, though she could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You know the danger that comes with our missions. If an enemy finds us, you will be a liability."

Bors's expression was caught between offended and infuriated. "A liability? You think I would get you all killed?" he demanded.

Dagonet stood his ground. "You cannot fight yet, Bors. Either you will end up dead because you cannot defend yourself, or one of us shall end up dead trying to protect you," he countered. "You would be putting us all at an unnecessary disadvantage. Heed my warnings and remain here," he finished firmly.

Bors, only looking all the more angry, took a confrontational step toward Dagonet, who merely lifted his chin in a refusal to back down. Before anything could be said, however, a new voice interjected.

"Bors," Arthur said sharply, making Breck blink and look to the door. She saw that Arthur and Gawain had just arrived as well, the two of them having been watching the argument unfold along with the rest of them.

Bors clamped his lips shut, his eyes turning to Arthur as the man drew himself up and strode toward him, looking every bit the respected, fearsome Lord Commander that his reputation had made him out to be.

"Dagonet has never led us astray, and I place the utmost value in his opinion," Arthur told him slowly, sternly. "If he believes you are not fit for this mission, then there will be no argument about it, not even from you. Soon, you will ride with us again. But not on this day. You will remain behind, and that is an order."

Bors swallowed hard, looking desperate to keep arguing, to convince them all that he should be allowed to come. But one look at Arthur was more than enough to let everyone know that his decision was final, and that any further debate on the matter would be useless. Bors pressed his lips together tightly, then nodded once. "Understood, Lord Commander," he responded stonily.

Bors took a moment to glance around at his comrades, his eyes hardening a little as they landed on Dagonet one last time. Then he forced on a bitter smile. "Safe travels, brothers," he said. "And do try to kill a few Woads for me, eh?"

Then he made for the door before anyone could say much of anything, barely even acknowledging Gawain when the man patted his shoulder on the way out.

Once Bors was out of the stables, it was back to business as usual, albeit the atmosphere was significantly more uncomfortable than usual. While the men held one last quick meeting, Breck slowly made her way around the stables, doing one last inspection of the horses to ensure that each was saddled properly and that nothing looked amiss. She could not help the way her eyes kept glancing toward Tristan, who sat at the back of the group and listened to everything Arthur said, his gaze never straying toward her even for a moment.

When the meeting had finished and the men began to disperse to their respective horses, Breck gathered up her courage and finally started making her way toward Tristan. She just wanted to talk to him, just wanted to make sure everything between them was at least alright before he left.

Before she could get there, however, Gawain stepped into her path, a small, almost nervous smile pulling at his lips. It took all of her self-control not to let him see how frustrating his interruption was.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning, Gawain," she said back.

"I trust you are well?" he asked, his eyes searching her face intently.

Breck pressed her lips together and nodded. "Well enough, aye," she answered. "Better than Bors, anyway," she added, just to try to ease the awkwardness she could feel between them.

Gawain nodded solemnly. "I understand his desire to join us, but…it is for the best."

Breck just nodded in agreement, her eyes glancing toward Tristan over his shoulder. He was not watching them. Either he was unaware of the fact that she and Gawain were talking, or he was ignoring it.

When Gawain cleared his throat, Breck looked back to him. "I…wanted to thank you, for finally trusting me with all that you revealed to me last night," he said, his gaze softening a little. "I want you to know that what was said will remain between us," he assured her.

Breck smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Gawain."

Gawain nodded, an all too familiar gleam entering his blue-eyed gaze. "And…I also hope that while I am gone, you will take time to consider what we discussed?" he asked hopefully. "Perhaps we can speak more of it upon my return."

She wasn't exactly sure which matter he was referring to – him offering to help her with Cerdic, or his desire to be her man – but neither topic was one she wanted to revisit any time soon. She knew already that she wanted to keep him as far away from Cerdic as possible. And as for his affections, well…

Breck knew in that moment that she had made a very big mistake by not outright telling him that there would never be anything more than just friendship between them. Because it was very clear by the look on his face that he still thought there was hope that there would be more someday.

Breck cursed herself for her own cowardice, for not just telling him the truth. Now she had given him false hope, and it would likely only make her rejection all the more difficult. She did not want him to continue on believing something that was not the truth, she knew she needed to let him down as gently as possible so that he could begin to move him, but she also knew that now was not the time to do so. Not when he was about to leave for a mission. Not when a rejection like that might muddle his mind or make him reckless.

She would tell him when he returned, she decided, and hope he was still her friend once it was all said and done.

"I will think on it," she told him, just to appease him.

Gawain smiled with relief. "I am happy to hear it."

Before he could say anything more, Arthur appeared by them and gave Gawain a pointed look. "Time to depart, Gawain," he said.

Gawain nodded in understanding, then looked to Breck one last time. "I will see you soon."

"Safe travels," Breck said back.

Gawain offered a smile, then turned to head to his horse.

Arthur looked at her, his brows raised just slightly, but if he had anything to say about her interactions with Gawain, he kept them to himself. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her off to the side for some semblance of privacy.

"I have a favor to ask of you," he said.

"What is it?" Breck asked curiously.

"Might you keep an eye on Bors while we are away?" he asked. "He does not take well to being excluded. I fear he may do something reckless…or that he may drink himself to death."

Breck nodded in understanding. "Worry not. I will make sure he is still alive when you return."

Arthur smiled gratefully. "Thank you." He glanced at the men, most of whom were ready to ride out. "This mission should not take long. We should return in a few days' time," Arthur told her.

"Good," Breck said, relieved to hear it. She never liked it when the men were away for longer than a day or two, not after what had happened to Tristan and Bors on that one, long mission. "Be safe, and I look forward to your return."

"As do I," Arthur said.

He then squeezed her shoulder and went to his horse, where he pulled himself up onto his saddle. Breck's eyes turned back to where Tristan had been before all the interruptions, but any hope of talking to him was completely squashed when she saw that he was already atop Azia and waiting to leave with the other men.

Breck did not like that she had not been able to speak to him, that she had not even been able to wish him luck on this latest order, but there was nothing to be done. Because soon all the men were riding out of the stables, leaving Breck to watch from the doorway as they disappeared from view.

She would just have to wait to talk to Tristan until he came back, and hope that today had just been…nothing. Just a bad day for him, or maybe a misunderstanding on her part. Everything would be fine.

But even as the dust the men's horses had kicked up finally settled back down to the ground and she turned to head back into the stables, that nagging voice in the back of her mind that said it wasn't fine simply wouldn't go away.

OOO

That ominous feeling never fully left her over the next few days, but Breck kept busy to try to ignore it.

The day after the men left she attended Finneas' funeral, which was very small and very quick. She was not surprised when Wyot and his family did not invite her back to their home for a post funeral meal, as was often the tradition, but she did not fault them for that, either. At least, if nothing else, they appreciated the fact that she had shown up, and there did not appear to be any kind of animosity from them. And that was good enough for Breck.

She did try to train as well, but it simply wasn't the same without Tristan barking orders at her, and it only made her think about the man all the more. And seeing as they had parted on strange terms, thinking about him only served to confuse and frustrate her. So she gave up on that fairly quickly, thinking a few days of rest would not undo all the progress she had made.

For the most part, though, she spent her time with Bors, which honestly did nothing to help improve her own mood.

Just as had been predicted, Bors had not taken well to being left behind. The man who was usually loud and boisterous and the life of the party had turned into a complete and total curmudgeon. He had been unendingly grumpy, moping about all over the fort and spending all his time either sulking or drinking. Breck had been doing her best to try to keep him positive, but Bors was having none of it. He did not want to be placated. He had no interest in hearing anything that might be logical or of sound reasoning. He was angry he had been left behind, worried for his comrades, and seemed determined to wallow in misery for however long it would take the men to return to the Wall.

Had it been anyone else, Breck probably either would have told them to stop acting like a bratty child and get their act together, or would have just washed her hands of the situation completely. But she adored Bors, and she knew that the main reason for his moodiness was because he was just afraid something would happen to his friends, so she forced herself to remain patient with him. To keep offering a friendly shoulder to lean on, an ear to hear whatever he needed to vent…not that it made any difference, it seemed.

Still, on the third day since the men had left, she was relieved to get a little break from babysitting Bors so that she could help Vanora tend to the mountain of laundry that had piled up at her house. The older children were with Bors, but the younger children were with them, splashing about in the pond and playing around with one another to keep themselves entertained. Breck smiled at their enthusiasm and shrieks of laughter, finding their innocent joy to be a welcome, and refreshing, distraction.

But she could not help it when her eyes turned toward the landscape periodically, searching for any sign that the men might be returning. Though they had not been gone for too long, it still worried her that they had not yet returned. The longer they were away, then the more opportunity for danger to potentially find them. She was just ready for them to come back, to see her friends return unharmed, and even though he had been acting very strangely, she was ready to see Tristan again.

"Are you well?" Vanora suddenly asked, making Breck look to her with mild surprise.

"Aye," Breck answered. "Why do you ask?"

"You just have not seemed quite like yourself since the men left," Vanora said with a small, concerned frown.

Breck sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "I have had much on my mind," she said, handing over one of the shirts she'd just cleaned for Vanora to lay out.

Vanora reached for the garment slowly, eyeing her all the while as she took the shirt. "Might your mind be so busy because of two Sarmatian knights that we are acquainted with?" she asked knowingly.

"Perhaps," Breck said evasively.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Vanora pried.

"Forgive me, but…no."

Her friend looked rather offended, but Breck merely shrugged at her with an apologetic look on her face. She knew Vanora likely was just trying to be a good friend and that she would probably have some good advice, but Vanora also seemed to love to gossip to her lover about the things they discussed. The last thing Breck needed was Bors opening his big mouth and revealing to everyone that she was going to reject Gawain because she'd gone and foolishly fallen for Tristan. The situation was hard enough without the added embarrassment of her personal life becoming the newest, hottest gossip around town.

"Well," Vanora huffed, turning her nose up.

"I mean no offence," Breck said gently. "It is only that the subject is…sensitive. I do not even fully understand it myself, let alone would I be able to articulate it to someone else," she said, which wasn't really the reason she didn't want to tell Vanora, but it seemed much nicer than saying I do not trust you not to tell Bors.

It seemed to do the trick, because Vanora's face softened with a mixture of understanding and sympathy. "I understand. Matters of the heart can be tricky, and very confusing," she said. Vanora reached over to grasp her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "Just know if you ever need a listening ear, mine is always available."

Breck smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Vanora."

They continued on doing the laundry, making small talk while they worked and pausing every now and again to check on the children – or, in Vanora's case, yell at the children when they started to get too rowdy or do something that was too dangerous. Breck still glanced around every so often, hoping to spot Jols or Devran coming to announce that the men had returned. But nobody came.

"Where has this order taken them, I wonder?" Breck asked curiously, scrubbing the shirt in her hands forcefully to get a stain out.

"I never know where they go," Vanora responded. "I never wish to know." Eleven made a gurgling sound from where he was nestled snuggly in the baby sling around Vanora's chest – the woman paused to smile and coo at the baby before looking back to Breck. "I am only glad Bors is here this time around, despite him being a miserable sod," she said with a roll of her eyes. Still, she smiled as she reached for more soap. "I am glad he is safe and that I have one less thing to worry about."

Breck watched her for a moment and then turned her eyes away.

She now had an idea what Vanora must have usually felt whenever the men were gone – now that she had admitted her feelings for Tristan to herself, she was more concerned for him than ever before. He was smart and stealthy, so she was confident he would make it out of most predicaments, but he had also only just recovered from a serious injury. Dagonet might have cleared him to train her, but Tristan had primarily been watching her and barking orders during their sessions, not partaking in any actual physical activity. What if he had overestimated his own health? What if danger found them and Tristan discovered at the worst time that he was not as battle ready as he had believed?

The possibility of that made a feeling of dread sink heavily into her bones.

Breck suddenly thought of her mother, who had always been so worried, so anxious whenever Kenrick was off fighting another one of Cerdic's wars. Emer would often be so restless that she would barely sleep, would barely even be able to stay still, and would distract herself doing any and every little mundane task just to keep herself preoccupied. Breck used to think it was amusing when she was a child, but now that she was the one in that position? Now that she was the one feeling anxious and worried over a man she cared for?

It certainly wasn't so funny anymore.

Their laundry session was cut short when Nine, Vanora's second to youngest daughter, began to projectile vomit quite out of nowhere, which had both women rushing over to see what was the matter. After it became clear that something was wrong with the child, Breck assured her friend that she could finish the last bits of laundry by herself and urged her friend to take the children home so that she could tend to Nine. Vanora nodded gratefully, rounded up the rest of the children, and then hurried back home, leaving Breck behind.

Breck was happy for the moment of solitude once the noisy brood was gone. Sucking in a deep breath, she resumed tending to the laundry, though her thoughts were still on the men. She hoped that Arthur and the knights would return soon – all this worrying was really beginning to take its toll on her. She just wanted all of them back at the Wall, so that she could see with her own two eyes that everyone was safe and alive. Then maybe she'd finally be able to get a good night of sleep again.

When she finished washing Vanora's laundry, she piled the wet clothes up into a large basket and then headed off to Vanora's to hang them to dry. Breck made her way through town, waving to and greeting people she had grown more familiar with, just enjoying the peace and generally minding her own business.

That was, until, she turned down an alleyway and was about to go past a certain building and heard something that caught her attention.

" – ruining my business, the Celt bitch," a voice said nastily. "She comes in here, batting her eyes, acting all innocent, completely disrupting everything. Makes me sick."

Breck came to an abrupt halt and quirked an eyebrow, knowing fully well that she was the only person at Hadrian's Wall that someone might refer to as 'the Celt bitch'. She glanced up at the building next to her and realized she was by the town brothel, and standing in front of it, just a few feet away from the alley in which Breck now stood, were the wenches who worked there. It was extremely common for the women to loiter around outside, usually in an attempt to catch the interest of potential customers. At the moment, however, they seemed more inclined to gossip about her.

With a smirk and roll of her eyes, Breck decided to stay out of sight and listen a little longer, just to find out what else they had to say about her.

"Who do you believe she is sleeping with anyway?" another voice chimed in. "Gawain, or Tristan?"

"Honestly? I'd not be surprised if she's been sleeping with all the men, Arthur included," said another woman, which made them all cackle like witches.

Breck couldn't help but snort to herself, unable to feel offended simply because the thought of it was so utterly ludicrous that no one would ever believe it to be true.

"I could not care less who of the men has had their turn with the whore or not. They can do whatever they want with her," the first woman stated. "Just spread the wealth around a bit, you know? I have not had Gawain in my bed for weeks."

She listened as the women made sounds of agreement and felt her eyebrows inch up.

Breck wasn't naïve – she knew that some of the men visited with the brothel now and again, but hearing the wenches openly talk about the fact that they had slept with Gawain was a little strange to hear. She wondered who else had visited them as well. Arthur? She did not know, and did not want to know. Dagonet? Unlikely – he didn't seem the type. Lancelot? Without question, and probably many times over. There was a good chance Galahad had, because she'd seen him with marks on his neck from time to time, but she seriously doubted Bors had – Vanora would probably kill him just for looking at the brothel.

And as for Tristan? Well…she certainly had her suspicions.

"I have not had Tristan in my bed since she came along either," another voice suddenly chimed in, and Breck immediately stiffened as she realized who was speaking.

It was Orella. She was certain of it.

"He never came around much to begin with," someone else pointed out.

"Still," Orella insisted. "Ever since he started hanging about that devil of a woman, I cannot even get him to look twice at me." The woman scoffed. "You heard that rumor she sacrificed those poor men? Did it in tribute to some God of hers. Why, I'd bet good money the bitch was not even attacked that night. It was just a story to get away with what she did." Orella scoffed again. "Tristan knows how to choose them, eh?"

There were a number of reasons why Breck could be angry in that moment. Perhaps because of the names the women kept calling her, or maybe because of those unsavory rumors they had obviously been helping to spread. She definitely could have been angry about the fact that she was being accused of lying about Gerland, and part of her was mad about that.

But in that precise moment, the anger that was simmering in her belly was because of the mere fact that she now had verbal confirmation that Orella had slept with Tristan at some point, and more than once it seemed.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise, and she would never judge him for the fact that he had slept with someone – after all, it wasn't as though Tristan's life had begun when they had met. He'd been at the Wall for fifteen years, and from what she understood, he'd never been in a relationship with a woman at any point in that time period. The simple fact of it was that he was a man, and men had needs. It was only to be expected that he might turn to the brothel, where he could see those needs met without having to become emotionally invested or attached.

Still, Breck didn't like the idea of him with another woman one bit, and she definitely did not like the thought of him being with Orella.

Maybe it wasn't anger bubbling away in her belly, actually.

Maybe it was just pure, undiluted jealousy.

Breck snuck a look around the corner to look at Orella, who wore a dress of green today, this one just as revealing as all her other ones. As rude as she was, as rotten as her personality seemed to be, she was still a beautiful woman. That self-doubt she had felt when she had first seen Orella and Tristan interact returned full force, making her feel small and completely inadequate.

Why would Tristan ever look twice at her when he had been with a woman like that?

"What is Tristan like in bed?" one of the other women asked curiously, the whole group of them still unaware that Breck was eavesdropping.

Orella smirked, her eyes lighting with glee. "Oh, where do I even begin?" she said salaciously.

Breck decided she'd heard quite enough and quickly turned to go back the way she had come to take an alternate route to Vanora's house.

She reflected on what she had overheard the whole way there, though, trying not to let herself get too worked up over what that woman had said. So what if Tristan had slept with her? If what the women said was true, then Tristan had lost interest in the brothel – and in Orella – right around the time Breck had turned up at the Wall. They might have slept together before, but clearly they were not sleeping together anymore.

If she were a fool, she might feel inclined to believe that perhaps that had to mean something, that maybe there was more to this – to her relationship with Tristan – than she had ever dared to believe.

But Breck was not a fool.

Tristan would never see her the way he had seen Orella, would never care for her in the way she cared for him. And the sooner she came to accept that fact, the better off she would be.

OOO

That evening, since Vanora had taken the night off to care for Nine, who appeared to have caught a stomach bug, Breck helped her get the children to bed and then dragged Bors to the tavern, more so to give Vanora some peace and quiet to care for Nine, but also so that they could get a few drinks, which Breck felt she definitely needed after a long, hard few days. She had hoped a night of drinking and socializing might finally cheer him up a little, but that would not be the case.

"I despise the fact that I was left behind," Bors lamented drunkenly, that dark cloud still firmly hanging over him. He'd hit the ale hard once they'd arrived, no doubt in an attempt to wash away his woes.

Breck nearly rolled her eyes. She knew very well how much he despised it. She was fairly certain everyone within one hundred leagues knew. "Tis only one mission, Bors," Breck said patiently, gulping down some ale. "You will be back to fighting strength by the next one, I am sure of it."

"But you do not understand, Breck," Bors insisted, his words slurring slightly. "The men need me. What if they get ambushed again? What if they find trouble? The lot of 'em will be killed if I ain't there to guard their backs."

Breck couldn't help but smile a little. As annoying as he had been acting the past few days, she was touched by how deeply Bors cared for his brothers in arms. "Noble as it is to want to protect them, every single one of those men knows how to fight. They will return to us just as healthy as they were when they left."

"How do you know?" Bors questioned.

Breck didn't know that, but she thought that maybe if she hoped for it hard enough that it would end up being true. "Women's intuition," she said with a smirk.

Bors snorted into his ale and rolled his eyes. "Right. I forget that sometimes," he commented.

Breck frowned questioningly. "Forget what?"

"That you are a woman," Bors said bluntly.

Breck blinked, the statement not sitting right since she'd already been feeling rather down about herself to begin with. "Should I be insulted, or no?"

Bors realized how that must have sounded and quickly shook his head. "No, no. I mean no insult. You just fit in so well with us men, it is easy to forget that you are not one of us," he clarified, and that made her feel better. "Trust me. We are all very aware that you are a woman." Bors then huffed out a laugh. "Some more than others, in fact," he added with a wink, before taking another large drink.

Breck paused with her drink halfway to her mouth. "If you are speaking about Gawain, I am already well aware of his feelings," she said, having just enough drink in her to be blunt about it.

"I was not speakin' about Gawain, actually," Bors countered just as Breck took a drink.

She nearly choked on her ale in surprise, her eyes widening at what he had just said.

Was she drunk, or was Bors insinuating that there was another knight that had feelings for her?

She started to demand that he elaborate, but at that exact moment, Devran came pushing through the crowd and practically threw himself at their table, catching them both by surprise. "Lord Arthur and the knights have returned!" the boy announced.

"Is everyone well?" Breck asked at once.

Devran nodded, which made both her and Bors relax with relief. "We are needed in the stables."

Breck nodded, but could not help feeling slightly frustrated. Bors had been on the brink of revealing a great secret to her, she just knew it, but the moment was gone now that duty had called for her. Why was it that whenever there was something important to discuss, there was always some kind of interruption?

Breck looked at Bors as she stood from the table. "This conversation is not finished," she said, pointing a finger at him.

Bors let loose a loud belch after he chugged his ale and slammed the empty mug on the table. "What conversation?" he asked cheekily as he also stood. Now that the men had returned, his entire mood had changed. Gone was the grumpy, self-pitying man-child she'd been dealing with the past few days – the normal, cheery, loud-mouthed Bors was back.

Breck gaped in disbelief, following after the burly man as he cleared a path through the crowd and headed for the door. "Bors. Bors! Do not play dumb with me!" she said.

"Sorry, I cannot hear ya!" he called back mockingly. "Tis far too loud in here!"

Then he launched into a loud, drunken rendition of a song she'd heard the men sing before, making her growl with frustration. He was enjoying torturing her too much and was clearly not going to say anything more, which was unbelievably annoying.

"You are insufferable, you know that?" Breck said as she fell into step with him.

Bors stopped singing to shoot her another cheeky smile. "As I understand it, you rather like insufferable men," he shot at her, leaving very little doubt as to who he was referring to.

Breck looked at him in shock again, then cursed under her breath as he chortled heartily. "Blasted woman and her traitorous mouth," she complained about Vanora in Gaelic.

"Oi! No fair!" Bors said, even as he continued to laugh at her. "If you mean to insult me, at least do it in a language I understand!"

"As you wish," Breck said, before giving him a rude hand gesture.

Bors just laughed harder.

The men were in the process of removing their armor when she and Bors walked into the stables a short while later. Bors immediately lit up at the sight of his comrades, looking leaps and bounds happier.

"Well, well, look what we have here!" Bors said loudly.

He was greeted enthusiastically by his comrades, who came to slap him on the back and pull him in for manly hugs. Galahad was the first to make his way to Breck. He grinned widely, then came to wrap her up in a hug so exuberant that he lifted her off the ground.

"My friend, you are a sight for sore eyes," he said, squeezing her hard enough that it was almost difficult to breathe.

"I shall soon be a dead sight for your eyes if you do not release me," she warned with a laugh.

Galahad set her down and loosened his grip enough to where she could give him a proper hug. When they parted, she gave him a quick once over. There wasn't a scratch on him, nor did she see any blood, which was a rare – but welcome – sight. "I am ecstatic you have all returned. I have worried endlessly while the lot of you have been away."

"But of course you did," Lancelot chimed in as he passed by. He stopped to give her a large grin, then leaned in to kiss her cheek before she knew what he was going to do. "Cease your worrying now, beautiful lady, for here I am – unscathed and handsome as ever," he said, motioning to himself grandly.

Breck rolled her eyes, but could not quite fight back the smile that tugged at her lips. "Aye, good to see you as well, Lancelot," she said begrudgingly.

Lancelot winked and carried on with whatever he was doing. Breck took the opportunity to look around at the other men, noting happily that nobody seemed hurt, only tired and windblown. When her eyes found Tristan, her heart fluttered in her chest at the mere sight of him.

But her joy and relief at seeing him melted to uncertainty, because she realized he was the only one that had not moved to greet either her or Bors. That he was, once again, not even acknowledging her.

It was like déjà vu. He was standing off by himself with his back turned to her as he quickly removed his armor, not making eye contact with anyone, looking like he was trying to get out of the stables as fast as possible. Breck had hoped that whatever had been bothering him the day he had left would have been resolved by the time he returned, but that did not appear to be the case.

Gawain suddenly appeared by her side, drawing her attention to him. Galahad, she noticed, quietly slipped away. "Breck," he said, grinned charmingly, his hand grasping hers so that he could hold it tightly, his thumb caressing her knuckles. "It is very good to see you," he said earnestly.

Breck gave him a small smile. "I am happy to see you as well," she responded kindly, even as she tried to get a look at Tristan around his broad shoulder.

Gawain smiled wider, if possible, then pulled her in for a hug that lingered for longer than normal. Breck hugged him back, albeit a bit awkwardly – it wasn't that she had never hugged him before, it was just that they had never hugged like this. The rest of the men, she noticed, had averted their gazes or subtly moved away, as if trying not to intrude on a moment. Breck glanced around at them, her brows creasing questioningly.

Why were they acting that way? Had Gawain said something to them?

Then her eyes finally met a pair of amber ones across the room. Tristan was the only one looking in their direction, and as their gazes held over Gawain's shoulder, she wished desperately that she could read his expression. But his handsome face gave away nothing. Breck offered a wave in acknowledgement, but Tristan did not return the greeting. He only looked at her for one more heartbeat before turning his back to them once more and resuming pulling off his armor, this time a touch more roughly than was necessary.

Now Breck knew he was angry at her. He just had to be. It was the only reason to explain why he had not shown for breakfast, why he had ignored her before leaving, and why he was ignoring her now. But what had she done? What could possibly make him so angry that he had decided to completely shut her out?

"I trust you have been well while we have been gone?" Gawain asked, pulling back just far enough to be able to look down at her. He still stood very close, though, and that combined with the way he was looking at her was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Aye, I have been fine," she said, finally pulling out of his embrace so that she could take a step back and put some space between them. "A touch bored, perhaps. Bors has not been the most enjoyable company," she said with a smile and shrug.

Gawain laughed, glancing briefly toward Bors. "Yes, well, the man does hate to miss a good Woad hunt," he said.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Jols beat her to the punch. "Breck!" he called to gain her attention. "There is much work to do," he reminded.

"Of course. I shall get to it straight away," she said back, a little glad he had interrupted. She looked back to Gawain, giving him an apologetic look. "I must get to work, I am afraid."

Gawain nodded in understanding. "Certainly. The men and I plan to visit the tavern after we have cleaned up. Shall you join us there?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course," Breck assured.

"Wonderful. I shall see you then."

Gawain hesitated, looking like he was waging some internal battle, then finally leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, making Breck stiffen. He seemed to not notice and smiled at her as he pulled away again, but she could not find it in herself to return it. Thankfully, he said nothing about it, just nodded to her and then turned to leave with Galahad.

Breck watched him go, frowning slightly to herself, then turned her eyes over to Tristan. He was already walking out of the stables, though, all without speaking to her or even bothering to so much as glance in her direction a second time. Breck's frown only deepened.

"I would think you would be happy to see us, yet here you are, frowning," Arthur said as he finally came to greet her.

Breck pushed her feelings aside and put on a smile for him, stepping in close to hug him tightly. Arthur returned the embrace without hesitation. "I am happy," she insisted. "You are well?"

Arthur nodded. "Tired, but well enough," he answered. "It has been a long few days." He gave her a questioning look. "How has Bors been?" he asked, ever concerned for his men.

"A living nightmare, but he is still alive and still my friend, so I would say my order was carried out successfully," Breck said with a smirk.

"Good. Thank you for watching over him," Arthur said gratefully.

"Of course," Breck responded. "I hear the men intend to drink themselves stupid again. Will you be joining us for the festivities?"

"I will. I could use a good drink," Arthur agreed with a nod. He glanced around momentarily, as if checking to make sure that none of the remaining men in the stables were listening, then gave her a knowing look. "Tomorrow, we will need to speak about Gawain," he said.

Breck tensed. "He informed you of his offer regarding Cerdic?" she asked, hoping that was the only thing he had told Arthur about.

"And of his offer regarding his affections," Arthur said, making her cringe. "The rest of the men have also been made aware of that as well," he added, rubbing salt into the wound.

The rest of the men finding out about Gawain's confession was exactly what she hadn't wanted to happen. She had hoped to be able to let Gawain down gently before anyone else found out, so that maybe then none of the men would ever know that it had even been discussed in the first place. That did, however, explain why they had been acting oddly.

It might also explain why Tristan had been acting the way that he had been, that annoying, hopeful voice in the back of her mind stated.

Breck diligently ignored that voice as Arthur grasped her shoulder. "Do not worry yourself over it tonight," he said, sensing the change in her mood. "Tonight, we celebrate our safe return."

Breck just nodded, then finally said her goodbye's to Arthur so she could get to work, hoping the labor would help clear her head before she was faced with Tristan and Gawain again.

OOO

The men were already a few drinks in by the time she and Jols had finished their work and gone to the tavern to meet with them. Dagonet was filling Bors in on everything that had happened during the mission, the two of them back to friendly terms again. Arthur and Lancelot were playing another game of dice, and Gawain and Galahad were partaking in their two favorite pastimes – drinking copious amounts of alcohol and dagger throwing. The men did seem a little weary from the long journey back, but overall, they were in good spirits and happy to be back at the Wall.

All except for one, anyway.

Because he had seemed to be in such a foul mood, Breck had expected that Tristan would not be at the tavern. Surprisingly, he was there, but he seemed to be keeping to himself, sitting just close enough so that he was technically with the group, but also just far enough away to avoid having to actually interact with anyone.

Breck greeted the men as she and Jols joined them, but did not sit down next to Arthur right away. She pressed her lips together instead, contemplating whether or not to approach Tristan, before finally taking a sip of her ale and bravely walking over to where he sat. He knew she was approaching, she knew that he knew, but he did not acknowledge her, keeping his eyes trained elsewhere instead.

Her confusion over his behavior was beginning to turn into annoyance. To be angry was one thing, but to continuously ignore her? To completely shut her out? It seemed excessive and unnecessary, as well as disrespectful.

Breck stopped in front of him, and Tristan did finally deign to at least glance up at her. But just as quickly he trained his eyes elsewhere again, his expression closed off and indifferent. Breck couldn't help but frown, her fingers fiddling with her ale almost nervously.

"I am glad you have returned safely," she said, deciding to go the cordial and friendly route first. Tristan said nothing. "I trust you are well?"

Still he was silent, and the fact that he was so blatantly ignoring her made anger start to burn in her veins. What was his problem? Why was he behaving like this toward her? What had made his attitude toward her change so drastically?

"Have you forgotten how to speak to your friends?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow. She had tried not to say it with attitude, but she didn't quite succeed.

"We are friends?" Tristan finally responded, taking a casual drink of ale.

Breck ignored the sting of the comment, her eyes narrowing. "I had believed so. Was I mistaken?"

Tristan just shrugged, his expression bored. "Believe whatever you wish."

Breck scoffed and shook her head. "You are in rare form tonight," she said, unable to hide her frustration now. "In fact, you have been in rare form since before you left for this mission." Breck tapped a nail against her ale. "Why did you not show for breakfast the morning you were called away?"

"I was busy," he said bluntly. "However, I see no reason for us to continue taking our meals together. You should know now what sustenance you should be having without me there picking it out for you."

Breck practically gaped at him with surprise. He was so angry that he did not wish to even share meals with her anymore? "And our training? Are you going to discontinue that as well?" she asked, hoping desperately that the answer would be no.

Tristan took another drink of ale. "I was ordered to train you, and I will see my orders through," he said.

Not because he wanted to, not because he liked training her and seeing her progress. Because he was being forced to.

Breck couldn't hold her next question back even if she tried. "Is there a reason you are behaving like this?" she asked, needing an answer. "Have I done something wrong?"

Tristan's eyes dragged up to hers, that closed off, blank expression reminding her far too much of how he had looked at her back when they had not been able to get along. "My reasons are my own, and I need not explain them to you."

Breck pressed her lips together tightly, trying to keep a handle on herself. She could practically feel Tristan pulling away from her, and she hated it. They had come so far, had overcome so much to finally become friends, and now it felt like it had all been for nothing. Because Tristan had coldly and callously cut her off, rescinded the friendship he had given her, and he didn't even respect her enough to tell her why.

It hurt. And it made her so very angry at the same time.

"Very well. Sulk in your corner and be a miserable arse then, if that is what you wish to do," she said, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at him. She hoped it would make him mad – she wanted to get a rise out of him. Wanted to see some spark of life from him again.

But Tristan said nothing, just raised his mug to her sarcastically, his actions reeking of condescension. He didn't seem to care about anything she was saying to him. It was as if he had washed his hands of her.

Breck barely resisted the urge to smack his drink out of his hand.

They stared each other down for a long moment, until Breck heard Gawain calling her name. When she looked that way, he and Galahad were both waving her over to join them. When she looked down at Tristan again, he raised his eyebrows and motioned for her to go with a flippant wave of his hand, as if she were a fly that wouldn't stop bothering him. With how angry, and confused, and hurt she felt, Breck knew that if she stayed even one second longer that she would likely do something she would regret. So she turned to leave, cursing Tristan under her breath as she went and not really caring if he heard her or not.

This sudden change simply did not make sense to her. Things between them had been perfectly fine – more than fine, actually. She thought they had finally become friends, that they understood one another, that there was mutual respect between them. But now he had reverted back to being the insufferable ass that she had loathed to be around, and he wouldn't even give her a reason for it. It was so unbelievably frustrating. Furthermore, it was just so very disappointing.

Maybe, she thought with a sudden uneasy feeling in her belly, Tristan had discovered her true feelings for him. Maybe someone had told him, or maybe she had not been as good at hiding it as she had thought. She had worried that him learning the truth would scare him off, which could explain why he was pulling away now. Had Vanora said something to him? Had Bors?

No, Breck adamantly denied. Vanora would never betray her trust like that, and though Bors did have a big mouth, she didn't think he would say anything to Tristan. She wasn't even certain what exactly he knew about her feelings for Tristan anyway.

So then what was it?

As Breck joined Gawain and Galahad she noticed that Gawain was eyeing Tristan with a dark frown and doing a poor job of hiding it, likely because there were already three empty ale mugs beside him. When she dared a glance back at Tristan, the scout was staring right back at Gawain, his expression just as cold as he held the man's gaze unblinkingly.

Seeing the way the two were looking at one another made that inner voice she had been ignoring come back.

She had never dared to believe there could ever be more than friendship between her and Tristan, but…as she took everything into consideration – the fact that he had protected her from Gerland even after Arthur had relieved him of the order to do so, how he had apparently stopped going to the brothel after they had met, how his friendship with Gawain had become strained after the other knight had started making advances toward her, how he seemed so angry now that Gawain had officially begun trying to court her. And then, of course, there was what Bors had said earlier that night, how he had hinted that more than one knight fancied her.

Was it possible that Tristan was behaving this way because he did have feelings for her in return, and now he was upset because he thought she was going to choose Gawain?

Her heart leapt at the thought that Tristan might feel the same tension, the same desire, the same longing for her that she did for him. But if he did have feelings for her, well…

He had a very unpleasant way of showing it.

Breck watched as Gawain finally forced his eyes away from Tristan, though not after sending one last unkind look his way. The past few times she had seen them together, that tension that always lingered between them had only gotten worse, leaving Breck to wonder if there was more to Tristan's anger than just the possibility of jealousy. Tristan had already hinted to her that something had happened between them while she had been busy helping Dagonet with Finneas – perhaps something had happened again while they had been away from the Wall.

Breck frowned and turned her eyes to Galahad, who was just a few feet away, laughing heartily at something someone had said to him.

Galahad had been the middle man between them for several days now. If anyone would tell her the truth about what was going on between Tristan and Gawain, it would definitely be him.

Breck bided her time, keeping her conversation with Galahad and Gawain perfectly calm and casual as she watched them finish their round of dagger throwing. Galahad challenged her next, and though she agreed to play, she was so distracted that she lost horribly, much to the man's delight.

"Why, Breck! What has happened to you? That must have been the worst performance I have seen from anyone!" Galahad exclaimed, gleefully rubbing her loss in her face.

"I suppose I am just off my game tonight," Breck excused with a shrug.

Galahad snorted. "I say." He then motioned to her ale. "Come now, you know the rules. You must drink!"

Breck looked down at her mug, which was mostly empty, then looked at Galahad's, which was also close to being finished. Knowing that this was the perfect excuse to get him away from the others, Breck grabbed him by the arm. "Come, I need a refill first," she said, pulling him in the direction of the bar.

"Grab me one as well!" Bors called after them from the table.

"And me!" Gawain added.

Breck pulled Galahad away so quickly that he stumbled a little as he followed her. He seemed confused as to why she had yanked him away so fast, his brow quirking upward as they found a less crowded spot at the bar, far away from the ears of the other men. "Goodness, woman. You nearly pulled my arm out of the socket," he complained, rotating his shoulder with a frown. "What was the meaning of that?"

"I need to speak with you about something," she said urgently.

Galahad looked at her suspiciously, then pointed a finger. "This better not be you attempting to get out of drinking your pint," he reprimanded. "You lost, therefore you must drink as punishment. Those are the rules," he insisted.

Breck gave him an impatient look, then glanced toward where the men were. Tristan and Gawain, she saw, were completely ignoring each other. "I am going to ask you something, and you must be completely truthful with me, do you understand?" she said, her tone completely serious.

Galahad pursed his lips, his brows stitching together. "Alright…"

"What has been going on between Tristan and Gawain?" Breck asked bluntly.

Galahad was surprised by the question at first, but then his expression turned awkward as he glanced toward the table. Galahad looked back to her and sighed as he set his mug down.

"Their friendship has been…strained…as of late," he stated.

"Aye, I have noticed," Breck said. "Is this all because of some sort of disagreement?"

Galahad ran a hand through his hair, turning some of his curls frizzy. "Yes, you could say that," he answered. "They have not been seeing eye to eye, and I know there was some sort of…incident between them the day before we left. Jols mentioned walking in on what seemed like an argument, though he did not know what it was about," Galahad revealed.

So that was what had happened that day in the stables.

"Last night, however, I did witness an argument between them," Galahad continued. "After we had stopped to make camp for the night, Gawain finally confessed to us all that he has feelings for you. Which we all already knew, of course, even though he had not outright said it," he clarified. "Gawain also confessed that he had finally told you how he felt, and that he was merely waiting for you to tell him whether or not you wished to be with him in return. He seemed…confident that you would accept him as your man," Galahad said with a nod.

Breck frowned deeply, not liking where this conversation was headed.

"Afterwards," Galahad said, "I saw Gawain pull Tristan off to the side so they could speak privately. It seemed cordial enough at first, but it did not take long for their talk to escalate," he revealed. Galahad glanced toward the table again, then looked down at her seriously. "I have every reason to believe that you were the source of their argument," he said regretfully. "Both arguments," he added.

Breck shook her head with frustration. "But why?"

Galahad seemed hesitant now, as if they were breaching on a subject he did not wish to be involved in. "I think if you wish to know, then perhaps that is a conversation to be had with Gawain. Or, better yet, you should speak with Tristan," he suggested.

Breck scoffed bitterly. "That will be far easier said than done, seeing as Tristan suddenly seems to want nothing to do with me."

Galahad said something in response, but Breck did not hear it.

Because in that moment, as her eyes turned toward the table to look at the man in question, she saw something that made her heart sink into her stomach.

There, sitting on Tristan's lap and toying with his braids, was Orella. Breck did not know where she had come from, but that didn't much matter. Not when the woman's dress was so low cut that her breasts were practically falling out onto Tristan's face. Not when Orella leaned in close with a flirty smile to whisper something in Tristan's ear, her hand trailing along his chest with far too much familiarity. Not when Tristan seemed to be enjoying the attention she was giving him.

Suddenly Tristan was looking directly at Breck. As their eyes held, he slid a hand to the woman's hip and pulled her tighter against him, which made the wench giggle. Orella glanced in Breck's direction too, smirked triumphantly, then made a big show of pressing slow, lingering kisses all along his jaw.

The hurt that bloomed in her chest was so strong and so swift that it stole the breath from her lungs.

Breck could not stand to see them together for another moment. She immediately turned on her heel and hurried for the door, her heart thundering in her ears and her chest aching something fierce. Vaguely she was aware of Galahad calling after her, his tone full of concern, but she did not stop. She just pushed her way roughly through the crowd, needing to escape the horrible, suffocating feeling suddenly swarming her.

OOO

The doors to the tavern slammed shut behind her as she stepped outside. Breck stood there for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to calm her breath, hoping the sudden sick feeling in her stomach would go away. Being out of the noise of the tavern helped, as did the fresh air.

But even still, all she could see was Tristan and Orella together, with the wench's hand sliding over him, and his hands gripping her hips to pull her even closer.

Breck pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes to try to make the image go away. When she opened her eyes again, she glanced around helplessly, not knowing where to go or what to do, but knowing she absolutely could not return to the tavern. Not while Tristan was there with Orella, letting her touch him in all the ways that Breck wished she had been able to.

With a shake of her head, she decided she didn't care where she went – she just needed to get as far away as possible.

Breck started off into the dark, and she did not realize she was headed toward the training arena until she was nearly halfway there. It was dark and it would be hard to see, but the thought of shooting a few arrows or hitting a few of those wooden dummies suddenly sounded very appealing. She just needed to do something to alleviate the anger in her veins.

But it wasn't just anger she felt. She was also incredibly jealous, loathe as she was to admit it. But more than anything, she was just…hurt.

This was why she had been trying to convince herself that nothing would ever happen between her and Tristan. She had given herself one small, minute moment in time to get her hopes up, and now she was left with nothing but crushing disappointment. So what if he and Gawain had argued over her? So what if Bors had been alluding to the possibility that he fancied her? None of that mattered anymore, because Tristan had just made it abundantly clear that nothing would ever happen between them.

They were not friends.

He did not care about her.

Breck meant nothing to him.

It hurt even more to admit that to herself, but it had to be the truth. The way he had treated her tonight, the fact that he had dismissed her and her friendship so easily, was proof enough of that. And when he'd had that woman on his lap, she swore she had seen smugness on his face, as if he did indeed somehow know how she felt about him and had been purposefully trying to hurt her. It was especially cruel, even for him, and it further proved just how little he respected her.

Breck angrily kicked a rock out of her path as she continued on to the arena, frowning deeply. There was little doubt that Tristan had seen the shock and the jealousy on her face, and she cursed herself for not being better at hiding her emotions. If he hadn't been aware of her feelings before, he would certainly know now after the way she had behaved.

Breck hated that she had given him that ammunition to use against her. No doubt he was getting a good laugh over it right that moment. He and the wench were probably both laughing at her.

Actually, Tristan probably wasn't even thinking about her at all. He was probably too preoccupied with that wench. For all she knew, they were already on their way to the brothel to have sex.

The idea of it made her sick to her stomach.

"You left in a hurry," someone suddenly called behind her.

Breck froze on the spot, immediately recognizing the voice.

Slowly, she turned around to face Tristan, who had followed her out of the tavern, only she had been so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn't even heard him behind her. Anger flared wildly in her veins at the mere sight of him, at his audacity to follow her after the way he had behaved, but she mustered up every ounce of self-control that she possessed in an attempt to keep him from seeing it.

"I did not wish to be in the tavern anymore," Breck answered as neutrally as possible.

Tristan took a step closer, his eyes locked on her, scrutinizing her in a way that made her feel like he was trying to look into her very soul. "One might be inclined to believe you were fleeing from something," he said, just a touch too knowingly.

Was he taunting her now? Breck's hand balled into a fist at her side. "To flee would indicate that I felt threatened by something. Is there something you think I should have felt threatened by?" she said in a deadly calm voice, her eyes daring him to say it aloud.

Tristan didn't respond right away, just took another few slow steps closer. Breck could have sworn she saw the hint of a smirk lingering on the corner of his mouth. She didn't know why he was smirking, but her palm immediately itched to slap it right off of his face.

"You tell me," he finally said, halting barely two feet away.

Breck huffed with annoyance. She was in no mood for whatever game he was trying to play with her. "Not that I owe you an explanation," she said, throwing his own cold words back at him, "but I wish to train. Is this something that I require your permission for? Master?" she added haughtily.

His eyebrows rose at her attitude, then he glanced around casually, looking as though he didn't have a care in the world and as though he weren't standing in front of a fuming mad woman. His indifference only made her blood boil hotter.

"Tis dark – "

"How observant of you," she cut in sarcastically.

" – too dark to see," he continued, ignoring her interjection. "Henceforth, too dark to train."

Breck's patience was hanging on by a thread at this point. He knew she was angry, he must have known that he was the cause of it, and yet he thought now was the time to be condescending? She had no idea why he was acting the way he was, nor why he had come after her in the first place, but if she didn't get away from him, and quickly, she was going to end up doing something that she would regret.

"Dark or not, I will make do. Now, if you would excuse me," she said, turning on her heel to leave.

"Breck," he called after her.

It was the first time he had ever actually called her by her name. More often than not, he usually just referred to her as woman. She had never known why he never actually said her name, nor had she ever asked. But even through the haze of her anger and jealousy, hearing it on his lips, in that husky, accented voice, sent a traitorous thrill through her limbs.

Breck was not about to let herself be distracted, though. Because she was angry and annoyed, and she had finally reached her breaking point.

Breck whipped around, glaring at him dangerously. "What do you want, Tristan?" she demanded. "You have been perfectly happy to ignore my very existence since before you even left for this past mission. Why can you not leave me be now?" When Tristan still said nothing, she growled with complete and utter frustration. "If it is company that you seek, then I am certain the whore you had on your lap would be more than willing. So why don't you go and fuck her and leave me be!"

Tristan went very still, and for a few very tense seconds, all they did was stare at one another – Tristan with that unreadable expression, and Breck with a burning anger that made her chest heave.

And then Tristan was directly in front of her, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck as he pulled her flush against his chest. Before she could blink, before she could even begin to comprehend what he was going to do, his lips were on hers.

Breck froze with shock. She could feel the scratch of his beard against the skin of her face, feel his fingers tangling into her curls, smell the scent of horse and earth stronger than ever before, felt his other hand sliding onto the small of her back, pulling her even closer and anchoring her to him.

Finally, her mind caught up.

Tristan was kissing her.

Breck's eyelids slammed shut and her hands immediately planted on either side of his neck as she kissed him back.

The moment she responded it was as if a dam had broken, and there was no stopping the mad rush that followed. Tristan kissed her harder, their lips colliding wildly, practically devouring one another. The hand in her hair tightened just enough to send a shiver down her spine, making her own fingers flex in his hair as she tried to pull him even closer. He plundered her mouth as if laying claim to her, making her melt against him, a whimper escaping her throat before she could stop it. Tristan let out an answering, low groan, his hand finding its way to her hip to pull her ever closer as he kissed her as though his life depended on it.

And then, suddenly, Tristan tore his mouth from hers and let her go.

Breck, still completely lost in the heated desire that his kiss had brought on, stumbled forward at the loss of the contact. By the time she had opened her eyes to look at him with confusion, unsure why he had stopped kissing her so abruptly, Tristan had already turned to leave, stalking away without another look backward.

All Breck could do was stand there, lips still tingling, the taste of him still on her tongue, and watch him go, too dumbfounded to chase after him.

---

See you next Friday! (Hopefully)