A Summer Siege (Medieval Romance)

by Samantha Holt

  She regarded him with the coolest look she could muster but she suspected his disarming eyes could see straight through her front.

  “‘Tis of no matter. Just be assured that I have learnt many skills these past years, none of which are of benefit to me in settings such as these.” She could not help but release a wry smile as she observed the preening young women that filled the hall.

  Tristan glanced around before regarding her once more. “Aye, you do not behave like a conventional noble woman, that much is true, but that is no grave thing. Indeed, you are far more captivating than any other woman here.”

  Madeline could feel the heat suffuse her cheeks, her breath quickening at his words. Flicking her eyes away, she was grateful to hear supper announced.

  A flash of disappointment darted across Tristan’s face and Madeline tried not to read into it. Tristan had always been charming and was no doubt behaving as an honourable man should.

  “Will you sit with me?”

  Caught off guard, she simply nodded. She had been seated next to Lord Reginald at the family table yestereve and, in spite of herself, she had regretted the distance between herself and Tristan.

  As he guided her to her seat, Lord Reginald nodded approvingly, obviously not put out by the change in the seating arrangement.

  Tristan lowered himself to his chair next to her and Madeline realised her mistake. Sweet Mary, how would she survive the entire meal in such close proximity to him? His shirted arm brushed against hers as he reached for his wine. A peek at his profile convinced her that he had no clue as to the torture he was inflicting upon her.

  As she took a restorative sip of her own wine, relishing the piquant flavour, his hard thigh brushed at hers and she coughed.

  Tristan watched her with concern as she gained her breath. “Have a care, Madeline. ‘Tis the second time you’ve nearly choked to death in my presence.”

  Aye, ‘your presence’ being the primary cause.

  The smells of supper suffused through the air, the herbs and gravies creating a delicious atmosphere. Whilst this was no meagre fair, Madeline knew this was naught compared to the delights they could expect at the feast tomorrow. Already, servants had been scurrying back and forth in preparation and the aroma of freshly baked pastries and breads had imbued the air since dawn.

  They shared a trencher, Tristan serving her first as expected. Pulling out his eating dagger, he jabbed lightly into the meat and she watched his work worn hand as he drew it to her lips. A thickness caught in her chest as his fingertips hovered just a short distance from her mouth, and she was shaken by a blossoming awareness. She risked a fleeting look to Tristan only to be captured by his bright eyes which focused with intent upon her mouth.

  Tristan was aware he must be staring as her lips closed around the stew. His mouth became dry as her tongue darted out and he was rocked by images of that mouth against his skin. Her every movement was completely unconsidered, yet naturally beguiling, unlike that of most of the women in attendance, whose artificial charms paled in comparison. He was not merely playing the chivalrous knight when he had said she was the most captivating woman in the room.

  In truth, she had him well and truly captivated. His initial attraction to her, while palpable, had ripened into a far more ardent sensation, and was a far cry from the simple devotion he had felt when he was younger.

  Tearing a chunk of the soft white bread, he dabbed it into the thick gravy and deliberately used his fingers. A momentary flash of fright in her eyes caught his attention and he resisted a smug smile. The more time spent with her, the more he became convinced she felt the same. The sensations that crackled between them were far too powerful for her not to.

  Madeline’s lips brushed over the tip of his finger as her delicate teeth bit into the morsel and Tristan bit back a groan. Why was he torturing himself thus? Yet, he could not stop. So he continued, hiding behind the pretence of courtly manners, as he felt himself harden with her every bite. When it came to his turn to feed himself, he found he had lost his appetite entirely. There was only one thing he was hungry for now and, from Madeline’s wide-eyed look, she was thoroughly aware of where his appetites now lay.

  The rest of the evening passed in agonising torment, having Madeline so close yet so distant. She sat rigid, forever on guard. Occasionally she would let slip a smile or the hint of a laugh but as she heeded his reaction, her expression would shutter once more. Tristan cursed his ardour for he was convinced it was his overly intimate behaviour that caused her unease. What an enigma she was! Bold valour combined with such reserve. One moment declaring she feared naught, then the next looking at him as if she feared he might devour her. If only, he thought wryly.

  ***

  The next day Madeline stepped into the Great Hall, with even more apprehension. Additional guests had arrived that morning and after sleeping little that night she felt ill equipped to deal with such festivities. Almost every eye turned to watched her enter, some with a smile, and others with curiosity. The feast was now in full swing but the clamour of voices hushed as she entered. The return of Sir Edward’s daughter from the dead had provided the local gossips with plenty of entertainment and the whispers sent a shiver of discomfort through her.

  Her time away had isolated her from gatherings such as these, having stayed hidden away for fear of discovery. She didn’t mind, having lost a love for the revelries of noble folk long ago, but she wished she didn’t feel so out of place. Her dress sat uncomfortably on her waist, digging into her ribs, and the golden embroidery itched at her skin. Oh, how she wished to wear a simple gown.

  The poor servants had slaved away, adjusting one of Lady Elizabeth’s gowns to fit her, so she had little choice but to wear it. Elizabeth had insisted that she would need something fine for such an occasion, lest she stand out. As if she could stand out any more! With her fiery red hair, there was no mistaking the girl that had eluded death itself.

  Her eyes drifted across the general splendour of the hall. The feasts at Ashford were renowned and unsurpassable. The Great Hall was modest by some standards but Madeline found herself more intimidated than usual by the bustling room. Its timber framed ceiling created a feature in itself, the rafters spanning the height of the vaulted roof, while standards hung from several of the beams. The raised dais sat at the back of the room on which the main table sat, covered in fine white linen. Wrought iron candelabra’s hung from the rafters and sat about the room, providing a golden glow which served to only enhance the luxurious fabrics of the tapestries.

  In the centre stood a central hearth, currently unlit due to the weather and the warm bodies crowding into the hall. Minstrels were gathered in the gallery above the offices, their lilting sound doing little to ease her nerves. She pondered how a place that used to hold such comfort to her as a child could suddenly seem so daunting. To think, she had once expected to become mistress of all this.

  Scanning the room for a familiar face, her gaze latched onto Tristan. He stared at her with undisguised interest and her heart contracted under his gaze, adding to her sense of nervousness. Her palms became slick and her throat dry as he continued his perusal, his eyes trailing over every part of her. Her skin prickled under his scrutiny as if it were his hands brushing over her and not his eyes.

  Riveted to the spot, she found herself indecisive as to whether to go to him or not. Part of her longed to go to his side, to seek comfort in his presence, but she reminded herself that she could not allow herself to rely on anyone else, particularly Tristan.

  Lord, he looked handsome! In a fine red tunic, his burnished skin contrasted with the general pallor of the visiting nobles, and his golden hair shimmered under the candle light. He looked every bit a lord’s son and she was reminded of the difference in their circumstances. Madeline could never be fully part of this world anymore.

  On the approach of some local women, her decision was made for her and she found herself embroiled in their mindless chatter. Some she remembered from her c
hildhood, and others she did not, but she had little in common with any of them. She was grateful, however, for their lack of interest in her whereabouts these past years and, after the general exclamations of wonder at her return, talk returned to more mundane topics.

  With a mixture of relief and trepidation, dinner was served. Madeline found herself at the head table, once more next to Lord Reginald. As the feast was in her honour, it was to be expected, but it appeared to her that every eye in the hall was on her and, as Lord Reginald offered a toast, she cringed inwardly, keeping her gaze to the table while pasting a serene smile upon her face.

  Watching her avidly, Tristan understood Madeline’s discomfort. While he was used to the open hospitality of his parents, he took little joy in the never ending merriments of Ashford Manor. Madeline was considered by the guests as a fascinating diversion, her tale of escape having become significant fuel for the gossips, and they spent more time observing her than enjoying the entertainments his father had put on.

  Madeline had taken his breath away tonight. Her bold blue gown encased a figure so sublime that he had found himself openly staring at her, in spite of the knowledge that he was only adding to her discomfort. The deep triangle of her neck hinted at the womanly figure that lay beneath - the gold embroidery drawing his eye - and the same embroidery snaked across hips that he longed to grab. Long pendant sleeves accentuated a slender waist and, although she was unadorned with jewels or ribbons, her magnificence far exceeded that of the wealthiest women in attendance.

  The spark of male interest flared in many an eye and Tristan tamped down on his jealousy, aware they would have no better luck than himself, though it didn’t stop him from wanting strike every gawping man in the room. Rarely was he overcome with aggressive notions and he grimaced at his primitive thoughts.

  As the meal ended, the servants cleared away the trestle tables ready for dancing and he wondered if Madeline would take part. Tristan wasn’t sure how he would control himself if he saw another man’s hands upon her. With relief, he noticed her scurrying out of the room in the direction of the courtyard. Taking a swig of wine for courage, he thumped down his goblet and strode determinedly after her.

  ***

  “I do not belong here.”

  Tristan paused, wondering how she had known it was him approaching. “In Woodchurch?”

  “Nay, here,” She waved her arm, motioning to the manor, “Amongst the revelries of fine noble folk. I find I have no taste for it.”

  “You used to enjoy dancing, as I recall.”

  He smiled, remembering the vibrant young girl she once was. To see her now, awash with silver moonlight, it was hard to reconcile the memory with the hollow woman stood in front of him.

  The suggestion of a smile rolled across her mouth. “As did you. Yet you have not taken up a partner tonight.”

  Easing forwards as she eyed him, he reached for a silken lock that curled over her shoulder. She jolted as his fingers brushed against her skin, dangerously close to her breasts, but Tristan was gratified to note she did not pull away. Her emerald eyes lingered on his, wide and wary, as her pulse fluttered at the base of her neck, the rapid beat echoing the hammering of his own heart.

  “Mayhap that is because there is but one woman I wish to dance with tonight.”

  As mistrust simmered in her expression, he bit back a frustrated groan. Did she realise how much he burned for her? Years spent apart, believing she was gone for ever, hadn’t diminished his feelings for her. Seeing the exquisite creature she had become only served to increase his ardour, heightening it to an intensity far more powerful than when they were younger. If he could only release her from her self-imposed constraints, he was sure the girl he had loved would reveal herself.

  With a disparaging laugh, she shook her head. “Nay, you would not want me as a dance partner, I am ill practiced. I would make fools of us both.”

  The faint strains of the minstrels drifted through the night air and Tristan grinned. “We need not an audience.”

  She looked up at him in puzzlement as he reached for her hand. Coaxing her fingers around his own, he lifted them to his lips and grazed across them as he gave an exaggerated bow. Glancing up at her from under his brow, he gave her a look of mock seriousness.

  “Tristan-” she warned.

  “Would my lady do me the honour of giving me this dance?”

  A look of amusement flashed across her face before being carefully disguised under a look of aloofness. The brief moment of merriment gave him hope and he pulled her away from the wall to the centre of the courtyard, in spite of her hesitant movements.

  “Well?” he persevered.

  With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, she nodded. “Very well, if you insist. You shall regret it though, when you awaken with sore feet.”

  “‘Twill be worth every bruise,” he told her gallantly.

  With a slight chuckle, Madeline moved in front of him and gave him a curtsey that put his bow to shame.

  Taking her hand once more, they moved together in a silence of their own, the music from the hall becoming slowly muted. Even the sounds of their feet across the stone seemed diminished; instead the throb of heartbeats and the whispers of breath seemed to be their only company.

  Madeline found herself completely enraptured by his gaze, wanting desperately to look away but unable to. She cursed herself for her idiocy; this was not how it was meant to be. The coarse warmth of his hand leached into every fibre of her being, reaching to her heart where she felt it take root; a blossoming heat that threatened to throw away all she had learnt.

  Light steps took them towards each other, then apart, their fingers never breaking contact. It was a slow dance, one designed to allow the dancers as much contact as possible, and Madeline wondered faintly if Tristan had deliberately joined her for this dance. Circling each other, their hips brushed, causing Madeline’s breath to catch, a sound she was sure Tristan had heard if the glint in his eyes was aught to go by. Turning in the opposite direction, they repeated the movement and this time she ensured to keep her body from touching his. As they faced each other once more, he drew her near, close enough so that she could smell the smokey aroma of him, mingled with the sweet meady scent of his breath as he gazed down upon her.

  A light breeze swept over her, tickling her skin, the sensation heightened by the proximity of the tempting man in front of her. Vaguely aware that the music had ceased, they remained motionless, separated by naught more than the flow of air between them. Willing herself to turn away, Madeline’s limbs remained uncooperative, rooting her to the spot.

  Tristan’s thumb brushed across her fingertips, before tracing circles along her palm and the underside of her wrist, sending shivers through her and causing her useless legs to almost buckle. He must have noticed her weakened state as he put a solid hand to the base of her spine, the heat of it scorching through her dress. The movement forced them closer, but he must have recognised her trepidation as still their bodies did not touch.

  Desperately torn, Madeline’s fingers itched to stroke across his broad chest, to encircle his strong arms and most of all tangle around his neck and pull him down for a blistering kiss. The rational part of her, the one guided by fear and doubt, whispered of the dangers, but was hushed as Tristan brought his lips down to hers with agonising deliberation. His lips skimmed across hers, the sensation so acute that it resounded through her, forcing her to bolt from him as her heart hammered painfully in her ears.

  Breath coming rapidly, she stared at him, her fingers coming involuntarily to her lips where they tingled incessantly. Tristan’s chest heaved as he regarded her with apprehension, and she realised she had not been the only one affected.

  He reached for her hand but she turned quickly and, with brisk strides, began to walk back across the courtyard with the intention of retreating inside.

  Heavy footfalls sounded behind her and Tristan quickly caught up, stepping in front of her.

  “Madeline, I did not me
an to…” A mystifying fusion of hope and regret played across his face and remorse filled her, “I had hoped to court you properly.”

  “Tristan, pray forgive me. I intended not to mislead you.”

  “Mislead me? You deny that you desire me as I do you?”

  Glancing away, she blushed. “I beg of you, do not pursue the matter. ‘Twas a mistake and for that, I apologise. I have no wish to be courted, I did not return with the intention of securing your affections.”

  “Madeline, we were to be betrothed. Does that count for naught?” He ran a hand across his bristled jaw in frustration.

  “Nay, ‘twas an honourable deed and I thank you for it. But I no longer need rescuing. You no longer have a duty towards me,” she insisted.

  “I was not thinking of duty just now,” he bit out, the annoyance behind his words causing Madeline to back away.

  “’Do not fool yourself, Tristan.” He went to speak but she continued. “Pray accept that I have no wish to be bound to…anyone. You have no obligation here.”

  He studied her as she stood resolutely, meeting his eyes boldly as she straightened her back, hoping he would not see through her staunch mask. Tristan created a weakness within her, one that frightened her desperately, and she knew she could never allow herself to be overcome by him for he would surely leave her just a vulnerable as she had been five summers ago.

  “I believe I am not the one who deceives themselves, but I will not force my affections where they are unwanted. I will, however, extend the hand of friendship. Will you accept such an offer?”

  Surprised he had relented so easily, she nodded her assent. “Aye, friendship I will accept.”

  A look to his eyes had Madeline doubting if he had indeed relinquished his hopes for them but, realising there was little else she could do, she determined she would give him no more reason to imagine there could be aught but friendship between them. Quashing the voice that played inside of her, reminding her that such a resolution was going to be hard to maintain, she allowed Tristan to escort her back into the hall.