Madeline allowed herself to become lost in the feel of his mouth upon hers for a moment, relishing the honeyed warmth. Heat coursed through her body, as he shifted to kiss at her neck. The cool night air washing over her did little to dampen it as it unfurled an agonising ache between her thighs.
Arching her neck into his touch as she clutched at his silky hair, she gazed at the blackened heavens wondering how it was possible to feel such fervour at a time like this. The sharp crack of stone upon stone jolted her out of her reverie and they both turned to check the source of the sound.
The walls remained intact and Madeline knew it must have been a hit from a perrier, a sound she should be used to by now, but the knowledge of the impending attack had put her on edge and Tristan obviously felt the same.
Tristan kept his grip on her and pulled her back into him, the solidity of him pressing ruthlessly against her own supple curves. Her fingers teased at the visible skin at the collar of his surcoat, wresting a resonant growl from him, but before he could capture her lips again, she placed a finger to his lips.
“I still wish to fight.”
He surprised her with a chuckle. “Was it your intent to seduce me into capitulation, wench?”
“Would it work?” she asked him with a sly grin.
“Mayhap.”
Madeline could still see the grim tension etched into his face in spite of his blithe words. “I understand your fear, for ‘tis the same fear I hold for you, but I will not go into the fray, if that eases your mind. ‘Tis my intent to do battle from the walls. I am a fair shot with my bow and could fell many a foe.”
Madeline would have dearly liked to have fought by Tristan’s side but now she had time to think, she realised she was being selfish in her demands to stay be his side. She knew he feared for her but she could not remain inside the castle in the knowledge that he was fighting for his life and hers. The best solution, she had surmised, was to offer the aid of her bow.
“I could not bear to lose you…”
She looked at him intently. “And you will not.”
“Swear to me you will do all you can to keep yourself safe. Do not take foolish risks.”
“I will take no unnecessary risks.”
Tristan gripped at her arms. “Swear to me.”
“I swear it.”
With a resigned groan, he crushed her to him, consuming her mouth and drowning all thoughts of war from her mind.
***
Huddled together on the rush covered floor, Madeline’s mind should have been on the battle that raged outside. With Tristan’s arms wrapped around her, the smells and sounds of the siege seemed distant, as if they were happening to someone else. She was scared, for who would not be with death hammering at the door but, with Tristan at her side, her courage prevailed.
The hall was cold, the sun having departed long ago, and the reeking rushes provided little comfort – soiled and parasite ridden from its grim inhabitants and heavy feet. The few sleeping pallets had already been occupied so they settled into a quiet corner, the darkness affording them what little privacy was available.
Tristan enveloped her in his embrace, wrapping his cloak about them as her bottom nestled into crook of his thighs. Their heavy clothing created a necessary but frustrating barrier and Madeline missed the warmth of his body next to hers. His fingers laced through hers as his breath stirred her hair behind her ear, causing her to shudder.
“Marry me, Madeline.”
She held her breath, unsure if she’d heard him right.
“If we die here, I would have us die as husband and wife. Will you marry me?”
Madeline gripped at his hands as ridiculous joy spread through her, the threat of death somehow forgotten. After her foolish rejection of him before she feared she would never hear those words again.
“I will,” she whispered.
Tristan pulled her into him and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “In the morrow I shall make you my wife.”
Oblivious to the snores and shuffling around them, he placed a kiss to her neck and she turned her head to meet his lips. The feel of his mouth upon hers was no less pleasurable for their surroundings, the sensations just as powerful as ever.
Biting his way down the back of her neck, he pushed his fingers under her short surcoat, a faint moan of delight sounding as he hit the flesh hidden beneath her shirt. She bit her lip to keep from gasping as his hand worked across her stomach, causing the muscles to contract, tracing a path downwards until it was buried between her thighs. Moving silently against his hand, she tried to turn to face him but Tristan kept her clamped where she was. The torture of not being able to touch him with free abandon was almost unbearable, but more so was the thought that this may be their last night together.
As she whimpered under his attentions, his fingers slowly plunging in and out, he smothered her sounds with his mouth, the thrust of his tongue mimicking the delicious movement of his hand. Tristan’s arousal pressed unforgivingly into her and she reached back, grateful they had removed their hauberks before settling to sleep. Slipping her hand beneath his braies, she drew a sharp breath from him. The hot solidity nestled in her hand was enough to send her over the edge and she almost cried out until she remembered herself.
With a quick rustle of movement, Tristan hastily pulled down his braies as she stroked at his heat, her heart still pounding with desire. Yanking down her hose, he spread her legs gently from behind, easing her onto his manhood. Momentarily frozen by the pure intensity, they moved slowly against one another, rocking with deliberate restraint. Tristan’s hand moved back between her legs and blazing arcs of pleasure shot through her limbs.
Silently, Madeline called his name, again and again, as the feelings grew and she hoped he could somehow understand the love she felt for him. True enough, they were filthy, tired and hungry, but it all seemed inconsequential as his hands teased and the heavenly feeling of his heat surging inside of her tantalised. His other hand snuck up underneath her body to clasp at her aching breast, rasping against her nipples, and her head lolled back as their breathing came rapidly.
Sensing she was close, Tristan rammed into her with increasing force as he pressed her onto him with little mercy. Her lip hurt from being bitten to keep her fevered cries at bay as her womb tightened and gratification exploded through her. Tristan’s almost imperceptible cry sounded in her ear as he followed her, gripping her tightly to him.
Lying conjoined, Tristan kissed at her ear and neck with tenderness. Madeline marvelled as the decadent feeling of satisfaction swept over her. Their love-making would never fail to surprise her, the raw desire able to forge a moment unlike any other. Tristan’s primeval hunger for her was so unlike the calm, affable man she knew and it pleased her to think that she was she only person who experienced this intensely passionate side to him.
And tomorrow they would be joined as man and wife. She did not know how they would fare in battle but, with Tristan’s love, her hope burnt brighter than ever.
Chapter 12
They awoke as dawn broke that morning after a surprisingly heavy night’s sleep, in spite of imminent events. Tristan grinned at the woman resting in his arms. Light filtered in through the heavy shutters in the hall, casting her face in a warm glow. A smile of contentment sat on her lips and her lashes fluttered open, as if aware of his study of her.
Lost in her nebulous, emerald eyes for a moment, he longed to be able to stay as they were and he swore, if they made it through the coming days, there would be whole days devoted to having his betrothed laid in his arms.
His betrothed! Good Lord, she had said aye! The unadulterated joy struck him once more and he jumped to his feet, sending Madeline rolling. With a mumbled apology, he hauled her up and she viewed him with bewilderment.
“We must find the priest.”
“Aye, but-”
He grabbed her hand, only allowing a moment to collect their swords and armour. Dragging her through the hall, he stopped
to search in each chamber, ignoring Madeline’s amused protests.
“Tristan-”
He growled in frustration as his search of yet another room proved fruitless.
“Tristan-”
Risking a look inside the king’s quarters, there was no-one to be found.
“Tristan!”
Madeline’s shout gave him cause to stop. “Aye?”
“Mayhap we should try the chapel?”
“The chapel…? Aye, the chapel! Well, why didn’t you say so, woman?”
Laughing at him, she shook her head as he grabbed her hand once more and tugged her in the direction of the chapel.
The chapel was positioned not far from the entrance to the castle, just after the drawbridge which divided the stairway from the keep. It was small, with a thin arrow loop at the back of the room and a tiny singular room adjoined it, in which the king would conduct business while attending mass. Small stone archways ran down the wall and through a larger one was the altar. It was adorned with white linen and a simple cross and candlesticks. The priest was indeed sequestered in the chapel and he looked at the couple with mild amusement as they begged him to marry them.
Concluding that he would have no peace until he agreed and considering it wise to have the only woman in the keep married, he consented to marry them. Besides, he had no desire to rile the fierce looking knight, who looked as if he may well loose his sanity if he did not.
The stood together at the altar, their weaponry cast aside for but a moment as the battle became a distant worry. Tristan had not seen Madeline smile so wide since her childhood and his breath caught as he looked upon her. With a high flush in her cheeks, the smears of dirt and tousled curls served somehow to enhance her beauty, drawing his attention to the glimmer of her eyes and the wide lushness of her mouth. He did not even mind that she wore no wedding gown. The image of her in a loose-fitting surcoat would be one he would forever remember fondly, for it was her courage and non-conformity that had enabled them to reach this point.
His voice caught as he uttered his vow, gripping her hands in his own shaky one, barely able to believe that this day had come. Madeline clutched at his hands with the same fervour as she gave her vow and Tristan couldn’t keep the wide grin from his face.
Madeline tried her best to look solemn as the priest blessed their marriage but she could barely contain her joy. How odd that such a joyous day should take place in a castle under siege. Sneaking a glance at Tristan, her heart filled with elation. Ever handsome in his armour, he played the role of a brave knight perfectly, but with every shared look she could see the good heart that lay beneath. The shaking of his hands and the bold grin assured her that his love would never falter as she had feared.
“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder…”
The priest’s words filtered in and, with a whoop, Madeline found herself bundled into Tristan’s arms as he laid a blistering kiss on her lips, much to the amusement of the priest.
Running a hand across his stubbled cheek, Madeline assured herself that he was indeed real and she laughed as he gratefully buried his face into the crook of her neck.
“What I would not give for us to be in our marriage bed now,” he murmured against her skin.
Madeline’s cheeks flamed as she glanced at the priest, who had tactfully moved away from the couple. “Come, Tristan, let’s leave the priest to his duties.”
As they turned to leave, a fully armoured soldier dashed in through the small doorway.
“My lord…” he panted.
Madeline recognised him as one of the men-at-arms from Ashford and a bolt of dread struck her as she viewed his expression.
Tristan glanced at her and then back to the soldier. “What is it?”
“It’s happening. They’ve lit the fires.”
“Aye…” Tristan nodded slowly. “To your position then.”
The soldier nodded and hastened away.
Reaching for their armour, Tristan wordlessly pushed her into the small room at the back of the chapel and tugged at her surcoat, wrenching it over her head. In naught but an oversized gambeson, she stared at him.
“Tristan, what does he mean ‘fires’?”
“The French are preparing to breach.” She frowned in confusion and he continued. “They’ll burn out the supports of the mine they’ve dug and the wall above will collapse as the ground gives way.”
With a struggle, Tristan hauled on her chainmail before aiding her with her surcoat. He handed over her belt and sword and pulled on his own hauberk.
Madeline’s hands shook as she battled with her belt and, though she tried to hide it, Tristan noted her nervousness. Efficiently tying it for her, he looked her over, all joy now replaced with a grim concern.
“God’s blood, I love you, Madeline. Do not come to harm, do you understand?”
“Aye.” She nodded vigorously.
Taking her hand he led her from the room but, before they could leave the chapel she grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. Pulling him down to her, she kissed him forcefully.
“I love you, Tristan.”
She uttered a quick prayer before they left the chapel, begging God for the chance to show him how much.
***
As they ran out into the bailey they could see the smoke that had begun to plume from the ground in front of castle. It would not take long before the fire ate away at the wooden supports and the French would have their breach.
Shouts rang out as men scurried to their positions, archers and crossbowmen taking to the walls, whilst the men-at-arms crowded into the bailey, baying for blood.
Tristan thrust a hand into Madeline’s hair and pressed a determined kiss to her mouth. Seizing her helm, he rammed it onto her head.
“Stay safe, wife.”
“And you, husband.” She grinned at her words, partly from joy and partly to cover the trepidation that descended upon her as she was greeted by the sights and sounds of impending battle.
A soldier handed him his shield and, with a last anxious look at her, he nodded and threaded his way through the men steadily filling the space behind the wall.
Making her way to the wall, she noted the smoke thickening. The hiss of arrows startled her as they emerged from the fiery grey cloud and she ducked instinctively as they rained over the wall and into the bailey. Screams sounded out as the arrows hit home but most of the soldiers were ready with their shields above their heads, more used to the noises of war than she. Madeline desperately searched out Tristan and was relieved to see him unharmed.
Stones arced over the wall, landing with a smash and kicking up debris. Leaning over the battlements, she could see the French assembling, awaiting the moment they could storm the inevitable breach. To her eyes, it seemed as though there were enemy soldiers as far as the eye could see and she wondered how on earth they could hold the keep against such odds.
Taking her cue from the crossbowmen either side of her, she began to fire into the mob. Aware she had a limited number of arrows; she took her time lining up each shot. The crossbows were deadly and accurate but their reload time was slow while she could be quick if needs be. However, while they had a stockpile of bolts, she had only what she could carry.
She successfully felled many a foe, the sharp tips of her arrows embedding themselves into necks and chests, and managed to avoid being struck herself. Most returning arrows went wide, plunging down into the bailey. A rock smashed into the wall, not two paces from her, and it skimmed across the top, taking a crossbowmen and a chunk of wall with it, coating her in dust.
As she coughed and rubbed at her grit filled eyes, she became aware of a shudder beneath her feet. The trembling increased and, glancing wildly around, she noticed a fissure forming in the eastern tower of the gate. With a sudden rumble the base of the tower fell away and the entire thing crumbled before Madeline’s disbelieving eyes. The tower disintegrated, taking men with it and crushing anyone unfortunate enough to be close by. A hug
e cloud of powdered stone kicked up, obscuring the vision of the waiting armies and covering everyone in a cloying film of dirt.
***
The French scrambled through the breach, emerging from the haze with a chilling battle cry. The two armies clashed together, shield upon shield, chest to chest. Tristan surged forward with a yell and slammed his shield into that of a Frenchman’s. He could smell the acrid stench of his breath and view the wild bloodlust in his dark eyes. Using his shield to avoid his short thrusts, Tristan slammed his sword through the thin gap between his comrade’s shield and his, and was rewarded with the yield of flesh. His opponent crumpled and, swinging forcefully, he stepped over the body, felling several more men.
Shields crashing together once more and he found himself up against enemy after enemy, the desperate fight to survive resuming. The never ending wave of adversaries soon began to take its toll but he fought on, thoughts of Madeline filling him with renewed strength. His height aided his chances of survival but his large breadth meant more of his body was exposed to the desperate thrusts of his adversaries and he received several superficial wounds to his limbs.
Tristan found himself constantly aware of where Madeline was, in spite of the ensuing chaos. Out of the corner of his eye, he viewed her as the wind and dirt whipped at her, her flame red hair escaping the confines of her grey helm. His heart had been in his mouth as the stone had barrelled past her but she had stayed calmly fixed to her position, casually firing her deadly arrows into the blood thirsty crowd.
Her eyes locked onto his and he forgot where he was, the screams and wails of fallen men seeming to melt into the background. With a sudden lurch, he was back into reality as a sword swished past his nose. He parried and thrust as his efficient deadliness returned, destroying his enemies with a savagery that he only ever released on the battlefield.
As he sliced through the hordes of French, he found himself steadily surrounded, his men-at-arms fighting bravely to push forwards but unable to break through the barrier of shields. He retreated back, fending off slice after slice, aware of every blade that encircled him. As his adversaries closed in on him, he fought harder, with greater desperation, but he knew he could not continue to do so forever.
A Summer Siege (Medieval Romance) Page 13