A Summer Siege (Medieval Romance)

by Samantha Holt

  “Well, you have my thanks, my lady. Let it be known that Lady Madeline fought with courage equal to that of any man.”

  She smiled, flattered by his words. De Burgh, with his practical manner, was not known to give undue praise so it was high praise indeed. “I thank you, my lord.”

  With a bow, he left for his conference with Prince Louis, the fate of thousands of men and the crown of England in his hands.

  Chapter 13

  Three long months after the siege began came the news of the truce. The bravery and resolve of all who defended the castle had paid off, and Prince Louis removed himself to London, giving up on his hopes of taking the castle before winter.

  Four days later came the news of King John’s demise. Death by dysentery, they were told. There would be many in England who would think it a fitting end. His young son, Henry ascended to the throne at only nine years of age, and the rebellion quickly petered out, the main reason for it being all but gone.

  There atmosphere in the keep was one of relief but they remained on their guard for it would not do to try their luck with the French Prince still in England. The French encampment was burned to the ground and they quickly restocked their supplies. De Burgh was not a man to take chances. He knew the Prince may well return.

  With tensions relieved, the Ashford soldiers returned home, the journey home taking longer than usual as fatigue and strain drained them. Their master struggled no less, his injury having sapped most of his strength, but he still mustered the energy pay his wife her due attentions.

  Paying little heed to the jests, they revelled in the freedom their married status granted them, and there were not many moments when they did not lavish each other with touches or kisses and Madeline’s laughter could oft be heard.

  Tristan watched his wife thrive with great delight. It seemed that these arduous months, instead of taking its toll, had brought his Madeline back to him. Her quiet confidence and hopeful disposition must have been sorely tested in such circumstances yet she continued to blossom and he viewed her with pride.

  They sat by the forest path that night, shadows dancing amongst the trees as the fires crackled, and Tristan thought back to the last time they had spent a night together like this. As Madeline snuggled into his side, he uttered a prayer of thanks.

  “What are you giving thanks for?” She looked up at him with her tempting wide eyes.

  “For bringing you back to me.”

  Madeline grinned and pressed a kiss to his jawline. “I am the one who should be giving thanks. I thought I would lose you.”

  “Ah, but you did not.”

  “Praise the Lord,” she whispered. “I know not what I would do without you. I have been so foolish…all those wasted years.”

  “Hush now, ‘tis done. And you would not be the same courageous woman I see before me without them.”

  Tristan pressed a tender kiss to her lips and the way she melded into him caused him to release a rumbling groan.

  “Will your father be satisfied with your choice in bride?”

  He frowned at her question. “Aye, of course.”

  “I fear I am not suited to the role of Lady of Ashford Manor.”

  “Madeline, you have proved yourself more capable than any woman I know. Besides, ‘twill be long before you are expected to take on such a role. I have no doubt you will prove to be a most able mistress of Woodchurch and no-one will doubt your ability to do the same for Ashford.”

  “I believe, my love, that you are speaking with some prejudice.” She grinned.

  “Nonsense! Ask any man here and they will speak of the bravery of Madeline of Woodchurch.”

  “Madeline Dumont,” she corrected with a grin.

  “Aye, Madeline Dumont.” he murmured before setting a resounding kiss on her lips.

  ***

  Woodchurch sat in the distance. Though it was no longer bathed in the glow of summer, the sight was a wondrous one. Villagers continued their daily life, oblivious to the struggles the defenders had faced. Crumbling stone walls and blood steeped dirt seemed a distant memory as they progressed past the fief.

  A familiar sight greeted Tristan and he caught Madeline’s eye, wondering if she was relishing the same memory. She gave him a knowing smile that spoke of the promise of flesh upon flesh and his pulse quickened.

  “Must we return to Ashford directly?”

  “We should…” he offered vaguely.

  “Our time will be taken up with the hospitalities of your parents, no doubt. They will want to celebrate our betrothal. Would that we could just return to Woodchurch without a fuss,” she sighed longingly.

  “I must apprise my father of all that has befallen Kent. He will be anxious to hear all from me.”

  Madeline looked disappointed. “Aye…”

  “But…mayhap a day’s delay would do no harm.”

  Madeline’s face lit up and he chuckled.

  “I will send the men on; they will be keen to return home.”

  She nodded enthusiastically and he drew up beside the men at the head of the column. As the soldiers continued on, Madeline and Tristan watched eagerly as they progressed out of view. Tristan felt slightly guilty for relinquishing his duty but a crooked finger from Madeline quickly soothed his guilt.

  Laying herself back against the bark, her eyes glinted as she raised one arm and then the other, pressing them against the tree above her. Tristan recognised the position she had placed herself in from their first time together and grew instantly hard as she tilted her head in invitation.

  Stalking over, he bore down upon her before capturing her lips in a powerful kiss. Her lips parted underneath his and invited him in to delve into her delectable mouth. He nipped and sucked at her, determined to savour every moment of her enchanting kisses.

  His fingers fumbled with her belt, eager to feel her soft flesh underneath his fingers but she pushed him back with a grin. “You first.”

  He groaned and battled with his own belt as he attempted to explore her mouth again but she forced him back once more. “Nay, I would see you, for it has been too long and I fear my memory does not do you justice.”

  With a roll of his eyes, he finally won the battle with his belt and flung it to one side before desperately yanking at his surcoat. With that cast carelessly aside, he struggled to divest himself of his heavy hauberk and Madeline took pity on him, helping him haul it over his head. They both scrabbled at his padded gambeson until his torso was bare.

  Madeline spread her fingers across the planes of his chest, eliciting a hiss from him as they danced across his nipples and traced the ridges of his stomach. Trailing her hands downwards, she pressed scorching kisses to his golden skin and finally cupped him through his braies. He thrust into her hand, unable to control himself, and her tongue darted across her lips as she carefully peeled them down, revealing his straining manhood.

  Releasing a sigh as the air cooled his heated member, his relief was short lived as Madeline caressed and stroked, brushing a thumb across the dampened tip.

  “God’s blood, Madeline,” he muttered through clenched teeth, unsure of how much more of her ministrations he could take.

  Madeline stepped back and admired him openly before plucking at his hose. “These must go.”

  She laughed as he eagerly stripped away his hose and braies, almost falling over as he tore off his boots.

  Now fully naked, she took him in with a wicked gleam, and he wondered how long she would enjoy her perusal of him. Not too long, he prayed. His desire was almost unbearable and he ached to press himself to her, to lose himself in the luxurious heat of her mouth, and to relish every silken part of her.

  She tracked every golden fragment, sliding her gaze along each muscular ripple. Her eyes lingered on the pink, smooth mark on his side and for a moment she was transported back to the grim castle and the time when she thought she would lose him.

  Tristan noticed the change in her thoughts and he hooked an arm around her waist, hauling h
er forcefully to him, the feel of his unrelenting body pressing against hers robbing her of her breath. As he seized her mouth, she found herself incapable of any more morbid thoughts and was instead consumed by her craving for her husband.

  Unable to bear it any longer, Madeline pulled back, desperate for the feel of his skin upon hers. Carefully unbuckling her belt, she tossed it aside. Tristan’s eyes darkened as she removed her boots and deftly peeled away her hose, affording him glimpses of her supple legs.

  “More,” he growled. “Take it all off.”

  Finally she tore her surcoat and shirt over her head and stood before him, exposed, as she had before.

  There was no nervousness this time. She trembled not with fear, but with desire, and she watched as he fell to his knees in front of her. Gripping her buttocks, he plunged his tongue into her crevice and she cried out with pleasure. Her legs quaked beneath her as she meshed her fingers urgently through his fair locks.

  Tristan licked his way up to her navel, replacing his tongue with his fingers, swirling at the sensitive nub. Scraping his tongue across her beaded nipples, she arced into his touch, and he came to his feet, nipping at her neck and ears. His coarse thumbs stroked back down her breasts and finally rested upon her hips, pressing eagerly into them, coaxing her towards him.

  They rocked together, panting feverishly as their tongues swirled anxiously, before tasting each other’s flesh. A cold drip trickled down Madeline’s cheek, quickly followed by another, and they both pulled back dazedly.

  The drops became heavier and they laughed as they stared up at the sky to watch the clouds converge. As the rain cooled their heated skin, Tristan bundled her to him, dragging her further under the tree. It offered meagre shelter but it did not dampen the heat that traversed between them. Sitting on the already soaked ground, Madeline offered Tristan her hand, drawing him close. He prowled towards her like a predator and she admired his glistening form as the rain trickled down his skin.

  Lying back, he moved over her, his body radiating heat and warming her instantly. Her fingers played at his back, tracking a path down to the dip of his buttocks and back up. He looked at her intently, his fingers toying with her damp locks.

  “My beautiful wife,” he murmured. “You are my heart, my soul, my everything.”

  Madeline smiled gratefully. “And you, my love, are mine. I will remain by your side - always.”

  Opening her legs, she offered herself to him and he gratefully took what she offered, sheathing himself swiftly within in her. They both moaned in gratification as he plunged forwards, his muscles rippling under her touch. He moved against her with an agonising slowness, teasing the pleasure from her until she could take no more.

  Quickly shifting, she rolled over, pushing him underneath her and Tristan grinned in delight at the sight of her curves. Working her hips, he gripped at them, and they moved together once more, their sounds of rapture muted by the hammering of rain around them. His hands skimmed over her breasts as she surrendered to his touch before seizing her buttocks to increase the pace. Leaning over him, she brushed her breasts against his chest and their bodies slid as one, increasing the pace until they reached their shared crescendo, clutching onto one another and crying out.

  As the rain eased and the day darkened, Tristan reached for his ever trusty cape and bundled Madeline into his arms, wrapping it around them both in an attempt to stay warm. She hung onto his neck, placing loving kisses to his face, as he pushed her rain slickened hair from her face.

  Setting a fiery kiss against her lips as he muttered, “One day, Madeline, we will have to do this in a bed.”

  Madeline laughed before returning his kiss with relish. “Aye, that we will.”

  Looking down on her with such warmth and love that it made her heart surge, Madeline found herself charged with hope for the future. She knew whatever fate had in store for them, as long as she had Tristan by her side, they would always prevail.

  Author’s note

  I have tried to keep this story as close to actual events as possible. The siege of Dover Castle was documented in some detail by French chroniclers but inevitably there are some gaps in details where I have used my artistic licence. In my research, I also read extensively about some of the amazing women that history talks of in this era. Those familiar with a noble women’s role in Medieval England will know that very often they were called upon to defend their castles while their husbands were away. While, undoubtedly, a women’s lot was a hard one, history offers us a small insight into the bravery of a handful of women. Of particular interest to me was Nicholaa De La Haye, who held out against a month long siege of Lincoln castle in 1191 and directed the defence of Lincoln against the rebel barons in 1217. It seems likely that there were many other women with similar tales that were simply never recorded and I hope that Madeline is a fitting tribute to the bravery of those unknown women.

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