Chapter 20

Kahedin was about to turn back and insist that she not stray far – because really, Tristan didn't seem concerned enough, despite her tough attitude. A weapon would have been a cute touch, but really – she was tiny! Did she really think that glare would freeze an attacker in their tracks?

And what was he thinking in following her?

As Kahedin watched her march out of the stables, he rubbed his now aching ribs and mused that maybe she was a little more violent than he had originally thought. And she certainly kicked like she meant it.

He trailed her at a distance, making excellent use of various stalls and buildings for cover as he watched her walk purposefully, but randomly through the fort. In fact, Kahedin had to admit that the girl was practically a ghost; she moved with a subtle fluidity that did not draw one's attention. They repeated several streets before she finally walked up the steps to the top of the fort walls. Her long hair caught in the wind and lifted into the air like a black pennant. She seemed oblivious to the curious stares that the guards sent her way, and leaned against the stone, staring out into the forest beyond the Wall. Kahedin settled in for a long wait, and he was utterly correct in his estimation. They must have been there hours. What the hell was she thinking about?

When she finally straightened and began walking back down the steps, Kahedin couldn't see her face, which was obscured by a fall of her hair. She walked back, taking another circuitous route through the fort. Kahedin followed, and as he followed her through a low lean-to, he stepped out into an abandoned yard surrounded by soldiers' residential barracks. Where was she?

He listened, and then turned around, looking at the lean-to again. Nothing. She wasn't on the roof of the improvised structure, nor was she hiding in the shadows. He went back out into the street, and scanned the crowds and buildings.

Still nothing.

Where was she?

He didn't notice the dark shape on the barracks' roof silently watching him as he headed back to the Sarmatians' quarters, readying himself to confess to losing Tristan's life-keeper to her two guardians.

~oOo~

"What do you mean, lost her?" Gawain growled, shaking Kahedin by his collar a little more for emphasis.

"She disappeared. I had her in sight the whole time, and then… nothing. It was like she grew wings and flew." Kahedin didn't even try to slap Gawain's hands away. He deserved this. A scout of his calibre losing a little girl in a dead-end.

Unforgiveable.

Tristan was wearing that stone-faced expression that Kahedin knew was concealing his rage and worry. Kahedin was a dead man for sure, (a lifetime of friendship could be damned to Arthur's fiery abyss where a life-debt was concerned) unless the girl turned up—

"Hello."

A heavenly voice from above.

Or rather, the window. All three men whipped their heads round to see Kation's head peeking over the lip of the roof, upside down, staring at them all as her long hair trailed below her. Kahedin contemplated dragging her in by it, but knew Gawain (ever the nice one) would object.

She disappeared again, and then a pair of increasingly familiar boots appeared, hung there for a moment, and then the girl deftly dropped onto the window ledge.

Gawain went pale at the ease with which she defied disaster and swallowed, hauling her in before she had a chance to overbalance and fall.

"Don't do that!" he exclaimed, turning into some noisy version of an overprotective sibling as he checked her over for injuries. "You could have fallen!"

"I would have had to have been a real idiot to fail such a simple manoeuvre." She said, pushing him away.

Gawain stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. But now we have to decide how to make your disguise more convincing – Lancelot can smell women a mile off, even if they are only fourteen years old."

"I'm twenty-one."

"What? Really?"

All three men were genuinely shocked.

"Forget looking like a boy, how on earth can we ever make you look like a woman?" Gawain said, horror struck.

"Twenty one…?" Kahedin repeated faintly. She didn't look anything near twenty-one.

"Are you married?" Tristan asked. It was a fair question. Almost all women were married by their mid-teens – and Kahedin didn't feel like trying to justify to some enraged husband why they had randomly abducted his wife from the woods.

The girl looked surprised and not a little disgusted. "No."

"Betrothed?" Tristan pressed.

"No. I already told you – no one is going to come looking for me. I am alone." She insisted.

Despite the reassurance, it somehow struck Kahedin as slightly sad. At least he had an entire tribe waiting for his safe return. And his fellow knights in the meantime substituted as a sort of family.

"And don't worry about the disguise – I'll be fine." She said, looking tired suddenly. "Since I'm the much-feared Tristan's personal slave, no one will get too close for fear of enraging him."

She had a point. A very good point. No man in his right mind (drunk or sober) would try to harass something that belonged to Tristan.

Kahedin caught the hint of admiration lighting his friend's eyes. Clearly the man was high on his own deadly reputation.

Gawain groaned. "But then what excuse do we have for spending time with you?" he asked plaintively. "I want to hear more stories."

The girl frowned at him. "What are you, five?"

"Twenty-four summers actually." Gawain replied, suddenly mock-haughty. "So respect your elders."

~oOo~

Tristan mourned.

Where had this all gone so wrong? One minute, his life had been a hard fight for survival every day. But at least it had been simple.

Now, the girl who had crashed into his life and turned his straightforward existence upside down – making him a pervert in the eyes of his leader and comrades, and destroying his carefully cultivated reputation in the fort. Not only that, now Gawain and Kahedin (two of the most troublesome men in all Britannia) knew the secret and were clearly taking far too much delight in this farcical nightmare.

Gawain displaying her horse talents for all to see; Kahedin chasing her up onto rooftops and letting her risk her life, with no regard for the consequences, despite having it all explained to him in detail only moments before.

He would be lucky if this secret lasted the week. And then they would all be publicly flogged.

The girl was now bickering good-naturedly with Gawain and Kahedin, although she wasn't smiling openly. It was more of a smirk… the kind that he sometimes wore…

Good grief. He could see where Gawain drew his comparisons.

The girl then turned those sharp eyes onto him and they narrowed in contemplation.

"Have you finished?" she asked, glancing at his food. He nodded, and she took away the remains before fetching the medicine. Gawain and Kahedin watched silently until Kation turned back to them… and she was wearing a look of pure innocence.

~oOo~

After Kation tenderly tucked the blankets around Tristan once more with a sweet smile, he knew what made her smile when there wasn't a horse around – when she was victorious. He felt slightly sick at the realisation. He knew she needed to treat the wounds, but making them undress him? This could only be motivated by revenge.

"But I can't manage it…" Kation said, and her voice took on a distinctly plaintive edge as she tilted her head like a entreating puppy. "He might hit me again if I accidentally hurt him," she turned wide, worried eyes on Gawain, who melted slightly.

The little bitch had done it on purpose to humiliate them all! Why couldn't they see it?

And Kahedin had even invited her out to the tavern with them afterwards! Utter fools. Couldn't they see she was just as dangerous and manipulative as every other woman?

Honestly, Tristan hoped she met her end that evening. But since she was as quiet as he was, her skinny presence might not immediately register with certain wrong-headed individuals. Tristan understood the need to remain unobtrusive: he knew of Roman men's fondness for younger men and older boys, despite their Christian teachings. Kation wasn't particularly well formed, even for her presumed identity – too skinny and pale – but Tristan couldn't guarantee that it would save her entirely. Those slim wrists and long fingers spoke of a delicacy that was all too alluring to the weak-minded.

A few names crossed his mind, and then went back and entrenched themselves there.

Tristan felt a chill of foreboding.