Chapter 64

When the light started to fail and I was contemplating lighting a lamp, Arthur appeared for the final time that day.

"Alright Kation, you've done enough. I'll see you tomorrow."

I nodded, carefully stretched and left. Walking through the stables, I was half shy, half crazy about the prospect of spending the night with Tristan now that we had finally figured out what we really wanted from each other.

Fortunately, that only lasted as long as the walk to the tavern. Upon seeing Tristan and sharing a brief but smouldering look with him, I marched into the kitchens to check on Vanora and Verica.

"Where's Brenna?" I asked, looking around for the beautiful blonde.

"Arguing with Gawain, what else?"

"Oh?" I said, allowing a grin to stretch my mouth. "What is it about this time?"

"Something to do with the mutiny…" Verica shrugged. "I am so bored watching them now. Almost as bored as I was when you and Tristan were fighting."

"But we always fight," I pointed out, leaning against the doorframe and casting a glance over my shoulder to look for them.

"Exactly."

My head snapped back round. "Hey!"

"Tristan's a sucker for someone who has the guts to take him on. So it's certainly working for you two," Vanora said, joining us with a bowl of beans that she was preparing.

I couldn't argue with that, and settled for snorting slightly and looking for Gawain and Brenna again. But Brenna was heading for the kitchen, looking to be on the verge of tears. My bruised muscles couldn't take supporting a sobbing woman of her physical calibre, so I crossed my arms over my chest and put on a very unsympathetic expression. I got my relatively happy ending, so she would too, whether she was ready for it or not.

"Oh Van! I can't stand it!" she wailed, throwing herself down at a stool by the central preparation table and letting her face fall into her hands.

"Neither can I," I muttered, noting the equally frustrated miens of Vanora and Verica. We closed in on her and I took up my position across from Brenna and planted my hands on the scarred wood. "This," I said, leaning forward on my hands. "Is an intervention."

"We're here to help," Vanora added, although her glare spoke of forceful persuasion if Brenna offered even the slightest resistance.

"What you need to do is tell him how you feel in very simple words," Verica said. "Don't let him run away or make excuses."

"I can help with that," I said. "I'll go stand by the entrance and look forbidding."

"That's settled then—he's trapped and has to hear you out," Vanora said, taking up the thread. "Tell him that you're angry because you're scared for him and you don't want to lose him because—"

"You love him," Verica and I added our voices to that final statement.

Brenna looked stunned and even stopped crying. She mopped her cheeks and smiled tremulously up at us. "You really think he'll listen?" She quavered.

I pulled out a knife and tossed it casually into the air, easily catching it and then flicking it up again. "He'll have no choice."

Vanora and Brenna shuddered as Verica cackled gleefully. "Give Kat a head start of about five seconds," she managed between chuckles as I put my knife back into its sheath and slipped out of the kitchen, "while we do something about that rat's nest on your head."

No point, I thought. If this works Gawain will wreck it in about five milliseconds.

I leaned my less-pained shoulder against one of the beams and crossed my arms, keeping my scowl fixed on Gawain as the Batavians, Sarmatians and loyal troops celebrated around me. I was way too tired to join in and I knew my fuse had shortened considerably.

I saw Brenna corner Gawain—there was some gesticulating and both looked impassioned. I was too far away to hear exactly what was said, but then Cador and Kahedin joined me, looking jolly.

"Hey rascal, what's the dark look for?"

"I'm just making sure Gawain doesn't run away. Brenna's got him trapped and I'm the 'consequences' she's threatening him with."

"Poor man doesn't stand a chance," Kahedin shuddered.

"Did the paperwork miss you?" Cador teased.

"So much so that I think it's taken a part of my very soul," I groaned. "I don't care what sort of twinkle Tristan's got in his eye, he's not coming anywhere near me tonight. It's up to you to protect me from him."

Gawain started spluttering at the mental image I had conjured for him, while Cador laughed and promised to champion my cause. After that, the conversation turned to the repairs around the fort. I listened dutifully for a while before flicking a glance in Gawain's direction again.

Oh.

"Hey, when did that start happening?" I said, pointing at the private corner where Gawain and Brenna were sucking face.

"What?" Verica and Vanora rushed to join us from where they had been serving tables and let out gasps of surprise and delight at the sight.

Vanora was wearing that gleeful look again. "I knew it would happen eventually."

We watched as Gawain deepened the kiss and Brenna responded eagerly—they were drowning in each other, sinking into a happy oblivion…

"Gawain—breathe!" I yelled and got an elbow in the ribs from Cador as Gawain and Brenna broke apart looking embarrassed. There was a roar of approval that went up from the Sarmatians present. I was dragged back to the knights' table, where Cador ordered my supper from Verica. What a sweetie-pie, I thought muzzily, propping my chin up on my hand and staring at nothing in particular. Tristan was penned in at the other end and I was grateful to be free of his fussing for a moment.

"Brenna loves me," Gawain said, staggering over to us, sounding slightly stunned as he stared down at us, the bashful blonde tucked against his side.

I kept my expression blank as I turned to look up at him. "I cannot express my delight for you both," I murmured and leaned against Cador who slid an arm around my waist to keep me from falling off the bench. I was happy for them, but couldn't summon much energy to express myself as Gawain hoped. I managed a smile that Gawain returned a thousand-fold before retreating to a private spot with his blushing lady.

The conversation became more general and when Verica returned with my food, I was in the thick of a debate with Dinadan about why I was unsuited to wielding a lance—not the first time I had to try to explain I simply didn't have the upper body strength for it. As the evening progressed and we chatted expansively on a number of light-hearted things; from the twins' latest hunting trip, to Galahad's virginity (always a hilarious topic) and Bors' adjustment to fatherhood. I don't think I had laughed so hard in weeks.

But as the lamps started to burn low and the talk became more raucous and edgy, I felt Tristan's gaze lingering on me more and more. The intense gleam in his eyes echoing my own sentiments. Time to go—I was only going to be hopped up on nerves and a cup of wine for so long before the trauma of all that paperwork sent me into a decline. I winked at him and then threw myself into my role.

"What's wrong, kitten?" Kahedin asked as I groaned and pushed my half-eaten plate of food away.

"'M tired," I said around a half-smothered yawn. "What does it look like?"

"Well then it's simple: Tristan, take the brat to bed." Dinadan said cheerfully, and prompted several teasing remarks from the others. Tristan got to his feet without a word and walked around to me, tugging me away from Cador's shoulder and onto my feet. I faked a sway and waved sleepily at the knights, wishing them a good night before leaving under my own steam.

"You're not really tired, are you?" Tristan asked, brushing against me as we slipped through the shadows and up the stairs to our rooms.

I shook my head and sent him a feral grin that made him walk even faster. The moment we were in my room I stilled before the bed, my conflicting feelings swirling in my brain. I mean, there had been a considerably long (let's just say over a year) dry spell. There were metaphorical cobwebs and I was worried I'd get hurt—or hurt him by saying anything about it.

Then I felt Tristan come up behind me, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves. I idly leaned back and he caught me against him—the hilts of several knives digging into my back. I felt him bury his face against my neck, planting a breathy kiss against the base of my skull. I gripped his forearms, feeling his arms tighten around me.

Wriggling, I managed to turn in his embrace and pulled him down for a gentle, exploratory kiss. As my hands travelled down his chest, I smoothly divested him of his belt and knives, letting them fall to the floor with a clang. The noise made him break away to see what I had done; with a rueful smirk, he yanked my own knives free and began the more complicated task of fiddling me free of my kidney belt. I took the chance to toe off my boots and socks.

"Oh honestly," I murmured, as Tristan meticulously unwound my sash, and I grabbed the end of it thrusting it into his hands. "Hold this," I said. He watched me curiously as I held my arms out and slowly spun away from him, round and round like a dancer until the length of dark green material hung between us like a lifeline. I turned to light the brazier in the corner—because it was still cold at night—giving Tristan time to shuck his own clothing.

When I turned back, I saw he was closing the distance between us in nothing but his leggings, his eyes ablaze. I didn't have time to say anything before I was back in his arms, my hands tangling in his hair as I was ruthlessly kissed; we nipped and soothed each other's mouth with licks and bites—at once affectionate and feral in our passion.

We were standing right by the bed now, and we broke apart just long enough to climb into it (since someone had yet to invent spring mattresses, it was surprisingly easy to hurt yourself by just jumping into bed).

"You," he said in Sarmatian, punctuating his words with kisses. "Have no notion," another kiss, this time against my clavicle as he reached down to ease my tunic and undershirt up, "of how long I have wanted this," he finished, sliding his war-rough hands up against my super-sensitive ribs (because yes, I have to be ticklish somewhere really fucking obvious). I arched against his hands, humming deep in my throat as Tristan undressed me reverentially; so slowly and carefully—like someone determined to reuse the wrapping paper at Christmas—taking time to plant kisses and bites whenever a new patch of skin was revealed.

"Hmm-mmm," I managed, pulling him up again to bite his lip as I wriggled down the bed, positioning myself under him—my need a white-hot knot in my abdomen and the muscles in my back and legs quivering with anticipation. He broke away with a growl and tugged the tunics off over my head, hurling them away before freeing himself from his leggings, giving me the chance to do the same. Now naked and shaking from lust as well as cold, he leaned over me and scraped his teeth along my neck, licking and kissing down to my clavicle as he idly caressed my (miniscule) breast with one hand. A knee worked my legs apart and I quivered as he slid that hand down my side and slipping his hand under my hips. He lifted me to him and my thighs decided to take matters into their own hands and wrapped their co-conspirators my calves around his thighs, pulling him closer. I felt the heat and want of him brush against my leg and I shuddered involuntarily, arching up, clinging to his shoulders as I braced my weight on my shoulders, aligning our hips. Ready. So ready.

"Kat," he said, his voice a strangled whisper, clearly holding himself back as the light of the brazier's flames rendered his skin a glorious contrast of sweat-slicked gold and sharp flickering shadows.

Incredulous, I actually opened my eyes to glare at him. Why on earth was he on top?!

Either Tristan was having second thoughts or he had phenomenal self-control, because he stayed where he was, hovering over me, his body tense as I slowly breathed in and counted to ten on the exhale.

"What is it now?" I asked in Sarmatian.

"Are you…? Have you done this…?" he couldn't seem to get the words out. I didn't know what upset me more: the fact that he thought I was a virgin, or that he had only bothered to ask now.

"Of course I have!" I gasped, half-tempted to hurl him off and throw him out. "Are you really going to stay like that all night?" I challenged. "Because I'll get cold—hhnnnk!"

Yeah, I didn't finish that sentence because Tristan ruthlessly entered me in one swift stroke that had my eyes rolling into the back of my head at the exquisite, slightly painful stretch. He kissed me hard as he did so, muting my cry that would have otherwise rattled the shutters.

Like I said: despite being more than ready for it physically, it had still been a while.

I froze, hands pressed against his chest as he stilled, letting me adjust to him. I swallowed thickly and leaned up to kiss him again, trying to let him know I was fine as I held him close. My hands buried themselves in his hair, gripping at his scalp. A shudder rippled down his spine, sending a wave of pleasure through me so intense that I sighed against his mouth. He growled deeply, the vibration reverberating into my core as he moved, slowly increasing his speed with each rolling thrust of his hips. The pressure increased inside of me and I clung to him even more tightly as we gasped and I matched his movements as we sank into mutually glorious oblivion.

Sated, utterly exhausted, we lay side by side panting gently. I was too wrung out and so was he, but the night was cold and I managed to retrieve the tangled blankets. My limbs were like jelly and I just couldn't keep away from Tristan's heated skin. He held me close and we kissed unhurriedly, savouring the taste of each other as we almost absentmindedly pulled the blankets over us. That accomplished, Tristan gently turned me around so that I was Little Spoon, planting gentle kisses all over my shoulders and neck as I hummed in satisfaction.

No words were needed.

Just as I was slipping into sleep, I heard him whisper in Sarmatian: "I love you," against my neck, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist and throwing a leg over mine, holding me close.

Okay. That woke me up again.

Now words were very much needed.

Despite knowing that I did indeed love him back, I wondered why I couldn't say it just then. I opened my mouth to speak, and nothing came out but a tiny gasp.

"Kat?"

"I—I…" I swallowed convulsively and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. I'd never been so happy in my entire life, and here I was, unable to speak—unable to say the most important words to the one man in all the worlds who actually meant something to me. What the hell was going on? Why the hell did my chest hurt so much?

"What's wrong?" he asked, loosening his hold to turn me over. I quickly covered my face with my hands, not wanting to show him my shock.

I shook my head, my palms still pressed to my eyes. Then I hiccoughed once. Twice.

Oh mercy, I was getting weepy.

"Kat!" now he sounded worried.

Tears stung my eyelids and began to leak from the corners of my eyes. "No, no, I-I'm f-f-fine…" I mumbled, mortified. "I'm just very happy…" I quickly wiped my face and buried it against his chest so he couldn't see me cry. "And I love you so much," I added fiercely.

He huffed in amusement and hugged me close. "And finally you do something womanly, I think the world is about to end." After kissing away my tears, he rolled onto his back, taking me with him so that my head rested on his chest. Idly tracing patterns on my back, he yawned and hugged me closer. "Sleep," he mumbled and promptly did so himself, leaving me to wonder at what my life had become.

I loved him, and that meant I would eventually have to let him go.