Page 15

The Road to Camelot

Tristan, Vaughan, Connor and the other seven recently sworn knights from Cornwall proudly displayed their new armor and fine surcoats as they traveled northeast across the southern countryside of Britain atop their gifted warhorses.

Each knight brought a page and a squire, with tents, bedrolls, and provisions to last for the long trek to Camelot.

Tonight, as the group neared the legendary castle and its surrounding villages, the men decided to stay at the inn just up ahead along the well-traveled road.

Exhausted after days in the saddle, Tristan envisioned a warm bed, a hot meal, and a much better night’s sleep than what he had been experiencing on the hard ground inside his small tent.

Securing the horses in the stables with the grooms, Tristan and his fellow knights entered the wooden building, where they were greeted in a large hall by a friendly innkeeper and several serving women, who were bustling around with trays of food and tankards of ale for the guests who were already seated.

After procuring rooms for each of the knights, with adjacent ones for the squires and pages, the travelers settled down at several tables to order food and drinks.

Tristan, Connor, and Vaughan were seated with three knights who hailed from different regions of Cornwall.

At a table across the room, Tristan observed Indulf sitting with the remaining knights, with the pages and squires settled at two other tables nearby.

The atmosphere in the inn was lively, with merchants and wealthy lords conversing loudly, obviously enjoying the hospitality and vibrant ambiance of the establishment.

A serving girl set goblets of ale and platters of roast boar before them, a warm smile on her face. The delicious aroma made Tristan’s stomach growl.

“Will any of you fine lords be wantin’ some female company this evenin’?”

Kaden, one of the knights at Tristan’s table, put his arm around the young woman and grinned.

“Only if it’s you, darlin’!”

She laughed, promising to take care of Kaden’s every need after the knights had finished eating.

A short while later, she cleared off the table, brought the dishes into the kitchen, then returned, smiling provocatively at Kaden, who rose to his feet to greet her.

With a nod of her head, she indicated that there were several other lovely ladies available for the remaining gentlemen, should they be interested.

Catching the attention of a dark-haired co-worker, she motioned to the young woman, inviting her to approach the table.

“This is Mirren. Isn’t she lovely, m’lord?

” the barmaid said to Tristan as she seated the young brunette upon his lap.

“She may seem a bit shy, but she’s really very friendly, aren’t you, Mirren?

” Taking Kaden by the hand, she led him away as he grinned to his fellow knights and hollered, “Good night, lads! Tomorrow, it’s Camelot—if I survive tonight!

” The men at the table roared with laughter, adding a few bawdy comments.

Tristan squirmed uncomfortably and shot a pleading look at Vaughan.

Tristan helped the serving girl rise to her feet from his lap. “You are quite lovely, my lady, but…” to which Vaughan interjected, “but he has a sweetheart back home, and he’s promised to be true to her, isn’t that so, Tristan?”

The young Mirren smiled demurely, excused herself politely, and walked back behind the wooden bar to join the other servers, who were pouring more goblets of ale.

Vaughan teased, “She was pretty, Tristan. Just not interested?”

Tristan stared into his tankard. “You know me, Vaughan. I’m a bloody bastard. My only interest is fighting.” He took a long pull of ale and met Vaughan’s mirthful eyes. “And killing bloody Vikings!” He grinned, downed another big gulp of his brew, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Vaughan seemed pensive as he drank from his own goblet.

After a few moments, he leaned towards Tristan and confided, “Elowenn is hoping you’ll come back to her, you know.

My father would be most pleased. And I would be thrilled to have you as my sister’s husband.

We would be brothers by marriage, as well as in arms.”

Tristan didn’t know how to respond. He knew what Vaughan wanted to hear. But he couldn’t lie to his best friend. Vaughan waited a few moments, as if hoping his words would have the intended effect.

“Do you plan to marry her, Tristan? She has loved you ever since the first summer you spent with us at Kennall Vale. You stole her heart, you know. She won’t even consider anyone else.”

Tristan reflected upon the summer when he’d first kissed Elowenn.

Three years ago. He thought of her light brown hair and soft blue eyes, her gentle nature.

He cared for Vaughan’s sister, but he also knew that she would never be the right wife for him.

The kisses they’d shared had been chaste. Like kissing his own sister.

Elowenn was pretty enough, but she rarely spoke.

She was timid, vapid, sedate. She had few interests, other than needlepoint, and Tristan simply could not envision a life with her, sitting by a fire in silence while she embroidered his tunics.

Perhaps many a man would appreciate such qualities in a wife, but Tristan wanted a woman who was more his equal in temperament, intelligence, and fire.

And it was all intricately more complicated than just Tristan’s preferences, for he understood that, as his uncle’s presumptive heir to the throne of Cornwall, he would be expected to marry a princess, not the daughter of a lesser lord such as Vaughan’s father.

Tristan realized that Lord Treave and Lady Melora hoped that a royal marriage of their daughter to King Marke’s heir would elevate the position of their entire family, and that Elowenn, as Tristan’s wife, would live in the castle of Tintagel and one day rule Cornwall as its queen.

But none of that mattered anyway, for Tristan knew in his heart that no woman would ever want a foul-tempered, angry brute of a man such as himself. No, it was better if he avoided women altogether. It was safer—and easier—that way.

There was a sudden commotion at Connor’s table, and Tristan, shaking himself out of his reverie, noticed that Indulf had pulled the serving girl, Mirren, to his lap, where he held her pinned with an arm wrapped around her waist. Muttering something incoherent that made the other knights at the table burst out laughing, Indulf ravaged Mirren’s neck, holding her tightly against his chest as she pleaded with him to stop.

Her face crumpled in fear as Indulf roughly groped her breasts, grinding himself into her backside.

She yelped and struggled to break free, desperately trying to escape.

But Indulf had her locked in place, thrusting against her as she wriggled, thoroughly enjoying her pain and fear.

Tristan’s chair toppled to the floor as he shot to his feet. His voice was feral, gruff. “She asked you to stop. Let her go. Have you so quickly forgotten our oath of chivalry? To honor a lady ?”

Undeterred, Indulf continued pawing Mirren, whose tearful eyes implored Tristan. With a cruel grin, Indulf sneered, “She’s no lady, now is she?” He burrowed his snout into Mirren’s neck, snuffling like a pig.

Tristan was revolted. His heart hammered in his chest. His sister, Talwyn…she’d been only ten years old. And the bloody Vikings had dragged her behind the wall… He could still hear her blood curdling screams, tearing out his heart.

He’d been too young to fight. To protect her. To stop the bastards. But Tristan would stop Indulf. Even if he had to kill him.

Like a raging bull, Tristan charged across the room, tore Indulf’s arm away from Mirren, and raised the girl to her feet.

He spoke into her ear, his lethal eyes never leaving the repulsive swine.

Mirren dashed into the kitchen as Tristan, his breath heaving, turned to face a snickering Indulf, pompously relaxed at the table, one side of his face drawn up in a sneer.

The flames of rage engulfed him. Tristan unleashed his fury, swinging his fist in a powerful arc that connected with Indulf’s jaw, knocked him backwards over his chair, crashing down upon the hard wooden floor.

Vaughan launched himself at Tristan, wrapping a solid arm around his shoulder and across his bulging neck.

Tristan, straining against Vaughan’s choke hold, was shaken back to his senses by his brother’s strength as he was pulled away from Indulf, who lay ignominiously on the floor, spitting blood from his ruined lip.

“Tristan,” Vaughan shouted, his voice straining with exertion. “We can’t have the Blue Knight of Cornwall thrown out on his arse for brawling before we even get to Camelot! C’mon, man—save it for Sir Lancelot’s training field! Let’s go have another ale, shall we?”

Tristan, still roaring with adrenaline, glowered at Indulf, whose legs were splayed awkwardly across his overturned chair. Vaughan, his arm still around Tristan’s neck, was patting his back, soothing the savage beast, reminding him of the paramount trek to Camelot.

It was all he could do to restrain himself from pummeling Indulf’s porcine face.

The blond knight spat out another mouthful of blood and glared daggers at Tristan.

Indulf put his hand to his jaw, wincing as he moved it side to side.

Tristan filled his lungs with calming air, exhaling forcefully as Vaughan released his grip and stepped back.

Tristan rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, then glanced around the room as his simmering fury abated.