Chapter 3

Tristan adjusted his crotch in the short walk to his chamber door, then absently wondered what watch it was, deciding it didn't really matter. It was no surprise when he opened the door to find the hulking, armored figure of his master, Sir Larroset, waiting in the hall.

"Mi'Lord?" Tristan mumbled.

The bass rumble of Sir Illian's voice held an unusual edge of tension that cleared the remaining fog from Tristan's sleepy mind.

"Dress yourself then ready the carriage. We travel to Bentley as soon as possible."

"Bentley," Tristan's eyes widened in surprise," why that's almost home sir! Shall we be paying a visit to your brother while we're so close?"

Sir Illian Larroset was already striding away with long purposeful steps. "Not unless forced to do so." he shot back over his shoulder.

"Was that him?", Charity squeaked, startling Tristan slightly. She was behind him, craning her neck to see. Her hair was a messy copper halo in the torchlight, and Tristan felt parts of himself stir anew at the sight of her. She thought it was her breasts and hips that had captured his attention, but the long and the short of it was her hair. That and the way it fluttered and played across her dancing, sparkling eyes. She held herself on tip toe trying to see around him, a sheet absently covering half of her decently. She was a pixie of a girl, all shy and giggling in polite circles, but Tristan had found a woman in full flower behind the demure smiles. He rounded on her and scooped her willing form into his arms.

"Aye, that's him."

He nuzzled his nose into her hair and breathed in deep the aroma of baking things from the kitchen, cinnamon perhaps? He slid his hands down her back until they reached her buttocks, cupping and lifting. She squealed when he tossed her back onto the bed and the sound made him laugh.

"We're to leave for Bentley soon as I can get ready." As he said this, he was all ready reaching for his riding clothes and Charity, seeing this, drew both her knees and the sheet to her chest.

"Ain't decent making you leave your bed in the middle 'o the night!" Charity pouted with every inch of her body, and Tristan ached to stay.

"Duties of The Host know no hour my sweet! Besides, Mi'Lord doesn't sleep anymore." Charity seemed to consider this as she arched her back and stretched, full-length on the bed.

"Not at all, ever?" She seemed thoughtful as she ran her hands down her flat, muscular stomach. "Shame that, men have most of their fun in bed."

"Won't argue that in my case," Tristan mumbled, staring, "But Mi'Lord is a Devotee of the Host, and as such has vowed to put aside worldly things.." Tristan leaned in close as he spoke, his breath hot upon her belly, then planted a kiss just below her navel. "..regardless how sweet they be."

Charity pushed his head away playfully and rolled to a seated position, pulling the sheet to her as she went. Tristan pulled his shirt over his head and moved to the wash basin.

"So how did he get this way?" Charity asked, searching for her blouse.

"You know, awakened to his calling, then the Church took him into the order." Tristan stated this absently as he washed his face.

"Any child knows that! I want to know what happened to him! You were there weren't you?"

Tristan paused in his preparations, his expression growing distant. "It's a long, sad story and I haven't the time to tell it."

She was pulling on her dress and hadn't noticed his change of mood. "So tell me what you can now, and I'll hear the rest next time."

"Next time?" Tristan grinned.

"If you'll have me back", she had her shy aura back, and Tristan felt like a newly dubbed squire! At that moment he could deny her nothing, not even that tale of horror..