Chapter 9: Tainted
And thus, the fated question was answered. Yes, he would take Isolde back to Sarmatia. As his wife.
Shaking himself out of his trance, Tristan tugged at Isolde' hand.
"Come", he said.
And the knight dragged his lady to their usual table, pulling her in his lap as he had done countless times before. But this time, Isolde' fingers caressed his nape rather than resting upon his shoulder. This time, her lithe body moulded around his while a blush spread on her cheeks.
"At last ! And none too early", came Dagonet's booming voice.
His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and Isolde buried her face in Tristan's neck while he grinned at the older man. Yes. None too early; he'd been too stubborn to understand it, even with all the pushing Dagonet had done. But their fate was sealed now; Isolde would be his wife.
"What ?", Galahad asked, sober enough to understand he was missing something.
Dagonet only raised an interrogative eyebrow at the younger knight, but Galahad wasn't fooled. Isolde had been, officially, his for months. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed, except that they usually didn't kiss in public.
"At last what ?"
No one responded, and Tristan grabbed a mug of ale to take a long draught. Then he offered it to Isolde who wrinkled her nose, but drank nonetheless. She was thirsty, his little seamstress, but ale didn't suit her tongue. Even if she hid it well, she still possessed tastes of a noblewoman. The scout mentally shrugged; well, she would have to make do with a rougher man.
As Galahad tried to pry, whining that no one told him anything, Tristan asked for a glass of wine to oblige their engagement. Even if no one would be the wiser, it was worth giving his future wife a little treat.
"Fine !", Galahad eventually pouted. "Keep your secrets."
And the scout snorted, eying the waitress who approached with said glass of wine, unsure of the reason why it was to be delivered at the knight's table. He gave her a coin, and offered the glass to Isolde who addressed him a genuine smile. It wouldn't be great quality, but at least, it wasn't bitter. She took a small sip with a nod, then kissed his lips gently. It was just a caress but damn, the weight of her lower back upon his upper thighs was stirring some parts of him…
"Thank you, my knight. It is much better than the ale."
Tristan snorted to hide his flustering.
"Can't say I agree."
He didn't like wine, it reminded him too much of Romans, and the few times they had been invited to a feast. The famous knights, regarded like Sarmatian dogs. Smelly barbarians, with too much hair. Well, he'd rather be a barbarian than rape boys, hit women and participate in orgies !
"Why do you never try my lap, feisty lady ?", Lancelot launched from the other side of the table. "I've got much more to offer than a glass of wine."
Tristan's mug banged on the table so strongly that Isolde nearly dropped her glass. That cad of a knight, always propositioning his woman ! If usually, he bore his teasing with indifference – Isolde was free to chose, and she wasn't interested in Lancelot – today felt different. Didn't he understand that Isolde was his ? His to care for, his to caress, his to cherish, to kiss, to… ? Better not go that way.
"I'm going to make a eunuch out of you, Lance !", Tristan growled.
"Oh, I riled up the wolf ! Are you afraid of a little competition ? Don't think you're good enough ?"
Tristan was one breath away from dragging the knight outside when Isolde squeezed his hand. Her emerald eyes pleaded him to let her handle this, and she dropped another kiss to his lips. Her little tongue swiped at the sensitive skin, the taste of wine diluted by her own, and all thoughts of Lancelot were discarded. Isolde had said so herself: 'I want no other man". So when she released him, Tristan just downed his drink, unfazed by Dagonet's wide smile.
The wolf was tamed, and he didn't mind the least if it meant more of those mind-blowing kisses. Isolde turned regally, and gave Lancelot a profound look.
"I am sorry. My heart is spoken for. I fear it is set."
The dark knight lifted his arms in surrender with a smirk; he wasn't even sore. Tristan kicked himself for letting him raise his hackles.
"Can't compete against love, Lancelot", Galahad concluded.
Love. The very notion that used to make Tristan scoff… love was for those wenches that fawned over Lancelot. Or Vanora who allowed Bors to plant his babies in her womb. But not for him, right ?
"I'm afraid not", Isolde added, her tone icy.
It was a warning to never approach her again. One that Lancelot would disregard at the first occasion, but that stated her intentions readily enough. Isolde wasn't 'Tristan's woman' anymore. It was he, who was Isolde's man. The she-wolf had claimed her mate, and the certainty of it caused a shudder to ran up his spine.
The knight suddenly stood, grabbing Isolde by the waist with a question upon his face. She nodded, and he lost no time in whisking her away to his quarters, his long strides matched by hers as they delved in the shadows. She didn't ask where they were going, or why, and he was grateful for it. Come to think of it, she seldomly questioned him, choosing to trust him instead. A precious treasure, for a man like him whose actions spoke better than words.
Tristan dragged her all the way to his chamber, not even considering how this could be perceived by anyone … or her. The heavy door clanged behind them.
Isolde stood in the moonlight, the silver rays enhancing her high cheekbones and lovely silhouette. Her face was flushed from their previous trek, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses. Her breasts rose with every short breath she took, begging for him to caress their lovely swell, a lock of reddish hair buried between them.
She looked like a princess, so out of place in his shabby room, her shining eyes fixed upon him rather than wandering on the simple bed and spartan surroundings. Tristan swallowed thickly.
This was the beauty he would marry.
On a whim, the scout embraced the woman who had shown more courage than himself, asking him to wed her. His lips suddenly sought hers, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss. Her taste was intoxicating, the warmth of her little tongue dancing with his, her fingers grasping his neck to attach him to her. It had been such a long time he had enjoyed the presence of a woman he cared about, even longer since… Tavern wenches only quelled the urges for so long, but Tristan longed for more.
His little seamstress didn't protest when his hands unlaced her dress, neither did she when his sharp canines grazed her jaw, or when his mouth descended along her slender neck to plunge deeper and deeper. She only moaned, and gasped when his lips tasted the comely swell of her breasts.
Her own fingers danced around his shoulders and his nape for support. When at last, she abandoned purely the idea of keeping upright, Isolde bent backwards, allowing him to feast upon her while her hands pulled at his tunic. The tingle of her little fingers upon the bare skin of his belly made him pause. Her touch … so soft, so demanding, so warm.
Suddenly, the two lovers straightened, she still enclosed in the safety of his arms, her knees barely keeping her upright. She was shaking. Tristan lay his forehead against hers, panting, feeling the full extend of his discomfort in his breeches. He wanted her so badly… but did she want it too ?
"Tristan", she breathed, cheeks flushed and breath short.
He should have begged for forgiveness; his behaviour was just as bad as the rumours said. But he couldn't mention it for fear she might escape.
"Tristan", she coaxed again. "I am tainted already, will you have me still?"
The knight started, looking into her fear filled eyes without understanding. He was not one to care about purity. Storing the information in a corner of his mind, he nodded.
"As am I, little wife. Will you have me?"
Isolde looked stunned, her heart beat so strongly that he felt its loud thumps through his tunic. Then she understood what he meant, and smiled.
"Yes. Yes, please."
All was said and sealed in this very moment, and her shift was discarded as fast as his leather vest and tunic. The breeches followed closely; she averted her eyes and lay on the bed. And under the faint moonlight that shone through his window, Tristan found her flawless skin absolutely beautiful.
Her delicate hands traced the scars of his back as she clung to him, her plush, creamy thighs welcomed him as he settled in their embrace. And he found solace in her depth as he made love to her, relishing in the caresses of a woman for the first time in years until he abandoned all sense. Tristan nearly wept as he buried himself deep inside her welcoming body, relief, pleasure, heartache and love mingling in his chest.
When at last, they lay on his bed, intertwined under the scratchy blanket, Tristan traced the curves of her shoulder reverently, bestowing gentle kisses on her creamy-white skin. The same soft skin he had covered with her tattered dress after rescuing her from those bandits.
His fingers tightened around her biceps, remembering her earlier words. 'Tainted.' He had felt it as he entered her body; the confirmation that she was no virgin. A relief, for him; he wasn't so confident when it came to deflowering a woman. A shame, for her.
"I thought I had killed them before they…"
His voice died in his throat before pronouncing the unthinkable. HIS little lady raped! The thought itself made his blood boil, and he struggled to keep his grip from crushing her against him.
"You did."
"Then who ?" he demanded, his voice dangerous. "Who dared laying a hand upon you ?"
Isolde shuddered in his embrace, and her voice shook.
"Marcus, the man I was supposed to marry, wanted to ensure I wouldn't oppose the wedding. Tainting me was the easiest and most effective way."
Tristan growled, the sound reverberating low in his belly, like a wolf about to pounce. The realisation hit him square in the chest; this was the reason she fled in the first place! Rape! It made so much sense now! Tightening his hold on her waist, he felt her tremble in his arms.
"He was sorely mistaken, so-called purity means nothing to me. And you are mine, now."
His smooth voice gently caressed her senses, and she turned to search his gaze. Her warm eyes shone in the moonlight, from the tears she didn't want to shed. Tristan kissed her cheek with a tenderness he didn't know he possessed. Then he settled her against his chest, burying his nose in her hair with a sigh.
"Let him not cross my path, he will never see the sun again. It is my vow."
Isolde wept then, for the hardships she had endured, and the acceptance she had found.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone