Chapter 20: Chapter 19
Gawain kicked the door open, because his arms were laden with food parcels. Kahedin was equally burdened with wine and water. I pretended to sleep. My hair had fallen over my face enough to hide my eyes, and I observed them through the (for once useful) veil.
"Asleep?" Gawain asked quietly, nodding in my direction. Tristan, oblivious to the truth, laid his hand gently on my head and must have nodded, because Gawain sighed and smiled. "Cute."
Oh, Gawain was toast. As soon as I 'woke up', I was going to strangle him. Instead, I played up the 'cuteness' factor as much as possible and snuffled against my arms. Gawain's expression became slightly gooey. How old did he think I was?
Tristan's hand stroked my hair and he said gruffly: "Wake up, rascal." And the stroke turned into a ruffle.
I jerked 'awake' and sat up quickly. "Mmph." I said, pushing my hair out of my face with a grimace. I was still tired, so sleepiness wasn't hard to fake.
"Clearly you're even uglier upon waking – I feel sorry for the girls at the tavern." Kahedin bit out, glaring at me, despite directing the insult at Gawain. I pretended not to notice as Gawain aimed a kick at the slighter man and turned a questioning look at Tristan.
"Lunch." He explained. I climbed off the bed helped him lean back more comfortably against the pillows before helping Gawain unpack the food. It was another feast – enough for six men.
"Are we telling him?" Gawain whispered at me, referring to Kahedin's suspicions. I shrugged helplessly and took some bread and fruit to Tristan.
"I promise, I'll treat those wounds after lunch." I said quietly. He nodded and it was then that I felt the rough hand glide along the small of my back. Unfortunately, instinct took over in that instant, and I straightened, turning sharply to glare up at Kahedin.
This man was going to die. Painfully. Very soon.
"Don't touch me." I hissed, my voice little more than a whisper as I ducked past him to stand near Gawain again.
"Aren't you going to tell me?" I heard him say to Tristan.
Gawain shot me an openly concerned look. "Oh dear… the whole fort will find out at this rate," he murmured, shaking his head at me. "You're too obvious."
"Any way to make it less obvious?" I whispered through gritted teeth.
"We can cut your hair," he suggested.
"You'll have to kill me first," I said, like it was something that could only happen once and be permanent.
Gawain looked me over critically and then shook his head. "Sorry, that's probably the only thing that can be done. Unless you try to grow a beard."
I winced at the mental image that swam into mind and then punched Gawain on the arm. He laughed and ruffled my hair.
Oh no… I was not going to be their plaything! I scowled, and tried to calm myself with the mental image of Gawain's broken and bleeding form under my boot heel when Kahedin brought our attention squarely back to him.
"That's all?" he laughed. "And to think I was worried about you…" he turned newly enlightened eyes onto me, and re-examined my appearance. Then they lingered on my chest.
"Washboard," Gawain murmured behind me, and I could just hear the regret.
Pervert bastards.
What exactly did Tristan tell him? And why was my distinct lack of a chest such a big deal?
"No one else can know." Tristan growled. "You are the last – understand? Just the five of us."
Kahedin looked confused. "Five?"
"Vanora." Gawain explained.
"Oh… yes… I see…" Kahedin shifted uncomfortably, clearly thinking of periods and then brightened slightly, having thought of something else. "Well, at least that's cleared up – I was almost ready to strip you naked to find out for myself." He said, winking at me. I crossed my arms defensively and glared.
This guy was such a jerk. At least as bad as Gawain.
We ate lunch in relative silence, with Kahedin and Gawain moaning about duty rotas and Tristan offering the occasional pointed question (he wasn't nearly as silent as I'd been led to believe – just crushingly practical). I sat apart from them, feeling uninvited to the conversation and now almost deliberately dismissed; not only as someone pretending to be a slave, but also as a woman. Because women, of course, weren't allowed to take part in men's business.
I nibbled on the bread and cheese that I'd snagged from the basket, and then tugged off my boot to check my foot. They were tall and supple, allowing full range of movement in my ankles and toes. Really, I ought to have another two pairs made. This is where my feminine side comes out: if it's good enough to talk about, have several copies.
Amazingly, my wound was looking better – almost completely closed. My recovery time must be better than most. Did this have something to do with the freaky powers that dastardly God of Cloud-Cuckoo-Land gave me? I also knew I would have to do a controlled test of how long it took me to revive from death. Just a bump on the head or knife through the heart. It would hurt like hell and wasn't pleasant at all but it had to be done. And I had sort of become used to it… as extraordinarily dysfunctional and sick as that sounds. It's just a shame there was no lightning like in Highlander. I'd have fitted in there – why couldn't I have been sent to late 90s, Highlander-verse Paris instead?
I was jerked from my self-pitying thoughts by Kahedin of all people, crouching down in front of me. He looked… chagrined. I was instantly suspicious.
"Yes?" I said, no longer affecting my boy voice – which was a relief – as I tugged my boot back on.
"I…" he rubbed his lower lip, clearly feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry I behaved like that…"
I stopped the apology dead with an emphatic gesture. "No. Don't be sorry – you were smart enough to spot something was wrong. Don't regret your own intelligence." My expression must have been a little too hard, because when I smiled (a little bitterly, I'll admit – who likes being caught out in a lie?) he looked surprised and relieved.
"No hard feelings then?"
"For what?" I said.
"This." And without any further warning, he groped my non-existent chest.
I kicked him squarely in the gut, sending him tumbling back onto his rear. What did I have to do for these morons to take me seriously? Kill someone?
"Just had to make sure…" he wheezed between pained chuckles. I leapt to my feet and managed to land another kick to his ribs before Gawain hauled me off in a bear-hug from behind.
"Careful kitten, don't hurt our other scout as well." He chuckled, carrying me away from my intended victim and plopping me onto the bed next to Tristan, who kicked his uninjured leg over my lap to pin me there.
"Despite multiple provocations, I have yet to injure Tristan for all the grief he's given me. So Kahedin's blood will suffice for now!" I gritted out, ready to fling Tristan's leg aside and renew my attack.
"What grief?" Gawain asked, puzzled. "You two act like siblings."
Tristan and I threw each other dubious looks.
Oh what delusions Gawain must have laboured under all this time… I almost felt sorry for him.
"No. We don't get on at all." Tristan said evenly.
I nodded slowly. "It's a relationship of pure exploitation. He keeps me alive, and I don't tell anyone that he hit me while I was trying to keep him alive as we ran from the Woads."
"He what?" Gawain roared. Oh, so someone was above slapping women. How refreshing. I turned raised eyebrows back to Tristan.
"So you don't teach women manners that way?" I asked innocently.
If looks could kill…
"Where we come from, our women would fill us with arrows if we tried such a thing." Kahedin said, shaking his head at Tristan.
"You have no idea how annoying she is," Tristan sighed. "But you will."
I thumped his leg crossly and flung it off, standing abruptly. "I'm going for a walk," I snapped, straightening my tunic and made for the door, as Gawain looked like he was gearing himself up for a truly epic lecture on women's rights – which were not going to be invented for another fifteen hundred years, if this universe was anything like mine.
"I'll come with you," Kahedin said eagerly, making to follow. I turned sharply and raised my fist, inviting him to walk into it. He jerked back sharply, but grinned in that maddening way of his.
"No. Where I come from 'going for a walk' means 'I want to be alone'."
"Why didn't you say so, then?" Kahedin asked. And I just knew he wasn't being facetious. Damn him. You can't hit the ignorant too often.
I managed to internalise my scream of rage so far that it turned into an eye-roll and a sigh. Kahedin didn't seem undeterred, though.
"How will you protect yourself?"
"By not causing a scene." I gritted out, and I ducked out of the room, leaving Kahedin to referee the shouting match between Tristan and Gawain.
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
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