A Sinner Kissed an Angel
The night a sinner kissed an angel,
and she believed that it was love.
How was she to know that every lovely vow
was part of the game he was playing,
but to his surprise he realized
Somehow he meant every word he was saying.
Chronology: Tristan is 29. Lancelot is 27. Raja is 19.
A Roman! A bloody Roman! Lancelot was still offended, which didn’t often happen, over that comment. Of all the things she could have compared him to...He still didn’t even know her name, hadn’t even thought to ask. He didn’t know anything about her; he only knew that she consumed his mind like no other woman had – at least for such a long period of time. Lancelot still saw her working in the tavern from time to time. He wondered if she had another job that kept her away. He never saw her anywhere else, didn’t even know where she lived. Lancelot wasn’t very good at finding these things out. The women usually came to him.
Lancelot sat at the table with his cousin, Raja, and his brothers. Tristan held a possessive arm across her waist as always, occasionally throwing a menacing glare at the men who dared look at her too long or too lasciviously. The dark knight sighed and took a sip of his ale. His eyes scanned the room for the mystery woman that called him...
“Lancelot, are you still sulking over being called a Roman?” Raja asked. “You’re going to have to get over that. You’ve taken worse insults before.”
Lancelot scoffed and didn’t reply. He knew he had been complaining about it for the past two weeks, his knew his cousin would be the only one who would tolerate his gripes on a regular basis. Then a thought struck him.
“Do you know her name?” Lancelot asked.
Raja cocked an eyebrow at him, looking at him dubiously. “Why?”
He pursed his lips. “Because I don’t know it, obviously.”
“And you probably wouldn’t even remember it,” she replied coolly.
Lancelot caught onto her tone and wondered why she was withholding information. She knew something. He often went to her for information on people, mainly women. She seemed to know everything about everyone. Names, relatives. She could remember physical features that he wouldn’t even have thought to take notice of.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
She looked at him for a moment with a pensive expression. “If you want to know, the best thing you should do is ask. And preferably without an insincere tone. From what you’ve told me, she doesn’t seem to respond to your flirting very well.” She averted her gaze, taking a sip of ale.
Lancelot looked at Tristan, but the scout gave him his don’t-ask-me shrug. He turned to Raja and tucked a strand of her blue-black hair behind her ear, kissing her temple tenderly.
Then to his pleasure, his mystery woman walked into the tavern. He instantly perked up, watching her every movement. She wasn’t smiling, she simply went to work serving drinks while ignoring the men who tried to proposition her. Clearly, she was no whore, didn’t have the look of one either. The lady had dark brown hair that shined despite the unflattering light that was always cast in the tavern during the night. Her clothes were well kept, looking new. Her eyes were a soft brown, she had full lips and a milky, flawless complexion. Despite her petite figure, when she walked her curvy hips swayed demurely, unaware of the provocative sensuality that she exuded.
As the mysterious woman made her rounds, Lancelot found her coming closer and closer to the table he occupied. This concentrated studying of her brought to his eyes that she was walking with a slight limp and she was hunched over just a tad as if she were having an abdominal pain. There was already a half jug of ale on the table, but he called for her anyway. He was surprised when the woman and his cousin greeted each other like old friends, sharing a look as if there were a deep secret between them. Even Tristan nodded a vague greeting to her.
Lancelot was so busy observing the exchanges between the three of them that he didn’t hear the woman speaking to him.
“I’m sorry?” Lancelot asked, donning a charming, come-hither smile.
Raja rolled her eyes.
“I said,” the lady repeated, “would you like some more?” She stood over him impassively.
Up close, all her fine attributes were enhanced. Lancelot could smell her pure scent, clean, unsullied. Her hands were dainty, small with delicate fingers.
Lancelot came to attention when he felt a firm kick in the shin. He glanced quickly at Raja, and her stare told him that he had obviously been in another world.
“Yes,” Lancelot finally answered, flashing another one of his most seductive expressions, which faltered when he realized that this woman might not even remember who he was. She was certainly acting as she if had never met him before. “What’s your name?”
Her eyebrows shot up, her eyes darting quickly to Raja.
“Sophia!” a loud drunk voice called from a few tables over. “Get your ass over here!”
Sophia flinched at the man’s scathing, inebriated tone. When she hesitated the man hollered again.
“I’m talking at you, wench!”
Lancelot turned around to see who the bastard was who was treating her like filth. Whoever he was had uncombed, oily hair. His face was littered with scars from childhood acne. His clothes were dirty, his teeth discolored, eyes bloodshot from one too many drinks. Lancelot caught a glimpse of Sophia’s eyes before she walked over to the cad across the ways. Her eyes were wary, tired and held a twinge of defeat. The man roughly grabbed her wrists, his voice somewhat hushed now, but anyone could tell he was berating her furiously.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Lancelot spoke to himself. He knew he wasn’t the most decent man in the world, but he never spoke to a woman like that, or handled one as roughly.
The argument escalated, Sophia was arguing in retaliation but it was a weary argument, as if she had had it before. It was at a fever pitch, and suddenly Raja shot up from her chair, using her usual speedily graceful hustle to block the fist that was coming at Sophia. Raja was about the same height as Sophia, and her hand shot out and caught the aggressor’s wrist. Raja knew her handicaps, and she knew that this man was stronger than her so she swiftly unsheathed her dagger, the tip now only a graze from his throat.
The scene had most everyone’s’ attention in the tavern. Tristan was instantly by Raja’s side, his formidable presence and cold stare immediately making the man think twice about the hand he had raised to strike Raja. With Tristan there, Raja had sheathed her dagger, turning to Sophia to ask if she was all right. From his seat Lancelot saw Sophia faint, Raja catching her, holding her up. A protectiveness came over Lancelot, swiftly bringing him next to the fallen women, cradling him in his strong arms.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lancelot asked, darting a suspicious inspection of the unkempt man.
“Let my sister go, knight,” he said, stepping forward, harshly pushing Raja aside, which only earned him a devastating punch across the face from Tristan, knocking him over the table and back on the floor.
Raja smiled at Tristan, holding his wrist so he wouldn’t continue his assault on the whoreson who had touched her.
“Let’s take her to her room,” Raja said.
Tristan and Raja led Lancelot, still carrying the unconscious Sophia, to her small dwelling on the second floor of an apartment. Tristan opened the door to a clean, humble room. Tristan stoked the fire while Lancelot gently laid Sophia on her bed, Raja instantly tending to her. She felt around Sophia skull, obviously aware of something that Lancelot was not.
Sophia’s eyelids flickered, a small mumble emanating from her lips. Raja got her a cup of water, holding it to Sophia’s mouth for her to take cautious sips. She helped her sit up in bed, Sophia wincing at a pain in her abdomen. Tristan sat in a chair by the window across from the room, idly carving slices off an apple watching the door.
“Thank you,” Sophia said. She looked at Lancelot, confused as to his presence.
“He carried you here,” Raja informed.
“Oh,” she stated. “Thank you, then,” she said, avoiding Lancelot’s gaze.
Nobody was letting Lancelot in on what was going on, or why the man in the tavern had attempted to assault Sophia. He stood there, stupefied, head titled, staring at the woman that seemed to have captivated his senses with a hold he couldn’t disentangle himself from.
“I told you that you should have rested longer,” Raja softly admonished Sophia. “Your concussion needs more time to heal. That’s why you fainted.”
Sophia patted Raja’s hand gratefully. “I know, but I have to work.”
“I said I would take care of it.”
“And I appreciate it, but I cannot take your money, Raja.”
Lancelot was still unabashedly regarding Sophia.
Both of the women noticed the weight of his stare.
“Lancelot,” Raja censured, “stop staring.” Her facial expression was telling him to leave.
“I carried her here,” Lancelot protested in Sarmatian.
“Duly noted, cousin,” she replied in the same language. “But I think you’re making her uncomfortable.”
He pursed his lips, offended that he was not being let in on the secret the other three shared. Before he could say anything more, a powerful banging erupted against the door.
“Sophia! You bitch!” yelled the same voice from the tavern.
Tristan was immediately up and near the door, dagger poised expertly.
“Who is that?” Lancelot demanded an answer.
“My brother,” Sophia admitted wearily.
The dark knight’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. That beast was related to this beautiful angel?
Raja sat next to Sophia on the bed, holding her hand. Lancelot went to the door, side by side with Tristan.
“Are you going to open it?” Lancelot inquired.
“Not yet,” Tristan replied calmly. He had assumed the stance of the vicious warrior within, stoic and lethal, all senses attuned to impending danger...not for him of course.
The brother continued to slam his fist on the door. “Open the door or I’m breaking it down! You can’t have your whore sidekick and her keeper embarrassing me like that and get away with it!”
Tristan preened like a wolfish alpha male, ready to defend his companion from the dishonor the whoreson was bringing upon her. Lancelot was as equally pissed at the insult hurled at his cousin.
Tristan opened the door a crack, his golden stare rendering the man silent. He hadn’t realized the “whore’s keeper” was in the room with his sister.
“I think,” Tristan warned, “you want to turn around and walk away. I’m being kind.”
Sophia’s brother hurriedly collected his wits about him, chest puffing out in an affectation of fearlessness in the face of a man who had one of the most sadistic reputations around the fort, only heightened when it came to defending his wife.
“Step aside,” he demanded, “my sister is not your concern.” His bared his crooked teeth in a repugnant sneer.
Tristan opened the door a bit wider to reveal Lancelot, dark eyes smoldering murderously.
Sophia’s brother swallowed a lump in his throat. “Fine,” he capitulated. “You can’t hide behind your bodyguards forever, slut!”
Lancelot had heard one too many insults, he swung the door open swiftly, attacking the disgruntled man to the ground, punching him repeatedly in the face. The knight felt the man’s nose break beneath his fist. Tristan watched stoically from the doorway, head titled while he watched the damage being meted out.
“Tristan,” he heard Raja say from across the room. Her tone told him that she wanted him to stop Lancelot. “It’ll be more trouble if he kills him.”
Tristan smirked, shrugging a shoulder but went to placate the dark knight anyway. The man was almost unconscious, his face a mask of blood. Tristan put his rough arm firmly on Lancelot’s shoulder, his flat voice telling him to let it go for now. Reluctantly, Lancelot ceased his onslaught of punches, shaking out his fist. Lancelot looked at Tristan, and the scout gave a slight nod indicating that he should step back into the room. He had his own “warning” to give to the man who insulted Raja.
Lancelot closed the door behind him, giving Tristan some privacy. The scout kneeled down to the almost unconscious man, slapping his cheek just a little to bring him to full attention. His eyes opened in fear, seeing the evil visage on the man’s tattooed face.
“You insult my woman again,” Tristan hissed, holding the man’s neck in a viselike grip, as he slowly carved a crescent moon on the side of his face from eyebrow to chin, “I’ll cut off more than this.” He grabbed the man’s hand, severing his pinky finger in one deft movement.
Sophia’s brother howled loudly, screaming obscenities. Tristan held him up by the back of the man’s tunic, slid him over by the stairs and pushed him down, reveling in every thump and outcry of pain the man went through. When he was merely a lump at the bottom of the stairwell, he went back into the room. Tristan took his seat again, throwing the man’s small appendage into the fire, acting like nothing was amiss. Only Sophia looked a bit disconcerted at what she had heard, Raja and Lancelot were used to it, but only Raja sighed at her husband’s protective overreaction.
“What did you do?” a mortified Sophia asked. “What was that?”
Tristan met her eyes from across the room. “Warning,” was his nonchalant reply. “He can live with a missing finger.” Her eyes opened wider when she saw the bloodied dagger, then they became the size of saucers when he licked the blood from the blade and resumed eating his apple that he had placed on the small table next to him.
Raja hid her smile, patting Sophia on the hand. “It’ll be okay.”
“He’ll come back,” she said, shaking her head. “Aidan won’t let it go.”
“I’ll stay with you tonight, don’t worry.”
Lancelot saw the tightened jaw of Tristan. Obviously Raja had stayed with Sophia before. Neither of them was blind, they knew Raja was tired; the winter had been tough on her. She was still recovering the rest of her strength from a five day fever she was afflicted with a month and a half ago.
“I’ll stay,” Lancelot spoke.
“No,” Sophia resisted. “No one has to stay with me.” She shook her head vehemently. But at the strong movement of her head, her face paled and she fell back onto the pillows.
“No offense, Sophia,” Lancelot boldly used her name, “but I don’t think you can defend yourself in your present condition. And my cousin is ill-”
“Lancelot!” Raja fumed.
He continued, ignoring her protest. “...and she needs her rest as well, so I think I best stay with you.”
“Really,” Sophia tried again, “it is not necessary.”
“So then, it’s settled!” Lancelot stated definitely. “I’ll stand guard by the door and make sure he doesn’t bother you tonight, and Tristan will use the same arguments he always does to get Raja to stop ignoring her own health.”
Raja stood up from the bed angrily. “Bastard,” she hissed in Arabic.
“I love you, too, Raja,” he extolled. Obviously this was common banter between the two of them. “You’re perfectly safe with me, Sophia,” he told her seriously.
Sophia looked at him with suspicious eyes. Despite whatever damage was inflicted upon Aidan, she knew that there was a good chance that he might come back...with a severed finger or not. He also had equally dense comrades that he wouldn’t hesitate to accost her with. Sophia sighed heavily in resignation.
Lancelot smiled at her, a rather genuine one, inwardly ecstatic that he would get time alone with the woman that had been consuming his thoughts for the past two weeks.
Raja sighed. “Are you sure, Sophia? I can stay.”
“Are you implying that she isn’t safe with me, cousin?” Lancelot hinted indignantly.
Sophia looked at Raja. She had known her for less than a month, but she, too, could see the weariness in Raja’s eyes. She was eternally grateful for her and Tristan’s aid, and felt that she had made a good friend. “I’m sure, Raja, thank you,” Sophia consoled appreciatively.
Raja bit her bottom lip. “All right.” She turned to Lancelot. “But come get me if anything goes wrong.”
“You worry too much, Raja,” Lancelot chided in good nature.
She scoffed and muttered something in Arabic. Before anymore protestations could be made, Tristan had his arm firmly around her waist, leading her towards the door.
“Thank you, too, Tristan,” Sophia said.
He nodded his head in regard to her thanks, him and Raja leaving Lancelot and Sophia alone.
When the door closed, Lancelot gave a hefty sigh and pulled up a chair between the door and Sophia’s bed, a bit closer to Sophia than the door. It was silent in the room; Lancelot didn’t realize he was staring so brazenly at the woman he was alone with.
“Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?” she asked.
He came out of his trance, thrown off at the idea of stepping outside. “I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way. I guard from the inside, not the outside.” He smirked.
“Thank you so much for the tactical advice,” she retorted, “but I need to change into my nightshift. I don’t make it a habit of sleeping in my day-clothes.” She lay against the bed, hands folded on her lap waiting for him to leave.
“I’ll just turn my back, all right?” Lancelot offered.
“I don’t trust you, you’ll look,” accused Sophia.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he countered. That statement was a lot of hot air. He couldn’t say for sure that he wouldn’t try to take a peek. This woman had his curiosity roused, body and mind.
“A woman doesn’t have to be physically pleasing to be taken advantage of,” she told him.
“I have never taken advantage of any woman!” Lancelot exclaimed.
“I’m not accusing you,” she said, exhaustion creeping into her voice, “I just want you to step outside while I change. Please?” She began to nudge herself out of bed.
Lancelot hadn’t answered her, but he watched her trying to sit up further, noting the strain on her face. Then he remembered she was walking around earlier as if she had a stomach pain.
“Is there something wrong with your stomach?”
She turned her head, face pale from the effort of sitting up. “It’s not my stomach.” She put her hand on the nightstand next to her bed, slowly rising to her feet while holding the flat of her hand against her ribs.
“Let me help you,” he asserted, getting up from his chair.
“No!” she blurted harshly, turning her head again, her hair being tossed to the side by the movement.
“Jesus!” Lancelot hissed, seeing the bruise on the back of her neck. He was by her side in less than a moment, brushing the rest of her hair away from the nape of her neck. She flinched, stepping away from the flutter of his fingers on her skin. “Did your brother do that to you?” His blood simmered.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Will you please step outside?”
Lancelot’s eyes flickered at her calm tone. She was obviously being beaten by her brother, who was more than twice her size, and she didn’t seem the least bit upset. He dipped his head to the side in wonder, quietly stepping back and out the door for her to change. He leaned against the door, biting his lip in agitation. This woman had gotten under his skin; why else would he be contemplating the death of her brother for laying a hand on her? This must have been what Tristan and Raja knew.
“You can come back in.” Sophia’s voice was muffled from behind the door.
She was still situating herself under the covers when he opened the door. She wore a beige, sleeveless nightshift that accentuated her bosom. Her brown hair contrasted nicely with the off white of the fabric. He noticed a white cloth underneath her shift that bound her breasts and her torso. It came to Lancelot that it was her ribs that were injured. He was also somewhat relieved that there was a layer underneath her clothes. If what he couldn’t see was as enticing as what he could see, he certainly didn’t need any breasts peeping out at him to increase the zeal that was spreading in a dangerous region in his body. He took his seat again, pulling back the curtains just a tad to check the stairwell. Clear.
“I apologize for snapping at you,” she said. “You were trying to help and you didn’t deserve my tone.”
He raised his eyebrows, grinning; taken aback by her declaration of contrition. “I don’t think I have met any woman, besides my cousin, who can shamelessly admit a wrongdoing.”
“Well your cousin is one of a kind,” she said, smiling.
He smiled in return. “Well, yeah, that she is.”
“You really don’t have to stay with me Lancelot. I think you and Tristan did enough damage to warrant me a reprieve from my brother’s wrath.”
“What! And miss out on your good company?”
A wry quirk of her lips played on her face.
“Well, no, honestly,” he said, semi-serious, “Raja would circumcise me if I left now.”
This earned a small laugh from Sophia, before being cut off by a grunt of pain. “She wouldn’t do that.”
Lancelot half scoffed and half laughed. “Then you don’t know her very well. She attempted to do that when she was eight years old, and it was only by Tristan’s good grace that I remain uncircumcised to this day.”
“What did you do to provoke her?” She was amused by this tale.
Gods, she’s even more beautiful when she smiles, he thought.
“I, uh, likened her hair to a skunk,” he admitted sheepishly. They shared a laugh.
“You’re lucky to have her in your life,” she said somewhat wistfully.
He nodded and looked away. “Yeah.”
After some silence, Lancelot periodically checking out the window, he spoke. “How do you and Raja know each other?”
Sophia bit her lip in contemplation. “My brother,” she began, “lost one too many games of dice and went into debt. Sense he had no money, he offered me as payment to the man he owed money to.”
Lancelot stiffened, but said nothing, waiting for her to go on.
“I didn’t know my brother had done this, but the man caught me in the streets and attempted to have his way with me right there. It was only by sheer luck that Raja happened to be coming down that way and heard the struggling. I was a bit out of sorts, but I saw her cut his back, and despite him being drunk he managed to push her rather forcefully, then out of nowhere Tristan steps in and beats the man within an inch of his life. They helped me back to my room, and Raja took care of me.”
Lancelot didn’t quite know what to say. He supposed that explained her bound ribs.
“What does your brother have against you?”
“Actually, he’s my half brother. After his father died, his mother married her late husband’s brother – my father. My father was a drunk who drove my mother to an early grave. For whatever reason, Aidan’s mother was completely taken with my father. She married Aidan’s father because he was second best. Aidan’s mother neglected him, always taking my father’s side in anything. They’re both dead now; I guess I’m the only one left for Aidan to hate.”
Lancelot blew a breath of air from his lips, taking it all in. This woman was remarkably strong to have faced so many things. He was surprised she wasn’t cowering in a corner or weeping hysterically. A spark of admiration hit his chest. He rarely had such intimate discussions with anyone, especially women. But this wasn’t just any woman; now was she?
“If he or any of his other men bother you,” he said firmly, “come tell me.” His eyes bored into hers. Lancelot wanted to protect Sophia from any more abuse. She didn’t deserve this. This unexpected and rather foreign feeling of utter compassion baffled him.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, “thank you.”
Not a very reassuring answer, but he decided not to push it. He checked the window again. Clear.
“How close are you and Raja?”
“Why so interested in my cousin?”
She shrugged with a small smile. “I’m nosy. Plus, your relationship interests me. I was surprised when you so blatantly told her you loved her earlier tonight. Did you mean it?”
Inwardly, he was offended at the idea that she thought he hadn’t meant it. These probing questions were also being shot at him left and right. At least she had no compunctions about it. If she was going to probe, she might as well be blunt.
“So difficult to admit?”
“No,” he said a bit more harshly than he had intended. He looked out the window, “Of course I meant it. She’s more sister than cousin, and I respect her a great deal.”
“Lancelot, I believe in a certain aspect I judged you wrongly.”
He turned back to face her.
“I’m not accustomed to seeing love between two people, so, naturally I’m rather curious about it when I see it. I don’t mean to offend you.”
He waved it off. “No matter.”
“She also says good things about you, which is why I didn’t object too strongly about you staying here with me. If she trusts you enough, then I have no reason to think otherwise.”
“Good things?” He perked up. “What does my dear cousin say about me?” He crossed one leg over another, expecting to hear a litany of his good qualities.
“I think the fact that you know she thinks well of you is enough. I won’t kindle your ego further.” Her smile lit her eyes, making Lancelot’s heart thump faster.
“Hmmph.” He checked the window again, though he really didn’t need to. He used it as a reason to look away from her mesmeric person. He was so used to brazen women, jiggling their breasts and exaggerating the sway of their hips to captivate him. But Sophia did all that naturally. When he had carried her, he didn’t fail to inhale the natural scent of her, her long, lush eyelashes, the cherry red of her silky lips. When he laid his eyes on her again, she was drifting off to sleep. He couldn’t help but stare at her, hearing her soft breathing as she fell deeper in slumber. He wanted to take her hand and gently kiss her knuckles, to revel in the sinful aroma that wafted from her velvety skin. Lancelot became acutely uncomfortable at the erection that was now at full attention. He wouldn’t be sleeping any tonight, but it was a small price to pay to be able to behold her uninterrupted throughout the night.
----
The next morning, they had said their good mornings warmly, and reluctantly he left her to ready herself for the day. He wanted to stay with her longer, protect her from the malignancy of the outside world.
After he left he hurriedly bathed, donning a fresh pair of cotton breeches (the only fabric Raja would use to make him pants was wool or cotton) and a black tunic with a crisp white shirt he tucked into his pants. He made to the tavern for breakfast, taking a seat with Raja, Tristan and the rest of his brothers.
“How is she?” Raja asked him.
“Well. She slept soundly, no disturbances,” he replied with a fond smile, thinking of the night he spent gazing at her, but it was instantly replaced with a sneer. “Did you know her brother is an abusive bastard?” he hissed.
“Yes, I am well aware of that,” Raja said dryly.
“She told me how the three of you met,” Lancelot informed, taking a sip of his drink that had been placed in front of him, before he dug into his food.
Tristan’s hackles rose at the memory. “The man has been disposed of.”
Raja snapped her head towards him. “Tristan, you didn’t.”
“I did,” he replied with a firm, casual tone.
She drummed her fingers on the table, eyes locked on the side of her Tristan’s head. He looked at her briefly, shrugging. The man had forfeited his right to live the second his hands touched Raja; nobody hurt her and got away with it.
“Nobody will miss him, I’m sure,” Lancelot said, with a discreet look of solidarity that had formed between him and Tristan over the years when it concerned Raja. “I was thinking that maybe Sophia should take a room in the keep so I, I mean we,” he corrected quickly, “can keep a better eye on her until this matter is taken care of.”
“Are you guys talking about that beautiful brunette that I’ve seen around here?” Galahad piped up.
“There is more than one brunette around here,” Gawain said.
Galahad ignored him. “If she’s in some sort of trouble, I will be more than happy to act as a bodyguard.”
“You stay the hell away from her, pup,” Lancelot snapped. “You could no more protect her than you could a crippled kitten.”
“Testy, aren’t we?” Galahad retorted. “Since when have you become so possessive of any woman?” He smirked at him.
Lancelot scoffed. “I’m not.”
“Ridiculous,” Raja muttered. “Lancelot, you aren’t going to try anything with her, are you?”
Her cousin’s eyebrows shot up. “No,” he said looking down at his food. “I just don’t like the idea of her being beat up on.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Raja mused knowingly. She supposed there were worse men who could be interested in Sophia. Lancelot may be a womanizer but he would never abuse a woman like Sophia had been. He had a loving heart, Raja knew it, but her dear cousin was pessimistic, a fatalist who thought he didn’t deserve to be loved. Worst of all, he was bitter, and bitterness left an aftertaste that was difficult to wash out.
----
Lancelot’s mind was on Sophia every minute. He was kind, but dismissive of the attention women lavished on him that day. Although Raja had spoken to her earlier that day, he decided to visit Sophia himself, and see what she thought about taking Tristan’s old room in the keep for a spell. There was no answer when he knocked on the door. The wind was cool in the dusk, and he could still see splatters of dried blood on the woodwork. He knocked again, putting his ear to the door; maybe she had fallen asleep. That didn’t sit well with him, he had a bad feeling.
“Sophia?” He said her name, putting his mouth close to the door. He heard a light shuffling. “Are you in there?”
Silence. “Yes, Lancelot.” The door opened just a smidge; it was dark in the room.
He was a bit flustered at seeing a small fraction of her skin, his heart sent aflutter. But her disposition said something was wrong. “Are you all right?” He had an urge to push the door open.
“Fine,” she said with a forced calm. “I was just resting.”
He cocked his head to the side, trying to get a better look at her. “Can I come in for a moment? I wanted to talk to you about something.” He took a small step forward.
“No!” she blurted. She cleared her throat. “I mean, um, can it wait? I’m really tired.” She tried to close the door, but his foot shot out against her dismissal.
“What’s wrong, Sophia?” he demanded steadily.
“Nothing,” she insisted, tremors creeping in her voice. “Could you come back later?” She attempted to shut the door again.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” He was stronger than her, and with one hand he had pushed the door open despite her resistance.
There were no candles lit in the room, the curtains were drawn, and the fire was out. She stepped into the shadows of the room.
“You know, you’re being very intrusive,” she chided. “I don’t know what makes you think you have the right to just barge-”
Lancelot held her by the shoulders, flames stirring in his eyes seeing the massive bruise on her face. This must have happened after Raja saw her. Surely, his cousin wouldn’t hide this from him.
“Did your brother do this?” Lancelot asked menacingly.
“It’s really not your business, Lancelot,” she said tersely.
Her back was against the wall, Lancelot put his arms on either side of her, his face a hair’s breadth away from hers.
“Who. Did. This.” He punctuated each word with finality.
Sophia shuddered. “Please don’t make it worse than it already is.”
“Too late,” he said definitely. “I’m involved.”
----
Without telling Raja, Lancelot sought out Sophia’s brother. He knew men like him. He knew despite his injuries her brother would be lurking around the tavern, accruing more debt. After all, it had just been a pinky finger. He spotted him and some of his comrades loitering on the outskirts of the tavern. He approached them without fear, fury was his ally. His eyes appeared black as they singled in on the bruised man.
Aidan’s face lost the little amusement his muscles could stand when he saw Lancelot. He tried to slink away but he was too slow, his friends unwittingly blocking his path. As the dark knight drew closer, Aidan assumed the stance of a fearless man, putting on a show for the men surrounding him and the other oblivious individuals in the area. Aidan’s men adopted a defensive position.
Lancelot’s face held no cocky superiority as he usual might have when besting an enemy. This was no game. He wasn’t sparring.
“Where’s your sidekick?” Aidan snickered. He seemed confident that Lancelot wouldn’t attack him out in the open.
Lancelot unsheathed his dagger. Aidan’s mask of nonchalance was wiped away at the sight of gleaming iron.
“My business is with him,” Lancelot told the surrounding men. “But I won’t hesitate to gut the rest of you if you stand in my way.”
The four surrounding men looked warily at each other. Who would want to face one of the legendary knights? They were half drunk and sluggish, and Aidan owed them a debt. It wasn’t as if they were blood brothers or anything. Looking at Aidan with pity, the four men backed away into the night, putting as much distance between them and the man in black.
“Why, you fucking cowards!” Aidan spat.
“So much for loyalty,” Lancelot tsked. He could have challenged Aidan to a fair fight. He could have let Aidan die with a weapon in hand, with some sort of dignity or honor. But this man didn’t deserve it. Not after what he’d been putting Sophia through all these years. Lancelot pulled him further into the darkness, heedless of the surrounding people close by, Lancelot plunged his dagger into Aidan’s gut, thrusting up into his heart. It was a good kill, a bit fast for Lancelot’s taste, but he relished the gurgle of blood bubbling from Aidan’s mouth and his wheezes of agony.
“Would someone get a healer?” He said to the people. “We have an injured man over here!” He waited for no answer, he just simply walked away.
----
“What exactly were you thinking killing a man out in the open?” Arthur chastised.
“Oh, pfft!” Lancelot waves off his friend’s recriminations. “He was a drunk, a criminal, many people wanted him dead. I did them a favor.”
They stood in Arthur’s office as Lancelot explained to him about Aidan and Sophia, Raja and Tristan adding support. Sophia didn’t seem upset over the death of her half-brother. She didn’t seem particularly relieved either. It wasn’t as if the death of her half brother could heal the scars he had inflicted upon her over the years.
Lancelot insisted that Sophia stay in Tristan’s old room for a couple of days. At least until she healed up. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to protect her from any man’s leer or touch. It wasn’t like him to be preoccupied with just one woman, he had so many. Raja had seen straight through his veneer of passivity. It was nice to know that she didn’t push it on him, she never would have, and that at least there was someone who would understand his erratic behavior when it came to Sophia. There would be no teasing from Raja.
Lancelot stood in the doorway of Tristan’s old bedroom with extra blankets and pillows in hand. He smiled almost bashfully at Sophia. Even with the bruise on her face, she was still beautiful.
He cleared this throat. “Brought these for you, just in case you got too cold or anything.” He set them on the edge of the bed, fully aware of her presence in every corner of the room.
“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She was ashamed to have him see her like this. She was ashamed that she had been too small to ward off her brother’s wrath.
Before he could stop himself he touched her soft skin, titling her head up so he could look into the creamy brown of her eyes. Despite her vulnerability, her stare was strong, bold, and held an appreciation for his defensive actions on her part. Lancelot stroked her silky skin, tucking her hair behind her ear to reveal the delicate nape of her neck.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. And damned the gods, he meant it. He meant it like no other words he had ever spoken.
But he knew she didn’t quite believe him. How could he blame her? It was this façade he had built up over the years – Lancelot, the womanizer. He desperately wanted this woman in front of him to trust him. If not with her heart, then at least as a friend...and then maybe her heart and her body. He didn’t know the first thing about being in a monogamous relationship, but he felt deep inside of him that for Sophia, he could give it an honest try. And there was always Raja to set him straight when he would falter.
Their eyes were still locked, and slowly Lancelot bent down and captured her soft lips with his. He didn’t part his lips, but he didn’t doubt it was the most passionately sincere kiss he had ever given. He meant this kiss. Damn the gods, he meant it.
Yes, miracles can happen,
I know cause I saw what happened
That night a sinner kissed an angel,
That was the night I fell in love.
-Frank Sinatra