Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) (11 page)

“Isolde, I would caution thee to take care of thy person, as I would prefer thy injuries heal that we might consummate our vows.”  Given the depth of their regard, which had grown in so short a space of time, he anticipated a magical night.  “Or would thou delay the singular event?”

“Oh, no.”  And now she favored him with her shy smile, which never failed to stir his blood.  “But I would do my duty as chatelaine.”

“Precisely.”  He rocked on his heels.  “Thou art no scullion, and we have servants.  Thou dost need only to direct them.”

“But I have strict standards, sir.  As thou dost well know.”  Then, to his surprise, she kissed him, his ears rang, his blood stirred, and the one-eyed stallion reared its head.  Some day soon, he promised himself the simple expression of affection would no longer startle him, but at that moment she captivated him.

“Margery bade me clean the fireplace and—” Turning to the side, Pellier cleared his throat.  “Beg thy pardon, Sir Arucard.  Should I come back anon?”

“Nay.”  To his chagrin, Arucard set his bride on the floor.  “Lady Isolde and I were just assessing our rooms.”

“That is precisely what I thought.”  Pellier’s sly smile declared otherwise, and Arucard ignored his marshalsea.  “Permit me to build a fire, and thou may continue inspecting the fertile surroundings and, perchance, spark another blaze.”

“Very funny.”  Arucard grimaced.

“My lord, look.”  Aglow with joy, and attempting to hide her charming pink cheeks, his wife jumped and pointed to the rear wall.  “We have glazed windows.  Is that not wonderful?”

“I suppose.”  He shrugged.  “Does it make thee happy?”

“Yea.”  As she admired the glass inserts, she trailed her finger along the casement.  “I should wash them, but they art in fine form, and we will be grateful for them when winter arrives.”

“Art thou always so practical?”  Baring his teeth, Arucard distracted his shy bride, as Pellier waggled his brows and thrust his hips in a crude gesture.  “And what lovely tapestries hang in the solar.”

“Indeed, they art exquisite and very heavy, which will shield us from the cold.  Mayhap thou could help me take them down, as I must beat them.”  How quickly she changed purpose, when all Arucard could think of was what would eventually occur in the inner chamber.  “Canst thou unfasten the frame?”

“Of course.”  As she perched on tiptoes, he reached above her and unhooked the mount.  Then he rolled the heavy wall hanging and set it on the table in the solar.  “I suppose thou would clean the other two, as well?”

“Yea, as I would not unpack our belongings until everything is scrubbed.”  With Isolde’s supervision, he retrieved the other coverings.  “If thou would carry the tapestries into the courtyard, I will ask Anne to beat them, if that will satisfy thee.”

“It will.”  When Pellier snickered, Arucard groaned.  “But I would ask thee to take care of thy person, as thou art precious to me.”

In the hall, Isolde spun about and faced him, and her hopeful expression touched him beyond words.  “Am I?”

“Aye.”  Adjusting the load on his shoulder, he eased an arm about her waist and drew her near.  “I understand it not, as our situation is still quite new to me, but I speak the truth.”

“No one has ever manifested such sentiments for me, and I treasure thy declaration.”  Given her tear-filled gaze, he doubted her not, and in silence he cursed her father for the cruelty she suffered at his hands.  “My lord, thou art precious to me, too.  And like thee, I am confused in relation to my feelings, but do not let that diminish the depth of my regard for thee.”

A small army of servants scurried about, and with great reluctance he released his bride.  Together, they strolled into the courtyard; whither Aristide had set fire to several piles of trash, per Isolde’s request.

“Brother, we found a postern gate on the south wall.”  Geoffrey wiped his brow.  “The drawbridge ropes art in disrepair, so we must replace them, and we could use thy assistance.”

“Thither I will be, anon.”  Arucard glanced at his wife.  “Whither shall I deposit the tapestries?”

“In the corner.”  She pointed.  “I shall ask Anne to erect temporary frames, so we can beat the fabrics free of dust and dirt.”

“All right.”  He did as she bade and then caught her chin.  “Remember what I said.  Thou art no scullery maid.  Thou art the lady of the castle, and I would have thee behave as such, if for no other reason than to preserve thy health, which is dear to me.”

“Aye, my lord.”  Grinning, she sketched a half-curtsey.

And so he ventured to the battlements, to aid his men as they reinforced the barbican and the postern gate.  With new twine in place, the rear bridge was raised to protect against a surprise assault.  Then he assisted Morgan, as the soldiers cleared the garrison quarters, so the maids could sweep and wash. Next, he labored in the stable, as drains were cleared, fresh straw was spread in the stalls, and horses were settled.

The castle drew water from three wells conveniently situated near the kitchen, the stable, and the garrison.  Twice, as Arucard worked, he caught Isolde bearing a shoulder yoke, and he had but to arch a brow, and she surrendered the task to a nearby servant.  At last, the primary living spaces had been rendered fit for occupation, and it was late when he retired to his private accommodation.

After a quick bath, he pulled on clean braies and a robe.  In the solar Isolde set out their meal of a savory roasted bream with darioles and her signature fresh herb bread.  At one moment while they dined in quiet, as they were too exhausted to share conversation, he discovered she dozed with her chin propped in her palm, and he could not help but laugh.  So he lifted her into his lap, held her close when she stirred, and fed her a good portion.

“My lord, I fear I am too tired to eat.”  As proof of her claim, she yawned, and he carried her to their bed.

In mere seconds, he doffed his robe, blew out the candles, stoked the blaze in the earth, and slid between the covers.  As always, his wife shifted and draped herself alongside him.  He slipped his arm beneath her, and she nestled ever closer, with her head resting on his shoulder.  In the flickering light from the fire in the hearth, he studied her pert nose, apple cheeks, and heart-shaped face, so elegant in repose.

She manifested an odd combination; delicate yet strong, shy yet confident, and reserved yet bold.  And with each passing day, he found her far more fascinating and difficult to resist.  How strange it was that what he once had viewed as a curse he now considered a blessing, and he kissed her forehead.  “Soon, Isolde, thou wilt be mine.”

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“My lord, if thou dost wish to dine, thou must first clean thy muddy boots, hands, and face.”  Five days after arriving at Chichester Castle, Isolde stood guard at the main entry to the great hall, clutched a large wooden spoon, assumed a formidable posture, and folded her arms.  “Now.”

“My lady, the men have labored for hours, clearing and restocking the undercroft, at thy behest.”  Arucard adopted an equally imposing stance, and she gulped but did not falter.  “And we art hungry.  Step aside, so we may eat.”

“Not until thou dost doff thy shoes.”  Somehow, she had to make him understand her perspective, so she tapped her foot and held firm in the righteousness of her cause.  “As the women have wasted valuable time picking up after thy men, again and again.  Wherefore should we tarry, when thy knights will destroy what we have worked so hard to achieve?”

“Arucard, wilt thou remind thy lady of her place?”  With a narrow stare, Demetrius rested fists to hips.  “As my belly grumbles, and I grow impatient.”

“Mayhap a good spanking will soften her mood.”  When Aristide reached for her, she rapped his knuckles with the spoon.  “
Ouch
.”

“If thou dost try it, thou should sleep with one eye open, good sir.”  Not for a minute did the knight frighten her, as her husband would never let anyone hurt her.  “And what I ask is no great burden, given the fare the cook hath prepared.  What say thee to cameline meat brewets, to which Sir Demetrius is partial, hot flampoyntes, loach in green sauce, stewed beef, and capon crisps?  We also have fresh herb bread, jellies, and a lovely apple muse.  And for Sir Arucard, I made my special blancmange.  Such a pity, that it should go to waste over a simple entreaty.”

For several seconds, the group appeared on the verge of a siege, and no one relented.  As she pondered her request, which she judged reasonable, she thought she might have to cede her fight.  All of a sudden, a commotion stirred at the back, and the crowd parted.

“Make way.”  Morgan, the youngest and most audacious of her husband’s friends, marched to the fore.  At the entrance, he kicked off his boots, extended his hands for inspection, and winked.  “What say thee, fair Isolde?  Dost thou approve?”

“Traitor.”  Geoffrey scowled.

“Brother, were I not about to faint from starvation, I might take offense to thy insult.”  Just as she feared she might have incited a riot, Morgan grinned and bowed with an exaggerated flourish.  “But I have been invited to dine with a beauteous lady, so I dare not linger, as the food grows cold.”

“Welcome, Sir Morgan.”  In fine humor, she curtseyed.  “Thou mayest sit whither thou dost wish, as thither art plenty of empty chairs.”  With renewed confidence, she leveled her stare on the remaining opposition.  “Well?”

“Ought to lock her in her room.”  With a mighty scowl, Aristide relented.

“Never will I take a wife.”  Kicking a rock, Demetrius made for the well.

Soon, the angry crowd followed suit, with a single exception.

“Isolde, thou should not challenge the men, as it is not proper behavior for a wife.”  Her greatest ally stretched tall, and just as she wavered beneath his scrutiny, he smiled.  “Dost thou know that when thy temper is engaged thine eyes sparkle?”

“Art thou trifling with me?”  She inclined her head.  “As I quite enjoy thy playful conversation, my lord Arucard.  And I missed thee this morrow.”

“Thy burgundy cotehardie brings out the blush in thy cheeks.”  He checked the immediate vicinity, swooped, and claimed a quick kiss. “I missed thee, too.  But thither is much to be done, if we art to be ready for the winter.  And I cannot hold assemblies until the castle is adequately fortified, but I assigned my men to thy cause, for thee—and thee, alone.  Dost thou understand the urgency?”

“Aye, my lord.”  It was all she could do to manage her excitement, as he expressed affection in so many ways, great and small, and he never failed to thrill her.  “And I cooked my blancmange for thee—and thee, alone, in grateful appreciation of thy efforts in the undercroft.  At last, the kitchen, the spicery, the saucery, the pantry, the buttery, and the scullery art fully repaired and operant.  And when thou dost hold thy first feast as lord of Chichester, thy staff stands at the ready to fulfill thy commands, as fit for a king.”

“Owed in large part to thy hard work, despite my commands to rest easy.”  As soldiers from the garrison, washed in obeisance of her demands, strolled into the great hall, Arucard lowered his voice.  “But I am so proud of thee.”

“I apologize for disobeying thy directives, but I am unaccustomed to being idle.”  Grasping his wrist, she led him to the well.  When she picked up a bar of soap, he retrieved a bucket of fresh water.  As a dutiful wife, she lathered his hands and then scrubbed his face.  After he rinsed, she pulled a towel from her fitchet, daubed him dry, and bestowed upon him a whisper of a kiss.  “Thither, thou art presentable.”

“Now may I dine?”  He arched a brow.

“Aye.”  She nodded once.

As they returned to the great hall, he removed his boots and set them in a long line of shoes.  “Shall I escort thee to the dais?”

“Prithee, most gallant knight.”  Arm in arm, they navigated the crowd, which took note of the late arrivals, as conveyed in a lull of boisterous mirth.  As she settled in her seat, she waved to the servants, who brought food and drink.  “Eat thy fill, my lord.  And on the eventide, I shall prepare thy bath with mint, to soothe thy aches and pains.”

“And wilt thou join me?”  As he lifted his tankard of ale, he cast her a side-glance.

Isolde almost choked on her wine, but she recovered before she embarrassed herself.  “Dost thou truly wish it?”

“We have tried many things since we wed.”  With his fingers, he scooped a morsel of blancmange.  “I have yet to see thee completely nude.”

“And thou would have me know thee?”  The prospect gave her gooseflesh, as he requested something they had never before attempted.  “Wilt thou consummate our vows?”

“Margery tells me thy wounds could benefit from another few days to heal.”  To the left, the Brethren roared, and Arucard nodded.  “She suggested a fortnight from the time of injury would suffice to avoid further damage to thy back.”

“Thou didst speak with Margery about our situation?”  Despite her close relationship with the steward, his candor shocked Isolde.  “Thou didst share the private details of our marital life?”

“Nay, as I could never be so indelicate.”  Atop the table, he covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers.  “I merely inquired after thy health, as a concerned husband.  She knows not the motivation for my query.”

“Well I should hope not.”  Just then, Sir Aristide approached the dais, and she dipped her chin in acknowledgement.  “Is the loach to thy liking, as I had it made at thy request?”

“It is superb, my lady.” The most temperamental of the Brethren shuffled his feet.  “I made thee a new tapestry frame to replace the broken one, and Pellier had a servant install the mount, so thou wilt have no more trouble.”

“How thoughtful of thee, Sir Aristide.”  Was it her imagination, or did he blush?  “And how is thy back?”

“Much improved, thanks to thy services.”  He rubbed his neck and leaned forward.  “The henbane worked a miracle, and I thank ye.”

“Thou art most welcome, Sir Aristide.”  And then Sir Morgan neared.  “Good sirrah, how dost thou favor the capon crisps?”

“Lady Isolde, thou hast outdone the eels, which I once considered my primary partiality.”  Morgan cast a sly grin, waggled his brows, grasped her hand, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.  “Were thou not wed, I should take thee to wife.”