Medieval Ever After (143 page)

To Arucard’s credit, he warned Demetrius that such a topic could surface, as females were naturally inclined to the particular emotion, thus he composed a rejoinder in anticipation of the awkward occasion.  Standing, as he desired distance, he unhooked his belt and doffed his sword.

“I am experienced with the benevolence of Our Heavenly Father, the endearment between a parent and a child, and the friendship which bonds brother to brother.”  In that he did not dissemble, as he kicked off his shoes.  “Likewise, I am entirely unfamiliar with the emotion that blossomed amid Arucard’s relationship with Isolde.  Yet, I am not averse to it.  So it is my hope we might find a comparable commitment.”

“And if we do not?”  She averted her stare, as he shed his tunic.

“Then I hope we find mutual affinity, that we may enjoy a measure of happiness.”  Clothed in his hose and linen garments, he pulled on the burgundy velvet cover and paused.  “Thou should rest, as we depart for Chichester on the morrow, and the journey will be arduous, given the winter storm.”

“If thou dost not object, I would sleep in my modest frock, for now.”  Removing her slippers, she blushed.

“I do not object.”  In silence, he offered thanks, as he was not sure how he would react to her nudity, and he had endured enough surprises that day.  So he sank into the mattress, positioned his back to his bride, and drew the blankets to his chin.  A few seconds later, Athelyna situated herself behind him.

Gazing at a spot on the wall, just visible in the dim light from the hearth, Demetrius pondered the tenuous entente forged by two complete strangers and frowned.  If his wife failed in her respective charge, they would suffer the consequences, as a whole, and that knowledge kept sleep at bay.

Indeed, he knew not what tomorrow would bring.

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A vicious battle raged, sword clashed with sword, and an unknown champion protected a group of innocent pilgrims, beneath the glare of a brutal sun.  With incomparable skill and speed the valiant knight charged numerous assailants, kicking sand in his wake and dispatching his enemies with lethal aim, until the enemy cowered in the shadows of the faceless warrior, but he was merciful.  Anon, as he walked amid the bodies scattered across the dunes, the sweet stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and he doffed his gauntlets.

And then everything shifted.

The encroaching night sky signaled the advancing eventide, and the defender entered a tent.  As he removed his armor, he revealed an intriguing mark etched into his flesh and barely visible in the soft light from the brazier.  It was the Crusader’s Cross, black in color, and marred by a distinct scar in the shape of a jagged spike.

Athelyna jerked awake and gasped for breath.  Confused by her strange surroundings, she rolled onto her back and focused on the decorative finial atop the large four-poster and mulled the curious vision, which mirrored previous dreams in both detail and intensity.

“Art thou all right?” Demetrius inquired, and she yelped.

“Apologies, as I forgot about ye.”  Then everything came to her in a flood of awareness.  The wedding.  The reception.  The pact forged in equal parts of trepidation and ambition.  After rubbing her eyes, she noted his appearance, as he sat in a chair, in the corner.  “Thou art garbed for travel.”

“As I remarked last eventide, we must depart for Chichester, with haste.”  When he stood, she scooted from beneath the warm blankets and shivered.  “The storm increased during the night hours, and we have a great distance to travel before this eventide, so I suggest ye clothe thyself appropriately.”

From her small sack of belongings, she pulled two sets of hose, a heavy wool cotehardie, and a surcoat.  No, she did not usually wear both gowns at the same time, but a glance out the window revealed whipping winds and snow, so she cared not for fashion but for utility.

In a few minutes, after cleaning her teeth, washing her face, and smoothing her plaited hair, she shrugged into her thick, hooded mantle, while her husband stripped the bottom sheet from the mattress.  “My lord, art thou muddled?”

“Nay.”  From a sheath he produced a sharp dagger, cut his finger, and smeared blood on the pristine white material.  “The King requires evidence of our secured vows, in fulfillment of his command, and I intend to satisfy His Majesty, that we might survive our first directive.”  Then he draped the cover near the fireplace.  “Gather thy personal belongings, as we shall leave this place, as soon as the cloth dries sufficiently enough to serve our purpose.”  Scanning the area, he grabbed a large sack from the floor, collected various items, and secured his pack.  “Thither is food in the solar, if thou art hungry.

“Thank ye.”  In the outer chamber, she found bread and a light sop, along with some dried fruit, and she set forth two trenchers.  “Wilt thou not join me?”

“Aye.”  Given his size, she suppressed a shiver of apprehension when he neared, as Athelyna suspected he could break her like a sprig if he chose to do so.  “Is something wrong?”

“Nay.”  Adopting the role of dutiful wife, she served him an ample portion.  “I am trying to accustom myself to our new life.”

“That reminds me.”  Demetrius snapped his fingers.  “When I deliver the sheet to His Majesty, I want ye to wait for me in the bailey, whither Arucard, Isolde, and our brothers gather for our departure.”

“Am I not summoned to the Great Hall?”  Had she embarrassed him?  Had she committed some grievous error, which led him to exclude her?  “Art thou ashamed of me?”

“Wherefore dost thou think such things?”  Frowning, he wiped his mouth with a napkin.  “Arucard told me of a similar ceremony, the morrow after he wed, and I would spare ye the embarrassment Isolde endured, as thou art a modest lady.  I would preserve thy gentle nature, which I admire.”

“Thou dost act for my benefit.”  Again, she misjudged him and vowed not to repeat the mistake.  “In future, I shall rely on thy right and true wisdom.”

“Art thou certain?”  Arching a brow, he grinned, and she discerned he teased her.  “Thou didst bite me, last night.”

“Well, I cannot make ye any promises, but I shall try.”  As she recalled her pitiful assault, she laughed,.  “And I am sorry about that.  Did I hurt ye?”

“Thou didst leave me with a unique remembrance of our wedding.  See?”  To impress his point, he held up his hand and offered a pout she found rather endearing.  “Thou hast damaged the skin.”

“Shall I soothe it with a kiss?”  The words were spoken before she realized what she said, and she squirmed.  “That is…what I meant was—”

“My lady wife, when the time is appropriate, and we enjoy a more familiar relationship, rooted in the bonds of friendship, I shall avail myself of thy generous expression.”  Like a flash of sunlight on smithy-forged steel, the silvery gaze through which he viewed the world no doubt inspired many a breathless sigh at court, and as he stared at her, she could not escape the lure he presented, though she understood it not.  “Until then, we shall limit our contact to that which is necessary to maintain the ruse, and if I do otherwise, pray, thou must tell me.”

“Art thou always so noble, Demetrius?”  In light of all she had heard of arranged unions, she counted herself fortunate, as he could take her with or without force, despite her preferences, and the law supported him.  “Wherefore dost thou indulge me?”

“Because I am no heathen to assault ye.”  He drained the last of his ale from his glass.  “My conviction is such that I cannot abide the violence visited upon women in this land, which I have witnessed for myself.”

“Oh?”  After collecting some fruit, she folded the meager fare in a handkerchief, for later.  “When did ye observe the sad sight, and what were the circumstances, if ye art of a mind to share the details?”

“I would have thy discretion, but it involved Lady Isolde.”  The palpable melancholy in his guise gave her pause, and she struggled to reconcile the devoted couple she had just met with the abuse that often marked an arranged marriage, which did not bode well for her.  “Despite my service and years spent defending pilgrims, never have I beheld the brutality inflicted upon Isolde.”

“So Arucard beats her?”  At the prospect, Athelyna gulped.  “They seem so happy.”

“Thou dost mistake my words, as Arucard would never strike Isolde.”  Demetrius cleaned his trencher of the last drop of the thin sop and cleared his throat.  “To my everlasting astonishment, she was betrayed by those who should have championed and defended her, a father and a brother.”

“What?”  A chill shivered over her flesh, and she hugged herself.  “Wherefore would—”

A loud pounding on the door had her jumping, but her husband pressed a finger to her lips, quieting her.  “Shh.”  In an instant, he grabbed his sword and approached the portal.  “Thither who goes?”

“It is thy savior, come to deliver ye from thy night of toil and strife.”  The high-pitched tone did not disguise the intruder’s identity, as he knocked on the wood panel.  “The King commands thy presence, Sir Demetrius, and it is never advisable to keep him waiting.”

“Quick, collect thy belongings.”  Her husband snatched his bag and the sheet, while she retrieved her small sack.  “Remember, when I divert to the audience with His Majesty, thou must continue to the bailey, whither Arucard and Isolde assemble.”

“Aye, my lord.”  Tension invested her shoulders, her gut clenched, and she balled her hands, as he opened the door.

“Ah, good Briarus.”  Demetrius chuckled.  “And how art thee this fine morrow?”

“Well rested.”  The King’s guard snorted.  “But I would wager the same cannot be said of thee.”  He swiped the soiled bed cloth and displayed the stain.  “It appears ye enjoyed an eventful night, and how did thy wife sleep?”  The insufferable rabble had the audacity to wink at her.  “Or did she, given the lady blushes?”

“That is enough.”  Stretching to full height, Demetrius scowled.  “Do not embarrass my bride, else I shall separate thy head from thy neck.”

“What is a bit of fun between friends, sirrah?”  Now Briarus elbowed Demetrius.  “And if thou dost inflict violence upon a servant of the realm, without permission, Sire will do the same to ye.  Wilt thou widow thy beauteous young bride, when thou hast just sampled all she has to offer ye?”

If possible, Athelyna would have shriveled into naught, on the spot.

“Allay thy fears, as I would not surrender my charming wife for naught in the world.”  Her husband offered his escort, and she clutched his arm.  Beneath her grip, his muscles flexed, belying his serene exterior, and she swallowed her trepidation.  “Shall we, my dear?”

“By thy command, my lord.”  As prearranged, she dipped her chin and acquiesced.  “I follow thy lead.”

“Well, well.”  Briarus snickered and rocked on his heels.  “I am impressed, Sir Demetrius, as it appears ye hath tamed thy wild mare.  Mayhap all the Lady Athelyna required was a good ride to break her.”

A series of none-too-polite rejoinders danced at the tip of her tongue, but she held her peace, when Demetrius covered her hand with his.  The narrow passage opened to the now familiar balustrade, and the soft glow from cresset lamps cast their silhouettes in shadows on the stone floor.  In silence, they descended the grand staircase and veered right.  With her heart pounding in her chest, she flinched when they paused outside the Great Hall.

“Prithee, take Lady Athelyna to the bailey.”  Demetrius reclaimed the hastily constructed evidence of the consummation.  “I will be along, anon.”

“But His Majesty requests the lady’s presence.”  Briarus rested fists on hips.  “Do not place my neck in peril, Sir Demetrius, as I am rather fond of my head.”

“Do as I say, as she is
my
wife.”  Without ceremony, Demetrius stomped into the large gathering chamber.  “And given thy ugly face, thou should welcome the change.”

“See to the woman.”  Briarus peered over his shoulder.  “While I will ensure Sir Demetrius survives his audience with the King.”

Puzzled by their ferocious expressions, she shuffled her feet, in abidance with her husband’s directive, but could make no sense of their behavior.  Wherefore did everyone speak as though His Majesty had naught more to do than confirm her loss of maidenhood?  Was it truly that important?

In the bailey, a nasty gale howled, a bitter chill cut through her wool clothing, and she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and located Isolde, who waved a greeting, amid the small crowd toiling in preparation to depart.

“Good morrow, sister.”  Isolde kissed Athelyna’s cheek.  “I am so glad Demetrius opted to spare ye the Crown’s favored game, which posits the loss of thy virtue as a pawn to be mocked.”  She draped a blanket atop an impressive stallion.  “They paraded me about like a broodmare, in a shameful display to which no lady of character should be subjected.”

“Isolde, art thou ready?”  Despite his smile, Arucard intimidated Athelyna, due to his immense size, but she had trouble reconciling his enormity and stern countenance with the tenderness he lavished without restraint on his wife.  “I do not want ye catching a chill.”

“Thou wilt keep me warm, my lord, so thou need not worry.”  To Athelyna’s surprise, Isolde perched on tiptoes and kissed her husband.  “Now lift me to thy saddle.”

“I love it when ye doth issue orders.”  After nipping her nose, Arucard set Isolde astride his destrier and then turned to Athelyna.  “Shall I assist ye?”