“Oh, all right.” In violation of every feminine precept she had been taught, Desi plopped into her chair and scooped handfuls of food into her mouth.
“Slow down, my lady, else thou wilt revisit thy sup as fast as ye dost swallow it.” Grisel poured a glass of wine. “Drink, else ye might choke.”
Ignoring the caution, Desi polished off every scrap and morsel. Then she sat back and gave vent to an impressive belch. With a palm pressed to her belly, she gulped the wine and then slumped forward in a coughing fit. “My apologies, Grisel.” Desi tamped the fast rising nausea. “If I vomit, it is my fault, but we must go, before it is too late, so thou mayest scold me, anon.”
“But I do not understand thy rush.” Grisel looked her confusion, shrugged into the borrowed cloak, and then draped Desi’s mantle over her shoulders. “We have not far to walk, and the sun is just on the horizon.”
“And I would not miss a minute of it.” Grasping the maid’s wrist, Desi skipped down the passageway, to the rear of the castle. While she pondered admitting the truth, she did not have a moment to spare, and she knew well her old friend.
As they exited the undercroft, out of nowhere the steward appeared on the path. “Lady Desiderata, whither dost thou journey this eventide?”
“To admire the moor at dusk, as I have done for years, Reolus.” Desi had to remain calm to deflect suspicion, for her plan to succeed. Logic, always her ally, suggested the maid would play her part, if Desi acted innocent. “Thither is a problem?”
“Thy father asked that ye not be left alone, my lady.” With an imperious expression, he folded his arms. “I must abide my master’s dictates.”
“And what do I look like, thou abyss of ignorance?” Just as Desi anticipated, Grisel took offense.
“Thou dost prefer candor, ill-tempered hag?” Shifting his weight, Reolus smirked. “As I am not sure thither art words to describe ye, but I can try.”
“Surely thou art the reason some mothers drown their babes at birth.” With her chin at dangerous heights, Grisel stood toe-to-toe with the steward, just as Desi predicted. “Would that thine had done the same. But as thou art hither, it seems, to torture me, I would have ye know I have long protected Lady Desiderata. Now, we will venture forth without thy miserable hide and return ere nightfall.”
In silence, but laughing on the inside, Desi trudged behind her haughty but much treasured maid. After traversing the yard, they climbed the verge, which led to the copse of trees. Twigs snapped beneath their feet, as they wended their way along the trail. And while all appeared tranquil, as they ambled through the woods, in her chest her heart pounded.
Not for a second would she let herself think her conclusions were wrong. Nay, her man waited for her at their special place, and naught would shake her from the certainty of her interpretation of the letter. Without doubt, she knew who wrote it—though she had not uttered his name, as she knew not how she would react if she reached her destination, and he was nowhere to be found.
Ahead, the dense foliage thinned, and the open landscape came into view. Desi held her breath, until she broke through the vegetation and discovered a group of horses. To the left, knights gathered. At center, the tallest held her gaze, smiled, and spread wide his arms, and she flung herself at him.
“Titus.” With a squeal of unadulterated joy, she bestowed upon him a barrage of kisses. “I knew ye were not dead, and I never gave up on ye, even when Papa declared ye had fallen at Barnet. And I was right. Thou art alive.” Then, after so many weeks of worrying and waiting, Desiderata yielded.
“Nay, my sweet Desi.” He tightened his hold and pressed his lips to her ear. “Prithee, my love, when I dreamed of this moment, it did not include thy tears.”
“I am sorry, but I missed ye so.” Overwhelmed by a surge of emotion, she clung to her knight, as her heart rejoiced, and the world sang with her. “And never again will I let go of thee.”
“Angel, while I am loathe to surrender ye, we must postpone such felicitous celebrations and depart before dark.” Titus lifted her to his horse. “As I would put as much distance between us and thy father’s soldiers as possible before nightfall.”
“Sir Titus, although I am gratified to see ye, I must inquire after thy intentions, as Lady Desiderata is my responsibility.” Grisel pushed aside a couple of stout knights. “Whither my lady doth go, so go I.”
“Then Sir Bodwine will carry ye.” Titus jumped into his saddle, pulled Desi near, tucked his great cape about her, and grasped the reins. “Now let us away.”
“Must we take the old woman?” Bodwine frowned. “As she presents quite a load.”
“Thou wilt take me with ye, else I will raise the alarm.” And then Grisel groused, as Bodwine grunted and groaned in his attempt to hoist her to the mount.
“Whither shall we go, my love?” At long last, Desi relaxed against Titus, and he nuzzled her temple, as he urged his destrier into a gallop.
“To Braewood Castle, whither I shall marry ye.”
_________________
CHAPTER FIVE
It was late after the noon hour, four days anon, when Titus, with Desi tucked in his arms, charged through the gates of Braewood Castle. Given the battlefield betrayal, he knew not what to expect when he returned home, but as no one shot an arrow at him, and the sentries at the entry did not shout the alarm, as they recognized him, he presumed naught was amiss. But when an unfamiliar face preceded the Saint-Germain steward into the bailey, Titus came alert and dismounted.
“Guard my lady with thy lives.” Leaving Desiderata in the care of the De Wolfe troops, he drew his sword. “If anyone moves in her direction, strike them down.”
“Be careful, my love.” Desi huddled beneath her cloak. When it looked as if she might descend from the saddle, he stayed her with a glance of reproach, and she pouted but remained seated. “I would not part from thee, as we are stronger together.”
“Thou shalt abide my request, my lady. While my attackers were killed, I know not the extent of the York’s perfidy, and I will not take unnecessary risks whither thee art concerned. My lone vulnerability is manifested in ye, and they can only harm me if they hurt thee.” Titus assumed an aggressive stance, adjusted his grip on the hilt, readied his weapon, and confronted the outsider. “Who are ye?”
“Wherefore dost thou ask, knave?” The stranger pursed his lips in a condescending sneer, and Titus yearned to punch the schemer in the nose. “I am Gadfrid, head of the Staatsrat household of Braewood Castle.”
“Thou art a liar and a thief, as the Saint-Germains hold Braewood.” Without hesitation, Titus advanced. “Under whose authority hast thee assumed command of my home?”
“Thy home?” With an expression of disbelief, Gadfrid sputtered and then scratched his cheek. “But I am told Titus Saint-Germain died at Barnet, and Hastings hath conferred the estate upon Idaios Staatsrat.”
So the games and intrigues commenced.
“By law, Hastings hath no sovereignty to endow my lands to another. My loyal subjects can vouchsafe my character and my ownership.” Just then, a small group of soldiers, wearing foreign colors, exited the garrison. “Stand down thy men, and I shall permit ye to depart in peace. Otherwise, I shall separate thy head from thy neck, and ye shall depart in pieces—the choice is thine.”
For a second, the villain’s pawn appeared to weigh the circumstances.
“Thither hath been a misunderstanding, Sir Titus.” With palms raised, Gadfrid retreated. “Put down thy sword, and we shall vacate the premises, posthaste. As thither is no need for bloodshed.”
“In that, I could not agree more. And one more thing, Gadfrid.” He smiled, as he braced to declare his independence. “Given Hastings struck the first faithless blow, tell thy master the Saint-Germains no longer serve the Yorks.”
“Of course, Sir Titus.” With a smirk, Gadfrid dipped his chin. “But thou dost make a grave mistake, as we hold the throne, and thou art alone between two powerful adversaries. Thy confidence will be t
hy downfall.”
“And thy treachery will be thine, as my cause is right and true. Yet thou dost not know what the morrow may bring, and the crown changes sides with the wind.” Titus glanced at Desiderata and winked, as her countenance all but declared her worry. “Last month’s loser just might be next year’s victor.”
“That may be, but art thou willing to risk the life of thy lady?” The interloper frowned, as the master of the horse brought forth a stallion. “What of her future?”
“Thou should not fret for Lady Desiderata.” Titus waved for the De Wolfe knights to approach, and Bodwine assisted Desi and the already complaining Grisel. As Titus could have predicted, his bride-to-be ran straight for him, and he slipped an arm about her waist. “In fact, thou might inform Hastings and Staatsrat that I have reclaimed my lands and my wife. Any Yorkist attempt to wreak havoc on my properties shall be considered an act of war, and I shall meet force with force.”
“I will do so at the first opportunity.” With that, Gadfrid and the enemy troops galloped through the barbican and quit Braewood, and a rallying cry erupted from the garrison, as the Saint-Germain soldiers encircled Titus. Aye, thither would be hell to pay, and Titus would gladly reimburse whatever benevolent fate placed Atticus on the field at an adventitious moment. Because he resolved to seize his destiny, and he would start that very night.
“Welcome home, Sir Titus.” Richart, the Saint-Germain steward, extended a hand in companionship. “It is very good to see ye, given the news of thy demise and our unexpected invasion.”
“Gramercy, Richart. What of the Saint-Germain soldiers?” He pondered the depth of the conspiracy against him. “What of my men? Thither art grumblings of insurrection?”
“Nay, my lord. Staatsrat’s vassals kept a close watch on thy followers, Sir Titus.” The steward gazed at Desi and bowed. “Forgive me, Lady Desiderata, as it hath been too long since last ye blessed our lodgings with thy estimable company.”
“Thank ye. I look forward to working with ye, as we organize our household.” Desi nudged Titus and grinned. “Mayhap we might venture inside and take our ease, as it hath been a lengthy ride.”
“See to my lady’s comfort, and prepare the master’s chambers, per her discretion. Have Mabot, my mother’s maid, locate suitable attire for a wedding.” Titus kissed Desi’s forehead and then admired the gentle sway of her hips, as she entered the castle. “Summon the vicar, gather everyone in the great hall, and have Cook create a feast fit for a king and his most cherished queen, as Lady Desiderata and I will marry and celebrate our union this eventide.”
~
“That dress is lovely, Mabot.” Desi caressed the sheer silk, in a breathtaking shade of sky blue, which featured gold embroidery at the bodice and waist, a long train, and dual lappets at the sleeves. “Never have I seen anything so grand, and it is far superior to the garment I had planned to wear. Dost thou not agree, Grisel?”
“Aye, my lady.” The maid wiped a stray tear, as she completed plaiting Desi’s blonde locks, and she held up the gown to her shoulders. “And thou canst pair it with the ivory kirtle, as Mabot suggested, in a stroke of unimaginable good sense.” Then Grisel whimpered. “Thy mother would be so proud.”
“Hither, take my handkerchief.” Mabot smiled and sniffed. “I know just how ye dost feel, as I could say the same of my master and his mama.”
Together, the two servants comforted each other, before surrendering to laughter.
“It is remarkably pleasing to see ye again, old friend.” Grisel clasped hands with Mabot. “Thou would not believe the disagreeable companionship we endured on our journey.”
“Thou dost not say.” Mabot pressed a fist to her chest.
“Oh, I could tell ye stories that would turn thy hair white, if it were not already so.” Grisel snuffled. “And thy new style favors ye.”
“Grisel, thy wisdom continues to astonish me. So let us celebrate the wedding in my chamber, with a bit of the ale to which ye are partial, as I have saved it for such happy events as these.” Mabot glanced at Desi. “With my lady’s permission, of course.”
“Know ye dost have it, as I shall have no need of thy services this night.” Giggling, Desi sighed, as she tried not to consider the marriage bed and everything it entailed. Yea, although she had known Titus all her life, the mere thought of consummating their vows gave her a shiver of unease. “And I would have ye take a healthy gulp for me.”
As the maids chuckled and whispered, Desi scanned the bedchamber, which had been prepared, according to her exacting specifications, for the momentous occasion. She had the frame and a fresh mattress centered on the back wall, closer to the hearth, which boasted a roaring blaze. And extra wood had been stacked in the corner, so Titus would require no assistance to replenish the fire.
Large glazed windows faced the west, and she looked forward to sharing many future sunsets with her soon-to-be husband. Numerous candles had been situated about the area, to compliment the wall sconces. Their trunks had been placed, side by side, just as Desi and Titus would spend the rest of their lives.
In the solar, a small compliment of attendants rearranged the furnishings per Desi’s instructions, and she strolled into the outer room to assess their progress. The table and benches now rested near the second fireplace, with a bathing area, which included the largest ancere she had ever seen, hidden behind a screen in the far corner. A perfectly matched set of overstuffed chairs perched at either side of the trio of huge lancet windows, which reminded her home.
“I beg thy pardon, my lady.” Richart bowed. “Dost thou have any further requests?”
“Nay, Richart.” A final check revealed everything just as she wished. “Hast thou arranged for a light repast, on the morrow, to be delivered to the solar?”
“Forgive me, my lady, but Sir Titus commands a second substantial supper, just past midnight, as well as a heavy meal on the morrow. And thy groom awaits thy presence, in the great hall.” Again, Richart made his obedience. “My lady, if I may, on behalf of the entire household at Braewood Castle, I extend glad tidings for a long and prosperous union.”
“Gramercy, Richart.” And then the meaning of his words dawned on her. “Great heavens, Titus is ready, and I have not yet dressed.” Desi ran into the bedchamber. “Hurry, Grisel. I am late.”
“Calm thyself, my lady.” Mabot retrieved the kirtle, as Grisel unlaced Desi from the weighty traveling gown. “Thou cannot be late, as they cannot commence the ceremony without ye.”
In mere minutes, the maids worked their magic, transforming Desi into the stuff of fantasy. While Mabot pinned a bejeweled wimple to Desi’s coif, Grisel affixed the veil. As Desi slipped her feet into a sumptuous pair of poulaines, Mabot and Grisel wept.
“Oh, dear friend, thou must cease thy tears and dry thy cheeks, if thou art to escort thy mistress.” With a whimper and a frown, Mabot blotted Grisel’s face. “Thy flesh is blotchy and swollen.”
“Thou should take thy advice, as I would have ye both accompany me.” Desi assessed her appearance in the long mirror, while the maids fussed and preened over each other, smoothing hair and straightening aprons. “Art thou done?”
With the sniffling servant duo bringing up the rear, Desiderata descended the stone steps, crossed the grand receiving chamber, and entered the great hall. A gentle lull circulated throughout the cavernous room, as she neared the dais, whither Titus argued with the vicar.
“Thither is no need to post the marriage ceremony on the church door, as the union was negotiated more than eight and ten years ago. If anyone had any reason to oppose the wedding, such protests would have long ago been addressed. As such, thou wilt marry us, now.” With his hair freshly cut, his face clean-shaven, and sporting black hose, a dark green wool doublet cinched at the waist, and a grey mantle, her beloved pounded a fist to the table, whereupon the contract rested. “My father negotiated an honorable agreement, sanctioned by the Crown, and thou wilt uphold the terms.”
“But it is highly
irregular to confirm the provisos, and administer the sacrament, when Lord de Mandeviel is not present.” The religious officiate cast an unapologetic stare of doubt. “Wherefore is the bride’s father not in attendance?”
“Because he pays tribute to our newly returned king, as a loyal servant of the realm, and relies upon his obedient daughter to fulfill the bargain, in his absence.” Tamping her discomfit, Desi mustered her best smile and strolled to Titus’s side, whither she rested her palm to the crook of his elbow. Experience taught her that, when caught in a difficult situation, ire often roused suspicion, so she maintained a serene façade. “However, when my father affixed his signature to the document, I can attest it was his most fervent desire to see our families forever united by the bond of marriage, and I would do my duty as I was taught. Wilt thou have me contravene my sire’s commands?”
“Lady Desiderata, I presume?” The vicar dipped his chin, as he perused the legal paper. “I am Dicaeus Veldkamp, and I am tasked with conducting all scriptural matters in this region, by His Majesty’s authority, but I must ensure the viability of the covenant. If thou wilt give me thy word, as a lady, that thou art rightfully and legally bound to Sir Titus, in keeping with the concordat endorsed by Lord de Mandeviel, I shall perform the service as proscribed by the laws of England, excepting the customary notice.”
“Vicar Veldkamp, I can offer my most fervent guarantee.” In that she did not lie, as she relied upon the truth, and often Papa praised the legacy of the De Mandeviels and the Saint-Germains. “At the instant my father signed his name, he wanted naught more than to grant ownership of my person to Sir Titus and forever solidify the ties between our two houses.”
“Then let us adjourn to the chapel steps.” The vicar stepped aside.
“Nay.” At her right, Titus stretched to his full height, and she set a palm to his chest. Meeting her gaze, he inhaled a breath and sighed. “Let us take our vows hither, with the entire household as witnesses, so none may question the validity of our union.”
World of de Wolfe Pack: Lone Wolfe (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 1) Page 5
