“I apologize, my lord, for the delay.” At his prompt, she came alert and sat upright. “If you will hand me down, I shall ready our lodging.”
As always, she responded like a dutiful servant, catering to his every need, and that was the problem. She did everything he asked and naught more. Yet it was in that realm, in the possibility of something more, that Arucard and Isolde, Demetrius and Athelyna, and Aristide and Dionysia, savored the heights of passion that eluded Morgan and Hawisia.
“There is no need to apologize.” He did as she bade and then leaped from his saddle. “We only just arrived.”
“Be that as it may, I should be about my duties, my lord.” To his continued chagrin, she bowed her head and neglected to meet his stare, and he could tolerate that no longer. “Hawisia, I would appreciate it if you would look at me, when we converse.”
“Aye, my lord.” Although she abided his request, the expression rang hollow. “Now, I should fulfill my responsibilities and prepare your meal, which I will serve, at your command.”
“Grammarcy, fair Hawisia.” In jest, he sketched a mock salute, but she merely nodded and rushed to the supply wagon, leaving him to wonder at her indifference.
Following in Arucard’s wake, Morgan located a protected area to secure his stallion. As he tied the lead, he pretended not to notice Arucard’s annoying whistle, which often preceded the Brethren leader’s boasts, in regard to his happy life with Isolde.
“So, how goes it with Hawisia?” Instead, Demetrius lobbed the first blow. “Have you secured your vows?”
“No.” Morgan lied, because he could not admit his failure to satisfy his wife. “I had thought to wait until we enjoy the security of my chamber, at Chichester.”
“A wise decision.” Arucard inclined his head. “I did the same for Isolde, as women require reassurance and privacy with such delicate matters. Thus, I commend you on your discernment and judgment.”
“I concur.” Demetrius rested a palm to Morgan’s shoulder. “Indeed, I am proud of you, brother, for focusing on Hawisia’s needs, as opposed to your own. Such courtesy can foster affection with your bride, as I learned with my Dion.”
“And I should mention such distinction in my report to His Majesty.” Arucard frowned. “As your penchants for whores and ale are the reason the King did not immediately confer a title and an estate, which I know disappointed you.”
“What?” That was news to Morgan, and it struck at his Achilles’ heel. “Wherefore did you not tell me of this sad revelation?”
“Because the Sire bade me not to, but I think it fair you know, as you remain my responsibility until His Majesty is satisfied that you will defend the Crown, as expected.” Arucard glanced at Demetrius. “But it is water under the bridge, as it appears you understand what is required of you, and you fulfill your duty, while caring for Hawisia, as you should. Like Demetrius, I am gratified by your concern for your wife, as she is your charge by royal decree. You must safeguard her.”
“Do you think I do not know that?” A tremor of panic coursed Morgan’s spine, as he realized everything hinged on his ability to nurture his union, the importance of which he had discounted until that moment. A gust of wind cut through him, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes. “Now, let us retire to our respective tents, as my lady waits, and I would help her with her chores.”
As Demetrius made for his lodging, Arucard stayed Morgan with a glance. “Pray, a moment, as I would expound on the situation with the King.”
“Aye.” Morgan gathered his cloak about him, as a chill shivered over his flesh. “What can I do for you?”
“Only this.” Arucard draped an arm about Morgan’s shoulders. “Avoid the whorehouses, as the Crown’s spies venture past the London environs. And continue to strengthen the bonds with Hawisia, as she can be your greatest ally, but I cannot repeat enough how delighted I am by your change of heart, because I know you were not happy with the Sire’s choice for your bride. However, between the two, I suspect you married the stronger sister.”
“I believe you are right.” Of course, Morgan cared not for Hawisia, but he coveted a title and an estate of his own. Again, he recalled his mother’s sage advice: We all tell lies to ourselves, sometimes, if only to survive the consequences of our actions. Thus, he would lie to himself and enact a courtship, that his wife might look upon him as Isolde gazed upon Arucard, and Morgan would claim a castle as compensation.
~
An odd-shaped stain in the canvas of Morgan’s tent granted Hawisia a welcomed respite, as she mulled various similarities. Did it resemble the head of a horse? The contour of a lady’s features, with long hair? Perchance, it harkened to a great lion, as it prepared to strike its prey. In truth, it mattered not, as long as she had something upon which to focus, as she rested on her belly, atop their bed, and shuttered her husband’s attentions.
Enfolding her beneath his body, he thrust in a familiar rhythm, his skin slapping against her bottom. As usual, he grunted and groaned like some filthy swine, and she remained stubbornly silent, although she no longer suffered pain, because she knew it vexed him.
In truth, she felt nothing, as her husband settled between her thighs, because she considered it just another duty owing to her vows. As she packed and stowed their belongings, as she cooked and served his meal, as she mended his clothing, and as she cleared the dirty trenchers, she yielded her body without complaint or protest. For her, with him, the practice posed another chore.
In that moment, he bit the crest of her ear, groaned, and ceased his movements. How predictable. When he withdrew, he slapped her arse, an annoying habit that grated on her last nerve. After rolling to the edge of the mattress, she stood and pulled down her kirtle and cotehardie.
“Will that be all, my lord?” Calm and collected, she smoothed her plaited hair. “Shall I repair to the cooking tent, whither I should assist Isolde and Athelyna with the meal?”
“I suppose.” As he tied his braies, he inclined his head. “But I would ask you a question.”
“Oh?” Standing upright, she clasped her hands and assumed the stance of a servant, which required naught much on her part. “What can I do for you, my lord?”
“Are you happy, Hawisia?” Now that caught her off guard, as Morgan appeared sincere in his query, but he did not fool her, thus she braced for some sort of arrogant reply. “Because I want you to be happy and content in your station.”
“I am quite content, my lord.” Was she supposed to be grateful for a scrap of consideration, even as his words, carelessly stated at Westminster Palace, reminded her that she was not his choice? “If I may be excused, I should complete my chores, else you may go hungry, and I doubt that would please you.”
“You may go.” With that, he reclined amid the blankets and folded his arms behind his head. “And I anxiously await your return, as my empty belly protests, my lady.”
Biting back a sharp retort, she secured her cloak and scurried outside. After winding her way through the labyrinth of small accommodations, which sheltered the soldiers and servants in Lord Arucard’s party, Hawisia rushed into the cooking tent, whither Dionysia, Athelyna, Arucard, and Demetrius labored to prepare a meal of Isolde’s famous blancmange and warm bread.
“I am sorry I am late.” Hawisia drew a stack of trenchers from a trunk. “What can I do to help?”
“Whither is Morgan?” inquired Lord Arucard.
Lying abed, on his arse.
“He settles our dwelling, my lord.” On a tray, she filled a basket with chunks of bread. “Lady Isolde, is there anything else I can do to ease your burden?”
“See to your portions, as I am almost done, thanks to my husband’s assistance.” Arucard bent to receive his wife’s kiss on his cheek, and it amazed Hawisia how gentle he could be, given his size. “And I have asked you, repeatedly, to call me Isolde, as we family. While I understand we must observe the proprieties at court and in public, in private we may do as we please.”
“Aye, l
ady—that is, Isolde.” Hawisia set up another tray. “If Sir Geoffrey’s meal is finished, I can take it to him.”
“Allow me, Hawisia.” Demetrius assembled various items and a healthy portion of ale. To Dionysia, he said, “Then I shall return to carry our dinner to our tent, my love.”
“Grammarcy, great one.” Dionysia perched on her toes and kissed him. “I should be ready, soon.”
“And I will gather our food, while you tidy the area.” Arucard doted openly on his wife, and Hawisia admired his strength, as well as his kindness. “Everything will be set, by the time you retire to our lodging, my honey flower.”
“Oh, how considerate is my champion?” Isolde giggled, cupped his cheek, and they shared a tender kiss. “That is but a sample of the sweetmeats with which I intend to entice you, my lord.”
“Ah, my lady tempts me.” He chuckled and claimed another kiss, which fascinated Hawisia. “I shall endeavor to express my gratitude in a manner worthy of your generosity.”
Not for an instant did she doubt Arucard’s love and devotion for his bride, whereas she questioned everything about Morgan. Alone with Isolde, Hawisia poured two tankards of ale for her husband, because he made it evident that one was not enough.
“Isolde, if I may ask a personal query, how did you form such a strong attachment for Arucard, given you were strangers when you took your vows?” As Hawisia filled two trenchers with the blancmange, she cast a side-glance at Isolde. “You do not have to answer me.”
“Wherefore would I not?” Isolde giggled, as she rinsed a pot and a knife. “As I told you at your celebration, my husband treated me with charity and respect from the moment we met, but the love and the intimacy came later.”
“Really?” Hawisia reflected on Morgan’s clumsy couplings and could not stifle a snort of laughter. “How much later?”
“To be specific would be indelicate, in regard to Arucard.” Isolde dried her hands on an apron, which she doffed and folded. “Suffice it to say he granted a respite that we might know each other as friends before we knew each other as husband and wife.” She stepped near, glanced from left to right, and whispered, “And he was a virgin, as was I.”
“No.” Hawisia clutched her throat. “You cannot be serious, as Morgan boasts of his prowess, in that respect.”
“I know, and it aggravates my husband more than Morgan realizes, but it is done, so it cannot be changed.” Isolde repacked the utensils and doused the fire. “But Morgan is a man like any other, and I wager he will come to realize his good fortune. Give him time, as I suspect he will not disappoint you. Until then, know that we are your friends and your supporters, and we stand ready to assist you, as you work to claim his heart.”
“You assume he has a heart.” Given Isolde’s countenance of shock, Hawisia bit her tongue and considered her words. “I apologize, as I should not have spoken ill of my husband. But not everyone is meant for that sort of happiness, and we cannot live on love.”
“What a curious statement.” Isolde narrowed her stare. “Has Morgan consummated the vows? Has he hurt you?”
For a moment, Hawisia mulled her response. In light of what occurred in her marriage bed, which she believed far too intimate to share over a couple of trenchers of blancmange, she mustered a smile.
“Nay, Isolde.” Now that falsehood hurt. “It appears I benefit from Arucard’s advice, and for that I am grateful.”
“Are you sure?” Isolde took Hawisia by the hand, and they strolled into the night air. “Because Morgan must succeed with you, if he has any hope of claiming a title and an estate.”
“Indeed?” Hawisia could have kissed Isolde for that bit of information, because it inspired a host of new strategies, whither Morgan was concerned. “Well, I would not worry, Isolde, as my husband heeds the Brethren’s counsel.”
“You will tell me if that changes?” Isolde paused near the tent she occupied with her husband. “As you are not alone, dear sister.”
“Grammarcy, Isolde.” To Hawisia’s surprise, Isolde offered comfort in a hug. “And I bid you pleasant slumber.”
“The same to you, Hawisia.” Isolde slipped beneath the flap of her tent.
Alone, Hawisia bowed her head, as a wicked gust almost toppled her, and it was all she could do to balance the tray, which she conveyed to her accommodation. As usual, Morgan made no effort to aid her.
Rather, he remained abed, as she laid out the meal.
“What took so long?” He covered his mouth as he yawned.
“There are others that must be fed, my lord.” As she contemplated Isolde’s revelation, an idea occurred to Hawisia, and she smiled. “In regard to the question you posed, it would please me greatly if you would assist me with the chores that benefit us, both.”
“You want me to serve you?” Ah, he got her meaning, as he jumped from the mattress, and she wondered what other tasks he might perform, in order to win his title and estate. “I can do that, as well as any other requests you might have, Hawisia.”
Oh, she had plenty.
MORGAN
CHAPTER FOUR
In the months since the party returned to Chichester Castle, winter yielded to spring, and Morgan shadowed Arucard, in preparation for the conferral of a title and an estate. Morgan learned about resource management, troop deployment, and the finer points of mediation, which he found inexpressibly boring. As the workers took the fields, he wanted to go with them, because farming remained his secret passion.
But a lord’s place was behind the curtain wall, at the dais in the great hall, not in the meadows.
As for married life, his relationship with Hawisia remained as fragile as ever, because he had yet to right that part of his world. At least they once again shared a bed, after a fortnight of forced abstinence, prompted by his less than successful attempt to school in her a few controversial but pleasurable acts. Although his bruised eye healed, he still bore the scar from whither she bit his lip, and he resorted to the same dull method of achieving release.
Yet, he wanted more.
“What is wrong, brother?” Arucard elbowed Morgan in the ribs, as they surveyed the garrison, which functioned as his temporary quarters after Hawisia banished him from their private suite. “Bring back bad memories?”
“You had to bring that up, did you not?” Morgan rolled his eyes, as Arucard chuckled. “You could have pretended you forgot my misstep.”
“I could have, but whither is the fun in that?” Then Arucard sobered. “How goes it with Hawisia?”
“In truth, not so great.” In a sense, he had long ago surrendered his dignity, because there were only so many wounds he could disguise. Only that morrow, he had to beg her to make love, a practice he found humiliating, and so he was desperate. “Although I have possess the most experience with women, I cannot foster any sort of affinity with my wife, and I would be appreciate of your advice.”
“But I have given you plenty of counsel, yet you ignore my suggestions.” Arucard shrugged. “Wherefore should I waste my time?”
“Because I am at your mercy.” At last, Morgan decided to swallow his pride, and he peered from side to side. “While we have secured our vows, Hawisia has yet to taste the sweet fruit of our coupling, and I am at a lost to comprehend wherefore, as I have never failed my whores.”
“All right.” Arucard folded his arms. “First, I would remind you that Hawisia is no whore. She is an innocent, and she is yours to make of her what you will. Second, I would pose a pedestrian query, which will tell me what I need to know. What have you done for her?”
“What do you mean, ‘What have I done for her?’” Confused, Morgan revisited past exchanges and scratched his temple, as Arucard sighed. “Is it not the wife’s duty to please her husband?”
In that instant, Arucard burst into laughter. Just when he slowed, he collapsed into another fit of mirth, and Morgan groaned.
“I apologize, brother, as I intend no offense, but never have I heard such lunacy from a man who claims to be the m
ost experienced of us all, yet it would appear you know naught of the female sex.” Again, Arucard chuckled and wiped a stray tear. “Now, do not get angry, as you need my assistance in this matter, but your approach is wrong, because you must focus on her needs.” He averted his stare and smiled. “For our consummation, both Isolde and I were virgins. We knew naught of release or the intimacy to be won in the natural yet impactful deed, so I asked Pellier for instruction. His guidance, direct yet invaluable, was thus, ‘Isolde is your mate, as charged by the sacrament. You have promised to love and honor your lady. How you achieve that is up to you. But if you can bring her sweet release and make her scream, the rest is simple.’ To that I would add that if you put Hawisia’s needs before your own, and you expend the correct amount of planning and patience, you will reap the rewards, and your marriage will be the better for it.”
It was with Arucard’s words of wisdom echoing in Morgan’s ears that he crossed the courtyard, strolled into the great room, veered down the screened hall, and walked into the kitchen, intent on wooing his resistant bride. At a table, Isolde, Margery, and Anne worked large portions of dough.
“Morgan, what are you doing hither?” Arucard’s wife scattered a fistful of flower and kneaded the mound into a round shape, before she twisted and turned the dough again. “Have you lost your way?”
“I wonder if I might speak with you?” He shuffled his feet. “It is important, and I require privacy.”
“Oh?” She punched the white substance. “Margery, will you bring me some rosemary from the spicery, as Arucard favors it in his bread? And Anne, will you bring up another bag of flour from the undercroft?”
“Aye, my lady,” the servants replied, in unison.
“All right, Morgan.” She pounded the dough. “Speak.”
“I would know Hawisia’s preferences.” When Isolde ceased her task, he shifted his weight. “That is, I would know her partialities. What food does she favor? What drink does she savor? What sweetmeat tempts her? And what flower does she covet?”
Morgan (Brethren Origins Book 4) Page 4
