Today was about Athelyna.
“Thou art most wise, and I like the way ye dost think.” As he lifted her to the saddle, she claimed a quick kiss, and his cheeks burned with uncharacteristic reticence. When he settled behind her, she scooted close, and he lifted her atop his thighs. As was her way, she wrapped her arms about his waist and rested her head to his chest.
Heeling the flanks of his stallion, they charged through the barbican and crossed the two drawbridges. In the meadow, he steered to the north until they came upon the road into town. It was then he chanced a glance at Athel and discovered her admiring him.
“Thou art staring again.” Demetrius sighed. “Wherefore dost thou look at me so?”
“Because thou art beauteous.” With a giggle, which he favored, she burrowed beneath his cloak, and he tucked the folds about her. “Now, tell me of thy mission, as I am intrigued.”
“In truth, thou art my assignment.” At her expression of confusion, he chuckled, tipped her chin, and brushed his lips to hers. “I owe ye a gift, as I was remiss in my duties as thy husband last Christmastide, and I will rectify my deficiency, if thou canst forgive me.”
“But thither is naught to forgive, and thou dost owe me naught.” A hint of sorrow colored her joy, and he regretted his comments. “Thou dost misunderstand, because it was not the lack of a present that hurt me. Rather, it was that ye forgot me.”
“Athel, thou art the one laboring under a false impression, as I never forget ye.” It genuinely wounded him that he had neglected his bride to the extent she supposed he paid her no heed. In some respects, he had avoided her, so she would not discover his lack of faith. But then he realized his grand design only punished her, and she was without crime. “Since the moment I was told we would wed, thou hast occupied my thoughts.”
“But thou were not happy about our union.” Ah, her smile betrayed her playful demeanor.
“If memory serves, neither were ye.” Grasping his hand, she twined her fingers in his, and how he loved that elementary connection.
Skin to skin, the effortless touch spread though him, leaving naught unmarked by her influence and soothing the internal disquietude that plagued him. In fact, unbeknownst to Athel, she had become his personal salve for the anger and resignation that threatened to consume his soul.
“I was wrong.” Now she sat upright and looked him in the eye. “I am happy, my lord. I am very happy.”
“As am I, Athel.” That was no falsehood, and no one was more astonished than Demetrius by recent developments, in that respect. “So let us enjoy our private time, as thither may be little left to us, once we move to Winchester.”
“And that will be when?” She brushed the tip of her nose to his neck, and he clenched his gut.
“Briarus expects the soldiers to arrive in Chichester in February.” The main gate came into view, and he turned left at a fork in the lane. “His Majesty sends us three hundred men to settle the territory, but it will take them longer to cover the ground between hither and London, and thither will be much work for us both. The last time Arucard and I toured the castle, it was in poor condition, to say the least. In advance of our relocation, I have hired and dispatched craftsmen to ensure the structure is sound, the curtain wall is repaired, and the roof doth not leak. Then a group of women will clean the place, from top to bottom, as I will not have ye confronted by the same situation Isolde faced. The entire building hath no oilskins for the windows, and thither will be glass installed, similar to what we benefit from at Chichester Castle.”
“Thou hast organized and formulated well, my lord, but that is not what worries me. Art the people as dangerous as Isolde reports?” Her question belied her apprehension, and Athelyna was right to be afraid. “Isolde believes the citizens of Winchester hate us.”
“They will not hurt ye, as I will protect ye. But they resent the King’s presence on their lands, so I will keep a watchful guard, until we convince them that we art not their enemies.” In a flash, he revisited that awful day, when the Brethren entered Winchester and found Isolde tied to a whipping post, with her bloody and mangled back exposed to a riotous hoard that cheered for her death. Thither was naught the Nautionnier Knights could do to save her at that moment, so they plotted and planned her escape. But never had Demetrius felt so useless than when he restrained Arucard, and the entire nefarious affair only bolstered his faithlessness. “And like my brother, I will never leave ye, as I have witnessed what ill can come of separation. Whither I go, so go ye.”
“That suits me, my lord.” As a modest woman, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, when they rode through the decorated egress of Chichester.
On the streets, numerous vendors shouted appeals, promising the lowest prices for their wares. Demetrius reined in, dismounted, tied his destrier, and retrieved his bride.
“My lady, I give ye a town for thy perusal.” With a flourish, he bowed. “And I am thy devoted servant, at the ready to perform thy bidding.”
“Oh, I want to kiss ye, but we art not alone, and I would not make a spectacle of our intimacy.” Athel stepped near and whispered, “But were we in our chambers, I should stroke thy stout man’s yard, until thou dost find thy relief, and I will do so, this eventide, my lord.”
“Thou mayest purchase whatever ye dost wish, as my purse is heavy, and my braies art far weightier on the heels of thy promise.” Reaching under his cloak, he adjusted his unwieldy one-eyed dragon and offered his arm in escort. “Shall we, my dear?”
For the next couple of hours, he accompanied his bride into a seemingly endless stream of shops, whereupon he witnessed countless male market keepers fall prey to her charm and beauty. But it was her bargaining instincts that had him fighting laughter, as Athel possessed a keen ability to assess value, and she refused to pay more than a particular item was worth.
To his befuddlement, she had yet to select a gift for herself, when he led her to a furrier’s cart. “This is ermine, sweet lady. It will make an excellent cloak for the journey to Winchester.”
“It is soft and lovely.” Athel leaned into him. “But I prefer ye keep me warm.”
“I said naught about a change in our riding habits.” Demetrius waved to the purveyor. “Yet thou could use it.”
After haggling over the price, he made arrangements to send Briarus and Gerwald, with a wagon, to collect the purchases. Anon, Demetrius ushered her into a tavern, and they selected a table near the front window. As she bestowed upon him a shimmering smile, he untied her outerwear and draped the swath of wool over the back of her chair.
“Art thou hungry?” He signaled the proprietor.
“I am starved.” Then she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. “Pray, what is that heavenly aroma?”
“It is my wife’s savory pourcelet farci.” The owner wiped his hands on a cloth. “And it is a pleasure to wait on ye, again, Sir Demetrius. Might I inquire after thy fair companion and take thy order?”
“Permit me to present my new bride, Athelyna, Lady Wessex.” With pride, Demetrius studied her. “Athel, this is Umfrey, our host for this afternoon.” He chuckled. “My friend, believe it or not, my dainty lady prefers ale.”
“A woman after my own heart.” Umfrey bowed. “I am honored, Lady Wessex. To which variety is my lady partial?”
“I know not.” Athel glanced at Demetrius, and he shrugged. “May I sample thy different brews?”
“Of course.” Umfrey nodded. “And the usual for Sir Demetrius?”
“Aye.” As Demetrius regarded the former oblate turned goddess, he counted himself a truly fortunate husband. “And two heaping portions of the farci.”
Anon, with full bellies, Demetrius and Athel rode along the coastline. At a particularly magnificent bluff, he brought his destrier to a halt, jumped from the saddle, and conveyed her to the ground.
“My lord, I would be remiss if I did not express my gratitude for our special day.” When he sat on a large crag, from which they enjoyed an arresting view of
the ocean, she plopped herself between his thighs, reclined against him, and drew his arms about her. “Know thou art forgiven for thy minor breach in decorum at Christmastide. If thou dost never again bequeath a gift upon me, I will neither complain nor doubt thy affection, as this outing doth constitute enough presents for two lifetimes, and I shall never forget it.”
“Thou art a beneficent soul, my Athel.” It did not surprise him, when she clutched his wrist, untied the neckline of her cotehardie, and eased his hand beneath her slip, that he might caress her bare breast.
“I love it when thou dost touch me.” With a sigh he felt all the way to his toes, she offered her lips, which he claimed without hesitation.
Thither was naught more tempting or delicious than Athel’s supple mouth, and he loomed at a precarious precipice. Desire scored a path from their point of contact to his crotch, and he danced on the edge of insanity, as he yearned to claim her most intimate prize. But Demetrius had brought her thither for a reason, and he could not yield, thus he broke their kiss.
“Thou dost distract me from my cause.” He toyed with her pert nipple, and she wiggled her hips, which intensified the ache in his loins. “But it is time for hard truths. I want ye to trust me, but I cannot ask that of ye, if I do not vouchsafe the same commitment, so I would share my history with ye. Given we have not sealed our vows, thither remains an escape for ye, if thou dost hear my story and opt to end our union.” In his hold, she tensed, and he stroked her pliant mound of flesh. “If, however, thou dost choose to stay with me, I shall fix a date for the consummation, and we will plan our future, together.”
“My lord, naught ye can say will drive me from thy side.” She squeezed his arm, as if to support her assertion. “I gave ye my solemn promise that I would never leave ye, and I stand by my word. So make thy confession, safe in the knowledge that naught can take me from ye.”
And so Demetrius told her of his past, of his Templar origins, and of his ensuing imprisonment. Beneath his palm, her heartbeat raced, and as he recounted the King’s commands, which resulted in the formation of the Brethren of the Coast, Arucard’s marriage to Isolde, and Demetrius’s wedding to Athelyna, tears streamed her cheeks, though she spoke not. When he was done, save the lone secret of his lack of faith, she angled her head and met his stare.
“My lord, had ye taken me by force, had ye treated me with cruelty, or had ye showed me indifference, I might have doubted thy reputation.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Instead, thou hast been naught but my noble knight, and I know the accusations leveled at ye art but the vicious lies of unscrupulous persons, and woe to the unfortunate villain who attempts to divide us, as thou art my husband, now and forever. Make no mistake, I will defend ye.”
“My lady, I am truly blessed.” Only then did he relax.
Driven by an urge to express their devotion in a manner that stretched beyond the bounds of spoken devotion, they locked gazes, and like recognized like. In quiet, they indulged in intimate activity, and he played as a finely tuned instrument that part of her body he had yet to invade and brought her to completion. Then she moved to sit at his side, untied his breeches and braies, and extended the same much needed release.
The sun sat low on the horizon, when he lifted his bride to the saddle. And as he prepared to join her, he noticed a small blue stone, which he snatched from the ground.
“Hither, my lady.” He gave her the colorful rock. “To commemorate our special day.”
“Oh, how unusual.” She fussed over the simple gift, as she held it aloft for better inspection. Then she clutched the stone to her chest. “I shall treasure it, always, my lord.”
It was a testament to the purity of her character, that she placed a greater value on the otherwise unremarkable item than on the expensive fur cloak he purchased in Chichester, and he realized the emotional attachment he coveted for his wife was far more profound that he wished to admit, to himself or anyone else. When he revealed the last of his secrets, he would take her. Soon.
#
As January yielded to February, the winter weather subsided, and Athelyna grew impatient. Despite his pledge to set a date for the consummation of their vows, naught had been said since the day they spent in Chichester, and they scarcely enjoyed a free moment.
The royal compliment of soldiers appeared in the meadow surrounding the castle just after the first of the month, and in the sennight since their arrival, Demetrius worked with Briarus and Gerwald, in preparation for the move to Winchester. And Athel grew dizzy from the overwhelming tasks associated with organizing a new household. But if one aspect remained constant, it was their nights, when they met in bed and took pleasure, however fleeting, doing everything but the deed.
So Athel and Isolde conspired with a stubborn and reticent knight, to bring down another very stubborn and reticent knight.
“The brewets art almost done, but I fear they are still too warm.” Isolde wiped her hands on her apron. “And the blancmange is ready.”
“I have the sambocade, per thy specifications.” With nervous anticipation, Athelyna pinned her hopes on the path to success via her husband’s appetite. “Oh, what if this doth not work?”
“Fret not, as men art all the same and quite predictable in their habits.” Isolde shrugged. “In fact, when I approached Arucard about our scheme, he protested, just as I expected.”
“How did ye sway him?” Athel checked the bread and the buttered wortes. “As he intimidates me with a mere glance.”
“My dear sister, thou dost give him too much credit, as he hath his weaknesses, which I know in detail.” After filling a bowl with steaming gourdes in potage, Isolde retrieved a stack of napkins from a shelf. “Thus I appealed to his favored activities, from which I shall glean equal enjoyment, and gained his allegiance. We will play the part of the happy couple. In other words, we will act as ourselves, and perchance we will inspire thy shy spouse.”
“Lady Isolde, thou art wise beyond thy years.” Margery tittered. “Because as much as I try, I cannot outsmart that fussy little soldier I married.”
“But Pellier is not of short stature.” If memory served, Arucard’s marshalsea cut an impressive figure, and Athel did not fathom the housekeeper’s complaints.
“That is true, but it doth not harm him to be cut down a peg or two, as his pride precedes him into the room.” Laughing, Margery transferred a trio of jellies to a divided dish and arranged pastries about a large platter. “All right, Lady Isolde. I believe thy sup is complete, and I shall enlist the maids to deliver everything to thy solar.”
“Wonderful.” Isolde doffed her apron. “Athel, let us join the men.”
“I should cool the brewets a tad longer, as I want everything to be perfect.” She set several tankards and a heavy pitcher on a tray. “Mayhap ye can convey the ale to thy quarters, and I will be right behind ye.”
“Do not tarry.” Isolde wagged a finger, and the caravan of servants exited the kitchen.
In the quiet of solitude, Athel fought distressing doubt, as she knew not how she would react if Demetrius rejected her. On so many pleasurable eventides, she thought he would claim her bride’s prize, yet he brought her to release with his fingers, and then they slept. The problem was such completion left her craving something she knew not. She wanted true intimacy with her husband—she ached to be close to him, yet some invisible barrier loomed between them.
After situating the pickled meat strips on a trencher, she carried the food into the screened aisle, across the Great Hall, into the narrow passage, up the stairs, and down the corridor that led to the family chambers.
As she neared the lord of the manor’s rooms, a heated argument ensued, and Athel halted, given she recognized the voices of the participants.
“Wherefore art thou being so difficult?” Isolde inquired. “And who told ye of our intentions?”
“Isolde, my sweetheart, do not be angry.”
“Arucard, if thou hast betrayed my confidence, thou canst sleep in the gar
rison.”
“Isolde, I must be honest with my brother.”
“Wherefore must thou interfere in my affairs?” asked Demetrius. “Wherefore can ye not leave well enough alone?”
“Because Athel is not happy. As her sister, I am honor bound to help her.”
“Athel and I will seal our union when I decide—not thee.”
“Pray, that it might happen in my lifetime.”
“Isolde, that is enough.”
“Thou art correct, my lord husband. And for thy disloyalty, thou mayest seek shelter elsewhere.”
“Isolde.”
Athel stepped into the entryway, just as Isolde slammed shut the inner portal.
“Well, now ye have done it.” Arucard raked his fingers through his hair. “Thou hast angered my wife, thou abyss of ignorance.”
“It is thy fault.” Demetrius mirrored Arucard’s stance, with his back to Athel, and neither knew of her presence. “Thou never should have agreed to intervene on Athel’s behalf.”
“Mayhap not, but Isolde is correct in her estimation.” Arucard smacked Demetrius on the back. “Wherefore hast thou not performed thy duty by thy bride? The King demands ye produce an heir. Thou cannot manage that without breaching thy bride’s maidenhead.”
That her body was discussed as if Arucard were commenting on the weather humiliated Athel, and she shivered.
“I have my reasons, which art none of thy business.” Demetrius folded his arms. “And I will consummate my vows when I deem suitable—and not before then.”
“What of thy commitment?” Arucard wagged a finger. “Thou hast been wed for two months. Wilt thou imperil thy wife? Athelyna is a fine woman, but she cannot create a child on her own.”
“If thou dost remember, I never wanted to marry.” Demetrius emitted a groan of frustration. “I always intended to remain chaste.”
In that instant, Athel’s heart fractured.
She glanced at the meal she labored all day to prepare, in the hopes that her knight would make love to her. To find naught but confirmation of her worst fears, that he did not want her, she cowered in shame. With a thud, she dropped the trencher on the table and ran from the solar.
Demetrius (Brethren Origins Book 2) Page 13
