DEMETRIUS
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“And now my wife is angry with me.” Demetrius gnashed his teeth, as his ire boiled over, and he wanted naught more than to punch Arucard in the nose. “Well, thou hast achieved much this eventide.”
“Do not blame me for thy shortcomings.” Arucard gazed at the fare on the table, which posed an impressive collection of dishes. “Thither art brewets and a sambocade. Thy bride hath cooked thy favorites.”
“And Isolde prepared blancmange, I suspect because thou art partial to it.” Together, they claimed a chair, and Demetrius poured two tankards of ale. As he studied the contents of his mug, he sighed. “I am lost, brother. I chose a particular way of life, and it hath been ripped from my grasp, and I know not whither I fit in this new world, much less how to deal with Athel.”
“Thou art a coward.” Arucard bared his teeth, and Demetrius realized his friend spoke not in jest. “Wherefore art thou afraid of a little woman? She is not thine enemy; she is thy partner in all enterprises. Indeed, she is thy greatest source of strength. And thou hast taken the sacrament. Thou hast given thy word to Our Lord—”
“I know no such commitment, as I have no faith.” And thither it was, his primary problem, and relief flowed through him, as the incoming tide. “Indeed, I am a heathen, a nonbeliever. I am condemned.”
For a few minutes, Arucard just sat thither.
Demetrius had not planned to reveal his flaw in a fit of temper, but at last he could share his pain with someone. And, at some point, he would have to apprise Athel of his situation prior to sealing their vows, as he could not, in good conscience, saddle her with a soulless husband.
“Wherefore hast thou made such a declaration?” Arucard narrowed his stare. “Have care with thy brash statements, as thou mayest not recover from them.”
“Wherefore should I bother, when God hath forsaken us?” He growled with unveiled derision. “We led right and true lives. We honored the Creator, and wither was our savior when King Philip hunted us down and killed Randulf? What of our fellow Templars?”
“And what of the men we killed in battle?” Arucard lowered his chin and frowned. “Did they deserve to die?” He shook his head. “Nay. No more than Randulf, and thou art not the only one to grieve his demise. But faith doth not guarantee life. Rather, it ensures salvation in the hereafter, and that is what worries me for thee. Thou must abide thy responsibilities, as thou hast given thy promise.”
“Is that how ye dost rationalize thy obligations?” Demetrius had never comprehended how quickly Arucard accepted Isolde. “His Majesty doth issue edicts, and thou dost bend to his will.”
“Is that what ye dost believe?” Arucard opened and closed his mouth. Then he wiped his face. “Brother, I know well what happened that onerous day in La Rochelle, when we abandoned our homes and our families, that they might survive in our absence, so thou need not preach to me. But I will never surrender my conviction, as no monarch or other estimable official will claim that part of me.”
“And what of thy forced nuptials?” He pounded his clenched fist on the table. “How dost thou reconcile a marriage with our Templar Code, which demands chastity?”
“Of the two and seventy tenets, thither is no greater love than service to thy brothers.” With his brow a mass of furrows, Arucard toyed with the handle of his tankard. “When the King demanded a union with Isolde, in an expression of fealty, else he would put ye to the block, I did not hesitate, as it is my solemn duty to protect ye, given my rank of Grand Prior. Did ye think I left that function on France’s shores? From my perspective, the wedding was naught but an extension of my original oath, and I saw no other choice but to honor the scripture. Yet, I never expected to fall in love with Isolde, thus I am twice blessed.”
In that instant, the latch squeaked, and Isolde opened the bedroom door. With evidence of her sorrow etched in her countenance, she peered at Arucard, and he extended an arm and flicked his fingers. Without a word, she ran to him, and he drew her to his lap.
“I am sorry we quarreled.” He kissed her. “And I apologize for ruining thy savory meal.”
“It will keep.” Isolde rested her forehead to his. “I love ye.”
“And I love ye.” With his napkin, Arucard dried her tears. “Let us fill two trenchers and dine in our private chamber, as I would share ye with no one, my lady.” As he cradled her head, Arucard glanced at Demetrius. “In truth, thou art lost, brother. But that dost not mean ye cannot find thy way home. Go to Athelyna, and disclose thy troubles. I wager she will help ye recover what ye hath misplaced, as women excel in such hopeless endeavors.”
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Stretched across the bed, Athel hugged a pillow and sobbed, because now she knew why Demetrius did not take her bride’s prize. She long suspected thither was a problem, but she thought they moved past his initial diffidence, and it hurt her to discover otherwise.
“Athel, may I speak with ye?” The edge of the mattress dipped, when Demetrius sat at her feet.
“Thither is naught to say.” Indeed, the damage was done. “If thou dost intend to send me to a convent, I will not protest.”
“Thou art going nowhere, unless ye dost wish it.” Well, that mollified her, somewhat. “But I would tell ye of my shame, and if thou dost desire to part company with me, I will allow it, and I shall face the consequences, on my own.”
“I will hear ye.” To stifle a cry, she bit the fleshy underside of her thumb.
“I know not whither to start.” He sighed.
“The beginning is best, so I have heard.” As an anchor, she focused on a spot on the wall. “But whatever thou dost feel compelled to divulge, I would have the whole of it, sir. If this union is to succeed, I will abide no further secrets between us. In that respect, I believe I have shown great restraint and patience, but we cannot forge a future built on a foundation of deceit.”
“Thou art wise, my lady.” She almost screamed, when he grasped her ankle. “Will ye look at me, as I am no coward, and I would speak directly to ye?”
“Just talk to me, my lord.” If she could acquiesce without weeping, she would defer to his request. But she had no fortitude, at that moment, so she kept her place. “My ears work fine.”
“Athel, I do not want to hurt ye, but I carry a burden that might imperil thy salvation, if thou dost persist as my wife, thus I refused to consummate our vows.” Her mind raced in all directions, as she tried to guess his revelation, and she braced for the worst. “In these months since our ceremony, I have developed an attachment to ye, and I need to apprise ye of the dire circumstances, which may drive ye from my arms, and that is wherefore I have delayed.”
“So thou hast protected me?” Indeed, he piqued her curiosity, and she wiped away her tears. “Prithee, continue.”
“Thou dost know of my Templar affiliation and Randulf’s untimely death, but thou dost not know the personal toll it exacted on me, because I have hidden it.” When he twined his fingers in hers, as she did when they rode, she squeezed his hand. “I have not uttered a single devotional since that day. I lost my faith.”
In that instant, Athel rolled over and met his tortured stare. “What of thy credence? Thou hast sworn an oath.”
“I abandoned it, as it abandoned me.” Tears welled in his silvery gaze, and she sat upright. “I am a hollow tree, my lady. I am damned, and I would not surrender ye to the same fate.”
“How is that possible, when I know ye to be a man of honor?” She shook her head against his statement. “Thou art noble and pious, regardless of what ye doth claim, and thou wilt never convince me otherwise.”
“Mayhap it is thy influence ye dost perceive, because thou dost make me want to believe again.” Demetrius blotted his cheeks with his sleeve and glanced at her with renewed interest, and she crawled to him. As he cupped her chin, he smiled. “Thou dost give me hope, Athel. But I fear without ye I am condemned.”
“Did I not promise that I would never leave ye?” Bending her legs, sh
e perched on her feet and slipped her arms about his shoulders. “I am thine, my lord. And if necessary, I will pray for both of us, but I will not relent. Yea, I will never renounce ye. Thou art my husband, and I am thy wife, per the sacrament. And when thou art ready to claim what is thine, by law and the commitment we swore before the archbishop, thou shalt tell me, as I will not force ye.”
“In truth, I am more than willing to seal our union, and I have given it a great deal of thought.” At his declaration, her heart sang, and she kissed him. “Ah, that is my tempting lady.”
“So when shall it be, my wayward husband?” In that instant, in that very slim margin of time, Athelyna understood what Isolde meant, regarding the brooch and its mystical powers. Indeed, Athel required no piece of jewelry to discern that Demetrius was her one true knight, as she coveted the conviction of her conclusion. “If thou art amenable, I shall indulge thee, tonight.”
“Actually, I propose another option, which bodes well for our relationship.” He chuckled when she pouted. “Given tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day, and the bird shall choose its mate, I think it a good omen and the perfect opportunity to complete what we started in December, on the steps of the Chapter House.”
“Hallelujah.” Again, she pressed her lips to his. “Shall I collect some food from Arucard and Isolde’s solar, or should I not disturb them?”
“They are otherwise occupied.” With a grin, he chuckled. “So I shall fetch our meals, and thou should get some sleep, as I can guarantee ye will need the rest.”
DEMETRIUS
CHAPTER TWELVE
Deep in the bowels of Chichester Castle, Demetrius unlocked a heavy gate and carried a torch into the former dungeon. Months after the Brethren took possession of the ancient residence, they cleaned out the underground prison and turned it into a holding cell for a vast amount of the Templar treasure they brought from France.
After Isolde revealed that Athelyna had sewn a burgundy gown for the St. Valentine’s festival, he commissioned Margery to line the ermine cloak and knew precisely what he wanted to give his wife for the special occasion. He dug through two chests overflowing with jewels until the third yielded the item he sought, and he returned to the ground floor.
When he walked into his solar, he noted the new outwear draped on the back of a chair, and he clucked his tongue. Then he strutted to the inner portal and knocked on the door. “Athel, art thou ready for the festival?”
“Aye, my lord.” Peering inside, he discovered Margery had just completed plaiting Athel’s blonde hair. His bride stood, turned, and smiled. “How do I look?”
“Thou art a vision.” He glanced at the housekeeper and dipped his chin. “Thank ye, Margery. Thou art dismissed.”
“Have a wonderful time at the festival, my lord.” As she passed him, Margery winked. “Everything is prepared, per thy request.”
“Dost thou favor my attire, as we purchased the material in Chichester?” As was her way, Athel all but bounced with excitement. “Dost thou remember?”
“Aye, how could I forget?” He narrowed his stare and pretended to give her ensemble due consideration. “But thither is something lacking.”
“Oh?” Her ebullience faded ever so slightly, as she smoothed the folds of the velvet skirt. “I can change into something else.”
“I know what thou dost need.” He snapped his fingers. “Close thy eyes, my lady.”
Emitting a heavy sigh, she did as he bade. With care, he led her before the long mirror, moved behind her, and settled the bauble about her neck. As he could have guessed, she peeked and then started.
“Oh, Demetrius.” She pressed a hand to her bosom but stopped short of touching the expensive choker. “Never have I seen anything like it, but it is too much. My cherished knight, I cannot accept it.”
“On the contrary, thou art my wife, to bedeck as I see fit.” Fashioned of solid gold, intricate findings, with large ruby cabochons encircling her throat, the jewelry contrasted with her creamy flesh and blonde hair, and he would brook no refusal, as he traced the edge of the gemstones. “It is my gift to thee, in celebration of this most auspicious occasion.”
“Can we not forgo the fair and remain hither?” She rotated to face him. “I am so excited I can hardly breathe, and my head spins whenever I think of our plan.”
“I, too, am excited, but I wish to show off my beauteous bride, so let us away.” In the solar, he collected her new cloak. “May I?”
“Another gift?” She positively glowed, as he tied the laces. “And it matches my gown. My lord, thou dost spoil me, and I fear my present pales in comparison.”
“Nonsense.” In play, Demetrius nipped her nose. “My bestowal is but pauper’s fare, in regard to thy treasure.”
“Prithee, can we not stay home?” She clutched fistfuls of his black cloak. “Else I shall go mad with wanting thee.”
“Nay.” He lifted his chin. “I promised my lady a day at the festival, and I intend to keep my oath.”
With that he offered his escort, and they rushed into the hall. In the front egress, a crowd gathered. One by one, the Chichesters ventured forth, and Demetrius, with Athel perched in his lap, drove his destrier to town.
Chichester was alive with activity, as musicians played various dances, and Demetrius tutored his wife in several maneuvers. They patronized the roast house and savored a fresh venison bake, and then they shared an apple muse. Athel clapped and cheered for the tumblers, and she grew misty-eyed, when he commissioned a lover’s lantern with a unique design that he would explain to her, anon. And all the while they favored each other with frisky smiles, stealing gentle caresses whenever possible, as they held a secret known only to them.
Ere long, she dragged him from the crowd. “My lord, I have so relished the festival, and I shall remember it until I die, but if thou dost not take me home this instant, I shall expire, on the spot.”
If the short trip to the village had been stirring, the return journey was rife with unbridled exhilaration and tension. Soft and feminine in his arms, Athel kissed every bit of exposed flesh she could reach, and no part of his neck or face escaped her tender attentions. By the time they crossed the drawbridges, navigated the barbican, and drew rein in the courtyard, Demetrius was on the verge of exploding.
The master of the horse collected the stallion, and Demetrius struggled to maintain a calm composure. The castle was quiet, given most of its occupants were at the fair, and the path to their private chambers seemed never-ending. In their solar, he noted the simple meal that had been delivered, as he closed the double doors.
In their bedchamber, he set the hand-carved lantern on a side table, retrieved a taper, lit it from the fire in the heath, and placed the candle inside the gourde. “Dost thou recognize the symbol?”
Athel doffed her cloak and shook her head. “Nay.”
“It is called a true lover’s knot.” He shed his outerwear and tunic. “The two loops, side by side, are meant to signify the unfailing connection between a couple in love. Seamen parted from their ladies created all manner of accessories from rope, to ease the pain of separation, and they often fashioned an item for every day, until they were reunited with their sweethearts.”
“How romantic. Thou art so thoughtful, my lord.” Athel reached for the clasp of the necklace.
“Nay, my lady.” He positioned a chair and sat. “I would have ye remove everything but the jewels.”
“As thou dost wish.” A charming blush colored her cheeks, as she disrobed, one garment at a time, but she never faltered. When she rolled down her hose, she cast furtive glances in his direction, and Demetrius gritted his teeth. At last, his wife loomed before him, with hands resting at her sides, ornamented only in the bauble.
“Now take down thy hair.” Hard as forged steel, his man’s yard begged for relief, but he restrained his base instincts, as she loosened her long blonde locks.
Finally, Athelyna stood beside the fireplace, and the soft glow illuminated her flawless alabas
ter skin. Only then did he go to her.
“Art thou afraid, my lord?” Grasping his wrist, she pressed her cheek to his palm.
“Nay.” He lied. “Art thou?”
Without warning, she emitted a high-pitched cry and leaped at him. In seconds, she claimed his mouth, ripped open his shirt, and untied his breeches and braies. When he tried to halt her, she fondled his longsword, and in the third tug of his stout length, he shot his seed all over her flat belly, but still she worked him.
And so Demetrius ceded the battle for self-control.
To her whimper of frustration, he lifted her from the floor, conveyed her to the bed, and threw her to the mattress, none too gently. After divesting himself of his boots, and clothing, he knelt between her legs and spread wide her thighs.
The first glimpse of her most intimate flesh reminded him of some strange sea creature that threatened to swallow him alive, and he reconsidered his plan. In previous exchanges, he played her with his fingers to bring her to completion, but that activity usually took place under the covers, in the dark, in the ancere, or beneath her cotehardie and kirtle. Never had he devoted any time in serious contemplation of that part of her body. But Arucard assured Demetrius that the center of her pleasure existed therein, and he had better become familiar with it.
Rubbing his nose to her tiny golden curls, he expelled his breath, and she shrieked. But when he fastened his lips to her pearl, she wiggled her hips and yanked his hair. That was the encouragement he needed, and he licked and suckled until she screamed and became rigid with release.
Riding a wave of desire, he crawled atop her, gave her his weight, positioned his man’s yard, and thrust. “Oh, sweet sanctuary.”
And Athel burst into laughter.
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The slow descent to reality, as heralded by her husband’s odd exclamation, rendered Athel on the precipice of hysteria. And poor Demetrius looked down on her and frowned.
Demetrius (Brethren Origins Book 2) Page 14
