Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  “She fears her father,” Arucard replied, as he pondered her wounds, which had at long last healed. Yet the invisible injuries plagued her still, and she often woke him with screams of terror, quieting only when he held her. “And with good reason.”

  “I saw her that night in thy tent, after the battle with de Cadby and his men. I apologize, brother, but she was unclothed, as she sat in thy lap, and I could not help but notice the scars.” Rubbing his neck, Demetrius sighed. “Did the earl do that to her back?”

  “Aye.” How was it the simple acknowledgment of Isolde’s hardship, the whole of which occurred prior to their acquaintance and nuptials, managed to hurt him? “He abused her for much of her life, and she is terrified of him. And despite what the earl hath done to her, she frets for my safety. Believe me, she owes him no allegiance.”

  Morgan arched a brow, and Demetrius said, “The man beat her to the extent she is forever marked, and it sickens my stomach to think any father could visit such brutality upon his child.”

  “Art thou talking a few lashes with a belt?” Geoffrey appeared skeptical. “Perchance the earl disciplined Lady Isolde and naught more.”

  “What I witnessed is not the result of discipline, as her flesh is disfigured from shoulder to shoulder and down to her waist.” Demetrius wiped his forehead. “Conjure thy worst imagining and then double it. Never have I seen anything so hideous, and I find it a testament to her character and admirable she survived, given we discuss a gentlewoman, which makes it far worse in my humble estimation.”

  “Christ’s bones.” Morgan blinked. “What dost thou intend?”

  “We must defend her, at all costs.” Considering the options, Arucard formulated a strategy. “First, I would send word of the burgage plots and the earl’s suspected involvement and conspiracy with Juraj de Mravec, which seems construed to implicate the Crown in the land thefts and undermine the King’s authority in the region.”

  “And what of the earl’s queries regarding thy background and fortune?” After a quick check of the vicinity, Aristide gathered the letters and stacked them in a pile at the center of the table. “We cannot permit anyone to know of our history, as we could still end up burning at the stake.”

  “Isolde is aware of my affiliations, and she would never betray my confidence.” Arucard braced for their reaction, as his confession revealed their connections, too. “But she is my wife, and I could not keep it from her, after she shared her secrets.”

  “Arucard is right.” The voice of reason, Demetrius stretched his arms. “Lady Isolde is our family, and we will sacrifice our lives to save hers, if necessary.” Then he extended his hand, palm down. “For King and Country we stand.”

  Together, the men followed suit, one atop the other, forming their customary bond forged of flesh, blood, and bone. In unison, they stated, “For love and comradeship we live.”

  “Oh, my.” Clutching a pile of folded cloth to her bosom, Isolde peered at Arucard. “My lord, have I interrupted something of significance?”

  “Nay, my lady.” With a smile, Arucard stood, as did the Brethren, and he walked to her side and slipped an arm about her waist. “We were just discussing thy brewets, as we can smell them from the kitchen.”

  “As Sir Demetrius and Sir Geoffrey favor them, I asked the cook to prepare a special batch. And for Sir Morgan, thither is bream and eel pasties.” How she beamed beneath his praise, and the now familiar but unsettling sensation, which he had come to anticipate every time she entered the room, built in his chest. Then she dipped her chin. “And good morrow, to all.”

  Morgan furrowed his brow. “But it is past the—oomph.” The youngest Nautionnier knight winced, when Demetrius elbowed Morgan in the ribs.

  “Good morrow, my lady.” Aristide bowed. “And thank ye, for the excellent mend to my breeches. Thy sewing skills art such that I cannot locate the original tear.”

  “That is because it was to thy arse.” Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “Must thou wear thy garb so tight?”

  “Mayhap he hath not much to stow.” Demetrius smirked. “Else he might injure something of value.”

  “Art thou not the wit?” With a scowl, Aristide smacked a fist to a palm. “Perchance I shall teach thee some manners on the practice field.”

  “Prithee, do not argue.” As they quieted, Isolde approached Morgan. “I completed thy tunics, to thy request.” And then she addressed Geoffrey. “And thou hast four new sets of hose and braies.” To Demetrius, she said, “Per thy charge, I fashioned a sack, of sorts, to hold thy various small weapons and appurtenances, and thither is five, one for each knight. Thou canst attach it to thy saddle, using the ties on the back. I hope thee dost find it serviceable.”

  “My lady, thou art too kind.” When Demetrius met Arucard’s stare, he nodded and then dropped to a knee. Together, the other Brethren knelt and pressed a clenched fist over their heart. “On my honor, if called upon, I shall give my life for thine.”

  With immense pride, Arucard studied his friends, as they pledged fealty to his wife, which she had won in honest trade.

  “Sir Demetrius, they art but a few garments.” She opened her mouth and then closed it. “Never would I exact so high a price in return.”

  “Because thou art a fine woman, thou would never take advantage, but I would protect thee, nonetheless.” After regaining his feet, Demetrius bowed. “Come, brothers. I am interested in the manners Aristide doth claim to possess and would commence the instruction.”

  “Oh, thou art itching for a bruising, brother.” Aristide chucked Demetrius in the shoulder. “And I am the man to deliver it.”

  The jokes continued until they exited the great hall. Alone with his bride, Arucard pondered how to reveal the most recent letter and its contents. Were it possible, he would spare her the details, as she had suffered enough.

  “Thou hast heard from father.” It was then he noticed she had retrieved the missive from the table. In minutes, she scanned the parchment and then glanced at him, her distress evident in her tear-filled gaze. “I will not do it. I will not aid my father’s schemes, even in play. And I will never leave thee.” Then she flung herself at him, hugging him tight at the waist. As the first drop of moisture coursed her cheek, she beckoned, and he kissed her. “Arucard, thou art…I am so…it is such that I cannot describe…oh, dost thou feel it, too?”

  “Aye, I feel it.” Without doubt, he knew to what she referred, and he could manage it no better. “Honey flower, thy safety is my chief concern.”

  “And thy neck is mine.” Resting her head to his chest, she sobbed, and he cradled her in his grasp. “Wherefore will my father not let us live in peace? Wherefore must he ruin everything? Have I not paid his penance a thousand times over? Hath he not exacted his revenge upon me? Am I not absolved? Am I not entitled to a measure of happiness? Am I not permitted to dream?”

  Her torment, raw in its intensity, cut to his core, and he could not bear it. In an instant, he silenced her the best way he knew how, with his lips. Summoning the patience of a saint, he tasted her slowly, savoring her soft flesh, until she joined the dance and relaxed in his embrace. “Come to our chambers, whither I shall feed thy desire, and we might take comfort in shared pleasure.”

  “But I should see to the midday meal.” As he nibbled her ear, she gasped. “And what of thy weapons practice?”

  “Sweet Isolde, it is well past the noon hour. Thither is only one sword I would wield with thee, to our mutual gratification.” And then it struck him—the hunger he could neither control nor deny, as he still had not mastered it. It dawned on him in that precise moment he cared for her beyond the bonds of friendship, and the realization unnerved him. Before she could protest, he bent and scooped her into his arms. “Now let us seek solace in our bodies.”

  #

  It was the first dawn of a new day, absent the sun, Isolde could recall enjoying in more than a month, as grey clouds blanketed the sky, and light snow dusted the courtyard below. Fluffing the pillows, she tu
cked the covers beneath the cushions and then strolled into the solar, just as Arucard, carrying a tray, returned to their chambers.

  “Good morrow, honey flower.” Every time he looked upon her, his gaze softened, and a shiver of delight traipsed her spine. “Wherefore art thou out of bed, as I rode thee hard, and thou dost require time to recover.”

  “But I am accustomed to thy naughty games, my champion.” Then she noticed the subtle strain in his expression. “What is wrong? What troubles thee?”

  “Am I that obvious?” As he set the tray on the table, he frowned. “I brought thee some tea, bread, and a sop, as thou hast worked up an appetite.”

  “Thou art thoughtful.” When he sat, she strolled to a position beside him and arched her brow. Without a word, he scooted back, slapped his thigh, and steadied her as she eased to his lap. Cupping his cheek, she kissed him. For a long while, they indulged in the exquisite communion of flesh, and it never ceased to amaze her how gentle he handled her, when he could crush her like a twig. “Given I am thy mate, thou could never hide anything from me.”

  “Thou dost distract me, my lady.” As was his way, he caressed her bottom. “Shall I feed thee?”

  “I would like that, very much.” Again she could not escape the sense that something was amiss. “Wilt thou not share thy concerns with thy wife?”

  “It is an unpleasant matter, and I cherish thy smile, which I would not diminish with my news.” After tearing off a piece of bread, he dipped it into the sop and then brought it to her mouth, which she accepted. “But the time has come to take action against thy father and de Mravec.”

  “What hast thou planned?” she asked between bites. “Wherefore art thou hesitant to share thy burden?”

  “Because I must detail thy father’s involvement, and the consequences could be dire for him and thy brother.” Arucard pressed his lips to her forehead and then tipped her chin to meet her gaze. “In order to establish thy innocence, I must apprise His Majesty of thy ill treatment, thy wounds, and thy correspondence from thy father, as he threatens thee in each letter. With the statements taken from the injured landowners, and thy missives, I would send Demetrius to London, with all due haste. Without thy proof of the crimes committed against the citizenry, it is my word against thy father’s. Dost thou understand the urgency?”

  “Of course.” Then she realized the source of his discomfit, inched from his hold, and strolled into the inner chamber. Lifting the bottom right corner of the mattress, she retrieved the bundled parchments. When she returned to the solar, she recovered her place in his lap and surrendered the evidence he required. “My lord, what is mine is thine.”

  “Dost thou trust me with thy fate?” He swallowed hard.

  “Aye.” Resolved to stand with her husband against her father’s treachery, she discovered renewed strength such as she had never known, which quashed any lingering fears. “As always, I am at thy command, my champion.”

  “Mayhap we can compose a joint entreaty, if thou wilt sign it.” When she framed his face, he heaved a sigh. “Isolde, if thither were any means available to keep thee from the conflict, know that I would employ it. But thy father has left me little choice, given his letters, and I must confront thy involvement and explain thy unwilling and minimal participation in the scheme.”

  “Then I shall affix my name to thy cause.” Riding a wave of conviction, she rebuked her father’s claim on her loyalties. “As thou hast promised to defend me, I would defend thee.”

  “Hast thou so much faith in me?” He appeared so earnest she had not the heart to tease him. “Dost thou believe in me?”

  “Yea, my lord.” Only a month ago, Isolde had no reason to believe in anyone or anything, and now she clung to hope for a future she never dared imagine, and Arucard had given her that—hope. And she gloried in it. “I doubt thee not.”

  ARUCARD

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Hast thou everything thou dost require for the journey?” Arucard tied another blanket to the back of Demetrius’s saddle. “And Isolde packed a substantial amount of thy favorite fare.”

  “Brother, thou art more nervous than a virgin on her wedding night.” As he mounted his destrier, Demetrius chuckled. “Calm thyself.”

  “And what would thee know of such things?” The momentary levity did much to lighten the mood, but the focus quickly returned to his brother’s departure, as he sent his friend into the lion’s den and could only pray he survived unscathed. “Hast thou stowed the letters in a protected place, as thou must not lose them?”

  “Cease thy worry, old woman.” A cold November wind caught the folds of his wool cloak, and Demetrius adjusted the ermine collar. “I have my marshalsea and my sword, and we will ride hard until we reach His Majesty, wherein I shall plead thy cause with thy right and true evidence.” Then he reached with his hand, which Arucard accepted in friendship. “Take care, good sirrah. Until we meet again.”

  “And I would have thee do the same.” The rough weather boded ill tidings, as Arucard stepped back and saluted, but he had no choice in the matter. “I know not what thee can expect to find in the palace of Westminster, but I would not lose thee, if it can be helped.”

  “In that we can agree.” As he drew rein, Demetrius dipped his chin and then heeled the flanks of his horse. In mere minutes, he traversed the first and then the second bridge, with his man in tow.

  “Close the gates.” After securing the entries to the castle, he sought Pellier. “I want three watches to rotate on the wall and the gatehouses must be staffed, at all times. And assign the archers to overlapping duties. Make sure the barbican is ready to defend against an assault, and devise a secret word or phrase of thy choosing, which any party must know to gain admittance. And Lady Isolde must have a full escort if she ventures forth for any reason, unless I am with her.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Wait, my wife is not to travel beyond these confines without me.”

  “Aye, sir.” Pellier nodded and rushed to the garrison.

  “What is thy worry, brother?” With a countenance of confusion, Aristide folded his arms and snorted. “What dost thou fear, as thou dost fear naught?”

  “I know not, and that is what troubles me.” Scanning the immediate vicinity, he assessed the castle from a new perspective. As a Templar, his tasks were marked by a clearly defined goal in conflict with an equally obvious adversary, on familiar territory. In England, he knew not of hidden dangers. A battle-hardened warrior, he dreaded not Rochester or his soldiers. Indeed, the earl could not hurt Arucard, unless the bastard struck Isolde. The mere thought of his wife in peril was enough to summon the bitterness of anger he had always managed with ease. “And I must ensure Isolde’s safety. That is enough to inspire concern.”

  Not to mention he had yet to examine the strange sensations associated with his wife.

  Something about her mere presence called to him, woke the hunger impossible to satisfy, and drove him to the brink of insanity for want of her. And just when he thought he had sated his craving, it prospered anew, and he sought her sweet body at all hours of the day and night. To her credit, she never denied him, and that knowledge, alone, lured him into her arms. Her steadfast acceptance was a humbling prospect, which fostered a powerful attachment he could not quite understand.

  “Thou dost care for her.” With an expression of bewilderment, Aristide cleared his throat. “And thy feelings extend beyond friendship.”

  “I know not what I harbor for my lady.” Yet he spent countless minutes in contemplation of their union, their commitment, and their marriage bed and had formulated no clear conclusion, as the matter was out of his depth. “But I will not deny a fondness I can neither comprehend nor explain.”

  “So thou art content in thy marriage?” Geoffrey appeared to Arucard’s left. “As we art curious.”

  “And Demetrius threatened to remove our tongues if we asked ye.” Shameless as usual, Morgan winked. “Does thy wife gratify thee between the sheets?”

  “Do not dis
parage Lady Isolde, else I shall fulfill Demetrius’s pledge.” Then he spied his bride, strolling from the servant’s quarters, with Margery in tow, and the peculiar but pleasant warmth sparked in his belly and spread to his limbs, enveloping him in the glow of her beguiling visage. “But she intrigues me like no other.”

  “So thou would recommend the marital state?” inquired Aristide. “Because we suspect the King will require us to wed, too.”

  “I cannot speak for His Majesty or to his plans, as I am not privy to the inner workings of the Realm.” Although the Crown had indicated the Brethren would be similarly matched, Arucard would cross that bridge, as must needs. For the time being, he would not presume to know the Sire’s mind, as situations changed. “But if thou art so fortunate to gain such a mate as my Isolde, then thou art truly blessed, for she is an estimable lady.”

  “And what of the female form?” Now Geoffrey blushed, and Arucard could not stifle a snort of laughter, as he knew well what his friend referenced. “As never have we looked on a naked woman, excepting in paintings, and I am not convinced that will suffice, when it comes to the performance of husbandly obligations.”

  Oh, there was much Arucard could say, in that respect.

  “Take pity on us, brother.” Morgan shuffled his feet. “After all, how didst thee fare on thy wedding night?”

  In an instant, he remembered Isolde’s brief but stunning attack with the halberd, and he chuckled. “Verily, it was not what I expected.” And that was an understatement. “But I vow to counsel thee, if thou art called upon to make the same sacrifice.”

  “Is that what I am—thy sacrifice?” The Brethren parted to reveal Isolde, arching a brow, standing with her arms folded, and tapping her slippered foot. “Oh, but I am crushed.”

  And then his fellow Nautionnier knights scattered like leaves in the wind and abandoned him to his bride.

  “Er, it was but a harmless manner of speaking, my lady.” Then he noticed her playful grin and relaxed. “Perchance it is an accurate description, as I surrender to thee every night.”