“I know naught of Demetrius, except he remains in the royal encampment.” Thunder rumbled from the south, and Briarus and Arucard turned to discover a storm approaching. “But only the King holds all the cards in a dangerous game, Sir Arucard. Thou would do well to guard thyself and thy friends.”
ARUCARD
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A sennight had passed since Arucard’s departure, and Isolde immersed herself in the daily activities associated with running the castle. Unafraid of hard drudgery and a little dirt or, in the case of the clogged drain in the garrison, a lot of foul-smelling muck, she rolled up her sleeves and joined the household staff in their chores.
“Lady Isolde, how many times must I remind thee, thou art no scullery maid?” With hands on hips, Margery shook her head and frowned. “Wherefore art thou scrubbing the buttery floor, when it is Anne’s responsibility?”
“Because she hath failed to remove the mold in the back corner, and I would get it clean.” Of course, Isolde welcomed the arduous toil, as it kept her mind from wandering. “And I have naught else to do, as Arucard is gone.”
And that brought her full circle, from the desolation of their massive bed, which seemed empty without her husband, to the brief respite found in onerous labors, to the recollection that at the end of her grind, she would retire alone. On the thought, she sat on her heels and rested her chin to her chest.
“Oh, my lady, do not cry.” Margery knelt and placed an arm about Isolde’s shoulders. “I am sure everything is fine, and Sir Arucard hath been too busy to send word of the situation.”
The simple statement, intended to offer solace, only inspired more anxiety, and she grasped Margery’s sleeve. “Dost thou think he is injured—or worse?”
“My lady, calm thyself.” The steward stood and brought Isolde upright. “Sir Arucard performs the King’s bidding, and he will write thee when he has time. Until then, thou shalt not work thy fingers to the bone, as his lordship will not be pleased upon his return.”
“Whenever that may be, as I know naught of his homecoming.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she mulled the condition of the pantry, as she had yet to organize the contents. Then she yawned. “Mayhap I should take a nap, as I am rather tired, but I find it difficult to sleep without Arucard at my side.”
“Then I shall make thee a nice pot of tea, to help thee relax.” As they entered the kitchen, Isolde noted the spilt flour and scattered herbs on the table, but Margery steered for the door to the great hall. “Leave it, as one of the girls will clean the mess.”
“But I may as well do it, while hither I am and able.” After locating a cloth, Isolde wiped the numerous food preparation sites, while Margery set a pot of water to boil. “And how fares thy association with Pellier?”
“Thou dost know of that?” The steward blushed, and Isolde laughed. “Ah, he is a foul little man.” Then Margery smiled. “Oh, very well. I find him quite entertaining, and I might even be convinced to marry him if he did not irritate me so much.”
“What art thou carping about now, woman?” Speak of the devil, and Isolde bit her tongue. “And thou hadst no complaints in thy chamber, when I stoked the flames in thy hearth.” When Isolde gasped in shock, he sketched a proper bow. “Sorry for my indiscretion, my lady.”
“No apologies necessary, Pellier.” To Margery, Isolde said, “And I believe I will take that nap.”
“Beg thy pardon, Lady Isolde, but I require thy assistance.” The marshalsea scratched his cheek and shuffled his feet. “A matter of some urgency requires thy right and good judgment.”
“Have I been remiss in my duties?” She searched her mind but could seize upon naught she had overlooked. “Regardless, I am at thy service, Pellier.”
“It is not serious, my lady.” He ushered her into the great hall, whither a young maid and a soldier from the garrison waited. “If thou wilt take thy place on the dais, thy approval or disapproval is needed, but first thy servants must plead their cause.”
“I am curious.” Sitting in her chair, and ignoring the empty space to her right, she reclined. “How can I help thee?”
“My name is Grimbaud Van Daalen, and I am one of thy lancers, my lady.” The guard bowed. “I would humbly ask thy permission to court Miss Isotta.”
Well that was an unforeseen development she never would have predicted, and she knew not how to respond. Then again, the chatelaine had final say in such affairs involving the staff, absent his lordship, and she could not surrender the decision to another. So Isolde pondered the one query that would determine her ruling.
Leveling her gaze on the dignified soldier, she cleared her throat. “Art thou in love, Grimbaud?”
For a few seconds, he appeared to examine her question. Then he glanced at Isotta and smiled. “Aye, Lady Isolde.”
How Isolde wished she had declared her engaged affection to Arucard, prior to his departure. While she admitted she cared for him, and he proclaimed a similar attachment, she did not explain the depth of her regard, and now she feared she might never get the chance. “And doth Isotta welcome Grimbaud’s suit?”
Without hesitation, the maid nodded and took her beau’s hand. “I do, my lady. As I love Grimbaud.”
“Then as chatelaine of Chichester Castle, I hereby grant consent in Sir Arucard’s stead.” But Isolde wagged a finger in caution. “However, thou must observe all proscribed strictures in advance of thy wedding. Treat thy future wife with kindness and respect, Grimbaud. And I insist we celebrate thy nuptials hither, with a special supper, which I am certain His Lordship would approve.”
“Gramercy, Lady Isolde.” With a fist pressed to his chest, Grimbaud dipped his chin, and Isotta curtseyed. “By thy leave.”
“Thou art dismissed.” When the couple reached the narrow passage that led to the domestic apartments, Grimbaud lifted Isotta into his arms and whirled in circles, and Isolde laughed. “They seem very happy.”
“My lady, a messenger hath just delivered a letter for thee.” Pellier charged the dais. “Mayhap it is news from Sir Arucard.”
“Pray it is so.” But as she stared at the writing, Isolde flinched, as it was what she dreaded. “No.”
“Do not tell me it is from the earl.” Margery swallowed hard.
“Indeed.” While she preferred to toss the missive into the hearth, and intuition told her to do just that, she could not disregard the threat her father posed. So Isolde broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, read the note, shuddered, and whispered, “Arucard.”
“My lady, if I may.” Pellier stepped forward. “What doth it say?”
Anger—not fear, burned as a steady flame, surged in her veins, and her fingers trembled as she passed Pellier the letter. Nay, she would not yield, despite her father’s claims to her allegiance. But a certain aspect of his message rocked the earth beneath her feet. “According to Father, I need no longer consider myself married.”
#
The royal encampment dotted an otherwise pristine pasture, and a sea of tents bespoke an army of considerable size. Countless soldiers noted the latest arrivals, which sparked Arucard’s nerves and fighting instincts. As he rode into what struck him as enemy territory, for some odd reason he could not shake, he assessed the terrain in search of a hasty exit, should the situation merit escape.
“Follow me to His Majesty’s lodging, and I shall announce thee.” Briarus took the lead. “The King commands thy immediate audience.”
The Crown’s men closed about the Brethren, as the ocean overtook a sinking ship, enfolding it in a watery grave, and Arucard struggled with the weight of the unsettling scrutiny. He glanced at Aristide. “We art popular, brother.”
“Aye.” Frowning, Aristide nodded once. “I noticed. What would thou have us do?”
“Naught, as we are surrounded.” Every instinct screamed at Arucard to flee, but he had to apprise the King of the earl’s schemes and Isolde’s innocence, so he stayed the course. “Keep calm, my friend.”
Dismounting, he sur
rendered his destrier and peered at Geoffrey, who signaled Morgan, who prompted Aristide. On watch for the slightest attack, they walked the plush rug that disappeared into the large tent embroidered with the royal crest. Behind him, a maid secured the outer flaps. Then two servants tied back a partition, revealing a full compliment of armed soldiers, and Arucard unsheathed his sword.
“Lower thy weapon, Sir Arucard.” Briarus positioned himself between his comrades the Nautionnier knights. “And stand down, as no lives will be taken today.”
“Brave words from our sergeant, as thy charge hath much to answer for, in light of recent revelations.” The soldiers parted, and His Majesty perched on a somewhat small throne. “And what hath Sir Arucard to say for himself, after we saved him from certain death and bestowed upon him our friendship? How hast thou shown thy appreciation of our benevolence? Thou hast conspired with our enemies to steal lands and attacked our loyal citizens without our permission.”
“Majesty, I have purloined naught.” With his sword leveled at the nearest guard’s neck, Arucard poised for battle. “I sent my man to meet with thee and deliver proof of the earl of Rochester’s evil plans. And if the Crown references the assault on my caravan, which occurred as my party neared Chichester, it was a misunderstanding brought about by the counterfeit burgage plots. But I secured sworn testimony to that purpose, which Sir Demetrius was tasked to convey to thee. Whither is my friend?”
“He is safe, for now, and we shall conduct thy interrogation.” The King stood and narrowed his stare. “We have been aware of questionable dealings in Chichester and Winchester for some time, and we dispatched our agents to gain evidence, yet none proved successful. The previous earl of Sussex connived with a mysterious partner we had yet to discover, but he took that secret to his grave, much to our disappointment. Then thou didst promise to investigate and bring to justice the unknown villain, and we had high hopes for thee, given thy professed honor and religious beliefs. Imagine our surprise when we were informed of thy traitorous behavior.”
“I am no traitor.” Leashing his fury, Arucard rolled his shoulders and chose his words with care. “Sovereign, I remain thy faithful servant, and any claims to the contrary art false. While my life is of little significance, and I will not beg for my continued existence, I would plead for the soul of my gentle wife, Lady Isolde, that thou might have mercy on her. The earl of Rochester schemes with a man named Juraj de Mravec to misappropriate lands thou hast awarded, in order to undermine thy authority in the area and incite revolution. Lord Rochester hath solicited her involvement, which is minimal, but she fears him on equitable grounds. She hath born the wrath of her father and his deeds, and I would ask Sire to spare and shield her, in my absence, if thou dost deem it necessary to send me to the hereafter.”
“A noble request, and thy argument is sound.” The King rubbed his jaw and studied the ground. “But I have correspondence that implicates thee in the deception.”
“Then I would ask His Majesty to consider the source, as I am unjustly accused and the unworthy recipient of thy ill-founded suspicions.” And it appeared the earl had struck the first blow, so how could Arucard sway the Sovereign? What more could he do? “In fact, thy sergeant can attest to the validity of my statements.”
“Sir Arucard is correct, Sire.” Briarus glanced at Arucard and nodded. “I witnessed, with my own eyes, the abuse inflicted upon Lady Isolde.” Slowly, Briarus detailed the wounds on Isolde’s back, and Arucard recalled holding her, as he bared her twisted flesh. Again, he ached for her, and he summoned her sweet and reassuring image. The next thing he knew, the soldiers stowed their weapons. “My King, I speak honestly when I say I believe Sir Arucard. If someone hath misled thee, it was with nefarious purposes in mind.”
Tension hung in the air, as the Crown paced. Arucard gripped the hilt of his sword and tensed, as he remained alert. At his back, the Brethren shifted.
“Thou art in luck, as we are in a mood to show compassion.” At last, His Majesty eased to his throne. “We will seek additional information before we determine thy fate. Take the Brethren into custody.”
#
It was a cold and dark afternoon, as Isolde assisted Margery and the physic in the herbarium. A host of illnesses plagued her small community, which the steward declared normal when groups of people were confined to such close quarters, but she permitted no violation of Arucard’s commands. Per her husband’s orders, no one ventured beyond the walls of Chichester Castle.
Of course, many questioned her continued adherence to Arucard’s demands, given she had received naught of his whereabouts since he departed in November. But she remained resolute in her responsibilities as chatelaine and kept the bridges drawn.
“We have little horehound, flax, and saffron in store, my lady. Yet the line of patients only grows.” The physic examined the clusters of dried plants. “If the situation remains the same, I will run out of my most critical medicines, unless I am allowed to purchase more provisions, as the early snowfall either damaged or destroyed the new garden in the courtyard before we could harvest what few herbs grew.”
“While I understand thy concerns, and I admire thy dedication to treating our sick and injured, we must abide his lordship’s dictates, until Sir Arucard returns and rescinds the restrictions.” If only she had some idea when that happy day would occur, and she refused to consider the contrary conclusion. “In the meantime, we will make do with what we have and tend our people. Mayhap thou could employ secondary treatments, or devise new remedies.”
“Aye, my lady.” The physic nodded his assent. “I will do my best, but I am no miracle worker.”
“My lady, come quickly.” A soldier wiped his brow. “The marshalsea requests thy presence in the courtyard.”
“Of course.” Curious, Isolde wiped her hands on her apron, rushed through the kitchen, ran across the great hall, and pushed ajar the heavy door that led to the open-air square. To her horror, a slew of soldiers, including a standard-bearer carrying an all too familiar ensign, filled the grand expanse. “Oh, no. How can this be?”
“Lady Isolde, I could not stop them.” Pellier drew her toward the well. “Young Grimbaud convinced a guard to lower the bridges, that Grimbaud might venture to town and procure a gift for Isotta. When Grimbaud navigated the first traverse, the earl’s soldiers overtook our lancer. They threatened to kill Grimbaud if our watch did not open the main gate, so our men relented.”
It was her worst nightmare, as she had yet to respond to her father’s most recent letter. And her instincts told her that, whatever he was about, he was up to no good.
“Come hither, Pellier.” She grabbed the marshalsea’s arm and led him to the stables. Availing herself of the confusion and activity amid the unexpected arrivals, Isolde summoned additional assistance. To the Master of the Horse, she said, “Hurry. Thou must saddle our fastest mount, and send thy apprentice to the rear guards to lower the postern bridge, per my directive.”
“My lady, I am at thy service.” Pellier peered over her shoulder and frowned. “But if I try to leave the castle, thy father will see me.”
“Not if thou dost exit the rear gate—now.” As her plan formed and took shape, Isolde attempted to anticipate his needs and clapped twice as Margery, out of breath, stumbled into the stall. “Return to the kitchen and pack foods that travel well, and make haste.”
“Whither doth Pellier journey?” Pale, Margery swallowed hard. “And wherefore hath thy father traveled hither?”
“Anon, I will explain, and I know not my father’s aim.” Isolde shoved her friend. “But do not delay, as I suspect my life, and that of Sir Arucard, hangs in the balance.”
“Aye, my lady.” Margery disappeared as fast as she had appeared.
A shiver of unease danced along her spine, but Isolde shook off the disconcerting sensation and focused her efforts, as now was no time for panic. She had but a single opportunity to send for help, and if Pellier failed, she might never reunite with her husband again.
When the hand led a stallion into the yard, she wound her arm about Pellier’s. “Let us stroll, under shield of calamity, to avoid attracting unnecessary attention.”
“My lady, while I shall not challenge thee, I do not like this.” The marshalsea scowled, as they navigated the throng. “I am charged with thy safety, and I would not abandon thee to thine enemy.”
“That is thy first mistake, Pellier.” When they gained the small, unremarkable gatehouse, which blended into the background, to her good fortune, with none the wiser, Isolde uttered a silent prayer of thanks. “Thou art not abandoning me. Thou art my lone chance for survival if thou canst locate my husband.”
“I grabbed everything I could find that would not spoil in thy belly.” Margery conveyed a bundle, which she tied to the saddle. “Try not to consume it all by dusk, as thou dost eat enough for three.” Then she sniffed and stared at the ground. “Take care, Pellier.”
“Woman, thou wilt not be rid of me so easily.” To Isolde’s surprise, Pellier cupped Margery’s cheek and bestowed upon her a thorough kiss. “Perchance I might marry thee when I return.”
“Thou should be so blessed.” The steward smoothed the folds of his cloak and then hugged him. “If thou dost come back, I will be thy wife.”
“Ah, that alone is reason to fight.” The ground shook as the drawbridge extended, and he jumped into the saddle, drew rein, and turned the stallion. To Isolde, he said, “My lady, I will not fail ye.”
“I have faith in ye.” Isolde clasped hands with Margery. “Tell Sir Arucard I need him.”
With that, Pellier dipped his chin and charged the traverse. As soon as he had safely crossed the expanse, Isolde glanced at the guard. “Raise the bridge.”
“My lady, what shall we do now?” Margery asked, as they returned to the courtyard, which manifested a beehive of activity.
“Ready the guest rooms.” Her father descended his great black stallion, and Isolde inhaled a calming breath. “And have the cook prepare pykes in brasey and a mushroom pasty for supper.”
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