“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 tucked 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 disparage 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.”
“Thou art so romantic, my champion.” When she rocked on her heels and clucked her tongue, he pulled her close for a hug. “Hither I thought I surrendered to thee.”
“Mayhap we could take turns.” As she embraced him about his waist and burrowed beneath his cloak, he pulled the wool folds over her and kissed her forehead. “Thou dost distract me, honey flower.”
“I hope to do more than that, as the guest accommodations art ready for inspection, and I wondered if thou might assist me? We should ensure the bed frame is sturdy, and I know of a tried and true method to test it.” Splaying her fingers across his tunic, she nudged him with her hips. For the past sennight, they had initiated a game, of sorts, wherein they made love in various rooms and chambers in the castle. “Unless thou hast a prior occupation of greater importance.”
Ah, he would inspect something, all right.
“My lady, I am at thy service.” Then he bent and flung her over his shoulder, and she shrieked. “And I intend to submit the mattress and supporting ropes to a rigorous examination.”
#
A light rain fell on a dreary morrow, as the wind whistled and howled beyond the walls of the bedchamber, and Isolde cuddled closer to Arucard, after a prolonged round of lovemaking. Ever since Demetrius’s departure, some four days ago, her knight’s demands had grown more desperate than usual, and she had not the strength to dismiss him, so she indulged her husband whenever he beckoned. Given his suspicions, in regard to her father, their private time became far more precious, and she considered their marital activities a chance to deepen their intimacy.
As he traced circles on a particular part of her anatomy, she giggled. “Thou art hungry, my lord.”
“Thy bottom is a wonder to behold.” To her surprise, he flipped her onto her belly and drew back the covers. Had he ever given her reason, she would have been ashamed of her scarred flesh, but never had he mentioned it. Then he nipped her skin, and she squealed. “It is soft, yet firm, and deliciously round.” When he tickled her sides, she bucked. “Yield.”
“Great bleeding balls of frustration.” Stomping from their bed, Arucard glanced about the floor, located his robe, and shrugged into it. “Thither who goes?”
“Pellier, sir.” The muffled call came from the hall.
Raking his fingers through his hair, her husband glanced at her and winked. “Whither thou art, thou shalt remain, as I will return.”
Encouraged by the promise in his heated expression, she stretched long. “Do not make me wait too long, my lord.”
“Admit it, thou art a sorceress.” For a scarce second, he gazed at her. Then he bent, planted his palms at either side of her head, and kissed her. “And I am thy willing devotee.”
Alone in their inner sanctum, she drew the sheets to her chin, wiggled her toes, and sighed. From her earliest childhood memories, Isolde had nurtured dreams of a knight in shining armor, riding to her rescue, but none had ever taken hold as she had spent so many years in isolation and loneliness, and so Arucard manifested her salvation. Studying the intricate woodwork on the ceiling, she hugged herself and dared aspire to new possibilities, as she yearned to bear his child.
After a few minutes, she sat upright. “Arucard, whither art thou?”
When he did not respond, she flung aside the blankets, jumped from the mattress, foraged for her nightgown, which she rarely used because her husband preferred her naked, pulled the garment over her head, cracked open the door, and peered into the solar. To her surprise, she discovered him situated before the window that featured a view of the courtyard. As he did not acknowledge her, she moved to a position behind him and wound her arms about his waist. With her cheek pressed to his back, she squeezed him.
“Something has gone very wrong.” In an instant, he covered her hands with his. “His Majesty demands I report for questioning, in person.”
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