Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) (10 page)

“Then let us break our fast together.”  Isolde dreaded the possibility that her family engaged in nefarious deeds, but naught surprised her when it came to her sire.  “Until then, I bid thee a pleasant night.”

Margery curtseyed and exited the tent.

It was then Isolde noted the stillness investing her husband.  For a long while, he simply gazed into her eyes.  Then he traced the curve of her cheek and touched his lips to hers.  “Art thou truly well?  I have not done irreparable harm to our marriage?”

“Nay, my champion.  And that is thy pet name, known only to us.”  After emptying the cup, she passed it to him and teased his shoulder with a light caress.  “Now come to bed, as I need thee to keep me warm.”

“I had thought to sleep on the ground, as I would not risk hurting thee.”  Gooseflesh covered him, as she speared her fingers through his rich brown hair.  “Prithee, if thou would, pass my pillow and a hide.”

“I will not, unless thou dost wish I recline with thee on the earth.”  She made to sit upright.  “And I could suffer a cold, as it is damp and chilly.  Now take off thy tunic and hose, and come hither.”

“Isolde, thou art the most stubborn woman of my acquaintance.”  His playful grin and wink belied the seriousness of his rebuke, as he stripped bare save his braies.

“Thou hast claimed I am the only woman of thy acquaintance, so thou dost not say much.”  She drew back the hides as he eased to the mattress.  “And hast thou composed my pet name?”

“Given thy singular topic of conversation, I had pondered something akin to an old horse.”  Beneath the skins, he pinched her bottom.

“Ooh, thou art the villain, sir, as I am no nag.”  She pouted even as he burst into laughter.  “Mayhap thou should sleep on the ground or with thy soldiers, if thou dost find me so offensive.”

“Thou art not offensive.”  Whither she had moved to the furthest edge of the bed, he slipped an arm beneath her and pulled her to his side.  “Thou art my beauteous Isolde.”

“And thou art my champion.”  She cuddled close, as the thyme worked on her, and fought to stay awake.  When she yawned, Arucard kissed her forehead.

“Sleep, my lady wife.”  Then he suckled her lips.  “In the morrow, we complete our journey to Chichester.  And once thy wounds have healed sufficiently, I shall take thy most intimate gift.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Lord Rochester hath
been corresponding with Juraj de Mravec for the past few years, Sir Arucard.”  Frowning, Margery sat across the table from Isolde.  “To my dismay, their letters became more frequent about six months ago, and I feared thy marriage had something to do with the awful business.”

As Margery related more information, Isolde’s heart raced.  Could it be true?  Was her father a traitor?  And what of her brother?  Then she wondered whether or not the scandal could threaten her husband, and she fretted for his welfare, given he had recently spent five years in White Tower.

“An understandable conclusion, but how dost thou know they conspire to commit nefarious deeds?”  Arucard rubbed his chin and ignored the insult, to Isolde’s relief.  “Mayhap they art naught more than friends sharing harmless banter.”

“Nay, because his lordship bade me take the alley and deliver the letters to a masked courier, after dark, and a good distance from the house, to evade suspicion. And on three separate occasions, when I had the misfortune to read a portion, his lordship wrote of stealing lands and blaming the Crown to undermine the realm.”  The housekeeper peered at Pellier, who sat beside her.  “And just before he terminated my employ, the earl threatened to cut my throat should I ever betray his confidence.”

For Isolde, the revelations were too much, and she bowed her head in shame.  But Arucard lent support, as he covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers.

“Worry not, fair Margery.”  Pellier lifted his chin and compressed his lips.  “I will protect thee, as Sir Arucard guards Lady Isolde.”

“Humph.”  Margery snorted.  “How can thou protect me, when thou cannot take care of thyself, little man?”

“Careful, woman.”  Pellier snickered.  “Thou didst not think me so little last eventide.”

At the shocking declaration, Isolde gasped and glanced at Arucard.  In unison, they blinked.

“Foul creature, thou dost tell wild tales.”  The maid folded her arms.  “Ask someone else to boil the elecampane for thy cough.”

“What?”  Pellier shrugged.  “Thither art no virgin ears at this table, as Sir Arucard and Lady Isolde art newly wed and, therefore, I presume art becoming quite practiced at grooming the one-eyed horse.  Wherefore should I conceal that which is obvious to everyone but thee?”

Arucard winked at Isolde, and she cursed the burn of a blush.

“And that would be—what?”  With a huff of breath, Margery gazed at the sky and shook her head.

“Thou art taken with me.”  With a hearty guffaw, Pellier poked Margery in the ribs.  “Admit it, thou art mad for me.”

“I must be mad to involve myself with the likes of thee, and I have wasted enough time on this conversation.  Sir Arucard, if thou dost require additional details, I am at thy service.”  Standing, Margery tossed her napkin in Pellier’s face.  “My lady, if thou hast no further need of me, I would pack the wagon.”

“Thou art dismissed.”  Reeling from the events that had transpired, Isolde pushed from the table.  “I should stow our personal items and close our trunks, so we may depart.”

“Allow me to help thee.”  Her husband chucked Pellier on the shoulder and said, “Thou hast dug a deep pit for thyself.  Perchance, thou should seek out Margery and apologize for thy ill manners, thou sad sack of ignorance.”

In their tent, Isolde faced her knight, covered her mouth, and together they burst into laughter.  After a few minutes, she wiped a stray tear from her cheek.  “Dost thou believe it?”

“Pellier and Margery?  Nay.”  Pressing a clenched fist to his belly, he chuckled.  “And never would I have guessed, as those two art as night and day.”

“And they have—what did he call it?”  She searched her memory and giggled.  “Groomed the one-eyed horse.  Doth that mean what I think it means?”

“Aye.”  Slipping his arms about her waist, he pulled her close.  “It would appear our stewards have beat us to the consummation, but I will see to that once we arrive at Chichester.”

“Is that a promise?”  Of course, her maidenhead seemed insignificant, in light of the morrow’s developments.  “Arucard, what will we do about de Cadby and the questionable burgage plots?  If my father and de Mravec have stolen lands under the Crown’s seal, the King will want my father’s head on a pike.  And when it comes to His Majesty, often the entire family bears responsibility for the crime.  Whither will that leave us, as I am frightened?”

“Wherefore that I should meet with the locals, hear their complaints, gather evidence, and deliver everything to the King for his judgment.”  How could he remain so calm?  “Now give me a kiss to see me through the day’s ride, as young Aeduuard insists we shall arrive in Chichester by the eventide, and I suspect we shall be right busy.”

Knowing a mere kiss would not satisfy him, she did as he bade, the usual accompanying ache blossomed in the pit of her belly, and her gut clenched.  As she moved her mouth over his, something grew between them, a foreign but mystical power she tried but failed to identify, and it spun its delicate web, enfolding them in a gossamer cocoon of comforting warmth.  When he squeezed her bottom, he suckled her lips, and she relished his taste and scent.  And, as always, he ended the sweet moment with a hug.

“Dost thou feel it?”  She shivered, as he caught the crest of her ear with his teeth.

“Aye.  I desire thee.”  Grasping her wrist, he settled her palm to a telltale bulge.  “Never doubt me.”

“Oh, my champion.”  She gazed into his eyes, as he cupped her cheek.  “I desire thee, too.  And I am so glad we waited, as I feared thee on our wedding night.”

“And now, my beauteous Isolde?”  Arucard arched a brow and grinned.  “Art thou still afraid?”

“Nay, my lord.”  As she caressed his hard length, she trailed her tongue along his jawline.  “I yearn for thee.”

“I understand.”  He massaged her breast and teased her nipple through her wool cotehardie, and she moaned.  “As I shared thy consternation, but not so anymore.  And once we art unpacked in our new home, and thy wounds art healed to my appeasement, my first order of business is to consummate our nuptials, as I burn for thee.”

#

The sun rested low on the horizon, when the procession approached the north gates of Chichester Castle.  A wide moat surrounded the square structure, which boasted crenellation and balistraria fortifications about the exterior curtain wall and towers, along with a spectacular view of the coastline.  A narrow bridge accommodated only a wagon or two horsemen riding side by side, to negotiate the expanse, which attached to an outer causeway.

With a tight grip on his sword, Arucard steered right and crossed the first drawbridge, which led to the main gatehouse and an impressive barbican marked by a vaulted ceiling filled with murder-holes and three wooden portcullises.  But an overwhelming stench left him gagging, and he searched for and discovered the source, an uncovered garderobe in dire need of cleaning, which he would have flushed before posting soldiers in the gatehouse.

The second drawbridge presented a hazard, as damaged timbers rendered the traverse unstable in places, but the group successfully navigated to the twin-towered, machicolated inner gatehouse, which connected to the lesser curtain wall.  The strategic entry opened to a large courtyard, as the castle had no keep, and all manner of refuse littered the yard.

“What a bit of good fortune.”  He dismounted his destrier and then handed Isolde to the ground.  “It appears our new home is in excellent condition.”

“Art thou blind?”  With a wide-eyed gaze of incredulity, she scoffed.  “This place is a filthy tragedy of the worst sort.  Just look at that pile of trash, as it must be at least as tall as thee, and I insist thou burn it, at once.  Lord knows how many little creatures dwell thither, and I shudder to think of what I may find in the private rooms.”

“Demetrius, organize a search of the entire premises.”  Arucard signaled his brothers.  “And if thou would—”

“Prithee, have Morgan stock the kitchen with wood and start a fire, as Margery and I must prepare thy supper.”  His wife ticked off an imaginary list on her fingers.  “I need Aristide to assemble some men to convey the food stores to the undercroft, provided we have an undercroft, and Geoffrey must locate my cleaning supplies.  And if thou would bear our personal trunks to our chamber, which I have yet to establish, I shall make some attempt to settle our lodging.”

Palpable silence fell on the group, as his fellow Nautionnier knights cast him a harsh stare, and Arucard tugged on the collar of his tunic.  How he responded to his wife’s request could either reinforce or destroy his authority, so he pondered the situation and composed a polite but unmistakable reprove.

“Isolde, I command His Majesty’s servants.”  Checking his tone, as he had no wish to frighten her, he folded his arms.  “Thy entreaties must perforce yield to mine.”

“Dost thou wish to eat?”  She tapped her foot in an impatient rhythm.  “Dost thou wish to bathe?  Dost thou wish to sleep in a warm, comfortable bed?  Mayhap thou would prefer the stables.”

At the thought, he swallowed hard, stretched to full height, and glared at the Brethren.  “Thou didst hear the lady. Wherefore dost thou linger?”  After a few grumbles in protest, the knights hurried about their tasks, and then he winked at his wife and smiled.

“Well, I would ask the same of thee.”  Narrowing her stare, she lifted her chin, and he adored her fiery spirit.  “Else I am certain thy stallion would love to share its stall with thee.”

“Banishing me from our marital bed?”  In an instant, he swooped, flung her over his shoulder, and smacked her bottom.  “I think not.”

“Oh, Arucard.”  Pounding his back with her fists, she attempted to wriggle free.  “Put me down.”

“Apologize.”

“Nay.”

“Apologize.”

“
Nay
.”

“Then thou wilt spend the eventide thus, and I quite enjoy the arrangement.”  To impress upon her the seriousness of his proclamation, he hefted her trunk and carried her into the living areas, which lined the interior curtain wall.  “It appears I have found the great hall.”

“And it is dirty.”  Isolde shifted and propped herself on her elbows.  “The dais is serviceable, but the tables and chairs art in disarray, so thou should release me to be about my work.  And I should remind Margery to inspect the chimney before lighting a blaze, as she could fill the castle with smoke.”

“I am sure Margery can survive without thee, and she seems competent enough.”  Arucard spied a narrow passage, which led to a stairway, and he ascended to the second floor, whither he discovered a dusty solar and what he suspected were the main accommodations.  “Home, at last, my lady.”

“And thither is much to be done, if we art to retire after supper.”  Again, she squirmed, and he tightened his hold.  “Pray, let me go.”

“What hast thou to say?”  He pinched her round arse, and she shrieked.

“Now.”  In response, she attempted to kick free.

“Wrong answer, my lady.”  In play, he rotated in circles, until she begged him to stop.  “Art thou prepared to offer thy words of regret?”

“Art thou truly annoyed?” she asked in a small voice, and he altered his grasp, letting her slide down the front of him, but her feet dangled as he hugged her about the waist.  “I am sorry if I disappointed thee.”

“On the contrary, thou hast neither annoyed nor disappointed me.”  Resting forehead to forehead, he sighed.  “But thou must remember thy station and mine, else I cannot maintain discipline, as the men will not respect me.”

“I had not thought of that.”  To his delight, she brushed her lips to his and wrapped her arms about his neck.  “The bedframe and ropes art rotted.  We should move ours hither; else we may end up on the floor.  And I should sweep and scrub everything.”