Medieval Ever After (149 page)

Imprisoned in a tortuous cell of his own making, he knew not how to escape the torment that bound him to a shallow reality.  Yet he found a glimmer of light amid the clouds.  Indeed, Athelyna persisted as a ray of sunshine in his otherwise dark existence, and he craved her company.

“Come, Athel.  Thou hast done all ye could, and he at last rests.”  Demetrius provided balance as she stood.  As he tucked a stray tendril behind her ear, he bent and touched his lips to hers.  “Although His Majesty commanded me to the altar, I could not be more content with his choice.  My dear, I am proud of ye, as thou didst credit to our shared name.”

“Praise, indeed.”  In that instant, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and grinned, as they strolled toward the field kitchen.  “The hour grows late, and I should bathe.  Shall I collect thy sup, my lord?”

“Ah, I believe we have a prior commitment, and I look forward to it.”  With a loud smack, he claimed another boon and swatted her bottom, in play.  “I must check that all is well with Arucard, and then I will meet ye in our tent.”

“Do not dally, my lord.”  His woman splayed her palms to his chest, and the usual desire flickered, as a welcomed balm to his troubled soul.  “As I am hungry.”

“Lady Wessex, I am thy most willing servant.”  He winked and admired the sway of her hips as she walked to the wagon and joined Isolde.

Demetrius located the Brethren and de Cadby near a large fire.

“The boothalers attacked as we moved the cattle to the north fields.”  Aeduuard rubbed the back of his neck.  “We were ambushed and outnumbered, thus I suspect they watched us prior to launching their endeavor.”

“And thou dost believe they hailed from Winchester?” Geoffrey inquired.

“Aye.”  Aeduuard nodded.  “We chased them across the border of our lands.  And this is not the first raid, as we have suffered numerous such incursions, which have become regular, of late.  Given thither is no one to govern the territory, disorder reigns supreme in Winchester.”

“That will change, soon enough.”  Arucard glanced at Demetrius.  “His Majesty intends to install the new Lord Wessex in Winchester Castle, and his first order of business is to bring the rule of law to the region.”

“And when will that happen?” asked Aeduuard.

“The King did not specify.”  Arucard scratched his temple.  “But I am to instruct Demetrius in the day to day demands of rule, and Isolde is to tutor Athelyna in similar fashion, that the happy couple will be prepared to assume their positions, at the appropriate time.”

“So how doth our merry friend enjoy thy union?”  Rocking on his heels, Aeduuard snickered.

“Judging from the peculiar noises that emanated from his tent this morrow, I would argue he finds it quite well.”  Morgan chuckled, until Arucard slapped the back of Morgan’s head.  “
Ouch
.  That hurt.”

“Good.”  Arucard arched a brow.  “As that is what I intended.”

“Arucard, that is not fair.”  With a frown, Aristide folded his arms.  “In light of recent events, it is only natural that we art curious, as it appears we art all for the altar.”

“Not I,” Geoffrey proclaimed with a scowl.  “I shall resist to my last breath.”

“I suppose His Majesty will accommodate ye, when the time comes.”  No matter how many arguments the unwed Brethren posed, Arucard always defended his occupation.  “But do not be so impetuous, as thou mayest find a lady of estimable worth.  And if thou art truly lucky, ye mayest find love.”

“Is that how ye dost view Athelyna?”  Aristide inclined his head and snorted.  “Or dost thou wish ye had opted for the axe?”

“Oh, it is not so bad, as Arucard suggests.”  Demetrius tugged at his tunic and tried to ignore Geoffrey’s mocking countenance, Morgan’s wink, and Aristide’s smug confidence.  If only Demetrius could muster the fortitude of Arucard’s conviction.  Instead, he failed.  “But I suppose one woman is much the same as the next, and thither art moments when I would have welcomed the axe.”

#

The rumble of mirth on the heels of Demetrius’s bold remark struck Athelyna as a cruel blow to the cheek, and she bowed her head in shame.  So he preferred an axe to her?  In truth, he regretted their marriage, despite the sweet moments they shared, and that knowledge cut like a knife, given her change of heart.

Holding a tray bearing several tankards and an ewer of ale, she waited until the laughter subsided to enter the tent and make her presence known.  Clearing her throat, she set the items on a small table.  “Isolde thought ye might favor thy beverage of choice.”

“Ah, that is my wife.”  Arucard clapped his hands once and then smacked Demetrius on the back.  “Enjoy thyselves, good gentles, and I shall see ye on the morrow, which is not so far off.  Now I believe I shall retire to my warm bed and my lady, as a simple drink cannot compete with Isolde, and I am not embarrassed to admit it.”

“Rest well, brother.”  Morgan elbowed Arucard.  “If thou dost rest at all.”

As the men traded insults, Isolde filled the mugs and ignored her spouse.  To her chagrin, he did not pay her the same courtesy.

“Hast thou completed thy duties?”  Demetrius settled his hand at the swell of her hip, in a shocking display of familiarity, in the company of his friends, which conflicted with his proclamation.  Yet she recalled his hurtful words.  “Shall we keep our scheduled activity?”

“I should tend my patients, my lord.”  In that instant, she could not abide his touch, and a plan formed in her mind.  She would run.  To spare him further discomfit, she would flee to an abbey or a convent and beg for refuge.  “And as Arucard remarked, ere long it will be dawn, and I would assist Isolde by preparing the wounded for travel to Chichester Castle.  Mayhap we can postpone our respite, as I can hardly justify such luxury as a bath, in the midst of so much turmoil.  Perchance, another time.”

“Indeed, Arucard insists the injured recover under his protection.”  Demetrius frowned, cupped her chin, and brought her gaze to his.  “Art thou unwell?”

“Nay, my lord.”  To avoid suspicion, Athelyna drew on the obvious response.  “But it hath been an eventful and onerous day, thus I am tired.”  To ease his worry, she offered a kiss as compensation, which exacted far greater payment from her than she anticipated.  “Go, and gain thy earned respite.”

“Do not overtire thyself, my lady.”  He wagged a finger, and she almost believed him sincere.  “If thou dost take ill, I shall be quite vexed.  I suppose I should surrender ye to thy duties, but I shall miss thy warm and soft body in our bed.”

“And I shall miss thee.”  Yet he could not know the significance of that statement.

After forcing down a meal of beef broth and bread, she tidied the cooking area and prepared a few items for the morning meal, so Isolde would not be too burdened by Athel’s absence.  Waving to the guard standing watch at the perimeter, she walked to the tent she shared with Demetrius.

Inside, he dozed, as evidenced by his light snore.  Cautious not to wake him, she donned an extra surcoat to shield against the bitter chill, as she would travel without him, and collected a few belongings.  At last, she unpinned the mystical brooch from her chemise and placed the precious bauble on the table, as it was no longer hers to claim.

So Athel returned to her charges.  She changed bandages, administered horehound tea to quiet persistent coughs, and wiped many a fevered brow.  With a final check of her most vulnerable wards, she restocked the brazier and then secured the flaps of their accommodation.

The first streak of gold on the horizon signaled it was time to depart, and she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.  Strolling, slow and steady, so as not to garner undue attention, she reached the horses.  It took her a while to locate her original mount, but she tied down her small bundle of items.

“What art thou doing hither, Lady Athelyna?” a guard inquired, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

“But I am out of mint, and I spied a hearty patch nearby.”  Maintaining a calm composure, she jumped into the saddle.  “I should pick a decent amount to treat my patients, before we continue our journey to Chichester Castle.”

“Mayhap I should escort ye, my lady.”  His polite acquiescence reminded her that she outranked him.  “If thou wilt give me but a—”

“Nay, as that is not necessary, and I would not leave the encampment susceptible to another attack, while so many remain abed.”  Athel drew rein.  “I have not far to travel, and I shall return in but a brief moment.”  With that, she heeled the flanks of her mare.

DEMETRIUS

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dawn came far
too soon for Demetrius, and he stretched and yawned.  As usual, his body called to his wife, and he ached for her capable hands to ease his morning discomfort.  Glancing about his tiny abode, he discovered Athelyna never returned and surmised she remained with the injured, much to her credit.  Tossing his leg over the side of the mattress, he scooted to the edge of the bed and stood.

On the table, he noted the broach he gave her for a wedding present, and he frowned.  Toying with the unusual piece of jewelry, he wondered wherefore she left it.  Then it dawned on him that she might not want to risk losing it, amid her work with the wounded.

At the washstand, he soaped and rinsed his face and then cleaned his teeth.  While he donned his garments, he kept glancing at the flaps, as Athel always brought him a light sop and warm bread, about that time.  Mayhap she slept, and he decided not to disturb her, as he strolled to the temporary kitchen.

“Good morrow, Isolde.”  He dipped his chin and claimed a trencher.

“And the same to ye, Demetrius.”  With a smile, she ladled the thick mixture and handed him a chunk of bread.  “How is Athel?  Hath she not yet risen?”

“I know not, as I have not seen her.”  An unwelcome notion plagued him, as he filled a mug with ale and sat on a nearby bench, but he quashed the odious supposition.  “My bride is dedicated to her work, and she wished to stay with her patients.”

“But she is not in their tent, as I assessed the condition of the injured before I prepared our food.”  Standing watch over a steaming pot, Isolde tapped a wooden spoon on the lip of the pan and paused.  “I thought she was with ye.”

“Art thou certain?”  Mid-chew, he set aside his repast.

“I am positive.”  Isolde wiped her hands on her apron and frowned.  “Whither could she have gone?”

“I know not.”  Then he recalled the brooch and leaped to his feet.  Just as quick, he inhaled a deep breath.  Thither had to be a logical explanation for Athel’s absence, and he would not jump to unsupported conclusions without proof of objectionable deeds.  “But I should find her—now.”

Nagging thoughts swirled in his brain, as he trudged through the heavy snow to the lodging wherein de Cadby’s men recovered.  A swift survey revealed no sign of Athelyna, and anxiety gripped his spine, but still he refused to believe the worst.

In mere minutes, he made the rounds of the encampment and discovered no one had information regarding his wife’s location.  It was not until a guard flagged Demetrius that he had any idea of his next move.

“My lord, I understand ye dost seek Lady Athelyna.”  He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet.  “I caught her taking a horse, just before dawn.”

“To what purpose?”  Demetrius’s blood ran cold, as he again pondered the brooch she left behind and the implication of that seemingly innocent act.

“The lady claimed she needed mint for medicaments.”  The soldier opened his mouth and then closed it.  “Sir, she said thither was a patch, nearby, and she would return anon.”