Medieval Ever After (147 page)

“I would be lying if I indicated otherwise.”  The young father grinned.  “And I envy thy good fortune, given thy bride travels with ye, as I miss my sweet Isotta.”

“Well, we should reach the coast in the next few days, so thou wilt enjoy a happy reunion soon enough.”

“I pray thou art correct, as my bride will be quite irritated if I miss our babe’s first Christmastide.”  Grimbaud rubbed the back of his neck.  “Isotta was rather annoyed by our journey, so close to the holiday, and I promised to make amends for my absence.”

“I am sure whatever ye dost manage, thy lady will be appeased.”  And in that instant, Demetrius thought of Athelyna.  “Now I should assist Arucard with the horses.”

“Then I wish ye a pleasant eventide, Sir Demetrius.”  Grimbaud bowed and rushed toward the guard’s tent.

As Demetrius approached the Brethren, Arucard smiled.  “Well that did not take long.”

“Shut up.”  Demetrius drew a blanket from the wagon and draped it over his destrier.

“Whither is thy woman?”  Morgan waggled his brows.  “I am surprised ye can tear thyself away from her, as thou hast played the attentive husband like a past master.”

“Mayhap Athelyna wears the breeches in the family.”  With a hearty guffaw, Geoffrey elbowed Aristide.  “What say ye, brother?  Hath our comrade shrunk since his wedding?”

“Indeed.”  Aristide clucked his tongue and scratched his cheek.  “He appears to have declined in a particular aspect.”

“In that I will not argue, but it is not so bad as ye might think.”  Demetrius gazed at Arucard and arched a brow.  “Of course, they will learn when it is their time to marry.”

And so all humor ceased.

After feeding and watering the animals, wherein Arucard shared additional recommendations, Demetrius walked back to his small abode.  The wind whipped and howled, and when he slipped through the opening, he was disappointed to discover Athel had not returned.  Then it dawned on him that he could arrange the sheets, blankets, and pelts, as he waited for her, so he set about the task.  As she preferred the thicker pillow, he fluffed the cushion and rested it on her side of the bed, just as she summoned him.

“My lord, art thou hither?”  She sneezed.  “Pray, untie the flaps, as I bear our sup on a tray, and I fear I shall blow away.”

“Hither am I, now come inside, my lady wife, before ye catch a chill.”  He parted the canvas until she passed, and then he tethered the laces.  “The storm rages, once again.”

“I know, as we had a terrible time keeping the blaze going, so we could heat the blancmange.”  With a dusting of snow on her cloak, she bent, set the meal on the table, stood upright, and fiddled with the clasp on her outerwear.  “Oh, my hands are too cold, and I cannot unhook the fastener.”

“Let me do it.”  In seconds, he set her free and draped the damp garment over the back of the chair, to dry.  As she uncovered their trenchers, he loosened the laces of her surcoat.  “Lift thy arms.”

“Thou hast become quite skilled at removing my clothing, my lord husband.”  A ghost of a smile played on her lips, and her cheeks boasted a charming shade of pink.  “Mayhap I should employ ye as my maid.”

“And perchance thou mayest sleep in thy linen chemise, as I shall keep ye warm.”  Her playful tone signaled it was time to advance her knowledge of his body, as Arucard suggested.

“Of course, I shall indulge my knight, as an obedient wife should.”  Abiding his request, she permitted him to strip away the heavy wool apparel, until naught remained but her intimates.  Then she shivered.  “Oh, it is cold.”

“Get thee between the covers, while I serve ye.”  As on prior occasions, he situated the table to enable him to dote on Athel, and he should have enjoyed what appeared to be a relaxing eventide, yet something nagged at his conscience, when he joined her.  “May I ask ye a question?”

“I am thine to command.”  Opening her mouth, she accepted the portion of blancmange he fed her.

“Wherefore hast thou changed thy mind in regard to our union?”  In a flash, he recalled their heated exchange in the Great Hall on the eve of their ceremony.  “Thou were against our marriage, yet now thou dost sing another tune.  Art thou happy, Athel?”

“If I may offer ye candor, I would simply say that as I have taken the sacrament, I must honor our pact with Our Lord and the responsibilities invested therein.  To do less would be akin to committing the most grievous sin, and I would not jeopardize my soul to satisfy a girl’s dream.  Regardless of my onetime aspirations, those goals must perforce yield to the oath I swore before the archbishop.”  He held a goblet to her mouth, and she sipped the wine.  “It is my duty to obey ye, in all things, and I pledge to do so, until death do us part.”

“Well said, my lady.”  While he maintained a relaxed demeanor, inside he pondered her response.

In silence, they dined, emptying the trenchers and consuming the wine and ale.  After guttering the candles, he restocked the brazier, shed his tunic and breeches, and climbed into bed.  As usual, she turned into him, and he faced her.  And although he had planned to initiate an exploration, of sorts, of their respective bodies, his enthusiasm had waned.

When Demetrius spoke his vows, he had no interest in fostering an emotional attachment to Athelyna.  Rather, he intended to guard himself from her, to hold her at a distance.  Instead, she captured his attention, in a way he could not comprehend, and he wanted more.  The problem was he had no idea what that meant.

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A vicious battle raged, sword clashed with sword, and an unknown champion protected a group of innocent pilgrims, beneath the glare of a brutal sun.  With incomparable skill and speed the valiant knight charged numerous assailants, kicking sand in his wake and dispatching his enemies with lethal aim, until the enemy cowered in the shadows of the faceless warrior, but he was merciful.  Anon, as he walked amid the bodies scattered across the dunes, the sweet stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and he doffed his gauntlets.

And then everything shifted.

The encroaching night sky signaled the advancing eventide, and the defender entered a tent.  As he removed his armor, he revealed an intriguing mark etched into his flesh and barely visible in the soft light from the brazier.  It was the Crusader’s Cross, black in color, and marred by a distinct scar in the shape of a jagged spike.

Athel jolted awake and alert.  An inventory of her surroundings conveyed that she remained in transit with her spouse.  Just as quick, she stroked the brooch, which she removed only to secure it on a fresh chemise.

The quiet predawn hours offered precious time for reflection, in the peaceful solitude of the tent, before the guards proceeded to break down the camp.  As always, she attempted to discern the significance of the vision that visited every night, without fail.  Given her oh-so-modest knight refused to bare his back in her presence, she had yet to make a thorough examination of his torso, for the diverting mark.

Yawning, she stretched in her husband’s capable embrace and grazed something firm with her fingers.  After numerous conversations with Isolde, Athel understood the implications of the enthralling aspect of Demetrius’s body, even though they had yet to consummate their vows.  True to his word, he had not forced her to surrender her maidenhead, which put her at ease in his company.  But his chivalrous behavior inspired another response she had not anticipated—curiosity.

Yielding to an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, which burgeoned beyond her control in the wake of her departure from the convent, she traced the stout form of his man’s yard and reached lower.  So much about their respective forms were different, and she ached to admire his bare physique.

“Good morrow, sweet wife.”  Demetrius shifted his hips, and she almost jumped out of her skin as she halted her exploration.  “Nay, do not cease thy tender caresses on my account.”

“Thou art not offended?”  Ashamed, she burrowed her face to his chest.  “I have not angered ye?”

“Wherefore should I be offended or angry?”  He chuckled, and her anxiety abated.  “Need I remind ye we are married?”

“Nay, as I am well aware of our status, and that is what drives my inquisitive spirit, given thither was naught like ye in Coventry.”  When she risked a peek at him, he rewarded her with a broad smile, and she realized she had overreacted.  “My lord, although I am not yet prepared to relinquish that which is thine by law and the sacrament, to seal our union, I wish to know ye better, but I am not certain how to go about it.  I would not make thy acquaintance on the night we choose to do the deed.  Rather, I would have some familiarity with thy anatomy, to assuage my trepidation, which I must confess is mountainous.  May I touch ye?”

“Thou dost make excellent sense, and I am amenable to thy plan.”  But he closed his eyes and groaned when she resumed her survey of his most male member.  “Perchance thou wilt grant me the same privilege with thy person, as I am just as captivated by thy feminine curves.”

“Thou would have me return the favor?”  At the prospect, she gulped.  Then again, Demetrius had not hurt her, and she believed he never would, so she dipped her chin.  “All right.”

The instant he rested his palm to her breast, she gave vent to a half-smothered sob, but hers was not a cry of pain, sorrow, or alarm.  Instead, her audible exhalation manifested the wonder of so many delicious, virgin sensations, which she savored as he fondled her flesh.

To her surprise, he untied his braies, grasped her wrist, and brought her into direct contact with his length, and she almost swooned as he tutored her in an illicit massage.  And when he loosened her chemise and pressed on her enticing caresses, skin to skin, unlike anything she had ever before experienced, she flexed her fingers, and something strange happened.

Grunting and grimacing, he gritted his teeth, and a hot substance spattered her hand.  Sure that she had caused irreparable harm to her man, she tried to withdraw, but he held her fast.  At last, she could take no more, and the tears flowed.

“My lord, I am sorry.”  Now she shook with dread, as she might have forever ruined their chance at happiness and scarred him for life.  “Whatever I did wrong, I apologize.  Pray, forgive me.”

“Prithee, a moment, Athel.”  He kissed her forehead and sighed.  “But allay thy concerns, as thou hast done naught wrong.”  Still she wept, while he shifted and thrust his hips, until he exhaled and laughed.  “Oh, my lady, how I needed that.”

“Thou art not angry with me?”  Beneath the weight of his scrutiny, she faltered.

“My dear, I am relieved, as thou hast brought me to completion.”  He rubbed his nose to hers.  “Dost thou not comprehend what ye have done?”

“How would I know?”  With the sheet, he wiped her cheeks.  “Remember, I was raised in a convent.”

“But thou didst tend the sick and the wounded, did ye not?”  He toyed with her nipple, and she clenched her gut.

“Aye, but that is a far cry from the activity in which we engaged hither.”  In light of his lighthearted demeanor, she checked her trepidation.  “Pray, explain what occurred.”

“Thither is no mystery.”  Rolling onto his back, he cast a charming grin, and she responded in kind.  “Thou hast pleased me, and thou dost bear my seed as proof.”

“Did I?”  At that revelation, she sat upright and studied the tacky matter on her skin, which struck her as mundane.  Then she pulled back the covers, gazed upon his most male characteristic for the first time, and was not impressed.  “It is rather ugly, is it not?”

“I beg thy pardon?”  Now Demetrius looked upset.  “While I am not the most experienced man, in terms of carnal pursuits, I believe it is of estimable size and form, and it certainly functions as intended, as thou hast witnessed for thyself.”

“But I mean no insult.”  For a few seconds, she poked and prodded him, and he did not protest.  “Yet thou must admit it is reminiscent of a soggy potage of roysons.”

“Thou dost compare my longsword to a soggy potage of roysons?”  Propped on an elbow, he furrowed his brow, and she could not stifle a giggle.  “Regardless of its appearance, I wager it will suffice when I claim ye.”  Ah, his tone proclaimed his playful mood, which she adored.  And when he rubbed his nose to hers, she pressed her lips to his as an olive branch.

“Which thou wilt do once we reach Chichester Castle.”  It was a statement, not a question.

“Aye, as I would not take ye on the road, in these crude quarters.”  He traced the curve of her jaw.  “However, we shall decide, together, the appropriate date.”

“That suits me, my lord.”  Then she noted the sunlight filtered by the canvas.  “Oh, but I am late, and Isolde requires my assistance, that we might eat and continue our journey.”

“Then I should rise and grant ye the privacy of our tent.”  And so he brought her thoughts full circle.

“That is not necessary.”  She scooted from the mattress to collect her hose, gown, and surcoat.  “As thou hast mentioned, again and again, we are wed.  Indeed, this eventide, when we break our travel, I should assist ye in thy bath, as I have been remiss in my duties.”

“My lady, while thy offer is tempting, I am unaccustomed to such luxuries and would do the deed, myself.”  Of course, he would.  And to further thwart her goal, he eased from the bed and tugged on his tunic.

“But thou dost misunderstand.”  Sorting through her belongings, she located her comb and smoothed her wayward hair, as she prepared to make him an even exchange she never would have dared without Isolde’s encouragement.  “My motives are selfish, as I had hoped ye might return the favor.”