Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) Page 12

  “That is because they do not know thy weakness, as do I. And from what I hear from my fetching Margery, thy enthusiasm is possessed of black hair, green eyes, and tender flesh.” Pellier guffawed and waved at the four other knights. “Entertain thyself near the stables, as Sir Arucard and I have important matters to discuss.” As soon as the men were beyond earshot, Pellier scowled. “Hast thou lost thy mind? Art thou no better than a boothaler that thou would treat thy gentle wife with such callous indifference, as if she is naught more than a poxy-cheeked strumpet?”

  “I beg thy pardon?” Arucard scratched his temple and slumped, as he recalled her wince and grimace when he took her in the faint dawn light. “I have shown great deference to my bride.” Even as he voiced the claim, he knew he did not speak the entire truth.

  “Of course, thou hast.” The marshalsea slapped the flat of his blade to Arucard’s arse. “That is wherefore Margery tends Lady Isolde every morrow, and thy wife cannot walk to the great hall without a noticeable teeter. Thou hast used her roughly.”

  Arucard opened his mouth and then closed it.

  “Well?” Pellier folded his arms. “After I offered thee my best counsel, what is thy excuse?”

  Denial danced on the tip of his tongue, but Arucard was no liar, and his friend had correctly assessed the situation. “I am a terrible husband.”

  “Nay, thou art fallible, as art we all.” The second in command sat on a bench near the well. “And it appears the great Templar is but a man with the usual inclinations, and thither is no shame in that.”

  “Thou art correct in thy assumptions, as I ache for her, Pellier. Isolde is the most fascinating creature of my existence.” In his mind, Arucard envisioned her as she looked at sunrise, with her raven locks splayed across her pillow and her luscious breasts jostling in time with his thrusts, as he claimed her. “I burn for her, and it is as thee didst warn. I cannot defend against her charms, and she hath not once denied me.”

  “That is because thy lady is a good and dutiful woman.” The marshalsea narrowed his stare. “But thou art her caretaker, her owner, responsible for her health and welfare. Thou must learn to control thy lustful appetites.”

  “In that respect, I am an abyss of unknowing, but I would argue she owns me.” Disheartened, Arucard plopped beside his friend. “While I have killed untold numbers in battle, and I have maintained an austere and faithful life, when it comes to Isolde, I am her devoted servant. Regardless of my intent, I am but clay in her hands, and I am powerless to resist her. Nay, I do not wish to resist her.”

  “Well, if she celebrates thy union, then who am I to argue otherwise?” In that instant, Pellier smacked Arucard on the shoulder, stood, and then furrowed his brow. “What is it? What bothers thee?”

  “Thither is something I need to ask thee.” The nagging question, the original source of his quandary shot to the fore, and he shuffled his feet to ease the awkwardness. “How dost thou know whether or not thy mate enjoys the pinnacle of thy coupling? Not that I am unsure.”

  “Oh, my poor friend.” With a snort of mirth, Pellier wiped his face. “Trust me, if thou must ask, thy lady hath not enjoyed it.” Then he burst into a fit of chuckles.

  “I find naught funny about thy observation.” And Arucard’s confidence flagged, but he cared not for his pride when it came to Isolde’s satisfaction, or lack thereof. “And as thou art a trove of information on the subject, I would avail myself of thy recommendation.”

  “What hast thou tried?” Pellier inquired with a grin. “Owing to discretion and my respect for thy wife, know I shall never betray thy confidence, so thou mayest speak with frankness.”

  “I did as thee instructed.” Arucard shrugged. “Naught more.”

  “Art thou joking?” When Arucard indicated otherwise, Pellier sighed and rested his forehead in his palm. “Dost thou mean to tell me thou hast spent a fortnight in thy wife’s bed, thou hast claimed her maidenhead, and thou hast not explored her body?”

  “I have touched her.” In haste, he searched his memory. “We have kissed, we have engaged in intercourse, as thou didst dictate, and I followed thy instructions to the letter.”

  “And that is it?” Pellier furrowed his brow. “My friend, my directions were intended as a start on thy quest for carnal knowledge, the journey of which thou hast yet to complete. Hast thou not surveyed the paradise between her thighs? Hast thou not kissed her nether eye, spelt thy name in her most succulent flesh, suckled the pearl of her desire, or taught her to lick and nurse thy one-eyed horse?”

  At the prospect of such arousing activity, Arucard stammered in disbelief, but his thoughts quickly turned to seductive strategy, with Isolde at the center of his erotic plans.

  “What?” The marshalsea elbowed Arucard. “Art thou shocked?”

  “I know not how to respond.” He swallowed hard. “Is such behavior permissible?”

  “Noble sirrah, what happens in thy connubial quarters stays in thy connubial quarters.” Now Pellier collapsed in a full belly laugh. When at last he quieted, the marshalsea wiped a tear from his cheek. “Arucard, Isolde is thy mate, as charged by the sacrament. Thou hast promised to love and honor thy lady. How thou dost achieve that is up to thee. But if thou canst bring her sweet release and make her scream, the rest is simple.”

  #

  It was an unusually sunny and warm fall afternoon, when Isolde ventured from her chambers in search of food to quiet her grumbling belly. Something about Arucard’s lustful jousting between the sheets spurred a furious appetite. Just as she entered the great hall, she almost collided with her husband.

  “My lady, thou art awake.” With a smile, he whisked a stray tendril from her face. “I had thought, mayhap, we might partake of a ride, as the weather is fine, and I desire thy unreserved company.”

  “My lord, I would love to indulge thee, but I am famished and near wasting.” At that very moment, her tummy emitted thunderous proof of her hunger, and she rolled her eyes as he laughed. “It is thy fault, as thou didst exercise me quite thoroughly this morrow.”

  All levity ceased, and he narrowed his stare, cupped her chin, and gifted her a whisper of a kiss. “Yea, I did, and I right enjoyed myself. But I have a solution that meets both our needs, if thou art amenable to my suggestion.”

  “Oh?” When he took her by the arm and led her into the bailey, she started. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course.” In a flash, he lifted her to the saddle of his destrier. “Thou canst come with me.” Then he seated himself behind her, pulled her close to rest against him, tucked his ermine collared cloak about her, grasped the reins, and nipped the crest of her ear. “Or thou canst come with me.”

  “Arucard.” Biting her lip, she shivered, as his rich tone betrayed an underlying meaning she understood too well, and her gut clenched, as they navigated the barbican and then the outer gatehouse. “Thou cannot intend to engage in…that is to say…we cannot possibly…out in the open…oh, thou dost know what I reference.”

  “My naughty wife, I like the way thou dost think.” Once they cleared the castle battlements, he heeled the flanks of his stallion and galloped to the main road, whither he set a blazing pace. “Thither is a nice hilltop with an impressive view of the ocean, from which we might dine on a meal of boiled chicken, grapes, fresh bread, wine, and the gyngerbrede thee dost favor.”

  “What a wonderful idea.” Reclining in his embrace, she squirmed when he nibbled her neck. “My lord, thou art brazen, but I favor that about ye.”

  “And thou art tantalizing beyond compare.” He rounded a bend, steered for the verge, and then charged the hill. “The grass is tall, but hither it is dry, and I have a plan that should provide privacy for my shy bride.”

  “Thou art resourceful, my gallant knight.” As they reached the top of the range, a spectacular vista spread wide before her, and Isolde turned and nuzzled him. “It is beauteous, Arucard. Thank ye, for bringing me hither.”

  “Mayhap we shall consider this our speci
al place.” He drew rein, dismounted, and then lifted her from the saddle. “And we might share this spot in milder seasons.” With his sword, he cut a circular haven amid the thick foliage, which was dormant in the fall, and then untied a blanket from his horse, which he handed to her. “Spread the cover on the ground, whilst I retrieve the sack of food.”

  “Aye, my lord.” She did as he bade and then sat. “This is cozy, just like our own little nest.” As she glanced from left to right, she realized she could not see over the tips of the blades, but situated along the rise, she had an unimpeded outlook of the sea. Everything was perfect, and then she pondered his motives. “Hast thou discovered information relating to my father’s letters and questionable activities? Wherefore dost thou require seclusion?”

  “Aeduuard de Cadby will arrive this eventide to discuss the burgage plots, and he brings additional witnesses.” Squatting beside her, he unpacked the fare. “I shall hear their complaints and seek His Majesty’s counsel on a proper course of action.”

  “But what of my father?” While she had more to protest, he quieted her with a plump and juicy grape. “My lord, thou art distracting me.”

  “Nay, I am tending thy welfare, as a dutiful husband.” As she made to argue, he shoved a portion of chicken into her mouth. “Eat.”

  “Arucard, that is too much,” she said between chokes. “And I wish to know thy plan to deal with my father. He frightens me, as he is cruel, and he will punish me for not responding to his correspondence.”

  “Isolde, as I promised, I will handle thy father and protect thee, so thou dost worry for naught.” Without ceremony, he stuffed a piece of bread between her lips. “And thy primary occupation, as of this moment, is to express thy appreciation my efforts. Art thou not pleased with my gesture of affection?”

  “Is that thy aim?” Now he garnered her interest. “Thou dost wish to demonstrate devotion?”

  “Aye.” Then he shrugged, as he uncorked the wine and took a healthy gulp. “And I thought, perchance, thou mayest want to talk.”

  “About—what?” As he made it clear he had no desire to discuss the predicament with her father, she understood him not. “The castle is in order, we art fully staffed, with the exception of a lady’s maid, and thou hast established the garrison, per the King’s command. What else do we need to discuss?”

  “Well, I wondered if thou art happy?” Exhaling, Arucard scratched his cheek. “As thy happiness is important to me.”

  “Yea, of course, more than ever.” Thrilled by his boldly proclaimed interest in her contentment, she could have danced a jig. Taking his lead, she selected a large grape and fed it to him. “And what of thee?”

  “Aye.” And again he kissed her, but he lingered, and she sighed as a languorous calm settled her nervousness. “Thou art my treasure, Isolde.”

  And that statement inspired all manner of joy, as she relaxed. Peaceful quiet fell over their modest sanctuary, as they ate. And while the minutes ticked past, the gentle breeze rustled through the dry grass, the gulls keened in the distance, and the waves crashed ashore on the beach below, Isolde suspected her husband had not revealed the true motive to their special outing.

  “One piece of gyngerbrede remains.” She held up the tempting confection. “I will half it with thee.”

  “Thou art the soul of generosity.” Despite his grin, she spied distress in his crystal blue eyes.

  “What troubles thee?” After folding the cloths in which he stowed the food, she scooted closer to him, and, as she anticipated, he lifted her to his lap. Draping an arm about his shoulders, she hugged her husband. “Thou cannot keep secrets from me, as I share thy bed and thy body.”

  “Dost thou enjoy playing my fiddle?” With brows quirked, he grimaced. “Prithee, tell me the truth.”

  Well, she asked. And he most certainly answered.

  “I beg thy pardon?” In her embarrassment, that was the only response Isolde could muster.

  “My lady, thou art an uncommonly intelligent woman.” Was it her imagination, or was he sweating? “Pray, I must know if thou dost find pleasure when I stir thy waters?”

  Convinced thither was something inferior about her, given she had not celebrated their coupling in the demonstrative fashion as had her knight; she knew not how to reply without shaming herself. “Mayhap it is not the same for wives.”

  “I knew it.” Smacking his forehead, he groaned. “This is all my fault.”

  “What?” Shock dispelled the tranquility of their interlude, as she digested his revelation. “Thou dost think thou art to blame?”

  “I am thy husband.” Arucard pressed a fist to his chest. “The responsibility for thy pleasure is mine, and I have failed thee.”

  “Nay, thou hast made too much of it, and I must explain.” Never had Isolde fathomed confessing such embarrassing details, but she had to make him understand. Framing his jaw, she kissed him. “Do not overstate the issue, as it is not so great as thou dost believe. Yea, I cherish our intimacy, as thou dost inspire feelings I never knew existed, when we join our bodies.” He rested his forehead to hers, and she drew strength to continue. “I ache for thee, but the balm doth not quite ease my pain, and wherefore I know not. Rather, it intensifies it, and I am left with a void I can scarcely bear. But I would never refuse thee, because I crave thy touch.”

  “Wherefore hast thou said naught?” In that moment, he settled his palm to her hose-covered calf.

  “My lord, I would not hurt thee or thy pride for anything in the world.” She met his gaze. “And I considered it my deficiency, as thou hast had no problem finding thy release. Thither must be something wrong with me.”

  “Well, thither is a way to find out, if thou art willing.” With his fingers, he walked a path to the inside of her thigh, and she shuddered. “Dost thou trust me?”

  “Always.”

  #

  In a single tear, Arucard ripped the seam of Isolde’s cotehardie. As she reclined on the blanket, with her eyes closed, he all but shredded her chemise and then spread her legs. Once again summoning Pellier’s sage wisdom, he eased between her thighs and cupped her bottom with his hands. Slowly, he bent his head and expelled his breath to her triangle of soft curls, and she bit her fingers and emitted a muffled sob. That singular exhalation presented the greatest response he had ever garnered and did much to bolster his confidence, which he needed just then, so he trailed his tongue along her nether lips.

  With an achingly sweet cry, his wife lauded his efforts, as he repeatedly spelled his name on her pliant folds, and he ventured further into her honey sheath, relishing the hint of lavender mingled with the tart essence that was uniquely hers. When he located what Pellier had referred to as the pearl of her desire, Arucard fastened his mouth about the tiny bud and suckled hard, and his bride bucked and squirmed. And with each successive murmur and wiggle, which he counted as a priceless treasure, he realized he had never felt more a man in his life.

  “Oh.” Yanking his hair, Isolde rolled her head from side to side and then arched her back. “Prithee, Arucard. I can take no more.”

  Anchoring her firmly in his grasp, he licked and laved in a tempting rhythm, until his suddenly not-so-shy lady stretched her limbs, gazed at the sky, and heralded her release with an earsplitting shout of exultation, which echoed on the rocky cliffs. Never had he glimpsed anything so bewitching as his wife in the throes of passion, and a powerful hunger built in his chest and scored a path straight to his crotch.

  In seconds, Arucard doffed his belt, hitched his tunic, untied his leather breeches and linen braies, and entered her in a single potent thrust. How he longed to savor her scorching wet heat, which branded him hers, but, as usual, he drove into her a mere five times before his seed burst forth deep within her.

  Some day, he would linger and luxuriate in her body, but now was not that day.

  Collapsing atop her, he reveled in her ready embrace, as she nestled close. But when he discovered her crying, he propped on an elbow.

&nb
sp; “What is wrong, Isolde?” With care, he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Did I hurt thee?”

  “Nay.” Tears streamed her temples as she smiled. “Never could I have imagined such sensations, and my emotions have run rampant, such that I cannot contain my joy. If I could describe it to thee, I would, but words fail me.”

  “Art thou trying to tell me I have, at last, pleasured thee?” With the pad of his thumb, he caressed her cheek. “And I did not frighten thee?”

  “That is not possible.” For a while, she stared at him. Then she clutched his wrist and pressed his palm to her lips, and his gut clenched. “At first, when I met thee outside the chapel in London, I pictured so many dreadful things, as thou art quite large and imposing. And when I witnessed thee fight the bandits and de Cadby, thou didst behead a man, and I was terrified of thee, as I suspected I might suffer thy violence. But despite thy incomparable size and strength, thou hast never harmed me.” Then she drew him near and set her mouth to his. “In fact, thou art a most gentle husband.”

  Thither were many things Arucard wanted to tell his wife that afternoon, as she cradled him with her sumptuous thighs. He pondered declarations of devotion and trust, but none seemed sufficient to convey the depth of his regard and commitment. Instead, he took her again and said with his body what he could not voice.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chichester Castle came into view as Arucard steered his destrier to the south. Given the pleasant afternoon spent in his wife’s company, his mood was light as he pondered the meeting with de Cadby and the locals. And while he should have focused his attention on the impending gathering, a series of memorable feminine screams echoed in his brain, and he hugged Isolde close.

  “I believe I have composed an appropriate pet name for thee.” In play, he rubbed his nose to crest of her ear. “And it is perfect, as art thou.”