Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) Read online

  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.”

  “Nay.” An ensuing match proved entertaining, as they tangled amid the sheets, and just as the situation grew serious, and all levity ceased, someone knocked at the door.

  “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.”

  “But that is a good thing, as thou canst plead thy case directly to the Crown.” When he turned and faced her, she noted the strain at the corners of his blue eyes. “Thou dost make too much of the Sovereign’s request. What does Sir Demetrius say on the matter?”

  “I know not, as he remains a guest of the King.” Now she understood her husband’s concern, and fear blossomed in the pit of her belly. “And that is what troubles me, as thither is no reason to hold Demetrius, unless—”

  “—Thou dost stand accused.” Trepidation grew in epic proportions, and she shivered as she pondered the possibilities. “Whither dost thou depart for L
ondon?”

  “That is another interesting bit of information.” Heaving a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. “His Majesty and his forces art camped just south of Guildford, which does not bode well, and I cannot escape the belief, however misplaced, that the Brethren and I ride into a trap.”

  “How soon must thou report?” In haste, she formed an imaginary list of items to complete before they commenced their journey.

  “According to the King’s messenger, with all due expediency.” After claiming a quick kiss, Arucard strode into their bedchamber and doffed his robe. “Thus I travel, at once.”

  Disappointed they would not finish what they started, Isolde followed in his wake. In quiet, they washed and garbed themselves for the day’s events, and while naught was spoken, much was conveyed in the occasional glance and brief touch. And then they came together for another tender kiss, which struck her as a subtle farewell, for some odd reason, and they emerged from their shared sanctuary. Thus her heart weighed heavy when she entered the kitchens, in search of Margery.

  “How long dost thou expect to be gone?” The steward sampled a dish and wrinkled her nose. “Needs more salt.”

  “That I know not.” Isolde selected various dried foods to be packed for the journey. “But I charge thee with the upkeep of Chichester Castle, in my absence.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Snapping her fingers, Margery summoned the scullery maid. “Anne, prepare Lady Isolde’s trunk, and air the navy wool cotehardie and matching cloak.”

  “Aye.” The young woman, boasting her usual dirty cheeks and disheveled appearance, curtseyed.

  “Make sure thither is plenty of food, as the knights have large appetites, and we have an additional mouth to feed.” Despite Arucard’s anxiety, Isolde vowed it was all for naught, as the King would not act without cause; at least, that is what she kept telling herself. Given her husband was innocent, what had she to fear? “And stow the brewets, as they travel well, and I anticipate Sir Demetrius will be glad of them.”

  “Doth my lady require anything else?” As she had on so many previous occasions, Margery smoothed a lock of hair from Isolde’s forehead. “Mayhap thou should rest until it is time to depart.”

  “Nay, as thither is too much to be done, but I shall prepare Sir Arucard’s belongings.” And so Isolde returned to her chambers and organized her husband’s personal items with care. When he appeared, with a stranger in tow, she walked into the solar. “We art almost ready, my lord. And Margery bundles suitable sustenance for our party.”

  “Thank ye, my lady. Allow me to present the King’s messenger and sergeant, Briarus.” Her husband stepped aside, and a young and handsome soldier bowed. “And I would ask a favor, which would aid our cause, if thou wilt but cooperate.”

  “It is my great pleasure to meet thee, Lady Isolde.” With twinkling amber eyes and flaxen hair, the soldier cast a kind smile. “I have heard many complimentary things about ye.”

  “Thank ye, Briarus. If ye would but make thy request, I am at thy service.” Curious, she set down her swaddled clothing. “What would thou have of me?”

  “Forgive me, Isolde.” Something in her husband’s tone and countenance gave her pause, as he approached and rested his palms to her shoulders. “I have told Briarus of thy wounds suffered at the hands of thy father, but it would strengthen our argument if—”

  “Wilt thou untie my laces?” Despite her embarrassment, she understood what he asked of her, so she gave Arucard her back, as she knew well his intentions, and she would not balk. In silence, he loosened her garment, and then she tugged on the ribbon of her chemise and shrugged free.

  “Wait.” Arucard turned her to face him, drawing her arms about his waist, and she pressed her cheek to his chest as he inched her gown to her hips. “Canst thou see what violence the earl hath wrought upon my wife?”

  The cool air teased her flesh, and she shivered. On display for a stranger, she fought tears of humiliation but relaxed, when her knight kissed her temple. “I pray thou art satisfied, sir.”

  “By Christ’s blood, that is not how I would describe what I have just witnessed.” Briarus cleared his throat. “I beg thy pardon, Lady Isolde. Prithee, know it was not my purpose to shame thee, as thou art without blame.”

  “Thou art brave, my lady.” Once Arucard righted her gown, he framed her jaw. “I am so proud of thee.”

  “Praise, indeed.” Just like that, he relieved a burden she had long carried as a defect.

  “Sir Arucard, everything is in order, per thy charge.” Pellier loomed in the hall. “Shall I collect thy trunk?”

  “Aye.” He nodded. “If thou wilt permit me a moment in private with my wife, I would make my farewells.”

  “What—wait.” Panic crushed her in its invisible clutch, as Briarus and Pellier made a hasty exit. “But I journey with thee. Wherefore would thou bid farewell?”

  “Isolde, the battlefield is no place for a woman and most especially my wife.” Arucard ushered her to the table, sat on the bench, and then pulled her into his lap, and she dreaded his next words. “Even now, thou mayest carry our babe, and I will not risk thy most precious life.”

  “Didst thou not promise to defend me? Thou must take me with thee.” Now she wept openly, and she suppressed none of her misery at the prospect of his withdrawal without her. “How canst thou protect me if we art apart? Art thou not my champion?”

  “But thou hast no need of me, if thou dost remain at Chichester Castle.” As she sobbed, he hugged her tight and rocked, to and fro, in a gentle rhythm. “Thou art safe within these walls, my honey flower. And with thee secure hither, I can focus on the task, convince His Majesty of thy father’s guilt, and establish thy innocence.”

  “And thou cannot do so if I am with thee?” she inquired in a small voice. “As I cannot bear to be separated from thee. Hast thou not proclaimed we art stronger together?”

  “Somehow, I knew thee would make this difficult.” Arucard tipped her chin and brought her gaze to his. “Sweet Isolde, if I am to gain thy independence from thy father and his schemes, I must ride without distractions, and thy very presence captivates me, such that I can concentrate on little but thy alluring body. Pray, wilt thou remain hither, for me, so I might do my duty? Wilt thou cooperate because I ask it of thee? And the sooner I succeed in my endeavor, to our mutual benefit, the sooner I will venture home to thy cherished embrace.”

  “Thou dost make it quite impossible to deny thee.” She sniffed, even as he dried her face. “Yet I will obey, as I pledged to do so before the archbishop, but I am not happy, as I believe naught good can come of our estrangement, however brief, and I beg thee to reconsider.” In desperation, she grasped his tunic. “Arucard, I beseech ye, do not leave me, as I dread what might happen in thy absence.”

  “God’s bones, woman, art thou blind?” When he barked, she flinched, and he groaned. “How can I make thee understand my position?” Then he sighed, speared his fingers in the hair at her nape, and held her tight. “At dawn, I force myself from our bed, as I would not relinquish ye, and I count the hours until we retire, and I lie between thy sumptuous thighs. When thou art not at my side, I wonder whither art thou, and I search for thee until I find ye. And even after I claim thy enchanting blossom, my first thought is how I desire thee again. The simple fact is I care for thee—too much, and all I want to do is make love to thee, when thou art near.”

  “Oh, my lord.” Stunned by his admission, however graceless, her heart rejoiced, and she collapsed against him. “I care for thee, too.”

  “If that is true, then do as I say, and stay hither, whither I am assured of thy wellbeing.” Cradling her head, he nuzzled her neck and then suckled her earlobe. “And upon my return, I would have thy promise to welcome me in the courtyard, wearing naught but thy arresting smile, a cloak, and thy slippers, as I would have thee naked and in our bed with the least amount of impediments.”

  Then he kissed her—hard.

  Hand in hand, with nary a word spoken
between them, they walked to the courtyard; whither they shared a final hug, and something within her fractured in that instant. “I bid ye an unadventurous and boring journey, my lord.” Then she perched on her toes and whispered, “Prithee, come back to me. Remember, thou art my champion.”

  “And thou art my honey flower,” he replied in a low tone. “And I miss thee already.”

  As a cold wind penetrated her cotehardie, she shuddered, and he released her. Without so much as a backward glance, he mounted his destrier, grasped the reins, and charged the main gatehouse and the barbican. In that second, Isolde realized thither was naught sadder than the ever-growing distance as a loved one rode away.

  It dawned on her then that she loved her husband.

  Breaking into a run, she called after him, but he navigated the first bridge, and the soldiers drew the traverse. So she rushed the garrison, flew up the stone steps, and hurried along the top of the curtain wall to the northwest tower. From the crenellated rooftop, she stood as a sentry until she could no longer distinguish her husband’s traveling party. Shielding her eyes from the pelting raindrops, she sent him well wishes for a safe and prosperous journey.

  For some reason Isolde could not fathom, she could not escape the nagging suspicion that all was not as it appeared, but she prayed her fears were unfounded and her knight would survive. With one last survey of the landscape, she closed her eyes and sent him an oath, as a shield against danger, on the chilly fall breeze, and willed him to hear her. “Arucard, I love thee.”

  #

  After two days on the road, and as many sleepless nights, Arucard exited his tent and admired the pale watercolors that streaked the morrow sky. Isolde favored dawn, and often they rose from their bed, naked and wrapped only in a blanket, to stand before the east facing windows of the solar and delight in the sunrise. In that moment, he wondered if she shared the view, and he ached for her.