Aristide (Brethren Origins Book 3) Page 3

  “In all honesty, I was terrified on the day of my nuptials.” Gazing aside, Arucard smiled. “Do you remember Master Gaudin’s lessons on austerity, in regard to carnal pleasures?”

  “How could I forget?” Aristide shivered just recalling the dire predictions, which he feared as a young gadling curious about his changing form. “A man could suffer the loss of sight, hearing, and sanity, along with eternal condemnation.”

  “Indeed, the first time I made love to Isolde, I expected my longsword to shrivel up and fall off, just before I tumbled into a pit of fire.” The leader of the Brethren snickered. “And when Pellier recommended the act of self-pleasure to ease the embarrassment of premature completion, until I learned to control my vigorous desires, I knew not what fate loomed for such an unpardonable breach of the two and seventy tenets of the Templar Code.”

  “Yet you recommend I undertake the same strategy, that I might satisfy Dionysia.” And that surprised Aristide because, of the Nautionnier Knights, Arucard approached every situation with reason and logic. “What changed your mind?”

  “Pellier.” Scowling, Arucard shook his head. “He claims he has engaged in the questionable activity since he was a boy of three and ten, often more than once a day, but his offspring is healthy, showing no signs of the curses we were led to believe would be borne of the child spawned by such an indulgent man. And then there is Roswitha, who offers additional proof in support of Pellier’s claims.” He shrugged. “Given the number of instances I have polished my great helm, my daughter should be a blind, deaf mute lunatic with a bad leg, but she is as beauteous and headstrong as her mother.”

  “So I should proceed as planned.” What Aristide would not admit to his friend was he had practiced the particular occupation in the wee hours, while abed, given that part of his anatomy steadfastly rose with the sun. Often ignored, except when he made water or washed, his longsword took to the unfamiliar attention with heretofore-unrivaled enthusiasm. As for release, well, thither were no words to describe what he experienced beneath the covers, but he would save that memory for himself. “And we should away, before His Majesty dispatches the guards.”

  “Then let us journey to the Abbey, whither your bride awaits.” With a hearty backslap, Arucard smiled. “Tonight, we dine, dance, and celebrate your nuptials, as you prepare to embark on a new future with your lady, and I wish you all the joy in your union as mine has brought me.”

  Thank you, brother.” Aristide nodded once, squared his shoulders, set his chin firm, and charged into the hall.

  Given he had neither seen nor spoken to Dionysia in a year, he knew not what to expect when they reunited, but he hoped he pleased her, as he did so wish to be a good husband. When he strolled into the bailey, a stablehand held the lead of Aristide’s destrier, and he did not hesitate as he gained his saddle. A flick of the reins set him on a course to fulfill his destiny, and in blessed silence he rode, with his friend at his side.

  “Geoffrey will return your stallion to the palace yard.” Arucard cast a side-glance at Aristide. “As you will join your wife in the carriage.”

  “I understand.” When the impressive stone structure, whither all kings of England were crowned, came into view, Aristide shuddered and swallowed hard. “This is really happening, is it not? I am not dreaming?”

  “Prithee, if you are going to be unwell, do not vomit on me.” Arucard heeled the flanks of his horse and steered clear of Aristide. “And if you feel faint, you should stop, dismount, and sit, else you might break your neck if you fall, and I am not carrying you.”

  “Have you no compassion for an anxious soul?” Inhaling a deep breath, Aristide blinked and tried to summon calm. “Is chivalry dead?”

  “It is whither you are concerned.” Arucard chuckled. “And what is wrong? I thought you had everything figured out, and you were prepared to wed Lady Dionysia, with nary a regret.”

  “I may have overstated my confidence just a tad.” Everything seemed to spin out of control, and he wiped his suddenly damp forehead. “A little sympathy would not hurt.”

  “Were you not the same one who teased me without mercy on the eve of my nuptials? And what was it you called me? Ah, yes, I remember now.” Arucard snapped his fingers. “You proclaimed me an overgrown teat sucker eternally bound to a skirt.”

  In that moment, Aristide cursed himself. “Is it too late to apologize?”

  Arucard burst into laughter.

  At the entrance to Westminster Abbey, a guard lingered, and as Aristide drew rein near a collective of carriages, and the royal attendants assisted the knights. While everything inside him ached to run away, he repeated his promise, in silence. And the mere thought of another man claiming Dionysia was enough to sustain him.

  With his brother at the right, Aristide navigated the cloister walk, the same path he traveled when Arucard and Demetrius took their vows. A brisk December wind cut through his elegant garments, and he shivered. At the Chapter House, a group of nobles gathered, and his knees buckled when he spied Dionysia, bedecked in blue, the traditional color of purity, and wearing her now familiar veil. Today, he would at last glimpse what hid beneath that scarf.

  “As the requisite parties are in attendance, let us commence the ceremony.” A light snow fell as, at the top step, Archbishop-elect Reynolds flipped through his book of prayers and cleared his throat. “If Sir Aristide and Lady Dionysia will join hands.”

  Aristide nodded once and faced her. “My lady.”

  “My lord.” As always, she met his stare without hesitation. “It is a beauteous day, is it not?”

  “Indeed, it is a glorious day.” If he ignored the biting chill and grey clouds, which he hoped reflected not on their relationship.

  In the ensuing moment in time, which passed in a haze of repetitive dialogue, a mix of embarrassment and confusion when he forgot his name, and a relentless accompaniment of anxiety, Aristide married Dionysia, in obeisance of the King’s command.

  Twining her fingers in his, she pledged, “From this day forward you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”

  “Grant that all married persons who have witnessed these vows may find their lives strengthened and their loyalties confirmed.” Closing his book, the archbishop stretched tall. “And now I pronounce you husband and wife. Sir Aristide, you may kiss your bride.”

  Panic rang in his ears, as he turned to Dionysia. Myriad bits of instruction and encouragement assailed his consciousness, as she unfastened her veil, and he scarcely noted a communal gasp from the witnesses. A smattering of freckles dotted her sweet little nose, and lush, full lips beckoned, as he pinned her blue gaze, bent his head, and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Then the host of spectators swamped Aristide and Dionysia.

  “Congratulations, brother.” Morgan leaned close. “But did you know she was marked? What of the scar?”

  Perplexed, Aristide peered over his shoulder at his wife. “She has a scar?”

  ~

  The simple but poignant question left Dionysia searching for her veil, which her new husband held in his grasp, so she bowed her head and pressed her palm to her cheek, which burned with embarrassment. But a lovely, elegantly garbed lady stepped to the fore.

  “Hello.” The stranger tipped Dionysia’s chin. “My name is Isolde, and I am married to Arucard.” She smiled and glanced to her left. “This is Athelyna, Demetrius’s wife. Welcome to the family.”

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance.” In anticipation of criticism, admonishment, and mockery, Dionysia braced for the shame.

  Instead, Athelyna drew near. “Must confess I am so excited to meet you, at last, as Aristide sings your praises. And we look forward to forming a lifelong friendship, as we women must unite to outwit our men.”

  Confused by their puzzling comments, Dionysia stammered, unable to form a coherent response.

  “Indeed, because they honestly believe they rule the castle, and you may permit them to labor under that assumption, however mistaken.” Isolde winked. “But you need not worry about starting at the beginning, as Athel and I have learned much from our knights, and we will share all we know to help you master Aristide.”

  “Then again, the male sex is no real mystery.” Athelyna giggled. “Give them food and a warm bed, and they are content, much like babes.”

  “What is this talk of babes?” A veritable mountain stared at Dionysia, and she retreated a step. “But I am Arucard, and I have come to claim a kiss from our new sister.”

  Before Dionysia could resist, he wrapped her in his burly arms and pressed his lips to her scarred cheek.

  “Make way, as I have yet to greet the lady.” In similar fashion, another estimable figure swamped her. “I am Demetrius, dear sister.”

  “Share the wealth, brothers.” A brash gadling, equally imposing in stature, grinned and gave her a wet kiss that struck her as far too familiar, but he made no apology. “I am Morgan, lovely Dionysia.” Then he glanced to the rear. “And that grumpy churl is Geoffrey.”

  The grumpy churl nodded once and scowled, and she gulped.

  “Do not let him frighten you, as he is all bark and no bite.” Aristide gallantly came to her rescue. “I promise, he is as tame as a newborn infant, when you get to know him.”

  “These giants, excepting the ladies, are your kin?” Despite her trepidation, she accepted his escort, as was her place. “And they hail from France?”

  “Aye.” Aristide patted her hand. “But let us discuss it, at length, during our wedding feast, because I am starved.”

  “All right.” Just then, her mother caught Dionysia’s stare. “Mayhap we should greet my parents, first.”

  “Smart as well as lovely. I am a fortunate soul.” As if bestowing compli
ments was routine, Aristide led her to the path whither her parents loitered. With unfailing confidence, he strolled right to her father. “Lord and Lady Goncourt, it is an honor to meet you.”

  “Sir Aristide, the honor is ours.” Furrowing his brow, Papa studied Dionysia. “Pray, take care of our daughter, and I shall forever be in your debt. But, if for any reason, you no longer want her, know that we will have her back, and you may keep the dowry for your trouble.”

  Although her parents meant well, in that instant, Dionysia could have fainted.

  “That goes without saying, my lord, as she is my responsibility.” Pulling her closer to his side, Aristide shifted his weight. “Per the sacrament, she is my wife, until I pass from this life, and that is a commitment I take very seriously. Know that our home is your home, and you will always have a seat at our table.”

  “Oh, thank you, Sir Aristide.” With a sigh of unmasked relief, Mama wiped a stray tear. “We intend no offense, but Dionysia is our only child, thus her welfare is important to us.”

  Biting her tongue, Dionysia uttered a silent prayer for mercy.

  “It is all right, Lady Goncourt.” To Dionysia’s surprise, Aristide chuckled, when other men might have issued a rebuke or a challenge. “And, as I said, our door is always open to you. Now, let us away, as His Majesty anticipates our arrival, and it is never good to keep the Sire waiting.”

  How polished was her husband, as he reassured her parents. If only he would extend her the same courtesy. Still, she clung to hope—she lived for it, and relaxed as he led her to their carriage.

  With a steely grip of her hips, her husband lifted her to the bench, as if she weighed no more than a feather. As Aristide settled beside her, he signaled the coachman, who flicked the reins. The rig lurched, and she fell against her mate.

  “I beg your pardon, Sir Aristide.” Smoothing the skirt of her heavy velvet gown, she focused on the passing landscape. “I apologize for impinging on your person.”

  “Given we are married, it is permissible for you to call me Aristide, or a term of endearment, if you choose, and I believe you are expected to impinge on my person, my dear Dion.” When she met his stare, he grinned. “Aye, that is my pet name for you, which I composed to begin the process of developing a relationship based on mutual respect and devotion, if our union is to succeed.”

  “Mutual respect and devotion?” Now he truly frightened her. “Do you think such things can be contrived, great one? And how do you define success, in relation to our marriage?”

  “Ah, you refer to me with similar fondness, which I noted when first we formed an acquaintance, and that bodes well, does it not?” The man appeared almost giddy. “And His Majesty charges us with begetting an heir, thus we should start there.” When she emitted a shriek of horror, he chuckled. “Calm yourself, my lady wife, as I have no plans to embark on that task tonight.”

  “But we must consummate our vows.” And she revisited the shocking conversation with Mama, last night, which exercised her mind and tested her fortitude. The mere thought of engaging in such intimate activities had her searching for an escape. “In fact, Papa says we must produce proof of the deflowering, at breakfast.”

  “I am aware of that, as the King made similar demands of Arucard and Demetrius, so I am prepared to provide the requisite evidence.” Bedecked in a rich, black velvet doublet festooned with old gold embroidery, with a matching mantle and chausses, he presented the perfect image of a favored knight of the realm. With thick, dark brown hair, short cropped, a clean-shaven face blessed with chiseled cheekbones and a patrician nose, and incredibly blue eyes she could gaze into for a sennight, she thought it a shame that the groom was far more beauteous than the bride. “And have no fears of our wedding night, as I grant you a deferment, until such time as we are more familiar.”

  “Do you not want me?” Thus the moment of truth struck with a vengeance. “Is it because of the scar? What did you do with my veil? If my appearance sickens you, I am more than happy to cover my face.”

  “You will do no such thing, and my decision has naught to do with desire. Rather, I would know you before I know you, and I would ask the same of you, in regard to me. Let us foster genuine tenderness before we mingle our bodies.” Just then, he drew the silk swath from beneath his mantle, held high the delicate material, which danced in the cold wind, and tossed her accouterment to the ground. “As for the mark, I find it unremarkable, thus I forbid you to hide from me, because I wish to gaze upon your fair visage, as it pleases me.”

  “You cannot be serious.” Conscious of her shame, she shielded the symbol of her degradation with her palm. “Do you not realize people will stare? Trust me, they will talk.”

  “So let them.” He shrugged. “What care I for their ignorance?”

  “What of my feelings?” Bowing her head, she closed her eyes. “Do you not consider how their response affects me? Do I matter not?”

  “On the contrary. You are the only one who matters.” As he did during their ceremony, he twined his fingers in hers, and she peered at him. “How came you by the scar? Did you fall and hurt yourself?”

  “No.” She needed to explain what happened. Needed him to understand the depth of her disgrace before he sealed their vows, else he could not secure an annulment. “It is a long story, and I promise to withhold naught from you.”

  “I appreciate that, because I prefer honesty in all things.” Had she thought him noble? The man was a veritable saint. “This I pledge on my troth, I shall always speak with sincerity and truth.”

  “And I swear the same oath, great one.” Repentant of her critical judgment of him, which Dionysia quickly learned was unfounded; she told herself she would make amends. When the carriage came to a halt in the bailey, she stayed him with a squeeze of his wrist. “Aristide, I must thank you, for choosing me as your bride.”

  “Oh, I cannot take credit for that.” He disembarked and turned to hand her down. “The King forced me to wed.”

  ARISTIDE

  CHAPTER THREE

  An ample dose of humility had a way of bringing a man to his knees, if only to partake of a healthy portion of the delicious dish often known as the great leveler—crow. Given the abrupt, unforeseen change in Dionysia’s mood, which he could not comprehend, he swallowed his pride and sought answers in the one place he knew he would find them.

  “Good eventide, brothers.” Ignoring their expressions of surprise, he frowned and straddled the bench. “May I join you?”

  “Of course.” Quirking his brows, Demetrius scooted to the side. “Are you all right?”

  “Wherefore do you ask?” Aristide propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his palm, cast a mighty scowl, and wondered how long it would take the husbands to lob the first shot.

  “Your forehead bleeds, as does your hand.” Arucard tossed him a napkin. “Have you had an accident?”

  “Is Dionysia injured?” Demetrius inquired.

  “My delicate wife is most assuredly well.” Aristide snorted. “And she is a red-haired hellion in hiding, which I would not wish on my worst enemy.”

  “What happened?” Arucard winced when Aristide swept aside his hair, revealing the wound his new bride delivered with a blunt candlestick, after a shocking tirade, the cause of which he still did not quite understand. “Did you not heed my guidance?”

  “I most certainly did, and I blame you for this.” Aristide flinched as he pressed the cloth to his flesh to staunch the flow of blood. “Everything progressed nicely, until I engaged her in conversation. Really, thither should be a codebook to decipher such confounding behavior.”

  “What did you tell her?” Arucard averted his gaze and scratched his chin. “Did I not counsel you to keep fledgling chatter elementary, before breaching her maidenhead, as it can be very traumatic?”

  “For her or for me?” Frustrated, Aristide pounded the tabletop. “As I may never recover from this night.”

  “Give us the whole of it, brother.” And then Demetrius ordered an additional tankard of ale from a passing bar wench. “Start from the beginning.”

  “For what it is worth, as the damage is done.” Aristide pinned Arucard with a lethal glare. “As you suggested, I endeavored to discern the history of my blushing bride with a few well composed queries, which I took the liberty of contriving on the eve of our union, as a prelude to the consummation of our vows.”