His keen brown gaze turned upon her. "Unhappy guests. Conniving underlings."
"Unhappy? Conniving?" She couldn't hide her surprise. "Why would anyone be unhappy at a wedding banquet?"
Artaud bit his lower lip then lowered his voice. "The priest of Couzan has been preaching against Pagans... again."
Melusine's blood cooled in her veins. "We must stop him from spreading his poisonous message."
Artaud sighed. "My pleas so far have remained unheeded."
"Pleas? You are the overlord. You must make him obey."
"‘Tis not that simple." Artaud drank a sip of his wine then handed the filigreed silver cup to Melusine. "If we uphold tolerance in Forez, every religion should have equal say. We cannot force a Christian priest into silence."
Melusine hid her foreboding and accepted the wine cup. "I understand."
She drank a sip of wine to alleviate her fears. As long as Christians preached against Pagans, however, both religions could not coexist in harmony.
* * *
That night, in their nuptial bedchamber Melusine finally relaxed. With Damas in the dungeon, one priest alone could not undo what she and Artaud had worked so hard to accomplish.
She sat on the bed, both hands on her slightly rounded belly, and smiled at her new husband. "Our enemies are vanquished, and we are officially wed, with children on the way. The future of Forez looks promising."
Artaud pulled her to her feet and encircled her waist. She reveled in the feel of his strong body against hers and laid her head on his shoulder. She could hear the strong beat of his heart.
"You look radiant, beloved." He now called her beloved, like Sigefroi did long ago.
She flushed hot at the compliment. "Most women do, when they are with child."
He placed one large hand flat on her belly. "They hardly show."
The warmth of his touch penetrated her skin through the blue gown, warming her all over. "‘Tis only been four moons since our sons sprouted from your seed."
"Yet I can feel strong life in the babes." He blew a strand of hair away from her ear, his warm breath caressing the side of her face.
"Aye." Melusine set her small hand upon his. Tingly tendrils radiated from his contact. "‘Tis because they carry Fae blood, yours and mine."
He stared at their hands linked on her belly. "Will they be Fae, like you?"
Her heart skipped a beat. "You mean immortal?"
He met her gaze and nodded.
"Nay, they'll be human, like their father, like the children I bore in Luxembourg." She made her voice soothing. "They may have strong intuitive abilities, but it takes much more Fae blood to beget immortal children."
"Ah." The regret in his tone pinched Melusine's heart.
She squeezed his hand. "You should rejoice that they'll be mortal. They'll never be hunted as monsters, or reviled as evil creatures." The memories of past persecutions briefly clouded Melusine's thoughts.
He kissed her brow, easing it smooth. "I suppose. They will be intelligent, head strong, but wise and fair, like you," he whispered in her ear then kissed it.
"Aye." She shivered at his tender ministrations, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "And they will be swarthy, strong, and loyal, like you. But most of all, they will grow up surrounded by love."
"About love..." He straightened, and a glint of mischief flashed in his deep brown eyes. "‘Tis our wedding night, and I intend to fully take advantage of this unique opportunity."
She smiled and disengaged herself to dip into a mock curtsy. "My lord, I am now your obedient wife."
"I doubt that very much." He rolled his eyes in jest. "You obey no one."
She raised her brow. "I obey the Great Goddess." That was the truth. "She wanted us to be joined. And here we are... with Her blessing."
He brought her close and held her tight against his warm body. "I will forever be grateful to the Great One for sending you to me."
The contact of his muscles through the tunic stirred Melusine's desire. Despite her condition, she experienced wanton urges, and tonight, his strong lavender soap scent, and the strength of his arms around her, had the power to make her forget everything else.
"Tonight, I want to swoon."
"Swoon?" He laughed against her and his laugh resonated into her chest. "I'll make you swoon."
He picked her off her feet and deposited her gently upon the bed, but remained standing to the side, facing her.
As he unbuckled his belt, she stopped him with one hand. "Please, let me."
His liquid brown eyes shone in the glow of the torches, as his hands went to caress her face. She deftly unbuckled the metal rings and loosened the brown leather. She hefted the belt and baldric strap with ease. He ducked out of the loop, letting her release him of Caliburn.
She stretched to hang the baldric on the peg jutting by the bedpost. As she did, he slipped his hands under the hem of her gown and caressed her calve. Heat flushed her skin at his contact. She turned on the bed to face him and sighed with anticipation.
"My turn to remove some of your clothing." He caressed her leg down and pulled off her soft leather boot... then the other.
She knelt at the edge of the mattress, to face him at equal height. "Now, my turn."
Loosening the laces of his tunic, she slipped her hands to stroke the soft hair of his chest.
He held her hips gently, eyes closed, and hummed in response to her touch. "You drive me wild, wife."
"Good." She pushed aside the fabric to lick and tease his budding nipple with her teeth.
"By Jupiter's balls." His grip on her hips tightened.
She felt the brunt of his sudden erection, hard against her womb, but she kept her ministrations.
"Two can play this game." He pushed her back on the bed, where she bounced. He pulled the tunic over his head, then dove next to her. His strong hands palmed her hardening breasts through the gown, making her arch under his touch. His lips came upon hers.
Melusine moaned under his kiss as he claimed her mouth. His ardor redoubled with her eager response. When one of his hands shoved aside her gown and resolutely moved up her leg, she arched to meet him, yearning for his contact.
Lost in his touch and his kiss, she barely noticed as he removed her gown. Somehow, his boots and leggings vanished. They tangled in the bed sheets and blankets and she reveled in his heated skin. She inhaled his male scent, caressed his scarred back, moaned under his expert touch, eager for a deeper contact.
"Please, lord husband, make me swoon."
"As you order, my lady wife." His knee separated her legs, forcing them apart.
"Aye. I like it when you impose your strong love upon me."
He rammed her with a forceful thrust. She gasped and heat pooled at her core, to bathe and welcome him.
Without breaking rhythm, he pinned her hips to the bed. She reveled in his fierce lovemaking.
His teeth took hold of her breast, enhancing her pleasure. Overwhelming sensations rained over her body. The frenzy of their lovemaking took her into a swirling whirlwind. She heard herself moan in ecstasy as he rode her like a beautiful dark stallion. She felt every stroke, every caress, every bite, every deep kiss, and lost her mind in the act of love.
They rode together for a long time, until she couldn't take anymore pleasure. He surprised her with the intensity of his climax, then he relaxed upon her, just the way she liked it.
Panting, flushed, happy and fulfilled, Melusine couldn't help but smile. "You truly made me swoon, lord husband."
He chuckled. "I believe I did."
"I feel so safe here, with you. We'll raise a beautiful family within these walls."
"Aye. As I promised in my vows, I will protect and love you until the day I die."
"I know." But he would die too soon, and Melusine would keep living for many centuries.
Chapter Twelve
October 1029
Buckling his baldric, Artaud sauntered down the last steps to the great hal
l on his way to his regular sunrise inspection. A commotion at the end of the hall attracted his attention.
Guards surged from the dungeon stairs into the hall, in a state of shock, bumping into each other, vociferating like mad men. One saw him and froze into place, helmet crooked on his head, holding his spear upside down, eyes wide. "M'lord," he panted.
"What happened?"
The guard swallowed hard. "We cannot find your prisoner, the traitor of Couzan, m'lord. He's gone."
"What?" Artaud's blood surged and rushed through his body. "Damas is gone?" His heart raced in his chest. With Damas free, no one was safe.
The guard nodded. "Aye, m'lord. We saw him in his cell last night at supper time. This morning, his cell was still locked, but empty... and he didn't even touch the food."
"By the horns of Mithras!" Artaud feared for Melusine, unprotected in the keep. Damas couldn't have left the castle. All the gates were still closed. But he couldn't imagine how the wretched baron could have escaped a locked cell in a dungeon. "Where were the guards? You let him escape right under your noses?"
"We..." The guard shifted from one foot to the other. "It seems we fell asleep, m'lord. All of us." The man scratched the scruff of his neck. "Could have been something in the food... or the ale."
"By Jupiter's balls!" If the empty cell was locked, the traitor had an accomplice among the guards. A soldier still loyal to his former commander?
The man straightened his helmet and his spear in a semblance of dignity. "What should we do, m'lord?"
The idea of a traitor among his guards chilled Artaud's blood. A swirling eddy swallowed all the morning's happiness. "Peal the toll and spread the order to keep all the gates closed until I say otherwise."
"Aye, m'lord." The guard saluted and scampered outside the hall into the chilly dawn.
Artaud stopped the next man emerging from the dungeon stairwell. His guard captain. "Gilbert!"
The captain saluted. "My lord."
"Take as many men as you need and search the castle grounds, inch by inch." Artaud raked his hair to alleviate his frustration. "Damas cannot have gone far."
"Aye, my lord." Captain Gilbert bowed then walked away with determination in his steps.
Had Damas gone over the wall? No, a sentinel would have seen or heard him... unless the sentinel in question was the accomplice. Or worse... the traitor knew one of the secret tunnels.
No. No one knew of the tunnels, except Artaud, his two siblings, and Melusine. None of them would ever reveal such crucial military secrets. Yet, Artaud had to consider the possibility that his enemy might now possess the key to Montarcher.
Worse... Melusine could be his enemy's next target. Artaud had enquired about the late man in black, and discovered he worked for the Church. The greedy Damas also worked for the archbishop, who set a price on Melusine's head.
Under a leaden autumn sky, everyone searched feverishly for the missing prisoner. Artaud had skipped breakfast, and his stomach grumbled. All morning long, from the stables to the dairy, servants and soldiers inspected each stall, stabbed each haystack with pitchforks and spears.
The entire castle buzzed with the news. From the scullery to the kitchens, from the larder to the barracks, Artaud's men left no corner unturned, even exploring the stinking midden pile.
No sign of the escaped prisoner. By Jupiter's balls, Artaud should have killed Damas when he had a chance. But he did not want to give the Church another reason to hate him, or divide his people into warring factions. Why couldn't Christians, Pagans and Jews live together in peace?
By noon, Artaud climbed to the gatehouse. A long line of carts loaded with victuals still waited outside the closed gate. Damas was likely long gone. Servants needed to come to work, so life could resume in the castle.
Artaud turned to his captain of the guard. "Gilbert, open the gate to incoming traffic."
"Aye My lord." Gilbert motioned to his men, who hurried to the barbican to raise the portcullis. "Anything else, my lord?"
"Double the guard at each gate, and check any leaving woman, man and cart. Investigate anyone resembling Damas in stature."
Captain Gilbert nodded gravely. "Aye, my lord. We know what he looks like."
Fortunately, all the guards knew his face well, since he had once been their commander. "Still. He could be in disguise."
As Captain Gilbert scrambled away, Artaud wondered whether he should ask Melusine for help to find Damas with her second sight. He shook his head. He already knew what she would say. Unless their lives were in imminent danger, the Great One prohibited the use of magic against mortals. Breaking the sacred rule would only invite dire repercussions.
* * *
That afternoon, Artaud led a mounted party through the woods, toward the castle of Couzan, now under his tutelage since he'd defeated Damas. Autumn mist rose from the humus of the earth, carrying the rich, earthy smells of the forest. The leaves already turned russet and yellow. Bucks, hares and boars scattered at the sound of galloping horses. Hunting season...
Artaud's men now occupied the fortress of Couzan, keeping a keen eye on the traitor's family. The fugitive Damas would not likely return to a home under Artaud's control, but he might be shrewd enough to try. What better place to hide? A strong castle with loyal family and friends could easily shelter him in some secret rooms, right under Artaud's men's noses.
As he rode, Artaud scanned the surrounding woods. Was Damas on foot? Did he have a horse? Would he flee, or choose to remain and fight despite the odds? The Forest fell silent, as if listening for intruders.
Artaud raised one hand to stop his party. For a moment, only the chomping of horses on the bit, their snorting, the squeak of leather and the jingle of mail broke the silence. Birds, insects, and wild animals held their breath.
Could it be Damas? No. Artaud's mounted party must have disturbed the serenity of the place. Motioning his men forward, Artaud resumed the ride.
* * *
Crouching behind a bush along the dirt road leading to his domain, Damas stared at the soldiers riding straight for his castle. By all the saints, Artaud himself led the riders. How Damas wished he had a crossbow to strike him in the back and be done with him. But he only had a knife, and the men were moving too fast for an accurate throw. Besides, if he killed Artaud now, he would get caught and executed on the spot. The time for revenge would come soon enough.
Thanks to the loyalty of a guard, a dedicated man Damas had trained and molded to serve him over the past ten years, he was free. The devoted guard had been informing Damas on Artaud's family for over a year... since he'd left Montarcher to build his own castle.
The clever guard had even discovered a secret passage out of and into Montarcher's fortress... allowing for his brash escape. Damas would put that new information to good use. It would be the end of Artaud. The arrogant count would not stand as master of Forez for long. Damas would see to it.
Now, however, was time to hide, recruit new forces, and bide his time. Alone and defeated, Damas could not stand against Artaud. But he still had plenty of gold, hidden where no one would find it... and gold could buy anyone's fealty. Artaud may be a straight arrow, but not all his men were immune to corruption. The guard who'd freed him last night was a perfect example.
As he watched Artaud and his men ride away, Damas allowed himself a thin smile. He had designed and planned his fortress of Couzan for himself, not for the enemy who now occupied it. They owned the obvious parts of the castle but would never discover the secret rooms, vaults, and the many passages underneath. That's where Damas would reside while he devised his return to power.
* * *
In the great hall of Couzan, the baron's wife stared at Artaud with unsettling insistence. "I haven't seen my husband since the day you took him prisoner. May the devil take his soul. We are your loyal subjects, Lord Artaud."
Artaud could tell she was lying, but not the exact nature of the lie. He turned to the stiff youth at her side, with sticky hair and
wide eyes. "How about you, young man? Have you seen your father?"
The boy shook his head, clutching his hat in trembling hands.
He was hiding something, too, but what? Artaud turned to his captain. "Gilbert, search this castle from top to bottom!"
Gilbert saluted and snapped orders to guards and garrison men, then left the great hall. Artaud followed him out, then crossed the bailey to climb the battlements. Once there, he gazed upon the rocky escarpment and the river and surrounding forest below. Somehow he sensed Damas must be close, but he couldn't see or hear anything. Where was he?
After hours of search, Captain Gilbert joined Artaud atop the wall. "We have looked everywhere, my lord. We found no sign of Damas, no indication anyone is hiding here."
Artaud sighed. "I want you and our party to remain here with the garrison for a few days... just in case Damas decides to return home. Let me know if anything new happens."
Gilbert straightened and nodded. "Aye, my lord."
On the lonely ride back to Montarcher, Artaud pushed his destrier to a gallop. The breeze stiffened, and the timid sun disappeared into darkening clouds. The fact that Damas may be hiding close frayed Artaud's nerves. By the time he crossed the gates of Montarcher and dismounted by the stables, a cold drizzle enveloped his fortress in a damp, gray blanket.
Tired and frustrated, Artaud climbed the stairs of the keep, in search of Melusine.
* * *
Sitting in the solar with her ladies, who chatted gaily while spinning their distaff, Melusine glanced up at the familiar footsteps and jingle of mail in the stone stairwell. She stopped spinning and adjusted the light blanket covering her legs and rounding stomach.
Artaud walked into the light of the candelabra, drenched, his face drawn and grave. "May we speak in private?"
His curt tone gave her pause. His cursory gaze scanned the other women. Under their lord's scrutiny, the ladies gathered their distaffs and wool and flitted out of the solar like frightened butterflies.
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