“Come hither, Pellier.” She grabbed the marshalsea’s arm and led him to the stables. Availing herself of the confusion and activity amid the unexpected arrivals, Isolde summoned additional assistance. To the Master of the Horse, she said, “Hurry. Thou must saddle our fastest mount, and send thy apprentice to the rear guards to lower the postern bridge, per my directive.”
“My lady, I am at thy service.” Pellier peered over her shoulder and frowned. “But if I try to leave the castle, thy father will see me.”
“Not if thou dost exit the rear gate—now.” As her plan formed and took shape, Isolde attempted to anticipate his needs and clapped twice as Margery, out of breath, stumbled into the stall. “Return to the kitchen and pack foods that travel well, and make haste.”
“Whither doth Pellier journey?” Pale, Margery swallowed hard. “And wherefore hath thy father traveled hither?”
“Anon, I will explain, and I know not my father’s aim.” Isolde shoved her friend. “But do not delay, as I suspect my life, and that of Sir Arucard, hangs in the balance.”
“Aye, my lady.” Margery disappeared as fast as she had appeared.
A shiver of unease danced along her spine, but Isolde shook off the disconcerting sensation and focused her efforts, as now was no time for panic. She had but a single opportunity to send for help, and if Pellier failed, she might never reunite with her husband again. When the hand led a stallion into the yard, she wound her arm about Pellier’s. “Let us stroll, under shield of calamity, to avoid attracting unnecessary attention.”
“My lady, while I shall not challenge thee, I do not like this.” The marshalsea scowled, as they navigated the throng. “I am charged with thy safety, and I would not abandon thee to thine enemy.”
“That is thy first mistake, Pellier.” When they gained the small, unremarkable gatehouse, which blended into the background, to her good fortune, with none the wiser, Isolde uttered a silent prayer of thanks. “Thou art not abandoning me. Thou art my lone chance for survival if thou canst locate my husband.”
“I grabbed everything I could find that would not spoil in thy belly.” Margery conveyed a bundle, which she tied to the saddle. “Try not to consume it all by dusk, as thou dost eat enough for three.” Then she sniffed and stared at the ground. “Take care, Pellier.”
“Woman, thou wilt not be rid of me so easily.” To Isolde’s surprise, Pellier cupped Margery’s cheek and bestowed upon her a thorough kiss. “Perchance I might marry thee when I return.”
“Thou should be so blessed.” The steward smoothed the folds of his cloak and then hugged him. “If thou dost come back, I will be thy wife.”
“Ah, that alone is reason to fight.” The ground shook as the drawbridge extended, and he jumped into the saddle, drew rein, and turned the stallion. To Isolde, he said, “My lady, I will not fail ye.”
“I have faith in ye.” Isolde clasped hands with Margery. “Tell Sir Arucard I need him.”
With that, Pellier dipped his chin and charged the traverse. As soon as he had safely crossed the expanse, Isolde glanced at the guard. “Raise the bridge.”
“My lady, what shall we do now?” Margery asked, as they returned to the courtyard, which manifested a beehive of activity.
“Ready the guest rooms.” Her father descended his great black stallion, and Isolde inhaled a calming breath. “And have the cook prepare pykes in brasey and a mushroom pasty for supper.”
“The earl’s favorite.” Margery frowned, as he spied them and waved. “My lady, I will do whatever thou dost require, but I ask ye not to trust his lordship.”
“I know better than that, old friend. I will see thee at dinner.” Marching into the breach, Isolde dreaded each consecutive step she took, which brought her closer to her adversary. With images of Arucard flashing in her mind, she invoked his strength to meet her foe. “Father, what a lovely surprise.” The epitome of elegance and refinement, she curtseyed, even as her heart plummeted. “Welcome to Chichester Castle.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two days had passed since the fateful confrontation in the Sovereign’s tent, and Arucard seethed in silence and under guard, as the royal forces marched east. Despite His Majesty’s promise to keep the Brethren safe from harm, naught was said regarding the length of such hospitality, and Arucard knew too well the dangers of powerful rulers and fickle favor.
“I am so glad I expended considerable worry for thy welfare, as we journeyed hither.” Aristide snorted and glared at Demetrius. “As the King’s food and drink poses a dire threat to the size of thy waist.”
“Do not confuse my appetite with indifference, as I am just as concerned as thee.” Demetrius tossed aside a chicken bone. “But I see no reason to starve myself, if I am but to die.”
“Thou hast always thought with thy belly.” Geoffrey kicked over a platter of fruit. “Dost thou not care for our necks, and what of Lady Isolde?”
“I understand the risks.” Demetrius shot to his feet and squared off with Geoffrey. “Dost thou question my honor?”
“What honor?” Aristide inquired.
“Cease thy arguments.” As their leader, Arucard situated himself in the middle of the fray, as he pondered how long it would take before someone struck a blow. “We will not do this. We will not permit anyone to put us at odds, when we art not enemies.”
The misplaced anger did not surprise him, given their close quarters. Add to that the restlessness of an unknown future, and it was no small wonder his fellow knights had not already clashed.
It was, perchance, for that reason he was infinitely glad of his decision to leave Isolde in Chichester, whither she was safe from harm. If the worst happened, and he was executed, thither remained the outside chance she would survive the baseless charges. As long as she lived, all was not lost.
“I am sorry, brother.” Demetrius extended a hand in camaraderie, which Aristide accepted. “But the uncertainty of our predicament gnaws at my gut.”
“My apologies.” With a chuckle, Aristide chucked Demetrius. “Thou hast always been a nervous eater.”
Arms splayed wide, Geoffrey winked. “Give us a kiss, pretty one.”
“I am anxious, not crazy.” Demetrius grimaced. “And I would sooner have my head separated from my body than kiss thy ugly face.”
“Easy, friend. Thou mayest yet get thy wish.” And so Arucard heaved a sigh of relief—until Briarus entered the tent. “What say ye, sirrah?”
“His Majesty commands thy presence.” The sergeant bowed. When Demetrius, Geoffrey, and Aristide loomed behind Arucard, Briarus stated, “My apologies, but only Sir Arucard is summoned.”
“Whither my brother goes, so go I.” Demetrius stretched to his full height. “Would thou attack us, one by one? Art thou a coward?”
“Stand down, men. Hither thou shalt remain, as I confront the Sire’s judgment.” Having surrendered his sword, Arucard possessed naught but the strength of his conviction and faith, as he walked to the exit. At the last second, he peered into the corner and rolled his eyes. “And someone wake Morgan.”
Outside, he shielded his gaze from the sunlight and noticed the servants and soldiers rushing to dismantle tents, put out fires, and pack the encampment. To the left, he observed a makeshift pen and the Brethren horses. Numerous opportunities for escape flashed in his brain, now that he had located their mounts; as the prisoner knights had been transported in a wagon since falling from favor, and he formed a strategy, should a chance at liberty prevail.
In the King’s huge lodging, Arucard discovered no garrison of soldiers. Instead, only the Sovereign waited. As customary, Arucard knelt, bowed his head, and pressed a fist to his chest.
“Rise, Sir Arucard.” As Arucard gained his feet, His Majesty displayed two parchments, one of which he passed to Arucard. “The burden of rule presents us with a seemingly endless supply of enemies in quest for our throne, and we must depend on our judgment to determine who we can and cannot trust. We art gratified to learn we can rely up
on thee.”
Scanning the contents of the missive, Arucard clenched his teeth and simmered with rage, given the outright lies contained in the document. “Majesty, on my life, never have I—”
“Keep reading, Sir Arucard.” The King smiled and then poured two goblets of wine.
As he neared the closing, Arucard paused, sighed in relief, and then chuckled, as the traitor, in his zeal to deflect blame and condemn an innocent, had unwittingly provided too much information and all but heralded his own culpability. “The earl of Rochester knows naught of my affiliations or my history.”
“And therein lies his downfall.” His Majesty rubbed his chin and narrowed his stare. “At the time thou were supposed to have committed thy heinous infractions against our authority, thou were, in fact, our guest in White Tower. Thus thou could not have perpetrated the crimes of which thou dost stand accused. And Aeduuard de Cadby supports thy account of the skirmish in Chichester as an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Lord, be praised.” For the first time since departing Chichester Castle, Arucard relaxed. “Sire, if I may, I would like to ride for Rochester.”
“Sir Arucard, thither we have journeyed, since thou joined our caravan.” The revelation stunned Arucard, as the King descended his traveling throne and stretched upright. “And we would ask our Nautionnier knights to drive ahead, as we art but a day’s ride from thy wife’s childhood home.”
And Arucard could arrest the earl for offenses against the Realm, if not for Isolde’s abuse. At the prospect, he rejoiced. “Majesty, it would be my pleasure.”
#
It was just after dawn when Isolde emerged from her chambers, clothed in a green cotehardie and with her hair plaited. While most homes opted to forgo a morning meal, her father always demanded a sop, bread, and tea, so she prepared the fare, herself, to spare the cook and Margery any complaints. But she coveted other motives, as she preferred to keep him isolated, in the event her servants divulged precious information that might harm Arucard. So to avoid any additional protests, she delivered the food.
“Good morrow, Father.” She set the tray on the bedside table and turned to exit.
“Come in and pull up a chair, chitty-face, as I would have words with thee.” How she hated it when he called her that, but she would not protest and incite his anger, as she found comfort in his disdain. Garbed in a robe, he sat at the edge of the mattress and draped a blanket over his legs. “Wherefore hast thou not answered my last letter?”
“I did not realize it required a response, as thou didst not ask for one.” Given he thought her dull-witted, she saw no reason to disabuse him of the notion, especially when it aided her cause. So she would play her part to perfection and, mayhap, save her husband. “Art thou comfortable in thy accommodations? Is this not a grand castle? Sir Arucard hath many plans for improvements, we shall purchase new oak benches for the great hall, and I should love to plant roses in the spring.” Smoothing her skirts, she bounced. “And dost thou favor my new fashions?”
“Stupid girl, I did not travel hither to discuss the furnishings or thy attire.” He scowled, as sop trickled down his chin, and she yearned to vomit, but she maintained her false veil. “What hast thou learned of thy husband’s fortune? And how hath he earned the King’s favor?”
“I know not, Father.” She blinked and shrugged, but inside she laughed at his ignorance. “As Sir Arucard doth not discuss such things in my presence, as I am but a woman.” It physically hurt to proclaim such a falsehood, given Arucard shared everything with her, but Father would never learn her husband’s secrets from her. To reinforce her act, she giggled and toyed with the cuff of her sleeve, knowing such behavior would incite him. “Hast thou admired the tapestries? Art they not very fine? And hast thou noticed we have glazed windows? Is that not a wonder?”
“That thou art my issue is the wonder.” The ire in his tone left her shaking, as she feared a lashing. “Get thee gone, as thy mere existence annoys me.”
“Aye, Father.” He did not know it, but that was just what she wanted—his condescension and dismissal. If she could fool her father until her husband returned, she would survive. For good measure, she skipped to the door and added, “Have a lovely day.”
As expected, he didn’t even acknowledge her. So Isolde returned to the kitchen to plan supper. But just as she gathered the ingredients for her special herb bread, a soldier approached, and his expression conveyed ill tidings.
“My lady, a visitor is just arrived.” The guard shuffled his feet. “He claims an acquaintance with Lord Rochester, and the earl’s men permitted entry, despite our protests.”
“But thou didst make the right choice.” So many decisions had fallen to her judgment, and never had she foreseen assuming such responsibility prior to her marriage. And while Arucard had not written, she maintained their home and their people. Given her father’s troops outnumbered the garrison of Chichester, by a majority of two to one, Isolde had instructed her husband’s soldiers to yield, as she would not risk unnecessary violence. “Whither is our guest?”
“In the great hall, my lady.” The young soldier speared his fingers through his hair and sputtered. “It seems he expects thee to provide lodging.”
“Oh.” Fear sparked and grew, as she contemplated housing her father’s ally, and she loathed another villain in their midst, but she recalled her position and the power invested therein. “Then summon Margery and have her prepare an additional chamber.”
“Aye, my lady.” The guard saluted, and she laughed.
When she entered the primary seat of dining, drinking, and celebrating, she was surprised to find a tall and handsome man waiting. With the garb of a noble, ebony hair, and foreign features, the stranger gazed on her and smiled.
“Welcome to Chichester Castle.” She extended her hand, and he bowed and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “I am Lady Isolde de Villiers, the chatelaine.”
“I have heard much of thee, my lady.” When she attempted to retreat, he squeezed her fingers, and she swallowed her trepidation, lest she panic. “Thy father neglected to mention thou art beauteous. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Juraj de Mravec.”
#
The journey to Rochester had been arduous, given the weather had turned, but Arucard uttered a prayer of thanks when they arrived. Quaint but rugged, Isolde’s childhood home presented an odd mix of quiet beauty and austere resilience. A rolling hill hugged the manor house, which was protected by a large ditch at the base of the outer wall. To his surprise, the lone gatehouse remained open, and he rode into the courtyard with no resistance, just before sunset. As he studied the natural stone structure that boasted a single crenellated tower, an elderly man and woman emerged from a large entry.
“Good eventide, sir.” The grey-haired servant bowed. “I am Hervisse, Lord Rochester’s majordomo. How may I be of assistance?”
“I am the earl of Sussex and thy master’s son-in-law.” After descending his destrier, he peered left and then right, as the yard was eerily quiet and empty, which worried him. “Is Lord Rochester in residence?”
“Nay, my lord.” Hervisse whispered to the woman, and she curtseyed and then scurried into the house. “Wilt thou not come inside and take thy ease?”
“Thank ye.” He was in no mood to partake of the earl’s hospitality, but he cooperated. To Demetrius, Arucard said, “Search the garrison, the stables, and any other structures. Report what ye dost find.”
“Aye, brother.” Demetrius signaled the Brethren.
When Arucard strolled into the grand residence, which opened into a massive gallery, he noted numerous paintings of what he presumed were de Tyreswelles past and present, but he failed to locate any portrait of his wife. While he recognized the earl, the heir, and what he would have guessed was the countess, in light of her resemblance to Isolde, thither were no images of his lady.
“Hither she is not, my lord.” The bespectacled woman wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “The earl of Rochester c
ommissioned no renderings of his daughter, the Lady Isolde, God bless her kind spirit.” Then she drew a handkerchief from her fitchet and daubed her nose. “If I might infringe on thy generosity, mayest I prevail upon thee to convey my lady’s personal belongings to her? The earl commanded I destroy Lady Isolde’s things, but I had not the heart to abide his order.”
“Of course, I will transport them to her.” When she indicated a very small trunk, he frowned. “Is that all of it?”
“Yea, my lord.” She bent, unlatched the lock, and lifted the lid. “My lady never had much, but she never complained.”
Tattered garb bespoke a pauper’s life, not the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, and telltale stains to the chemises betrayed the hardship she suffered long before they married. A broken comb, a well-worn brush, a bundle of lace-edged squares, and a frayed Bartholomew baby, which inspired a smile, constituted the whole of her existence, and he counted it a precious treasure. “I will see to it my wife receives the items.”
“My lord, if I may inquire after her health and happiness.” The old woman clutched her throat. “And art thou pleased with thy union?”
“Infe, thou must not ask such questions.” Hervisse grabbed her arm. “Remain in the kitchen, if thou cannot show proper respect and hold thy tongue. I apologize, your lordship.”
“Wait, as I am not offended.” Arucard understood the servant’s concern. Just as Isolde had won Margery’s loyalty, along with everyone else’s in the castle, she had charmed her former attendants, and he sought to allay their fears. “My wife was very unhappy with me, when last I saw her, as I departed Chichester without her. But Isolde counts our steward a friend, as the woman once worked for the earl, so she is not alone. Mayhap thou art familiar with Margery.”
Infe gave vent to a startling shriek, and Hervisse flinched and then hugged her. With a watery gaze, the majordomo opened and then closed his mouth. “Forgive us, Lord Sussex, but Margery is our daughter, and we have had no word of her, since the earl dismissed her from employ. We knew naught of her fate and feared the worst.”
Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) Page 17