“Can I trust ye?” She glanced at his sheath. “As it is a very great secret.”
“I give ye my word, as a Nautionnier knight, I will guard thy confidence.” How charming she was, as she blushed. “Thou art no criminal, are ye?”
“Oh, no.” With a nervous laugh, she averted her gaze. “But I am running away.”
“From what?” Ah, they were a pair, but he enjoyed no sanctuary.
“An arranged marriage.” His gut clenched, given her declaration, and a mighty frown marred her lovely countenance. “I have spent the better part of my years at the convent in Coventry, and I want naught more than to serve Our Lord, for the remains of my days. But my father died, and my brother, bent on attaining political prestige, negotiated a contract, which I rebuke.”
“Thine is a noble endeavor.” And how he approved of her uncommon sense, which mirrored his own. “I applaud thy fortitude and courage, to remain true to thy dreams, and I share thy partiality for a modest fate.”
In that instant, she smiled, and he would have swore the sun shone in his tiny abode. “Pray, sir, what is thy name?”
“I am Demetrius.” Now a union with her did not strike him as so bad, as he could do worse. An image of the snaggle-toothed Matild flashed before him, and he winced. “And thine?”
“Thou mayest call me Lily, as do my friends.” She untied her cloak, revealing a swan-like neck and an ample bosom, not that he took much note, sampled the brewet, and moaned. “I should be honored to count ye as such, and this is delicious.”
“What is thy destination?” For some reason he could not fathom, he wished to know her plans, even though he it improbable they would ever meet again. “Given thou hast no means of travel, how wilt ye make the trip?”
“I know not, but I will not go back to London, and no one can force me.” Lily studied him, and he shifted beneath the weight of her perusal. “I intend to join the abbey at Rochester and, if they permit it, make my final profession of vows. Then I shall have what I have always desired, an austere life spent in service to the poor and hapless.”
“I am humbled by thy virtue, fair Lily.” In that he did not lie, as he might have found a rare equal to Lady Isolde, and yet his incomparable charge belonged to another. “Mayest I inquire after thy age, as thou dost seem quite young, despite thy wisdom?”
“I am seven and ten, sir.” She sniffed, and he spied tears, which she tried but failed to hide. “Far too old to be a new bride.”
“Wherefore canst thy brother not see that?” Demetrius snickered. “As thou art almost middle aged.” No doubt that falsehood would haunt him.
“Thank ye, and thou art truly the most intelligent man of my acquaintance.” And then Lily sagged, as a flower thirsting for water, and she yawned. “My, but I am tired.”
“Wherefore dost thou not rest, while I stand watch?” At her expression of skepticism, he chuckled. “Dear Lily, I will not harm ye, as I could have done so, already, if that were my aim. Wilt thou not trust me, as thou hast availed thyself of my hospitality, and I have asked naught of ye?”
“Well, I suppose I should sleep.” Her thickly lashed lids drooped, and she dozed almost as soon as she reclined on his pillow.
Captivated by the magnificent creature, he looked his fill while she was unaware, as never had he spent so much time alone with a lady of her estimation, and her mouth held him spellbound. The hours ticked past, as counted by the moon’s journey across the night sky, and soon a thin sliver of shimmering gold appeared on the horizon.
Demetrius had just relaxed, when the rumble of hoofbeats brought him alert. Grasping his sword, he checked on Lily, but she did not stir. After shrugging into his heavy cloak, he untied the flaps, bent, and stepped outside.
The King’s guard approached, and a familiar guise led the patrol. When Briarus, the Crown’s faithful messenger and sergeant, waved, Demetrius responded in kind. The men drew rein, and Briarus extended his hand in friendship.
“Good morrow, sirrah.” Demetrius considered his impromptu guest and realized he needed to divert his comrades, as he would not ruin the unlucky lady. “It is remarkably pleasing to see ye, but what manner of mischief brings ye beyond the borders of London, proper?”
“I am about the Sire’s business, and it involves ye, Sir Demetrius, and a misplaced mate.” Briarus untied his leather drinking bag. “But I have been searching these hills since last night, and I cannot return without my ward.”
“Sir Demetrius?” Rubbing her eyes, Lily appeared in the opening of his tent, and Demetrius cringed. “Thou art a servant of the realm?”
“Great abyss of suffering, thou hast solved my dilemma, my friend. Wherefore didst ye not tell me?” Briarus signaled his soldiers, and they marched on the wayward waif. “At last, I can go home to a hot bath, a warm bed, and amiable companionship.”
“Prithee, a moment.” In a fit of insanity, Demetrius gripped the hilt of his sword, and the guards halted. “Wherefore dost thou accost an innocent? Of what is the harmless woman guilty, to merit such treatment?”
“Thou dost not know?” For a second, Briarus just stood there. Then, without warning, he burst into laughter. “Oh, this is too adventitious to miss, and it will be the talk of the garrison, if I have anything to do about it.”
“What is so funny?” Confused, Demetrius scratched his chin. “And what, pray tell, is adventitious about thy arrest of a virtuous maiden?”
“Let me go.” Lily bit the wrist of one unfortunate warrior and kicked another in the shins, and he groaned and hopped. But Demetrius adored her spirit and fit of temper. “Thou wilt not succeed, as I refuse to assist ye in thy nefarious aims. Thou cannot force me to take a husband. I will fight ye to my last breath.”
“Wait.” With another guffaw, and an upraised palm, Briarus halted his men and said, to Demetrius, “Thou art truly ignorant of her personage, and the lady is similarly afflicted?”
“Aye, in some respects.” Demetrius nodded and pondered how to liberate her from her predicament. “But I know she is called Lily.”
“Is that what she told ye?” Again, Briarus erupted in unrestrained mirth, as he hugged his belly. “Permit me to make the introductions.” Waggling his brows, the sergeant clicked his heels and sketched a mock salute. “Sir Demetrius de Blackbourne, may I present Lady Athelyna Des Moutiers, thy future wife.”
#
Pounding on the locked door to her chamber at court, and yanking on the knob, Lady Athelyna Des Moutiers rained unladylike curses on her captors, to no avail. No doubt the sisters at the convent would disapprove of such foul language, but Athelyna was desperate. After a few futile minutes of rebellion, she sank to the floor and hugged herself.
“What am I to do?” she asked no one. When she spied a window large enough to accommodate her, she stood and ran to the marble ledge. To her frustration, she peered at the bailey from a fourth floor vantage. Desperate, she studied the stone surface of the wall, searching for even the smallest foothold, as she would risk a fall in her quest to evade the vicar’s noose. “Thither is no escape.”
The telltale rasp of the lock, followed by the grate of the hinges, announced a visitor, and she squared her shoulders. When her sibling entered and shut the heavy oak panel behind him, she braced for a confrontation.
“Thou didst deliberately disobey my commands and bring shame upon our family.” Stretched to full height, Gerwald folded his arms and frowned. “Owing to thy intemperate behavior, everyone laughs at us, and I ought to beat ye. Wilt thou make a mockery of father’s memory?”
“Forgive me, brother, but I made no secret of my opposition to the marriage ye didst arrange, without my knowledge or consent.” Her mind raced, as she struggled to compose the perfect plea to sway him. “Although I have no wish to defy thy authority, since birth I have always known I was meant for a higher purpose than that of a wife, who functions as little more than an heir maker and decoration for her husband. When Papa placed me with the Carmelites, as an oblate, I dedicated my life to
the Lord. While I have yet to make my final profession of vows, I have long honored the covenants of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and I cannot reconcile the austere existence with the requirements of the sacrament of holy matrimony.”
“But thou will, because I order ye to do so, and thou hast naught else.” Despite their years apart, how well Athelyna read his steadfast bearing. “In light of thy impending nuptials, I have ceased payment of thy dowry to the nunnery, thus thou hast nowhere to go. And if ye do not abide by the agreement I signed on thy behalf, I shall disown ye and turn thee out to suffer the consequences of thy stubbornness.”
“Thou would do that to me—thy sister?” Swallowing a sob, she suppressed impending tears, as it was no time to exhibit weakness, even as her dreams yielded to a slow and painful demise. “Thou would condemn me to a cruel fate because my ambitions conflict with thine?”
“I would ask the same of ye, given our futures are inextricably intertwined, and I shall enjoy political prestige with thy union to His Majesty’s knight. If thou dost rob me of my chance to advance at court, then I shall repay ye, in kind.” His once boyish charm ceded to an implacable visage, which portended doom. “As I inherited the estate and title, and thou art my property, to do with as I deem appropriate, I shall dispose of ye like so much useless rubbish, if ye dost force my hand. The choice is thine.” Gerwald shrugged. “So, what say ye?”
“I submit thee dost offer no real alternative, brother.” Reality struck her between the eyes, and grim acceptance settled as a bitter pill in her throat. Uttering a silent entreaty for divine intervention, she waited for a sign. When no adventitious bolt of lightning struck her on the spot, she sighed. “As per thy decree, I shall wed Sir Demetrius.”
“Ah, thou hast made me very happy, and we shall put the unpleasant business behind us and never speak of it again.” All smiles in the face of her downfall, he drew a box from beneath his cloak. “Now I should present a gift from thy groom. I understand thee didst meet him. Notwithstanding the circumstances of thy acquaintance, which I might deem amusing had ye not flouted my prerogative, how didst ye find thy new lord and master?”
For a few minutes, she pondered the query, as she studied the carved wooden box. With hair as black as a crow’s feather, an olive complexion, chiseled features, and pale, silvery eyes unnerving in their clarity, her one-time ally possessed a quiet and unassuming nature, in startling contrast with his stature. Indeed, the man manifested a mountain in size, yet he had been thoughtful and gentle when she begged for his assistance, which he offered without request for recompense.
“In truth, I know not what to make of him.” After untying the blue ribbon, she lifted the lid and revealed a spectacular gold brooch nestled in a bed of red velvet. “Oh—how extraordinary.”
“What unusual markings, and the craftsmanship is masterful. And look at the size of the gems. It must be worth a fortune.” Peering at the jewelry, Gerwald snickered. “Thou must have made quite an impression upon him, in so little time. Did he touch ye?”
“How dare ye insult me with such nefarious claims.” In a fit of pique, she snapped shut the tiny chest. “I was raised in a convent, and I am chaste, in all things.”
“But ye were alone with Sir Demetrius before the King’s guards arrived.” Her brother’s expression sobered. “What happened between ye?”
“Naught beyond simple conversation, as he knew not my identity.” In vivid detail, she relived the brief exchange and their shared devotion to duty. When Athelyna stumbled upon Demetrius’s tent, she thought him a much prayed for deliverer. Instead, he was her downfall. “Yet he was nice to me, when he could have turned me away.”
“And he tried naught inappropriate with ye?” Gerwald narrowed his stare. “He sampled not thy wares?”
“Thou dost Sir Demetrius and I a grave disservice with thy offensive speculations, brother.” Nay, she fretted not in her husband-to-be’s company, as he gave her no reason to fear him. As for her relation, he presented an altogether different quandary. “Wherefore hast thou done this to me? Wherefore hast thou sold me in bondage to another man? What hath I done to ye, that thou dost treat me thus?”
“But I am blameless in regard to thy misfortune of fate.” He swaggered to her trunk and foraged through her personal belongings. With a scowl, he stood upright, strolled to the entry, opened the door, peered into the hall, and snapped his fingers. “Thou were born a woman, and that is no fault of mine. As thou hast correctly asserted, thy possibilities are limited to wife, mother, peasant, artisan, maid, nun, or whore, and the final determination of which must perforce yield to my inclinations.” A servant, carrying a burgundy velvet gown, scurried into the room. To the domestic, Gerwald said, “Dress Mistress De Moutiers for dinner with His Majesty, and plait her hair, as her current style is too severe to garner favorable notice.”
“Aye, sir.” The maid curtseyed.
“I am to sup with the King?” Athelyna came alert. “I am to make my debut at court?”
“Indeed, thy presence is requested at a feast in thy groom’s honor.” He snickered. “And do not be too angry, Lily. I selected Sir Demetrius because his reputation, as well as that of his allies, is impeccable, as I would not surrender ye to just anyone.”
“If thou art concerned for my well being, then wherefore dost ye forfeit me?” Was it possible her brother regretted what he did? Could she persuade him to void the arrangement? “It is not too late, if thou dost lament thy actions. The sisters would take me back, mayhap with a reduction in my dowry, if thou dost need the money, and I should be forever obliged.”
“Nay.” And so her optimism dwindled to naught. “Thou wilt bathe and garb thyself as befits thy station, and thou wilt charm and entice Sir Demetrius, so I will take my leave.”
Ear-splitting silence fell on the luxuriously appointed accommodation, with its counterpane, draperies, and pillow coverings of matching rich blue damask. The hand-tooled mahogany furnishings bespoke wealth and power, in stark contrast with her modest room at the convent.
A small army of attendants conveyed an ancere and warm water to the washing area. Against her reticence, she complied. And as she shed her humble attire, so she abandoned her dreams. Naked, stripped of her dignity and her ambitions, she mourned as the maid polished and primped Athelyna for her date with destiny.
Anon, she gazed at her reflection in the long mirror, and the woman staring back looked naught like the aspiring nun. Bedecked in the new garment, which featured a scooped neckline that bared far more than she ever would have dared, a bodice laced so tight she could scarcely draw breath, long sleeves, billowy lappets, and a skirt that dragged the floor, she almost did not recognize herself.
Nervous, she wrung her fingers and paced, until the King’s guards came for her, and their fierce demeanor set her heart pounding. In the narrow stone passage aglow in the soft light from cresset lamps, she summoned courage and marched in rhythm with her attendants.
The corridor opened to a vast expanse, which led to a minstrels’ gallery and a huge landing. As she descended the grand staircase, she admired the pointed arches and columns featuring simple scalloped designs. But when the escort ushered her into the great hall, and a low murmur swept over the cavernous assembly room, Athelyna swallowed her panic, strode before the large dais, and curtseyed.
“Mistress Des Moutiers, we are pleased thee could join us.” The King caressed the stem of his goblet, as he studied her with unveiled interest. “Turn around, and let us have a look at ye.”
With all eyes on her, Athelyna shivered but obeyed and rotated. As she again faced His Majesty, she stumbled, but an enormous stranger offered support. “Thank ye.”
“Ah, Sir Arucard, our chivalrous knight.” The monarch smiled, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. “Mayhap thou would introduce Mistress Des Moutiers to her new relations.”
“By thy command, Sire.” Sir Arucard bowed and led her to a large table near the side wall. “Mistress Des Moutiers, allow me to
present my wife, Lady Isolde.”
“So pleased to meet ye.” An elegantly garbed woman, not much older than Athelyna, dipped her chin. “Art thou hungry? I can have Arucard fetch ye a plate.”
“Better yet, perchance her intended should do the deed.” Sir Arucard chuckled. “Mistress Des Moutiers, permit me to make the formal introductions, as I understand ye unofficially met thy future husband, on the road to Chichester.”
“Arucard, do not tease her, poor thing.” Isolde took Athelyna by the arm. “Sit hither, by me, and ignore the men, as they might appear fearsome, but they have much in common with unruly children.”
“I am grateful for thy kindness.” In that instant, she locked gazes with her one-time supporter, and the contempt in his stare left her dizzy. “But I suspect Sir Demetrius is vexed, though I know not wherefore he is distressed.”
“If he is anything like my husband, I gather he is nervous about thy impending nuptials, but he will make ye a good and faithful spouse.” Isolde snapped her fingers. “Sir Demetrius, didst thou depart Chichester without thy manners? Thy lady requires food.” Anticipating vociferous rebellion and a sure beating, Athelyna stilled and uttered a silent prayer for redemption. Then the engaging noblewoman peered at Arucard. “My lord, wilt thou bring me a portion of the apple muse, as I am quite fond of it, and I shall express my appreciation in thy most favored coin, anon.”
“I am thy idle scullion, lying in heightened suspense to fulfill thy every wish, my lady wife.” The giant winked, and Athelyna breathed a sigh of relief. “Come, Demetrius. Thou wilt discover for thyself, soon enough, as a mate thee art but a hapless servant in wait, and thy singular responsibility is to perform thy woman’s bidding.”
“I understand, brother.” To her surprise, Demetrius glared at her. “Unless thy bride doth have no use for ye.”
DEMETRIUS
CHAPTER TWO
At the sideboard, Demetrius collected two trenchers and piled one high with a selection of seafood, various meats, vegetables, and fruits. Then he heaped a portion from all eleven desserts atop the other platter. As he turned and glanced at Lily—no, Athelyna, he contemplated her deceit, anger ignited in his chest, and he clenched his teeth.
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