Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Thou dost look as though ye art displeased with thy bride.” With a broad grin, Arucard snickered. “Yet I find it curious that when ye recounted the tale of thy first meeting, thou didst neglect to mention her incomparable beauty.”

  “What care I for her appearance, when it matters not in the grand scheme, as I have no wish to wed her or anyone else.” As Arucard cast a familiar expression of skepticism, Demetrius groaned. “Do not act surprised, as I made my feelings known, in Chichester. And the woman lied to me, which diminishes her appeal. Indeed, I do not find her the least bit attractive, as she doth not suit my taste.”

  “I think ye dost protest too much, brother. And as thou hast little experience with the female sex, I submit ye know not what doth and doth not suit thy taste.” Arucard guffawed. “Given the King commands ye wed the lady, thou must reconcile thyself to thy fate, and I assert ye could do worse.” Then he gave Demetrius a nudge. “Talk with her, as I wager she is just as apprehensive about the morrow’s ceremony as ye, and thou should smooth the waters. Had I such an opportunity prior to my marriage, I would have done the same with Isolde, as we were complete strangers when we met before the archbishop.”

  “Mayhap it would have been better for Athelyna and I, had we enjoyed a similar circumstance.” Just a glance at her inspired additional ire mixed with reluctance, and he frowned. “But I suppose thither is no avoiding the inevitable, so I will take thy advice.”

  Yet naught required Demetrius do so with haste.

  So he made the rounds of the cavernous great hall, nodding acknowledgements and shaking hands with notable members of court, delaying the woeful assembly, until Athelyna removed to one end of the long table. That was his moment to strike, as he would have an explanation for her falsehood, and it was with that question he would initiate a discussion.

  In silence, he placed the trenchers before his curious bride-to-be and sat across from her. “Hither, I have brought ye some food, and I would have words with ye.”

  “Sir Demetrius, wherefore didst ye not apprise me of thy estimable station, last night?” With her brow a mass of furrows, Athelyna leaned forward. “Thou didst seem so nice when ye introduced thyself, thus I find it difficult to reconcile thy omission with thy noble nature.”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, and for a few seconds, he pondered her query and rued the fact she had somehow deployed his defense. “Wherefore didst ye conceal thy name?”

  “But I did no such thing, as my friends call me Lily.” Her crown of saffron locks shimmered as a halo, as she bowed her head and pinned him with her green eyes. “I had hoped to count ye as such, until thou didst deliver me unto my enemies.”

  “I did no such thing, as I told ye I was a Nautionnier Knight.” Offended by her accusation, he signaled a servant. “Bring me a flagon of ale.”

  “Aye, sir.” The maid curtseyed.

  “I thought ye referenced a traveling theatrical group, as never have I heard of such an order.” With high dudgeon, she thrust her chin in the air, and he thought it wise she refused to take a husband, as the not-so-lucky man would require an ocean of patience and understanding to indulge and tame her. “And I apprised ye I ran from an arranged marriage, so I comprehend not how ye can claim I hid anything from ye.”

  “If that is true, then how did ye find me?” He pounded a fist to a palm. “Am I to believe ye just happened upon me, in the middle of a snowstorm?”

  “Given I journeyed south, from London, and ye traveled north, to the city, on the lone serviceable road, I submit it was no coincidence but a certainty our paths, however unfortunate, would cross.” When the servant delivered the ale, Athelyna compressed her lips and met and held his stare. “Did ye expect me to aimlessly wander the countryside?”

  “I anticipated naught whither thee art concerned.” Again, her fiery spirit surfaced, as evidenced by the lines of stress about the corners of her eyes and her white knuckles, and he relished her fit of temper, despite the fact she directed it at him. “And it is naught personal, but I do not wish to wed ye.”

  “Then we are a pair, Sir Demetrius, as I have no wish to wed ye, either, and I declared as much during our chance encounter.” Then she scanned the area and sighed, as the musicians commenced playing. “I made no secret my life’s purpose is to serve the Lord, in a nunnery, but my brother terminated payment of my dowry, thus I have nowhere to go. Prithee, good sirrah, whither does that leave us, as I am not thy enemy, and I know ye art not mine?”

  “Thou dost ask for my assistance in the matter?” Stunned by the developments, which did not unfold as he foresaw, given her arguments offered him no escape, he eased back in his chair and pondered their predicament. Slow and steady, an idea formed, which might spare them an ill-fated union. “Dost thou know the old abbey just beyond the environs, on the same route ye navigated last eventide?”

  “Aye.” Lily nodded. “I know it well.”

  “Excellent.” He leaned forward and whispered, “As thou hast managed to elude the guards, I presume ye canst do it again?”

  “I am not sure, but I am willing to try,” she replied in a low voice. “What hast thou in mind?”

  “Thou must make a midnight ride for freedom, and thy success or failure mayest save or doom us.” Demetrius checked his tone and the immediate vicinity, as no one could know of his hastily composed conspiracy. “But if ye can meet me at the abbey, I will escort ye to the convent at Rochester.”

  “Thou would do that for me?” Tears welled in her green gaze, and he feared she might weep, thither and then. “What of thyself? Thou wilt suffer for my transgression, as His Majesty commands we marry.”

  “But I will not take ye in protest.” He just stopped himself from informing her that he ventured before the altar under similar duress. “And the King will find me another bride. Given thy destination, it is doubtful anyone will ever discover thy fate, and I shall carry thy secret to the grave.”

  “Thou art truly the best of men and a noble knight, and I am a better person for knowing ye.” Athelyna toyed with the brooch, which he noted, in that moment. “I must return thy precious gift, but I would not betray our plan, and we are surrounded.”

  “Keep it, as a token of my esteem, and it may secure thy position in the convent, as it is valuable. But I should warn ye, it possesses mystical powers.” For some reason he could not quite fathom, Demetrius opened up to the fascinating creature and shared the inexplicable history of the peculiar piece of jewelry. “So thou should take care when ye dost wear it, as magical dreams of thy true knight mayest plague ye.”

  “What a fantastic tale.” Lily caressed the pin and studied it with unmasked interest. “And the old woman claimed she was the younger lady’s mother, who the son-in-law explained had passed to the hereafter?”

  “Aye, and when I inquired after the item, upon my return to La Rochelle, as I was certain they mislaid it during the fight, the couple declared they had never seen it, and so the plot thickens.” In that instant, he recalled a portion of Yordana’s assurance: Thy bride-to-be is thy equal, in every measure. Did he make a mistake in offering to aid Athelyna’s flight? Was it possible she was destined to be his wife? “But I consider it a fitting contribution to thy cause, which I admire. Yet I would caution ye to remember, if ye dost wear it to sleep, thou shalt dream of thy one true knight.”

  “What a tempting prospect.” How he adored the dimple just to the left of her perfect mouth, and he wondered how he had failed to note that charming detail during their previous exchange. With clasped hands pressed to her bosom, a marvel of anatomy he tried not to scrutinize, she gushed. “Oh, to think what heavenly visions I might enjoy.”

  “Thou dost aspire to test it, when thou dost maintain ye art already bound to a higher authority?” Wherefore was he not surprised by her curiosity? “And art thou not wary of the brooch’s predictive abilities?”

  “Thou dost presume the badge’s remarkable capacity is born of evil?” She shook her head. “Sir Demetrius, anything th
at prophesies true love must be of unimpeachable and righteous origins, and I refuse to believe otherwise., thus I welcome reveries of our savior, given I am already bound to Our Lord.”

  “Then I leave the bauble in thy most benevolent custody, knowing ye will make fine use of it.” An invisible but nonetheless compelling weight lifted from his shoulders, and he breathed a sigh of relief, just as the musicians struck the first notes of an estampie. “Shall we treat ourselves to a dance, as my family gathers, and we should not rouse suspicion?”

  “What a wonderful suggestion.” Lily jumped from her seat. Was it his imagination, or did she glow when she smiled? “It has been ages since I last engaged in such entertainment, as we are not permitted frivolous recreation in the convent, and I am not sure I recall the steps.”

  “Just follow the group.” Demetrius grabbed her delicate hand and a tremor of recognition shivered from her fingers to his. For a scarce second, he studied her glorious green eyes and reappraised their scheme. As they joined the Brethren and Isolde, and formed a large circle, he admired Athelyna’s angelic countenance. “To the left, fair Lily.”

  Laughing, everyone hopped vigorously. When the change in tone signaled it was time to reverse course, they bounced to the right. Little by little, he relaxed and found her enthusiastic attempts to mimic his moves quite endearing. But when she veered in one direction, and he in the other, they collided, and he caught her about the waist.

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Sir Demetrius.” The blush of her cheeks only increased her allure. “I am not usually graceless, but I stumbled.”

  “That is all right.” It was an odd but not altogether disagreeable sensation, holding Lily in his arms, and he luxuriated in her warm, soft, and feminine form. A foreign sensation ignited below his belly button, and he knew not how to master the strange but enticing excitement. Just as quick, he shook himself alert and set her apart from him, as he had no interest in the temptation she posed. And if he kept telling himself that, he might actually believe it. Before he yielded to the fledgling attraction, he raised his defenses. “Mayhap thou should retire, as thy brother is distracted, and I shall rendezvous with ye at the abbey.”

  #

  A vicious battle raged, sword clashed with sword, and an unknown champion protected a group of innocent pilgrims, beneath the glare of a brutal sun. With incomparable skill and speed the valiant knight charged numerous assailants, kicking sand in his wake and dispatching his enemies with lethal aim, until the enemy cowered in the shadows of the faceless warrior, but he was merciful. Anon, as he walked amid the bodies scattered across the dunes, the sweet stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and he doffed his gauntlets.

  And then everything shifted.

  The encroaching night sky signaled the advancing eventide, and the defender entered a tent. As he removed his armor, he revealed an intriguing mark etched into his flesh and barely visible in the soft light from the brazier. It was the Crusader’s Cross, black in color, and marred by a distinct scar in the shape of a jagged spike.

  Gasping for breath, Athelyna lurched upright in her bed, checked the room, and found herself alone. With the brooch pinned to the bodice of her thick cotehardie, she did not expect to discover the piece of jewelry actually possessed some mystical nature that foretold a startling reality, yet she could not deny the truth. It was just as Sir Demetrius said—she suffered baffling visions of an undisclosed mate. And to her amazement, her supposed one true knight appeared quite earthly in stature.

  But what if she conjured the strange fantasy from reminiscences of the handsome nobleman’s fascinating tale? No doubt the power of his narrative, coupled with his beauteous exterior, impressed upon her the source of her musing. And she could not yield her plans to satisfy the baseless deliberations spawned by an inanimate object.

  Wiping the dampness from her forehead, she scooted to the edge of the four-poster. At some point since she retired, the wall sconces had guttered, but a fire burned in the hearth. Dressed for a midnight run for liberty, she leaped from the mattress, donned her wool cloak, and collected her sack of bundled clothing and personal items.

  As she neared the door to her chamber, she glimpsed her reflection in the long mirror and halted.

  The mysterious brooch sparkled even in the dim light, and she traced its oval shape. Was the dream, so vivid in detail, born of the peculiar bauble, and what was she to make of its inexplicable predictive powers? Was she destined to wed, in the traditional sense, the person at the center of the illusion?

  For the first time since her brother took her from the convent that had been her home for years, she second-guessed her actions and ultimate aim. The large sapphire flickered, as though it winked at her, and she mulled the possibility that she should stay and fulfill the agreement Gerwald made on her behalf.

  Yet, the puzzling reverie did not reveal the identity of her one true knight. Caution required her to contemplate the prospect that Sir Demetrius was not necessarily her fated husband. But deep down inside, whither she was always honest with herself, she had to acknowledge the fact that the man fascinated her.

  Beauteous beyond compare, he garnered countless stares from envious ladies, and she struggled with unfamiliar and uncomfortable possessiveness during the festivity, which surprised her. Since she had no intention of marrying the handsome noble, such feelings were not hers to own. Determined to stay the course, she shrugged her shoulders, shaking off the indecision, tugged the hood over her head, tiptoed to the door, grasped the wrought-iron pull, opened the portal, and peered into the hallway.

  In the dark, she hugged the wall and, drawing on memory, navigated the passage. When she arrived at the vast expanse, which featured massive mullioned glass windows through which the silvery glimmer of moonlight cast a mosaic of shadows on the stone floor, she paused and sheltered behind a large pillar.

  A pair of halberd-bearing guards marched past, and she held her breath until they traversed the cavernous concourse. After a final check, she scurried from one support to the next, as she ignored the urge to rush, which might result in discovery. Little by little, she negotiated the maze of corridors that comprised the great castle, dodging formidable sentries who presented a very real threat to her escape and her neck.

  At last, she shoved open a heavy exterior door, and the chilled night air penetrated her wool cloak as she moved with furtive steps into the bailey. After a glance left and then right, she scampered across the greens to the stables. The ear piercing shrill of some nocturnal creature gave her pause, but she remained resolute.

  The scrape of the hinges had her glancing over her shoulder, but she spied naught amiss as she unlatched the gate. The lingering odor of damp earth mingled with straw and hung heavy in the stable, as she surveyed each stall. To protect His Majesty, in the event of an emergency, the stable master left a few horses saddled and at the ready, each night. That had been her saving grace in her previous quest for freedom, and she could only hope she would enjoy similar good fortune again.

  Yet every successive enclosure offered naught but disappointment, which gnawed at her confidence, and she continued her search for the elusive but requisite transport. The prayed for blessing on four legs feasted on hay in a back corner, and she smiled.

  “Hello, my pretty friend.” Athelyna approached the tall bay and scratched its forehead, and the lithe beast nuzzled her and whinnied. As she attempted to stow her pack, the horse shifted. It was then she realized she had company, and she turned to face her intruder. A sharp blow to the cheek rendered her senseless, and she dropped to the ground. A shadowy figure bent over her, just as she surrendered to the blanket of unconsciousness.

  DEMETRIUS

  CHAPTER THREE

  As the sun rose on his wedding day, Demetrius studied his reflection in the long mirror, practicing various expressions intended to convey in a convincing fashion his surprise, shock, and dismay at being rejected and abandoned at the altar. Given his dedication to faith and honor, he struggled with such rehearsed
dissemblance, but he had no choice in the matter, as his audience included His Majesty, and Demetrius could not fail.

  Resolved to stay his course, he pondered Athelyna’s current location and hoped she made it to her destination, safe and sound. Thus he had to play his part to perfection, in order to protect her, else the consequences could be fatal, should their hastily sketched conspiracy to flout the Crown be discovered. So he altered his countenance, as he deemed appropriate.

  At first, he flinched, opened wide his eyes and mouth, and gasped. Just as quick, he scowled. “Thou dost look ridiculous, and no one will believe ye art genuine in thy distress.”

  Rolling his shoulders, he eased the tension investing his frame and made several attempts to compose the right mix of emotions. Varying between smiles and frowns, along with wild hand gestures for added authenticity, he thought he found a suitable combination and chuckled, until a pounding at the door had him jumping in earnest.

  “Art thou ready to meet thy fate, brother?” Arucard peered around the edge of the heavy oak panel and grinned. “It is time to depart for the abbey.”

  “Must ye appear so pleased by the prospect?” Demetrius scrutinized his dark blue velvet doublet trimmed in gold embroidery, the matching mantle, and the black chausses. Then he recalled his role in the dangerous game and grumbled a complaint, to which his fellow Nautionnier Knight laughed.

  “In truth, I have been awaiting this day since I wed Isolde.” Then Arucard glanced at the table. “Thy trencher is empty.”

  “Yea, what of it?” As a final touch, he donned the latest fashion, a livery collar of Esses wrought of gold, from which the badge of his new earldom hung. Of course, on the back had been etched the eight-pointed wind-star of the Brethren of the Coast, the order created to accommodate the exiled Templars.