Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I am thine to command.” Opening her mouth, she accepted the portion of blancmange he fed her.

  “Wherefore hast thou changed thy mind in regard to our union?” In a flash, he recalled their heated exchange in the Great Hall on the eve of their ceremony. “Thou were against our marriage, yet now thou dost sing another tune. Art thou happy, Athel?”

  “If I may offer ye candor, I would simply say that as I have taken the sacrament, I must honor our pact with Our Lord and the responsibilities invested therein. To do less would be akin to committing the most grievous sin, and I would not jeopardize my soul to satisfy a girl’s dream. Regardless of my onetime aspirations, those goals must perforce yield to the oath I swore before the archbishop.” He held a goblet to her mouth, and she sipped the wine. “It is my duty to obey ye, in all things, and I pledge to do so, until death do us part.”

  “Well said, my lady.” While he maintained a relaxed demeanor, inside he pondered her response.

  In silence, they dined, emptying the trenchers and consuming the wine and ale. After guttering the candles, he restocked the brazier, shed his tunic and breeches, and climbed into bed. As usual, she turned into him, and he faced her. And although he had planned to initiate an exploration, of sorts, of their respective bodies, his enthusiasm had waned.

  When Demetrius spoke his vows, he had no interest in fostering an emotional attachment to Athelyna. Rather, he intended to guard himself from her, to hold her at a distance. Instead, she captured his attention, in a way he could not comprehend, and he wanted more. The problem was he had no idea what that meant.

  #

  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.

  Athel jolted awake and alert. An inventory of her surroundings conveyed that she remained in transit with her spouse. Just as quick, she stroked the brooch, which she removed only to secure it on a fresh chemise.

  The quiet predawn hours offered precious time for reflection, in the peaceful solitude of the tent, before the guards proceeded to break down the camp. As always, she attempted to discern the significance of the vision that visited every night, without fail. Given her oh-so-modest knight refused to bare his back in her presence, she had yet to make a thorough examination of his torso, for the diverting mark.

  Yawning, she stretched in her husband’s capable embrace and grazed something firm with her fingers. After numerous conversations with Isolde, Athel understood the implications of the enthralling aspect of Demetrius’s body, even though they had yet to consummate their vows. True to his word, he had not forced her to surrender her maidenhead, which put her at ease in his company. But his chivalrous behavior inspired another response she had not anticipated—curiosity.

  Yielding to an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, which burgeoned beyond her control in the wake of her departure from the convent, she traced the stout form of his man’s yard and reached lower. So much about their respective forms were different, and she ached to admire his bare physique.

  “Good morrow, sweet wife.” Demetrius shifted his hips, and she almost jumped out of her skin as she halted her exploration. “Nay, do not cease thy tender caresses on my account.”

  “Thou art not offended?” Ashamed, she burrowed her face to his chest. “I have not angered ye?”

  “Wherefore should I be offended or angry?” He chuckled, and her anxiety abated. “Need I remind ye we are married?”

  “Nay, as I am well aware of our status, and that is what drives my inquisitive spirit, given thither was naught like ye in Coventry.” When she risked a peek at him, he rewarded her with a broad smile, and she realized she had overreacted. “My lord, although I am not yet prepared to relinquish that which is thine by law and the sacrament, to seal our union, I wish to know ye better, but I am not certain how to go about it. I would not make thy acquaintance on the night we choose to do the deed. Rather, I would have some familiarity with thy anatomy, to assuage my trepidation, which I must confess is mountainous. May I touch ye?”

  “Thou dost make excellent sense, and I am amenable to thy plan.” But he closed his eyes and groaned when she resumed her survey of his most male member. “Perchance thou wilt grant me the same privilege with thy person, as I am just as captivated by thy feminine curves.”

  “Thou would have me return the favor?” At the prospect, she gulped. Then again, Demetrius had not hurt her, and she believed he never would, so she dipped her chin. “All right.”

  The instant he rested his palm to her breast, she gave vent to a half-smothered sob, but hers was not a cry of pain, sorrow, or alarm. Instead, her audible exhalation manifested the wonder of so many delicious, virgin sensations, which she savored as he fondled her flesh.

  To her surprise, he untied his braies, grasped her wrist, and brought her into direct contact with his length, and she almost swooned as he tutored her in an illicit massage. And when he loosened her chemise and pressed on her enticing caresses, skin to skin, unlike anything she had ever before experienced, she flexed her fingers, and something strange happened.

  Grunting and grimacing, he gritted his teeth, and a hot substance spattered her hand. Sure that she had caused irreparable harm to her man, she tried to withdraw, but he held her fast. At last, she could take no more, and the tears flowed.

  “My lord, I am sorry.” Now she shook with dread, as she might have forever ruined their chance at happiness and scarred him for life. “Whatever I did wrong, I apologize. Pray, forgive me.”

  “Prithee, a moment, Athel.” He kissed her forehead and sighed. “But allay thy concerns, as thou hast done naught wrong.” Still she wept, while he shifted and thrust his hips, until he exhaled and laughed. “Oh, my lady, how I needed that.”

  “Thou art not angry with me?” Beneath the weight of his scrutiny, she faltered.

  “My dear, I am relieved, as thou hast brought me to completion.” He rubbed his nose to hers. “Dost thou not comprehend what ye have done?”

  “How would I know?” With the sheet, he wiped her cheeks. “Remember, I was raised in a convent.”

  “But thou didst tend the sick and the wounded, did ye not?” He toyed with her nipple, and she clenched her gut.

  “Aye, but that is a far cry from the activity in which we engaged hither.” In light of his lighthearted demeanor, she checked her trepidation. “Pray, explain what occurred.”

  “Thither is no mystery.” Rolling onto his back, he cast a charming grin, and she responded in kind. “Thou hast pleased me, and thou dost bear my seed as proof.”

  “Did I?” At that revelation, she sat upright and studied the tacky matter on her skin, which struck her as mundane. Then she pulled back the covers, gazed upon his most male characteristic for the first time, and was not impressed. “It is rather ugly, is it not?”

  “I beg thy pardon?” Now Demetrius looked upset. “While I am not the most experienced man, in terms of carnal pursuits, I believe it is of estimable size and form, and it certainly functions as intended, as thou hast witnessed for thyself.”

  “But I mean no insult.” For a few seconds, she poked and prodded him, and he did not protest. “Yet thou must admit it is reminiscent of a soggy potage of roysons.”

  “Thou dost compare my lon
gsword to a soggy potage of roysons?” Propped on an elbow, he furrowed his brow, and she could not stifle a giggle. “Regardless of its appearance, I wager it will suffice when I claim ye.” Ah, his tone proclaimed his playful mood, which she adored. And when he rubbed his nose to hers, she pressed her lips to his as an olive branch.

  “Which thou wilt do once we reach Chichester Castle.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Aye, as I would not take ye on the road, in these crude quarters.” He traced the curve of her jaw. “However, we shall decide, together, the appropriate date.”

  “That suits me, my lord.” Then she noted the sunlight filtered by the canvas. “Oh, but I am late, and Isolde requires my assistance, that we might eat and continue our journey.”

  “Then I should rise and grant ye the privacy of our tent.” And so he brought her thoughts full circle.

  “That is not necessary.” She scooted from the mattress to collect her hose, gown, and surcoat. “As thou hast mentioned, again and again, we are wed. Indeed, this eventide, when we break our travel, I should assist ye in thy bath, as I have been remiss in my duties.”

  “My lady, while thy offer is tempting, I am unaccustomed to such luxuries and would do the deed, myself.” Of course, he would. And to further thwart her goal, he eased from the bed and tugged on his tunic.

  “But thou dost misunderstand.” Sorting through her belongings, she located her comb and smoothed her wayward hair, as she prepared to make him an even exchange she never would have dared without Isolde’s encouragement. “My motives are selfish, as I had hoped ye might return the favor.”

  The poor man stood silent, with his beauteous mouth agape, and then he shuffled his feet and shifted his weight. Just as it seemed he would voice a rejoinder, he blinked.

  “Thou dost wish me to wash ye?” Was it her imagination, or did he seem open to her suggestion? “Thou would allow me to gaze upon thy nude body?”

  “Art thou shocked?” In truth, she had not thoroughly contemplated her proposal prior to extending the invitation and fought unwelcome timidity.

  “I am surprised, but I am more than willing to accommodate ye,” he declared with a wink. “Perchance, one day we will share the ancere.”

  “Based on the tenets of our faith, I would express an objection, but Isolde praises such undertakings to foster marital affection, so I will not gainsay what I have not tried.” Mayhap it was the appropriate occasion to reveal a secret she had been concealing. “My lord, I know it hath been not quite a fortnight since we spoke our vows, but I no longer regret marrying ye, as I owe ye a great debt, and no one could be more shocked than I, regarding the precipitous development. While I will not claim to covet love, as it is too soon to manifest such bonds of devotion, I do hold ye in high esteem, which I hope will grow into an abiding commitment. And our journey hath exposed me to so much more of the world than I ever would have learned about in the books and journals in the Carmelite’s library, as an oblate, so I would tour the coast with ye, build a home with ye, and raise a family with ye, when the opportunity presents itself. Indeed, life beyond the walls of the convent hath much to entice a provincial, and I look forward to so many new experiences with my new husband.”

  “Thou dost humble me, gentle wife.” Well, that was not the response for which she yearned. “Now we should be about our business, as we are but two day’s ride from Chichester Castle.”

  DEMETRIUS

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sun shone in a clear sky, sending bright rays of light reflecting on the snow, which glittered like a sea of diamonds. Traveling in advance of the procession, Demetrius shifted in the saddle, shielded his eyes, bent his head, and peered at Athel. Swaddled in his lap, she smiled when he caught her studying him again.

  “Wherefore dost thou scrutinize my profile?” He cast a stern expression, to which she giggled.

  “I was thinking of last night and this morning.” As usual, she blushed, and she harkened sweet memories of the first time he bathed her and her maiden completion, which he managed just after dawn, using his fingers, in their bed. “Wilt thou repeat thy tender ministrations this eventide?”

  “Didst thou enjoy thyself?” He could not resist teasing her, even as she burrowed her face against his chest and squealed, in much the same fashion as she had when he deployed the soap to her breasts. Cautious of those who might overhear their conversation, he whispered, “My lady wife, I will do whatever thou dost wish, if ye will scream for me again.”

  “Oh, my lord.” Closing her eyes, she squeezed him. “I do not believe I could stop it, if I tried.”

  Of course, his innocent bride did not realize he gained just as much pleasure from their somewhat clumsy interludes, and he would maintain that secret, as a matter of pride. While her original plan was to wash him, he simply would not allow it, as he could not control his body in her presence, but that was not his fault, as she posed a most delightful challenge he had not foreseen.

  Given her strict upbringing, she was, in so many ways, a newborn babe, and she wanted to try everything, at once. And during the previous sup, she opted to sample his ale. The end result was one he would never forget, as she consumed the contents of his large tankard and another half-portion, and then she all but seduced him, if he could call her adorable maneuvers that. But in her altered state, she let down her guard and presented a whole other side of herself, which he found unutterably appealing and impossible to resist.

  “Then once we make camp, and we retire, I shall satisfy ye, if thou wilt stop staring at me.” Just thinking of another sweet respite roused his fire-breathing dragon. But the sensation was short-lived, when he spied a patrol rounding the bend, recognized the colors of their standard, reined in, and drew his sword. “Arucard.”

  “What is it?” Athelyna stretched upright, but he held her still.

  “Shh.” Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the Brethren had hastened their pace, and then he searched for a safe haven. “We ride through the northern edge of Winchester, en route to Chichester Castle, and these men hail from a local nobleman who hath not supported Arucard’s position, so thither may be trouble. If necessary, I will put ye on the verge, and I would have ye shelter beneath the trees until I come for ye.”

  “Yea, my lord.” She dipped her chin, but the fear in her green gaze gave him pause. “Is Winchester not the place we are to eventually settle?”

  “It will be all right, Athel. And we will do as the King commands, when we receive our orders.” To comfort her, he cupped her cheek and gave her a quick kiss. “Just do as I say, and we will survive.”

  “Greetings, good sir.” A guard raised his hand, and the company came to a halt. “I am Sander Lachaille, majordomo of Saltwood Keep.” Sander averted his gaze, just as Arucard joined Demetrius. “Lord Sussex, this is a surprise. What brings ye to Winchester?”

  “We are en route from London and Sir Demetrius’s wedding, to Chichester Castle.” Mirroring Demetrius’s stance, Arucard rested his hand on the hilt of his weapon, because the master of Saltwood Keep, Renoldus Van Hermant, did not support His Majesty, in the wake of the battle that followed Isolde’s trial, conviction, and subsequent beating for treason. “Thither is trouble?”

  The entire nefarious affair had been a result of the late Lord Rochester’s double dealing, in a failed insurgence to usurp the throne, using counterfeit burgage plots to steal property. To everyone’s horror, the earl sacrificed his own daughter, in a haunting display of brutality that Demetrius would never forget, in an unscrupulous quest for power. In the aftermath, Isolde’s father and her brother were executed.

  “Aye, Lord Sussex. And felicitations, Sir Demetrius.” Sander motioned to the rear. “Just across the border, in thy territory, the de Cadby’s suffered an incursion on their lands, as armed bandits attacked the estate and stole cattle, and thither art numerous dead and wounded.”

  “What of Aeduuard de Cadby?” Demetrius asked, as the gadling was a trusted ally. “Is he among the injured? Di
dst thou offer assistance?”

  “To my knowledge, he was unharmed and tends his people, as he should, given they are his responsibility.” With a smirk, Sander arched a brow. “And we were dispatched to protect Van Hermant’s interests and naught more, thus we leave ye to continue thy travel.” With that, Sander heeled the flanks of his destrier and steered north.

  “Shameful.” Isolde drew back the hood of her cloak. “Arucard, I should prepare to care for our citizens, and I need to organize the wagon.”

  “Demetrius, I am trained to provide curative aid, and I would assist Isolde, with thy permission.” In his grasp, Athelyna wiggled free of the wool blanket. “Pray, let me serve those in need, my lord. This is my calling.”

  “Of course.” To say he was proud of his wife, in that instant, was to say too little. And as soon as her feet hit the ground, she went to work, issuing directives to various Chichesters. “What manner of woman have I married?”

  “A spirited woman, I suspect.” Arucard chuckled. “God be praised.”

  “Thou dost mock my situation.” Athelyna climbed to the seat, beside Isolde, and when she noted Demetrius’s regard, she smiled.

  “Nay. I remark on a commonality we share, and thou art blessed.” Arucard signaled the column and set a hurried pace. “Now, let us continue our journey, that we might be of support to our ally.”

  With heightened awareness, Demetrius urged his mount, and the caravan traversed the curve. As the landscape spread wide before him, he glimpsed the carnage of which Sander spoke. Several motionless forms littered the earth, excepting a small collective gathered on the perimeter of the glade. “God’s teeth. How could they refuse to provide assistance?”

  “Because Van Hermant is a mean-spirited old fool.” Arucard shook his head. “Ever since his son was killed in the aftermath of Isolde’s trial, he has blamed me for his misery. But I suspect he was a wretch in advance of our arrival on these shores.”