Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Chichester was alive with activity, as musicians played various dances, and Demetrius tutored his wife in several maneuvers. They patronized the roast house and savored a fresh venison bake, and then they shared an apple muse. Athel clapped and cheered for the tumblers, and she grew misty-eyed, when he commissioned a lover’s lantern with a unique design that he would explain to her, anon. And all the while they favored each other with frisky smiles, stealing gentle caresses whenever possible, as they held a secret known only to them.

  Ere long, she dragged him from the crowd. “My lord, I have so relished the festival, and I shall remember it until I die, but if thou dost not take me home this instant, I shall expire, on the spot.”

  If the short trip to the village had been stirring, the return journey was rife with unbridled exhilaration and tension. Soft and feminine in his arms, Athel kissed every bit of exposed flesh she could reach, and no part of his neck or face escaped her tender attentions. By the time they crossed the drawbridges, navigated the barbican, and drew rein in the courtyard, Demetrius was on the verge of exploding.

  The master of the horse collected the stallion, and Demetrius struggled to maintain a calm composure. The castle was quiet, given most of its occupants were at the fair, and the path to their private chambers seemed never-ending. In their solar, he noted the simple meal that had been delivered, as he closed the double doors.

  In their bedchamber, he set the hand-carved lantern on a side table, retrieved a taper, lit it from the fire in the heath, and placed the candle inside the gourde. “Dost thou recognize the symbol?”

  Athel doffed her cloak and shook her head. “Nay.”

  “It is called a true lover’s knot.” He shed his outerwear and tunic. “The two loops, side by side, are meant to signify the unfailing connection between a couple in love. Seamen parted from their ladies created all manner of accessories from rope, to ease the pain of separation, and they often fashioned an item for every day, until they were reunited with their sweethearts.”

  “How romantic. Thou art so thoughtful, my lord.” Athel reached for the clasp of the necklace.

  “Nay, my lady.” He positioned a chair and sat. “I would have ye remove everything but the jewels.”

  “As thou dost wish.” A charming blush colored her cheeks, as she disrobed, one garment at a time, but she never faltered. When she rolled down her hose, she cast furtive glances in his direction, and Demetrius gritted his teeth. At last, his wife loomed before him, with hands resting at her sides, ornamented only in the bauble.

  “Now take down thy hair.” Hard as forged steel, his man’s yard begged for relief, but he restrained his base instincts, as she loosened her long blonde locks.

  Finally, Athelyna stood beside the fireplace, and the soft glow illuminated her flawless alabaster skin. Only then did he go to her.

  “Art thou afraid, my lord?” Grasping his wrist, she pressed her cheek to his palm.

  “Nay.” He lied. “Art thou?”

  Without warning, she emitted a high-pitched cry and leaped at him. In seconds, she claimed his mouth, ripped open his shirt, and untied his breeches and braies. When he tried to halt her, she fondled his longsword, and in the third tug of his stout length, he shot his seed all over her flat belly, but still she worked him.

  And so Demetrius ceded the battle for self-control.

  To her whimper of frustration, he lifted her from the floor, conveyed her to the bed, and threw her to the mattress, none too gently. After divesting himself of his boots, and clothing, he knelt between her legs and spread wide her thighs.

  The first glimpse of her most intimate flesh reminded him of some strange sea creature that threatened to swallow him alive, and he reconsidered his plan. In previous exchanges, he played her with his fingers to bring her to completion, but that activity usually took place under the covers, in the dark, in the ancere, or beneath her cotehardie and kirtle. Never had he devoted any time in serious contemplation of that part of her body. But Arucard assured Demetrius that the center of her pleasure existed therein, and he had better become familiar with it.

  Rubbing his nose to her tiny golden curls, he expelled his breath, and she shrieked. But when he fastened his lips to her pearl, she wiggled her hips and yanked his hair. That was the encouragement he needed, and he licked and suckled until she screamed and became rigid with release.

  Riding a wave of desire, he crawled atop her, gave her his weight, positioned his man’s yard, and thrust. “Oh, sweet sanctuary.”

  And Athel burst into laughter.

  #

  The slow descent to reality, as heralded by her husband’s odd exclamation, rendered Athel on the precipice of hysteria. And poor Demetrius looked down on her and frowned.

  “Did I do something wrong?” He stilled. “Have I hurt ye?”

  “Nay.” Yet she could not quiet her giggles. “But I am so glad we waited, my lord.”

  “So am I.” When he pumped within her, the world titled, and Athel rested her palms to his shoulders. Yet she soared to some heretofore-foreign place, whither an alluring deliverance reigned supreme. “But I am thine, and that is remarkable, is it not?”

  “It is, my lady.” Groaning, he increased his pace. “But we can discuss it, anon. Right now, I wish to make love to ye.”

  To her infinite shock, her once secretive husband said far more, as he found his rhythm, and she curled about him. He told her of his devotion, he imparted what she did to him, and he praised her fledgling attempts to please him. And in that brief but poignant conversation, Athel fell in love with her husband.

  Again and again, they came together, after that first fiery coupling, until she lost count, not that it mattered. And she bared more than her physical self, inviting him to luxuriate in something far deeper than passion. The connection flickered and took root, enveloping them in an invisible but nonetheless potent blanket of dedication, as Demetrius rose above her, flung back his head, and signaled his fulfillment with a mighty roar, before he collapsed atop her. And Athel held him, stroking his muscled back and running her fingers through his thick black hair, even after the torrent had passed.

  Demetrius shifted and propped on his elbows. “How dost thou fare, my lady?”

  “I am quite well.” Oh, she could dance an estampie, naked, down the center of the Great Hall. Then her stomach rumbled, and she snorted. “But I am hungry.”

  “As am I.” He rendered a thorough kiss and then rolled from the bed. “I shall fetch some food from the solar.”

  It was then Athel spied the mark from her visions, and she lurched upright. “My lord, wait.”

  He glanced at her and arched a brow. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “The brand thou dost bear, will ye tell me of it?” She blinked and tried to gain a better view in the dim light. Did it have the jagged scar? “It is fascinating.”

  “Of course.” He disappeared, only to reappear, carrying a tray with two trenchers of brewets—what else, bread, and ale.

  But Athel wanted to inspect the Crusader’s Cross, so she grabbed a candlestick and held it high, as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Thither it was, the telltale disfigurement cut right through the symbol, and she shouted for joy.

  “That is it.” She traced the design, and his flesh was warm to her touch. “Thou art my one true knight.”

  “My dear, thou art delirious.” He offered her a tankard of ale.

  “Permit me to explain, and I beg thy forbearance.” With a generous gulp of the tasty brew, she hummed, as everything seemed to fall into place. Indeed, her life suddenly made sense. “But first I would know when ye got the brand.”

  “In thirteen hundred and four, on my maiden trip to the Holy Land.” He fed her a piece of a spicy brewet. “In fact, it is customary to commemorate the religious expedition. Wherefore dost thou make thy inquiry?”

  “All right. I am going to recount something of importance, and I would have ye tell me if I am correct.” When she shivered with elation, he tucked
the covers about her. “On thy journey, a vicious battle raged, sword clashed with sword, and thou didst protect a group of innocent pilgrims, beneath the glare of a brutal sun. With incomparable skill and speed, thou didst valiantly charge numerous assailants, kicking sand in thy wake and dispatching thy foes with lethal aim, until the enemy cowered in the shadows, but ye were merciful. Anon, as thou walked amid the bodies scattered across the dunes, the sweet stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and thou doffed thy gauntlets.”

  “Thou dost describe a battle just south of Nazareth, on the old Roman road to Jerusalem, whither I was wounded.” With mouth agape, Demetrius stared at her. “How didst ye come to know this?”

  “From the brooch.” She scooted from the bed and retrieved the captivating pin, which she handed to him, and then she huddled under the blankets. “When thou didst gift me the precious badge, I wore it on my chemise. Indeed, I never took it off, except to bathe and don a fresh slip. But regardless of when I slept, I revisited the same reverie, without fail. Dost thou not understand? The lore is not some harmless tale. Thou art my one true knight.”

  “Athel, thou art leaping to unsupported conclusions.” He seemed so calm in the face of her revelation, as he studied the brooch. “Mayhap my story influenced thy dreams.”

  “But thou hast never told me of the conflict, and I only just spied the mark, as thou hast never permitted me to glimpse thy nude body.” She had to make him believe in the legend, as it just might renew his faith. “Its powers are real, and it is a gift from Our Lord, as naught that predicts love can be evil.”

  “Sweetheart, despite the fact that I am fond of ye, we married because the King commanded it.” He drew an imaginary circle about her nipple. “But I count myself fortunate.”

  “Nay, thou wilt not deter me.” When he moved the tray to the side table, and sidled next to her, she reclined in the pillows. “I care not for the King’s decree. Thou were meant to be mine, and I am thine. Thou mayest not doubt that--not now. Indeed, not ever.”

  DEMETRIUS

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Four days anon, Demetrius emerged from his chamber a contented man, with visions of a naked and sated Athelyna dancing in his brain. Whistling a happy tune, he strutted into the Great Hall to partake of a light sop before weapons practice.

  “I do not believe my eyes.” Aristide smirked. “It lives.”

  “And he hath definitely shrunk.” Morgan pounded the table. “But I am grateful for thy return, brother, as we have taken turns fighting Arucard, and thou art the only one capable of deflecting his attack.”

  “Our brother hath grown arrogant in thy absence.” Geoffrey rubbed his jaw. “He clipped my chin yesterday, but thou would not know, as thou hast confined thyself to thy quarters.”

  And so the baiting commenced, not that Demetrius cared. Indeed, the more he pondered his warm bed, and his wife’s soft and inviting body, he reversed his decision to partake of his usual activities and opted to rejoin his bride.

  “Demetrius, wilt thou have something to eat?” Isolde set a napkin and a trencher across from Arucard. “Mayhap thou wilt enjoy a bit of conversation with my husband, whilst I tend Athel, as I suspect she would benefit from a hot bath, and she will require assistance I am too happy to provide.”

  With an unruly dragon in his breeches, he hesitated.

  “Sit, brother, and fill thy belly.” Bearing a half-smile, Arucard dipped a chunk of bread and paused. “Trust me, thy wife is not going anywhere. And after four days in thy unreserved company, it is doubtful she could walk down the stairs without aid.”

  “Art thou not the wit.” He took his place and designed a sweet invasion, which further aroused him, but all he wanted was to return to Athel’s embrace. The now familiar hunger burgeoned, and he ached to run back to his room, back to his sanctuary, back to his Athelyna. “Arucard, given thou dost love Isolde, mayhap thou can tell me how ye dost manage, after what happened in Winchester?” In a low voice, Demetrius said, “My greatest fear is losing Athel.”

  “Thou dost want the truth?” When Demetrius nodded, Arucard leaned near. “Thither art times when I want naught more than to lock Isolde and Roswitha in our quarters, but my wife and daughter hath committed no crime, so I can hardly impose such punishment. But I would caution ye not to overreact, else ye may offend thy bride. Never forget she is thy partner, not thy property.”

  “And I am her steadfast servant.” Demetrius mulled his next move, as he entered unfamiliar territory, and he needed advice. “So when thou didst woo Isolde, what expressions of affection worked best to win her heart?”

  For a few minutes, Arucard scrutinized Demetrius and cast a sly grin. “Thou art interested in thy wife’s devotion?”

  “I am aware that is a change in tune.” He braced for ensuing jokes at his expense. “And thou canst spare me the criticism or amusing remarks.”

  “Given I have walked in thy shoes, I would not dream of it.” Arucard chuckled. “But I can offer suggestions to help smooth rough waters, as courtship is far more perilous than the most lethal battle.”

  “I am listening.” He shifted his hips, as his senses called to Athel.

  “When in season, bring her flowers. Find an outdoor spot, a private place to spend time with her, as that is the most important commodity thou canst gift her.” Arucard inclined his head and narrowed his stare. “Never tell her she is fat, especially when she increases with thy babe. And take her a morning meal, as she will express her gratitude in a manner that pleases ye both.”

  In that instant, Demetrius flagged a maid. “Prepare a tray for Lady Athelyna.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The girl rushed to the kitchen.

  “Any news since St. Valentine’s Day?” Demetrius queried.

  “I had a missive from His Majesty.” Arucard wiped his dish clean. “Thou art to depart for Winchester in three days.”

  “Mayhap we can send the wagons ahead, with some servants, so the castle will be ready when we arrive.” He made a few calculations. “But we have no housekeeper or marshalsea.”

  “Well, perchance I can provide a solution.” With his napkin, Arucard daubed the corners of his mouth. “Grimbaud and Isotta would fill the positions, and given thy wife’s treatment of Grimbaud and friendship with Isotta, it should work.”

  “I would be glad to have them, if thou canst spare them.” The maid brought Athel’s meal, and Demetrius stood. “Thus I have Briarus as my majordomo, and I have yet to discern in what capacity I might use Gerwald.”

  “He shows an advanced aversion to work of any kind.” Arucard suddenly brightened. “Ah, hither comes my lady, which means thy wife is prepared to receive ye, and I believe I shall forgo weapons practice, too.”

  After collecting Athel’s food, Demetrius retraced his earlier steps. In the solar, he put away his sword and coif, and then he tugged off his hauberk. When he entered the bedchamber, he found his bride curled beneath the covers.

  “Good morrow, sweetheart.” He bowed and presented her sustenance. “Art thou hungry?”

  “Oh, Demetrius, thou art so thoughtful.” As she sat upright, the sheet dropped to her waist, revealing her sumptuous breasts, and she patted the mattress. “Wilt thou break thy fast with me? And afterward, I should express my gratitude for thy consideration.”

  In silence, Demetrius thanked Arucard.

  #

  On the eve of her departure for Winchester, Athelyna inventoried additional wagonloads of items. Given Grimbaud and Isotta embarked on the journey two days prior, along with the bulk of their belongings and the garrison of three hundred soldiers, Athel had not much to pack, other than the few comforts of home she would employ to make their nights more pleasant.

  “How goes thy chores, sweetheart?” Demetrius hugged her from behind and kissed her ear.

  “I believe I am done.” Resting against him, she angled her head in perfect position to receive his kiss. It still surprised her how much he had changed in so little time. While she worried about his salv
ation, given he would not pray, she did not criticize him, as she would not risk ruining their newfound intimacy. “And what of thy tasks?”

  “The same.” Trailing playful nibbles along the curve of her neck, he cupped her breast, and she sighed. “And Arucard hath offered to loan us his large traveling bedframe, if thou art interested.”

  “While it is a nice gesture, I would decline.” She wiggled her hips. “As I am looking forward to making love in our smaller one.” Then she burst out laughing. “Oh, my lord. Dost thou recall our first night on the road, when we took turns knocking each other to the ground?”

  “I was trying to be polite.” He drew her into their inner chamber. “But those days have long since passed, and I would indulge in a bit of exercise, right now, if thou art amenable.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would satisfy ye, my lusty knight, but I promised Isolde I would help with the feast in our honor.” In a swift shuffle, she eluded his grasp, and he cast an irresistible pout that brought her right back to his arms. As she squeezed his waist, she suckled his lower lip. “I missed ye this morning.”

  “My brothers wanted to engage in a final weapons practice, given I will not be hither to defend them against Arucard’s vicious molinetto.” He rocked, and his stout man’s yard snared her attention. “Prithee, Athel, as I ache for ye, and I cannot wait until we retire.”

  “All right, I relent, but thou must be quick about it.” She untied his breeches and braies and found him hot and unyielding as forged iron. “And do not tangle my hair, as I must get to the kitchen.”

  “Trust me, it will not take much, as I am more than ready for ye.” He lifted her to the bed, flicked up her skirts, knelt between her thighs, entered her in a single powerful thrust, and halted. “Thou dost slay me, sweetheart. Thy succulent sheath doth offer an oasis of bliss, such that I cannot discern fantasy from reality, and if I had my choice, I would never separate from ye.”

  “Demetrius, thou art my one true knight.” As he moved within her, Athel framed his face and pulled him to her. Enticing heat simmered in her veins, and desire licked at her senses. “And I will do whatever thou dost ask, as I am thine to command.”