In the main entry, Demetrius shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the most prosperous members of Winchester society, and thither were so many, he lost track of their names. But they all shared a single commonality, a flaw in the male sex that rendered them vulnerable to persuasion. In short, they fell victim to his bride’s incomparable beauty, and he could not have been more proud. By the time they adjourned to supper, Athelyna had charmed more than half of the set, and he anticipated little resistance to his overtures.
“So thou hast been appointed to bring order to Winchester, yet it is the King’s neglect that resulted in the false burgage plots and the exploitation by Lord Rochester.” A noble stared down his nose. “Prithee, wherefore should we trust ye to lead us?”
“Because I am His Majesty’s duly appointed servant, I command three hundred soldiers, and I am ordered to restore the rule of law to the lands.” A series of whispers filtered through the cavernous meeting space, and Demetrius shifted with discomfit. “Good sirrahs, how is it we art at odds?”
“Thou art a friend and confidante of Lord Sussex, and he blames us for the injuries to Lady Sussex.” A grey-haired elderly gentleman frowned. “We had naught to do with that, yet we paid a steep price in the blood of our citizens.” Suddenly, he compressed his lips. “Apologies, Lady Wessex. I mean no offense.”
“None taken.” Seated to his left, Athel toyed with her goblet, and he braced for her strike, as his bride could be a thousand times more lethal than the sharpest sword. “But I question the honor of any man who would stand idle, as a defenseless woman is tried, convicted, and punished for a crime she did not commit. I have seen, firsthand, the lasting scars that will never fade, in payment for a debt that was never owed, and I wonder how those gathered within these walls turned the other cheek to such an affront to justice. Is that not in itself a crime?” She sighed, as she held the visitors enrapt. “Then, to compound thy transgressions, thou didst take up arms against the Sovereign, some of thy loved ones paid the ultimate price, and thou dost blame my husband for thy losses. Thou dost profess a desire for order, but when the King sends his servant to manage the jurisdiction, a garrison is installed herein, the purpose of which is to protect ye and ensure thou art treated equitably and with respect, thou dost again rebel. Prithee, I am but a woman. Might someone explain thy reasoning?”
Silence fell on the gathering.
Under cover of the linens, Demetrius squeezed Athelyna’s fingers.
Tension hung in the air, until at last one person stood and raised a tankard. “I will support ye, Lord and Lady Wessex.”
“As will I,” another proclaimed.
One by one, the nobles, save a lone dissenter, swore their loyalty to the Crown and its agent. When the protester shot to his feet, the scene quieted.
“I am Renoldus Van Hermant, and I rebuke thy authority.” With a sneer, he clutched the hilt of his sword, and Demetrius nodded to Briarus, who remained on alert for trouble. “In the conflict His Majesty waged on Winchester, many lives were stolen, including that of my heir. No amount of pretty words can compensate me, and I do not forgive ye. At some point, mayhap now, mayhap anon, I will have my revenge on ye and send thee to thy much-deserved grave.”
“That is quite enough.” Just as Demetrius anticipated, Athel charged the fore. “I can abide a great many things, but thou wilt not come into my home, invited or not, and threaten my husband.”
“Fret not, Lady Wessex, as I am leaving.” Van Hermant peered at his companions. “Anyone coming with me?”
Thither was no movement in the ranks.
Athelyna summoned Briarus. “Van Hermant has chosen to depart our company. Pray, show him to the door.” And that was how a dainty woman quashed the Winchester resistance, raising naught but her voice. Then she clapped and said to Isotta, “Thou mayest serve the meal.”
Everyone moved with speed and efficiency, and he availed himself of the opportunity to express his appreciation of her efforts. “My lady, thou art magnificent. And when we retire, I shall pleasure thee, until ye dost scream.”
“My lord, that sounds lovely.” She licked her lips, and he clenched his gut. “Then I shall take ye till dawn.”
Thither, Athelyna won again.
#
On a warm and sunny April morning, Athelyna bent over a basin, disgorged the contents of her belly, and wiped her brow with a cool cloth. The strange malaise that assailed her without mercy began in March, but she presumed it was naught more than a temporary hardship. And just as she thought it passed for the day, she doubled over and vomited again.
“My lady, art thou unwell?” With a stack of folded sheets in her grasp, Isotta frowned. “Should I summon the physic?”
“Nay, as it is naught.” And if she repeated that enough times, she just might believe it. When she stretched upright, the room spun out of control, and Athel stumbled. “Oh, dear.”
“Thither is something wrong, my lady.” Isotta dropped the linens on the bed and rushed to assist Athel. “Lean on me, and I shall lead ye to the chair.”
“Thank ye, Isotta.” With tenuous steps, Athel collapsed on the seat. “Do not summon the physic, as I would not worry Demetrius. But if thou wilt accompany me to the physic’s quarters, I would grateful.”
“Just try and get me to abandon thy side.” The housekeeper slipped an arm about Athelyna’s waist, and they ventured into the hall and out the secondary entrance.
In the courtyard, she clung to Isotta, and they traded polite conversation, so it appeared they did naught more than conduct their business. On the other end of the garrison, the housekeeper pushed open the heavy oak panel and hollered for the physician’s help.
“Lady Athelyna.” Paganus drew her to a bench. “Take thy ease, my lady.” To Isotta, he asked, “What happened?”
The housekeeper shrugged. “I found my lady heaving, and she was dizzy. Lady Athelyna reports the illness struck in March.”
“How dost thou feel now, my lady?” Paganus pressed the back of his hand to Athel’s forehead and then gently squeezed her stomach. “Thou dost have no fever.” As he rubbed his chin, he narrowed his gaze. “If I may, when is the last time thy courses flowed?”
Initially, Athel did not comprehend the consequence of the physic’s question. But as she counted each sennight, she flinched. “I know precisely. My courses have not flowed since before St. Valentine’s Day.” And then she recalled the significance of that particular moment in her personal history. “Am I with child?”
“So it would seem, my lady.” Paganus smiled. “Felicitations. I suggest ye lighten thy load and take a nap, every afternoon. And ye may forgo thy morning sop in favor of a substantial noon meal, which should ease thy symptoms.”
“Thank ye, Paganus.” Without thought, she caressed her flat belly and pondered the life growing inside her, and inexpressible elation welled. If her revelation did not restore Demetrius’s faith then naught would.
“Shall I collect his lordship?” Isotta sniffed.
“Nay, as I have an idea.” Ah, her husband’s seed was strong; as it found its mark perchance from the instant they consummated their nuptials. Recovered, Athel stood and hugged the housekeeper. “Let us adjourn to the kitchen and plan a special celebration.”
As they navigated the bailey, Athel nodded acknowledgements to the members of her community. Maintaining her composure by a mere thread, she choked on a sob when they sheltered in the screened passage.
“Athel, art thou all right?” Gerwald paused in the doorway to the spicery. “Wherefore dost thou weep?”
“It is naught, brother.” It was to his misfortune that she had no patience for him just then. “Hast thou finished thy chores?”
“Demetrius treats me like a scullion, when I am of noble blood.” He scowled. “I should complain of the abuse to the King.”
“Well, my husband will spill thy noble blood, if thou dost not complete thy tasks, as everyone at Winchester Castle assumes numerous duties.” She wagged a finger. �
�Cease thy complaints, as management of this residence requires work. Given thou dost hope His Majesty confers a title on ye, thou would do well to make the most of this opportunity to learn the rules of governance.”
Like a wayward child, Gerwald stomped from the kitchens.
And then Athelyna burst into happy tears. “Canst thou imagine it, Isotta? I am to be a mother, and Demetrius will be a father. Is it not grand?”
“My lady, I am thrilled for ye.” Together, they hugged and cried, and cried and hugged. “Now what would ye ask of me, that ye might celebrate the glorious news, as fits the occasion?”
With an apron, Athel dried her cheeks and giggled. “I have an idea.”
DEMETRIUS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ensconced in their solar, and with Athelyna nestled in his lap, Demetrius shared a remarkably thorough kiss with his wife. While he had planned to lead the lancers through military maneuvers with Grimbaud, Athel commanded his attention at a special feast, promising delectable fare both on the table and in their bed, so who was he to refuse her?
“Sir Demetrius, come hither.” Briarus banged on the door, and Demetrius cursed under his breath. “My lord, we art under attack.”
“Great bulging balls of agony.” With care, he set aside his bride. “Duty calls, my tempting Lily, but I will finish what I started once I dispatch our intruders, and they will rue my wrath for interrupting our intimate interlude.”
“Oh, thou wilt be careful.” She fetched his hauberk and coif. “Shall I summon Gerwald to help ye into thy armor?”
“Thither is no time.” At her expression of horror, he framed her face and covered her mouth with his. “Worry not, my Lily. Naught can keep me from ye, and I intend to sup on the sweet flesh between thy thighs and make ye sing for me.”
“Wilt thou be serious?” She followed him into the hall and through the side entrance, whereupon she wrenched his arm. “Demetrius, pray, do not take unnecessary risks.”
“Woman, dost thou doubt my finesse on the battlefield?” He chuckled, as he affixed his sheathed sword to his saddle and took his mount. “I shall return, anon, and I want ye naked and in our bed, whereupon I shall feed ye with my own hands and make love to ye until dawn. Now stand clear, my lady, as I would not chance injuring ye.”
“Prithee, a moment.” As had become her habit, and one he treasured, she clutched his wrist and pressed his palm to her cheek. “My lord, I love ye. That is one of the reasons I locked ye in our solar tonight, because I wanted to tell ye, in private. But should something happen, I want ye to know thee dost carry my heart, wherever thou dost go.”
Soldiers ran across the courtyard, and servants rushed in all directions, but Demetrius bent and pulled Athel into his lap. Without regard for those present, he claimed his bride’s lips in an unshakeable affirmation of shared devotion. And when he at last broke their connection, he rested his forehead to hers and gazed into her eyes.
Nagging fear danced a jig down his spine, but he brushed off the disconcerting emotion. It was time for him to move beyond the sadness of the past and seize his future. And if he hoped to win the future he desperately desired, he had to take a leap of faith.
“My Lily, I love ye, too.” And he chuckled, when she shrieked and hugged him so tight he could scarcely draw breath. “All right, my lady wife, know that I share thy excitement. However, duty calls, and I am remiss in my priorities, at the moment. But when I have dispatched our invaders, I shall come for ye, and thou would do well to prepare thyself for my invasion.”
“I am already conquered, my lusty husband.” When he set her down, she maintained her grip on his hand. “My lord, I do love ye. Come back to me, safe and sound, else I shall be sorely vexed, as thither art many felicitations to savor this night.”
“My lady, thou mayest depend upon it.” He winked.
And so with his Lily’s heart as a shield, he stormed into the fray, with Grimbaud to the left and Briarus to the right, but Demetrius was confused by what he confronted outside the curtain wall. As soon as he entered the field, the raiders, what thither were of them, dispersed. It seemed illogical to attempt an assault with such small numbers, and he did not comprehend their goal.
“My lord, the fence is damaged, and some cattle have escaped.” Briarus held up a torch. “I will herd the stock with the guards.”
“Send Gerwald to fetch some of the craftsmen, and I will help repair the breach in the wattle.” Lightning flashed, followed by the rumble of thunder, and he cursed. “Hurry, as we do not need to be caught in a storm.”
“But I do not see Gerwald.” Grimbaud rotated his stallion. “Did he accompany ye?”
“Nay.” Demetrius peered into the darkness, as the wind howled. “I thought he was with ye.”
“That boy is as useless as teats on a boar hog, and we are better off without him, as he doth naught but complain.” Briarus rode beyond the line. “Sir, thither art only three loose cows. Let us mend the fence and return to the castle, before we take an impromptu bath.”
Working together, Demetrius and his men re-stacked and restored the barrier, but something in the back of his mind told him all was not as it appeared. And a single nagging question pummeled him without mercy. Wherefore would someone feign a theft?
And then an awful realization dawned.
What if the supposed thievery was naught more than a distraction to lure him from his fortress?
“Briarus, Grimbaud, let us return to the castle—now.” Demetrius set a course for home and Athelyna.
“Is something wrong, my lord?” the marshalsea inquired.
“I know not, but I am troubled.” He heeled the flanks of his destrier and charged through the field. Half expecting the castle to be under siege, he sighed in relief, when naught seemed amiss. In the bailey, the Winchesters remained on alert, and he flew past the master of the horse and drew rein at the main entry, whither he found Isotta.
“Whither is Athelyna?” He scanned the vicinity but did not spy his wife.
“I know not.” The housekeeper shrugged. “But she was hither, when ye departed. Mayhap she retired to thy chambers.”
He recalled his salacious request and ran to their quarters. The solar was empty, so he burst into the bedroom, in search of Athel, only to find the four-poster vacant, and the chill of dread seeped into his chest. In a few strides, he regained the front egress, whereupon he located Grimbaud and Briarus.
“Lady Athelyna is missing.” Just giving voice to his fear almost broke him. “Summon the staff and search every part of the castle. Leave no stone unturned.”
For the second time that night, the Winchesters organized a response, and the result rendered Demetrius adrift on an ocean. He retraced his steps and studied the space he shared with Athel, but naught had been taken. Even her robe remained draped at the foot of their bed.
“Sir Demetrius, we have completed the task, and Lady Wessex, Gerwald, and three soldiers are gone.” Grimbaud rubbed the back of his neck. “We can pursue them, but not now, as the storm intensifies.”
“But the foul weather works in our favor, as they could not have made it very far without stopping.” Briarus shuffled his feet. “We can give chase at first light, my lord.”
“Fine.” So many thoughts echoed in his brain, and he waved to his men. “Get some rest, and we depart at dawn.”
Alone in what he once considered his sanctuary, Demetrius sat at the table. With his elbow propped on the armrest, he stared at the window, as the gentle rap of rain pelting the glass kept time with his heartbeat.
The declaration his Lily so boldly proclaimed played a mocking refrain, and he covered his ears, as if he could shut out the memory. Was it a lie? Had she made a fool of him?
It was his persistent lack of faith that reared its ugly head, that shouted crude taunts, and he questioned everything about his marriage and his wife. Was everything he thought they built naught more than a ruse? Had she planned, all along, to run away with her brother, given she defended him
at every turn?
Something inside him shattered, in that moment. Cracks and fissures spidered and snaked through every part of his being, leaving naught unscathed. Searing agony festered and ignited, scorching his marrow, and he clenched his fists.
“Damn thee to hell.” In a single sweep, he sent the trenchers and tankards tumbling to the floor. “I spit on thee. I curse thee for hurting me, and from my broken heart I stab at thee. I pray ye dost meet a similar fate, as thou hast slayed me, Athel.”
#
Athelyna struggled against her bindings, to no avail. Through the canvas bag stretched over her head, she could spy naught, but woe the poor fool who took her from her home and Demetrius.
A storm raged, and the rain soaked her to the skin. If she caught a cold, and a resulting illness injured her babe, thither would be hell to pay.
At last, her captors stopped for the night, and she tried but failed to glean any clues through the whipping gale. When someone dragged her from her horse, she resisted.
“Calm thyself, Athel.” Gerwald groaned as he set her feet on the ground. “I put up a tent, and I would see to thy comfort.”
When he removed the sack, she blinked, as even the dim light from the brazier hurt her eyes. “Art thou out of thy mind? Wherefore hast ye taken me from Winchester?”
“Because thou never wished to marry, but I forced ye to do so, that I might advance in stature.” He produced a knife and cut the rope from her wrists. “These past months with Sir Demetrius have taught me a few things, not the least of which is what sort of man I would become, with the opportunity to atone for past mistakes.”
“I beg thy pardon?” She assessed her bloody flesh. “Thou dost speak of recompense for thy wrongs, when ye hast wasted precious opportunities under Demetrius’s tutelage and stolen me from my husband? Thou dost make no sense.”
“I thought, mayhap, I would return ye to the convent, as thou didst desire to become a nun. Then I will petition the King for a new commission, elsewhere, as Demetrius hath no respect for our family legacy, and naught I do pleases him. That is why he treats me like a servant.” A soldier carried in a few belongings, and Gerwald stepped aside. “Bring my sister some ham and bread.”
Medieval Ever After Page 105