“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 salvation, 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.”
As he found his rhythm, she curled about him, as he preferred, and he took her hard and fast. But to his credit, he always made sure she found completion before him and never withdrew in haste. Nay, he held her, and they kissed. It was in those cherished moments that Athel’s love grew, and she vowed to protect and defend her man.
In keeping with his routine, he claimed her a second time. Whereas their initial couplings often resulted in swift release for him, the follow-up featured the softest caresses and tender words of devotion that brought her to tears. Thither she found unequivocal acceptance, and she labored to extend the same to her husband.
Anon, they righted their clothes, and Athelyna assessed her appearance in the mirror. “I smell stewed beef.” She gave Demetrius a quick hug and ran through the solar. “Thus I am late.”
Soon the beverages flowed, the dining commenced, and the Brethren provided roasting of a different sort. But when her husband claimed the floor, Athel lamented their impending departure.
“My friends, my family, words cannot adequately express the gratitude Athel and I hold for Chichester and its inhabitants. Given this was our first home as a married couple, we shall always recall our time hither with fondness. And thou wilt have accommodations in Winchester, if ye ever have need of it. Remember, we art but a two-day ride away, and our door is forever open to ye.” Demetrius raised high his tankard. “Let us toast to the future and all its possibilities.”
DEMETRIUS
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The relatively short journey to Winchester Castle contrasted drastically with the ride from London, and not just in duration. For Demetrius, the primary clue that his bride intended to add to the difference came five hours into the initial leg of the trip.
Swaddled in his cloak and two blankets to keep her warm, she occupied her usual perch in his lap. What he did not expect was for her to shift, straddle him, untie his breeches and braies, and take him into her sweet sheath, thither and then.
“Athel, what art thou doing?” The natural motion of his destrier, and their respective positions, coupled to seduce him, and Demetrius gnashed his teeth.
“My lord, I should think it obvious.” She licked his neck. “Now tell Briarus that ye will search ahead and check the condition of the lane. And then heel the flanks of thy stallion, as I desperately need ye to move.”
Per her directive, Demetrius did as she bade, to Briarus’s look of confusion. But when Demetrius sent his horse into a gallop, the world tilted on end, the passing landscape blurred, and all too soon, he soared into bliss
ful release.
“Oh, mother of mercy.” Again and again, he tensed with pure unadulterated pleasure, until he slumped over his bride, who clung to him. Spent to his toes, he fell prey to a fit of mirth. “Whither did ye learn that, my lady, as thou were a virgin when I first took ye?”
“From Isolde.” Athel shrugged. “She swears by it to pass the time on an otherwise unremarkable tour.”
In that instant, he sifted through his memory and recalled several occasions whereupon Arucard offered the same thin excuse, to Demetrius’s unutterable bewilderment.
But now he understood the need for secrecy.
The need for isolation.
The need.
To his horror, he suspected he had fallen in love with his wife.
That particular development would not have troubled him, had he regained his faith, but he remained detached from his beliefs, as a lost son. Every attempt at prayer left him empty and mute, so he suffered in silence, wondering if he would ever find his way home.
So that first night, after the party retired, he sought solace and seduced his bride with soft kisses intended to entice and arouse, and Athel all but melted beneath him. And in the intimate connection he won redemption, however temporary.
Rising before the dawn, they came together again, melding into one entity, and his declaration danced on the tip of his tongue, but his bride rushed to prepare a morning meal for the small contingent of soldiers that escorted them to their new home, so he held his tongue. But in their moments of shared bliss, he glimpsed a light at the end of a long and dark tunnel.
To his delight, she took him again, in the same soul-stealing manner, on the second day of their travels, and he employed the same excuse to gain a measure of privacy. But she was exhausted when they approached the massive stronghold, as the sun sat low on the horizon, thus he carried her to their quarters and deposited her on the bed.
Demetrius (Brethren Origins Book 2) Page 15