Demetrius (Brethren Origins Book 2)

by Barbara Devlin

  “I had no part in that affair,” he asserted with vehemence.

  “But thou stood silent, when ye might have prevented it. And I have it on good authority that thy son took up arms against the Sovereign. Yet, thou dost dare blame Lord Sussex and question my husband’s honor.” She inclined her head. “Dost thou not see thy logic is flawed? Thy son made his choice and reaped the consequence, and thou dost punish thyself when ye art blameless, as is Demetrius. Let go thy anger and rejoin the community, as thou art in dire need of fellowship. Without faith and friendship, thou art already in the grave.”

  “Thou art most wise, Lady Wessex, and thou dost make a compelling argument.” For a while, her host simply gazed at her. Then he shifted his weight. “Mayest I call thee Athelyna?”

  “Oh, I wish ye would.” She studied the tufts of gray hair, just above his ears, his balding crown, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and decided he appeared less menacing that she previously thought. “And might I indulge in the same privilege?”

  “I am Renoldus.” With a huff, he turned and dragged the chair closer to the side of the four-poster and sat. “Wilt thou tell me of thy people, as it hath been ages since I hosted a guest?”

  It seemed odd to share her personal history with an individual who once vowed to harm Demetrius, but Athel thought it the perfect occasion to attempt an invasion, of a sort. If she could sway Renoldus in her knight’s favor, they could bring peace to the tumultuous region. So, for the next few hours, she detailed her childhood in Coventry, as well as her education at the convent.

  “Then the King summoned ye to marry Sir Demetrius.” Renoldus slapped his thigh and chuckled. “I wager Lord Wessex had no idea what danger he courted, as thou dost have a mind and a will of thy own.”

  “And that is bad?” She pouted.

  “Nay.” Renoldus grinned. “It brings me much satisfaction.” Then he quieted and rubbed his chin. “Forgive my indelicacy, but my physic informs me that ye art with child.”

  “Pray, say naught to Demetrius, as I have yet to make the announcement, and I wish to do so in my way.” A loud rumble emanated from her stomach and pierced the calm, and she averted her stare.

  “Thou art hungry, and I am not surprised, as thou dost eat for two.” He stood, walked to the door, opened the oak panel, and shouted, “Bring Lady Wessex a hot meal, and be quick about it.”

  “Mayhap thou can also send for my husband?” She held her breath and prayed Renoldus would defer to her request.

  “Gentle Athelyna, I dispatched my man last eventide, despite the foul weather, as I am not the villain thee dost think.” Renoldus cast a sympathetic expression. “I anticipate, now the storm hath cleared, Lord Wessex shall arrive in a matter of hours.”

  DEMETRIUS

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A long and lonely ride, filled with tortuous thoughts and silent expressions of regret, led Demetrius to the gate of Saltwood Keep. An imposing fortress surrounded by a massive curtain wall, the structure conveyed power and prestige that was not lost on him. That his bride resided somewhere within the confines of the stronghold only intensified the anxiety that gripped his spine.

  And countless thoughts of Athelyna plagued his conscience.

  In the bailey, he drew rein, as several Van Hermant guards surrounded him, and he splayed his palms. “Have no fear, good sirrahs, as I come only for my wife.”

  “Welcome, Lord Wessex.” Sander snapped his fingers. “Take his mount, at once.”

  “Grammarcy.” After yielding his destrier, he followed the majordomo into a massive hall. “Wherefore doth my countess not greet me?”

  “Lady Wessex recovers from her injuries, my lord.” Sander strolled toward a narrow passage, but he grunted when Demetrius threw the majordomo against the wall.

  “What happened to Athelyna?” Demetrius grasped fistfuls of Sander’s tunic, as all manner of horrible deeds filled his mind. “What have ye done to her?”

  “We have done naught but provide shelter and care for thy bride.” Sander tried but failed to break free. “When my patrol came upon Lady Wessex, she fled. The guards pursued her, as she had ventured onto Van Hermant land, and her horse slipped. Thy wife was thrown from the saddle, and she hurt her ankle.”

  “Take me to her, now.” He shoved the steward forward. “Do not delay, else I shall tear down this castle, stone by stone.”

  “Calm thyself, Lord Wessex.” Sander took the stairs, two at a time, with Demetrius in his wake. “She hath been quartered in a room near the family chambers, she hath been well fed, and she hath been given the best possible care.”

  “That is for me to decide.” When Sander opened a door, Demetrius shoved past the majordomo. In the well-appointed room, amid a mountain of pillows, Athelyna reclined in a large four-poster bed. “Athel.”

  “Demetrius.” The second she spied him, she glowed with an internal fervency that struck him as a blow to the gut, smiled, and flicked her fingers in entreaty. “Come hither, my love.”

  Impelled by some invisible force impossible to deny, which enfolded him in its steely grip, he shot forth, eased to her side, and drew her into his embrace. Tears beckoned, as relief shimmered over him like a spring shower, and all was right in his world, as his Lily was in his arms. Mindful of her condition, which he had yet to ascertain, he set her in the cushions and brought her hand to his mouth.

  “Let me look at ye, my sweetheart.” He noted a cut above her left eye and a nasty bruise on her cheek. “Did they hurt ye, my Lily?”

  “Nay, my lord.” To his relief, she giggled. “It was a misunderstanding. After my brother took me from Winchester, I begged him to take me home, but he refused.” She claimed a kiss. “Oh, how I missed ye.”

  “But how did ye come into the custody of Van Hermant?” Again, she pressed her lips to his, and he chuckled. “And how were ye wounded?”

  “When Gerwald retired to his tent, I waited until the middle of the night, when all were abed, save my guard. Using a knife I kept from my sup, I cut the canvas at the rear and ran away, that I might find ye. But I am unfamiliar with the countryside, and I became lost. The patrol found me, but I knew them not, so I tried to evade them. Given the rain, the ground was wet, and my horse lost its footing on the rocks. I fell and lost consciousness.”

  “Thanks be to Our Lord.” Although he feared causing her pain, he simply could not resist pulling her into his lap. “And what of our babe? Art thou truly well?”

  “What?” She furrowed her adorable brow and pouted. “Who told ye my secret?”

  “Thy brother.” How her fit of temper soothed his concerns for her health, as she appeared quite herself. “He is worried about ye.”

  “Just wait until I get my hands on him.” She humphed. “That is my news to impart, and he hath no right to tell ye of thy forthcoming fatherhood, and still thou dost not know.” In a show of feminine pique, she stiffened her spine. “Thou art forbidden to broach the subject until I heal, we journey to Winchester, and I execute my special ceremony to mark the joyous event.”

  Demetrius burst into laughter—as did Renoldus Van Hermant.

  “Good morrow, Lord Wessex.” Van Hermant occupied a chair in the corner. “I am glad ye could join us.”

  “Sir, pray, do not hold my wife accountable for our disagreements.” He cradled Athel’s head. “She is innocent. If thou wilt spare her, and let her go free, thou canst do as ye will with me.”

  Van Hermant studied Demetrius. “Thou dost love thy wife.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  “More than my own life.” And he would sacrifice himself to save her and their firstborn. “I give ye my word, as a knight of the realm.”

  “Mayhap we have more in common than we realized.” Van Hermant narrowed his stare and stood. “Enjoy my hospitality for as long as thy charming countess requires rest. And mayhap, after thy reunion, thou wilt consent to join me for dinner this eventide.” He strolled to the door. “Thither is much to discuss, if I am to
help ye bring peace and order to Winchester.”

  Alone with Athel, Demetrius shared a thorough kiss with his lady, but he broke their contact when she caressed his man’s yard. “What did ye do to convince Van Hermant to aid our cause?”

  “Naught much, really.” She unhooked his belt, and he just stopped her from untying his breeches. “I merely sang thy praises, in truth. How could anyone not defend thee?”

  “Well, supper ought to be interesting.” He considered his approach, as Van Hermant would make a valuable ally. In his moment of distraction, Athelyna skimmed her fingers beneath his braies, and he caught her wrist just in time. “Thou art injured, my beauteous bride.”

  “Precisely.” She frowned. “I am not dead. And I have naught but a few scrapes and bruises, excepting my ankle, which the physic assures is not broken, thus I am perfectly capable of making love to my husband.”

  “But thou art with child, and I will take no unnecessary risks.” Ah, how she tempted him, yet he restrained her.

  “Thither art no risks.” She tried but failed to ease his hold.

  “Go to sleep.” He lowered his chin. “And I shall guard ye.”

  “But I am not tired.” At last, she rested against his chest and sighed. “How I missed ye.”

  “Thou must recover, that we might return home.” He kissed her crown of gold hair. “Rest, my angel, and know I am with ye.”

  “I feared I might never see ye again.” As was her way, she shifted and hugged him about the waist.

  “That would never happen, because I will always come for ye, as I love ye.” Yea, he had much to atone for, and he would atone. “My Lily, whither thou art, all roads lead.”

  #

  Candles bathed the bedchamber in a soft saffron glow, and wildflowers, picked from the landscape surrounding Winchester Castle, decorated the wall sconces. The meal with which she chose to celebrate the news of the impending addition to their family consisted of all her husband’s favorites, including cameline meat brewets, yet his light-hearted demeanor and mischievous grin remained absent, since their return home.

  Although Demetrius proclaimed he would not touch her until she birthed their child, his self-enforced abstinence lasted but a few hours, and he made love to Athelyna every morning and eventide, and sometimes in between, both within the privacy of their quarters or at their special place in the woods, an underlying intensity intruded on their intimate moments, and she wondered at the source of his internal unrest. But no matter how much she encouraged him to share his disquietude, with subtle prompts and gentle intimations, he remained mute on the subject, and she had reached the end of her tether.

  Naked, she stretched beside her equally nude husband, propped on an elbow, and pinned him with her stare. “What is wrong? What happened? Thou dost hide something from me, and I will have it. Wilt thou not unburden thyself to thy devoted wife, that I might carry part of thy load?”

  “Thou art imagining things.” Withdrawing from her, he tugged on the sheet and rolled to his side, with his back facing her. “I am tired.”

  “Do not lie to me, my lord.” She crawled over his frame and plopped down in front of him. “I am thy wife, and I know ye better than I know myself, in some ways. Thou art distressed, and thou hast been since we departed Saltwood Keep. Pray, talk to me. Do not shut me out, as by my faith I have sworn to comfort ye.”

  “Thou dost accuse me of falsehood and follow thy charge with sweet words of persuasion.” With a mighty frown, he turned toward the opposite wall, and she repeated her maneuver. “And thou dost wonder wherefore I am not more forthcoming.”

  “Thou dost admit ye doth keep secrets from me, in violation of thy promise.” With her palms placed to his shoulders, she pushed him into the pillows and straddled him. “I will not permit ye to avoid me. I will not allow ye to suffer another day, so thou wilt confess thy worries.”

  “It will destroy us.” He rubbed his eyes and furrowed his brow.

  “That is not possible.” She folded her arms, even as he circled her nipple. “And do not attempt to distract me with thy provocative games.”

  “But I am not attempting to distract ye.” Swift and sure, he pounced, and she found herself beneath him. “I want ye again.”

  “Thou would join our bodies whilst ye doth build walls between us? Wilt thou take me in anger?” When he tried to break free, she wrapped her arms and legs about him. “Nay, I will not let go. Thou art my prisoner until I convince ye of a simple certainty.”

  At last, he collapsed atop her. “And that would be—what?”

  “Thou canst never lose me, because I have loved thee all my life.” With that, he shifted, met her gaze, and arched a brow. “I know it sounds odd, but I loved ye before I knew ye existed. Indeed, I loved the promise of ye, and thou hast given me the dream I coveted, first as a young oblate and now as thy wife. And while the brooch lore proclaimed thee my one true knight, I knew ye were my heart prior to the discovery of the mark on thy flesh, in keeping with the pin’s predictive nature, and that is wherefore I put aside the precious heirloom.”

  “I cursed ye.” Cupping her chin in his grip, just shy of hurting her, he loomed with a scowl marring his beauteous lips. “I hated ye. I bade horrible deeds befall ye, when I found ye gone, as I thought thy declaration a trick to deceive me, and it killed me.”

  Aye, he wounded her just then, but she knew of his past pain and resolved to persevere. Undaunted, fearless, and without hesitation, she replied, “I still love ye.”

  In an instant, he eased his hold. The tenor of his caresses, subdued and sweet, proclaimed she struck a blow for her cause. “When thy brother revealed what happened, and his part in thy kidnapping, I died a thousand deaths, because I realized thou didst uphold thy oath, whereas I betrayed and broke faith with ye.”

  With her thumb, she traced the angular line of his jaw. “I still love ye.”

  “And I compounded my faults with dissemblance, because I feared ye would despise me, and I cannot lose ye as I would lose myself.” As tears streamed her temples, given she wept for him, he rested his forehead to hers and stroked her hair. “Thus I am a coward, and I have injured ye, when thou art innocent.” Yet, to her surprise, he softened, and his expression, so earnest in its hope, threatened her composure, as she ached to comfort him. “But if ye could see fit to—”

  “I forgive ye.” Guessing his plea, she pressed her mouth to his. “And I still love ye, because love is not a word I utter so indiscriminately as to render it meaningless.”

  “And I love ye and vouchsafe the same.” With a swift flex of his hips, he entered her. “Prithee, indulge me, as I need to be close to ye, my Lily.” As he moved within her, he gritted his teeth. “Thy body was made for me, and never again will I doubt ye. And I shall spend my days in toil, aspiring to deserve ye.”

  “Nonsense.” Emitting a shaky sob, she hugged him to her, as he set a relaxed rhythm. “Thou art my warmth, when I am cold. Thou art my strength, when I falter. Thou art my benevolent lord and master, when I desire direction. Thou art the father of my babe, when I require a partner for our fledgling family. Thou art my protector, when I need shielding. All these things, and more, thou art for me, so I have not nor have I ever doubted ye.” Then she hugged him about the waist with her thighs. “And I would remind ye that thee art an intelligent man, even though ye dost thy best to prove otherwise. But, in the future, when thou dost stretch the limits of my patience or downright exasperate me, which will happen, never think for a single instant that I do not love ye, as naught can temper my affection or dedication.”

  “Now and forever, thou art my Lily.” He favored her with a delicate but potent kiss.

  “Ah, thither is the smile I treasure.” She squeezed his firm buttocks. “And while I am moved by thy solicitous proclamations, which art impressive, I would have ye show me the depth of thy adoration, as deeds speak louder than pretty words, my lusty, one true knight.”

  “My lady, thy every wish is my command.”

&n
bsp; DEMETRIUS

  EPILOGUE

  How fast a year passed when life was filled with unlimited joy, love, and promise. The days composed a cherished mosaic—a collection of incomparable remembrances detailing an abiding devotion unmatched in its intensity, which never failed to bolster his faith and inspire his soul. And Demetrius and Athelyna celebrated the anniversary of their union in the quiet confines of their chambers, doting on their newborn babe and recalling stories of their initial meeting and courtship.

  Given the approaching end of autumn, he thought it past due for the King to broker another match for one of the three remaining unwed brothers, and he prayed the future groom found as much contentment in their marriage as Demetrius found in his. Thus, when Arucard’s summons arrived, Demetrius was not surprised to learn that His Majesty once again called another Nautionnier Knight to the altar.

  In felicitous spirits, he journeyed with his precious Lily and his heir for the two-day ride to Chichester Castle, in preparation to break the news of another impending marriage for the Brethren of the Coast.

  “Wilt thou consider a wager, regarding how he takes the news?” Arucard waggled his brows. “As we know how ye reacted.”

  “And I do not need ye to remind me.” Mustering his best scowl, Demetrius grabbed his tankard and downed a healthy gulp.

  “Oh, I want to hear about it.” Athel set down a platter of buttered wortes and a basket of bread. “Especially in light of his behavior when he arrived at the Chapter House.”

  “Now that I will never forget.” Placing a stack of trenchers on the table, Isolde giggled. “Thou didst vomit and—”

  “Thither is no need to relive such embarrassments.” Somehow, Demetrius knew it would not be the last time his relations revisited the unpleasantness.