Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  For several seconds, the group appeared on the verge of a siege, and no one relented. As she pondered her request, which she judged reasonable, she thought she might have to cede her fight. All of a sudden, a commotion stirred at the back, and the crowd parted.

  “Make way.” Morgan, the youngest and most audacious of her husband’s friends, marched to the fore. At the entrance, he kicked off his boots, extended his hands for inspection, and winked. “What say thee, fair Isolde? Dost thou approve?”

  “Traitor.” Geoffrey scowled.

  “Brother, were I not about to faint from starvation, I might take offense to thy insult.” Just as she feared she might have incited a riot, Morgan grinned and bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “But I have been invited to dine with a beauteous lady, so I dare not linger, as the food grows cold.”

  “Welcome, Sir Morgan.” In fine humor, she curtseyed. “Thou mayest sit whither thou dost wish, as thither art plenty of empty chairs.” With renewed confidence, she leveled her stare on the remaining opposition. “Well?”

  “Ought to lock her in her room.” With a mighty scowl, Aristide relented.

  “Never will I take a wife.” Kicking a rock, Demetrius made for the well.

  Soon, the angry crowd followed suit, with a single exception.

  “Isolde, thou should not challenge the men, as it is not proper behavior for a wife.” Her greatest ally stretched tall, and just as she wavered beneath his scrutiny, he smiled. “Dost thou know that when thy temper is engaged thine eyes sparkle?”

  “Art thou trifling with me?” She inclined her head. “As I quite enjoy thy playful conversation, my lord Arucard. And I missed thee this morrow.”

  “Thy burgundy cotehardie brings out the blush in thy cheeks.” He checked the immediate vicinity, swooped, and claimed a quick kiss. “I missed thee, too. But thither is much to be done, if we art to be ready for the winter. And I cannot hold assemblies until the castle is adequately fortified, but I assigned my men to thy cause, for thee—and thee, alone. Dost thou understand the urgency?”

  “Aye, my lord.” It was all she could do to manage her excitement, as he expressed affection in so many ways, great and small, and he never failed to thrill her. “And I cooked my blancmange for thee—and thee, alone, in grateful appreciation of thy efforts in the undercroft. At last, the kitchen, the spicery, the saucery, the pantry, the buttery, and the scullery art fully repaired and operant. And when thou dost hold thy first feast as lord of Chichester, thy staff stands at the ready to fulfill thy commands, as fit for a king.”

  “Owed in large part to thy hard work, despite my commands to rest easy.” As soldiers from the garrison, washed in obeisance of her demands, strolled into the great hall, Arucard lowered his voice. “But I am so proud of thee.”

  “I apologize for disobeying thy directives, but I am unaccustomed to being idle.” Grasping his wrist, she led him to the well. When she picked up a bar of soap, he retrieved a bucket of fresh water. As a dutiful wife, she lathered his hands and then scrubbed his face. After he rinsed, she pulled a towel from her fitchet, daubed him dry, and bestowed upon him a whisper of a kiss. “Thither, thou art presentable.”

  “Now may I dine?” He arched a brow.

  “Aye.” She nodded once.

  As they returned to the great hall, he removed his boots and set them in a long line of shoes. “Shall I escort thee to the dais?”

  “Prithee, most gallant knight.” Arm in arm, they navigated the crowd, which took note of the late arrivals, as conveyed in a lull of boisterous mirth. As she settled in her seat, she waved to the servants, who brought food and drink. “Eat thy fill, my lord. And on the eventide, I shall prepare thy bath with mint, to soothe thy aches and pains.”

  “And wilt thou join me?” As he lifted his tankard of ale, he cast her a side-glance.

  Isolde almost choked on her wine, but she recovered before she embarrassed herself. “Dost thou truly wish it?”

  “We have tried many things since we wed.” With his fingers, he scooped a morsel of blancmange. “I have yet to see thee completely nude.”

  “And thou would have me know thee?” The prospect gave her gooseflesh, as he requested something they had never before attempted. “Wilt thou consummate our vows?”

  “Margery tells me thy wounds could benefit from another few days to heal.” To the left, the Brethren roared, and Arucard nodded. “She suggested a fortnight from the time of injury would suffice to avoid further damage to thy back.”

  “Thou didst speak with Margery about our situation?” Despite her close relationship with the steward, his candor shocked Isolde. “Thou didst share the private details of our marital life?”

  “Nay, as I could never be so indelicate.” Atop the table, he covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. “I merely inquired after thy health, as a concerned husband. She knows not the motivation for my query.”

  “Well I should hope not.” Just then, Sir Aristide approached the dais, and she dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “Is the loach to thy liking, as I had it made at thy request?”

  “It is superb, my lady.” The most temperamental of the Brethren shuffled his feet. “I made thee a new tapestry frame to replace the broken one, and Pellier had a servant install the mount, so thou wilt have no more trouble.”

  “How thoughtful of thee, Sir Aristide.” Was it her imagination, or did he blush? “And how is thy back?”

  “Much improved, thanks to thy services.” He rubbed his neck and leaned forward. “The henbane worked a miracle, and I thank ye.”

  “Thou art most welcome, Sir Aristide.” And then Sir Morgan neared. “Good sirrah, how dost thou favor the capon crisps?”

  “Lady Isolde, thou hast outdone the eels, which I once considered my primary partiality.” Morgan cast a sly grin, waggled his brows, grasped her hand, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Were thou not wed, I should take thee to wife.”

  “That is a lovely offer, Sir Morgan.” She could not help but giggle, until her husband wrenched her chair closer to his.

  “Let go my bride, brother.” Not for a minute did she take Arucard’s warning serious, even when he bared his teeth. “Thou hast lingered long enough to express thy appreciation of my lady’s talents.”

  “My apologies.” Again, with a wild exhibition, the gadling bowed and chuckled as he returned to his seat.

  With a grimace, Arucard huffed a breath. “Isolde—”

  “Excuse us, brother.” With unveiled pride, Demetrius, with Geoffrey in tow, conveyed a small wooden bench. “Lady Isolde, I am most grateful for thy delicious meat brewets.”

  “I am right glad I could serve thee well, Sir Demetrius.” Beneath the unanticipated praise, she could have wept tears of joy, as never had her father or brother ever expressed recognition of her efforts.

  “And the tunics thou didst sew for me art incomparable, my lady.” For some reason she had yet to discern, Geoffrey never met her gaze, but he blushed crimson whenever he addressed her. “As thy original furnishing was damaged beyond repair in the journey from London, Demetrius and I built a new one for thee.”

  Now she cried.

  “Er, leave the gift, brothers.” With his napkin, Arucard wiped her damp cheeks. “On behalf of Lady Isolde, I thank ye.” Then her husband flagged a passing servant. “Carry the bench to my chamber.”

  “Aye, sir.” The young man bowed.

  Then, to her surprise, Arucard stood, flagon in hand, and the great hall quieted. “My friends, it hath been a difficult journey, but we hath persevered, thanks in no small part to the women in our midst.” A chorus of concurrence erupted. “So I ask thee to raise thy glass in toast.” Her husband turned and faced her. “To my Lady Isolde of Chichester Castle.”

  “To Lady Isolde.” The singular rally echoed in the cavernous hall, and the crowd rapped their fists atop the tables.

  For as long as she could remember, she had yearned for acceptance—for validation of any kind, however minuscule, but
never had she dreamed it would actually happen in her lifetime. And she vowed, thither and then, to merit the cherished accolade until she breathed her last.

  Powerful emotions cascaded over her, and she tried but failed to muster a response. Then she realized thither was only one thing she wanted, and with that in mind she addressed the gathering. “Words cannot express the value of thy approbation, and I shall endeavor to deserve thy praise, every day. For now, Sir Arucard and I bid thee a pleasant eventide, as we take our leave.”

  Confusion invested his handsome features, as her husband escorted her into the hallway, which led to their private rooms. “Isolde, art thou upset with me?”

  “Nay.” She paused, and he faced her. “I cannot tell thee what I feel, as I know it not, but I am conquered.” As something between euphoria and pain assailed her senses, she clutched her throat. “I can only say that I wish to be alone with thee. Nay—I need to be alone with thee, as I require the warmth and comfort of thy body. I need thee.”

  In a flash, Arucard bent, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to their sanctuary.

  ARUCARD

  CHAPTER SIX

  Two days anon, wearing a mail coif and hauberk over his garments, Arucard strolled into the courtyard a tad late for weapons practice, after lingering in bed with his bride. As had become a most agreeable habit, his wife tarried to solve what he had considered the new bane of his existence. In short, every dawn since his wedding, he woke with a stout and stubborn man’s yard, and it often took hours to calm his dragon, as he suffered in silence.

  However, in light of the spectacular night in their room, when they shared the ancere for the first time, and she noted his affliction as he soaped and bathed her breasts, she labored to ease his discomfit. And in Isolde’s delicate but firm grasp, she never failed to drain his moat and appease the beast in a matter of minutes, much to his relief and everlasting gratitude.

  “Wherefore art thou grinning like a giddy virgin?” Demetrius snickered. “As thou didst surrender that distinction a fortnight ago.”

  “And thou dost appear to have shrunk since then.” Aristide elbowed Morgan. “Mayhap the lady wields the longsword better than our good sirrah.”

  “Mayhap we have no need of arms, as thy wife hath evacuated the castle.” Geoffrey peered at his fellow brethren, and the knights burst into laughter.

  “Art thou not the wit?” Naught could ruin Arucard’s mood, as memories of Isolde’s tender touch proved a powerful shield. “Perchance, thou missed thy calling, and thou should compose a comedy. And thou should not gainsay what thou hast yet to sample.” Then he seized upon the one proclamation guaranteed to quell the jests. “Of course, thou wilt learn, in time.”

  The ensuing quietude was deafening.

  When Pellier emerged from the servant’s hall, he glanced in their direction and came to an abrupt halt. “Did I miss something?”

  “Nay.” Chuckling, Arucard waved at his friend, and they gathered near the stable, because it was past due to launch his plan. “My brothers art a curious cadre, as am I.”

  “Oh?” The marshalsea unsheathed his sword, in preparation to train. “I am interested, my lord. Hast thou a question for me?”

  “Actually, I have several.” He assumed the proper stance, and they engaged in a bit of play. “First, I would have thee know that I am not entirely ignorant of the marital bed.”

  “Ah, I see.” Pellier smirked. “Young Arucard wishes to know how to seduce thy wife.”

  “Wilt thou keep thy voice down?” He winced, as never would he hear the end of it, were his fellow knights to discover the truth. “I know whither goes what, but I would not terrorize the poor girl.”

  “Hast thou considered a bath for two?” Metal clashed with metal.

  “Aye, we have tried that.” Arucard deflected Pellier’s lunge.

  “Hast thou taught her to rub the Franciscan monk’s bald head?” The second-in-command guffawed.

  Arucard frowned. “Dost thou reference choking the fire-breathing dragon?”

  “Is that what thou dost call knighting thyself these days?” Pellier grimaced, as Arucard charged.

  “Aye.” Arucard nodded. “She hath done that, several times, in fact.”

  “And yet thou still hast not consummated thy vows?” Pellier scratched his temple and narrowed his stare. “Wherefore not?”

  “Because I would not frighten Isolde.” And he struggled with another reason, which he had steadfastly refused to examine in the light of day. “She is a fine lady, and I would foster an abiding devotion.”

  “And thou would not injure her.” Signaling a pause in their activity, Pellier walked to the well, dipped a ladle in a bucket, and took a drink of water. “Sorry, my lord. But Margery told me how Lord Rochester treated his daughter, and it grieves me more than thou dost know, as Lady Isolde is a gentle soul.”

  “Hear me well, sirrah.” Studying the sharp edge of his sword, Arucard clenched his jaw and pictured her torn flesh. “What the earl hath wrought upon Isolde, he shall reap.”

  “I do not doubt thee for an instant.” Pellier gazed at the sky and sighed. “Margery says thy wife is partial to lavender in her baths. And Lady Isolde favors mylates of pork for supper and a sweet of gyngerbrede. Mayhap thou should make a special request of the cook. Have the maids light candles, instead of the braziers, and romance thy lady with pretty words and praise.”

  “And what of the deed?” He braced for all manner of mirth at his expense. “As I would be a considerate husband.”

  “With thy fingers, prepare her nether eye until she is moist. Then set thy hips to hers to mount her, and be gentle, as thou dost part her thighs. Teach her to lift her ankles and hug thy waist with her legs. Ask if thou art too heavy, and prop thyself on thy elbows to ease her burden.” The marshalsea’s crude instruction sufficiently startled Arucard, but he listened with intent. “When thou dost breach her, restrain thyself, as thy instincts will tell thee to ride hard, but thou must resist. And use passionate kisses to distract her. Take her slow, and heed her warnings, else thou mayest hurt her. If she is distressed, thou must retreat, even if it kills thee, and it might.” When a soldier passed within earshot, Pellier lowered his voice. “Use her but a single time, as her untried flesh will be sore in the morrow. Perchance, thou might arrange for one of Margery’s soothing soaks to ease any lingering aches, as the second coupling often proves far more enjoyable than the first. Trust me, if thou dost desire her now, thou wilt crave her body doubly so after the deflowering, especially as thou art a virgin, too.”

  “While I am grateful for thy wisdom, I am not entirely comfortable with the breadth of thy knowledge of such intimate matters.” With his course set, Arucard made a momentous decision. “And I shudder to think on thy exploits and thy soul’s ascendance to the glorious hereafter, but it is not for me to judge thee.”

  “Worry not about my soul, Sir Arucard.” Pellier chuckled. “Thou art the Templar Knight, and I always thought thy abstinence born of lunacy. I am but thy not-so-humble servant, and I caution thee not to place thy tenets upon my conscience. When I meet my fate, I shall make my own way.”

  “Somehow, I know thou wilt be fine.” With renewed vigor, Arucard picked up his weapon and swung wide. In a matter of seconds, he backed Pellier into the curtain wall. After a few more rounds, which resulted in similar outcomes, the marshalsea surrendered.

  “My lord, we both know thy heart and mind art otherwise engaged.” Pellier sheathed his sword and bowed. “And before thou dost sever something I need, I suggest thou dost heed my advice.”

  “Deliver these to my chambers.” He ceded his arms and mail coif. “And whither might I find Margery at this hour?”

  “Mayhap, in the spicery.” Pellier grinned. “And I shall drink to thy success in the great hall, but thou must take my word for it, as thou wilt be otherwise occupied.”

  And so Arucard went in search of Margery to make plans. To Pellier’s credit, Arucard found the steward and made arrangeme
nts to woo his wife. As he walked through the screen passage to the great hall, he spied his lady in conversation with a trio of maids.

  Gowned in vivid emerald velvet, with her hair plaited, she embodied elegance. After a few minutes, she dismissed the servants and turned in his direction. When she spotted him, she bestowed upon him a brilliant smile, and he nodded an acknowledgement. Under his breath, he said, “This eventide, Isolde, thou wilt be mine.”

  #

  It was late in the afternoon, when Isolde ventured into the kitchen to finalize the menu, and she was surprised to find the cook had employed Margery in the preparations, as Chichester Castle was fully staffed. But the servants assured Isolde thither was no cause for concern, as they labored to produce a special meal, which they preferred not to discuss.

  As she neared the fire, a distinct aroma caught her attention, and she halted and sniffed the air. “Is that gyngerbrede I smell?”

  “Lady Isolde, thou art no scullion.” Frowning, Margery wiped her hands on an apron and then ushered Isolde into the great hall. “And, mayhap, thou might do me a favor. Hast thou checked on the between maids? As Pellier informed me they lingered about, whilst the soldiers washed for supper, and I object to their questionable behavior. They should have finished their chores long before the men returned to the garrison, so thou canst guess at their motives.”

  The steward spoke so fast that Isolde could get nary a word edgewise. “Of course, but—”

  “And then thou should return to thy chambers, as Anne guards the set pot, and thy bath should be ready, anon.” Then Margery gave Isolde a gentle push. “Hurry along, my lady.”

  Amused by the steward’s unusually abrupt demeanor, Isolde walked to the servant’s rooms, whither she observed the young maids in conversation. When one servant struck the other with a pillow, the work yielded to play, amid a chorus of giggles and shrieks, which she loathed to interrupt, as theirs seemed a harmless game.