“Aye, my lady.” The scullery maid narrowed her stare. “And the ale is in the undercroft, near the wine.”
“Then I should fetch the firkin.” Drying her hands on her apron, Rosenwyn turned and navigated the narrow passage that led to the stores beneath the castle. As she neared, she noted a heated discussion. “Hello? Who is there?”
“Shh.” Petroc stood and quieted a small group of his friends. “What do you want, Rosenwyn?”
“I am in search of Titus’s ale. What are you doing?” The three young men rushed past her, as she approached. “Wherefore do you gather, hither? What mischief are you about?”
“Naught that concerns you.” As Petroc tried to evade her, she grabbed his arm, and he wrenched free. “Mind your own affairs, as you seem quite content with that De Wolfe.”
“This may surprise you, brother, but that name is no insult, and I can only hope to do it credit.” In disgust, she straightened his tunic and ran her fingers through his unruly hair. “Look at you, dressed like a servant when we expect guests. Have you no pride? Are you so consumed with unfounded anger that you forget what it means to be a Burville? Have you no respect for Mama or for Papa’s memory?”
“I would ask the same of you, sister.” He spat. “You take to De Wolfe’s bed as a common whore, bartering our heritage to a murderous cur.”
“Cease your mindless complaints, as I grow weary of your insanity.” At her wit’s end, she gritted her teeth and prayed for calm. “And I am no whore. I am his wife, legally bound by the sacrament.”
“And how easy you surrendered.” He sneered. “Our father does not rest in our crypt, and you fret over food and drink for the man who may have killed our sire.”
“You know, very well, that reports of the battle contend that Papa fell to Suffolk’s men, while Titus fought for Lord Daubeney.” Frustrated, Rosenwyn stomped a foot. “Must you continue a fight that has long since ended? Has there not been enough bloodshed to satisfy your thirst for revenge against a man whose only crime is that he obeyed the King’s command? Our father, God rest him, along with the other Cornish rebels, flouted the Crown’s authority, when they marched on London, and my husband harbors no ill will. While I would assert our cause was just, that gave us no right to attack His Majesty, yet Titus has no quarrel with us. Wherefore must you agitate him, when we are defeated, yet he treats us as equals?”
“I will never cede the war.” Squaring his shoulders, Petroc rested fists on hips. “I will kill De Wolfe and avenge our father’s death.”
“Are you mad?” In shock, she clutched her throat. “Do you not realize that a threat against my husband is a threat to me? Do you not fathom the impossibility of my situation? Would you put me between you? I beg you, do not force me to choose between loyalty to my husband and love for you, because you will lose. I must believe that yours are the misguided words of an irrational man driven by unutterable hatred, and that is not the brother I know and love. Prithee, you must stop your campaign of terror against Titus, as I fear the consequences, should you continue to conspire against him.”
“All right, sister.” Her brother inclined his head and smiled a smile she did not trust, for an instant. “I will do my best to mend ways with De Wolfe.” Then he glanced at the firkin. “What do you want with ale, when you prefer wine?”
“It is Titus’s favorite, and I would serve it at the feast.” When she reached for the small cask, Petroc brushed her aside.
“Allow me.” To her relief, he lifted the firkin. “Whither do you want it?”
“Prithee, in the kitchen.” As she followed him, retracing her earlier steps, she studied his posture, as he appeared to relax. “Then I would have you make yourself ready, as I would present a united front, De Wolfe and Burville, together, when our guests arrive.”
“Of course.” Petroc set the firkin on the table and then faced her. “As you said, we must honor Papa’s memory, and I live for that singular purpose.”
“I am so glad to hear it.” With that, she pressed a chaste kiss to her brother’s cheek.
“My lady.” Vennor bowed. “A messenger is just arrived, with a letter for you.”
“Oh?” She accepted the envelope and noted the seal. “How curious.”
“Will that be all, sister?” Petroc loomed at attention.
“Aye, my dear brother.” She waved and opened the missive. “I will see you in the receiving line.” To the cook, Rosenwyn said, “I should dress for the feast, and do not forget the pastries with jelly, as I promised them to Lord Vael, especially.”
“Aye, my lady.” The cook nodded once. “Everything will be as you directed.”
As she strolled into the screened corridor at the rear of the great hall, she unfolded the parchment, scanned the contents, and halted. Then she slowly read the note.
My dearest Rosenwyn,
It pains me to inform you of a dreadful tiding, but I must warn you of dangerous double-dealings, involving Petroc. To my heartfelt remorse, your brother threatens the lives of our husbands, and I have failed in my attempts to dissuade him from his perilous path, which forebodes naught but misery. While I have not shared the distressing revelations with Arsenius, it is only a matter of time before I must do so, as I have grown to care for my husband, and I cannot deceive him. Thus, I feel compelled to inform you of these sad developments, that you might act to divert what could be disastrous for our families.
In love and sisterhood,
Senara
Rosenwyn’s fingers trembled, as she held tight to the dispatch. In the great hall, servants arranged the tables and hung banners in the Vael colors, festooned with the signature wolf’s head sigil, which Titus commissioned for the event, to represent the marriage of two great legacies. It was a thoughtful touch and one that was not lost on her. In the furthermost corner, a group of musicians sounded various notes.
As she stumbled forward, she shoved the letter into the fitchet of her cotehardie and hugged herself. Overcome with emotion, at the prospect of losing her husband, she discovered she was not so immune to his attentions, as she once presumed. Indeed, she harbored a measure of affection for him.
Driven by the need to defend her man, she ran into the entry, whither the steward issued orders to the staff. When Vennor spotted her, he faced her.
“My lady.” The steward stretched tall. “I instructed the master of the horse to organize the coaches and horses at the south end of the bailey, to reduce the crowds at the main doors.”
“Excellent.” She swallowed hard. “Whither is Lord Vael?”
“He retired to the solar, to dress for the feast,” Vennor replied. “May I be of service?”
“Gramercy, but I should follow Lord Vael’s example.” She forced a smile. “We shall return, momentarily.”
Holding high her chin, she walked to the steps and ascended to the second level, whither she shared the master’s chambers with her husband. By the time she reached the solar, she ached to hold Titus.
In their inner suite, she found him, resplendent in his doublet and hose of black, which he paired with an overgown of deep blue, trimmed in gold, and she marched straight to him. Without a word, she slipped her arms about his waist and rested her head to his chest.
“Good eventide, my beauteous bride.” As usual, he enfolded her in his supportive embrace, and she sighed. “Are you all right?”
“I am, now.” Relaxing, she hummed, as he kneaded her back, along her spine. “You will remain close to me, this eventide.”
“Of course.” He shuffled her in his grasp. “What is wrong, Rosenwyn? Wherefore are you afraid?”
“My lord, you mistake nervousness for fear.” She lied, and it cut through her like the sharpest sword. “This is our first formal appearance, and this is my coming out, as Lady Vael. I would make you proud.”
“My dear, I could never be anything less.” As was his way, he patted her bottom. “Now, you should dress for the event, as we do not want to be late. Shall I summon your maid?”
> “Nay, my lord.” Holding his stare, she savored newfound confidence. “Rather, I would have you assist me.”
Blushing, he opened his mouth and closed it, and she laughed.
“Are you sure?” He furrowed his brow and shuffled his feet. “Because I have always imagined undressing you.”
“But you are more than able, my beauteous husband.” From a small side chamber, she retrieved the garment she made for the feast, and she hoped he would note the significance of the colors. When she returned, she gave him her back. “Will you untie my laces?”
“Your wish is my command.” He cleared his throat, when she doffed her gown. “But I think you are trying to drive me mad, as I would lock you hither, until the morrow.”
“Oh?” She pulled the new frock over her head. “And what would we do, to pass the time, my lord?”
“Given my promise, that would be up to you.” Ah, he was naught if not faithful to his word, as he tied her laces. “But I long to make love to you, Rosenwyn.”
It was the first time he ever declared such.
“Titus.” She uttered his name as a whisper of a summons and then faced him.
While she expected a series of fervent kisses, her husband just stood there and stared.
“You wear the De Wolfe black and gold.” Then he traced the telltale design she embroidered over her heart. “And you bear the wolf’s head.”
“For all to know that I am a De Wolfe.” She cupped his cheek. “And I am yours.”
“Rosenwyn.” A mountain of aroused male pounced on her, and she loved every bit of it.
As their lips met, and tongues twined, something undeniable and fierce blossomed between them, and she savored the unquenchable hunger and unyielding devotion not even her brother could diminish. Breathing heavily, Titus ended their all too brief tryst, much to her chagrin.
“Sweetheart, if we continue, I am going to make a mess of my braies, and then we will be late for the feast.” He claimed another quick kiss. “And I would escort my wife, for everyone to see, as I am but a humble beggar at your side.”
For a moment, she reflected on Petroc’s hateful declaration, and she mulled whether or not to share the words with Titus. But how would he react to the news? Settling her palm in the crook of his elbow, she turned toward the door. “Then let us away, my lord.”
_________________
CHAPTER FIVE
A commotion at the gate brought Titus to attention, as he inventoried the goods he purchased in Truro, to see them through the winter months. The master of the horse rushed from the stable, to greet their visitors, as a wagon, accompanied by the king’s escort, as proclaimed by the royal standard, steered toward the main residence, and he turned to the merchant.
“Gramercy, good sirrah. Everything is as I ordered.” Titus handed the merchant an envelope. “Hither are instructions, to be delivered to the goldsmith. The item is to be fashioned to my exact requirements, at the agreed upon price.”
After the successful feast, to foster amity with the miners, Titus negotiated, with his wife’s assistance, new contracts to begin stream mining copper and clay, in exchange for increased wages, to the benefit of all parties, ushering in a new period of prosperity for the earldom. To show his appreciation of Rosenwyn’s efforts, he decided to observe a long-standing De Wolfe custom, and he hoped his gift might encourage her to take the last step and consummate their vows, before he ran wild for want of her.
And how he desired her.
“Aye, Lord Vael.” The merchant nodded. “I am your servant.”
“Lord Vael.” The King’s soldier neared, came to a halt, bowed, and handed Titus a rolled parchment. “I am Sir Galeren Fruhwirth, of His Majesty’s guard. By the Crown’s command, and observing all proprieties, I return the remains of Cador Burville, the late Lord Vael, thereby fulfilling my commission.”
“Welcome, Sir Fruhwirth. I am in your debt, and I invite you to break your journey, hither, and enjoy a night at Tharnham Castle, as honored guests.” Titus signaled Vennor and said to the steward, “See to it that the King’s men are properly sheltered and fed, and send for Vicar Lievremont, at once. Also, whither is Lady Vael?”
“Aye, my lord, and Lady Vael was in the kitchen when last I saw her.” Vennor snapped his fingers and issued directives.
It was then Titus noted the growing crowd, as word spread of the arrivals. Before he could dispatch a warning to his wife, as he would temper the shock, she ran into the bailey, and he leaped into her path.
“Rosenwyn, wait.” With an arm about her waist, he lifted her into his embrace, as the coffret, decorated with carved ivory, featuring warriors and dancers, and a latch and hinges of gold, in an unmistakable demonstration of esteem, was lowered from the wagon. “Sweetheart, you should let the vicar bless the remains.”
“I do not understand.” She craned her neck. “Wherefore is the box so small, when my father was a man of large stature?”
“What did they do to him?” With a mighty scowl, Petroc, the bane of Titus’s existence, along with Rosenwyn’s mother, Lady Endelyn, pushed past Titus. “What further humiliation does the King inflict on our father?”
“Petroc—no,” Titus shouted.
In that moment, to Titus’s horror, Petroc flipped the latch and opened the coffret, revealing the cleaned bones, therein. Before a soldier could close the lid, Lady Endelyn screamed and fainted, and Rosenwyn sobbed.
“Petroc, for the love of all that is holy, help your mother.” Titus held tight to his bride, as she burst into tears. “Easy, my lady wife.” To the steward, he said, “Vennor, have the coffret taken to the chapel, whither Lord Vael may lay in state, until such time as we can arrange a funeral service and receive those citizens who would make their obedience.”
“Aye, sir.” Vennor clapped once, and soldiers from the garrison retrieved the coffret.
“Wherefore should you treat my father with respect when the King has already violated the body?” Petroc bared his teeth, and Titus prayed for patience. “You smile to my face, but you spit on my heritage, De Wolfe dog. You did this—admit it.”
“Have care how you speak to me, boy.” At the end of his tether, and struggling to contain Rosenwyn, Titus lowered his chin and cast a lethal stare. “I grow weary of your caustic remarks, which I would address, but now is neither the time nor the place to fight that battle.”
“Do not lecture me, De Wolfe, as I have no need of your counsel.” Petroc ignored his unconscious mother, as she collapsed on the ground, and he shook his fist. “But you will pay for your insult to my father.”
“Vennor.” Ignoring the Burville gadling, Titus called to the steward. “See that Lady Endelyn is carried to her chamber, and have the physic assess her condition.”
With that, Titus patted Rosenwyn’s back, as she rested her head to his shoulder and wept, and he conveyed her to the solar. When he tried to put her down, she refused to let go, so he shuffled her in his arms and sat at one of the chairs they often occupied, as they discussed plans for the stream mines, at eventide.
“Rosenwyn, prithee, do not cry, as I can bear anything but your tears.” While he regretted her distress, there was something powerful in the knowledge that when she needed comfort, she sought it in his embrace. “Come, love. Your father has been gone since June, and you were happy that I petitioned His Majesty for the remains. Wherefore do you cry?”
“Did you not see the condition of my father’s body?” Shifting, she met his gaze, and his gut wrenched, given her misery. “Wherefore would the King torture my father? Was it not enough that we were defeated?”
“Torture?” Titus blinked. “My lady, you have thoroughly confused me. How did His Majesty torture your father’s remains?”
“My lord, did you not see?” She sobbed anew. “He is naught but bones.”
“Aye.” He tried but failed to discern the source of her discomfit. “That is customary.”
“Customary?” Now Rosenwyn blinked. “How so?”
�
��Sweetheart, I suspect that when your father fell, on the field of glory, his body was collected, to be boiled in either Adam’s ale or wine.”
“What?” She shrieked. “How horrible.”
“Nay, my dear, it is neither horrible nor abusive, and you weep for naught.” With his thumbs, he wiped her cheeks. “The flesh rots soon after death, and such decay is considered offensive to the memory of the dead, thus it is separated from the bones and buried. It is a process known as mos Teutonicus, afforded to only the bravest soldiers, and it is done in a show of respect, to honor those of noble blood. Believe me, His Majesty’s intent is right and true.”
“I have never heard of such a thing.” She sniffed, rested against his chest, and sighed. “But then I have no previous experience with war, so I must rely on your expertise. However, it was rather disturbing to witness.”
“I know, my dear.” He nuzzled her forehead and savored the steady beat of her heart. Rubbing her shoulder, he tipped her chin and claimed a kiss. “Should I fall in the heat of conflict, far from Tharnham, my remains would be similarly treated, that they might be returned to you, with deference, and I would have it no other way.”
“Oh, I cannot fathom that.” To his infinite gratitude, she hugged him. “You must promise never to leave me.”
“Sweet wife, were the choice mine, I would never abandon your company.” With a finger, he traced the curve of her ear. “But I am the King’s servant, and I must go whither I am sent, yet I vow that I shall take only that which is required to defend the Crown, while the best part of me will always reside in your cherished embrace.”
“Am I so special, to merit such assurances?” It dawned on him then that she had no idea that she meant more to him than she realized. “We have yet to seal our vows, in the most intimate deed.”
“Owing to my pledge, the date of that joyous occasion is yours to fix, but I submit that what we share exceeds the bonds of a physical union.” Thus Titus stood at the banks of his Rubicon, and his next statement could determine the fate of his fledgling marriage. Taking a moment to compose himself, he distracted her with a few delicious kisses. When he broke their connection, he pulled her exceedingly near, as to render the distinctions between them indiscernible. “Is it possible my devotion has escaped your notice? If so, then I failed in my duty as your husband, and I should remedy that oversight.” Meeting her stare, he swallowed hard and threw down the gauntlet. “Rosenwyn, I care for you.”
World of De Wolfe Pack: Tall, Dark & De Wolfe (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 3) Page 6