Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) (5 page)

“Thou art very perceptive.”  Entranced by her beauty and the aureoles of her rose-tipped breasts, Arucard averted his stare.  “And I am from Nivernais, which is north of Bourbon.  Dost thou know it?”

“I cannot say so, as I have never traveled beyond our shores.”  She cleared her throat.  “But I should like, very much, to know how thou didst come to be in service to the Crown, if thou art amenable to sharing the details of thy history.”

“Thither is much I would share with thee, Isolde.”  But could he trust her with his most intimate secrets and his dubious affiliation as a Templar?  “Yet the night grows old, and we depart for Chichester with the dawn.”  With that, he stood and unbuckled his belt.

A cry of alarm signaled his wife’s distress, though he knew not what caused her anxiety, and she toppled her goblet.  In the next second, she flew from her seat, glanced left and then right, seized upon his halberd, which perched in the corner, and she assumed a provocative stance.  “What have I done?  Did I insult thee, however unintended?  Wherefore would thou treat me thus, when I yielded without compunction?”  With wild and jerky movements, she thrust the pointed end in his direction.  “And thou didst seem so nice.”

“Calm thyself, Isolde.”  Palms splayed, he lowered his chin.  “Thou dost misunderstand my actions, as I plan to sleep in the solar.”

“What?”  Inclining her head, she narrowed her stare.  “Wherefore should I believe thee, when the King commands we consummate our vows?”

“But His Majesty is not hither, and what he doth not know will not hurt him.”  What spirit she displayed, and how he admired her courage.  Recalling her father’s harsh words, he realized his mistake.  Moving slow and steady, he set the belt on the table and retreated.  “Put down the weapon, before thou dost injure thyself, as I only seek to make myself comfortable enough to retire.  Please, Isolde.  I would never harm thee.”

“So thou dost not want me.”  Squared off as two opponents, he drew upon the patience of a saint, as she compressed her lips.  At last, she sighed and returned the long-handled, combined spear and battle-axe to its previous innocuous position.  “And I suppose now I have given thee reason to spank me.”

At her sullen admission, he laughed.  “Methinks not.”

“Is this pity?”  With an adorable pout, she sniffed.  “Dost thou grant mercy?”

“Never have I known anyone less in need of mercy.”  One after the other, Arucard tugged off his boots, under her wary gaze.  “And as I have never shared a bed with a woman, I thought it best to allow for a period of adjustment, for both our sakes.  When the time is right, we will secure our vows in obeisance of the Crown’s dictates—but not tonight.”

“Wait.”  With an expression of confusion, she blinked.  “Art thou telling me that thou art a virgin?”

“Aye.”  He knew not what he expected in her reaction to his revelation, but she neither snickered nor laughed.  “My faith is such that I will join my body with whom I have taken the sacrament and no one else.  To do otherwise is an abomination.”

“Dost thou speak in truth—not in jest?”  She opened her mouth and then closed it.  “Dost thou mock me?”

“My dear Isolde, I know naught but the truth, and never would I treat thee with such condescension.”  Arucard walked into the inner chamber and retrieved a blanket and a pillow.  Then he opened his trunk and located a particular item of importance.  In the solar, he handed his bride the canvas bundle.  “A wedding gift for thee.”

“Thou hast brought me a present?”  She tugged on the twine.  “But I have naught for thee.”

“At the risk of again ending up on the wrong end of the halberd, I must confess the King proclaimed thee my gift.”  When she unwrapped the illustrated book of Psalms, he situated a rudimentary pallet on the floor.  “I hope thou art pleased, as it belonged to my mother.”

“It is a psalter.”  With reverence in concert with a mix of hushed gasps, she fingered the parchment.  “The pictures art so colorful, and never have I owned anything so grand.”  When she glanced at him, she started.  “Prithee, thou art not going to sleep thither.”

“Indeed, I am, and I will be fine.”  To his chagrin, she hugged the family heirloom to her chest and marched straight toward him.  “Isolde, I have endured far worse conditions.”

“Not in my presence, and thither is no need for thee to do so now, because the accommodations art generous.”  A hint of a feminine smile graced her lips, as she bent, snatched the cushion, and returned it to the large four-poster.  “Let us divide the mattress, as thou mayest take one side, and I will recline on the other, unless thou art incapable of controlling thyself.”

“I beg thy pardon.”  Wounded by her insult, he leaped to his feet and dragged the blanket behind him, determined to prove her wrong as he stomped to the bed.  “I am no godless heathen to molest thee.”  Then he noted her impish grin, as she slipped beneath the covers.  “Now thou dost bait me.”

“Yea.”  She peered over her shoulder.  “Art thou vexed?”

“I am verily so.”  In play, he wrinkled his nose and scowled.  “Mayhap I should spank thee, after all.”  The abrupt change in her demeanor, the sheer horror in her once appealing gaze had him cursing as he eased beside her.  “I am sorry, Isolde.  I quipped in haste, but I can see from thy countenance I failed.  Please know that I would sooner cut off my arm than strike thee.”

“Would that all men were so chivalrous.”  Inhaling a shaky breath, she flinched when he cupped her cheek.  “And I have known little kindness in this world, so I pray thou wilt forgive me.”

“Thither is naught to forgive, as I should not have frightened thee.”  Whereas he had prepared to experience ardor, passion, or even base lust on his wedding night, he had not anticipated the altogether different sensations waging war within him, at that moment.  The urge to protect her, to comfort her, to hold her in his arms, and to defend her to his death burned as an unquenchable flame in his chest, and he longed to reassure her.  “Sleep, sweet Isolde.  And I shall guard thy slumber with my life.”

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A sharp pounding on the door brought Isolde abruptly awake and alert.  Warm and cozy, she yawned, cuddled closer to the unfamiliar heat source, and relaxed—until she realized she rested against her husband.  With his chiseled features softened in repose, at some point during the night he had draped an arm about her waist, and she had curled to his side.  Curiosity beckoned, and she availed herself of the opportunity to admire his magnificent profile.  Another loud rap brought a frown to his full lips, and Arucard opened his eyes.

“Good morrow, Isolde.”  With a finger, he tapped the tip of her chin.  “It appears we have an unwelcomed intruder.  If thou wilt remove thyself from my person, I will answer the summons.”

“Of course.”  Embarrassment burned in her cheeks, and she scooted to the opposite end of the bed.  “I should apologize for impinging on thy territory, in breach of our arrangement.”

“Thither wilt come a time when thou wilt not apologize for everything thou dost perceive hast irritated me?”  Still fully clothed save his boots, her husband stood, raked his hair, walked to the washstand, splashed water on his face, dried himself with a towel, and then strolled into the solar.  He took two steps, paused, and then closed the doors.

Alone, she flew from the four-poster.  After tugging on her hose and garters, she exchanged the nightgown for a chemise and then pulled a cotehardie over her head, just as Arucard returned.  “Who was it?”

“The King’s guard.”  His harsh expression gave her cause for concern.  “His Majesty demands proof I have claimed thy maidenhead.  God’s bones, what art we to do?”

To Isolde, the answer seemed simple, yet she trembled at the prospect.  “Then thou must do the deed.”

“My dear, I shall abide the Crown’s request, soon enough.”  With a heavy sigh, he peered toward the floor, or so she thought.  “But as of this instant, it is a physical impossibility, and the additional pressure does not help matters.”

“Oh.”  Despite her virginal state, she understood his meaning, given the ribald behavior of her brother William, who seduced every pretty maid in their home in Rochester, producing more than one by-blow, which was wherefore Father hired either older or younger servants, thereafter.  Then a brilliant idea shot to the fore.  “We need blood presumably on the bedclothes?”

“So it seems.”  Arucard nodded in agreement.

“All right.”  Quickly, she yanked the sheet from the mattress.  “If thou wilt stoke the blaze in the hearth, please.”

“As thou dost wish.” Arching a brow, he scratched his temple and then stomped to the fireplace.

Before she lost her nerve, she rolled up her sleeve and then retrieved and unsheathed his sword.  The heavy weapon presented quite a conundrum, as she could not wield it, so she ran her forearm along the blade.  As crimson oozed from the small wound, she staunched the flow with the linen, achieving the necessary stain.  “Thither, it is perfect.”

“What is thy—what hast thou done?”  Her knight yanked hard on her wrist.  “Thou hast injured thyself.”

“How else can we fulfill our duty, if not by the usual activity?”  When he tore a scrap of cloth and bandaged what she considered a mere scratch, she laughed but treasured his show of disquietude.  “Now drape the sheet over the chair near the fire, so it will dry, and then we should ready ourselves to depart.”

“But I would have taken care of it, hadst thou told me what thee planned.”  While she buttoned the front of her cotehardie, he pulled on his boots.  “And it is my responsibility, as thy husband, to preserve thy welfare and to sacrifice when such action is needed.”

“Thou art most chivalrous, sir.”  And she remained unaccustomed to such concern, as her father cared not for her well-being.  “My lord, if the Sovereign wants my blood, then he will have it.”

“Whilst I commend thy courage and resourcefulness, I would argue the King would not know mine from thine, and I will not permit thee to harm thyself for my sake.”  To her surprise, he brought her knuckles to his lips and pressed on her a chaste kiss, which gave her a strange sensation, neither flirtatious nor serious, but nonetheless potent, in the pit of her belly.  For several seconds, Arucard did naught but gaze into her eyes, and he managed to touch her without touching her.  Then he cupped her cheek, bent his head, and set his mouth to hers.  Just as fast, he retreated.  “I am sorry, Isolde.  But thou art quite honestly the most beauteous creature I have ever beheld, and thou art mine, thus thou dost present temptation as I have never known, yet I will try to restrain myself until we art better acquainted as I would not frighten thee.”

“Husband, I hope thou art not displeased, and I mean no offense, but methinks thou art the last man I would ever fear, after thy solicitous behavior on our wedding night.  And I would ask thee to cease thy apologies, in the same spirit, as we art married.”  And she would never forget his kindness, when Margery had imparted horrid tales of all manner of dreadful possibilities, given their unfamiliarity prior to their nuptials, so she had anticipated the worst.  “Know that when thou dost choose to demand thy matrimonial rights, I will bear it without complaint.”

“How romantic thou dost make it sound.”  Again, to her amazement, he drew her into his arms, and she fought rising panic, as Margery ranked as the lone person to ever hug Isolde.  To her delight, she found her husband strong and comforting, in spite of his size.  Although his hands were twice the breadth of hers, he was gentle with his caresses, and she sank into his tender embrace.  “I prefer we enjoy the consummation of our vows, and that is wherefore I delay the inevitable, as I would celebrate the portentous occasion—not simply tolerate it.”

“A very noble gesture, my lord.”  Without thought, she clutched him at the waist and pressed even closer, until he ran his palms over her back, which irritated her injuries, yet she reveled in the solace he offered.  When he flinched, she withdrew.  “Did I hurt thee?”

“Er—no.”  Yet a telltale hue spread from his neck to his face, and she suspected otherwise.  “Now we should garb ourselves for an audience with His Majesty, as our presence is requested in the great hall, along with the proof of bedding, which should be sufficiently dry.”

“Pray, a moment, as I must braid my hair.”  In haste, she completed her morning ritual, as Arucard shaved.  “Dost thou groom thyself every day?”

“Aye, as it is a sign of discipline.”  He brushed his short hair.

“Hast thou never pondered growing a beard?”  She tugged on her leather slippers and smoothed her skirts.  “As it is the fashion, and thou would wear it well, my lord.”

“I am not partial to such frivolous embellishments.”  In that instant, she decided she rather preferred his austerity.  When he stripped to trade his lawn shirt for a fresh garment, she could not stop herself from ogling his muscled back and broad shoulders.

“Perchance a mustache?” she inquired, with a grin, as he seemed so virtuous she could not resist teasing him.

“Nay.”  He wrenched on a blue tunic, which bore an unusual insignia with a wind-star design at center.  “Art thou trying to tell me thou dost not like the way I look?”

“On the contrary.”  After repacking her meager belongings, she waited in the solar for her husband.  Anon, she checked the sheet, and the stain had dried, so she folded the linen.  When the escort arrived, Arucard joined her.

“I wish I could spare thee the spectacle, Isolde.  And I do not approve of such vulgar practices.”  In the passage, he took her by the elbow.  “Remain at my side, and say naught unless thou art addressed.  If the King questions thee, give short and direct answers, and if thou art unsure how to respond, defer to me.”

“Yea, my lord.”  Something in his demeanor changed, and palpable tension invested her nerves, given his cryptic warning was the first sign of unrest since their wedding.

In the great hall, they neared the dais.  As customary, she curtseyed, and her husband bowed.

“Sir Arucard, we trust thou passed a pleasant night?”  A guard carried the sheet to the Sovereign.  “And thou hast fulfilled our edict, though I suspect thou should thank us, as the Lady Isolde blushes.”