Chapter One
ARISTIDE
CHAPTER ONE
London
The Year of Our Lord, 1314
It began with a dance. Two people, veritable strangers, came together in a dark corridor, in fulfillment of a promise made, joined hands, their bodies swaying to the gentle beat of the music, and the harsh stone walls transformed into some ethereal place whither naught mattered but the beat of their hearts in rhythm with their mingled rush of breath. They shared bits of humor to dispel the mutual discomfort, as their gazes met, and they conversed in a language imperceptible to the human ear, but they spoke, nonetheless. His sturdy male form grazed her softer female curves, by accident, at first, but on purpose, as he grew bold. By the time the melody ended, they moved as one entity, and they were strangers no more.
“You are quiet, brother.” Demetrius snickered. “Afraid, yet?”
With a rude jolt, Aristide returned to the present.
Autumn ushered in the demise of England’s lush verdure, as leaves shriveled, the grass turned brown, and flowers withered, heralding nature’s approaching winter slumber. For him, the transformation mirrored the impending change in his existence, as he bade farewell to abstinence, given his recently scheduled nuptials. Still, dissimilar to his brothers, he embraced the new and exciting chapter in his life.
Because, unlike his fellow knights, he chose his bride.
Indeed, it appeared the fates aligned, because His Majesty honored Aristide’s petition, Lady Dionysia would be his wife, and that suited him just fine. With brilliant eyes of blue, harkening a comparison to the crystal waters of the Mediterranean, and fiery red hair, which he studied, at length, beneath her wimple when they met for the second time, at Demetrius’s wedding feast, the woman fascinated him.
“Ready to ride, screaming mad, for the coast?” Demetrius clucked his tongue. “You might drown yourself in the cold waters and spare yourself a world of torment.”
“Indeed, he is right.” With an equally mocking countenance, Arucard chuckled. “Mayhap you prefer to fling yourself from the cliffs in Chichester, to elude the vicar’s noose.”
“Is that your preference to our connubial bed?” Nestled in Arucard’s lap, as he cradled her in the saddle, their preferred method of travel, Isolde drew back his thick cloak and sniffed. “If it pleases you, I shall arrange a stall in the King’s stables for tonight, whither you might take your ease with the other beasts.”
Despite her sharp rebuke, Aristide was not fooled for an instant, because Arucard and Isolde enjoyed a blessed union, which Aristide hoped to imitate, in his own right, with Dionysia.
“And you may join him.” Likewise seated in Demetrius’s grasp, Athelyna peered at her husband. “Since your comment suggests you consider death more desirable than marriage.”
Aristide winced, in anticipation of the forthcoming groveling, which he also knew well. In advance of his marriage, he prepared to surrender a measure of pride, as had the Brethren husbands, in their quest for matrimonial bliss. Indeed, he would consider himself lucky to follow their example.
“Oh, my sweet Lily, I was just teasing Aristide, as my brothers baited me on the eve of our wedding. But it was a small price to pay for such bounty.” In a now familiar display of affection, Demetrius kissed her forehead. “Besides, you cannot oust me from our chamber, else who will keep you warm, if you banish me from your side?”
“Ah, my Isolde, I love you.” Arucard whispered in her ear, and she giggled. “What say you, my beauteous bride?”
“I think you should ride ahead and check the road.” Then Isolde burrowed under a blanket, which Arucard tucked about her.
“Isolde is correct, in that we near London’s environs, and I should ensure safe passage.” With that, Arucard heeled the flanks of his destrier.
“And I should survey the area to the north.” Demetrius veered toward the verge. “Thither could be bandits lurking about, ready to attack unsuspecting travelers, including our party.”
“I will come with you.” Confused, because they journeyed with a compliment of one hundred soldiers from the garrison at Chichester, and both knights could have sent guards to patrol the immediate vicinity, Aristide slowed his mount. “Or mayhap I should go in your place, because you hold Athel and would not endanger her.”
“Nay, that is not necessary, and trust me, she is in no peril.” Peering over his shoulder, Demetrius winked. “I shall return, momentarily. And I will raise the alarm if I require assistance.”
As Demetrius charged the rise, Aristide glanced at Morgan and frowned. “Wherefore do I get the impression they do more than they claim?”
“Because they do.” Leering, Morgan rubbed his chin. “And I wager it has naught to do with our safety.”
“I do not understand.” Geoffrey narrowed his stare. “Do you imply something nefarious?”
“Thither is naught nefarious about their actions, I suspect.” In a vulgar display, Morgan thrust his hips in an exaggerated fashion and waggled his brows. “In fact, it makes sense, given Arucard has yet to produce a son.”
“But Athel is with child.” Pondering the implications, Aristide scratched his temple. “How do you explain Demetrius’s behavior?”
“How do you think?” Shrugging, Morgan held Aristide’s gaze. When Aristide could form no reply, Morgan exhaled in unmasked frustration. “Pleasure, you sad sack of brainlessness.”
“But fornication is expressly reserved for begetting babes.” Then again, Aristide, as well as the rest of the traveling party, endured the echo of Isolde and Athel’s startling cries of euphoria during the dark hours, and again at dawn, which all but declared the activities taking place in their respective tents. “Or am I missing something?”
“Have you still not patronized the houses in London?” Grinning, Morgan winked. “Brother, you know not what you are missing, but you can be certain I will not embarrass myself when it is time for the deflowering of my bride, as I possess quite a talent whither women are concerned.”
“I am not sure I approve of your behavior, because I do not believe it proper for a knight in His Majesty’s service to frequent a house of ill repute.” As Aristide reflected on the tenets by which he lived, he tried to reconcile duty and honor, reliable hallmarks of his character, with loyalty to the King. “Are you not concerned for your soul? What of our Templar heritage—”
“Has it escaped your notice that we are no longer Templars?” Morgan slapped his thigh. “We serve the King of England, hold titles, amass wealth, marry, make love, and beget children. What does it matter whither and when we partake of pleasure?”
“That is not the issue.” Aristide envisioned Dionysia, as she looked upon his naked form for the first time, and he shuddered. What if he did not appeal to her? “What you do with your bride is your affair. I question your dallying with poxy-cheeked strumpets who are naught but strangers peddling their wares. How can you face your future wife, knowing you have given to another what was owed to her?”
“I do not follow, brother.” Morgan wrinkled his nose. “What have I given away?”
“Your fidelity.” As opposed to the youngest knight, Aristide saved his virginity for Dionysia, as was expected of her for him. He knew no other way. “When you greet your wife in the marriage bed, on your wedding night, you do so as an unclean boothaler, when you were taught better. And just because our once estimable Order is decimated in the ashes of our brothers’ executions at the stake, we must neither forget nor abandon what we are and from whence we came, else our enemies triumph, and that I cannot countenance.”
“I for one have naught to worry about, as I will yield my head on the altar of everlasting salvation before I take a wife.” Ever persistent in his dissent in relation to marital unions, Geoffrey sang a painfully familiar tune. “And I shall ascend to the glorious hereafter with a clear conscience.”
Just then, the caravan caught up to Arucard and Isolde, and the leader of the Brethren resumed his place at the head of the line. Moments later, Demetrius appeared in the lane, and Aristide thought it odd that both ladies slept in their husband’s embrace.
“Why so serious, everyone?” Demetrius cradled Athelyna’s head, as he rejoined the group. “Did something happen while I was gone?”
“Naught of significance.” Aristide compressed his lips. “Except Morgan courts hellfire and eternal damnation in his quest for self-gratification.”
“So you intend to visit Matild again?” With a disapproving expression, Arucard arched a brow. “After I forbade it?”
“But you said naught of Gadea.” With an air of smugness, Morgan lifted his chin. “And although you lead the Brethren, I am my own man, with my own desires and a demanding longsword, which I will sate as I choose, given I am more than willing to atone for my actions. And what does it matter, given I am not bound to another? Indeed, what my future wife does not know will not hurt her.”
“You are a disgrace to our ancestors.” Aristide could not fathom permitting any woman, save Dionysia, putting her hands on him. “When I take Lady Dionysia to wife—”
“Lady Dionysia?” Arucard inclined his head. “How do you know the lady’s name, given His Majesty’s missive made no mention of her, and neither Demetrius nor I learned the identities of our spouses until we arrived at court?”
“Because the King shared his ambitions with me, at Arucard’s wedding feast, after I danced with Lady Dionysia.” Revisiting a sweet history, Aristide sighed and shifted in the saddle. “In fact, I met Lady Dionysia at the celebration of Arucard and Isolde’s nuptials, at Westminster Palace.”
With care, he recounted his brief encounters with his future bride, as well as the King’s tempting offer. Yet, he neglected to mention the veil she wore to conceal her face, because he did not know the reason she favored the garb.
“So you danced with her, twice?” Demetrius opened and closed his mouth. “But—when? I never saw you in the crowd.”
“I partnered her in an outer corridor, whither we could enjoy the music without benefit of observers, because Lady Dionysia is shy.” Riding a crest of pride, he smiled. “And I collected two plates of food, last year, that we might partake of a private dinner, in a small alcove just beyond the great hall.”
“How marvelous.” Isolde peered over the edge of Arucard’s cloak. “And did you know she was the one for you, at first sight?”
“Oh, do tell, Aristide.” Now Athelyna shifted in Demetrius’s grasp, to gaze at Aristide. “And spare no details.”
“But I have already told you what there is to know.” He shrugged. Of course, he would never divulge the various topics about which they shared their hopes and dreams, because that was confidential. “We met, we spoke, we dined, and we danced. Then His Majesty inquired after my interest, which I confirmed.”
In unison, the ladies gave vent to a sigh, and Arucard rolled his eyes.
“That is so romantic, is it not, my champion?” Isolde nuzzled her husband.
“Er—yea, my dear.” With a mighty grimace, Arucard glanced at Aristide. But Arucard’s demeanor altered drastically, when he met Isolde’s stare. “Indeed, it is very romantic, is that not so, Demetrius?”
“Uh—oh, aye, brother.” Demetrius cleared his throat. “But I, too, met my bride prior to the nuptials, and I was entranced from that moment.”
“I seem to recall otherwise.” As Athelyna cupped Demetrius’s cheek, he blushed, and Aristide pitied his friend. “Did you or did you not forget my gift for Christmastide?”
At once, Arucard, Geoffrey, and Morgan burst into laughter, as Demetrius scowled.
“You should not goad Demetrius, because you fared no better when we wed.” With a mischievous grin, Isolde tittered. “Should I recount your missteps for the scrutiny of our family, that we might spare Aristide your mistakes?”
“Nay.” Arucard glanced at Aristide, and something in his brother’s gaze portended an expectation of doom, to which Aristide took exception. “He needs to find his own way in the game called marriage.”
“And I anticipate little, if any, difficulties, given I have watched and learned much from you and Demetrius.” Sitting tall in the saddle, Aristide noted the various outbuildings, which signaled they entered the London environs. “In fact, I procured a gift for Dionysia, with which I shall surprise her for Christmastide, that I may avoid Demetrius’s blunder. And as you recommended, I shall extend a deferment prior to the consummation of our vows, that I may acquaint myself with my bride, and put her at ease.”
“Sounds as though you have it all figured out, and I am happy for you.” Arucard smoothed a wayward wisp of Isolde’s hair. “Thus you are in no need of my counsel.”
“How can you say that?” Demetrius opened and closed his mouth. “Given everything we know—”
“Aristide will be fine.” With a wave, Arucard dismissed Demetrius’s protest. “As he rightly asserts, he learned much from our miscalculations, so let us congratulate him on his resourcefulness, but I should warn Aristide to always be honest with his future mate, as women have a way of discerning the truth, in every situation. If he commits anything to memory, he should remember that.”
“Of course, you offer sage advice.” Demetrius snorted. “And who am I to gainsay such confidence? I am sure Aristide will avoid our oversights.”
“Thank you, brothers. Your words of encouragement and support do you great credit.” Proud of his accomplishments, given his relative inexperience, Aristide rolled his shoulders. Indeed, he savored an inner surge of boldness, as he anticipated satisfying Dionysia’s every need. “Despite your initial, ignominious forays into matrimonial bliss, you provide excellent examples of what not to do when dealing with a new wife, and I am in your debt. Thus I am sure my union shall proceed on calm waters, absent the trouble you encountered, from the moment I take my vows, and my marriage will be an instant success.”
~
“Oh, Mama, this marriage will be an unutterable failure.” Hugging herself, Lady Dionysia de Beaumais, only child of the earl of Goncourt, paced before the hearth in her family’s private apartment at Westminster Palace and pondered the recent, unsettling development, which would forever change and possibly destroy her life. “What on earth possessed the King to betroth me to some stranger? Wherefore, now? And what will we do if Papa cannot convince His Majesty to reverse his decision, because there is no reason for me to wed?”
Agitation stretched taut Mama’s expression, and Dionysia immediately regretted her outburst. Still, the shock had yet to wear thin, given she supposed no one considered her marriage material in light of her not so trivial imperfection, which could earn her years of abuse at the hands of an offended spouse.
“My child, my biggest fear is how your future husband will react when he discovers your past, and your father and I cannot protect you, because you will belong to your new spouse.” Near the window overlooking the bailey, Mama eased to a chair, as though the mere mention, however slight, of Dionysia’s misfortune could not be borne while standing. “Despite our prestigious connections, I always wanted a love match for you, as your father and I enjoy. But it would appear luck favors us not, and we failed to spare you further embarrassment, notwithstanding our efforts to shelter you. Although you are blameless in the incident, I dread your unknown mate’s response. What will happen to you if he is possessed of a foul temper?”
“To be honest, I have not let myself consider it.” In truth, she had thought of naught else, but she would not confess that to Mama and upset her even more than she was already. Of course, the physical manifestation of Dionysia’s disgrace made it impossible to deny her ignoble history, which was precisely what her tormentor vowed when he marked her, and his detestable prophecy had fulfilled itself. “But you did your best, Mama. When you might have installed me in a convent, you embraced me. When I wanted to hide, you forced me into the light. When I would have buried myself in the library, you brought me to court. With pride, you introduced me to society, when you could have yielded to the shame, and I shall be forever grateful for your unfailing love and support.”
“My dear, as your mother, I will always love you, and I am so proud of the woman you have become, yet I feel as if I wronged you. Mayhap it would have been better to shield you from the King’s gaze, but I had thought you beyond his notice.” A tear streamed Mama’s cheek, and she sniffed. “Whosoever is fortunate enough to win your hand had better express his thanks to my satisfaction, else he will deal with me and your father, because I will not abandon you, regardless of longstanding custom, and the devil may take His Majesty.”
“But it is the law, so you will not do anything to jeopardize your safety. Regardless of our desires, we must abide the King’s choice, as it is his prerogative.” In an attempt to allay Mama’s fears, Dionysia walked to the chair and knelt at her mother’s feet. “I promise, come what may, it will be all right. I know my place, I know my responsibilities, because you taught me well, and I will do my duty in a manner that brings naught but honor and credit upon our good name.”
“Oh, my baby.” In that moment, Mama bent forward and burst into tears.
“Prithee, Mama, do not cry.” Wrapping her arms about Mama’s neck, Dionysia hugged her mother. “Your sorrow wrenches my heart, and I can scarce contain my grief at causing you pain. When Papa returns, we will figure out an escape that spares our family. We need only have faith and believe, and we will survive.”
Just then, her father rushed into the room. Tension mingled with deafening silence, weighting the air with an overwhelming sense of impenetrable doom, and she surmised the news was not good. With noticeable moisture collected about his brow and upper lip, he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, peered at Dionysia and broke.
“My child, I have disappointed you, and that shall reign supreme, to my death, as my worst regret.” When she stood, a shiver of dread danced a merry jig down her spine. He splayed his arms, and she ran to him. Enfolded in her father’s protective embrace, she surrendered to the consternation she had successfully forestalled until that moment. “However, all is not lost, because I have a plan to thwart the King’s commands, yet it requires great sacrifice on all our parts.”
“What happened, Renard?” Mama leaped from her chair. “I thought you could persuade His Majesty in our favor. Did he not listen to your concerns? Does he not comprehend the delicacy of the situation and the peril into which his dictates placed our daughter? Has she not already paid a steep price for our close affiliation with the Crown?”
“Believe me, Lavina, I made our case, and he attended me as would a friend.” As Papa set Dionysia aside, he shook his head. “But the Sire insists he knows best how to protect our child and is confident in his champion, thus my pleas went unheeded. Yet, I think I have seized upon an idea that should suit our purpose, but I suspect you will not like it.”
“What have you in mind?” Mama clutched Dionysia’s hand. “And I will do anything to protect our girl, because she did naught wrong to have been dealt such punishment.”
“Pack your things.” Pressing a finger to his lips, Papa stepped into the inner chamber, glanced left and then right, and returned. “We must leave England, and we must do so tonight, because the wedding is set for tomorrow, before the Chapter House at Westminster Abbey, in the morrow.”
“But whither shall we go?” A variety of options, none appealing, assailed Dionysia, and she gulped. Then the rest of Papa’s revelation dawned, and she shuddered. “I am to marry in the morrow?”
“So soon?” Mama gasped and retrieved a couple of personal items from a bench. “Then we have no time to waste, and I must collect our belongings.” She snapped her fingers. “Quick, Dionysia, gather your things, as we must relinquish our longtime staff, serve ourselves, or risk discovery.” To Papa, Mama said, “But wherefore the urgency? Does the King suspect us of rebellion?”
“I know not, but I do not intend to wait around and find out his line of reasoning.” Papa doffed his cloak, snatched his backgammon board and pieces, and whisked his book of Psalms from whence he left it on the table. “While His Majesty offers Dionysia and an as yet unnamed earldom, as incentive to lure Sir Aristide to the altar—”
“Sir Aristide?” Again, Dionysia’s world tilted on end, and she fought to remain on her feet. “What has he to do with anything, Papa?”
“Did I not tell you?” He shrugged. “The King betrothed you to one of his Nautionnier Knights, and he is a mountainous brute of a man. That Sir Aristide is to govern a troubled region, bring the rule of law and peace to the land, and install a loyal garrison, with you at his side, as his countess.”
“It is too good to be true.” Just like that, her father allayed her fears, and she savored sweet reminiscences of past rendezvous and breathed a sigh of relief. Given the stress of the day, Dionysia collapsed in a fit of giggles. “My friend is to be my lifelong mate.”
“Oh, Renard, at last the shock has addled her wits.” Mama dropped her embroidery. “I knew this would happen, eventually, as the mind can only withstand so much agony.”
“Dear child, are you unwell?” Papa waved to Mama. “Quick, fetch her some wine.”
“Of course.” Mama paused, filled a glass, and then skittered into her bedchamber. Seconds later, she returned. “I brought a cool, damp cloth, which might revive her.”
“Give it to me.” Papa flicked his wrist. “Prithee, my girl, have a seat.”
“But thither is naught wrong with me.” Again, Dionysia snorted and laughed. When she noted the discomfit in the expressions of her parents, she dragged them to the bench at the table whither they took their meals in private. “Mama, Papa, cease your worry, as the King is a wise and true sovereign, and all is not lost. While unto each a little rain must fall, thither are no clouds today, and the sun shines upon us as a good omen. Indeed, if I must marry, and I could choose my husband, of the men in the kingdom, I would pick Sir Aristide.”