Chapter Three
ARISTIDE
CHAPTER THREE
An ample dose of humility had a way of bringing a man to his knees, if only to partake of a healthy portion of the delicious dish often known as the great leveler—crow. Given the abrupt, unforeseen change in Dionysia’s mood, which he could not comprehend, he swallowed his pride and sought answers in the one place he knew he would find them.
“Good eventide, brothers.” Ignoring their expressions of surprise, he frowned and straddled the bench. “May I join you?”
“Of course.” Quirking his brows, Demetrius scooted to the side. “Are you all right?”
“Wherefore do you ask?” Aristide propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his palm, cast a mighty scowl, and wondered how long it would take the husbands to lob the first shot.
“Your forehead bleeds, as does your hand.” Arucard tossed him a napkin. “Have you had an accident?”
“Is Dionysia injured?” Demetrius inquired.
“My delicate wife is most assuredly well.” Aristide snorted. “And she is a red-haired hellion in hiding, which I would not wish on my worst enemy.”
“What happened?” Arucard winced when Aristide swept aside his hair, revealing the wound his new bride delivered with a blunt candlestick, after a shocking tirade, the cause of which he still did not quite understand. “Did you not heed my guidance?”
“I most certainly did, and I blame you for this.” Aristide flinched as he pressed the cloth to his flesh to staunch the flow of blood. “Everything progressed nicely, until I engaged her in conversation. Really, thither should be a codebook to decipher such confounding behavior.”
“What did you tell her?” Arucard averted his gaze and scratched his chin. “Did I not counsel you to keep fledgling chatter elementary, before breaching her maidenhead, as it can be very traumatic?”
“For her or for me ?” Frustrated, Aristide pounded the tabletop. “As I may never recover from this night.”
“Give us the whole of it, brother.” And then Demetrius ordered an additional tankard of ale from a passing bar wench. “Start from the beginning.”
“For what it is worth, as the damage is done.” Aristide pinned Arucard with a lethal glare. “As you suggested, I endeavored to discern the history of my blushing bride with a few well composed queries, which I took the liberty of contriving on the eve of our union, as a prelude to the consummation of our vows.”
“How romantic you make it sound, brother.” Demetrius clucked his tongue. “Did I not counsel you that women require the stuff of poets to set the proper mood?”
“Aye, but in our brief meetings prior to the ceremony, Dionysia struck me as a woman of uncommonly good sense, so I saw no need to dress my language in perfume and flowers.” Revisiting previous discussions, Aristide searched his memory for some sign or clue to explain her behavior. After all, he already extended the deferment, so she had no reason to fear him. “She prefers honesty and forthrightness, or so she claimed, and I foolishly accommodated her request.”
“That was your first mistake, as women rarely confess what they mean, and we are left to interpret their true substance.” Arucard chuckled. “So what did you say to her?”
“Well, she delved into my reasons for entering the matrimonial state.” Aristide scratched his cheek. “Given her professed proclivity for candor, I detailed the King’s precepts, including the bequeathed earldom, which necessitated our engagement.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Demetrius spewed ale. “Never do you acknowledge to your wife that the Crown forced you to wed her. Have we taught you naught?”
“You are lucky she did not kill you.” Arucard rolled his eyes, and Aristide wanted to punch his friend in the nose. Could Arucard not have been more specific in his warnings? “Isolde would have skinned me alive, had I ever apprised her of such verity in our honeymoon period.”
“Do you mean, in the years since you married her, you have never enlightened your bride to the truth surrounding thy nuptials?” Blinking, Aristide choked and sputtered, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “But how could you avoid it? Has she never inquired?”
“Actually, Isolde is an intelligent woman, and she brought no illusions of romance to the altar, as she was fully aware of our arranged status, much to my regret. But the word ‘force’ never entered our bedchamber, and therein lies the difference.” Arucard shifted his weight and tugged at his tunic. “Brothers, you know her history, so you must understand my reluctance to cause her additional pain. We did not discuss the events preceding our vows, until she broached the subject. By the time she ventured to mention it, I had already professed my undying love and devotion, so the preface to our married life mattered not, in the grand scheme.”
“Damn nasty affairs.” Aristide glowered, studied the wood grain of the tabletop, and envisioned the hurt in Dionysia’s countenance, when he joined her in their chambers, after the wedding feast. “You are blessed, as she is a far better warrior than most men of my acquaintance.”
“Given my recent venture into fatherhood, I cannot fathom the level of violence to which her sire subjected his own daughter.” Demetrius shook his head. “This land and its customs remain quite foreign to me.”
“Thither is violence in every corner of the world, brother.” Compressing his lips, Arucard wiped his face with his hand. “Yet the hardships we endured strengthened our union and helped me realize how deeply I care for her, as I would give my life to save hers.”
“And are you likewise afflicted?” Aristide asked Demetrius.
“Aye.” Demetrius cast a ghost of a smile. “Lily holds my heart, above all else. And, much as Arucard, the path to that discovery was paved with treachery, as the matrimonial state is filled with vicious traps, none of which are marked.”
“For the sake of curiosity, not that I am seriously intrigued, just how long did it take to experience said emotion?” Fascinated by their declarations, proclaimed without hesitation, Aristide leaned forward and cleared his throat. “And how did you know you were in love?”
“Oh, I shudder to consider it.” Demetrius pressed a clenched fist to his chest. “Love is, by far, the most confusing, excruciating, gut-wrenching, agonizing terror you will ever endure. I would equate it with Prometheus chained to the rock and the eagle’s daily liver feast.”
“How charming.” As Aristide hoped to achieve the same goal, given he would settle for nothing less, he blanched at Demetrius’s statement.
“Indeed, he is correct in his assertion, as it is worse than anything you might confront in battle.” Given Arucard paled in that moment, Aristide reconsidered his tack. “And yet, once you surrender the fight and accept it, naught compares to the unutterable contentment that accompanies your wife’s declaration, freely bestowed, as it is a priceless treasure.”
“In that, I agree.” Demetrius dragged his knuckles along his jawline. “Naught makes a husband feel more a man than his bride’s requited affection, such that I cannot describe it, as thither are no adequate words, and love is worth the cost it exacts. In short, it is a boon sans pareil .”
“And if one were interested in fostering a similar commitment with his spouse, how might he attempt such lunacy?” Aristide swallowed hard and pondered his predicament, because he would settle for naught less than Dionysia’s heart. “Given he has admitted, however well intended, the King forced the bridegroom to the altar?”
“Now that is a question for which I have no answer.” Demetrius furrowed his brow and massaged his temple. “As even I knew better than to attempt such madness, and your transgression vastly exceeds the propitious potential of favored flowers.”
“Are you not the witty knight?” Worried he might have irreparably damaged his relationship, Aristide slumped his shoulders. “Brothers, how am I to survive the mess I have made?”
“Are you fond of Dionysia?” With arms folded, Arucard opened and then closed his mouth. Then he sighed. “Do you find her attractive?”
“Her carriage is first rate, her teeth are in excellent condition, and she has a fine figure.” Hoping to forestall further ribbing, Aristide opted for harmless admissions, downed his ale, and signaled for a refill. “And she possesses a sense of humor and cleverness, which I find rather appealing.”
“And what about the scar?” Demetrius asked. “I have heard countless jokes—”
“It bothers me not, and if you ever disparage her in my presence, I will tie you to my rudder and drag you back to France.” Startled by his own forceful reaction to a seemingly straightforward question, Aristide yanked his shirt collar. “In all honesty, I scarcely notice the damn thing, as my Dion’s beauty stems from an innate purity of the heart, and I delight in her company, tonight excepted.”
“Dion?” Demetrius glanced at Arucard and smirked. “So you have gifted her a pet name?”
“I beg your pardon?” Choking on embarrassment, given he had not intended to share that bit of information, Aristide speared his fingers through his hair. “It is naught. Make no assumptions, which would embarrass us, brother.”
“And what does the lady call you?” Arucard queried in a low voice, as he tried but failed to muffle his chuckle, and Aristide gritted his teeth.
“That is none of your concern.” Great one. She called him great one, and he liked it. Aristide intended to issue a sharp rebuke but thought better of it. “Not that she summons me with such sentimental nonsense.”
Arucard and Demetrius burst into laughter, and Aristide shoved away from the table and stood.
“Hold hard, brother.” After one last guffaw, Demetrius jerked Aristide to the bench. “Why run away, when we might aid your virtuous cause?”
“You have done enough.” Aristide wrenched free. “I had gained precious ground with my bride, and then I listened to you and struck breakers.”
“Now that is not fair.” Arucard pointed for emphasis. “Never did I encourage you to apprise your lady of the conditions compelling you to wed, as I know well the consequences of such ignorance.”
“Then wherefore did you not warn me?” Aristide spat.
Arucard thrust his chin. “Perchance because I thought you smarter than that.”
“Brothers, we fight each other,” Demetrius stated, with a grin. “And we are not the enemy.”
“He is right.” Arucard nodded once. “When it comes to the sexes, we are of like minds.”
“I concur, brother.” Exhaling, Aristide examined the injury to his knuckles, which he garnered, when he deflected the leather-bound book she lobbed at his head and later, when he attempted to gain entry into his bedchamber, after Dionysia slammed and locked the door. “So how am I to correct the situation?”
“Mass quantities of compensatory groveling, preferably delivered on your knees,” Arucard suggested.
“And bundles of flowers, in every conceivable bloom,” Demetrius urged.
“Ply her with wine.” Arucard chortled. “But be careful, as too much will put her to sleep.”
“And if that does not suffice?” Aristide asked.
“How is her aim?” Arucard replied.
“How do you think?” Aristide whisked the hair from his forehead and then displayed his wounded hand. “Lethal.”
Demetrius grimaced. “Then you should pray—often.”
“Should all else fail, it may simply be a matter of time, which requires the patience of a saint, before you and Dionysia grow as a couple.” Arucard cast a half smile, and Aristide braced for the remains of the forthcoming advice. “But if thither is one glimmer of hope, you might take heart in the fact that only a husband is equipped to withstand such abuse.”
~
A sharp pounding on the outer door brought Dionysia awake and alert. Still dressed in her gown from the wedding, she flung back the blanket, scooted to the edge of the mattress, and stood. At the portal, she pressed her ear to the wood panel, as male voices emanated from the solar. To her surprise, Aristide chuckled, as she shared friendly banter with an unknown visitor. Then the room went quiet.
A loud rap elicited a shriek of shock, and she retreated. “What do you want?”
“We are summoned to break our fast, Dion.” Aristide rattled the knob. “Unlock the door, as His Majesty commands I provide proof of the consummation, and I must wash and change for the audience. We have little time.”
“Are you going to punish me?” She bit her bottom lip and shuffled her feet.
“Nay,” he replied, without hesitation.
“Have I your promise?” All right, she had no reasonable expectation of clemency, given her unforgivable outburst, but he hurt her.
“You have my word as a Nautionnier Knight.” Again, he jiggled the knob. “In fact, I owe you an apology, as I offended you, and I would explain myself, but it must wait, as we must perforce yield to the King’s demands.”
In a rush, she turned the latch and skittered to the opposite side of the four-poster. Hugging herself, she prepared to withstand whatever punishment he meted. In a half-hearted attempt to mitigate the discipline, she curtseyed and bowed her head in a show of deference.
“My lord, I know not what came over me last night.” Of course, that was a lie. She took offense to his revelation that the King forced Aristide to wed her, when she thought he harbored genuine affection for her. “In my defense, I can only say the day was very stressful.”
“You are angry because I gave you the impression I had no choice but to marry you, when that is not true, and I am sorry for suggesting such a ridiculous notion.” To her unmitigated amazement, he walked to the washstand, filled the basin with water, and proceeded to clean himself. “We need to talk, because I owe you an explanation, but once again we have no time, as His Majesty is not the patient sort. So if you are planning to enact another attack, it will have to wait, but I should warn you I am prepared for your games and will wage my own campaign, but only in fun.”
Stunned by his almost jovial demeanor, despite the nasty gash on his forehead, she could form no reply, so she opened her trunk, drew forth a gown of burgundy velvet, and resolved not to tarry. In quiet, they moved about the room, and she dressed behind a screen but discovered she could not reach the laces.
“My lord, I am loathe to bother you, but I have no maid, as I shared my mother’s, and I cannot secure my garb.” Giving him her back, because she could not face him or possible rejection, she asked, “Might you offer assistance?”
“Of course, dear Dion.” As he went about the task, he sniffed but said naught. The silence well nigh exhausted her forbearance, until she could take no more.
“Prithee, take pity on my soul.” Despite a desire to remain calm, she shivered with trepidation. “Confess my fate, else I shall go mad with worry. I understand I behaved badly, and for that I must atone, but do not keep me in suspense, or I will run amok.”
Whatever she anticipated, and she had no idea what he would do, she almost jumped out of her skin when he wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her against him.
“My dear, I will never strike you, not even in jest, so you need not fear me.” When she turned in his embrace, he held her closer, and she rested her head to his chest. “Is this not nice?”
“Indeed, it is very nice.” Especially after she spent the night fretting over her punishment. “I am sorry I struck you.”
“While I am new to the business of marriage, and I thought I had a few things figured out, I have learned that my confidence was sorely misplaced.” His resounding chuckle did much to soothe her frazzled nerves. “But I shall endeavor to do better if you will indulge me a minor mishap, hither and thither, without a threat to de-brain me.”
“Great one, like you, I claim no expertise in the marital state, but I am a willing pupil.” She shifted to meet his stare. “And I regret what I did, because I gave you no chance to clarify your position. Can you forgive me?”
“Thither is naught to forgive.” With humbling gentleness, he kissed her scarred cheek and set her apart from him. “Now, let us contrive the proof of our consummation, to satisfy the King. Free the opposite corner of the bottom sheet, sweet Dion, because we must hurry.” With a flick of his wrist, he flung aside the blankets. “Throw the pillows on the floor, and let us rumple the linens, as we must leave the impression that ample activity took place, hither.”
“Aye, my lord.” In an awkward twist and tug, which incited more than a few giggles, she wrinkled the bedclothes. As they worked in concert, she remembered Mama’s detailed description of lovemaking and cursed the burn of a blush and hoped Aristide would not notice.
“What are you thinking, my lady?” Of course, he noticed.
“Naught of significance.” Then she reminded herself of her promise to always offer honesty. “Actually, I imagined us engaged in marital duties.” At her disclosure, her husband burst into laughter, and she spied a slight dimple just to the lower left of his mouth. “You are quite beauteous, great one.”
“I would assert the same is true of you, fair Dion.” As he sifted through his belongings, she continued to study him.
Although her knight possessed an arresting stature that garnered many a female scrutiny, he moved with a grace and ease that underscored his raw power and lessened the threat he posed to her. While she still harbored anxiety, she trusted him—until he produced a sharp dagger.
“My lord, what do you intend to do with the knife?” She clutched her throat.
“We need blood as proof that I breached your maidenhead.” With a casual shrug, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. “I thought to cut my arm.”
“With that?” From the fitchet of her gown, she produced a tiny but lethal weapon. “Hither, use mine, as you could maim yourself with that horrible thing.”
“Wherefore do you carry a knife on your person?” Inclining his head, he snatched the dagger, which boasted an engraved silver blade and a wooden handle trimmed in leather. “Did you believe you needed such protection from me?”
“Nay.” If she apprised him of the circumstances whereby her father gifted her weapon, Aristide might question her sanity. Despite her fears, in good faith she would have to reveal the whole horrible affair, soon, and she would do so. “It was a present, and the knife is useful in everyday chores, so I keep it with me, at all times.”
“Practical, as well as beauteous.” How his jovial demeanor charmed her. “Indeed, I am a fortunate husband.”
“I hope you always feel that way.” After adjusting her bodice, she grabbed her wimple and veil, while he made a small cut in his forearm, smeared blood on the white sheet, and tended the tiny wound. “I am almost ready, if you would like me to tie a bandage for you.”
“That is not necessary.” He pulled down his sleeve. “And you are not to hide your face, my lady.”
“But people will stare at me.” As they had during the wedding feast, and the unwanted attention rendered her nervous and on the verge of vomiting. “They will look at my scar.”
“Then let them stare.” In the long mirror, he studied his reflection and raked his fingers through his hair. “But I forbid you to cover yourself, because the scar is scarcely notable.”
“I know it is there.” When she draped the wimple over her head, he stomped forth and yanked the accessory from her grasp. “My lord, I beg you, would you inflict upon me the cruel whispers and criticisms?”
“Thither is more to you than a small mark upon your cheek, Dion.” With the sheet balled and tucked beneath his right arm, he offered his escort. “I refuse to allow you to define yourself by a small mark that lends naught to your character. Now, let us away.”
Her heart sank, as she tossed her delicate but nonetheless potent armor on the bed. For the past four years, she hid her shame behind the swath of silk, which had become a source of comfort and security, and she suspected he would change his mind once she apprised him of the circumstances that led to the habit.
Trembling with fear of the unknown reaction her presence would garner, she rested her palm in the crook of his elbow, and together they strolled into the hall. A steady steam of couples ventured in the same direction, and she nodded acknowledgements to various nobles.
In the great hall, His Majesty perched at the dais, and Aristide led Dionysia to stand before the King. At the fore, her husband paused and bowed, and she curtseyed. Absent her veil, she bowed her head and gazed at the floor.
“Lady Dionysia, how fetching you look this morrow.” The Sire chortled. “And you blush. Am I to assume you enjoyed your wedding night?”
Mortified, she paused to compose herself and gather her wits. “Sir Aristide is a kind and gentle man, Your Majesty.”
“Then we chose wisely.” The King turned his attention to her knight. “And does Sir Aristide provide proof the vows are secured?”
“I do, Sire.” Aristide approached, knelt, and placed the crimson stained sheet before the King. “For Your Majesty’s inspection.”
“Excellent.” Just as Aristide warned, the Sovereign ordered a guard to collect the linen, and she teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, given the humiliation. “The union is unimpeachable, and I have done my duty by my friend Lord Goncourt. And now to the business of your appointment, as we have great plans for our Nautionnier Knight.” The King rose from his chair and loomed before her husband. “We create you the new earl of Rochester, to reinstall the garrison and administer the rule of law to that troubled region. Rise, Lord Rochester, take your seat, and let us commence the meal.”
The walls of the great hall seemed to spin out of control, and the panic swelled in her throat. Tears beckoned, and she swallowed hard, because she has so hoped to be sent far away from her home and the past.
“I am grateful, Sire.” With grace and ease, Aristide stood, caught her by the arm, and steered her toward a side table, whither his family sat. “Are you all right, Dion?”
“Aye, my lord.” And then she swooned.