Chapter Four
ARISTIDE
CHAPTER FOUR
Christmastide at Westminster Palace offered an opportunity for Aristide to become acquainted with his new family. After breaking their fast, Lord and Lady Goncourt gathered in the solar of the private apartment Aristide shared with Dionysia. For the most part, the celebration passed in pleasant conversation with his in-laws, excepting Dion’s silence.
Since the previous morning, when she fainted in the great hall, during their audience with His Majesty, she had said naught in regard to her behavior, and he had not the heart to press her for answers she was not prepared to give. The sadness in her expression forestalled his queries, and he knew something was wrong when she permitted him to share their bed.
“Well, I suppose we should exchange gifts.” Lavina handed him a small package. “And Dionysia forgot your box in our suite, but we brought it with us.”
“I am sorry, Mama.” That was the first sound his wife had made in hours. “Thank you, for amending my deficiency.”
“Thither is no need for such ill tidings.” Lavina glanced at Renard. “It has been a stressful time, and you had much on your mind.”
“And I have something for my new bride, which I hope pleases her.” For his part, Aristide fiddled with the velvet-wrapped psalter he commissioned for his wife but put the item aside. “But I would rather speak plainly, as we are family, hither.” Leaning forward, he gently gripped Dionysia’s wrist. “My lady, prithee, tell me what troubles you. Wherefore did you faint, yestereve?”
“It is naught of significance.” Despite her declaration, a tear streamed her scarred cheek, and he dried her flesh with the back of his knuckles.
“We both know that is not true, else you would not weep even now.” Summoning patience, he tugged and drew her to sit beside him on the bench. “Something is wrong, but you are not prepared to share your distress, so I will wait. However, I urge you to remember what I pledged on the steps before the Chapter House. I will honor and protect you, for the rest of my life, and that is a commitment in which I shall never waver.”
“Oh, Dionysia, tell him.” Lavina fidgeted and wrung her fingers. “For your own sake, have done with it.”
“I cannot, Mama.” With a mournful sob, Dionysia covered her face and shook her head. “Do not ask it of me, because I cannot.”
“But it was not your fault, my dear.” Renard scooted to the edge of his chair. “Lord Rochester, she was not to blame for what happened. In my ignorance, I—”
“No, Papa, do not say it, else I shall die of shame.” In a huff, Dionysia flew from the bench, but she did not get far, because Aristide caught her. “Let me go.”
“Nay.” As she wrestled with him, he simply hugged her about the waist until she yielded. Collapsed to his chest, she sobbed, and he let her cry. “It is all right, Dion.”
“No, it is horrible, because we return to Rochester.” She wailed even louder. “I hoped His Majesty would post us far away from my home, but we are condemned to that wretched place, and I am undone. Everything is dreadful.”
“Well, I disagree, because we will begin our life, as a couple, thither.” Adjusting his hold, he cradled her head and stroked her back, as he rocked. “How can that be bad?”
“Because I wanted to escape the past, the hurtful whispers, and the scandal.” Now she piqued his curiosity, which ran rampant. “But I am condemned.”
The immense sorrow tore at his gut, and he fought with a strange and discomfiting torment. Moved by the immensity of her distress, he cupped her chin and kissed her, as he had seen Arucard comfort Isolde on occasions too numerous to count. Little by little, Dion relaxed in his embrace. A heavenly sigh heralded her response, and she returned his kiss, measure for measure—until her father cleared his throat.
“Better?” How he adored the blush that colored her ivory flesh.
“You confuse me, my lord.” When she tried to withdraw, he held fast. “You know naught of my shame, yet you support me without reservation.”
Thither and then, he promised his melancholy bride would one day look upon him with the same adoration with which Isolde and Athelyna gazed upon Arucard and Demetrius, respectively.
“Wherefore would I do otherwise?” He tucked a fiery tendril behind her ear, and with his thumb he flicked her lobe. “Do you not recall my vow to love you, and yours to do the same?”
“You claim such devotion, because it is far too soon for me to consider it?” She blinked, and he could not resist smiling. “Do you harbor feelings of love?”
“I would be lying if I said yes.” Now he caressed the gentle curve of her jaw. “But I live in hope for the possibility, Dion.” He peered at her parents, who observed the developments without interruption. “Arucard and Demetrius found love, and I will settle for naught less for Dion and I.” Again, he studied his wife. “And it is with that intent that I chose your gift, my dear. If you will retake your place, I would have you open your present.”
“And you will accept yours, given we are like-minded, and I am so happy to hear it.” With a sniffle, she turned to her mother, collected the box, and offered it. “I made it, myself, from memory of the two previous occasions we met. I pray it meets your approval.”
“ Two previous occasions?” Renard pressed a clenched fist to his chest and cast an owlish expression of shock. “Dionysia, you told us you were acquainted with Sir Aristide. You did not mention rendezvous.”
“Ah, she probably did not wish to divulge the circumstances of our initial encounter, as it is rather shocking for a young woman of character.” Of course, he teased Dion, and he winked to allay her concerns, which garnered him a treasured grin. “It started with a rather harmless mistake on my part, and your charming daughter corrected me with a series of insults.”
“None of it serious.” Laughing, she shimmered with good humor, and he counted that a small victory. “And my intent was only to spare you embarrassment, great one.”
“Yours is a benevolent soul, fair Dion.” Ah, she employed his pet name, which he cherished as another favorable omen. And whatever secret she guarded, the revelation could wait, because naught would persuade him to surrender or reject her. “Now, tarry not another moment. Open your gift, as I had it made expressly for you, and I am anxious to know if it satisfies you.”
With unconcealed enthusiasm, she untied the twine securing the canvas that protected the expensive offering to marital accord. The instant she discerned the article, she gasped.
“Oh, Aristide.” Her breathy exclamation scored a direct hit to the region below his belly button, which he could not control, and he sat beside her and rested his box in his lap. “You gave me a psalter.” She flipped through the crisp parchment. “Mama, Papa, look at the illustrations.”
“It is remarkable craftsmanship.” For a while, Renard simply scrutinized Aristide, and he shifted his weight. “And it is comforting to know Dionysia is under the protection of such an honorable man.”
“Thank you, Lord Goncourt.” In search of distraction, Aristide lifted the lid of his parcel and discovered a rich, blue velvet doublet and two pristine white shirts folded on a bed of cotton, and it touched him, because Isolde and Athelyna sewed garments for their husbands. “My lady, I know not what to say, except my gift pales in comparison to yours, and I am humbled by your thoughtful handiwork.”
“Do you really like them?” She seemed so hopeful that he could not tease her.
“Never have I possessed such elegant garb, fair Dion.” Aye, Aristide would bide his time, he would hold his tongue, he would be patient, and he would win her heart, thus he kissed the back of her hand. “And I shall treasure them, always.”
~
“Men really are simple creatures. I cannot say it enough, Dion.” Isolde nodded at Athelyna and snorted, as the ladies lingered in the solar while the men met with the King. “Kiss him often and well. You need only discern what Aristide favors to take command. Once I discovered Arucard’s affinity for a good scalp scratching at bedtime, and how to make him howl with pleasure, the man is but moulding clay in my hands.”
“Oh, I have not tried that with Demetrius, and I recommend sitting in Aristide’s lap, when you must impart something disagreeable, as you will garner his sympathy.” Athelyna paused, mid-stitch. “And my husband prefers—well, you know what else they prefer at bedtime.” She rolled her eyes. “And in the morning, at noon, following weapons practice, and often before dinner.”
“Sometimes during baths.” Isolde shook her head. “Indeed, they are of singular purpose once they find their way between the sheets.”
Silence filled the room, and then Isolde and Athelyna burst into laughter.
“Is it permissible to discuss such things?” Dionysia inquired, in a low voice. Never in her life had she engaged in such licentious activities, but the wives thought naught of it. “I mean, my mother would die of the shock if she heard our conversation.”
“I would not recommend sharing the topic of discussion with her, because she would not understand our predicament.” Isolde reclined in an overstuffed chair, stretched her legs, and sighed. “Our men, Aristide included, are not like those you usually find at court. They come from a foreign land with equally strange customs, not the least of which is their lack of experience with women.”
“I do not follow.” Curious, Dionysia revisited the deferment Aristide extended. Did he not mention the arrangement was for his benefit as well as hers? A startling realization formed in her brain. “Do you mean to suggest my husband might be a virgin?”
“Indeed.” Athelyna nodded. “They hold chastity as a virtue and only break their vow in a show of fealty to His Majesty, on pain of death, in order to seal the nuptials.”
“Were you forced into marriage, too?” Oh, that was a sore spot of contention for Dionysia. “Because Aristide only married me by the Sire’s command.”
“But that is not true.” Isolde shook her head. “During our journey to London, Aristide recounted an exchange with the Sovereign during my wedding feast, during which His Majesty asked if Aristide were interested in forming an attachment with you.”
“Indeed.” Athelyna’s eyes grew wide. “It was rather shocking, given our men profess little interest in women, due to their upbringing and devout faith.”
“Yet that is changed, with the revelation Aristide imparted, because he was given a choice, and he declared you his sole candidate, above all others.” Collapsing in her seat, Isolde fanned herself with her hand, and Dionysia could have shouted in exultation, because Aristide spoke the truth. He wanted her. “Is that not romantic?”
That was putting it mildly.
“Oh, yes.” Athelyna sighed and closed her eyes. “Can you imagine our husbands being given the same option?” Then she snickered. “Demetrius vomited and fainted on our wedding day, thither, on the steps of the Chapter House, before everyone in attendance.”
Slapping her thighs, Isolde howled with mirth.
“No.” Even Dionysia could not resist a hearty chuckle at the admission, because Demetrius was every bit as imposing as Aristide. “Were you not furious with him for such behavior?”
“Well, since I ran away, rather than willingly wed him, and had to be hunted and dragged back to the palace, by the King’s guards, I could hardly cast stones at my husband.” Wiping a stray tear, Athelyna gave vent to a chortle. “Because I was every bit as forced to the altar as was Demetrius.”
“And I sympathize.” Isolde propped an elbow on the armrest and settled her chin in her palm. “In fact, Arucard and I met, for the first time, on the steps of the Chapter House.”
“You mean, you never even saw him before you took your vows?” Dionysia gulped at the prospect. In England, unions within the nobility were strictly within the purview of the Sovereign, and no one married without the King’s permission. “Not even to share a simple greeting?”
“No.” Averting her stare, Isolde smiled. “When I glimpsed him at the ceremony, I panicked, because he can be quite formidable without uttering a single word. But he was kind and gentle, from the moment we met, and I love him very much.”
“Inasmuch as is Aristide.” In fact, he promised, on numerous occasions, that he would never strike Dionysia, yet she suspected otherwise. Had she been wrong? “My friends, what can you tell me of my husband’s history? He was been rather cryptic, in that respect, and I do wish to know him better.”
“They have endured much strife, but they survive to fight another day.” Isolde bit her lip, and Dionysia pondered her new ally’s discomfit. “Although they are warriors without equal, they will never raise a hand to you. Have faith in Aristide, and he will not disappoint you.”
“When the time is right, he will share his past.” Athelyna reached for Isolde’s hand, and in concert they gazed at Dionysia. “But know ours, and we include you, are the best of men, and they will never fail us. As Arucard loves Isolde, and as Demetrius loves me, so will Aristide love you, because it is their way. He will guard and protect you, and he will never fail you. Beyond that, I can say no more.”
“I appreciate your counsel.” And they gave Dionysia much to consider. “I, too, harbor a secret, and I fear the disclosure will repel my new husband.”
“That is not possible.” Isolde drew near and draped an arm about Dionysia’s shoulders. “Is it about how you came by the scar?”
“Yes.” Fear shivered down Dionysia’s spine. To Isolde, Dionysia said, “You know.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“I do.” Isolde frowned. “Remember, I hail from Rochester, so I am aware of the travails that plagued my people under my father’s reign of lawlessness and treachery. And I, too, suffered at his hands, the marks of which I wear on my back as testimony to his infinite cruelty.”
Shame cut through Dionysia like a knife, and she doubled over in pain. As she wept, Isolde and Athelyna offered reassurances and comfort, but Dionysia hated herself, in that instant.
“I was just a girl of five and ten.” Dionysia sobbed. “I knew not the savage inhumanity that invests the games men play, much less that it could be wrought upon women and children.”
“And you were not to blame.” Isolde stroked Dionysia’s hair. “You were a victim, yet you persist, as do I. We share that, you and I—the will to live. Now you must tell Aristide, else the secret may destroy you, both, because such ill tidings retain power to hurt only insofar as they remain hidden in the shadows. Once revealed, they cease to exist.”
“What if he leaves me?” Dionysia shuddered at the prospect. “What if he never wishes to see me, again? While others have shunned me, I could not bear it from Aristide.”
“He will not, because it is not in his nature.” With a handkerchief, Isolde dried Dionysia’s tears. “As I said, you must have faith in him, and he will stand by you, come what may. I would stake my life on it.”
For a few moments, Dionysia mulled Isolde’s sage advice. Sooner or later, Aristide would discover his wife’s past, and she would rather he hear it from her. Emboldened by newfound resolve, she decided to make a stand and suffer the consequences.