Chapter Six
ARISTIDE
CHAPTER SIX
A fortnight later , on the toll road to Rochester, as the sun sank on the horizon, depriving the caravan of a bit of warmth against the winter chill and new fallen snow, Aristide shifted in the saddle and drew his cloak about Dion, as she slept in his lap. In much the same way as Arucard cradled Isolde, Aristide guarded his bride during the arduous journey to their new home, ever conscious of the dread that pervaded her waking hours as they neared their destination and the reason for her concern. Without thought, he tightened his hold.
“It is good to be married, is it not?” To the right, Arucard grinned.
“May I impart a revelation without risk of ridicule?” Wherefore did Aristide even bother posing the query? “Mayhap you might extend sympathy.”
“Not a chance.” Arucard snickered. “As a healthy dose of humility never hurt a husband, and you should accustom yourself to it.”
“All right.” Aristide scanned the vicinity and remained on watch for the slightest hint of trouble, since they entered his lands. “From the moment the King commanded you to wed, I knew the same requirement would be demanded of me, and I welcomed it.”
“Ah, that is wherefore you did not protest when I apprised you of your impending nuptials.” Arucard cast a knowing smile. “Before we departed the Continent, I always wondered if you would remain a knight in our former order, because you seemed quite interested in the fair sex, although you never acted on it, to my knowledge, as has Morgan, much to my displeasure.”
“You knew?” That shocked Aristide, because he thought he hid his regard, but Arucard nodded an affirmative. “What gave me away?”
“That useless, lovesick puppy face you boasted, whenever a lady visited Vauclair.” Of course, Arucard noticed everything. “And thither is naught wrong in looking, brother. Still, as the years passed, you always struck me as the family sort, first, and the warrior, second, but that is not to diminish your prowess with a sword.”
“You are correct in your estimation, because since I was a boy, I envisioned myself as a patriarch, seated at the head of a table of a large collective of children.” And now he imagined Dionysia at the opposite end of the gathering. “I wanted to form something to persist after I am gone from this world, to leave a legacy for future generations to carry on the de Laurentiis name. Thither is a long list of great soldiers whose heritage died with them, and I would not suffer the same fate.”
“Now you need not worry on that account.” Arucard glanced at Dionysia, still dozing peacefully in Aristide’s embrace. “How is she?”
That was a loaded question filled with meaning beyond the superficial, given Aristide had apprised Arucard of the circumstances surrounding the scar on Dion’s cheek, because enemies waited in Rochester. After that momentous discussion in their chamber at Westminster Palace, she had said naught about the situation, but he spied the sadness in her blue eyes and surmised, without doubt, the cause of her melancholy state.
“How do you think?” When she wrinkled her nose and sniffled, he quieted until she settled. “We return to the scene of the crime, when she prayed for reprieve.”
“But she cannot run from the past.” Drawing on the reins, Arucard steered his destrier around a large rut in the lane. “We should scout a place to stop for the night, else we risk a lame horse and injuries due to the poor condition of the ground.”
“We did.” Aristide noted a clearing amid a cluster of tall trees, which would afford shelter from the wind. “And thither is suitable spot.”
“Have we?” With the flick of his wrist, Arucard signaled the garrison leader, who slowed the advancing troops. “Because we have paid a hefty price for refuge in England, not the least of which was our five-year confinement in White Tower, and I would argue we have confronted our ignoble history and will continue to do so, for untold years.”
“Perchance, you are correct.” After Aristide halted his mount on the verge, he bent his head, kissed Dion’s forehead, and nudged her awake. “Come, my lady wife, and let us set up our tent, as twilight is fast approaching.” When she moaned an objection, he chuckled. “I know, sweetheart. Hither it is warm, when we huddle, together, beneath my cloak, but it will be far warmer beneath the blankets of our travel bed.”
That won him a demure smile, which he adored.
“Oh, my lord, it is so comfortable, riding atop your destrier, with you.” She hugged him about the waist and sighed, and that scored a hit below his belly button, which happened with greater frequency as they journeyed to Rochester. “Wherefore did I ever protest?”
“I know not, as I prefer to keep you close.” In the opening, he halted, slipped from the saddle, and lifted her to the ground. A vicious gale heralded a blinding snowstorm, and he drew the hood of her cloak over her head. “Fetch the skins, as we will need them.”
“Aye, my lord.” As had become her habit, one he savored, she perched on tiptoes to favor him with a kiss. “And I shall collect ample portions of fruit, bread, dried meat, and ale, that we might retire early.”
“Sounds tempting, and I look forward to the meal, as well.” He winked, and she squealed, bounced with unconcealed delight, hiked her skirts, and rushed to do his bidding. Then he just stood thither, as a strange sensation spread from his limbs to touch every part of him. To Arucard, Aristide asked, “What is happening to me?”
“That is easy.” Isolde snorted. “You care for your wife.” With that, she pressed her lips to Arucard’s, with a loud smack, and skipped to the wagons, whither Dion directed the servants.
When Aristide peered at Arucard, the leader of the Brethren arched a brow. “Do not try to deny it.”
“I deny naught, brother.” On the realization, Aristide’s knees buckled. “I care for her.” Although the tempest raged, the cold prevailed not as he studied his bride. “Aye, I care for her. She is, quite simply, the most fascinating creature I have ever known. In fact, I would profess that I—”
A band of marauders charged through the camp, upending a stack of provisions and knocking down torches. From his saddle scabbard, Aristide drew his sword, as Arucard raised the alarm and summoned the soldiers. Isolde and Dion sheltered at the supply wagon, and Aristide ran to protect them, with Arucard bringing up the rear.
“Get beneath the rig.” In haste, he pushed his wife between the wheels and flagged a platoon of soldiers. “Guards, protect her ladyship.”
With Dion and Isolde surrounded in a makeshift safe haven, he gave his attention to the raiders, spied what he surmised was their leader, and ran toward the center of the action. The bandit urged his mount from left to right. On the third pass, Aristide planted his boots, bent his knees, and squared his shoulders. When the villain attacked, at the last second Aristide sidestepped the assault, grasped the would-be reaver by the ankle, and yanked him from the saddle.
“On your feet, silk-snatcher.” Robbed of naught more than his patience, because the motley band of plunderers was no match for a garrison of four hundred soldiers, Aristide hauled the bastard upright by the collar. “What gives you the right to assail a servant of the Crown?”
“What gives you the right to trespass on sovereign property?” The knave scowled and tried but failed to break free of Aristide’s clutch. “We self-govern in these parts and enforce our own laws, given Lord Rochester is dead.”
“Actually, you labor under a mistaken assumption, because I am Lord Rochester.” Incensed by the arrogance of the common criminal, Aristide leveled his sword, with the pointed tip at the malefactor’s throat. “And who challenges my authority, given you hide your identity behind a mask?”
“Peneus Jubert, have you not caused enough trouble?” Lord Goncourt pushed his way through the crowd, as guards rounded up the bandits. “Will you incite His Majesty’s wrath by provoking the Crown’s appointed custodian and the new earl of Rochester?”
Anger sparked and flared, as Aristide recognized the name of Dionysia’s abuser, and he shoved the vile molester into the snow, raised high his blade, and prepared to run the monster through—until Arucard grabbed the hilt.
“Nay, brother.” In a low voice, Arucard said, “You cannot kill him, even though I would not blame you, because you are no longer a mere knight of the realm. As Lord Rochester, you are bound by the edicts that govern your position of prominence. You are sent hither to rule, not to oppress.”
“You know what he did.” Baring his teeth, Aristide shuddered with unspent and barely tamed fury. “He deserves to die for his crimes.”
“That is for His Majesty to decide.” Slowly, Arucard forced Aristide to lower his weapon. “Believe me, no one understands your perspective better than I, as I confronted the same situation with Isolde’s father. Jubert is subject to the Crown’s justice. Given the bastard persists, the King has already rendered his punishment, and you cannot countermand that without suffering the consequences, which could leave Dionysia alone, unprotected, and at Jubert’s mercy.”
That was enough to jolt Aristide’s senses.
A lone rider galloped into the fray.
The grey-haired gentleman, impeccably garbed, reined in, jumped from his horse, marched to Peneus, and slapped him. “What have you done now, my son?”
“Father, I caught these loyalists encroaching on our territory.” Peneus rubbed his cheek. “I thought to teach them a lesson.”
“You will do no such thing, as it is only by the King’s benevolence and Lancaster’s negotiations that you retain your head attached to you neck.” The intruder turned to Aristide and bowed. “I am Ludewicus Jubert, a burgage holder and merchant in Rochester.”
“And I am Aristide, the earl of Rochester, by His Majesty’s appointment.” Aristide stretched tall. “I have come to occupy the Rochester ancestral pile, reinstall the garrison therein, and restore the Crown’s rule. Am I to presume this fool is your progeny?”
“Peneus is my oldest son and heir, and yours is an appropriate description, my lord.” Ludewicus glanced to the side, and his expression softened. “Greetings, Lord Goncourt. I apologize for the inconvenience my son caused.”
“Jubert, keep that animal away from my family, else I will dispatch him to his maker, and I shall gladly pay the price.” Dionysia’s father clenched and unclenched his fists, and in that instant gained newfound respect. “If I see Peneus anywhere near my daughter, I will kill him, as I should have done, years ago.”
“Aye, Lord Goncourt.” To Aristide, Ludewicus said, “Apologies, Lord Rochester. I see you make camp for the night, and that is a wise decision, given Custaeton rests high above the cliffs, and the road is treacherous at dark. I shall endeavor to restrain my son, and ensure he bothers you no more, as he is a willful sort, but then you know that.” Then he smacked his heir. “Whither is your horse?”
“Wherefore do you bow to them?” Peneus dusted snow from his cloak. “You waste time and effort in intercession and diplomacy, while our enemies laugh at us.”
“ Silence .” Again, Jubert struck his son, and Aristide noted the interesting relationship between the two, which could prove useful as he established his command in the region. “Gather your mount, and I will deal with you when we return to our home. And if you utter a word of protest, I will disinherit you.”
Maintaining guard until the Juberts disappeared into the night, Aristide seethed in silence. Wrestling with heretofore-unknown rage, he stiffened his spine and flexed his jaw.
“All right, everyone, back to work.” Arucard chucked Aristide’s chin. “Let it go, and tend your bride, as she needs you.”
In the blink of an eye, Aristide came alert and sought his lady. Near the wagon, she stood, but terror invested his beauteous countenance, and he could not tolerate it. Sheathing his sword, he trudged through the snow, in her direction. As he neared, she ran to him. Enfolding her in his arms, he lifted her and carried her to the large double bell tent they shared, which the servants erected.
“Shh.” For a while, he simply held her, until she ceased trembling. “It is all right. I will never let him hurt you again.”
Although she responded not, Dion wrapped her arms about his neck and clung to him. And in that simple gesture, he found purpose and something more. Never in his life had Aristide felt more alive—or more a man.
~
Nestled amid the rolling hills atop the high cliffs of the Rochester coast, Custaeton Hall boasted a spectacular view of the Thames and Medway confluence. While Dionysia had never ventured onto the estate, she had passed the vast residence that presented a single crenelated tower, along with several smaller, tapered spires, protected by a large ditch at the base of the outer wall. In that time, she had never guessed she would one day call the massive structure her home.
As Aristide steered past the lone gatehouse, she hugged him about the waist and gazed at him. “Thank you, for last night.”
“You are most welcome, my lady.” His smile melted her heart, as did the tender attention he lavished on her in the wake of Peneus’s attack the previous eventide. Whereas her husband could have demanded her surrender and forced her to engage in marital duties, he seemed intent on making no requests. Rather, he took care of her, when she was supposed to be tending his needs. “Did you sleep well?”
“In your warm embrace, I always rest easy.” Except something new and strange stirred within her on the morrow, as she studied Aristide in slumber. No doubt, with his bare hands he could have crushed Peneus’s skull, yet her husband controlled his temper. Indeed, he had never given her any reason to believe he would hurt her, and she ached to offer the same assurance. “I should locate, clean, and prepare our private apartment, posthaste, that you may retire to your bed, this eventide.”
“Our bed.” He bent his head and nipped her nose with his teeth, drew rein near the entrance to the house, dismounted, and lifted her from the saddle. “And I shall dispatch the servants to survey the structure, to ensure it is sound. Is there anything I can do to lighten your burden?”
“Mayhap you can ask the soldiers to deposit the food in the undercroft, and I can sort it, later.” As usual, he thought of her, and she wanted to do something special for him. “What would my lord prefer for dinner?” She pretended to give the matter due consideration, because she already asked Isolde about Aristide’s partialities. “Perchance a savory pourcelet farci with brie and chestnuts would tempt your belly.”
“That was not a lucky guess.” He narrowed his stare. “Have you been making inquiries about me?”
“What if I have? Is it not a wife’s duty to make her husband happy?” Splaying her fingers across his chest, she perched on tiptoes to indulge in a quick kiss. “I do so wish to please you, after you have been so kind to me.”
“You do please me, more than you know.” Yet, in the weeks since they wed, he had not claimed what was his by the sacrament, and for some reason she could not explain that bothered her. “Now go to work, my lady, for the sooner we finish our chores, the sooner we retire.”
“Aye, my lord.” With a less than elegant salute, she giggled and made for the kitchen.
While the stone exterior of the grand dwelling maintained its luster, with only a few broken windows, the interior of the home had been looted during its abandonment. Fires had been set in corners, tapestries had been burned, paintings had been damaged, and the unrecognizable carcass of an unknown animal rotted near the dais in the not-so-great hall.
“Oh, my.” Isolde put down a bucket of cleaning brushes and rags. “My childhood home is destroyed.”
“Nay, it is just a tad dirty.” Dionysia glanced at Isolde. Together, they burst into laughter. “It is naught that a decent scrubbing and some new furnishings cannot correct.”
“Well, I am just visiting, so I cannot complain.” Isolde strolled toward a large staircase. “Let us see what awaits in the master’s chamber, and then we should tidy my former room, that Arucard and I will have a place to sleep.”
“Do you wish to reside in your old quarters?” Given Isolde’s unhappy history, which Aristide had imparted one night, in the wee hours, as they often talked abed, Dionysia planned to host her friend in the best guest accommodation. “In fact, if you and Arucard wish to take the family apartment, Aristide and I can inhabit another room.”
“Nonsense.” Isolde led Dionysia along the second floor corridor, which fared better than downstairs. “You are the mistress of Custaeton Hall.”
At the end of the passage, a double-door entrance opened to reveal a huge solar with a decorative, ornate hammerbeam lacework ceiling. To her surprise, the inner bedchamber appeared virtually untouched.
A massive, four-poster bed sat at the center of the rear wall, with an intricate wooden screen to the right, which shielded a bathing area and washstand. To the left, a tiny doorway connected to a large closet with wrought iron pegs set at equal distances for storing garments.
“Has it always looked like this?” Dionysia tested the mattress, which had rotted. “It is fortunate Aristide brought his bedding, as we will need it.”
“Oh, Dionysia, it is my mother’s trunk.” A hand-carved chest occupied a corner, and Isolde dropped to her knees and lifted the lid. “My brother used to taunt me with threats to destroy her things, and I often cried myself to sleep.”
“How awful.” Dionysia knelt beside her. “I wish we had known each other when you lived hither. It would have been so nice to have a friend.”
“My father never would have permitted it.” When Dionysia gasped, Isolde shook her head. “Not because of what happened with Peneus but because he hated me.”
“What?” Then Dionysia recalled Isolde’s father beat her without mercy. “Wherefore?”
“Because my mother died giving birth to me, and my father loved her.” Isolde pulled a leather-bound journal from between a stack of old gowns and flipped through the delicate pages. “Dionysia, I could faint. This is a written chronicle of mother’s words, her thoughts, her hopes, and her dreams.” With care, she sifted through the parchment. “She speaks of my impending arrival, and how she wanted me.”
“How wonderful, Isolde.” Dionysia found a pair of slippers trimmed in what appeared to be expensive gems. “You must have this trunk, as they are your mama’s personal effects.”
“To think I dreaded coming hither.” Isolde wiped a tear and daubed her nose with a handkerchief embroidered with her mother’s initials. “And it is a blessing.”
“Wherefore do you think this chamber was not raided?” Dionysia stood and assessed the overall condition. With a solid hour’s worth of work, it would be perfect to begin her life with Aristide, and she envisioned so many possibilities, none of which she had ever dared to ponder until that moment.
“Because my father inspired naught but fear in our people, and I wager his influence lingers, still.” Just then, Arucard and Aristide carried a mattress into the room, and Isolde ran to her mate. “Hello, my beloved husband.”
“Hello, my beloved bride.” The largest and most imposing of the Nautionnier Knights might have terrified Dionysia, if not for the way he gazed upon Isolde. “Are you crying, honey flower?”
“Tears of joy, my lord.” Isolde detailed her find, as she helped Dionysia remove the old, dusty linens, so the men could change the mattress. “Thus I am happy, when I anticipated naught but misery hither. But I miss our daughter, and I am anxious to return to Chichester.”
“Soon, love.” As Arucard gave his attention to Isolde, Aristide crooked his finger at Dionysia.
“You summon, my lord?” As Dionysia crossed the chamber, a host of vignettes sprang to life, filling her world with heretofore-unimaginable promise, and she vowed, thither and then, to make the most of her marriage, beginning with a not so disconcerting deed. “What can I do for you?”
“We have a supply of perys in confyte, which we could enjoy in the quiet of our suite, after dinner.” Then he averted his gaze. “Unless they are not to your liking.”
“You know, very well, they are my favorite.” In play, she poked him in the ribs. “Have you been making inquiries about me?”
“It is possible.” When he bent his head, she lifted her chin to receive his kiss.
As their lips met, she moved closer, and he settled his palms to her hips. But in a new and enticing maneuver she welcomed, he parted his flesh and teased her with his tongue. Following his lead, she deepened the connection, and a strange sensation shivered over her from top to toe, as she sighed into his mouth. Spearing her fingers in his thick brown hair, she pressed herself against his stout frame, and he tensed in her embrace.
Arucard cleared his throat.
Startled by the interruption, Dionysia stumbled back and tripped on a worn rug. Then she looked at her husband, and what she detected in his countenance emboldened her.
“Come, Aristide.” Arucard flicked his wrist. “We have much work to finish before the sun sets, my wife requires my company, unreservedly, this eventide, and I am loathe to keep her waiting.”
“Later, fair Dion.” Aristide kissed the back of her hand.
“You may depend upon it, great one.” Rocking on her heels, Dionysia made a monumental decision and retrieved a broom but paused. “Isolde, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course.” Isolde smiled. “Yet I suspect I know what you want, given the brief interlude you just shared with Aristide, but ask me, anyway.”
Riding a crest of steadfast determination, Dionysia stretched tall. “How does a wife seduce her husband?”