Chapter Nine
ARISTIDE
CHAPTER NINE
In late February , Arucard and Isolde departed Custaeton Hall, bound for Chichester, and Aristide fell into a comfortable routine with his bride. As chatelaine of Rochester, she thrived. To his pleasure, after the discussion in their bedchamber, when he granted permission to wear the veil, Dionysia had not once sported the offensive item, and he never questioned her on the subject.
Although they had yet to share their bodies, they spent most of their time in each other’s company, discussing plans for their future and their family, should they ever find their way in the marriage bed. True to his word, he did not rush her, instead persisting in a seemingly bottomless chasm of patience and regular self-indulgence.
As the days warmed in March, and his wife won the favor of their people, the love he harbored for her grew in epic proportions, such that he never let himself be parted from her. It was for that reason she sat at the dais, right by his side, on tribute day, when the citizens brought gifts in a show of fealty.
“Lord Rochester, I give you six bags of rice and three firkins of wine, in homage to Lady Rochester’s skillful management of the birth of my first grandchild and the next generation of Louvels.” The usually ill-tempered and suspicious landowner bowed. “God bless Lady Rochester.”
“Gramercy, Louvel.” Aristide’s chest swelled with pride. “Next?”
“Lord Rochester, I bring you five of the finest smoked hams in all of England, in grateful appreciation of Lady Rochester’s intervention on my behalf, with the widow Debacker.” Burci, a portly merchant, made his obeisance. “I am happy to announce we are to wed in June, and we would be honored by your attendance.”
“We should be delighted.” The image of grace and elegance in her burgundy gown, with her hair draped over her shoulder in a single, thick plait, with the now familiar diamond dangling from her circlet, she dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “And gramercy, Burci.”
And so another man approached the dais.
“Lord Rochester, I extend my services as the best glazier in England, in recognition of Lady Rochester’s attendance on my daughter, after a mysterious fever befell her, and her ladyship directed your personal physic to treat my child.” The glazier bore a watery gaze. “She survived, my lord.”
“How is Gille?” Dionysia leaned forward in her chair. “I should like to call on her but only when she is well enough to receive me.”
“With respect, our home is your home, your ladyship.” The glazier nodded once. “Your ladyship is always welcome.”
“Gramercy, Calmette.” Dionysia rested her hands in her lap. “Give Gille my regards.”
And so a steady stream of visitors made their way into the great hall, to bestow upon Aristide some benefaction of a sort, owing to Dion’s indiscriminate munificence. All the while, Aristide struggled with the most painful arousal of his existence.
As another sop infatuated with Lady Rochester’s charitable nature neared the dais, Aristide leaned over and whispered, “I want to kiss you.”
With a palm pressed to her throat, his delectable bride gazed at him from beneath her thick lashes. “All right.”
Flexing his thighs, he managed not to embarrass himself before the audience, but he signaled his marshalsea, just returned from London, to convey a personal gift.
“Hello, Markus.” Dionysia bit her bottom lip. “Whither did you find such beauteous roses?”
“They are an offering from Lord Rochester, my lady.” The marshalsea dropped to a knee and presented the huge bouquet. “With my compliments, your ladyship.”
“Oh, Aristide.” She cast him a soft expression, and he fought the urge to take her, thither and then. But at some point before dinner, he would have to shelter in the quiet corner of the undercroft and groom his one-eyed horse. “I should put these in water. May I be excused?”
“Of course, my lady.” With care, he handed her down the dais. “Hither I will finish the day’s work and seek your company.”
“I look forward to it,” she replied, with a coy smile.
Thus Aristide threw himself to the task, that he might calm the dragon in his breeches, but he could not focus. One by one, the tributes piled up, in professed admiration and respect of Lady Rochester. When the last visitor imparted his endowment, a maid halted Aristide.
“Lord Rochester, her ladyship requests your presence in your private chamber.” She curtseyed and skittered into the screened passage.
Curious, he paused in the entry to check the watch and then made for the master’s suite. In the solar, an assortment of trenchers and covered dishes sat on the table, and a shudder of recognition coursed his spine, as he had traveled that path, before. Inhaling a deep breath, he glanced at the closed inner portal.
Aware of the importance of the event, yet nervous, he prepared to knock but halted. Instead, he pushed open the heavy panel and found Dionysia standing with her back to him.
“You summoned, my lady?” It was then he noted her bare feet.
“I did, my lord.” Slowly, painfully slowly, she turned, wearing naught but her robe, which parted at the middle to reveal her ivory flesh and her enchanting triangle of red curls at the apex of her thighs. With a wiggle, she shed the garment and splayed her hands. “Prithee, great one, I can delay no longer.”
Riding a crest of desire impossible to deny, he walked straight to her, knelt, wrapped his arms about her hips, and kissed her belly. For a while, he remained on his knees, as she speared her fingers through his hair.
Then Aristide came alive.
Stretching upright, he carried her with him and set her on the edge of the bed. What should have been a prolonged affair, given the enormity of the deed, passed in a haze of raw lust, as, fully clothed, he positioned himself between her thighs, untied his breeches and brays, freed his longsword, and thrust.
Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he bent over the side of the mattress and flexed his spine, driving into her in a rush of enthusiasm mixed with vehement passion. Fire burned in his veins, his heart pounded in his chest, and the hunger, insatiable and relentless in need, spiraled beyond his control. When release came for him, it drew forth his seed as a tidal wave of bliss, and he heralded the remarkable occurrence with an incoherent, strident cry akin to the howl of some nocturnal beast. Moments later, after he caught his breath, he lifted himself to appraise Dion’s condition.
Shimmering like sunlight on the ocean, she framed his face and smiled. “Hello.”
The pedestrian utterance transported him into the past, to the night they met at Arucard’s wedding feast, as it was the first word they exchanged. And while the uninformed observer might think him unstable, he lowered himself and claimed her lips in a searing affirmation of their union. Then they burst into laughter.
~
On a glorious day blessed with a clear blue sky, Aristide lifted Dion to his saddle and then seated himself behind her. With an arm planted securely about her waist, he heeled the flanks of his destrier, and they galloped through the gatehouse at Custaeton Hall.
“You were magnificent this morrow, fair Dion.” With his tongue, he teased the crest of her ear. “And your bottom is a marvel unmatched on this earth.”
“Only this morrow?” Closing her eyes, she recalled their passion, as they made love in the solar, atop the table, bathed in the first rays of light that filtered through the lancet window. “And is my bottom all I possess to recommend me?”
“Ah, thither is your sumptuous thighs, the insides of which I could feast upon for hours, and your succulent lips, as you kiss my longsword in your special way.” With a single grasp of the reins, he turned her in his lap. “But do you know what tempts me most?”
“Nay,” she mouthed.
“Your arms, as you hold me when I make love to you.” And that happened with frequency, every morrow, noon, and eventide, since they consummated their marriage, much to her delight. “Are you sure you would not prefer to return to our home and take to our bed for the remains of a sennight?”
“My husband is insatiable, and I do so adore that about him.” With a giggle, she caressed him in his most favored spot and found him primed for battle. “Mayhap, if we complete our calls, and thither is enough light left, we could take our repast near the cliffs, as the view is spectacular and the privacy is adequate.”
“My lady, just what are you suggesting?” he inquired with mock affront that did not fool her. “Do you believe I am the sort of man who would ravish his bride in a field beneath the skies?”
“Oh, I hope so.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek, and he chuckled. “As Isolde swears by the sea air.”
“My lady wife, I am shocked.” Yet he pinched her arse through her wool skirt, and she squealed. “Have you conspired to seduce me?”
“Of course.” She shrugged, as he howled with laughter. “It is my duty, first and foremost, and I am your most dedicated servant.”
“Indeed, you are dedicated and most able.” As they reached the first residence on her list, he drew the horse to a halt and dismounted. “The roof on the abode requires mending.”
“And the fireplace needs repairing.” At the door, she knocked. “Now do not fidget, as you give the impression you are bored, and I would not offend them.”
“Aye, Lady Rochester.” He rolled his eyes, and she swatted him.
For the better portion of the morning, they paid call on the less fortunate of Rochester, assessing hardship and deprivation, and making arrangements to provide assistance. While she washed dishes at a particular stop, he set fire to the waste. At another appointment, she swept the tiny, single room residence, while he helped the patriarch mend a fence.
As the sun sat high overhead, Dionysia shielded her vision from the bright rays. “My lord, if we cut through the meadow, we can be at the cliffs sooner as opposed to later, and pleasure awaits the devoted.”
Flicking the reins, Aristide responded, “ Yaa .”
In the changing seasons, the once barren countryside of winter yielded to the green grass and colorful blooms of spring. Amid nature’s splendor, she directed him to a quiet, sheltered spot that offered expansive views of the confluence of the Medway and the Thames.
“Let us break our return ride home, hither.” She kissed his neck. “And mayhap you will think of some entertainment to pass the time, unless our duties have sapped your strength, and you are not up to it.”
“Believe me, I am up to it.” He handed her down and untied the provisions. “Whither should I spread the blanket?”
“It is flatter near the edge of the embankments, and the outcrop will shield us from unwanted attention.” From a sack, she unpacked a large, leather flagon of wine, bread, chunks of cheese, strips of dried beef, and fruit. “My lord, that is lovely. Shall we take our ease?”
“Fair Dion, we work better together.” Her beauteous spouse stretched across the cover, as she fed him a plump grape. “In fact, I should take you with me in all matters of business, because you know how to talk to people and win them to your way of thinking, which is invaluable.”
“I would love that, as I wish to be of use.” Indeed, they had grown as a couple in the months since their wedding, and never had she known such happiness. “And I do appreciate your efforts during my calls, as you performed the work of which I am physically unable.”
“We are a pair, are we not?” In a familiar strategy she adored, he nipped her fingertips, then grabbed the hair at her nape and drew her near for a kiss.
With a hint of derring-do, she shoved Aristide onto his back and wrenched open his breeches and braes. Hiking her skirts, she straddled his hips and lowered herself, taking his flesh deep within hers. As an unbroken horse, she rode him, hard and fast, as he buried his face in her bosom and gripped her bare bottom.
Passion ignited and exploded, hurtling her into the storm. Rocking in time with his grunts of encouragement, she drove him to the brink of euphoria, only to arrest the interlude, that she might draw out the moment and intensify the pleasure.
Yet his desire beckoned, as he gripped her hips, sank his teeth into her shoulder, and thrust, and Dionysia shattered.
Gently, her husband disengaged her and pulled down her skirt. Together, they reclined on the blanket, basked in the heat of the sun and their lovemaking, and drifted into the world of dreams.
Until someone kicked her awake.
Rubbing her eyes, Dion sat upright, came alert, gasped in horror, and shook Aristide.
“What is it, sweetheart?” He yawned.
“Well, well.” Atop his horse, and surrounded by six of his friends, Peneus gazed on her and leered. “Hither the fox finds the hen unguarded.”