Demetrius (Brethren Origins Book 2) by Barbara Devlin

Author:Barbara Devlin [Devlin, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B. Devlin
Published: 2016-03-13T06:00:00+00:00

DEMETRIUS

CHAPTER NINE

Christmastide at Chichester Castle featured a customary mass, a holiday festival on the grounds surrounding the great curtain wall, a Shepherds’ Play, and a huge feast, with Arucard and Isolde presiding over the celebrations. But before they opened the gates to the community, the family gathered in the Great Hall.

It was to Demetrius’s misfortune that he forgot the usual exchange of tokens intended to express affection. As he sat beside his bride, with his unwed brothers to his right, he cursed his miserable hide when she produced a tied bundle of garments.

“My lord, these are but a few items sewn by my own hands, and I hope ye dost find them serviceable.” Then she pointed to a new belt. “And fear not, as I worked the leather, myself, so it is nice and soft.”

As he flipped through the small stack, he discovered two shirts and a black tunic, expertly rendered. And the strap was remarkably pliable. Invested with a countenance of hope and anticipation, his wife all but bounced, and he cleared his throat, as he searched for some bit of comfort that might save him from the fray, because he suspected he had just committed a grievous error.

“Athel, my dear, forgive me.” He shifted in his chair and ignored the sudden interest displayed by his brothers. “Given the short length of our marriage, and the fact that we just returned from London, I forgot to procure something for ye.”

“Thou didst forget me?” Athel emitted a pitiable whimper.

In that instant, Morgan, Geoffrey, and Aristide fled the scene, and Demetrius cursed them as traitors.

“Now, my sweet lady, let us not put such store in material goods.” He gnashed his teeth, when her chin quivered and a tear coursed her cheek. How could he have neglected his wife? “Athel, never have I participated in the trade of gifts, and it did not occur to me that ye would do so.” Mayhap a logical appeal would rescue him. “Is it not a formality?”

“Thou didst forget me, and thou would characterize thy lapse as a formality?” Mayhap logic was insufficient. Downcast, she bowed her head, and he swore under his breath. “I should check the servants and ensure that everything will be ready for the meal, as Isolde is much in demand, and I promised to supervise in her stead.”

“Athel—wait.” To his regret, she ran behind the screened passage, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

Shortly thereafter, Isolde, casting him a piercing glare, strolled past, and he tugged at his collar. Then he noted Arucard’s approach, and Demetrius knew he erred by epic proportions.

“Thou art quite the glutton for punishment.” Arucard snickered, as he perched opposite Demetrius. “What manner of lunacy made ye think ye could forgo a present for thy bride, on this of all occasions?”

“Who told ye?” He narrowed his stare. “Thou were at the dais.”

“Aristide, as he feared for thy safety,” Arucard explained.

“Very funny.” With elbows propped on the table, Demetrius slumped forward.

“Brother, how many times must I belabor the point?” Arucard flagged Margery.

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