Read Online Demetrius (Brethren Origins Book 2) by Barbara Devlin - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Devlin
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have thy word, as a noble knight of His Majesty, ye will not violate me, against my will? Rather, thou wilt permit me to name the date of the consummation, when I am ready, given I suspect ye will reach that point before I.”
“Thou dost not trust me?” He tried but failed to ignore the insult. “Have I given ye reason to doubt me?”
“If we speak in candor, Demetrius, dost thou trust me?” Shifting, she rolled onto her side. “Prithee, I require thy honesty and would vouchsafe the same.”
“All right.” For a few minutes, he studied her, because his response could set the tone for their fledgling union and pact. “I want to trust ye, and that goal underlies my negotiations with ye.”
“And what of thy aim, regarding our marriage?” To his discomfit, she scrutinized him with equal fervor. “Dost thou believe in love?”
To Arucard’s credit, he warned Demetrius that such a topic could surface, as females were naturally inclined to the particular emotion, thus he composed a rejoinder in anticipation of the awkward occasion. Standing, as he desired distance, he unhooked his belt and doffed his sword.
“I am experienced with the benevolence of Our Heavenly Father, the endearment between a parent and a child, and the friendship which bonds brother to brother.” In that he did not dissemble, as he kicked off his shoes. “Likewise, I am entirely unfamiliar with the emotion that blossomed amid Arucard’s relationship with Isolde. Yet, I am not averse to it. So it is my hope we might find a comparable commitment.”
“And if we do not?” She averted her stare, as he shed his tunic.
“Then I hope we find mutual affinity, that we may enjoy a measure of happiness.” Clothed in his hose and linen garments, he pulled on the burgundy velvet cover and paused. “Thou should rest, as we depart for Chichester on the morrow, and the journey will be arduous, given the winter storm.”
“If thou dost not object, I would sleep in my modest frock, for now.” Removing her slippers, she blushed.
“I do not object.” In silence, he offered thanks, as he was not sure how he would react to her nudity, and he had endured enough surprises that day. So he sank into the mattress, positioned his back to his bride, and drew the blankets to his chin. A few seconds later, Athelyna situated herself behind him.
Gazing at a spot on the wall, just visible in the dim light from the hearth, Demetrius pondered the tenuous entente forged by two complete strangers and frowned. If his wife failed in her respective charge, they would suffer the consequences, as a whole, and that knowledge kept sleep at bay.
Indeed, he knew not what tomorrow would bring.
#
A vicious battle raged, sword clashed with sword, and an unknown champion protected a group of innocent pilgrims, beneath the glare of a brutal sun. With incomparable skill and speed the valiant knight charged numerous assailants, kicking sand in his wake and dispatching his enemies with lethal aim, until the enemy cowered in the shadows of the faceless warrior, but he was merciful. Anon, as he walked amid the bodies scattered across the dunes, the sweet stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and he doffed his gauntlets.
And then everything shifted.
The encroaching night sky signaled the advancing eventide, and the defender entered a tent. As he removed his armor, he revealed an intriguing mark etched into his flesh and barely visible in the soft light from the brazier. It was the Crusader’s Cross, black in color, and marred by a distinct scar in the shape of a jagged spike.
Athelyna jerked awake and gasped for breath. Confused by her strange surroundings, she rolled onto her back and focused on the decorative finial atop the large four-poster and mulled the curious vision, which mirrored previous dreams in both detail and intensity.
“Art thou all right?” Demetrius inquired, and she yelped.
“Apologies, as I
“Thou dost not trust me?” He tried but failed to ignore the insult. “Have I given ye reason to doubt me?”
“If we speak in candor, Demetrius, dost thou trust me?” Shifting, she rolled onto her side. “Prithee, I require thy honesty and would vouchsafe the same.”
“All right.” For a few minutes, he studied her, because his response could set the tone for their fledgling union and pact. “I want to trust ye, and that goal underlies my negotiations with ye.”
“And what of thy aim, regarding our marriage?” To his discomfit, she scrutinized him with equal fervor. “Dost thou believe in love?”
To Arucard’s credit, he warned Demetrius that such a topic could surface, as females were naturally inclined to the particular emotion, thus he composed a rejoinder in anticipation of the awkward occasion. Standing, as he desired distance, he unhooked his belt and doffed his sword.
“I am experienced with the benevolence of Our Heavenly Father, the endearment between a parent and a child, and the friendship which bonds brother to brother.” In that he did not dissemble, as he kicked off his shoes. “Likewise, I am entirely unfamiliar with the emotion that blossomed amid Arucard’s relationship with Isolde. Yet, I am not averse to it. So it is my hope we might find a comparable commitment.”
“And if we do not?” She averted her stare, as he shed his tunic.
“Then I hope we find mutual affinity, that we may enjoy a measure of happiness.” Clothed in his hose and linen garments, he pulled on the burgundy velvet cover and paused. “Thou should rest, as we depart for Chichester on the morrow, and the journey will be arduous, given the winter storm.”
“If thou dost not object, I would sleep in my modest frock, for now.” Removing her slippers, she blushed.
“I do not object.” In silence, he offered thanks, as he was not sure how he would react to her nudity, and he had endured enough surprises that day. So he sank into the mattress, positioned his back to his bride, and drew the blankets to his chin. A few seconds later, Athelyna situated herself behind him.
Gazing at a spot on the wall, just visible in the dim light from the hearth, Demetrius pondered the tenuous entente forged by two complete strangers and frowned. If his wife failed in her respective charge, they would suffer the consequences, as a whole, and that knowledge kept sleep at bay.
Indeed, he knew not what tomorrow would bring.
#
A vicious battle raged, sword clashed with sword, and an unknown champion protected a group of innocent pilgrims, beneath the glare of a brutal sun. With incomparable skill and speed the valiant knight charged numerous assailants, kicking sand in his wake and dispatching his enemies with lethal aim, until the enemy cowered in the shadows of the faceless warrior, but he was merciful. Anon, as he walked amid the bodies scattered across the dunes, the sweet stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and he doffed his gauntlets.
And then everything shifted.
The encroaching night sky signaled the advancing eventide, and the defender entered a tent. As he removed his armor, he revealed an intriguing mark etched into his flesh and barely visible in the soft light from the brazier. It was the Crusader’s Cross, black in color, and marred by a distinct scar in the shape of a jagged spike.
Athelyna jerked awake and gasped for breath. Confused by her strange surroundings, she rolled onto her back and focused on the decorative finial atop the large four-poster and mulled the curious vision, which mirrored previous dreams in both detail and intensity.
“Art thou all right?” Demetrius inquired, and she yelped.
“Apologies, as I
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