Arucard (Brethren Origins book 1)

Cover Arucard (Brethren Origins book 1)
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Genres: Fiction
Arucard replied.  The simple phrase, stark in its clarity as it symbolized the depth of their union, had been Isolde’s idea.In what seemed an eternity, the drawbridge lowered, and he navigated to the tiny island.  As per his commands, the secondary traverse descended only after the first was raised.  When he rode into the courtyard, Margery and Pellier emerged.“Bring thy medicines, as well as the physic, to my chambers.”  With Isolde in his clutch, he slid from the saddle and carried her into t...he castle.  In seconds, he ran up the stairs and swept her into the solar, just as she woke.“My lord, we art home.”  A feminine smile graced her lips, as she gazed at him.  But soon he wished she had remained blissfully unaware of her surroundings, as Margery attempted to remove the chemise, which had dried and stuck to the wounds on his wife’s back.Initially, the steward tried to peel off the fabric, as Arucard sat on the bench in the solar, with Isolde facing him and astride in his lap.  Resting her chin on his shoulder, his valiant bride flinched and tried but failed to stifle her cries of agony, but he felt every one as a mortal blow, and he suffered each successive whimper as a stain on his heart and mind.  At last, mercifully, she fainted and fell limp in his hold.“Mayhap we should wet the material.”  Wiping her tears, Margery summoned the servants, who prepared the ancere for Isolde’s bath.  “Ease her into the water, my lord.  But thou must be careful to support her.”“Do what must needs.”  Kneeling at one end of the tub, he braced Isolde beneath her arms and kissed her, when her head rolled to the side.  “Perchance the physic should assist thee.”“Nay, my lord.”  The steward frowned.  “I have nursed my lady since she was but a child.  Trust my skills, as she will heal.”Little by little, Margery inched the garment from Isolde’s injuries, and then the steward washed away the grime and blood, revealing a foul sight he would never forget, as he almost vomited to contemplate what his wife endured.  Words could not describe the evidence of the earl’s barbarity, and neither could they adequately encompass the depth of Arucard’s rage.“Oh, my lady.”  At that moment, Margery pressed a clenched fist to her mouth and sniffed.  “Look what her father hath wrought upon her.”“Prithee, finish thy work.”  It began then—the lust for revenge.  The festering hatred.  In opposition to the gentle purity of his wife, a malevolent sickness infested his senses.  Unfurling slow and steady, as the velvety petals of a delicate spring rose, a foreign but insatiable hunger grew in his belly and spread, investing every fiber of his being until he could taste the repulsive malignance.  Given his faith and his oath, he should have repressed such dark inclinations, but he resisted not.  Instead, he reveled in the bitterness.  As an old friend, he welcomed the plague on his soul.  He embraced the malice.  Despite his long held beliefs, he would violate his convictions and avenge Isolde.“My lord, I am done.”  With a strange expression, Margery shook him.  “If thou wilt set Lady Isolde on the bed, on her belly, I can treat her.”Lost in a haze of confusion, Arucard blinked and assessed the situation, as he would not risk rousing his wife.  “Summon Demetrius.”“Aye, sir.”  Margery strolled into the hall but returned minutes later.“How can I help thee?”  Demetrius glanced at Isolde’s condition, compressed his lips, and swallowed hard.  “By God’s bones, Arucard.  How could any man visit such violence on a woman, much less his daughter?”That was a question Arucard no longer asked, as thither was no adequate answer.“Take her feet, brother.”  Arucard stood upright, lifting her with him, and she moaned, as Margery dried his wife with a towel.  “Have care,”MoreLess

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