Mediaeval Justice
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DeRothchild – A Mediaeval Romance Ch. 02 free porn video
Three weeks later…
In a busy inn in one of the smaller towns in France two knights were talking.
‘Bad business with the Warbrookes and deRothchilds. That Countess of Warbrooke is -‘
‘A vicious bitch,’ replied his companion calmly.
Lowering his voice, the first knight replied, ‘I hate to agree – but you’re right. The deRothchilds are doing everything for peace but she just wants the exact opposite.’
‘And she’s a greedy bitch at that. Don’t blame the deRothchilds not wanting their thirteen year old sister to marry Damien Butterfield. If I had a daughter, I’d rather she be killed than marry such as him!’
‘So what are the deRothchilds going to do now?’ the first knight asked.
‘Rumours are they’re still searching for the children – their sister and the three youngest,’ replied the second knight.
‘Poor kids… the sister must be terrified out of her mind. They’re still going to make her marry Damien you think?’
‘I don’t think Duke Stephen has much of a choice. The Warbrookes are on a rampage. He tried to lessen the violence by appealing to the King and going ahead and marrying Philippe to Selena Warbrooke last week.’
‘Didn’t help, I take it?’ asked the first knight.
The other knight snorted and replied, ‘what do you think? The day after the marriage ceremony, Damien Butterfield led a force of five hundred Warbrookes and attacked the ducal castle.’
‘He didn’t?! That bloody bastard!’ exclaimed his companion.
‘It was bad. Many deRothchild knights died and I heard one of the younger brothers was hurt .. or dead, I don’t know.’
He opened his mouth to continue but was arrested by a loud crash. One of the young serving boys had dropped a stack of plates and was now being cuffed and loudly scolded by the innkeeper.
* *
‘Tony, Tony, get up! I’ve got news,’ the young auburn haired boy called as he hurried into the old barn. He found his youngest brother sleeping, black hair rumpled on the hay.
‘Saint, where’s Tony and Bobbi?’ he asked, shaking Saint awake.
‘-wha..?’ asked Saint sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
‘Tony! And Bobbi…where?!’ Ray nearly shouted at Saint.
‘How the hell should I know,’ Saint replied in annoyance. ‘I’ve been sleeping, haven’t I?’
‘Oh, you’re hopeless,’ said Ray in annoyance, pushing Saint back.
‘What’s got you all fired up anyway? And how come you’re back so early?’
‘I heard something today, at the inn. It’s about home Saint, and its bad.’
‘No – nobody’s dead are they?’ Saint asked in a quivering voice.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?! You said you heard!’
‘I just heard these two knights talking! What did you expect me to do? Just walk up and politely ask for more details?’ Ray retorted.
‘We have to go home now, don’t we?’ Saint asked softly, his green eyes grave and troubled.
‘Aye,’ Ray replied softly, his own green eyes reflecting the worry and sorrow in Saint’s. ‘And Bobbi has to marry Damien.’
‘Yes, I’ll have to marry Damien,’ said a soft voice from behind.
Ray and Saint whirled round to see Bobbi leaning dejectedly on Tony, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. And Tony looked on the verge of tears himself, his arm tight around Bobbi.
They reached the deRothchild’s lands a week later, the devastation and suffering they could see around them only made matters worse. They were still dressed in the peasant boys clothing they had used as disguise since they ran away and nobody gave them a second glance nor impeded their progress.
Bobbi rode on, grim eyed and unsmiling, her emotions under tight control. She knew she’d be a sobbing wreck if she allowed herself. All this was her fault, if she hadn’t run away, the deRothchild’s knights, retainers and serfs wouldn’t be suffering like this. And she finally understood Stephen and the decisions he had had to make. It was an impossible situation and Stephen had to sacrifice Bobbi for the greater good. That did not make him love her any less, it only made it even more difficult to make the decision he had to make.
As they approached the castle walls, they saw Luke supervising the clearing of burnt timber and rubble that has once been crofter’s dwellings. Annette was among the injured nearby, sleeves rolled up and hands bloody as she attended to the sick and dying. Bobbi’s rigid control crumbled then and she freely sobbed. Her limbs weakened and she slid off her horse, crumpling to the ground.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered to no one in particular, sobbing in sorrow and guilt. Tony came and gathered her into his arms and she felt his tears mingling with her own.
* *
‘One good thing at least came out of this last attack,’ Ronald said, then muttered darkly, ‘don’t know whether the one good thing can balance this out.’ He looked down on Jacques, pale and still on the bed, his skin damp and flushed. They had all gathered in Jacques’ room, loath to leave him alone in his condition.
Jacques had been hit by an arrow, which had barely missed his lungs. To make matters worse, he had been flung off his horse when a rain of boulders came too close to where he was, breaking his ankle as well. He had been unconscious for three days then the fever had started and he’d start to rave. That had been a week ago. He was now dangerously weak, swimming in and out of consciousness, sweating with fever one minute then racked with chills the next.
They were all worried sick about him. Since their return the day before, Saint had not left Jacques bedside even for a moment. He’d eaten in that room and merely pulled a chair, slumping into it when Maggie begged him to rest.
Tony, Bobbi, Raymond and Saint had been updated by Stephen and the rest about the happenings since they left. Philippe had married Selena Warbrooke and was now staying with the Warbrookes until they moved to their own home. All the fighting had been at Damien Butterfield’s instigation. Damien’s unprovoked attack on the deRothchilds after Philippe’s marriage had so enraged Hugo Warbrooke, the present Earl, that he finally took a firm stand, forcibly making Damien desist and personally taking charge of the Warbrooke forces and allies. He threatened his stepmother, the dowager countess, that he would not only disown Damien but also strip away whatever titles and estates given to him by the Warbrooke’s and put her away as well if she went on plotting with Damien against the deRothchild’s. But best news of all, Alexander Warbrooke arrived in England last week and agreed to the marriage to Bobbi to place the final seal on the Warbrooke – deRothchild peace. The marriage ceremony would take place tomorrow. If Bobbi and the rest hadn’t arrived home, Stephen would still have gone through with the ceremony with a proxy.
‘Bobbi,’ Stephen said gently, looking down at her sorrowfully, ‘I’m sorry, but you have to go through with this marriage. There’s nothing more we can do. I wish-‘
‘It’s alright Stephen. I understand. At least it’s not Damien,’ she replied with a sad smile. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done.’
‘He seems like a kind man,’ Christoper said, trying to sound cheerful.
‘Why, because he’s kind to his horse and hound?’ Tony said sarcastically.
‘Damn you Tony! There’s nothing else we can do. If there was, don’t you think we’d’ve done it?!’ Christ retorted in anger.
Tony glared at everyone and stormed out. Bobbi ran after him.
Ron gave a pleading look to his wife and said, ‘Annette, you’d better – prepare – Bobbi about what to expect of marriage. And .. and .. oh damnit to hell, she’s only thirteen, she’s a child! What are we doing to her Steve?!’ he yelled, glaring at Stephen.
Stephen glared back, then turned to his wife, giving her the same pleading look that Ron had given Annette. Maggie and Annette glanced at each other, both understanding what the brothers weren’t able
to say. The thought of their little sister in a marriage with a man they knew nothing about – and in a marriage bed with that man – made cowards of men who thought nothing of confronting enemies on a battle field. And Maggie and Annette knew this stemmed from love of their sister, the sister they had cherished and protected from any and all harm. Now they had to willingly give that sister up to the enemy who would have absolute control over her – body, mind and soul – for the rest of her life.
The next day dawned bright and clear and Bobbi woke with the sun. The marriage was to take place in the late morning, on the same field that had seen such bloody carnage only a few weeks back. All the deRothchild’s and Warbrooke troops would be in attendance. The King, Lord Chancellor and High Priest had arrived yesterday. They would be attending to witness and bless the marriage.
Bless! Thought Bobbi contemptuously to herself as she got out of bed. Some blessing this marriage is going to turn out to be. She knew nothing about Alexander Warbrooke except that he was nineteen, a knight and Annette assured her that he was good looking. As if his good looks would ensure the marriage to be a happy one.
She was storming up and down her room when her maids and Nanny entered, to get her ready.
‘Now enough of those dark looks my little Bubbin,’ Nanny said trying to sound cheerful, using her old nickname for Bobbi. ‘This is your wedding day.’
‘And it’s the happiest day of my life, is it?’ Bobbi retorted sarcastically. Nanny kept quiet and went on with the task of getting her ready like everything was fine. But every time Nanny looked at Bobbi, her eyes were dark and sad.
As they were dressing her, Nanny lamented at her short hair. They had had to cut her bright red hair when they ran away so Bobbi could be disguised as a boy. When Bobbi was ready, dressed in a rich gown of cream, reams of finest Spanish lace covering her head and shoulders, she walked downstairs where all her brothers waited. She looked at her brothers, with a pang realised that Jacques wasn’t there and stopped dead on the stairs. She whirled around and ran back upstairs, rushing towards Jacques’ room.
Opening the door quietly, she saw Jacques lying on the bed, a maid sitting on a chair beside him. To her eyes – or maybe it was just wishful thinking – his colour looked better. She went and sat beside him on the bed, the maid getting up discretely to give her privacy. With a gentle hand she smoothed his brow and was delighted to find it cool and dry.
‘Jacques?’ she called softly. ‘I’m getting married today, to Alexander Warbrooke. Won’t you open your eyes and wish me luck?’ When his eyes remained closed, Bobbi choked back a sob and laid her head on his chest, taking what small comfort she could from the sound of his beating heart.
That was how Stephen found her. With a sigh, he lifted her up gently from Jacques. ‘Bobbi, we have to go now. Everyone’s waiting.’
‘Alright,’ she sniffed, wiping her eyes and nearly ruining her veils.
The bridal procession arrived at the field where the bridegroom and his entourage waited with the King and Lord Chancellor by the side of the High Priest who would be conducting the ceremony. Bobbi looked up and her eyes were drawn to a tall, blond man standing in front of the priest. He turned and even through her veils she could see his blue eyes, calm and piercing, seeming to take in everything about her in one quick glance. She quickly lowered her eyes and let Stephen help her down from her horse. She clutched Stephen’s arm in a death grip, her other hand tightly held by Tony on her other side and they walked towards the priest.
When they reached the priest, Stephen tried to prise her hand from his arm but she only clutched tighter. ‘Bobbi,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘we’re here. You have to let go, Alexander is waiting.’ The panic-stricken look in the eyes she raised to him almost made him give in to his desire to take his sister and run as far away from this mess as he could. Instead, stiffening his resolve, he pulled her to him in a tight hug and said quietly, ‘I’m sorry Bobbi, I’m so sorry. You have to be brave my dear.’ Pulling away from her, he gently prised her hand from his arm and gave her a quick kiss. ‘Always remember that you’re a deRothchild,’ he said smiling encouragingly at her and turned away, throwing a quick warning glance at Tony for him to let go of Bobbi’s other hand.
Tony glared at Stephen then turned to glare at Alexander Warbrooke, gave Bobbi’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go. Bobbi watched them walk away with desolate eyes and drooping shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin and turned to face the High Priest. She went through the marriage ceremony in a daze, her eyes fixed on her clasped hands, barely hearing the priest and had to be called at least twice every time a response was needed from her. The high priest had to actually touch her hand to make her unclasp them and present to her groom for him to place the ring on her finger.
Finally she heard the priest say solemnly, ‘I hereby pronounce you man and wife.’ For a moment, her mind couldn’t comprehend the words and when full realisation came, she froze in panic and then her whole body trembled and she barely managed to choke off the scream that rose to her throat.
‘You may kiss the bride.’
‘Oh please God, take me far, far away from here,’ she prayed silently to herself, closed her eyes tightly and went perfectly still. She felt her veils being lifted, a pause, then a feather light kiss on her brow.
Opening her eyes slowly she saw an arm raised beside her in her line of vision. Without looking up at her bridegroom she lightly laid her hand on the velvet clad arm. But try as she might, she couldn’t stop the slight tremor in her hand.
‘Remember that you are a deRothchild’
Exercising all the control she could muster, she swallowed hard and raised her chin, managing to walk calmly beside her husband. Her eyes and ears registered nothing through the walk from the altar to the huge tent where the wedding mass and breakfast would be held.
All through the mass – which she concentrated on like her life depended on it – she was acutely conscious of the warm presence beside her. Thankfully, never once did he touch her nor said a word to her. She was in such a state of jittery panic, she knew she’d bolt if he’d done anything of the kind.
Finally the long mass was over and Alexander once again raised his arm to lead her to the breakfast table. Once there, through all the singing, music, acrobatic acts and other entertainment laid on for the King and the other wedding guests, she didn’t even take a sip of water, sitting beside her husband staring down at the table as if turned to stone.
‘Bobbi.’ She heard the soft voice beside her and her heart leaped in gladness. Getting up quickly, she bobbed a quick curtsy in Alexander’s general direction. ‘With my lord’s permission?’ she muttered quickly, grabbed Tony’s hand and rushed out before anyone could say anything.
Once outside, they quickly mounted the horses Tony had ready and rode away like the devils of hell were chasing them. They stopped at a favourite spot in the woods beside a stream and got down, Bobbi flinging away her veils and heavy overdress. She sat down, removed her shoes and stockings and sat with her feet in the river before breaking down in sobs. Tony came and drew her into his arms and she cried for a very, very long time.
Tony had brought a picnic basket along and they played, ate and frolicked in that beautiful spot in the woods like they hadn’t a care in the world. When the woods darkened with the lowering sun, they heard the sound of approaching horses. Tony and Bobbi looked at each other and both realised their brief borrowed time of carefree happiness was over.
~ * * ~
Bess
- 06.09.2021
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