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belly laugh.  “As I have seen Athelyna, she is nice duty, if one can get it.”
    “Then thou should take her to wife.”  Of course, he did not mean that.
    “Alas, I am in love with Isolde,” Arucard replied, with the hint of a smile.
    “Be that as it may, I am obliged not to enjoy the experience.”  Given his fears, he doubted he could physically manage the task, as a particular part of his anatomy had taken shelter.
    “Thou dost forget thyself.”  Arucard wiped a stray tear from his eye.  “As I explained last night, thou must enjoy it, to some degree, in order to conceive a child.”
    A knock at the door gave them pause.
    “Oh hell, it is time.”  Demetrius paled in an instant and swallowed hard.  “Come.”
    Morgan peered inside and cast a playful grin.  “Ready to face the enemy?”
    Once again, he tottered, and Arucard all but carried Demetrius to the chair.  To Morgan, Arucard said, “Brother, we have a problem.”
    “What is this?”  Morgan closed the oak panel.  “Didst thou not pay a visit to Matild, as I instructed?”
    “She hath a groat-sized wart on her nose.”  Demetrius flinched, as an image of the woman intruded on his thoughts.  “And she is missing two front teeth.”
    “Indeed, she is, and that is what makes her proficient in her most popular service.”  Morgan clucked his tongue.  “And wherefore would I care for a wart?  Matild’s reputation precedes her.”
    Demetrius snorted.  “Thou must know I am not entirely comfortable with thy lustful embrace of English customs.”
    Morgan waggled his brows.  “As they say, when in Rome—”
    “We art not in Rome.”  Demetrius smacked a fist to a palm.
    “And we art no longer Templars.”  Levity aside, Morgan said, “Art thou still going on about Randulf?”
    The room was as silent as a tomb.
    Morgan glanced at Arucard, and he shrugged.
    “Thither thou were not when he disappeared into the sea.”  Demetrius closed his eyes.  “Screaming for his mother, the lad went down with his ship.”
    “And, apart from the screaming, he would have it no other way,” Arucard stated softly.  “Randulf was a fine mariner and man, albeit a young one, and thy steadfast refusal to let him go doth no credit to his memory.”
    “Arucard is correct.”  Morgan cocked his head.  “But if thou art truly unwilling to wed the lady, I shall be too happy to take thy place, as the woman is handsome and the title generous.”
    Demetrius snapped to attention.  “She is my bride—already promised.”
    “And I suppose the earldom means naught?”  Morgan rocked on his heels.
    “I would have her without it, but the King gives me no choice,” Demetrius asserted without hesitation, as he coveted not wealth.  “His Majesty seems intent on corrupting us.”
    “Then wherefore art thou waiting?” Arucard inquired.  “Do thyself a favor, brother, and leave the past to yesterday.”
    Demetrius opened and then closed his mouth, as the problem was not so elementary.  After a minute, he sighed heavily and mustered a smile.  “All right.  Bring on the archbishop, for I am to wed.  But thou must promise me something.”
    “Whatever thou dost require, know ye shall have it.”  Arucard slapped Demetrius on the back.  “Now, let us get thee to the altar.”
    “Wait.”  Demetrius halted in his tracks.  “At the first opportunity, thou must help me compose a pet name, as Athelyna is not something I imagine myself uttering in the throes of passion.”
    #
    Fidgeting beneath the heavy folds of her wool gown, Athelyna prayed Sir Demetrius had been struck by some foul but not fatal illness, that she might be spared a most unpleasant wedding, until she could design another escape.  When the door to the Chapter House swung open, and her husband-to-be appeared, robust but less than enthused, her heart sank in her chest.
    “Well, it is about time.”  Gerwald shuffled his feet, settled a hand to the small of her back, and thrust