The Modest and the Bold (8 page)

So,
she thought at present,
that is why
he has tossed me aside. And how the bastard’s ambition has
risen.
Recalling her generousness with the
lady, Adele’s dejection curved bitterly.
Well, we will just have to show the both of them, wont
we?
With her dark wheels revolving she
left the cellar.

* * *

As the news of the feast
had been announced promptly, it was no wonder that the great hall
was overflowing with revelers by the fall of night. Swine and fowl
and fish had been spitted to roast over outdoor fires. Cauldrons
and pots bubbled with stews and pottages. In the kitchens, the
ovens were fired nonstop as pies and tarts and bread galore were
baked. Upon the work tables, dishes, like molded jellies and peeled
and hollowed apples to be later filled with honey, requiring more
artistic handling, were prepared.

At the center of this
merry gathering was Constance, handsome in the dark green cote and
matching surcote she’d exchanged her stained work clothes out with.
As she ate and drank and smiled her small smile, what Sir Fulke had
spouted at her in the cellar slayed her efforts to focus on
anything else. Noting his absence from the feast early on, her
resolve to maintain her distance from him had waned into
indecision.
Had he spoken true? Had he
really come to desire her over Adele? If so, why had he suggested
that they not continue with their affair?

Racked by an all-consuming
need to discover the truth, Constance quitted the dais. Progressing
around the hall, affecting enjoyment of the scene of those dancing
to the gay tunes produced by the likewise hopping castle minstrels,
she exited the keep. Floating down into the ward, a breeze tugged
at her fine linen veil and wimple dyed the same dark hue as her
gowns. She was not sure where Sir Fulke was. She figured to pursue
him in his private quarters first.

* * *

In the shadowy entrance
hall of the keep stood Adele, her eyes observing Lady Constance as
she crossed the ward to the gatehouse. Glancing around, and finding
none out, she crept after her. Entering the gatehouse she wound her
way up its torch lit stairwell. Gaining the landing off the
corridor where Sir Fulke’s room was located, she glimpsed the sweep
of dark skirts as the lady padded into that chamber.

Eyes narrowing, Adele
leaned against the curving wall of the stairwell, simmering in
jealousy, and waited to see what would occur next.
Well, the bastard might think himself well on
route to landing a worthier position. But the lady’s brother will
not stand for it
. A malicious grin spread
across her face as she envisioned Sir Richard’s fury once she
brought him the news of his lady sister being “seduced” by his most
trusted man.

Crossing her arms over her
bosom, she sighed.
If only Sir Richard
were here
now
…

Slouched at his table in nothing save braise, a cup and his
beer allotment jug near to hand, Fulke gazed down at the
embroidered linen Lady Constance had given him. Prior, he’d owned
only two things that meant anything to him—his courser and the
shell lamp that had been his sister’s. Fingering the delicate
needlework upon the fine square Fulke established that he now
had
three
prized
possessions.

The bright marigolds led
Fulke’s focus to the Lady Constance and the disgust he’d seen in
her countenance, in her
eyes
, when he’d tried to explain his
agony in the cellar stairwell. He sighed.
She despises me, now. Should have let her be since the
off.

His mouth and eyes bent in
discontent, he barely glanced up when his door opened and a vision
he dared not hope was real drifted into his chamber. Linen square
in hand, he sat unmoving as Lady Constance, her green gowns seeming
as dark as night, stepped into the faint glow of his lamp. She
kneeled in front of him, her luxurious attire, shot through with
gold thread, glimmering. Her eyes were probing as she stared up at
him. In that moment, he willed all his feelings for her into his
eyes that she might see the truth.

And she did.

She laid her cheek against
his hands. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head to her
temple.
She does not detest me!
Shuddering, he lifted his head a measure to kiss
her ear. Then he stole across her face to her lips. She sighed and
repaid his kiss in full. Wrapping his arms about her he pulled her
between his legs. Cupping her face, he devoured her nectarous
mouth, his thumbs rubbing across her moist, swollen lips each time
he loosed them.

“
Oh, Fulke,” she
whispered.

“
Constance,” he breathed.
Tugging her veil and wimple off, he latched onto that sensitive
area of her neck, his tongue swirling, his teeth nipping. His name
spilled from her lips.

“
Fuullkkee
!”

Rising, Fulke hauled
Constance with him. As she explored his chest with hands and lips
and tongue, he groaned, yanking at the ties of his braise to shove
them down. Naked, he aided her out of every single article that
concealed her flesh from his voracious hands and eyes. Getting into
his bed he knelt upon it, appreciating her naked form in the faint
light. All lush curves, pale, gleaming skin, and tresses about her
like a dark cloud, he decided that she’d never appeared lovelier.
Holding out a hand to her she took it and he drew her into the bed
to lay below him. Even as his blood seethed, he wanted to take her
gradually, expressing with caresses and kisses and plunges what he
could not say aloud.

* * *

The second Fulke slide
between her thighs, Constance arranged them around his own, gliding
her soft calves about their muscled hardness as he bore into her.
Bearing his weight upon his left forearm he snaked it about her
head, fisting his hand in her hair. His hard buttocks rolled with
precision as he kneaded her flesh with his free hand. Tears of
utter happiness and overpowering pleasure welled-up into her
eyes.

She arched in his embrace
as he raised her left breast for his hungry kiss.
“Fulke.”

He loosed her nipple on a
moan. “Constance.”

As she raked her nails up
his back to his shoulders, he sucked in his breath. Slating his
mouth over hers, tongue delving, he gripped her knee and sped up
his pumps, panting her name every chance their lips
separated.

An eternity seemed to pass
before the combination of his moaning her name and the steady rise
in the speed of his thrusts took their toll upon Constance’s
bombarded senses. “Uhhh! Fulke!”

His sweat-sleek body
slapping against hers, he bowed his damp head, his hot, shallow
breathing fanning across her flushed cheek. “Come with me,
Constance!”

Tightening her arms about
him, Constance sobbed, “Yes!” His hips pumped with savage speed and
the heat surged up to bloom in her chest, stealing her breath,
sending her over the verge into an abyss of molten waves. Gasping,
her sex convulsing, she wailed, “
Fuullkkee
!”

“
Constance!
UHHHHH!”

Fulke lunged into her one
final time, stiffed, and loosed a loud, protracted groan, his sex
erupting into her own once, twice, thrice.

Clinging to the man she
loved, Constance heeded their labored breathing, their sweaty
bodies, the odor of their coupling permeating the tiny chamber. She
alleged never to have heard or felt or smelt things more divine
than these.

When both of their hearts
beat normal again, Fulke raised his head and peered down at her.
Lifting her hands she swept his hair back from his countenance.
Because of the oil lamp she was able to perceive the tenderness in
his eyes, an expression she’d heretofore never glimpsed.

Her heart almost
stopped.

“
Evermore, Constance de
Molineaux, I am yours. Will you—”

Whatever he’d been about
to say was cut short by the brusque opening of the door.

Fulke was up in a trice,
using the blanket to cover her nakedness and taking a protective
stance in front of her.

“
What the bloody hell goes
here, sir? Who do you have there with you?”

At the furious voice of
her brother, horror ripped through Constance. Evidently, Béatrix
had not found the fair to her liking and had persuaded Richard to
depart early. But what had prompted him to seek out Fulke? Had
someone seen her coming into his room and reported it to her
brother upon his return?

Vibrating with fear,
Constance contemplated what she should do. The answer swooped in.
She may have always been modest, but she was no coward.

She shifted on the bed to
leave Fulke’s protection, his hand twisted behind to hold her
there.

“
Who I choose to lay with
is not your concern, Sir Richard.”

Constance’s lips parted at
Fulke’s biting tone, for he’d only ever shown him utmost respect.
In the hope of allaying the rising contention between the two men,
she disengaged herself from Fulke’s protection. Rising, clutching
the cover about her, her eyes rounded a measure. “It is I,
Brother.”

Richard’s eyes widened,
narrowed, and slid away from her. They settled on Fulke as black
slits then broadened to their normal shape, their brown hue taking
on a glassiness.

Constance yelped as he
jerked her roughly to his side. “Richard, pray, you do not keen—”
He was not heeding her words.

“
If you dared to seduce my
sister, I can only fathom what you dared with my own wife during my
absences, sir!”

Constance winced at her
brother’s mistaken impression of Fulke. Her eyes rounded, her lips
parted, when Fulke accorded the ultimate insult to Richard’s
vanished trust.

“
You mistake me, sir, for
another. I am not in the habit of bedding proud, unfeeling
creatures such as the one you call ‘wife.’”

Constance
gasped.

Richard cast down his
gage.

All present understood
what the act entailed.

“
Swords. Outside. Now.”
Richard ordered. Whirling, he yanked the portal open.

Constance leaped forward
and grasped at his sleeve. “Pray, do not do this, Richard! You do
not—” He ripped his arm from her hold.

“
Gods Eyes! Clothe
yourself, Constance! And get down to the keep. I will deal with you
later.”

For the first time in her
life, anger flared within Constance at her brother treating her as
a child. But the hot emotion soon melted into fear when the door
slammed closed and she spun to find Fulke dressing
himself.

Tearing over to him, she
pleaded, “Pray, do not do this, Fulke. We have done nothing wrong!”
His movements erratic, he seemed not to be listening. Then he
spoke.

“
You
have done nothing, but
I
have.”

Heart aching, brows
furrowing, Constance wailed, “
What
have you done that I did not
seek
?

“
And therein lies the
fault—I partook when I should never have dared. You are a true lady
and I not save a bastard.”

When he strode to the door
Constance raced after him, pulling him back, tears streaming down
her cheeks. “No! Do not go out there!” He raised a finger to wipe
at her tears.

“
Do you have so little
faith in my skill as a knight, then?” he asked flatly.

Sobbing, Constance pressed
her wet cheek to his hand. “Never that. It is only that he is my
brother, and you are the one who holds my heart. I cannot bear the
idea of either of you coming to harm.”

In awe of the unexpected
shimmer that came into his eyes, Constance was taken off guard when
he kissed her before spinning round to exit.

“
NO!” she exclaimed, her
hand going out to grasp air. Fresh tears flowing she rushed to don
her clothing. When she was yanking on her shoes, a distant metallic
clang sounded. She cried all the harder. Cursing her trembling
fingers as she closed the ties of her left shoe, she shot to her
feet and flew out of the room, her wimple and veil
forgotten.

Holding her skirts high
Constance raced down the stairwell and out of the gatehouse.
Shoving through the crowd that had assembled about the combatting
pair, she almost pitched forward when she gained the front. Under
the shifting lights of the torches that had been brought out, the
blood from a slice upon Fulke’s bare upper arm shinned. As for
Richard, Constance saw no signs of his being wounded.

Heart in her throat, teeth
nibbling her bottom lip, hands clasped at her bosom, Constance’s
eyes darted between the two combatants. Fulke made light work of
Richard’s further bids to draw his blood, deflecting each swipe or
lunge with a swift, lethal one of his own. Every chance their
swords engaged, Constance flinched, the sparking scrap of steel
upon steel working upon her nerves with a vengeance.