The Modest and the Bold (3 page)

Boneless, contented,
Constance barely noted Sir Fulke’s lethargic abandonment of her
body. When Adele pressed her to lie down upon her side, Constance
complied. The young woman jumped to her feet and ambled around her
to have an additional go with the knight. Constance simply surveyed
them through heavy-lidded eyes. Adele pushed Sir Fulke down upon
his back that she might straddle him. As she rode him wildly,
Adele’s glistening sex consuming the knight’s rod over and over,
Constance’s body began to hum with lust once more.

Following their rapid
climax, and they lay catching their breath, Constance admired Sir
Fulke’s stones hanging below Adele’s spread derriere. They appeared
large and heavy. She conceived how they would feel cradled in her
hand.

“
Eh! Do you have to go so
soon?”

The serving maid’s pretty
whining ripped Constance from her erotic fancying. Sitting up, she
retrieved and donned her chemise. Now that the heat of the moment
was gone, and she sat so undressed, she was revisited by her
earlier discomfiture. After the pair rose Adele stroked his flaccid
member. The knight blushed and removed her hand from his
sex.

“
What?” Adele asked. Sir
Fulke sent an uncomfortable glance in their lady’s direction. She
laughed. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re awkward in front of her
ladyship, sir—particularly after you made her squeal like any
other.”

“
Enough,
Adele.”

Constance’s cheeks burning
at the young woman’s crude remark, she appreciated the knight’s
order.

Adele shrugged and donned
her things. Sir Fulke, once clothed and shod, extended Constance a
stiff bow and Adele a hard look, though he whispered something to
her. Then he was gone.

After Constance donned the
remainder of her attire, she asked in a gentle voice, “Is Sir Fulke
angry?”

Adele was tidying her
hair. “Angry? Mayhap in the beginning, but once he saw
these
—”—She tweaked her
ladyship’s nipples through her clothing, making her go scarlet—“—he
was lost.” Shaking her head, she linked her arm through her lady’s.
“I mean no harm, milady. It’s all in good fun.”

Nodding, Constance
replied, “I am unused to such behavior, is all.”

“
And well you should be,
being a lady and all. Worry not, milady—it shall be our secret.”
Pulling her arm free, Adele headed for the door. “I shall go first,
milady; wouldn’t want anyone thinkin’ you’ve been up to anything
unsavory with o’ Adele here.” With a mischievous flash of teeth she
was gone.

Adele’s concern for her
reputation had been for not, for Constance had come to the old
Norman hall by way of an underground passage that ran between it
and the keep’s cellar. She and Richard had discovered it as
children.

Backing away from the
door, Constance raced over to the rush mat employed to disguise the
trapdoor. Lifting the mat, which was attached to the door, she
descended the steps and locked the door above her. Taking the rush
light she’d left burning in the iron wall bracket, she trekked back
to the keep. It was a good tramp, for her pace slackened as she
ruminated upon everything she’d just experienced. Since first she’d
set eyes on the swarthy knight she’d fantasized about him. But the
real thing had been
so much
better! True, he hadn’t entered her body or even
kissed her, but what he
had
done had proved beyond what she could have ever
hoped for. It was enough.

As
head knight at Folstoc, and Richard de Molineaux’s most trusted
man, Fulke was afforded a place above the salt during mealtimes,
and more significantly, a seat at the man’s own side. At present,
he sat struggling to focus on the excellent capon in quince sauce.
He failed over and over as his thoughts persisted on drifting back
to what had transpired in the old Norman hall. Initially, several
factors of the situation had made him cringe: Besides his desire
not to lay with anyone save Adele, there was the fact that, had it
been otherwise, Lady Constance wouldn’t have been one to attract
him much, but most importantly, she was his Lord’s own widowed
sister. In the end, even this had not signified, for once the
luscious Adele had gotten his blood sweltering in his veins, and
he’d gotten a good look at the Lady Constance undressed, he’d been
unable to deny that her large breasts were anything except
divine.

Fulke hardened.

Pushing away his trencher
in disgust Fulke took up his tankard and drained his wine. The
admirer of fine living that he was, the imported beverage from
Bordeaux served as a blatant reminder of how jeopardizing his
actions that day could be to his precious position if they were
discovered.

Rising his cup to be
refilled by one of the household pages, Fulke was staring at his
half-eaten capon when the boy’s fine sleeve skimmed along his
wrist. At once, Fulke recalled the Lady Constance’s silken skin.
He’d never touched a lady let alone bedded one. The incredible
suppleness of her breasts would have sent him toppling over the
brink into total ecstasy had he not been such a master of his
passion. Even now, his member throbbed as he recalled how smooth
her flesh had been beneath his hardened hands. And her sent! The
unexpected clean, spicy odor that had wafted up from her had
entranced his senses, so much so that he’d been powerless to quell
the impulse to bury his face into the lady’s most intimate
parts.

Scowling, Fulke tipped
back his goblet and drank down its contents. He hoped Adele could
meet him that eve, for he now realized that he was going to have to
fuck himself free of the strangely enticing memory of Lady
Constance.

Setting his empty tankard
down, Fulke rose brusquely. Next to him, Sir Richard peered up with
questioning eyes. “Pray excuses me, sir. There is something I must
see to.”

“
But you’ve barely touched
your trencher, Fulke.”

Stepping over the bench,
Fulke sent a cursory glance in the Lady Constance’s direction. “I
find my appetite has deserted me, sir.” Bowing in respect, he quit
the dais and departed the keep all together.

* * *

A master at affecting
indifference Constance might be, but it took all her will not to
visibly mind Sir Fulke’s abrupt leave-taking just now. Had it been
any other day she would have linked his keenness to be gone with
some matter pertaining to his position or some such. But after what
had occurred between them earlier, she could not help wonder if,
contrary to what Adele might think, the incident had disturbed him
enough to ruin his robust appetite.

Only after the knight had
withdrew from the great hall did Constance allowed her gaze to lift
from her trencher. As she took a bite of her blancmanger, her
sister-by-marriage, Béatrix, who sat at her right, sighed as she
speared a slice of capon.

“
How you can countenance
such rudeness, Richard, is beyond me.”

Past the lady, whose
golden beauty and classical features were undiminished by her
pique, Constance heard her brother answer her habitual unkindness
with his usual patience.

“
Sir Fulke is simply
battle-hardened, my dear. And who better to safeguard our home than
one who is experienced in combat rather than the niceties of
genteel living?” Richard de Molineaux was every bit as tall and fit
and dark of hair and eyes as his head knight, but where Sir Fulke’s
reserve made his appearance a shade darker, Richard’s dark hair and
eyes were brightened by his kind nature and ready smile, overlaying
them with a warm glow that lessened the severity of their
hue.

Beside the warmhearted
Richard, the cruel, shallow Béatrix offered a rejoinder that was no
less icy than her initial comment. “Well, I suppose you are right.
It still does not make the man’s uncivility any easier to
withstand.”

Granting Constance had not
liked her brother’s wife from the off, her strict upbringing had
forbidden her to act in any way unkind to the woman. Nevertheless,
these current comments about Sir Fulke caused the accounts of her
stomach to sour. Setting her spoon down gingerly, she pushed back
her chair and rose. “Brother, Sister. I must beg leave—I
am…
unwell
of a
sudden.” Richard readily excused her, ordering her to stay to her
chamber till she felt herself again. Béatrix, conversely, said
nothing. Constance was glad, fearing something along the lines of
what she truly thought of her might slip past her lips.

Leaving the hall Constance
ascended the stairwell to the corridor that led straight to the
Lady’s Tower. Achieving her chamber she sat herself in the window
recess and threw open the wooden shutters. It was late summer, but
the breeze was cool enough to calm her roiling stomach. Somewhat
relieved, she set her head back against the stone of the recess.
For a few minutes she simply gazed out at nothing in particular.
Spotting Sir Fulke down in the practice yard in the outer ward she
sat up, craning her neck to get a better glimpse of him. He’d taken
off his long-sleeve cote and stood in a sleeveless shirt, a weapon
in his right hand, its long blade glinting in the sun. His
solitude, she surmised, was due to the fact that most of the men
and squires and pages were yet at table. When he began hacking away
at the nearby quintain post, she was reminded of the ferocious
manner he’d hammered himself into Adele. Her nether region heated
as she remembered the sensuous roughness of his calloused hands and
the sinful skill of his mouth, the spellbinding resonance of his
groans. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm the nascent lust by
pushing the erotic reminiscences from her mind.

Just then, Judith ambled
in.

“
My lady, Sir Richard said
you’ve taken ill.”

Swallowing, Constance
smiled awkwardly, hoping the old woman would not heed the burning
in her face. “Only a little, Judith. Nothing you need worry over.
If you fetch my needlework, I would sit here a while. Mayhap I will
feel better once the fresh air has worked itself upon me.” The
woman retrieved her latest embroidery project—a cluster of marigold
blooms, her favorite flower, upon the corner of a fine square of
linen stretched and secured to a petite embroidery frame—and the
basket holding her many silk threads and tools. Constance thanked
her and settled further into the comfortable cushions she and her
late mother (the loss of her husband had proved too great upon her
declining constitution and she’d soon followed him to the grave)
had created together prior to her death.

Her needle threaded with
the preferred aurnola dyed silk thread, Constance resumed with the
petals she’d started several days ago. As Judith stationed herself
at her side on a low stool, aiming to assist her mistress in any
method necessary, and because the project commanded every ounce of
Constance’s concentration lest she pierce a finger or produce a
less than smooth curve, all thoughts of the virile Sir Fulke soon
ceased to plague her.

Hours later, when Judith
left to fetch refreshment, Constance set down her work and peered
out the window. As it faced north she could not see the sun.
Nevertheless, the mellow glow that bathed the western end of the
wards and the fields beyond the castle, apprised her that sunset
was not far off. Supper would soon be underway. She had no desire
for food, though, or to tolerate Béatrix’s crossness. She simply
wished to sustain the blissful oblivion that was possible to obtain
when absorbed in her needlework.

The distant sound of sword
practice lured Constance out from this peaceful abyss.

The midday meal long
concluded, Sir Fulke was now surrounded by several squires. She
could not hear what he said, but it was clear by the demonstrative
manner in which he moved amongst the boys that he was in the middle
of giving them instruction. This deduction was further proved when
he gestured for two of his pupils to step forward that they might
display their level of ability before all.

Absently fingering the
stitches she’d already completed in her project, she watched as one
of the boys managed to best the other quickly. When the loser of
the pair stumbled and fell, Sir Fulke surprised Constance when he
hefted the boy up from the ground and set him to try again. Often
enough she’d witnessed a knight employ a cuff to the ear or a kick
to the backside to force an inept pupil to learn his lessons as he
should.

Pleased by this new
discovery of the man she fancied, Constance smiled to herself and
remained observing him with his apprentices.

At the sound of Judith’s
return, Constance dropped her eyes from the window and made as if
she’d been hard at work the whole of her absence. Pulling the
orange thread up through the taut linen she asked the woman if
she’d chanced to see Adele anywhere about.

“
No, my lady,” began old
Judith, pouring her mistress a cup of hippocras. “But on my way up
from the buttery, I overheard one of the hall servants say that she
must have attained Sir Richard’s permission to visit her cousin for
a few days in Burlefurd.”

Disappointment sluiced
over Constance at this unforeseen turn, for it meant that there
would not be a repeat of that mornings fascinating goings on—at
least, not until Adele came back.