Unending Love (22 page)

Adalind fought off a grin. “Maddoc, I do believe
you are jealous.”

He looked away. “Call it what you will,” he
said. “But I do not like the way the man looks at you and wanted to remove you
from his company. Perhaps now he is conversing his fill with Willow and will
soon leave us and seek his entertainment elsewhere.”

The music began, cleaving further conversation
between them.  As the smoke lingered in the air overhead and the heavy smell of
roasting meat and body odor filled their nostrils, the dancers began to skip in
a circle in beat to the music.  There were two circles, one within the other,
and they shifted direction in time.  Eventually, the couples paired off and
Maddoc had the pleasure of whirling Adalind in a series of intricate steps, his
hands grasping hers, always touching as the music played. 

It was magical, sweet, something that he never
imagined to experience with something as foolish as dancing. Truth was that he
had never even been a casual dancer and, as he had told Adalind, only
participating in the event when forced.  But at this moment, he was coming to
think he’d been ridiculous for resisting something as sweet and sensual as
dancing, at least where Adalind was concerned.  He could touch her, greedily,
for all to see and it was perfectly acceptable.

Adalind was feeling much the same way as
Maddoc.  His bright blue eyes never left her, his warm fingers around her
hands, and he would twirl her hard enough to send her off balance and then
smile when she would giggle uncontrollably.  There were times she would pass
close to him and she could feel his face in the top of her head or the brush of
his other hand as if holding her with one hand was not enough. He had to touch
her with two.  It made her tremble, his close proximity and searing presence,
and she was coming to think that she wasn’t hungry any longer.  Food was such
an unnecessary thing when she could dance with Maddoc forever. 

Towards the end of the reel, the couples passed
within close proximity of each other, so close that Adalind ended up pressed
against Maddoc’s torso, her back to his chest, while one of his big arms was
wrapped around her.  It was too much, too close, and she began to grow quite
breathless.  I had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with
attraction.  She’d always loved the man, God knows she had, but now there was
something more than simply the dreamy ideals of a young girl.  Now, there was
physical element to it that his heated kisses had ignited.  The moment Maddoc
gently spun her around to face him, she cupped his big face between her hands
and slanted her soft mouth over his.

The middle of the dance floor was no place for
so lusty a kiss, but neither one of them could control it.   The reel dwindled
down around them as Adalind and Maddoc stood in the center of the dancers,
tasting of one another deeply.  Maddoc regained the last threads of his senses
and broke away, pulling her off the dance floor with him and making haste for an
alcove that had a narrow, angled passageway
that
[J39]
 
dead-ended in a privy.  It would become a
private haven for their purposes.

The angle of the passage was enough so they
could not be seen easily from the main hall; in fact, they were quite shielded
in the dark and private corridor.   Once Maddoc realized they were far enough
away from prying eyes, he backed Adalind against the dim and shadowed wall and
let go his self-control.   She fed his senses, in every sense of the word, and
he was without a shred of inhibition as he began to ravage her with his mouth. 
There was no more time for talking or dancing.  Now was the time to dig deeper,
touch deeper, than ever before.

Adalind gasped as Maddoc’s heated kisses came
fast and furious.  He was sucking the life right of her but she was willingly
allowing it, relishing every touch and taste. She was finished thinking all of
this was a dream; she knew for certain, as he suckled her tongue as if it was
the most delicious morsel, that what existed between them was real and solid
and deep.    

Adalind wasn’t entirely naïve to the intimate
relationships between men and women but her education on that particular
subject had come from the halls of Winchester where the lines of fact and
fiction were often crossed.  But she knew that, eventually, the man she married
would have rights over her body.  When Maddoc’s hand drifted to the swell of
her bosom and lingered there a moment before pulling away, she thought that was
an odd thing for him to do.  She belonged to him, utterly and completely, and
he knew it. Why did he not take what belonged to him? She therefore took his
hand and placed it firmly over her left breast.

“You may touch me however you wish,” she
murmured between heated kisses. “From the beginning of Time I have belonged to
you and until the end of the world, I will be yours.  You may touch me in any
fashion you wish and taste what belongs to you.  I will not stop you.”

He stopped kissing her long enough to look her
in the eye, great passion and great indecision in his expression.

“My sweet girl,” he cupped her face with his
left hand because his right hand was still on her breast. “I understand and
appreciate what you are saying, but the fact remains that I should not take
more liberties than I already am. In fact, I should not be doing anything at
all. If your grandfather found out….”

She kissed him, suckling his lips fiercely to
quiet him. “He has agreed to a betrothal,” she murmured. “In that sense, I
belong to you, but in my heart, I have always belonged to you. You
know
this, Maddoc.  You are to be my husband and I beg you to show me a taste of the
joy I will know for the rest of my life.”

He stared at her a moment before his right hand,
very slowly and gently, squeezed her right breast.  He watched as Adalind
closed her eyes, feeling his touch upon her, gasping when he ran his fingers
across a puckered nipple that strained against the fabric.  When he pinched it,
she cried out softly and he covered her mouth with his, absorbing her gasps of
awakening desire as he kneaded and caressed her breast.  

The bodice of her surcoat was fairly snug on her
torso but there was enough give so that he was able to pull the neckline down
and expose a bare breast.  Wrapping an arm around her very tightly so she was
pressed against his hard body, he held her fast as his hot, wet mouth descended
on a naked nipple.  Suckling strongly, sweetly, he was driven into madness as
she writhed and gasped against him.

Maddoc was in a haze as he nursed hungrily on Adalind’s
flesh.  She was soft and warm, so incredibly luscious, that it drove all other
thought out of his mind. He was about to take even more liberties, or at least
try, when a pair of very drunken guests entered the dark passageway, laughing
when they realized they had come across a very compromising scene.  The sudden
noise in the confined space was loud and startling, driving Maddoc and Adalind
apart.

Fortunately, it was dark enough so that they
didn’t truly get an eyeful as Maddoc quickly helped Adalind rearrange her
neckline, but the implication was enough. As Adalind blushed furiously, Maddoc
took her by the hand and plowed through the two giggling guests, knocking them
both down and not bothering to apologize.  As they fell to the floor, he simply
stepped on them.

Adalind stumbled after Maddoc as he took her
back into the smoky, stale hall.  She was still a little dazed, a little
breathless, reflecting on wicked sensations she’d never before known.  She
really didn’t know where her mind was, only that it was lingering still in that
dark and smelly alcove.  It was still back where the magic had occurred.  Before
she realized it, Maddoc had taken her back to the table where Willow was
sitting in conversation with the woman next to her. Willow caught sight of her
sister making a return.

“Where did you two disappear to?” she asked.

Adalind was struggling not to grin, blush, or
otherwise give their business away as Maddoc politely helped her to sit.  It
was a struggle to collect her thoughts.

“We were dancing so much that… that we ended up
over there somewhere,” she said somewhat haltingly, pointing towards the other
side of the room.  Not wanting to discuss the subject any further, mostly
because she wasn’t very good at lying to cover their activities, she hastened
to change the focus. “Where is Brighton? Did he leave?”

Willow was successful diverted. “He said he had
business to attend to,” she said. “What do you know about him, Addie? Is he
really looking for a wife?”

Adalind shrugged. “I would not know,” she
replied.  “Truthfully, I have only met the man four or five times in my life
when he came to visit Glennie at Winchester.  Glennie adored him. She would
always make such a fuss over his visits.  All I know is that he serves Norfolk
and that his father is Baron Cononley, Constable of Yorkshire.  Brighton will
inherit the title from his father.”

Willow was very interested. “A titled knight,”
she said quietly but with excitement. “That would please Papa a great deal.  I
would be Lady Cononly. How exciting!”

“Perhaps you should speak to Papa so that he may
bring it up to Brighton.  The Earl of Canterbury would hold much weight behind
such a proposal.”

Willow was thrilled with the idea. Eager to
speak with her grandfather on such a marital prospect, she feigned a sour
stomach so that Maddoc and Adalind escorted her back to their encampment.  It
was fairly quiet and dark but for the white-hot bonfire burning low and snappy
in the center of their tents, and Willow made the excuse of visiting David
because she wanted to bid him a good sleep when, in fact, what she really
wanted to do was speak with him about Sir Brighton.  

As Maddoc escorted Adalind over to her tent and
began the long process of bidding her a good sleep, Willow lingered at the
entrance to her grandfather’s tent.  She could hear voices inside and, curious,
she leaned in to hear what was being said.  A man whose voice she did not
recognize was speaking with her grandfather and as more of the conversation
became apparent, Willow realize that she did, in fact, recognize the voice. But
the words he was speaking were not the words she hoped to hear. It didn’t take
long before she barged into the tent. 

What happened in the next few days would change
their lives forever.

The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

“My lord, I appreciate that you would see me at
such an inopportune time,” Brighton said. “I heard you were injured in the
mêlée today.”

“I was,” David eyed the man. “I would be
grateful if you would quickly state your business.”

Brighton nodded quickly. “Of course, my lord,”
he said. “But I would preface my intrusion with an apology. I am sorry if this
is not an appropriate moment, but I feel compelled to beg a few moments of your
time. It is important.”

David was propped up with furs and pillows, his
aching head resting against a silk pillow that Emilie had embroidered.  He
wasn’t prepared to see visitors, but Sir Brighton de Royans had called upon him
and invoked the name of Norfolk so, not wanting to be rude to a Norfolk envoy
and more than curious as to the man’s business, David agreed to see him.

“You say you come on behalf of Norfolk?” David
asked. “I have not seen Hugh D’Aubigny in many years. I am surprised he still
remembers me.”

Brighton smiled politely. “Of course he
remembers you, my lord,” he replied smoothly. “All of England remembers and
respects the House of de Lohr.  Your brother is the mighty Earl of Hereford and
Worcester, former champion of Richard the Lion Heart, and you yourself are the
influential and powerful Earl of Canterbury.  You and your brother’s adventures
are legendary. I was raised on such tales of valor.”

David chuckled faintly. “Those stories have
grown over the years, so much so that I have come to believe them myself,” he
said, sobering. “What would Norfolk have of me, de Royans? A call to arms?”

Brighton shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he
said. “In truth, this visit is of a personal nature. “

“Personal? For whom?”

“For me.”

David looked at him curiously. “Do I even know
you?”

Again, Brighton shook his head. “Nay, my lord,
you do not,” he said. “My father is the Constable of Yorkshire, Baron Cononley,
a title I will inherit upon his passing.  My family seat is Netherghyll Castle,
a large and prosperous stronghold that has been in my family for four
generations.  My great grandfather and Henry the First were close friends,
which is how the hereditary title of Constable of Yorkshire came to my family.”

David wasn’t exactly sure why the man was
standing before him but he remained polite.  “I see,” he said. “I would take
it
[J40]
 
as a favor if you would speak plainly of your
purpose, Sir Brighton.  Surely it was not to recite your lineage.”

Brighton gave him a wry grin. “It was not,” he
said.  It was evident the man was formulating his thoughts. “I am, as you see,
an accomplished knight, as a senior warrior in Norfolk’s stable and successor
to the barony of Cononley.  It is for this reason that I come to you, my lord;
I wanted to be clear that I am a man with property and holdings. I am
successful, and I receive the full support of Norfolk.”