The Modest and the Bold (4 page)

Thanking Judith for the
spiced wine, she took a sip, set the cup down, and resumed her
work, setting herself, once again, on the path of
forgetfulness.

Fulke had just stepped out of his private quarters, located
in Folstoc’s inner gatehouse, when one of two passing men-at-arms,
on their route up for guard duty, mentioned Adele’s
name.

“
Still trampin’ off to
Burlefurd like a bitch in heat, eh?”

“
That young bull’s been
shaggin’ her since first she bled. She’ll not cease now merely
‘cause she’s got some prized courser mountin’ her every chance he
gets.”

Fulke’s cheeks burned with
humiliation as the two men sneered and disappeared into the
stairwell. Stepping back into his chamber he shut the door and
walked over to the open window. Placing an arm along the stone
frame above his head he gazed out beyond the walls of the castle to
the north, towards the village of Burlefurd. In spite of his having
known from the off about Adele’s intimate relationship with her
cousin, Symond, like a fool, he’d actually assumed that making his
sentiments for her clear would prod her to cease all goings on with
any other man. It was possible that the two men-at-arms were
mistaken and that Adele had not departed Folstoc as claimed.
However, as he’d not seen her after the midday meal, more and more
the truth sank in. Still, he would allot her a chance to prove them
wrong. After all, it was not as if he was her legal husband to
demand her loyalty.

Sighing in growing
disparagement, Fulke pulled off the fresh long-sleeve cote he’d put
on after coming in from practice with the squires. Collecting his
wineskin he lifted the strap over his head so that it hung across
his chest, the wineskin itself nestled under his arm. Then he put
back on his cote and left his chamber. A tough knight he might be,
he was proud as well, and he would shield himself from further
embarrassment using any tactic he could.

Like most of the castle
folk he proceeded in the direction of the keep, seemingly for
supper. But instead of making his way to the wooden stairs leading
up to the keeps entrance he passed the massive structure,
continuing on through the inner postern that led out into the back
of the outer ward. From there he marched to the farthest
extremities of that quarter. As expected, Wulfric, the main guard
of the external postern gate, nodded in respect and let him out.
Without the castle, Fulke took the usual route to the old Norman
hall, his step lacking its typical enthusiasm when trekking along
that path. Going into the old building he stationed himself against
the very trunk he’d fucked the comely Adele just that
morning.

Remembering it was the
same place he’d burrowed his face into Lady Constance’s nectarous
flesh, Fulke barked in ironic laughter. Here he was, fuming over
Adele’s possible disloyalty when he’d practically taken another
woman before her eyes.

Hypocritical
bastard!

Giving another bark of
laughter Fulke shook his head and took off his cote. Tossing it
back across the trunk he lifted the wineskin strap over his head
and plucked the stopper out. Lifting the pouch he took a
swig.

The hall grew
dark.

Fulke stared up at one of
the coverless windows. While nightfall had not completely fallen,
only a faint light pooled below the window. Sighing, he slunk down
further against the trunk. Folding an arm behind his head he lifted
the wineskin again.

“
My
lady? Do I go down for a tray?”

Constance was sitting upon
a linen draped stool, bathing her naked skin with the marigold
infused water she’d called for. Considering the current state of
her appetite she handed the wet cloth to Elsa, one of her young
serving maids, and took the drying cloth from Ella, Elsa’s sister
and Constance’s other serving maid. “I daresay a bite of something
would do me more good than not.” When the old woman nodded and
started off, she added, “Nothing too heavy, mind.”

Giving the signal for the
sisters to dispose of the washing things, Constance retrieved the
day old chemise from the trunk at the foot of the bedstead and put
it back on. As she did so she was reminded of how Adele had admired
its fineness and Sir Fulke its revealing neckline.

Alone now, Constance
collected the gold silk Persian coat her brother had acquired for
her while on crusade (he’d accompanied their father, who’d suffered
terribly under the sweltering temperatures of that eastern world
and perished after consuming contaminated food just before the
Siege of Acre) with Prince Edward prior to his becoming king.
Wrapping it about herself she floated past the window on her way to
collect her comb and happened to see someone walking without the
castle. Stepping into the window recess that she might get a better
peek, she recognized the tall man’s straight, shoulder length hair
straightway. The direction he was headed only served to cement her
belief that it was Sir Fulke.

Frowning, Constance
speculated why he would be going to the old hall if Adele was not
currently at Folstoc. It occurred to her that he might be going
there to meet with another female, but she dismissed the notion
immediately. From what she knew of the man’s character, he seemed
not the type to dip his wick wantonly. His earlier reluctance to
include her in his and Adele’s intimate tryst was testimony to
this.

Coming to the conclusion
that Sir Fulke was unaware of Adele’s having gone, a twinge of pity
stabbed Constance’s heart at the idea of him waiting in vain.
Trusting she should act before her nerve abandoned her, Constance
sped to collect her cloak. She was closing it about her, secreting
the fact that she had nothing on underneath save her chemise and
Persian coat, with a brooch when Ella and Elsa returned.

Never one for falsehoods
Constance answered the concerned glimmer in the pair’s eyes by
stating the truth without divulging her true intentions. “There is
something I must see to.” Hastening to leave, she said over her
shoulder, “Tell Judith not to worry—I shall return
soon.”

Despite the stairwell of
the Lady’s Tower being like all others in that it winded down to
the cellar level, it was not much used by the servants to gain that
lowest level of the keep. So it was that Constance, as before,
descended unnoticed. Taking one of the torchlights from its wall
bracket she hurried over to the corner of the cellar where the
trapdoor was covered by an empty barrel and pushed it aside.
Descending into the secret passageway she tramped down the narrow
stretch, the torch casting flickering shadows upon the walls.
Arriving at the end of the passage she set the torch in the wall
bracket there and ascended the rude steps.

As expected, the old hall
was shadowy except for a pale circle of light upon the floor
beneath a window. Leaving the trapdoor open, Constance scanned the
hall for the knight, but could see only silhouettes of long
forgotten items. “Sir Fulke?”

No answer.

She considered if perhaps
he reckoned it wise not to answer the call of an unknown. Padding
into the light beneath the window, she tried again. This time, a
dark, familiar voice floated out from the shadows. Her belly
fluttered.

“
And what, pray tell, is
so important that this
good
lady would pursue this
lowly
knight, and by secret means,
too?”

At the notion that Sir
Fulke might think himself lowly in the slightest engendered
Constance’s heart to break a small degree. “I…I saw you from my
window, sir, and supposed, mayhap…mayhap you were unaware that
Adele had gone. I judged it only right that I come to avail you of
her leave-taking that you might not wait in vain.” A chuckle
answered her explanation.

“
I am aware that Adele has
gone, my lady.”

Pondering why the man had
come to the old hall if he’d already known about Adele’s having
left Folstoc, Constance’s brows knitted. “Oh. Well, then I beg
pardon for having disturbed you, sir. Good eve.” Glad that the
darkness would hide her embarrassment, she hurried to vacate the
shadowy hall and Sir Fulke’s desirable presence. Before she
achieved a handful of steps, strong arms wrapped around her,
halting her. She shivered at the caress of his lips upon her
ear

“
Adele is not here,” said
that sensuous voice, “but
you
are, my lady.”

Constance’s sex swelled at
the meaning behind those words. She neither answered nor pulled
away. Again, he asked why she’d come. “I told you, sir—to make sure
you knew that Adele had gone, lest you wait in vain.”

“
That was very kindly of
you, my lady. But pardon me if I cannot trust you came here merely
for that.”

Constance opened her mouth
to protest, stiffening when his hands traveled up her cloaked arms
to her neck. With deft fingers he unfastened her brooch and hauled
off her cloak, letting them fall to the floor. He did likewise with
her Persian coat, though he treated it with more care, lying it and
its brooch upon the trestle nearby. One of his hands sank into her
hair, pulling her head back. He bowed his head and kissed the
sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. She sucked in a
breath. The delightful sensation tripled the second he tugged the
front of her chemise down and filled his palm with one of her
aching breasts.

Fisting a hand into his
hair, Constance rocked her bottom along the hard evidence of Sir
Fulke’s desire. He pulled up her skirt and snaked a hand underneath
and between her thighs, his fingers sinking easily into her wet
folds and deeper. Her knees buckled. He held her tight, tormenting
her with his mouth and hands, and guided her down to the floor to
settle upon a thigh and hip, his solid, hot form at her
back.

What ensued Constance
would later recall as nothing short of a frantic coupling wrought
with savage need. One minute, she was reclined against Sir Fulke,
mewling as he tortured her with his penetrating fingers, with his
squeezing hand at her breasts, with his heated panting in her ear,
and the next, her chemise was hiked-up about her waist, her knee
was pulled up to his chest, and his member was filling her as she
had imagined never to be filled again.

With greedy hands she
fondled and clawed him wherever she could reach, beseeching him to
carry on with the rhapsody he was leading them through. His groans,
steadily rising in volume, offered undeniable testimony of the
pleasure he was receiving. It all drove Constance
delirious.

The best prize of all
occurred as they reaped their supreme rapture together, for he
fisted a hand in her hair and seized her mouth in an unrestrained
kiss that stole her breath away. She shrieked as he wrenched his
lips from hers, gripping her to him. Her sex convulsed about his
member as it juddered inside her, pumping forth his hot
seed.

Gulping to catch his
breath, Sir Fulke released Constance’s knee and set his head
against hers, his arms yet enclosed about her. She fancied she
could lay like that forever.

For a few more moments,
they lay just so, waiting for their breathing and hearts to slow.
When he slide from her body Constance sat up. Dragging up the
bodice of her chemise she shoved down its skirts. “I shall be
missed…if I do not go now.” She shifted to rise, Sir Fulke grasped
her arm.

“
Come the morrow, prior
the midday meal. I will wait for you.”

Constance could only nod
as elation robbed her power of speech. Getting to her feet she
donned her Persian coat and tossed her cloak over her shoulders,
snatched up her brooches, and departed the hall via the same route
she’d come. Taking up her torch she nearly ran all the way back up
the underground corridor to the keep. Acquiring her apartments,
faithful Judith was there waiting for her. She beamed as she hadn’t
since she was a child. “All is well, Judith,” she offered,
clutching the edges of her cloak together. “Off to bed with
you.”

The following morning,
Constance endeavored to find enough to occupy herself with till
midday, to hold her nervousness at bay. This proved all too easy,
for in spite of Béatrix’s technical status as lady of the castle,
it was Constance who actually saw to the running of the household,
obliging Sir Galfrid, the steward, and Sir Ralph, the bailiff, to
approach
her
with
all their concerns instead of their lord’s wife. And Béatrix, being
the indolent creature that she was, was all too happy to hand over
the management of those jobs she considered “menial” to her
sister-by-marriage.

As Constance judged
Folstoc’s steward and bailiff could be trusted in their positions,
she rarely inspected their areas of responsibilities beyond what
was necessary. This freed up her schedule for other important
tasks, one of which was spending time in the still chamber with
Ermine and her daughter, Hawise.

Following her meeting with
Cook about the day’s menus, Constance took herself off to the
storage tower where the still chamber was located. Greeting the
mother and daughter upon her arrival, Constance ambled over to the
southeast facing window. Upon its stone ledge were stacked several
onion shaped glass jars, their wide mouths plugged with specially
crafted wooden corks. The sun caused their contents—previously
dried pot marigold petals and lanolin oil—to glow a dark golden hue
through their glazed glass, a sure sign that the infusions were
ready. She picked up one of the containers and gave it a gentle
shake.