The Modest and the Bold (9 page)

Presently, Constance
jumped as the swords whooshed towards each other and clashed. They
struggled. Fulke slammed his head into Richard’s. She gasped,
winced. Next thing, he was ramming his knee up into her brother’s
stomach and thrusting him away. Richard landed on his back nearby
with a groan.

As she snapped her eyes
up, pleading with Fulke to stop this, her ears pricked at the
things being muttered around her.

“
Like a mongrel triflin’
with its filched supper, this is.”

“
Eh, why don’t the bastard
finish him off already?”

From the tales she’d
overheard, and the glimpses she’d caught of him at practice,
Constance had acquired a good notion of how skilled a fighter Fulke
really was. But the reality was so much more daunting. Fisting her
hands in her skirts she watched as he paced, waiting for her
brother to composed himself.

The combat continued for
what seemed like hours. The opponents—faces now drawn and dripping
sweat, limbs protesting beneath weapons of a sudden too heavy to
lift—slackened their attacks. All deemed the fight was near its
end; the men could take no more.

All were wrong.

With a sudden fatal speed,
Fulke lunged low, bending at the left knee, the muscles of his legs
bunching underneath his stockings, and sent the point of his sword
into the side of Richard’s thigh.

Eyes snapping wide,
Constance cried out, surveying her brother as he growled in pain,
his sword point lowering to drag across the ground as he stumbled
backward. Looking up, she noticed the menacing glaze to Fulke’s
eyes as he advanced. Tears filled her eyes, distorting her vision.
Shaking her head she covered her quivering mouth with both
hands.
Oh, no! Pray!

Then he looked at her for
a moment, for an eternity.

Through the blurry wall of
her tears Constance saw how the hardness in Fulke’s eyes faded into
desolation. His fingers gripping the hilt of his sword relaxed
until the weapon fell to the dirt with a dull, metallic clamor. He
sank to his knees.

Bewildered, Constance
shifted her eyes to Richard as he straightened with a groan,
gripping his weapon in renewed vigor, and prepared to finish what
the other man had started. Her heart skipped a beat. Clearly, he
interpreted his opponent’s actions as nothing save exhaustion and
failure.

Registering how Sir Fulke
neither rose nor stretched for his sword as Richard limped towards
him, only remained gazing at her with that morose slant to his
eyes, Constance acted on instinct. Dashing forward she dove into
her brother’s path, her arms closing about the kneeling
Fulke.

His sword yet aimed to
strike, Richard growled, “Get out of the way,
Constance!”

Battling Fulke’s own
efforts to get her out of harm’s way, Constance dug in her heels
and shrieked, “NO! Fulke has not the blame! He did not seduce me!”
Richard succeeded in peeling her off of Fulke. She clung to his
prodding arm desperately. “I
love
him! I have
always
loved him! And if you do
this, I shall
never
forgive! Do you
heed
me
? I shall
never
EVER forgive
!”

Her brother did not
strike, only glared down at Fulke.

A ray of hope pierced her
suffering.

This ray disappeared the
instant Richard lowered his sword point to mere inches of Fulke’s
heart.

“
Tender your apology, sir,
for your offences against me and mine, and I shall have done with
this business.”

Constance held her breath.
Seconds ticked by, a minute.

“
I offer my regrets for my
offenses against you and yours, sir. It had never been my intention
to allow things to come about as they did.”

Richard at last lowered
his blade.

Knees quivering, Constance
released her breath along with her brother’s arm. Studying Fulke’s
grim visage, a coldness enveloped her at Richard’s next
words.

“
From this moment forth,
you, Sir Fulke of Norcaston, are stripped of your post as my head
knight. I bid you collect your belongings with all haste and depart
this place that no longer holds a future for you. As a guest shall
you be welcome here never again.”

As her brother had stated
his verdict, the mass about them quieted. It erupted again into
liveliness the moment Richard set his back against his former head
man forever. Heading for the keep he drug his sister alongside
him.

Contesting her brother’s punishing grip, Constance glanced
back. Fulke was already striding through the crowd towards the
gatehouse. Realizing that he was truly leaving, her mounting fear
of not being able to catch him in time produced a strength in her
never experienced.

Delivering herself from
her brother’s hold with a violent yank of her arm, Constance raced
to the keep, Richard’s shouts hounding her up the wooden stairs.
Heart pounding, she rushed up the stairwell of the Lady’s Tower to
her apartments. Retrieving her best leather purse she stuffed it
full with the little coin that she had and a few possessions that
were dear to her. Collecting her beaker of pot marigold oil she
recalled Fulke’s wound. Hoping to remember to stop by the still
chamber before she left, she rushed to exchange her shoes for her
riding boots. This completed she jumped to her feet and ran over to
her favorite cloak hanging upon a peg in the wall. Taking it over
to a trunk she tossed it down to the floor. Throwing back the
trunks lid she extracted a few garments and arranged them upon the
center of the cloak.

Constance was exchanging
her fine gowns for ones more suited for travel when old Judith
hurried in. Noting the distress in the woman’s eyes, Constance
began in a breathless rush, “I am going with Sir Fulke,
Judith!”

“
But, my lady?
Why?”

Ignoring the question,
Constance cast her green gowns into the trunk, gathered the corners
of her cloak and tied them together. Bounding to her feet, she
snatched up a girdle and belted it about her hips, attaching the
filled purse onto it. There were other things she wished to take
with her, like her embroidery supplies, but time was of the
essence.

Hefting her bundle into
her arms she paused beside her old nurse as she ventured to leave.
Setting her load down she hugged the woman to her breast. “Take
care, Judith. I shall miss you dreadfully.” Releasing the woman,
whose eyes were teary now, she added, “But I must follow my
heart.”

Old Judith nodded in
understanding and tapped the cheek of the girl she’d always loved
like a daughter. “Fare-the-well, then, child. My God keep you. And
that knight, too.”

Bestowing a smile upon
that beloved woman, Constance tore through the antechamber and
nearly fell over her two younger serving maids, Elsa and Ella, as
they came in. “Where is Sir Richard?” In unison they retorted that
he was in the great hall having his wound seen to by Ermine and
Hawise. Constance’s wheels worked. “Come with me, girls. I shall
need your aid.”

Their young eyes taking in
their mistress’s travel attire and the bundle in her arms, they
nodded, their eyes glittering with identical excitement.

Outside in the corridor,
Constance turned to one of the sisters. “Elsa, go to the stables
and tell them I require Star readied for me at once. Then go and
request of Cook some oatcakes and some cheese—a skin of wine as
well. When you have them, pack them in Star’s saddlebags.” She put
the bundle into the girl’s arms. “These things, too.”

“
Yes, my lady!”

Her arms now free,
Constance towed Ella along with her as she flew down the corridor
toward the back of the keep. At the southeast tower they hastened
down to the still chamber. Gathering a few things, she placed them
with care into a leather pouch. Tying its drawstrings she bustled
from the room, Ella at her heels.

Nearing the bottom of the
stairs Constance slowed and peeked into the crowded great hall
below. As the sisters had said, Richard was there, sitting in front
of the enormous hearth, Ermine tending his injury, her daughter at
her side, his wife hovering.

Spinning back to Ella,
Constance handed her the leather bag. “I design to bid my brother
farewell. But it might be necessary to make a hasty escape. Take
the bag out to the stables that Elsa might add it to my other
things.” The girl nodded. Twisting forward again, Constance took a
deep breath and descended the stairs.

As soon as Richard noted
her sturdy attire, Ella, a bag clutched to her bosom, racing past,
weaving through the mass to the exit, his agony charged gaze
hardened. “And what do you think
you’re
about?” he
demanded.

Constance halted before
him, an intangible hand squeezing her heart as she took in the
pinched look about his pallid mien. At his pierced thigh knelt
Ermine, her threaded needle in hand. At his back stood one of his
knights, prepared to hold him down. “I have come to say farewell,
Brother mine.” He surprised her when he whipped a hand out and
wrenched her to him.

“
By
God
, you shall not leave this place
with that
bastard
! I
forbid it
!”

Constance had no wish to
hurt her brother, but she had to be free of him as soon as could
be. As he strained to retain his hold she pressed down upon his
open wound. He released her arm at once, his shout resounding
through the cavernous hall. Taking a brisk step back she conveyed a
final good-bye.

Richard tried to get up,
his wife darted forward to force him back down. “Do not be a fool,
Richard! Let her go that she may no longer stain this place with
her foul self.”

Disregarding his wife’s
profession, Richard growled, “If you go, Sister,
never
can you return.
Folstoc shall be
locked
against you.
Forever!
”

Disposed to waste no
further kindness upon her ungrateful, heartless sister-by-marriage,
Constance dismissed her from her mind for good. Looking to her
brother again she willed the profound love she held for him into
her eyes, into her voice. “You always did right by me, Richard. I
shall always be grateful for this. But fate has decided that I
should depart this place. And I shall. I hope one day that your
anger is no more that we might be reunited, for after all, we are
family—brother and sister—and I shall carry you in my heart
evermore.”

Stepping to Ermine and
Hawise, who were identical in their mute, wide-eyed expressions,
Constance hugged them good-bye, thanking them for all their
kindheartedness and wisdom. Wishing them well she quit the
keep.

Skirts grasped high,
Constance bustled down the wooden stairs and across the ward to the
stables. Discovering her palfrey, Star, in all readiness, she
sighed in relief. Whirling to Elsa and Ella, she asked if they’d
seen Sir Fulke.

“
John took his mount out
to him a while ago, my lady.”

Constance’s heart
lurched.
Oh, pray, let me be not too
late!
Taking the reins of her horse she
mounted up. Settling in the saddle she said farewell to the
sisters, and prodded Star into a trot. Clearing the inner gatehouse
she urged the horse into a canter. Nearing the main gatehouse she
reigned in. Peering up, she called out through the darkness to the
man on the wall, “Did you see the direction Sir Fulke
rode?”

“
Yes, my lady,” shouted
down the guard. “He just rode into the south wood. I spied a glint
of armor as he crossed the stream at the shallow ford.”

Familiar with the spot the
man spoke of, Constance thanked him. Giving the reigns a gentle
whip, she ordered “Ride on!” and out of the castle they sailed.
Wheeling the beast to the left she heeled her into a full gallop,
straight to the south wood. It was full night, the wood darker
still, but she knew her way about it well. Maneuvering the horse
around trees she crossed the ford in the stream that fed into the
River Welland. Achieving the west bank she cantered along the
slivering waterway that sparkled below the moon, praying that Fulke
had taken the same route and was not far ahead. Spotting him her
heart soared.

Fulke knelt at the stream near a large oak, cleansing his
wound, striving to forget his insolence at having nurtured the
notion of taking a woman so above him as his own, to forget that in
doing so he’d destroyed a future that had been so bright with
promise.

Fulke grimaced, sighing
heavily.

At the sound of
approaching hooves he dropped the bloodstained cloth and stood,
gripping the sword hilt at his hip. One could never be too careful
when traveling, especially alone and at night. When Constance
trotted out of the shadows shock sliced through him.

Relaxing his fist he
released his sword. His eyes followed the lady as she brought her
dark, glossy palfrey to a halt not a foot away. Joy and dread
warred within. She furnished no explanation for her actions. “What
are you about, Constance?” It was too dark to ascertain the
expression in her eyes. But the confident lines of her countenance
in the fain moonlight alluded to her reason for venturing outside
her home, alone, in the dark. It was a verity that stole his
breath. Even so, no matter his feelings, he could not risk her
coming to harm.