Lords of Darkness and Shadow (119 page)

Though disappointed, Hunt didn’t argue. He kept staring at his new sword, perhaps the length from his elbow to his wrist, and admired it.  It was a nice little weapon, purposely left dull at Tevin’s request. Hunt couldn’t have hurt himself, or someone else, if he tried.  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Cantia took her son by the hand and led him back to Rochester’s massive keep. Tevin kept pace with them, though at a respectable distance. 

Inside, the great hall was indeed filled with smells of fresh bread and smoke from the hearth. The servants were bringing bowls of food to the tables and the hall was already half full with senior soldiers and a few knights. John Swantey, Sir Simon, Sir Dagan and Sir Gavril were already seated and eating. Val and Myles sat next to one another, conversing quietly. 

Hunt raced to his usual place at the table and elbowed his way in next to Sir John, demanding to be fed. The old serving woman that helped watch over him was at his side, trencher in hand and admonishment for his manners on her lips. Cantia made sure her son was well tended before leaving the hall with the intention of changing her clothes.  In the process, she had lost sight of Tevin but gave it no particular mind.

The emerald surcoat she wore was slightly torn from her trip to the cathedral and she did not want it to tear further. It was a small tear, near the fastens at her waist, but she would rather put on a more stable garment. Strange she hadn’t changed it the entire time she was in her bower waiting for Tevin; her mind had been else occupied and it simply hadn’t occurred to her.  Leaving her son watched over by the older serving woman, she quit the great hall. 

The stairwell was dark and cold as she mounted it to the upper level. As she cleared the second floor landing, a hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist. Startled, she almost screamed until she looked up and saw Tevin’s dark eyes.  He pulled her into a crushing embrace, his mouth descending on hers with powerful passion before she could utter a sound. It was a swift action, brutal and overwhelming, and meant to conquer.

But she was a willing captive. Her arms went around his neck and she was vaguely aware of being picked up and carried into her chamber.  The door closed behind them and Tevin had enough presence of mind to bolt it.  Alone, in private, now he did not have to worry over prying eyes or impressionable young boys.  They were free to feel and taste only each other.

As he had done in the cathedral, his lips ravaged her, his tongue gentle, firm, experienced in her mouth. Cantia was his prisoner; his strength was too much for her to match so she surrendered to his onslaught, her small hands on his massive shoulders as he fiercely kissed her.  When his mouth left her lips and he nibbled hungrily down her neck, it was all she could do to catch her breath.

He pulled the top of her shift way, peeling it back to reveal a soft white shoulder. Cantia could hear him growl as his mouth worked her flesh, feeling the heat from his lips as hotly as if he was burning her.  He pulled harder on the surcoat and ended up exacerbating the tear. The entire coat came apart in his hands and he tossed it to the floor. The woman in his arms was clad now in only her shift and he slowed his fevered pace, taking the time to actually feel her flesh underneath the thin material.  It was slow, gentle, erotic.  He gazed into her eyes as his hands moved across her belly to hook around and cup her buttocks. His mouth descended on her again as he listened to the soft sounds of her gasping.

He was in pieces of armor which seemed to come off in steady rhythm. Cantia was adept at such things, having helped Brac on many occasions. She knew which fasten needed to be undone before the next piece could be removed and soon she had strewn sections of armor about the floor.  It amazing part was that she had done it whist Tevin ravaged her. When he was in his heavy breeches and tunic, he paused long enough to rip off his tunic and throw her back on the bed.

Cantia bolted up from the mattress before he could descend on her. Puzzled, he took her in his arms again to repeat the process but she balked.

“What is wrong?” he murmured, his lips against her face.

She shook her head.  Then tears sprang to her eyes and Tevin forced himself to bank his fires. He looked at her with true concern. “What is the matter?”

She looked up at him, the lavender eyes brimming. “I cannot… the bed…”

He didn’t understand. “I’m sorry, sweet, I don’t…”

She jabbed a finger at the mattress. “We cannot use the bed.”

His brows flickered with confusion. “Why not?”

She still had hold of him, silently pulling him around the end of the bed to the other side.  As soon as Tevin rounded the frame, he could see bedclothes strewn about the floor in the four foot section between the bed and the wall.

“What is that?” he asked.

Her expression was one of shame and anguish. “I… I sleep there.”

His dark eyes were soft on her. “Why?”

She gestured weakly at the bed. “Because it smells of Brac,” she said softly. “I cannot bear it.”

He understood, feeling guilt sweep him yet again. “Cantia,” he murmured. “I am so sorry. You are still grieving and I’ve been nothing but overbearing and forceful with you.  Forgive me, sweet.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide. “You’ve not been overbearing or forceful at all. Moreover, at any time I could have refused you. I’ve not refused because I’ve not wanted to. I explained this to you, Tevin… what I feel for you is completely separate from what I have felt, or continue to feel, for Brac. I cannot sleep on a bed that smells of him because it is a fresh reminder of his loss every time I breathe it in. I will never heal if I continue to do that. And for my sake, for Hunt’s sake, I must heal.”

Tevin sighed, pulling her head to his lips and kissing her forehead. “I shall have the bed removed if it pleases you.”

“I think that is best.”

“No more sleeping on the floor. You’ll catch chill.”

She smiled weakly. “As you say,” the mood between them, so passionate only moments earlier, had cooled. She continued to study him. “So is this the end of your onslaught for the day?”

His brow furrowed, somewhere between amusement and puzzlement. “Considering the circumstances, it probably should be, don’t you think?”

She put her hands on his face, pressing her thinly clad body against his bare chest.  “Nay, I do not,” she whispered. “I would resume where we left off.”

He couldn’t help it; his arms went around her and his want for her ignited full-strength once again. He was coming to realize his fire for her was very easily stoked. As she lifted her mouth to him for a kiss, he spoke softly.

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure.”

“On the floor?”

Her lips met his. “On the floor.”

Mouths locked in a passionate embrace, Tevin went to his knees and Cantia with him.  He laid her back on the mound of jumbled bedclothes, one hand behind her head and the other moving up her slender torso.  Her breasts were full and luscious in his hand and he was suddenly very intolerant of the shift that still lingered between them.  He pulled it off, indelicately, leaving her completely nude.  He gazed at her a moment in the weak light of the chamber, his breath literally catching in his throat. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.  Quickly, his breeches came off and he smothered her with his massive form.

Instinct took hold. Tevin kissed her so passionately that Cantia’s head swam; she couldn’t breathe with the force of his lust. His big hands moved the length and breadth of her body, hot and gentle yet powerful.  When he closed over a bare breast, she encouraged him. When his heated mouth finally descended on a taut nipple, she held his head fast against her.  Her body was wracked with excitement as his lips moved over every inch of her sweet, round breasts.

Since she was not a maiden, there was no fear when he wedged his big body between her legs. They parted easily for him, inviting him into intimate places.  Tevin accepted the invitation and plunged deeply into her, listening to her gasps of pleasure.  Gathering her up in his arms to both hold her close and to support his enormous weight, he began his measured thrusts into her sweet body, overwhelmed by the smell and feel of her. She was slick and tight. Never in his life had he experienced anything so wonderful; never in his life had he expected to.  But the lady cradled in his arms was just this side of heaven.  He savored every thrust, every withdrawal, feeling her body draw him in deeper and deeper.

His mouth reclaimed hers, kissing her deeply. He loved the taste of her. Cantia’s hands were on his hard buttocks, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his flesh.  In the throes of her passion, she drew blood, causing Tevin to spill himself deep inside her. The frenzied pleasure-pain had been too much for him to take and it was a wicked enjoyment he experienced.  Even after he savored his release, he continued to move in her. There was far too much fire and passion for him not to continue lingering over the deliciousness of their union.  He continued to move in her, to kiss her, long into the evening.  But at some point he did stop, and at some point, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

They slept soundly on the floor in a disarray of bed clothes that now smelled like Tevin. 

***

The bottle prison was black but for the glow of a distant torch that filtered in through the opening in the ceiling. Charles could barely see his hand before his face, which is why he had taken to sleeping a great deal. There was nothing more to do. Moreover, sleep brought dreams, visions of Brac and he found comfort with his son. But then he would awaken, realize it had been but a dream, and close his eyes to beg for sleep once again. He had no idea how long he had been in the pit. Long enough, however, for his madness to grow.

Since the prison was so silent, the sounds of footsteps immediately roused him from his stupor. It was like hammer sounds in the deep. He leapt to his feet, unsteadily, straining to see who it was that approached from above.  After a moment, he could see a face looming in the darkness but could not make out any features. His heart began to race.

“Who is it?” he demanded. “Announce yourself.”

“It is Dagan, my lord,” the knight lowered his face so that Charles could see clear his features. “I came to see how you are faring.”

Charles looked up at the knight in the hole, recognizing him as one of the knights who had imprisoned him.

“I am still in my own dungeon, fool. How would you be?”

Dagan lifted an eyebrow. “My lord, I suggested the last time I saw you that a display of good behavior could possibly see you released from your confinement.”

Charles put his hands on his hips. “Are you in charge of my dungeons now?”

“Lord Tevin has given assignments to his men. I hold the dungeons and the gate house.”

“Then let me out.”

“I cannot, my lord. Not without orders.”

A food basket came down to him, lowered by a rope. Charles ignored it for a few moments, thinking to make a statement, but reconsidered when he realized how hungry he was.  He did not know when last he ate. He grabbed the bread and mutton and chewed noisily. The basket was reeled back up.

“Did you consider my offer?” he called up to Dagan.

The knight knelt beside the opening. “What offer is that, my lord?”

“My son’s wife for my freedom.”

Dagan’s attention lingered on the old man below. He was half-hoping to hear the question, half-hoping he would not. Truth be told, he was struggling. Dagan was an honorable knight, but he was also growing old and fewer opportunities were presenting themselves. Though the offer came from a madman, still, he could not completely discount it.  He had actually allowed himself to entertain it and felt like a devil for doing so.

“I have not, my lord,” he lied.

“Why not?”

“Because it is not reasonable, nor is it possible.”

“But it is. Rochester, and my son’s widow, belongs to me. They are mine to do with as I please, and I would offer Lady Cantia to you in exchange for my freedom.”

Dagan sighed heavily. “Though your offer is generous, I cannot seriously consider it. In the first place, to release you from this prison would be in direct violation of my liege’s order. Secondly, the lady and I would have nowhere to go. I do not have property and I would surely have to take her from this place.”

“But
she
has property,” Charles stopped chewing when he realized he might actually be able to bargain himself from this hell. “Her father left her two manors. They would belong to you if you married her.”

“And where are these magnificent homes?”

“Gillingham is a fortified home to the west and Darland is another home a few miles to the southwest. They are wealthy holdings with grain and sheep production.”

It was odd how Charles did not sound so much like a madman at all when discussing his daughter-in-law’s holdings.  Still, Dagan was not convinced. He was filled with guilt for even listening to the offer, but there was selfishness in him. He was almost forty years old and had nothing to show for it. A beautiful widow and her lands would be a small price to pay for disobeying his liege. Moreover, he could declare himself an independent lord with such wealth through marriage to Penden’s widow.  These were desperate times. He had to take what he could.