He stared at her a moment, unsure if he heard correctly. He knew what she meant simply by the look in her eye. “Are you sure?”
“Verily.”
“But… Cantia, I do not want you to think that I am only interested in conquest. I do not take this lightly.”
“Nor do I,” she whispered. With that, she pressed her open mouth against him, her tongue engaging in a delicate dance with his. The blaze between them flared like a fire with too much dry kindling and, for a brief moment, Tevin was in danger of swallowing up her entire face. He couldn’t get enough of her. But just as quickly, she pulled away, walking hastily in the direction of her frolicking son.
Heart thumping painfully against his ribs, Tevin watched her go. He put his hand on his chest as if to stop the crazy beating. He couldn’t breathe. But she said she would be waiting for him in an hour.
It was the longest hour of his life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
With her healing ribs, Val couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position. The sling back chairs did not provide enough support and the benches were too awkward. The only way she could find even moderate relief was if she pushed a sling back chair against a wall and propped herself up with a pillow.
Ever since their return from the cathedral that morning, she had been seated in the solar in precisely that upright position. Though she hated needlework and wasn’t any good at it, she was giving it a moderate try. One of the serving women had given her a clean piece of linen on Lady Cantia’s old frame and several colors of silk thread. So, like a true lady, Val was attempting to do something other than shoot arrows and thrust swords. Truth was that she couldn’t do much else.
It was turning out to be a horrendous piece of work over the past few hours she had been attempting it. And it was difficult to focus, too, considering the solar door was near the entry of the keep and she could see all manner of traffic passing in and out. Cantia and Hunt came in at one point, the boy rushing into the great hall while his mother mounted the steps to the upper levels. Then Myles came in a short time later and parked himself in a chair next to Val just to pass the time. Val had always liked Myles. He was handsome, wise and good of character. But he only spoke of the weather and a new charger or the price of a good sword. Never anything she might like to hear, though she wasn’t sure what, in fact, she might like to hear from him. Still, she wished he would speak to her of something other than warring.
Tevin came in a short time after Myles’ arrival, entered the solar, and engaged Myles in talk of de Gael’s arrival. Myles seemed to have calmed after his initial outburst. In fact, he showed his reluctance when Tevin asked him to escort the ladies to another location for the duration of the earl’s visit. He wanted to stay, but Tevin convinced him that escorting the ladies was far more important. Val was secretly glad he would be going. Maybe she could coerce him into speaking on the color of her eyes instead of the color of battle.
But thoughts of Myles aside, Val sensed something in Tevin. Outwardly, her brother was cool and collected, as usual. But an odd flicker in his eyes gave him an almost edgy expression. When he spoke with Myles, it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. Val wondered if it had something to do with Cantia. Tevin just didn’t seem like himself since they had returned from the cathedral.
To make the situation even stranger, he lingered so long in the solar that it almost seemed like he was killing time. Tevin was a man perpetually busy, which made it seem odd for him to loiter over meaningless conversation. But that was exactly what he appeared to be doing. Val was becoming suspicious. Just as she was preparing to ask him why he seemed so solicitous, Hunt entered the solar with a stick in one hand and the big yellow dog on his heels. The blue-eyed boy looked up at Tevin.
“My lord,” he tugged on Tevin’s tunic. “Have you theen my grandfather?”
Tevin looked down at the child. The question surprised him. Hunt had been displaying the resilience of a child in the wake of his father’s death and his grandfather’s subsequent madness, which made the question seem odd. It was the first the boy had mentioned his grandfather in two days.
“Your grandfather is safe, Hunt,” he said evenly. “You will see him soon, I am sure.”
Hunt’s little brow was furrowed. “But he promisthed to make me a new sword. I buried my other sword with my father. Where is grandfather?”
Tevin glanced at Val. Her pale eyes were wide. She was wondering how Tevin was going to handle this delicate situation. Tevin crouched down so he was nearly eye to eye with the child.
“Your grandfather is not feeling well,” he said honestly. “He is very sad that your father has died. He needs a few days to rest and then I am sure he will be well again.”
Hunt’s eyes were the shape of Cantia’s, even if they weren’t the same color. But Tevin also saw a good deal of Brac in the little face.
“But where ith he?” Hunt persisted. “Can I go and see him?”
“Nay, lad,” Tevin did not want the boy visiting his hysterical grandfather in the vault. “Not today. Perhaps tomorrow.”
Hunt didn’t protest, though it was obvious he was disappointed. He looked at his stick and then looked back at Tevin. He raised the stick. “Will you fight me, then?”
Tevin had spent nearly an hour in the solar, marking time until the magical hour was up. Cantia had told him one hour in her chamber, and he planned to be there right on the mark. But gazing into Hunt’s sweet little face, he felt that he could not refuse the lonely little boy. To have lost his father, and now his grandfather, was coming to take a toll on him.
“I will fight you,” he agreed quietly. “But you cannot fight with a stick. We will find the smithy and see if he cannot fashion you a sword suitable for a young man.”
Hunt’s eyes widened. “You will?” He beamed a big smile, complete with two missing bottom teeth. “Can we go now?”
If he took him now, he would miss his date with Cantia. But gazing into her son’s face, he suspected that she would understand. He put his hand on the boy’s blond head and turned him for the door. “We shall,” he said.
He hadn’t taken a step when Myles spoke. “I shall take him, my lord. I am sure you have more pressing duties.”
Tevin almost took the excuse. He could still make it to Cantia at the appointed time. But gazing down at the child, something deep inside would not let him be so selfish.
“I have no more pressing duties than to properly arm Master Penden,” he said. “Come along if you like.”
Myles took a few steps after him, then suddenly turned to Val as if he had just remembered she was in the room. He held out a hand to her. “Val? Come with us?”
She smiled. Tevin thought she actually blushed and he thought on Cantia’s earlier observations. Maybe she was right, he thought. Stiffly, Val rose, taking Myles’ outstretched hand. Happily, Hunt led them all from the solar and out into the yard.
The smithy had been at Rochester for years and was happy to help with Hunt’s first weapon. He set aside what he was working on, measured Hunt’s arm, and went to work. Frankly, with Viscount Winterton’s massive presence hanging over him, there wasn’t much else he could do. But it was a long process, certainly not one that could be accomplished in a few hours.
As the sun dipped into the late afternoon, Tevin had never felt so restless. All he could think of was Cantia waiting for him, and here he was playing with her son. But he remained nonetheless, leaning back against the support beam of the smithy’s lean-to and watching the ruddy man heat the steel, pound it, cool it, and repeat the process. More than once he had to pull Hunt out of the man’s way. The child was so excited he could hardly stand it.
During the course of the afternoon, Val and Myles stood in quiet conversation as the smithy worked. Eventually, Val’s ribs ached too much from standing around and Myles escorted her back into the keep. Tevin watched his sister go, paying closer attention to the pair than he had before purely based on Cantia’s observations. If there was something going on,
he wanted to be aware of it. Val was his only sister and he was understandably protective over her, even with a suitor as mild as Myles de Lohr. Moreover, he was quite pleased with the prospect.
When the sun began to set, he was forced to swallow his impatience and resign himself to the fact that he would not be seeing Cantia alone this day. As much as he had been looking forward to it, more than he had looked forward to anything in years, somehow he was not entirely disturbed. Spending the afternoon with a very excited five year old had been a most rewarding substitute. Hunt was a wonderful little boy and he was coming to like him a great deal. He congratulated Brac Penden on fathering such a fine son and he was also quite sorry that Brac would never see the boy live to adulthood. It would have been a proud thing.
Lost to his thoughts as he watched the hypnotizing rhythm of the smithy, he was surprised to see Cantia enter the lean-to. She went straight for her son and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, asking him his business with the smithy. Hunt promptly turned around and pointed at Tevin, still leaning up against the support column. Partially hidden in the shadows, Cantia hadn’t seen him when she entered the shelter. Tevin unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the beam.
“Your son came to me a few hours ago with a serious problem, my lady,” he told her as he moved in her direction. “Since he was generous enough to bury his sword with his father, he had no weapon. I told him we would remedy the situation immediately and have been here ever since.”
A light of understanding flickered in her big eyes. He saw it. She looked down at her son. “So that’s it,” she grumbled, ruffling the blond hair. “I was wondering where you went. Both of you.”
Hunt was beside himself with excitement. He held his mother’s hand tightly as he showed her the sword the smithy was working on. Tevin watched her the entire time, the shape of her exquisite face, the expressions that creased her brow. He couldn’t look at anything else. But at some point he became aware that she did not look entirely pleased and when the smithy gave the boy the sword to test the weight, he moved up beside her.
“Did I do wrong?” he asked softly.
She turned to look at him, her sweet face gently illuminated in the dusk. “What do you mean?”
“You do not seem entirely pleased about the sword.”
She lifted an eyebrow, though there was no anger behind it. “Brac always wanted to give him a metal sword but I would not allow it. He can hurt himself, or others, with it.”
He wriggled his eyebrows. “Then perhaps I should have asked you first. Your son came to me in the solar a few hours ago and asked where his grandfather was. I gave him an evasive answer that somehow led to the statement that Charles had promised your son another sword in place of the one he buried with Brac. So I ended up down here with the smithy.”
She nodded in understanding, her gaze moving back to the little boy as he swung the sword about under the smithy’s watchful eye. “I assumed that something came up when you did not come to my bower,” she said softly. “Clearly, I cannot fault you your noble deeds on behalf of my son. And for that, I thank you.”
He took another step so that the right side of his body brushed up against her. “Know that I would not have missed any opportunity to spend time with you unless it was undeniably important,” he muttered. “I thought perhaps a lonely little boy qualified as such.”
“It does,” she looked at him again, her beautiful face serene. “Given the choice, I would have made the same one.”
“I would still like to see you alone.”
“There will be more opportunity.”
“Are you sure? You have not reconsidered our earlier conversation, have you?”
She smiled faintly, studying the lines of his strong face. “No, Tevin. I have not.”
He smiled back at her but dare not touch her. He forced himself to change the subject lest he lose his self-control. It seemed as if the more time he spent around her, the more he wanted to touch her.
“Have you given any thought to where you and Hunt would like to go for the duration of my cousin’s visit?” he asked.
She nodded. “My father’s fortified home in Gillingham sits empty, as does a larger fortified manor in Darland a few miles to the southwest. Either one of them would be acceptable.”
“Which would you prefer?”
She thought a moment. “I was born at Darland. I have always liked it there. The village even has an outdoor theatre where they give entertainment.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You are not going to go cavorting about the town while you’re out from under my watchful eye, are you?”
She grinned. “Of course not. And even if I do, it is none of your affair. You’ll be here wildly entertaining your cousin and you’ll never even miss me.”
He put his massive hand on the overhead beam, leaning over her in a rather dominating and provocative stance.
“That, madam, is an untrue statement,” he rumbled. “I cannot go a moment of the day without thinking of you. When you are out of my sight, I shall miss you all the more.”
She gazed up at him, feeling his breath on her face. Her heart began to race. “Do you think that you shall be able to come and visit us while we are there?” she asked intimately.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “All of my focus will be on Geoff. He’s like a naughty child that needs constant attention.”
“Then this parting will not be a particularly pleasant thing,” she said.
“Nay, it will not.”
Hunt interrupted their increasingly passionate conversation as he ran into the lean-to with his weapon aloft. “Mam!” he shouted as only a five year old can. “My sword ith good for fighting. Did you thee?”
“I did,” she put her hand on his head affectionately. “You must thank Lord Tevin for his generosity. It was most kind of him.”
The little boy had his sword in two hands. He looked up at Tevin with such naked joy that Tevin instinctively smiled. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. “Will you fight me now?”
Tevin cocked an eyebrow, though not unkind. “Perhaps tomorrow, lad. I suspect the evening meal is fast on the approach. There will be time for swordplay tomorrow.”
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 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 out of the 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 were 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, and 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. The amazing part was that she had done it while 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.