Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Aye, you do. You do not like him.”

  He knew he couldn’t get around it. She was too sharp. The corners of his mouth twitched. “If you must know, I do not like the way he looks at you.”

  “He looks at me as the friend of his sister.”

  “He looks at you as a man looks at a beautiful woman.”

  “You did not have to give him permission to sit.”

  He did look at her, then, with a droll expression that suggested he knew better. “You wanted to hear of your friend,” he said. “How would you have reacted if I told him he was unwelcome? You would have kicked me in the shins.”

  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. It 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 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 out 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 were 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 disap
pear 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 successfully 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 Cononley. 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’Aubigney 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 Lionheart, 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 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.”

  “Please come to the point, de Royans.”

  Brighton was starting to show signs of nervousness but he fought it. “My lord, I have known Lady Adalind for nearly five years,” he said. “She is the best friend of my sister, Glennie.”

  David was suddenly interested. “Glennie is your sister?”

  “She is, my lord.”

  “Hmmm,” David looked thoughtful. “Adalind and I were only just speaking of her. I thought she might make a match for my son, Daniel, who is in need of a wife.” He looked hopeful. “Is that why you have come? Because you and Adalind have discussed your sister as a match for my son?”

  Brighton shook his head. “We have not,” he said. “This is the first I have heard of such a thing.”

  “Do you think your sister might be interested?” David wanted to know. “Daniel will inherit my earldom. He should make a very fine husband once he settles down. The right woman can do wonders for a man.”

  Brighton wasn’t particularly concerned with his sister or the earl’s son, but it did bring about an idea. In fact, it was a very good idea, or so he thought. If Brighton was one thing and one thing only, he was clever. He was very clever. And he never missed an opportunity.

  “Perhaps I can arrange for a meeting,” he said. “I would be most happy to introduce my sister to your son, but in return, I would appeal for your consideration.”

  “Consideration for what?”

  “Consideration for me as an appropriate match for Lady Adalind.”

  David didn’t react at first. It was as if Brighton’s proposition confused him because his thought processes were still lingering on Daniel and Glennie. Then, when he realized what the man was saying, his expression slackened with surprise.

  “Adalind?” he repeated.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “But… but I thought you said you have known her these five years.”

  “I have, my lord.”

  “And you think to make an offer for her hand now? Why did you not do it two or three or four years ago?”

  “Because I was a fool.”

  David eyed him, somewhat in disbelief. Then, he weakly shook his head. “Your timing is poor,” he said. “Although I appreciate your offer, she is already betrothed.”

  “Formally?”

  “Formally enough.”

  “Has there been an announcement? A contract brokered?”

  “Not yet. But I gave my word.”

  Brighton wasn’t going to play dumb. He knew the facts and he knew why. “I understand that du Bois is a fine knight,” he said. “I have the greatest admiration for him but I will also tel
l you that I have spent some time observing du Bois and Lady Adalind and I am convinced that du Bois is only infatuated with her. I do not see it being a viable marriage and I do not see Lady Adalind being happy over time. Men like du Bois… their attention is finite and when it burns out, he will focus on something, or someone, else. Adalind will suffer as a result.”

  David listened to the rather passionate statement with growing disdain. “Who are you to make such a bold declaration about Maddoc?” he asked. “I have known the man for fifteen years and he is the finest knight I have ever seen. Adalind is in love with him, and he with her, and their marriage will be a happy one. I will say again that I appreciate your offer but I will decline. Adalind is spoken for.”

  Brighton knew he should probably leave it at that. He was, in truth, an honorable knight, but he saw something in Adalind he wanted very much and he was a man unused to denial. He wasn’t sure why the past few hours had turned his head so dramatically towards Adalind de Aston, but he knew more and more as the minutes passed that she was something worthy of his attention. Worth fighting for. When Adalind and du Bois had gone to dance, Brighton had politely conversed with Adalind’s sister for a few moments before excusing himself and going in search of Adalind’s grandfather. He knew who Canterbury was; everyone did. He was quite sure du Bois would try to run him through when he found out what he was up to, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

  “May I ask what du Bois brings with him to a marital contract?” he asked. “Prestige? Money? Lands?”

  David was coming to not like this brash young knight. “He is the grandson of the Duke of Navarre,” he said. “His father is one of the finest men I have ever known. He comes from a very fine family, although I am not sure why that is any concern of yours.”

  Brighton was playing it cool. “A duke’s grandson,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Very fine, indeed. Will he inherit any titles?”

  “Not that I am aware of.”