While Angels Slept (15 page)

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
as 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 murmured, 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
softly.

“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 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.”