Sword Play Read online

  Originally a wooden castle built on a motte, Ravynne’s Keep had been converted to the dark gray stone of the area by one of Magnus’ forebears. The walls of the outer bailey, the barbican, and the Keep itself were almost forbidding in their stone shielding, but once through the portcullis, the Keep teemed with the busy lives of those within.

  Many of the wooden structures that had housed tenants for uncounted generations still stood, and homes had been created from the earliest stables and now ringed the inner bailey.

  Here, the families that tended the land and the livestock lived in relative comfort, along with the workers, blacksmiths, stablehands, and others whose contributions to Ravynne’s Keep were vital.

  Magnus had been raised to regard this community as part of his extended family. His responsibilities included their care and protection, along with the continual attention to every detail of the Keep.

  Edward had wholeheartedly supported the old Lord’s views, and consequently, Magnus thought nothing of knowing the names of the tenants, their wives, their children, and when a new one was due.

  The affection in which he held his estate was reciprocated, and there were many who left their homes and their tasks to come out and welcome the Lord home on this sunny morning.

  He had been cheered, smiled at, curtsied to, and slapped on the back by the blacksmith, whose brawny arms had nearly knocked him across the forge.

  He’d admired the new member of Thomas John’s family, who looked amazingly like Thomas himself, having been born with an equally unkempt tuft of bright red hair.

  He’d tried some of the fresh milk to the delight of three giggling dairymaids, and discussed the pros and cons of his stable with his Master of the Horse, who’d admired the new destrier Magnus had purchased on his travels, and had nothing but praise for the neat palfrey that was tossing her head over the stable doors as Magnus passed.

  “Right lovely lass, that,” murmured the man respectfully. “Like Lady Constance herself.”

  It was yet another word of praise for Magnus’ guest, and the one thing that he’d noticed all day. No matter where he went or whom he spoke to, all had a kind word or a message for the Lady in question.

  “If you’d be kind enough, my Lord, please tell Lady Constance that her physik worked?”

  “My Lord, our thanks go to Lady Constance for the blanket, our lad is sleeping much better now.”

  “Lady Constance suggested we move that slightly, and it’s helped us when it rains…”

  His head was spinning after several hours of this, and he realized that Edward was quietly smiling at his side.

  They rested for a moment and tore into the bread and ale that they’d received from Mistress Leigh’s cottage as they’d visited.

  She too had asked to be remembered to the Lady. “I know she’ll be by later, my Lord, but such a sweet lass she is. Brought me all kinds of liniment for my back when it ached bad…”

  Mistress Leigh had been in the corner home for as long as Magnus could remember, and probably before that. It was rumored that she was his grandfather’s whore, but no one, looking at the elderly and now toothless dame, would mention such a thing.

  He’d had nothing but kindness from her his entire life, and knew her as unfailingly honest, shrewd, and the maker of the best pies he’d ever tasted in his childhood. His mouth watered even now as he remembered the blackberry and apple confection she’d plied him with when he’d stolen away from his tutor for an hour’s freedom.

  Of course, his mouth watered even more at the thought of the Lady to whom Mistress Leigh had sent her greetings.

  “It would seem, Edward, that Lady Constance has made her presence felt during my absence,” he said around a mouthful of bread.

  Edward simply raised an eyebrow. “Of course. You’d not expect a Lady to neglect those with whom she’s staying? Constance was raised to be the mistress of just such a Keep as this. She would be unable to not act that way. It’s in her bones, lad. As, I devoutly hope, it’s in the bones of your future bride.”

  A cloud floated across the sun, and sent a little chill dancing down Magnus’ spine. It was echoed by the shiver in his body. Suddenly, the memory of Mistress Anne Swann intruded.

  She had barely allowed him to touch her hand, and he remembered how abruptly she’d dismissed her companion.

  He thought nothing of it at the time, but now, faced with the high regard held for Lady Constance by his household and his Keep, he found himself comparing the two women.

  Mistress Swann did not fare well from such a comparison.

  He’d noticed no pleasure on the faces of her maids, her servants had failed to meet her eyes, or his for that matter, and Maltby Abbey was efficiently but formally managed, with none of the human warmth he’d just experienced. No one had come from their homes to greet Mistress Swann as they’d walked to the orchard together.

  But he’d bet his best saddle that if Lady Constance were to put in an appearance, she’d be surrounded by his people within minutes.

  He chewed on his lower lip.

  “Picking a bride is a difficult matter, lad.” Edward was watching him closely. “It’s time you did, but by the Saints you’d better make sure your decision is the right one. No Ravynne has ever dissolved a marriage, and god willing your wife survives the birth of your children, you’ll be lying with her for the rest of your life.”

  Magnus took a long draught of ale and swiped his hand across his lips. “Do not think I’m not aware of that fact, Edward.”

  His conscience niggled him. “Lady Constance is a fair wench. I am surprised she’s not remarried.”

  He missed the quick grin that swept over Edward’s countenance. “She’s a feisty one. There’s no telling that girl what she should or should not do. Always been of her own mind, she has. It was my opinion that she should never have been forced to wed Atherton, although I’ll say this much for him, he treated her pretty well.”

  “Hmm. Atherton…I don’t think I know the name?” said Magnus casually. He was damned if he’d let Edward know that he was hanging on his every word.

  “A landed knight, although one prone to like politics and court life more than his country estates. He spent little time there, even after taking Constance to his bed. Not for him the life of a country Lord, but the pleasures of London and the intrigues of the nobility.”

  Edward’s lip curled scornfully. “She never complained, though. Just managed his estates in his absence, and buried him respectfully when they brought his body home from battle.”

  Magnus leaned back and belched slightly. “And then?”

  “And then she packed up all her personal items, took only those jewels she’d been given by her family, albeit that was a sizeable dowry, and set out to see something of the land. She has family spread far and wide, and has traveled extensively, never staying too long in one place. In fact, I think this past three months is about as long as she’s stayed anywhere.”

  Edward chuckled. “She seems to like Ravynne’s Keep, and as you’ve seen, Ravynne’s Keep certainly adores her.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And she’s a comely lass, too. Takes after her mother. And wait ‘til you see her ride. Got a seat on her that looks like it was made for the saddle…”

  Magnus’ cock leaped within his breeches and visions of Constance, hot and sweaty, hanging her long hair down over his chest as she rode him, took the breath from his lungs.

  “I see you’ve noticed,” said Edward, with an amused glance at Magnus’ distended clothing.

  “Yes, well…I…”

  “Nothing wrong in that, lad. ‘Tis good to see your manhood ready to do its job and make heirs for Ravynne’s Keep. I’ll wager your future wife will be pleased too.”

  And that, mused Magnus as he sank into his bath that evening, that was a very troubling thought.

  *~~*~~*

  For Lady Constance, the day had flown past. She had begun the job of renovating the great hall, listing those items she fe
lt would turn it into a “bower of delight”.

  She snorted. She strongly doubted whether anyone would care about the bower features, but much more that the rushes were fresh, the food hot and plentiful, and the fire ready for lighting to warm the occupants of the hall.

  She did set men to cleaning the high windows. They were small, but let in sufficient light to illuminate the massive room during the day, and once the small panes of glass were wiped free of grime the whole room brightened.

  She paused at the long trestle table where she knew the Lord would take his meals. Some men preferred dining with their peers or other nobles, but not Magnus. She was convinced that this is where he’d eat, surrounded by his friends and guests, a welcome in his eyes and a joke on his lips.

  She’d spotted him at irregular intervals at such times when she felt a breath of air to be necessary.

  She had most certainly not been hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but sure enough, there he was.

  Sometimes chatting casually, at other times listening intently. He’d spent much time in the forge, emerging without his shirt and taking her breath away. He’d swept a small child up in his arms and carried her over to a pony, letting her sit atop for a short time.

  There was no doubt about it, whatever she did, he was on her mind.

  As was his suggested “bargain”.

  Oh it was an excuse. She was too intelligent to view it as anything else. He wanted her in his bed. He had obviously enjoyed their tryst by the lake, and here she was, in his Keep, and apparently available.

  There was no shame in it. Many women in her position had become lemans, mistresses of the Lord, and many were very well-treated.

  But she knew such a thing was not for her. When—if—she gave herself to Magnus, it would be because she wanted to, not for any other reason. She would not become his leman, especially as he was close to offering his name to another woman.

  She could not—would not—sit around in her chamber with visions of him bedding another plaguing her and making her restless.

  As they had done all day long. She’d known him for such a short time, mere hours really, and yet even now the thought of his marriage curled her fingers in upon themselves.

  This was where the true danger lay.

  In the knowledge that emotions other than simple desire or lust had been aroused by this man. That she was suffering slight pangs in some unspecified region of her chest, which could not possibly be her heart, as she reminded herself of his upcoming wedding.

  Constance retired to her chambers at dusk to change for the evening meal. There was a small celebration planned, and some local musicians and jongleurs were to entertain in honor of the Lord’s safe return.

  It would be a pleasant night. And could be more so if she agreed to his bargain.

  Her nipples tightened at the thought of lying with him again. Of exploring that magnificent body in a firelit room this time, on soft bed furs, so that she could truly see all the pleasures he would bring her.

  Could touch and admire his cock, and watch as he slid it into her heat. Which was, even now, moistening at the thought.

  She stripped off her soiled kirtle, noticing the dust and grime that her day’s work had ground into the skirts. A bowl of warm water had been place on a low table, and she neared it now, looking for her favorite oil. Her apple blossom scented oil.

  She could have called for a bath, but knew that the Lord was doubtless in greater need of one than she, so a quick sluice would serve her well.

  Sighing, she swept her washing cloth over her body and felt the warmth of the water cleanse her.

  Her skin seemed sensitive this night, each pass of the fabric raised little tingles and shivers, and the breeze blowing through the open window wrapped soft fingers over her damp flesh and brought a sigh of pleasure to her lips.

  She knew, deep in her heart, that the decision had been made. That she would go to Magnus tonight and let him show her what he had promised. New ideas, new pleasures, which she could add to her instructional tapestry.

  She could no more have refused his bargain than she could have cut off her hands.

  For he offered her more than education. Whether he knew it or not, he was offering her a chance to explore her sensual nature. And such a chance would seldom come knocking at her door in the guise of such an appealing man.

  The late Gervaise Atherton had been a kind husband to Constance. But his idea of bedding his wife entailed plunging his already aroused cock between her legs and bringing himself to his peak.

  He would then withdraw, lower her nightgown, kiss her cheek and bid her goodnight, returning to his own chamber for the rest of the night.

  She had become used to “preparing” herself for his actions, learning that her own juices would smooth his way, and even, once or twice, finding that his pounding touched a certain place that brought her exquisite pleasure.

  A little further investigation in private had resulted in the discovery that what he could do with his cock, she could do better with her own hand. Thus Constance had embarked upon a life that was filled with an affectionate husband who probably couldn’t spell the word ‘sensual’, and a relationship with her hand, which taught her that such desires were, indeed, part of her makeup.

  And now she burned. Burned for the man who in one frantically hot coupling on the banks of a small lake had taught her that her own hand might not be the only thing that could bring her pleasure.

  She yearned for the feel of him against her, around her, inside her, once again. And she yearned to feel that building, growing, boiling sensation that had erupted within her as he stroked deep and touched her heat.

  She gently touched herself, feeling the hot honey leaking already from her body, as her mind filled with images of their coupling in new and inventive ways.

  She wanted to touch him, taste him, ride him, and “scrub floors” with him behind her. She was greedy. She wanted it all.

  It was a chance for her to spend a few days in the sensual thrall of a man who had already proved himself to be a considerate and effective lover.

  A man who was seemingly unselfish with his passion, and who knew how and where to touch a woman.

  Yes, he was a man on the verge of marriage to another. There would be no life pledging resulting from this bedding.

  But she was well past the point of needing promises of such a nature from a lover. She needed the sensations, the sensuality, the joy of fucking, that she felt sure he’d bring to their bed.

  It would be like a holiday for her body, a short time spent exploring the needs of the flesh.

  And when it was over, he would wed his perfect Mistress Swann, and she…she would embroider the most intricately magnificent tapestry that she would take with her on her travels.

  She would be able to enlighten women about what their bodies could do, and what they might expect from a good lover, or change about a bad one. She would become a governess in the arts of nuptial bliss.

  Even though she would enjoy none of her own.

  Just the memories that Magnus was about to create for her.

  With that thought in mind, Constance completed her toilette, slipped a clean robe over her head, secured her hair beneath its customary veil, and stepped out of her room to see the last rays of the setting sun as it brushed Ravynne’s Keep and turned the walls to bronze.

  It was sunset. It was time to tell Lord Magnus that the answer to his offer was—yes.

  Chapter Seven

  She’d done nothing in particular to his great hall, but already it seemed brighter and more welcoming to Magnus.

  Or was it, perhaps, just her presence?

  He sat in the Lord’s large chair in the center of the long trestle table watching as jugglers and magicians brought laughter and gasps of amazement to the assembled guests.

  For this night, Magnus had decreed that all residents of Ravynne were welcome at his table, and that the great hall would serve as the central point for the festivities that
his people had planned to celebrate his return.

  So there were children darting between the tables, and the doors had been left open to the night air.

  Couples strolled in and out of the hall, mothers watched their little ones, and babies slept peacefully in their father’s arms.

  There was music, provided by a local group of players, and a troubadour whose humorous and fun-filled songs brought tears of laughter to the eyes of his audience. Slightly risqué verses were chuckled and tutted at, and Magnus found himself doubled over with mirth several times.

  And everywhere he looked, there was Constance.

  Or could it be that his eyes were following her, as she made her way around the hall, chatting with people, laughing, bending to stroke the curly head of a child, and reuniting a lost tot with its parents.

  Her deep ruby chaplet held a simple veil shot through with golden threads, and he came to look upon her as a flame flickering through the crowds.

  The evening darkened and the servants began to bring out the repast, great trays bearing the produce of the Keep, and trenchers overflowing with his favorite foods.

  Edward was seated to his right, but this was not a night for formality, and the squire who had been to his left was now off somewhere chasing the maiden who had caught his fancy during an earlier stroll in the twilight.

  Magnus had great difficulty in catching Constance’s eye. It would appear that the Lady was not about to fall prostrate at his feet.

  Finally, he surrendered. He beckoned a servant, and whispered to him, then watched as the man delivered the message to the Lady herself.

  She turned her head and for the first time that night, their eyes met.

  Magnus felt the touch all the way to his kneecaps. The torches had been lit and their flickering fire reflected a sharp golden glow in Constance’s gaze. By the Saints, she was a desirable woman.

  He ached for what was to come. At least, what he hoped was to come. He couldn’t deny that he wasn’t absolutely sure what her answer would be. So he had summoned her to his side, ostensibly to share his meal as a mark of respect, but in reality to find out her decision.