Page 22 of While Angels Slept (de Lohr Dynasty #1)

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.

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 questioned, 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.”