The Modest and the Bold

  THE MODEST AND THE BOLD

  A romantically erotic tale of the Medieval era.

  By

  Leelou Cervant

  The Modest and the Bold

  Copyright © by Leelou Cervant 2014

  Cover and interior design by Leelou Cervant

  Smashwords Edition

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. With the exception of real historical figures and events that may be referred to, all names, characters, places, and occurrences are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, are entirely consequential.

  DEAR READER

  Since I have more than 100 stories to get out of my head and onto paper, or rather, into my computer (ha ha ha), I decided to turn some of those initially intended to be full length historical romances into short erotic tales. And so a series of erotic anthologies was born. Surprising is the first volume of this series. The Modest and the Bold is a story included in this first volume, and for or a limited time I am offering it for free.

  So far there are six volumes, but that is not a set number. And because I never follow a set of rules when it comes to chapter or story length, the tales within these volumes will vary in length—in my opinion, a story or chapter is over when it is over and not a single word before or after. There will be, however, some uniform aspects to this series: All volumes will contain three tales, all covers will feature a flower that figures in each tale within that particular volume, and all tales will be erotic romances set in various eras (history inspires stories, erotic scenes make them that much more fun to read, but love is what makes the whole thing worth writing about).

  Unlike my usual works, which comprise many scenes portrayed through more than a single character’s perspective at a time, this new series will not follow this trend. Chapters and scene breaks within each tale are rendered through a single character’s viewpoint—not my writing preference, but, as I wrote one story in this manner I figured I had to write the rest like that, too.

  On a final note I will leave you with a reminder that, as with all erotic tales I write, I have striven to keep politics out as much as possible (I save all that for my major historical works) without spoiling the historical facet of the story.

  Happy reading!

  Leelou Cervant

  OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

  A Diamond for a Baronet (The Quiescent Heart: Book I)

  The Surprise of Love (The Quiescent Heart: Book II)

  The Masqueraders

  Surprising

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEAR READER

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  ONE

  Leicestershire, England 1280

  Constance de Molineaux, inspecting a stool amidst the collection of items stored in the old manor house, rose from her crouched position at the creaking of the door. The second she spied the kissing couple across the hall her bottom lip dropped. Sinking behind an ancient settle she prayed that the pair of lovers had not seen her. Soon the telling sounds of lovemaking floated into the vicinity of her hiding spot.

  Constance’s cheeks tingled.

  Raising her hands to cover her ears one of the pair spoke, halting Constance in mid-action. She recognized the sultry feminine voice. It belonged to Adele, the all-around-serving maid.

  “My, my, Sir Fulke. You are indeed eager this day!”

  Sir Fulke’s voice came forth in his usual deep, even tenor. “Is that so surprising, after your teasing the day?”

  As it was wont to do, Sir Fulke’s resonant voice sent a shiver of desire through Constance’s entire body. Clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the moan that threatened to expose her presence, she closed her eyes against the enthralling image her mind conjured of the tall, broad knight with eyes and hair as dark as rich earth.

  Sir Fulke of Norcaston had accompanied her brother, Richard, home following the king’s last war with the Welsh Prince Llywelyn to take-up a prominent position in their household. One look at the swarthy, reserved knight and Constance had been lost.

  Adele’s cries of rapture were now echoing up to the rafters. Unable to help herself, Constance peeked around the settle. What she saw generated waves of lust within—held bent over an old trestle table, the lovely Adele was being taken in a fervent fashion by the virile Sir Fulke.

  Constance was a widow, and no stranger to the intimacies to be shared between a man and woman. But much time had passed since her last coupling with her late husband, Gilbert FitzHugh (one of her brother’s former household knights). The dark Sir Fulke’s advent had only occasioned her yearning to be that much more acute.

  Heart hammering, Constance’s nether region grew swollen and moist. She noted how Sir Fulke’s large left hand kneaded Adele’s exposed breasts as they swung just above the surface of the table.

  A bead of her juices glided down Constance’s inner thigh. She shuddered.

  Without thinking, she gripped the side of the settle with her left hand and delved beneath her skirts with her right. Slipping a finger between the folds of her enflamed sex she sank deep. Rhapsody unfolded. The vocal evidence of her climbing ecstasy filled her throat, compelling her to bite the back of her left hand to stifle it. As Sir Fulke’s thrusts grew fiercer, Adele’s moans louder, Constance’s playing finger stroked faster.

  Suddenly, Adele twisted her face in her direction.

  Constance’s reason shouted for her to retreat from view, sinful yearning fixed her as she was: breathing hard, finger fidgeting ever quicker.

  Then Adele saw her.

  Gasping, Constance shifted back behind the settle. Panting, cheeks burning, she understood the significance of having been seen. To her shock, Adele did not expose her. Instead, she continued on with her lover, wailing till they attained the pinnacle of their pleasure together.

  The sound of ecstasy fading the former quietude reclaimed the hall. Constance wiped her glistening finger on the inside of her fine, linen chemise. Tossing down her skirts, she waited to see what would happen next, her flesh prickling with fear.

  “Can you really not linger, Sir Fulke?” probed Adele in a pouting tone.

  There was the sound of rustling clothes.

  “I have guard duty this eve—I cannot.”

  Adele sighed, “Very well. Midday next?”

  “Midday next.”

  Heavy footsteps sounded upon the stone floor. The door creaked opened and closed.

  Silence.

  Constance deliberated if Adele had not seen her after all when the young woman’s distinct voice rang out, amused.

  “No need to go on hiding, love—I spied you earlier, I did.”

  Mortified, Constance froze. She would have stayed like that for an eternity had it meant retaining her dignity. As it happened, the all-around-serving maid was ready to take the matter into her own hands.

  There was the indicative sound of Adele’s advance, her tone persuasive. “Oh, come now. Don’t be shy.”

  Homespun wool skirts swept into Constance’s hiding place. At Adele’s gasp, she finally pee
red up. The maid was a pretty thing with an abundance of red hair, bright blue eyes, a svelte figure, and refined features for one so common. With Constance’s own lack of beauty—dull brown hair and eyes, a plump countenance to match a plump form—none would have deemed it surprising if she’d taken it upon herself to despise the girl for her fortunate attributes. However, Constance had not one unkind bone in her body. If anything she was rather too kind, which had led her down a road of mistreatment two and twenty years in the making.

  Countenance flaming, Constance got to her feet. It was not necessary that she gaze upon Adele’s visage to discern her shock—it was evident in every syllable of her next utterance.

  “My Lady Constance!”

  True to her modest nature, Constance began, “Pray forgive me, Adele. I did not mean for this to transpire. I…I came to the hall ahead of you and…and Sir Fulke. I—” She stopped when the girl burst into laughter.

  “I think it me who should be doin’ the beggin’, milady! Sir Fulke and I carryin’ on as we were…”

  The girl halted in her lively speech, her smiling eyes widened. Dread poured over Constance.

  Eyes narrowing, Adele crossed her arms over her pretty bosom. “Milady, were you watchin’ us?”

  Her cheeks flaming deeper Constance shook her head as Adele took a step closer.

  “You were, weren’t you?” the maid accused softly.

  Discomfited by the young woman’s suggestion, no matter that it was true, Constance made a run for it. Gaining the door, Adel stumbled into her path, throwing a hand across the width of the doorframe. Her bosom bumped into that arm. Odd hunger sparked in Adele’s eyes as she glanced down at her breasts. Brow knitting, lips parting, Constance took a step back.

  “Mayhap your ladyship would like to join us next time?” Adele proposed huskily.

  Backing up further, Constance turned away. “Why are you doing this?” Adele followed her. Next thing she knew her sultry voice was near her ear, her trim form pressing into her arm.

  “Why deny yourself, milady?” whispered the maid. “A widow can still burn even after her husband has gone. Besides,”—Adele raised her hands and cupped her lady’s breasts—“I fancy Sir Fulke would indeed appreciate your ample gifts.”

  At the conception of Sir Fulke touching her the way he had Adele—taking her in the same manner—Constance’s sex twitched. Mortified by both her body’s reaction to her thoughts and the maid’s behavior, she gasped and stepped to escape those gentle, fondling hands. She raced to the door, the young woman’s laughter trailing her.

  “Deny it if you will, my lady. You know you want what I offer.”

  Adele’s voice grew louder as Constance hastened farther from the old Norman manor house.

  “Midday next, milady. I shall wait for you!”

  TWO

  When Constance returned to the castle, she claimed fatigue, repairing to her private quarters in the Lady’s Tower. A tray from that eve’s meal duly arrived, but she could eat not a morsel. Dismay and longing gnawed at her belly. She wanted so badly to accept Adele’s bold proposition. Gilbert had died two years past, and she’d suffered his absence dreadfully. Theirs had not been a marriage based on love, at least not on her side (she’d accepted his proposal because she’d thought never to have another). He’d been kind and passionate, though, despite his being a bulky, rough-speaking fellow, which had gone a long way in making up for the gentler characteristics he’d lacked. She craved the burning passion they’d shared in the late hours of the night with someone again. And why not with the very man she was in love with?

  This moment of veracity and acceptance, this moment of unusual bravery, was soon supplanted by apprehension. You cannot do it, Constance! It would be sinful to do so! He would only scorn such a ridiculous notion.

  With her mind set against Adele’s wicked suggestion, Constance readied herself for bed. However, once her old nurse, Judith, who acted as her personal serving woman now, had gone, the bed curtains drawn tight, her mind and body were bombarded by the provocative memory of Sir Fulke and Adele’s coupling. She visualized herself bent over that trestle table, not Adele.

  Raising her chemise, Constance spread her thighs and slipped a finger down to the mouth of her sex. That digit now wet, she slid it up, flicking it over the nub that was swelling. Her heart beat sped up.

  She envisioned Sir Fulke fondling her as he had Adele.

  Her finger flicked wilder.

  Her cries echoed through the old hall. She reveled in Sir Fulke’s sharp intakes of breath as he pummeled her faster. With each plunge, the legs of the trestles shifted, scrapping across the stone floor.

  Moaning, Constance sank two fingers of her other hand inside herself.

  She groaned at the magnificent strength of the knight’s hands as he gripped her hips, at the erotic sweep of her nipples across the table’s surface with each merciless stab.

  Her fingers striking and probing, she cried out wantonly as her orgasm rushed up and exploded in her bosom. Digging her heels into the feather mattress, toes curling, she pressed her thrusting hand into her rocking pelvis, her warm cum drenching her ensconced fingers.

  With a gratified shudder, Constance slipped her fingers from her quivering body, throwing them out to her sides. As sleep claimed her her mind breathed, Yes, I will go. I need to go. I must.

  THREE

  A ball of nervous, enthusiastic insecurity, Constance paced an uncluttered space of the old Norman manor house. One minute she was giddy at the prospect of what she was about to do, and the next, sure that Sir Fulke would only sneer at Adele’s invitation. When the latter took firm hold, Constance shook her head in self-disgust and opted to leave before the pair could arrive. As she took the first step towards the secret passage she’d utilized, the door opened. Spinning round her eyes widened as Sir Fulke walked in.

  The surprise upon the man’s visage melted into scarlet awkwardness when Adele followed him in. Now it was Constance’s turn to suffer the flush of embarrassment. To her credit she held the younger woman’s merry gaze as she glided over.

  “Well, look see who’s come to play, Sir Fulke.”

  At Adele’s remark Constance noted how Sir Fulke’s brows twitched. He said nothing, only let the cherry-eyed Adele pull him over to Constance. She trembled with renewed excitement. It was not until Adele was standing directly in front of her that the knight said anything at last, his tone flat, dark eyes unfathomable.

  “Is that so?”

  Adele whirled round, catching at the hem of Sir Fulke’s surcote. He stayed her hands from raising the garment any further, his eyes darting uncertainly in Constance’s direction.

  “Come, now, sir.” purred the maid. “What’s this modesty? There’s not amiss with our lady joinin’ us.”

  Even as the knight relented, Constance yet discerned a measure of indecision in his bearing as Adele divested him of his tunics.

  All concern over his uneasiness fled the second his upper flesh was revealed.

  Gilbert had been as wide and brawny as he’d been tall, his skin and eyes and hair pale. Sir Fulke, on the other hand, was tall, too, but his lean, swarthy frame bulged in all the right places, rippling with every move he made.

  Shivering as hunger fired her insides at the hard beauty of the man, Constance could only watch as he raised Adele’s simple blue sleeveless surcote up and off. Next he helped her out of her equally plain long-sleeved cote. As he’d done this, the serving maid had heeled off her shoes, kicking them off to the side.

  Now, standing in nothing except her smock and stockings, Adele grinned mischievously. “Now you, milady.”

  Nervous eagerness joined with Constance’s desire at the prospect of Sir Fulke undressing her. However, it was the serving maid who stepped to lift her wine-hued surcote and the tighter fitting dove-gray cote underneath, not Sir Fulke. Her disappointment was eliminated when she noted how his eyes fell upon her large bosom, lingering, smoldering, before sliding away. Unlike Adele’s loose, l
inen smock, Constance’s costly, sleeveless chemise, with its low neckline and thin shoulder straps, was of batiste. In response to his appreciation, her large nipples hardened and strained against the fine material.

  “Eh, how becoming her ladyship is in such a fine smock,” claimed Adele. “Do you not think so, Sir Fulke?” She sashayed around their lady and pressed herself into the silent knight, dragging his head down for a kiss.

  Constance’s breathing quickened as she surveyed every glide of the man’s lips over Adele’s, envisioning they were hers. Adele broke away and flashed her a shrewd smile. Constance’s cheeks prickled. It only worsened when Adele followed Sir Fulke over to a nearby trunk, peeling off her smock as she did so. He sat down and she knelt between his legs, her back to him, to help him with his boots. When she requested Constance’s help, she bounded forward.

  Uncaring of her fine chemise Constance knelt and proceeded to take off Sir Fulke’s other boot. As soon as she got it off Adele cried out, startling Constance. Snapping her gaze up she found Sir Fulke grasping Adele firmly by her hips as he took her from behind. His stockings and braise were still in place, but he’d extracted his manhood from the concealment of those short undergarments.

  Lust surging, Constance studied the current heaviness of the knight’s eyes, the part in his lips, the quick rise and fall of his chiseled chest, the harshness of his fingers about Adele’s pale flesh as he brought her back onto his hard length repeatedly.

  Playing fingers about her breasts snatched Constance out of her gratifying observance. She glanced down just as the neckline of her chemise was tugged down, her left breast popping out, and Adele’s gaping mouth latched onto her nipple.

  Shocked, Constance yelped and tried to pull away. The serving maid held fast to her, shushing her between groans.

  “Come, milady. Let me taste you.”

  The young woman drew strongly upon her sensitive tip, sending a bolt of fire straight down to her nether region. Forgetting her distress Constance moaned, leaned back on her hands, closed her eyes, and let the maid have her way.