Her Noble Lords (16 page)

“Do you not have servants to attend to such matters?” I enquire from the comfort of Piers’ embrace. “I am sure that Joan…”

Ralf casts a sensual smile my way. “Our servants have been instructed not to enter this chamber unless specifically instructed to do so. I suggest you ensure your maid understands this also. We desire privacy, for reasons which I believe are obvious and will have to shift for ourselves in some respects if we are to have it.”

“I see. Thank you.” I appreciate their consideration and have no problem in tidying up after myself. I am, after all, accustomed to such a role. “Would you like me to help?”

Piers kisses my neck. “No, little maid. We would like you to rest for a while and join us down in the great hall only when you are quite ready. Ralf and I have matters we must attend to, as will you in due course as you take up your duties as our countess but on the morning after her wedding, it is our view that a bride is entitled to a little extra time in her bed.”

“Oh, well, in that case, why did you not allow me to sleep on?”

Piers chuckles as he cups my breast in his palm and rolls the nipple between his fingers and thumb. “We are starting as we intend to continue, Linnet. Every morning from now on, you will be woken in similar fashion. On most days, one or both of us will fuck you, but we are ready to concede that perhaps on this occasion you would be too sore to truly appreciate such treatment.”

“I see. But I am not sore, not really.” I have no idea why I said that. My quim is decidedly tender and my jaw still aches from the exertions of last night. But despite my discomfort, I am oddly disappointed that they are not already plunging their cocks into me.

Piers laughs out loud at this, a rich, warm sound I am unaccustomed to hearing from him. “Ah, so eager, such a wanton little strumpet. You will enjoy it all the more for waiting a while, my lady. Perhaps by noon you will be sufficiently recovered to spread your delectable thighs for us again.”

“Er… which one? I mean, which of you…?” I assume it will be whichever of them did not fuck me last night.

Piers eases his long frame from the bed, setting me gently back against the pillows. “Ah, little one, perhaps we will take turns. We both enjoy watching your performance almost as much as sharing the event with you.”

I redden but do not see fit to make further comment. Instead, I content myself with watching their display as each man retrieves his clothing and puts it on. I seem to experience no difficulty in knowing one from the other when they are facing me; something in their distinct expressions, their mannerisms sets them apart from each other. Yet as I admire their rear views I have to accept that in every aspect of their appearance they are pretty much identical. They share the same wide shoulders and sharply chiselled chests, though, of course Ralf’s body still bears the marks I left there. His wound has healed well though and whilst it will leave a scar, I am thankful to have created no lasting damage. I settle myself against my pillows to better appreciate the sight of two pairs of taut buttocks, narrow waists, and muscular thighs. Both men’s legs and arms are corded with solid strength, born, I suppose of hard work and punishing exercise both here at Egremont and elsewhere on the battlefields of England.

I know both have seen much action in the service of successive monarchs, though they appear to have thus far eluded the call to arms to defend the faraway city of Jerusalem. I resolve to ask if it is their intention to join that fray, though I sincerely hope it is not.

Too soon, they are clothed once more and on their way. The show has ended. Each drops a quick kiss onto my lips, then they leave via the shared solar. Any passing servant will observe only that they emerged from the solar together rather than from our bedchamber. In the coming months and years we will no doubt all of us become adept at obscuring the true nature of our relationship.

* * *

That first morning set the tone for all that were to follow. I am usually roused from my slumber by one or both of them inserting some part of their anatomy into mine. It is a truly delightful way to meet the day. I play a private game of my own by keeping my eyes shut and seeking to ascertain which one is inside me.

Ralf likes to fuck me hard and fast. He prepares me thoroughly, then drives his cock deep. He does not usually see fit to make me wait, rather he forces the pace. He is a most dominant lover and there are occasions when his commanding approach is all that would satisfy me. He drags my submission from me. At those times I need him to pound into me, to use my body to the point of painful exhaustion and then to use me some more.

Piers is the one most likely to apply a spanking to my bare bottom if I fail to behave respectfully or if I am slow to obey a command, but in the matter of bedsport, he is altogether a more gentle lover. He plays with me, brings me to a state of need where I am pleading with him to enter me, to fuck me hard and only when I am close to desperation does he accede to my demands. Even then he takes his time, bringing me to the point of ecstasy again and again before finally allowing me to find my release. Those climaxes are hard-won and powerful, leaving me quivering with a wholly different manner of exhaustion. Piers coaxes my submission, teases it from me, then rewards my surrender with his own brand of exquisite fulfilment.

I crave both. I need them both. But, of course, the choice is never mine. It is always for Ralf and Piers to determine what is to happen in our bedchamber. My role is to submit, to obey, to accept whatever they decide to do to me.

We have been married for just over a month now. Ralf rose early this morning as his presence is required in one of the villages about five miles from here. He must resolve a dispute concerning the inheritance of several prize pigs, it seems. Piers could have gone, the villagers would have known no different but it is his turn to dispense justice here at Egremont, so he will be occupied for much of the day. Still, Piers finds time to rouse me with several long, slow caresses across my quim, suitably bared and spread for his attention. As I lie quivering in his arms, he slides his wide, long cock into me and rolls onto his back. His gaze holding mine throughout, he arranges me above him, my knees on either side of his hips, then rocks his erection inside me. There is a spot somewhere within me, which he finds inexorably, and it is there he concentrates the pressure until I am shaking with need and begging for release.

Of course, Piers will not be hurried. My climax is a long time in coming, the sensation coiling tight somewhere deep in my abdomen, hovering there, building in strength then receding only to grow and twist and clench again. And again. At last he relents and with a slow, sensual smile, he permits me to stroke my own special sweet spot in order to complete the task.

This is a skill I have but recently acquired under their diligent tutelage but I have discovered it to be a most rewarding exercise.

Piers leaves me sprawled across our bed, utterly spent. He pulls on his breeches, a loose shirt, and an overtunic, then shoves his feet into his stout leather boots. He appears to be preparing for a day in the saddle.

He leans over me with a sensuous leer. “Sweetheart, we will require you to be here, in this chamber, one hour before the evening meal, if you please. You will be naked, naturally.”

I attempt to sit up but he stops me with one upturned finger. “No, please remain there and take your rest. You will be glad of the respite—later.”

He is gone before I am able to formulate a response.

The day is slow in passing. I attempt to busy myself with an inventory of household linens, which is a somewhat superfluous task as Agnes has already completed all that requires to be done. I decide instead to discuss our winter food stocks with Mrs. Murching, our belligerent cook. I had not recognised her at first but now realise Annie Murching was here at the same time as I was in the past, though then she worked primarily in the laundry. She was always a bad-tempered scold but I have to accept she is an uncommonly good cook. Since my marriage and elevation to the station of mistress here at Egremont, she and I have managed to arrive at a position of mutual tolerance bordering on respect. It will do for now. We spend a reasonably amicable hour or so inspecting larders, and arrive at the conclusion that sufficient dried and salted provisions are already safely accumulated to suggest we will make it through the coming cold spell as long as the winter does not drag on too long. If the weather shows signs of being particularly severe, the men will need to take down a stag or we might elect to deplete our flock of live chickens. Whatever, we are guardedly confident the winter will not defeat us.

I make my way back up to the great hall to supervise the sweeping of dirty rushes from the floors and their replacement with clean, dry straw. This is another task which will proceed equally well without my intervention, so I leave Joan and the rest to their labours and take myself up two more flights of stairs to the seclusion of the earl’s solar.

It is at these times that I most regret my lowly origins. I am not a servant here but neither am I equipped for the pastimes more usually associated with elegant ladies. I am able to play several musical instruments but there are none here that I know of. I am unable to read or write, so I cannot keep a journal, nor can I peruse the household accounts and make much sense of them. I resolve to request a harp, provided we are able to spare the funds to make such a purchase, and perhaps even ask if we might secure the services of a tutor.

* * *

“My lords, I have a request to make, if I may.” I am kneeling on the sheepskin rug before the fire in our bedchamber. As instructed, I am, of course, naked, my head bowed, my hair loose and flowing across my shoulders and back. I am not certain that this is the appropriate time to beg favours but opportunities to talk to both my men, alone, are infrequent. Invariably, such occasions see me naked and on my knees.

“A request, little maid? You do not yet know what it is we intend for your pleasure this evening.” Piers lifts a lock of my hair to run the tresses between his fingers, then drops it in order to cup my cheek in his warm palm.

I lean into the caress. “My request does not concern pleasure, my lord… at least not pleasure of this sort.”

“Tell us what it is you would like, sweetheart.” Ralf has completed a circuit of the room lighting various torches and extinguishing others. The men appear to prefer subdued illumination for our play and often we manage with firelight alone. This evening it would seem more brightness is required.

Encouraged by his mild tone, I press on. “I enjoy music, my lords and have reasonable skill with the harp. Other instruments, too but the harp is my favourite. I would wish to play again… just when I have spare time of course, on those occasions when no household duties require my attention.”

“You play the harp? This is a rare talent, Linnet,” observes Piers. “Would you play to us, to the household, perhaps?”

“Of course, my lord. I would love to do so. Is there an instrument here I might use?”

There is a pause. My eyes are lowered so I cannot observe them but I imagine both men will be looking to each other for a clue as to whether or not they could lay claim to a harp. It is Ralf who replies.

“I do not believe we own such an item, Linnet. We will acquire one.”

I raise my gaze, unable to contain my excitement. “You will? Oh, thank you, my lords. Thank you so much.”

They exchange a puzzled look. Piers shrugs. “It is nothing, Linnet. You must know we would not deny you anything which is in our power to give. You have but to ask. Or, since you will be managing the household accounts, you could commission the purchase yourself.”

I shake my head in vehement denial. “I could not, sir. I would not. I would never spend your funds on frivolous items for myself.”

Ralf approaches to stand beside Piers, his expression more serious now. “Would it be frivolity, Linnet, if the instrument were to provide entertainment for all?” He frowns. “You should reconsider, my lady. You are our wife, the countess of Egremont, with all the authority and privilege which that station affords to you. There is wealth here, sufficient for all who depend upon us to live in reasonable safety and comfort. We expect you to work hard, as do we all but we also look forward to seeing you in fine clothes, enjoying your leisure time, and hopefully, growing large with our children. You are lady here, you should accustom yourself to that fact.”

I gaze up at him, at them, conscious of my vulnerability as I kneel at their feet. I am naked, they are fully clothed. I am to submit whilst they command and dominate me. I would have it no other way. “Yes, my lord. I will try harder, I swear.”

Ralf inclines his head. “I know. And be assured we are well pleased with your efforts thus far, Linnet. Now, would you climb onto the bed, please?”

I start to move, then remember my second request. “Sir, my lords, may I ask one more thing of you, please?”

They both regard me with interest, their arms folded, their expressions if not stern, then certainly bordering on that.

“Yes, Linnet? What is it?” asks Piers.

“You mentioned the household accounts, sir. I am to manage them, am I not?”

“Aye, we would appreciate that, Linnet.”

“Then I will require to learn my letters, sir. And something of numbers too. I have had no need of reading before, or of writing but things are different now. If I am to do as you require of me, I will need to acquire these skills.”

“Ah, we apologise. We had not thought and have no wish to humiliate you by exposing your lack of experience.” Piers looks uncomfortable.

I shake my head. “It is of no matter but I would not wish to fail in my duties now.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You have a wish to learn?”

“Aye, my lord. Very much.” I recognise the practical applications and, of course, those are my first priority but also I long to be able to peruse the shelves in the solar and select a volume to read for my pleasure or enlightenment. I am hungry for the knowledge that awaits me, tantalising and just out of reach.