Her Noble Lords (22 page)

“But, I wish you would not say no to me today.” There, it is out. My neediness, my demands, my almost-pleading to be fucked.

He grins at me, his dark eyes twinkling. “Little maid, when can I ever say no to you? You hold the pair of us, Ralf and I, in the palm of your delicate little hand.”

I frown, perplexed by his words. It had not seemed so to me, especially earlier. Even so, he has said it and I press my advantage now.

“Then you will stay with me? You will wait while I undress and kneel at your feet?”

He pauses for a moment, holds my gaze. Then, “Linnet, do I look to you to be a complete half-wit, a man with no sense at all? For I would be that and worse if I did not accept such a tempting offer. Out of that bed, now and get on with it afore my cockstand bursts from the front of my breeches.”

With a delighted giggle I am out of bed and tugging my clothes off. I forget momentarily about my injury, only to have Piers catch me around the waist as I almost stumble. “Steady, girl. My brother will not forgive me if I cause further damage, especially in your delicate condition.”

I take a little more care but moments later I am naked and kneeling beside the bed. Piers sits on the side of it and beckons me forward to take my position between his powerful, outstretched legs.

“So, you are on your knees and gloriously naked. What next, little maid?”

“May I…?” I gesture to his erection which bulges the front of his clothing.

“You may.” He leans back on his elbows and closes his eyes. I take this as my signal to proceed as I please.

I untie the drawstring holding his breeches in place and open the front to allow his straining cock the freedom it so clearly desires. His manhood springs free, pointing straight up. I take it between both my hands and caress it with a reverence I normally reserve for my rosary. He lets out a low groan, a sighing deep in his throat but makes no move to hurry me along or to direct my actions.

I shuffle a little closer and lean forward to draw the tip of my tongue across the head. His sweet, clear juices are already flowing, weeping from the slit at the end. I lap at the droplets, play at cleaning him off only to have the moisture return two and threefold.

The huge cock leaps in my hands and Piers starts to thrust his hips upwards. I part my jaws as wide as I am able and take the head into my mouth.

Piers’ fingers are in my hair now. He grips a fistful of my tresses and holds my head still as he pumps his cock in and out of my mouth. Each stroke presses deeper, further into my throat. I breathe through my nose, managing to suppress the urge to gag. His cock twitches again and he utters some obscenity I cannot quite catch but I know his release is close. I hollow my cheeks to suck, at the same time cupping his heavy balls. It is enough. His grip tightens in my hair to the point of pain though I care not for that and his balls contract in my hands as they force the ribbons of semen up through his penis to erupt into my mouth.

Now I do gag but only for the few brief moments it takes to swallow and clear my throat. The fountain of his seed continues, filling my mouth again and again. Each time I swallow it, all of it, relishing the tangy sweetness of his essence, so similar to Ralf but all Piers’ own.

Afterwards we lay together on the bed, me still nude, Piers fully dressed. It is so often thus between us but I no longer mind. I curl up against his side, my cheek pillowed on his chest. His palm rests casually on my buttock, for once not smarting from a spanking, whether delivered in play or punishment. I prop my chin on my hand.

“Sir, will you not spank me again, as long as I am pregnant?”

He kisses the top of my head. “No, we will not, I think.”

“Oh.” I digest that for a few moments, then, “I will miss it.”

“You will not be alone, little maid. Is this because you hated the figging?”

“Figging?”

“The ginger. It is called figging.”

“Oh. I have not heard that word before. So, this… figging… is commonplace here at Egremont?”

“I would not say that exactly. I suspect it will become more usual though, if you turn out to be the fecund little creature I am starting to suspect you are. It is an effective form of discipline which will not endanger an unborn child.”

“I agree it is effective. I am very sorry, sir, for my carelessness whilst you were away. I just did not think.”

“The matter is done with. You have learnt a hard lesson but we need not speak of it again.”

I fall silent for several moments, alone with my thoughts. Then something occurs to me, questions I wonder if I should ask. Would it be indelicate? Rude even?

“I can almost hear the wheels turning in your head from here. What is it, little maid?”

Two questions. I start with the easiest one.

“Why do you always call me that? Little maid? I am not a maid, not in any sense of the word. Not any longer. And I am not unusually small.”

“You always seem small to me and fragile. The name seemed to suit you, at first and it has stuck. Does it displease you?”

I think about that and realise it does not. My response picks up on the rest of his comment. “But if I am so fragile, why are you always so ready to spank me, or take a switch to my bottom? Well, at least you were, before…”

“Matters of disciplining our wife do seem to usually fall to me. But, I would never harm you. You must know that.”

“Yes, sir, I do. I, I trust you.”

“I know you do and I am glad of it. Was that all?”

“No, sir, there was one other matter puzzling me but I am uncertain if I can ask you or Ralf.”

He rolls over to pin me to the bed, his expression serious. “I will punish you for your misdeeds, Linnet but not for your words and neither will Ralf. You may say what you will to us, without fear of retribution.”

“I see. But, it was not really that. I just…” I decide the best course is just to say it. “When I was a child working here in the kitchens, the old earl used to often come down there in search of ginger. My grandmother would give it to him. I wondered, sometimes but never would have…” I stop, mortified as the implications of my words hit me. If I, a mere child, was aware when the lord of the keep sought out a finger of ginger, so would all the current servants know of my punishment.

“Oh, sweet Lord, am I to have no secrets?”

Piers laughs out loud. “Ah, yes, my mother was a lovely woman, all thought so who knew her. Her children loved her, my father adored her. But ‘tis true she led him a dance much of the time and I daresay he had to resort to whatever measures were at his disposal to maintain any semblance of control. And yes, Mrs. Murching will be aware of our needs earlier today, as may others in her domain. Perhaps you will think on that, next time you contemplate disobedience, little maid.”

I grimace and nod. I am sure I will.

A messenger is here from the king’s court in London. His arrival has caused much consternation in Egremont. Since the man’s escort clattered across our drawbridge Ralf and Piers have spent much time closeted with him in the solar, accompanied by the castle bailiff and the captain of the guard.

I am terrified, convinced this is the summons I have dreaded for months. Are my men to be required to join the king in the Holy Land, to lay down their lives on foreign soil whilst I wait here, my heart in my mouth every time a courier appears over our horizon?

They have not instructed me to leave them alone, but I hesitate to intrude, to disturb their earnest discussions. At last, I can bear the uncertainty no longer. I tap on the door to the solar and await an invitation to go inside.

It is Piers’ voice which bids me enter. I do so, closing the doors behind me. I drop a curtsy, and given the company direct my words to Ralf.

“My lord, I wonder if I may be of any assistance.”

He smiles at me and extends his hand. I rush across the chamber to take his hand and kiss it. He strokes my hair.

“Linnet, this is William Marshall, an emissary from Queen Eleanor, mother to our noble liege lord.”

I bow my head. “I trust all is well for your comfort, my lord.”

The elderly man inclines his head, but is clearly ready to continue their deliberations as soon as my doting husband sees fit to dismiss me.

Ralf does not do so. Instead, he continues to explain. “The king has been taken captive by Duke Leopold of Austria. A crippling ransom is demanded, a hundred and fifty thousand marks. It will ruin England.”

“I see, my lord. Is a force to be assembled to attempt a rescue, then?” It is unthinkable that our king be allowed to remain in hostile enemy hands, and England at the mercy of his brother, John.

Ralf shakes his head. “No, Linnet. We will raise the ransom, somehow. All the noble houses must contribute, and we are just considering how Egremont will raise our share.”

“I see.” At my husband’s signal I take a seat at the table beside him. The men resume their conversation and soon my presence is forgotten.

I listen in silence as they explore the various options. We could sell most of the horses, or other livestock, and if it comes to it we might parcel up land and offer that for sale. Our coffers are not exactly empty, but the contribution of ten thousand marks which is sought from us will be crippling and leave Egremont with no reserves. It is clear that neither Piers nor Ralf has any appetite for relinquishing so much as an acre of land, and they are aware of the impact on our serfs if we deplete the cattle or sheep. Our horses are vital for our defence as well as offering our only reliable means of transport.

Eventually the alternatives are whittled down and it seems the livestock are to be sacrificed, as well as most of the wealth accumulated over the last few years of relative peace and prosperity. My men are resigned to that fact, though far from content at the prospect.

I believe I may be able to suggest a more palatable solution.

It is later that evening that I have an opportunity to converse with them alone. We are in our chamber, replete after having made love. I am snuggled in the bed, between two hard masculine bodies, and have never been more content. I am not certain how my comments on the matter of the king’s ransom will be received, but will have failed in my budding role as lady of Egremont if I do not offer my perspective.

“My lords, may I speak with you?”

“Hmm, what is it, Linnet?” Piers sounds sleepy.

“Are you in any way less than satisfied, sweetling?” Ralf can usually be relied upon to think with his cock.

“It is not that, sir. I have been thinking, about Mr. Marshall, and the king. We need to raise money, do we not?”

“Aye, Linnet, we do.” Piers sounds more alert now. “Do you have any funds to offer to the noble cause?”

I dig my elbow in his ribs, a somewhat foolhardy gesture but he seems ready to overlook my lapse on this occasion. “No, my lord. But I have a notion where we might find some.”

“Oh?” I have the attention of both men now. Ralf props himself up on one elbow. “Do please continue.”

“We could raise the rents payable on our burgages. Our tenants pay almost nothing as it is. ‘Tis true our coffers will be depleted if we send the money the king needs, but we can replenish our wealth within a few years if we act quickly.”

“Now Linnet, we have no wish to increase the hardship faced by the peasants on our lands—”

“No, my lord,” I cut off Piers’ objections. “We will recompense them with the loan of the livestock we will not be compelled to sell, and by releasing the pasture beside the river for their cultivation. We have retained that most fertile stretch as our own demesne, but we have no real need of it. The serfs will manage well enough with the extra land to aid them, and if we allow them to also retain any calves which may drop whilst our cattle are in their possession that will further ease the burden.”

“I am not sure.” Ralf is frowning, not especially enamoured of the notion.

“There’s more, my lords. An idea I have been wondering about…”

“Go on, little maid.” Piers’ expression is intent. “What else do you have in mind?”

“We produce fine wool here, and several of the peasant women have set up looms in their cottages, to weave it into cloth. They make fine, hard-wearing tweeds…” I look from one to the other. “You must have seen it? The cloth, I mean.”

“Aye, I believe I have,” agrees Piers. “Are you suggesting we sell the sheep too?”

“Of course not. I believe we should sell the cloth though, to help raise cash for Egremont. For all of us. And we could sift out those sheep which produce the finest fleeces and breed from those to further improve our wool. We would share what is earned, the peasants would benefit too. They will soon forget their current hardships if the future is one which promises prosperity and security. I believe we should talk to them.”

“Talk to them?” Ralf looks pensive, but not entirely hostile to the idea.

“Aye. We will need their cooperation as well as their skill. I believe if we share this problem, they will help us to solve it. The people of Egremont are loyal, to you, my lords, and to the king.”

Piers grins at me, then at his twin. “You know, brother, I believe our little bride may have the right of it. It can do no harm, anyway. Perhaps we should become merchants, not warriors.”

Ralf gives a snort of derision. “Wool? We are to breed sheep and sell cloth? Shall we have a stall then, in Kendal marketplace?”

“Better that than a grave in Jerusalem.” Piers offers his dry observation as he sits up. “Brother, we need to do something, and Linnet’s ideas may work. I, too, have wondered from time to time if we could make better use of our breeding stock though I confess I am more interested in breeding fine horseflesh than lamb. Mayhap this crisis has concentrated our thinking. I believe we should give Linnet’s ideas real consideration.”

Ralf narrows his eyes, regarding the pair of us with suspicion. At last he shrugs. “Very well, we shall summon our tenants and put it to them.” He turns to me. “You are a most surprising little wench, Linnet. It was a fortunate day for Egremont when you took it upon yourself to impersonate your mistress at Wellesworth.”