Her Noble Lords (25 page)

“I love you too.”

“You do not have to say it, little maid, because it is not true. You are mine though and that is enough for now. I will do all I can to earn your love.”

I shake my head. “No, you have it. You do, truly.”

He quirks his lip in a parody of a smile. “You were always so sweet, so tender. So eager to please. It is one of your finest qualities.”

“Then, you forgive me?”

“Forgive you? What is to forgive?”

“Ralf’s death.”

He takes my face between his palms and squeezes. “Listen to me and hear my words. I may adore you but if I have no option but to spank this truth into you, I will do so. Both Ralf and I leapt into the river to save you. We risked our lives but knowing the danger we did it anyway. Gladly. We might all of us have died that day—you, me, Ralf, and our baby. But you and I were spared, our baby too, thank God. The almighty took Ralf from us and I will grieve for my brother until the day I die. He sacrificed his life to save you and he did so willingly, out of love. But be under no illusion, Linnet, I would have done the same and just as gladly. I will not squander his sacrifice now, nor will I allow it to dictate the course of our lives from this day. By God’s mercy you and I were spared and Ralf would wish us to be happy. Together.”

He releases me and strides away, dragging his fingers through his tousled blond locks. “Do you recall, little maid, the day I spoke to you, alone? Before our wedding? I told you then that Ralf and I were a pair, indivisible. Then you came into our lives and somehow, we were three. By the grace of God we are now two again and we have no choice but to accept that truth. You said I am all you have but Linnet, without my brother you are all I have too. I am bound to you now as securely I was to Ralf. You are all I need. You and our child.”

“You need me? Want
me?
”

He returns to stand in front of me. “I do. We will bury our beloved Ralf on the morrow and we will both weep at his graveside. We will grieve for him until the day we are finally reunited. We will remember him too and celebrate the love we all shared. But you and I will face tomorrow together and all our tomorrows after that.”

I reach up to caress his cheek. “I do love you, my lord. I cannot point to a moment but I know that I do and I will spend all my tomorrows proving it to you.”

He smiles, the first time he has done so since that last afternoon we were all three together. He lowers his face to mine, brushes his lips across my brow, then hugs me to him. “I look forward to that, little maid.”

“Do you intend to sleep the entire day away, little maid? Father Peter will take it amiss if we keep him waiting.”

I mutter something and attempt to roll onto my side. It is a struggle, my body is swollen to a point where I am convinced I might burst and even the simplest manoeuvre is a complex undertaking. My back aches, my legs refuse to carry me more than a few yards at a time. Rising from a chair is a challenge and getting out of bed unaided has become a forlorn hope. I inform my tormentor of that fact as I burrow down into my pillow again.

Piers is undeterred. “Linnet, it is our wedding day. I fear you must make an appearance.”

“Can I not be married by proxy?”

Piers chuckles as he drags the blankets from my body and eases my legs over the edge of the bed. “I know you. You would not wish to miss this. Give me your hands and I will help you to sit up.”

I grumble as he assists me into an ungainly sitting position, though he is correct in his assumption that I would regret not being present for my own wedding. Still, I cannot resist protesting further.

“I am sure I could remain in my bed. After all, I could get married in my sleep now, I have done it so often.”

“Ah, yes, three weddings in just over a year. It is an achievement for even the most enthusiastic of brides. Still, if Father Peter does not see fit to take issue I doubt anyone else will.”

I sigh, resigned to the inevitable. Piers will not resort to a spanking to ensure my compliance, not whilst I am pregnant. Apart from anything else, there is no way I could lie across his lap in my present state. I have arrived at the conclusion that this is something of a pity since a spanking from Piers might be painful while it is happening but always concludes most satisfactorily. I am cautious about mentioning my regrets as I will not be in this delicate condition for much longer and Piers will certainly remember my ill-judged words.

For this morning though it is clear my husband-to-be is intent upon having his way and I can only procrastinate for so long before he will become more insistent. I have no desire to play host to a finger of ginger before my wedding, so I muster my most pleasing smile for him.

“Please, would you ask Agnes or Joan to come in? I will require their help to prise me into my gown.”

“Soon, my sweet. First though, I have something else in mind for you to help raise your flagging spirits.”

“Oh? What is that, my lord?” I look up at him, privately wondering—and not for the first time—how I managed to tempt not one but two St. John brothers into marriage. Ralf was handsome, my golden prince. I adored him but Piers is every bit as attractive. I love him too but it is different. More perhaps.

Over the last few weeks I have come to admire Piers and to rely on him. He has met the catastrophe of Ralf’s death with fortitude and courage, offering leadership and certainty to a castle wallowing in heartbreak. He has grieved, I know this because he has shared my bed every night since the funeral and in the privacy of our chamber he has wept for his lost brother. As have I. There is a gnawing emptiness here, a chair unfilled, a space vacant.

But as each day has passed Piers has grown in stature, assuming the full authority of the earl, wrapping the cloak of sole responsibility around his shoulders. There is a strength here, a growing sense that all will be well. Piers will make it so. I love him more with every passing day.

“Lie back, close your eyes, and relax.”

“I was lying down. Until you came in and—”

He stops my protests with a kiss. “Hush. Lie back, little maid.” He eases me back down onto the mattress, then lifts each of my feet in turn to place them on the edge of the bed. My knees are bent and he takes hold of them to ease them apart. I know what is coming now and sigh my pleasure.

However much I might deplore my current inelegance, Piers’ worship of my body is undiminished. He rolls my night rail up around my distended abdomen and leaves a trail of kisses along my inner thighs. I hold my breath as he nears the soft curls at my centre.

“Ah, little maid, so eager.”

“Yes, my lord.” I no longer see any merit in denying the obvious. I have not done so for months.

“I intend to wait until you are my countess before I fuck you again but I believe your grumpy disposition will benefit from some relief prior to the ceremony. Would you agree?”

“You are most kind, my lord. Yes, I do believe that would help my current mood.”

“How would you like it, Linnet? What would you like me to do to you?”

“You will choose, my lord. You always do.”

“On this very special occasion, my sweet little bride, I will take instructions from you.”

“I do not understand? What do you want from me?”
Can he not just touch me? Lick me?
I would have no strenuous objection to a pre-wedding fuck if he so desires.

“I want you to tell me what you want. I want you to wallow in your naughtiest, most disgraceful, sluttish fantasies and tell them to me.”

“I cannot.”

“Oh, but you can, little maid. Where would you like me to touch you?”

“You know where.” I glare at him, my frustration mounting.

He lifts one eyebrow and bestows a supercilious smile on me. “Mayhap I will need to send word to Father Peter to inform him that we are delayed. I find myself in no hurry, Linnet. We shall wait here, your legs splayed, your cunt drooling with your need, until you come around to my way of thinking.”

“You are without shame, sir.”

“I am, ‘tis true. The question is, Linnet, how long will it take for you to become shameless too?”

I emit a furious snarl but it is to no avail. He returns to his task of tracing a line of soft kisses along my inner thigh, occasionally brushing the lips of my quim but never enough to ignite the quivering passions seething there.

The outcome is a foregone conclusion.

“My quim. Lick my quim, please.”

“My pleasure,” he murmurs and applies himself to that very purpose. He parts my folds with his fingers then feathers the tip of his tongue along my inner lips before plunging it into my entrance. My channel starts to convulse at once, the walls contracting around his questing tongue.

“Oh, sweet merciful heaven…” I arch my back, thrusting against his warm mouth as my delight soars. “This will not take long, my lord.”

He smiles up at me from between my spread thighs. “Father Peter will be most gratified. Is there more perhaps that I can do to please you?”

“Your fingers, sir. Put them inside me.”

“Ah, yes, an excellent notion. How many fingers do you think will be required, little maid?”

“At least three.” Yes, he is quite right. I am truly shameless.

“I see. Like this?” He plunges the requisite number of digits into my wet cunny, angling his thrust to rub against that sweet spot which sends me into convulsions every time. This occasion is no exception. I let out a squeal of pure delight as my body starts to spasm. My release is swift and powerful, the shudders and after-tremors continuing long after the intensity crests then ebbs. He uses his fingers and his clever, wicked mouth to tease and pleasure me, strumming my response from me as surely as my fingers draw the music from the strings of my harp.

At last it is over. I lie still, my breathing steady and my heart at peace. I am ready to marry my earl.

* * *

My third wedding is a grander affair than either of its predecessors. This is at Piers’ insistence. He says he wishes to eradicate any doubt as to my status in his castle or his heart. I am not aware that there is any such ambiguity but I enjoy the occasion nonetheless.

The ceremony is to be attended by noble guests from across the county. Lady Cecily of Darkenfield is here of course, with her husband and two children. She and I have become firm friends.

Piers even invited Lady Eleanor to make the trip from Wellesworth but she declined, claiming an aversion to travelling in the heat of the summer. I do not lament her decision. We are, however, in the august company of the barons of Copeland, Gilsland, Kendal, and Appleby who are here with their ladies and a veritable army of servants and soldiers. Egremont is bursting at the seams, not unlike myself.

My gown is blue, a delicate robin’s eggshell shade trimmed with lace imported from Florence. Agnes has made a fine job of it, even managing to contrive a flourish at the front to accommodate my pregnant girth without making me look unnecessarily huge. My veil is fashioned from sheer silk gauze and flutters down my back; the gentle breeze of a late June morning plays with the delicate train as I cross the bailey to the chapel. Lady Cecily’s husband, Sir William of Darkenfield, has kindly agreed to escort me, whilst Lady Cecily acts as my maid of honour. We enter the tiny church, where Piers awaits me at the altar.

His eyes seek out and find mine as I make my slow, awkward approach. His lips curl into a soft, knowing smile and I blush as I recall my wantonness of just an hour ago. I am glad of the concealing veil which affords me a modicum of privacy within which to collect myself again.

I reach the front of the chapel and Piers takes my hand. He leans down to offer a chaste kiss to my cheek, taking the opportunity to murmur into my ear.

“I trust you will not leak your delectable juices onto this fine garment, sweet bride. ‘Twould be a pity to stain it.”

I gasp and do not deign to answer him.

A determined throat-clearing from Father Peter attracts our attention and proceedings are under way.

The ceremony is longer than that which marked either of my previous marriages but mercifully devoid of much in the way of kneeling and standing. Piers will not permit it in my current delicate condition and has even insisted that a chair be made available for me during the priest’s sermon. I am glad of it. My back aches this morning even more than it normally does and the baby is lying in a most uncomfortable situation low in my belly. At least he is still this day, a mercy for which I am ready to offer up thanks to the blessed virgin.

Father Peter utters his usual and much practiced words of warning, admonishment, and praise for the wisdom of almighty God for creating this holy state of matrimony. We all murmur our agreement in the form of heartfelt amens and much genuflection and at last the words are spoken over us which unite Piers and I for the rest of our lives.

I could not be happier. From the grin which lights his handsome features I suspect Piers is equally delighted. He kisses me, thanks the priest for his services, and leads me from the chapel.

We are halfway across the rough cobbles of the bailey when I am gripped by a violent clenching across my abdomen. I shriek and double up in agony.

“Linnet! Sweet Jesus, what has happened?” Piers gathers me in his arms and carries me the rest of the way back to the great hall. He sets me down in one of the large chairs which flank the massive fireplace and crouches before me as I clutch my middle again.

“My love, is it the baby?”

I have no experience of childbearing, do not know for certain but I nod anyway, frantic with fear. It is too early. My child is not due for another three weeks at least. Piers stands and hollers for his sister and for Joan and Agnes.

He insists on carrying me back upstairs himself, all the way cursing his own selfish stupidity in laying his lecherous hands on me earlier in the day. I am sure my two maids are exchanging knowing looks, though neither sees fit to make any comment. Lady Cecily is less restrained, treating Piers to a solid punch to the shoulder and accusing him of being an insensitive brute too ready to be led by his prick. He does not deny the charge.