by Ashe Barker
He offers me an almost formal bow and is gone.
* * *
I get little or no sleep that night and the grey light of dawn sees me creeping across the bailey toward the entrance to the kitchens. I enter and as I had hoped, I spy a sleepy Joan crouching before the enormous fireplace stirring the huge grate into life. Despite her new station in life attending to my needs, she has not been excused her early morning duties here in the kitchens. She glances at me, concealing a yawn as she hurls a large log onto the glowing embers.
“Lawks, Linnet, what are ye doing about at this time? I thought ‘twas only me had to be up afore the sun.”
I peer around, satisfy myself we are alone. “Joan, I need to talk to you. But you must swear not to reveal what I am to tell you. Not to anyone.”
Her glowering expression is difficult to interpret but I finally settle on suspicion. Her words confirm this.
“Ye know I be yer friend and now yer maid but I’ll not be a party to anythin’ dishonest. I value my place here.”
“No, of course not. It is nothing of the sort. I just need to ask you something.”
“Aye, an’ what would that be, then?” I can tell by her face my assurances have not entirely convinced her.
“What do you think of Sir Ralf and Sir Piers? I know they are both fine lords, noble lords, but are they decent men?”
“Decent men?” I suspect Joan would look less incredulous had I suggested that the St. John brothers might sprout wings and fly around the Egremont battlements in the moonlight. She gapes at me for several seconds before responding with an inelegant snort. “Is there any such thing? If there be, I daresay the description would fit.”
“They are very close, are they not?”
“Aye, I suppose. They are twins after all.”
“Yes. And they share—this?” I gesture around me. “The castle, the earldom?”
“Linnet, what are you asking me? I am thinking that spell in the dungeon has addled your brains mayhap.” Joan reaches for another log which she seizes in both arms and tosses on top of the first. Her labours are rewarded as the fire flickers and flames start to edge around the dry timber. She stands and surveys the small blaze with satisfaction. “Help me mix the oatmeal if ye’re going to be taking up my time chattering. Cook’ll have my hide if there’s nothing hot to warm her stomach when she gets down here.”
I reach for a ladle and stir the heavy cauldron which has been prepared the night before and left covered on the table to deter rats. I then aid Joan in hauling it across to the fire and securing it on the hook over the crackling flames. She adds more fuel, gives it another vigorous stir, then appears satisfied all is in order for now.
“So, what has brought all this on, then?” Joan settles onto the bench beside the table and pours each of us a mug of mead.
“All what?” Agnes scuttles in to warm her fingers by the fire, then sits down next to Joan. I see no alternative but to take my seat opposite and share my unlikely tale with the pair of them.
“Sweet Mother of God, you intend to wed both of them? Both?” Agnes’ eyes are wide, her jaw dropping in astonishment as I conclude.
Joan is less impressed. And far more pragmatic. “Ye’ll be needing stamina then. I wonder if we might add a handful more oatmeal to the porridge?”
* * *
Later that morning I enter the earl’s solar in response to a summons from Ralf to find the priest and the St. John brothers deep in conversation. All three men rise to greet me as I step through the door. It is Father Peter who speaks first.
“My dear child, I gather there has been a most unfortunate error. A dreadful business indeed, most shocking.” He wrings his hands, his expression one of righteous regret. “The earl assures me that no dishonour was intended however and more important, that none has been perpetrated. If you are ready to confess your sins and seek God’s forgiveness I am sure the matter may be resolved with alacrity.”
I adopt a suitably modest pose, though I consider my sins in the making of this situation to be somewhat limited. Nevertheless, I am a pragmatic soul and if humility will ease the passage of events, then so be it. “I thank you, father. I am most grateful for your kindness and understanding.”
“Not at all, child, not at all. The earl stands ready to repeat the vows, should you be agreeable to such a course. I have to admit, that is an uncommon solution but I can see no impediment to it. Or I could annul the marriage. The earl has left the decision in your hands, my dear, a most unusual approach. Few women are permitted such a choice.”
“I have no family to speak for me, father. And I have made my choice.” It became apparent to me as I described the outrageous notion to my friends down in the kitchens that I had indeed arrived at a decision. In my heart, I know what I want and now it is time to reach out and grab it.
“I see.” The three men regard me with varying degrees of expectation.
“The earl is a most kind man, father, and the noblest of lords. I would be honoured to become his wife in truth.”
The priest beams at me and offers his blessings. “You would indeed be honoured, my child, since it is my understanding you are not of noble birth yourself.”
“No, father,” I mumble.
“Still, Sir Ralf is ready to overlook that failing, so I expect the Lord will bring himself to be equally generous in his outlook. I can only say—”
“Let us hope so, good father. Now, if Linnet is ready, perhaps we could proceed.” Ralf halts the pious homily I have no doubt the priest was about to impart. I cast a grateful look in his direction. He winks at me, strides to my side, and offers me his arm. He bows his head to murmur in my ear, “You shall have your reward in heaven, I expect, though I confess we have something more immediate in mind for you.”
My face is burning as I accompany my husband-to-be from the solar, the priest and Piers following in our wake. I trust Sir Ralf will not find it necessary to share his confession with the good Lord.
Piers speaks, his tone jovial. I suspect it is for the priest’s benefit. “You will both require a short while in which to refresh yourselves before the ceremony, I do not doubt. Linnet, we took the liberty of instructing that little seamstress you appear so fond of. She assures us she will have a suitable gown ready for you by this afternoon.”
“Agnes? But, how did you even know a wedding gown would be required?”
“We did not. But we have always found it a wise strategy to be prepared. And we are nothing if not optimistic, little maid.”
I glance back to smile at Piers; his words of friendship and welcome are appreciated. Perhaps this bizarre arrangement will work after all. I can but hope so for I am committed now.
* * *
I am wearing a soft blue gown, the most beautiful garment I have ever been able to call my own. I do not include any of Lady Eleanor’s apparel in that, of course, for I did not own those items. But this lovely dress is mine alone, fashioned in a matter of mere hours by Agnes. It is made of fine imported silk and trimmed with ribbons in a deeper hue. It is my wedding dress, worn to celebrate this truly remarkable day.
I am to become Lady Linnet, countess of Egremont.
I approach the entrance to the small family chapel on the arm of Piers. I am aware that Ralf and the priest await us before the altar, while others from the household are clustered in the half dozen or so rows of pews. All are ready to smile and rejoice on this happy and momentous occasion. My own feelings are less simple.
I do desire this marriage and all that will be entailed. I understand what the contract is which I will be entering into, both in public and privately. I am ready to do my utmost to ensure it succeeds. But I cannot help being nervous. Marriage is always a huge step, especially for a woman but for me, on this occasion, it is truly momentous. I shall have two husbands. Two noble lords to please, to serve, to obey. Either man alone would be more than enough for me but I am to have both. Together.
Dear Lord,
preserve me.
Piers slows our progress and halts. He turns to me and frames my face in one of his hands. “Remember, Linnet, although Ralf will stand beside you before God, I am at your side, too. Your vows to me will be made in silence, as will mine to you. But we are bound by those vows. All three of us, bound to each other for all time. You understand this?”
“I do, my lord.”
He smiles at me. “Then let us proceed, little maid.”
The ceremony passes in a blur. In truth, Father Peter does not draw the proceedings out unduly. I murmur my responses, while Ralf speaks his in a loud, clear tone for all to witness. Piers stands behind us, close enough that I hear his breathing. I imagine his own rich voice enunciating the vows and respond to him, too, in my mind. It is peculiar, yet as natural as my own shallow breaths.
In minutes it is over, the formalities concluded. Father Peter announces us to be man and wife and Ralf lowers his face to mine. His kiss is warm, passionate, hinting at the pleasures to come. He breaks the kiss to meet Piers’ eyes.
“Brother, we have a new countess. Please welcome her to the family.”
“My pleasure.” Ralf steps back as Piers moves to fill my vision. “You have captured all our hearts, my lady.” He brushes my lips with his, the kiss chaste and very proper for the benefit off those looking on and calling their congratulations to us but it lacks nothing in raw, sensuous promise. His lips move across my mouth, his tongue tickling the seam. It is all I can do not to open for him.
A soft, tactful cough from Ralf prevents further degeneration and we move apart. “Let us repair to the great hall where our wedding feast awaits, my love. Piers, would you lead the way.” My new husband offers me his arm and I take it with gratitude. I am aware that in the future it will not be so crucial to avoid public displays of affection with either man since no one here has the slightest notion which is which in any case. They will assume I am kissing my husband, as is only proper. Right now, however, with both present and it clear which man I have married just moments before, we need to behave with more decorum.
Our procession makes its way from the chapel and across the glistening, wet cobbles of the bailey. A light rain is drizzling, the cool moisture pleasant against my flushed cheeks. I cling to Ralf’s arm, glad of his calm strength, his solid presence as we wave our thanks to the well-wishers who could not be crammed into the chapel but have congregated here in the autumnal damp to join in the celebrations.
We enter the main keep and make our way down the length of the great hall to the top table. The boards are laden with food, enough for all here and more besides. People from the villages hereabouts will join us, drawn by the promise of a good meal but also keen to add their contribution to the raucous merriment. The wedding of an earl is a big affair at Egremont.
They do not know the half of it. Or perhaps they do and that is how it must remain.
Chapter Ten
“You appear fatigued, my love. Perhaps you should retire to our chamber.” Ralf leans over to murmur the words into my ear as I refuse yet another serving of the cook’s fine stuffed partridge. “Would you not agree, Piers? Our countess requires some time to relax, to recoup her flagging spirits.”
“Indeed. It has been a momentous day,” agrees Piers. “It would be a great shame to overtire her ladyship.”
Both regard me with expressions I cannot fail to interpret. I am to take myself off to the earl’s bedchamber without further delay and await them there.
“Excuse me, my lords. You are correct, of course. I will take my leave of you now, with your permission.” They both rise to assist me to my feet, then offer their courtly bows as I make my way to the staircase at the end of the hall. From her seat at the lower table Joan sees my departure and is quickly in step behind me.
“It was a lovely wedding, Linnet, I mean, my lady.” She corrects herself, then hesitates as though awaiting my censure. It does not come, so she continues. “You must be that happy.”
“Thank you, Joan. And yes, I am happy.” We reach the first landing. “I believe I will be able to manage for myself, if you wish to re-join the festivities downstairs.”
“Oh, no, my lady. I’m a lady’s maid now, not a kitchen wench. My place is here, upstairs, with you.”
“Quite so and I appreciate your assistance. But I believe it would be better if you were to assist me out of this lovely dress, then leave me to my own devices. I will not be alone for long, I daresay.”
“I expect so. ‘Twill get quite crowded in yonder chamber, I expect.”
On the second landing I turn to her, my expression vehement. “Joan, I trusted you with those intimate details because I am alone here. Or I was. I needed someone to confide in. I must have your promise that no one, no one at all, will ever hear them repeated by you. I shall ask the same of Agnes.”
“My lady, how can you even think that? Of course, I would never tattle. Nor would Agnes. I love my new job and you are our friend, or you were…”
I hug her, the action both impulsive and heartfelt. “I am and always will be, whatever happens.”
“Good, that is as it should be then. So we should hurry and get you made pretty for your men. I do not believe they will tarry for long in the great hall, knowing you are up here waiting for them.”
She is probably right. I quicken my steps up the final flight of stairs to the earl’s apartments.
* * *
“So, Linnet, which of us is to take your maidenhead?” Piers delivers his question as he leans with nonchalant ease on the post at the foot of the huge bed. Ralf has adopted a similar pose at the opposite corner. Both regard me with expressions I suspect would be more suited to hungry wolves eyeing a cornered doe. I feel a certain empathy with the prey whose fate is already sealed, though I do not fear these men. Not exactly. And I have no notion at all how to answer Piers’ question. I remain silent.
“We could wrestle for the honour,” suggests Ralf.
Piers shakes his head. “Too noisy. We would have half the household charging in here, convinced our little bride was being done to death. Mayhap we could toss a coin.”
Ralf appears to be considering, then, “This is too momentous an occasion to leave to chance. We should make a pact though. Whichever one of us takes her quim now, the other shall have her arse later.”
“My… what?” Now I do manage a squeak of protest. “What do you mean?”
It is Ralf who explains. “You are ours now, Linnet, to pleasure and to fuck. And we mean to fuck you in every which way possible. That will include your sweet little arsehole but we will need to prepare you for that. We will take our time since we have no wish to harm you nor to frighten you unduly…”
“I am not sure our little bride properly comprehends your meaning, brother. She is a virgin after all and her experience is limited. You are a virgin, I assume?” Piers tilts his head inquisitively, as though the matter is of no major import either way.
“Yes, of course. Except for, for…”
“Except for what took place here on the day you assisted at our baths?” Piers offers the explanation.
I nod, blushing to the roots of my hair which falls loose around my shoulders.
“Then you are most certainly a virgin and you have much to learn, little maid. We will enjoy teaching you.” He pauses to allow that to sink in, then, “As for our current dilemma, perhaps we should allow the lady to decide. Which of us would you choose to fuck you first, Linnet?”
I shake my head. “I cannot. Please do not ask me to—”
“I have a better idea,” announces Ralf. “She shall be blindfolded, so she will not know which cock is inside her. How would that be, Linnet?”
My channel clenches, whether in defensive horror or abject arousal I really cannot say. The prospect of losing my virginity is daunting enough; to do so blindfolded is quite terrifying. And utterly erotic. I say nothing of those feelings however and instead blurt out the first thing that comes i
nto my head. “I would know. By your voices.”
Ralf’s grin is wicked. “Ah, Linnet, you are too honest for your own good. But I think you will be sufficiently confused by the assault we plan to make on your senses that you will not to be able to tell. You will be aware of our words, you will know who has spoken to you but our touch is different. You will feel everything but you will not know whose hands, whose lips, whose cock…”
Piers groans. “Sweet Jesus, let us get on with this. Linnet, you will stand beside the bed and remove that pretty nightdress, if you please.” He is already striding across the room to the chest where they keep most of their clothing. He throws back the lid and reaches inside, glancing back at me over his shoulder as he does so. “Linnet, why are you not scrambling to obey me? Should I be fetching a leather strap, too?”
“No, sir,” I squeak and wriggle from the bed.
Piers returns to sit on the edge of the mattress so recently vacated by me. He has a wide silk sash in his hands, in a delicate shade of yellow. He folds it slowly along its length as I watch in dread fascination. He looks up at me, his expression hardening. “I will not tell you again, little maid, even if this is your wedding night. Remove the nightdress, or we will do it for you, then we will administer the thrashing you seem to require in order for us to properly gain your attention.”
“I am sorry, sir, I just…” I abandon the apologies and reach down to seize the hem of my silk nightdress. It is loosely cut and I am able to easily pull the sheer garment over my head.
Ralf steps forward to take it from me and tosses it across the room. “We might allow you to wear that again later. For now, just this will suffice.” He holds out his hand and Piers passes him the sash. “Turn around, Linnet.”
