The Devil of Nettlewood (The Anarchy Tales) (19 page)

“By being with my brother. Seeing you together with him will please me greatly.”

How well Mitri understood these two brothers’ loyalty. She would do anything for her sister. But she
loved
her master. So much! A desperate kind of love, a love that knew no shame, no boundaries, a love that would help her cope with any travail he put her through. This coupling with his brother was one such travail.

Would she be able to give herself to another man to obtain the prize of the devil’s love in return?

Not a wedding band. That, she would never expect. But her master’s
love
. For however long they were together. If she could not go through with his demand, her only option was to leave.

And she was not ready to leave.

Weak. Lusty. Susceptible to the devil’s allure. And stubborn.

Settling for any crumb of affection he would throw her way was preferable to leaving before she absolutely had to go.

“I can see you are thinking,” her master offered. “What have you decided?”

“To celebrate with the two of you.”

And so she would. Without compunction. Naught held back. She would join the two brothers in their victory celebration. They had all of them cheated death, and they had much to rejoice.

Life. In all its imperfections.

She intended to grab life and hold on tight. In the present. No more looking to a future none of them might have. Living in the moment was the only way to survive.

But first, before she agreed to the romp in the bath, she had something to say. “Before you, my lord, I was a virgin.”

“How can that be? I checked before ever I had you and found your maidenhead missing.”

“I gave my innocence over to a candle, not to a man. I knew naught of men. Until you.”

He scratched his head. “But you seemed so knowledgeable of men and carnality.”

“Women talk among themselves. And I went by instinct, guided by lust and my love for you”

“I believe you. I believe you were a virgin until me. And the gift you gave me puffs my chest out with pride.”

She had found him, a man whose trust and belief in her equaled the challenge of accepting her word for her virginity—despite all evidence to the contrary. The overlord had just proven himself worthy of any sacrifices she would make in the name of love.

“You humble me with the prize of your virginity. But all else must still apply. Will you share your body with my brother, Lambkin? Will you uphold your end of our agreement?”

Oh, but he was a facile one. How he could twist words to suit his own devious purposes. Put to her like that, reneging seemed dishonorable. “Aye.”

Her devil’s bargain reaffirmed, she left on her master’s arm.

Lord Talon was already soaking in the hot springs when they arrived. Her master immediately stripped off his garb and joined his brother amidst the steam, leaving her fully clothed in the moistly hot interior, not knowing what to do or how to proceed.

She could drop her beautiful new garb to her ankles in the blink of an eye, but this called for a tease. After all, a man credits a woman less for what she does than for how she does it. And a woman cares more about how she feels about doing it than anything else.

She would strip for these two handsome men, feel seductive whilst doing it, and in so doing, delight them too.

She unlaced the gold ribbons, creating a thin gap from collarbone to navel, which she widened by the smallest of increments until her pierced nipples popped out.

Above the gurgling bathwater came the sound of two male gasps.

Well pleased with the result, she shrugged a shoulder, allowing her right sleeve to fall away. Holding the rich gold material to her chest, she exposed one side, then the other. Slowly.

Now bare breasted and with the gold fabric bunched at her belly, she smiled at her audience.

The brothers were slack-jawed and audibly breathing.

My, my, my. Who would have thought she could enjoy two men’s discomfort so much? ’Twould appear her master’s deviltry was wearing off on her.

With a sultry purr, she lifted the gold material upward from the floor, slowly, no need to rush, showing her ankle, her knee, her upper thigh…her shorn mons.

Her male audience began to stir as if they could not hold still. Two huge erections, the heads inflamed, broke the surface of the water.

The finest of tributes to her womanly power.

Allowing the gold bliaut to slither to the floor, she tossed her head. Despite the steamy humidity of the bath, her plain brown hair crackled.

From his lazy perch at the edge of the pool, his attention all for her, Lord Talon spoke first. “The face of an angel, the body of a seductress, a bewitching combination. Brother, your taste in females has greatly improved.”

“I think so, aye,” her master said, his voice a rough rasp.

A candle was ensconced on a nearby table. Heedless of her nudity, she spun around and retrieved it—to the sweet music of two hardened soldiers struggling once again for air.

Not that she wished the brothers ill, but their choking was extremely gratifying to hear.

In familiar territory now, she knew exactly what to do. “What a sturdy candle.”

“Not as erotic as the ones you made, I imagine,” her master said.

“Nay. Mine were superior,” she said without regard to false modesty.

There was but one thing she knew she excelled at, and that was her chandler’s occupation. Her wax dildos gladdened women. Now, she would gladden two battle-weary warriors by watching her gladden herself. Full circle. And about fucking time.

She pursed her mouth in a feigned pout. And then swept just the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. “This candle is not nearly as thick or long as the ones I make, but this one will do.” She took four steps, not mincing, uncertain steps. Bold steps. And the exact amount necessary to bring her to the edge of the pool.

Positioning herself for the brothers’ optimal viewing pleasure, she spread her legs. Parted her thighs wide. Did they see the gold ring lodged neatly inside her?

They must, for once again, two simultaneous gasps echoed inside the steam-filled bathing space.

Assured that she held their undivided attention—their dropped jaws were compliments in and of themselves—she diddled herself.

Mmm. How extraordinary! Having an audience greatly increased her bliss.

When all three of them were panting, their hot excitement adding to the steamy environs, her master called out a hoarse, “Enough!”

What! Stop now, when she hovered at the edge of the precipice, about to topple into ecstasy? Even a devil would not be so cruel!

But nay, her master was that cruel.

“Leave the candle be, and step into the water,” he ordered.

She could barely walk. Her extreme arousal combined with the candle still inserted inside her made climbing into the pool an ordeal. Nevertheless she accomplished the feat and stood trembling in preclimax thigh-deep in the communal bath.

“Go to Lord Talon,” her master directed.

Despite all her fine self-talk about joining the two brothers in their victory celebration, her heart objected and her feet refused to move.

Lord Spur came forward, the head of his massive cock purple-red in hue and jutting proudly above the water’s surface, and claimed her lips.

Her mouth clinging to his, she returned the kiss.

And the dildo inside her began to move under the deviltry of her master’s hand.

Lost in the kiss, she was unaware they were moving, that her master was slowing backing her up—until she bumped into a cock, a cock that did not belong to the man she loved.

But wait! She thought he had changed his mind about the sharing. Is that not what his passionate kiss meant?

With a confused shake of her head, she broke the kiss and stared up at him in horror.

His metallic gaze smoldering, the eyelids heavy, he continued to move the dildo inside her front passage whilst adding another devilish temptation.

Slanting his jaw, he mouthed her pierced nipple.

His teeth pulled at the gold ring until her toes curled beneath the water’s surface and she was sobbing in lust. She would do anything at all for the man she loved, anything—save commit infidelity.

As her heart rejected another man’s suit, something splendidly hard prodded her back portal.

Not her master—he was at her front. ’Twas Lord Talon, his cock pressing to enter her buttocks.

Nay! This madness must end!

And it could stop. At a word from her master, this travesty of lovemaking would cease. Lord Talon had not made the breach yet. There was still time.

Her master ended his mouthing of her pierced nipple and removed the dildo from her front passage as well.

“Take your pleasure, Lambkin,” he commanded.

Nay nay nay. This was wrong. So wrong.

A viewpoint Lord Spur failed to share. Nay, he thought to share something else with her entirely.

His brother.

As warm waters lapped around her upper thighs, he bent her over the edge, her belly and breasts flattened to the stone, and then stepped to the far side of the pool.

From his position behind her, Lord Talon took hold of her waist.

“Thank you, my lovely, my courageous Lambkin,” he whispered in her ear and knocked at her back opening, a forbidden egress she had thought to give to only one man.

The Devil of Nettlewood.

He spoke then. “This night, you are to allow Lord Talon everything you allow me. Understood?”

You can still call a halt to this, my love. Even now, ’tis not too late…

Chapter Twenty

As his brother kissed and fondled Lambkin, Spur told himself to feel naught. Neither jealousy nor disappointment nor rage that Talon was about to take the only woman who had ever really mattered to him.

Telling himself did no good.

To prevent himself from striking his brother dead, Spur clenched his hands as Talon made ready to thrust into Lambkin’s rounded body.

By the furies of Hades, Spur no longer found sharing a partner with his brother agreeable. For the first time in his life, he wanted a woman—nay,
this
woman,
this
little peasant—entirely to himself. Going through with this would give birth to a three-headed monster, and they would all suffer its creation.

But what could he do?

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he would have to allow this
thing
between them to advance. Talon would question his refusal to continue when sharing had always been their custom. Too late to change that custom now. He was committed to sharing Lambkin. Otherwise his brother, who knew him too well, would think he had a tender regard for a peasant wench.

Revealing his growing lov—
affection
—for the comely serf would never do.

Spur had only to bide his time and wait. In less than a fortnight, Talon would be gone, returned to his own holdings, and Lambkin and he would resume their prior arrangement. Just the two of them. Until his brother’s next visit.

“Anything amiss?” inquired the too-observant Talon, looking over at him.

His brother, who Spur had competed with all through his life, had given him a way out of the dilemma. He could say something now to stop this from going forward, or bite his tongue and rue his cowardice for the rest of his life.

“I have not made the breach. But obviously I am primed,” Talon boasted, pointing to his erection, not yet engaged.

Spur smirked. “Obviously.” Then he dropped his jesting facade and looked into his brother’s knowing eyes. “We need to talk. Lambkin—you are dismissed. Go to my solar and await my attendance there.”

As Lambkin sped away, Spur turned to his brother.

* * *

A miracle! Her master had unexpectedly called a halt to the proceedings and ordered her to his solar.

Racing to do his bidding—and wholly jubilant in her obedience—she left the pool.

Outside in the hallway, her raging curiosity brought her up short.

She was not going anywhere. Not after seeing her master’s face. What his anguished expression hinted at filled her with joy.

At the portal, she performed a little happy jig. He loved her! Lord Spur of Nettlewood
loved
her.

Her feet rooted to the floor. She was not returning to his solar until she heard him speak the words. Even if she had to settle for him saying those words to his brother, not to her.

His suffering was a healing balm that soothed her battered and bruised heart. But she needed more. For what he had put her through, she deserved to hear him confess.

Cocking an ear to the portal, she hung on every word of the brothers’ exchange.

“I know what this is about—you find sharing Lambkin repugnant. You want her for yourself,” Lord Talon accused.

“Aye, I do,” her master sorrowfully replied.

Whilst eavesdropping, Mitri bit her lip. About time he admitted it too. Though ’twould have been nice if he had told
her
first.

“Then tell her,” Lord Talon said.

Exactly! Mitri knew she liked her master’s brother for a reason!

Even through the thick portal, Mitri heard Lord Spur’s sigh. “Would that ’twere that easy.”

“You cannot fear she is a traitor, Spur. You said so yourself; she is innocent of any crime. And you seemed mightily sure on that score.”

“I am sure. And I have every reason to be—she told me what happened under the influence of a truth-telling elixir I administered.”

“You did what!”

“’Tis true. I had her swallow a tincture that provides a mindless respite and euphoria, as well as a lengthy repose. Taken with spirits, the elixir also lowers inhibitions, loosens the tongue, and results in a period of forgetfulness. During this twilight state, Lambkin told me she had no involvement in the senseless slaughter at Lord Harold’s holdings and that I was her one and only lover.”

Out in the corridor, Mitri covered her mouth.

She had based her love for Lord Spur on a falsehood—his unwavering and unsupported belief in her innocence. Now she knew the nobleman had good reason for his belief in her. He had not accepted her word for her lack of involvement in the mercenary leader’s murderous rampage, nor had he taken her word for her virginity.

Once—so long ago now, it seemed—she had thought that if by some miracle she met a suitor, his courtship would give her the necessary confidence to reveal her secret, that despite her lack of a maidenhead, she had never lain with anyone. If her suitor trusted and believed in her, despite all evidence to the contrary, she would know she had found her one true love.

She had thought, despite everything, the Devil of Nettlewood was her one true love. And all along, he had not trusted or believed in her at all.

In hushed and serious tones, the two brothers continued to converse, but she could not bear to stay and listen anymore. Sickened, Mitri moved away from the portal. Taking the private back staircase, she retreated to her own little cell and changed into the lad’s garb she had worn during the attack. She had some traveling to do, and ’twas best no one on the road knew her true gender.

* * *

After what had
not
happened in the baths, Talon had decided to take his leave of Nettlewood and return to his own holdings at Ironguard.

“I have been away too long,” he explained.

Spur knew the explanation for an excuse. The truth was, during their conversation about Lambkin, they had finally come to an understanding, an honest meeting of the minds. Each dropping their defenses, they pledged their undying allegiance to one another, a loyalty that would no longer hinge on their sharing of partners.

Though forever bonded by the irrefutability of their familial blood and freely linked through their mutual respect for one another, they remained each their own man. As such, here on out, they would fuck their own women.

Since Lambkin had prompted the discussion, Spur had her to thank for this turnabout. His rivalry with his brother done, finished, he owed her a treasure trove of gratitude.

As well as an apology. For his irreverent treatment of her, for using the elixir, for not admitting sooner that he loved her.

And for telling his brother first, which he had done at the end of their lengthy discourse.

Naturally Talon claimed to have known all along.

They were brothers. Some of their competitive rivalry remained despite their heartfelt verbal exchange.

That was neither here nor there now. The point was, Talon had known Spur had some groveling to do, and so his brother had left for his own fortress on the moors.

After bidding him farewell, Spur rushed upstairs to his solar.

And found the chamber empty.

A search of his keep produced neither hide nor hair of his beloved.

Where was she? Where had Lambkin gone?

He had not given her leave to depart his holdings nor had she said the words required to sever their agreement. Most trying of all, she had taken naught with her, save her male fighting garb.

Unable to do naught, Spur went next to the barracks to question his men-at-arms. A guard informed him he had sighted Spur’s consort entering the gardens. Thinking naught of this, as she’d had free roam of his holdings, he had not reported her actions.

Spur took off after her on horseback. Without a coin to her name and carrying no provisions, she could not have gotten far. He would find her, of that he was sure.

Three months later, he was no longer sure of anything, especially himself.

Beaten, discouraged, almost all hope gone, Spur walked the streets of London. As Lambkin had mentioned working as a chandler, he visited the only candle maker in town.

The wizened old man glanced up from his wax dipping at Spur’s entry. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“I am on the search for a chandler. Have you hired one of late?” He started the description. “Tall and slender, brown hair and eyes—”

“That be Mit. A good solid worker and mightily skilled at his trade too. What business have you with him?”

No wonder she seemed to have disappeared into thin air! Lambkin had disguised herself as a lad!

“The…er…
lad
is an escaped serf.”

“A slave to you?”

Spur swallowed his bile. “Aye. A slave. And I must have…er…
his
return.”

“I have no want of an argument with one so powerful as you, my lord. Though Mit is of value to me, take him, by all means. You will find your property in the back, toiling away.”

In a cramped chamber scented of clover, Spur found his beloved up to her shapely elbows in beeswax. By the set of her stubborn shoulders, he knew ’twas her even from the back, even though she was wearing a lad’s hooded tunic and braies.

“Here for an erotic candle?” she asked without turning.

“Nay,” he gruffly replied. “I am here for you.”

She spun round to face him. “You found me.”

“If it took a lifetime, I would have found you.”

“Because I am your property.” She threw up her hands. “This is so unfair. My lord, I took naught of yours—”

He pointed a finger at her nose. “Wrong. You took my heart.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I cannot live without you.”

“Worthless words, cruelly spoken. ’Tis lies, all lies.”

“I believe you think so…”

“Ha! You believe naught about me, and you trust me less.” She threw back her head and laughed. “I overheard you in the pool with your brother.”

She had overheard him?

In the pool to his brother, he had professed his undying love for her.

And she had left him anyway.

All was lost. He was forever doomed to an empty existence, a life lived alone. For he would never say those three little words again:

I love you.

He told his brother he would tell her so, confess his undying love for his sweet Lambkin, but he had not had the chance. She was gone, disappeared without a trace, by the time he returned to his solar.

“Say the words then,” he grumbled.

“What words, pray?”

I love you.

As he loved her still—despite that she had thrown those words back in his face by leaving the way that she had, without even a farewell.

He could not bear to repeat those same words again now. He had not the strength. Not the courage. Not the wherewithal to stand up to another rejection.

Instead he said, “Say the phrase that will cast our agreement asunder. Only three small words. Say them. Say ‘set me free.’”

Though her lips trembled, no sound escaped.

He took hold of her arm. “Until you say those three small words, I am your master and you belong to me, as any and all my other property belongs to me.” He started dragging her away. “Come along with me now, slave.”

“But I have candles to make, orders to fill…”

“Take your supplies with you.”

“You would allow me to continue my occupation at your keep?”

“But of course. I can see your candle making means a great deal to you. Only a selfish fool would forbid the doing of that which makes another happy.”

And he could tell by her eyes that a selfish fool is what she thought him to be.

He answered to both. From the very beginning, he had treated her without the respect her humanity warranted. And why?

Owing to her peasant blood.

Only now he understood she was far more noble than himself, than all the titled dignitaries in the kingdom. Lambkin had that rare quality that all heroic figures shared—courage in the face of fear.

But how to make amends? He still could make amends, could he not?

Whilst he waited for her to bundle her equipment into a sack and toss the sack over her shoulder, he pondered that question. And he came up with no solution, no answer. His heart bled for the want of a way to make up to her for what he had done, but all he could think to do was show her the man he was inside, the uncertain man he kept hidden. Nay, he might be twice her size, but he was not as brave as she.

On the way out, he told the chandler, “You will have your candles. I will see to it. Here on out, send the orders to me, Lord Spur, at Nettlewood.”

“I know who you be, my lord. The lad has done naught since his arrival but speak your name.”

“In glowing terms, I hope,” Spur said amenably now that he had her back.

“Nay, my lord. He spoke your name as though he detested you. Best watch your back.”

And with that onerous warning ringing in his ears, he pulled his beloved out into the street to begin their long trip home to his keep.