Her Noble Lords (2 page)

“Please pass me a cloth, Linnet. The water cools and I am starting to resemble a prune.”

The terse command interrupts my reverie. I cease playing and jump up to do my mistress’ bidding. The next couple of hours are spent seeing first to my lady’s personal toilette, then to clearing away the debris from her bath while she descends to take her evening meal in the great hall. My own meal will be eaten in the kitchens later, when no doubt I will be regaled by questions from the rest of our household regarding the countess’ latest folly.

I have long ago learnt that it is best not to share her secrets. My comfortable existence depends upon it.

“Linnet, you may remain in here this night.”

“I see, my lady. Thank you.”

It has been a little over a month since Lady Eleanor’s dismissal of her northern suitor and there has been no response from Westmoreland. I know she considers the matter closed and I have seen no merit in raising the issue with her again. I put the finishing touches to the complex arrangement of light blond curls then proceed to more or less conceal my handiwork entirely beneath the elaborate headdress favoured by Lady Eleanor. “Do you require anything further from me this evening?”

“I think not. I am unlikely to return before dawn. You may make use of one of my silk nightdresses, I think. It will be more convincing should you be seen. My bath water is still tepid. You may use that too before having it removed.”

“Yes, my lady.” I gather up the hairbrush, comb, and a few remaining pins and tidy those away. I offer a small curtsy as the countess sweeps past me on her way to this latest assignation.

Her wide featherbed looks comfortable and I know from experience that it is cosy, a cocoon of warmth and rest. I have been working without a break since before six o’clock this morning and I am bone tired. The opportunity to sleep in such fine nightwear is a welcome and unusual bonus. I normally just remove my wool skirt and over-tunic and make the best of it. The lukewarm bath is another rare treat and I wish I were less fatigued in order to enjoy it more. Still, beggars cannot be choosers, as my grandmother was fond of reminding those under her authority who ever dared to complain of their lot.

I strip quickly and sink into the cool water before it chills yet further. Lady Eleanor did not forbid me to make use of her scented soap so I make free with it. The luxury is seductive. I wash my hair too, even knowing it will delay my sleep as I must dry it thoroughly before I can climb into the soft bed. Fortunately I have placed a good stock of logs beside the fire so I bank up the flames and kneel before the hearth to brush my unruly tresses into some sort of order. Satisfied, at last I secure my hair back into a plump plait, drape the silken chemise over my body, and climb into bed.

I am asleep almost before I lay my head on the pillows.

* * *

“Open your eyes, my lady. Now.”

I shift, attempt to roll over. I am immobile, quite unable to move.

“Wake up, countess, unless you want to descend the outer wall unconscious. I assure you, it is of no consequence to us.”

What?
Still half asleep I wriggle, attempt to open my mouth to question. There is pressure, tightening. I cannot breathe.

“Ah, I see we have your attention at last.” The pressure lifts, just a little. I gasp in a welcome breath as I open my eyes.

Blond hair fills my vision, the colour of corn in sunshine. Rich brown eyes, a wide, full mouth, one side lifted in a parody of a smile. It is a mouth I have not seen for over a decade. The chamber is too dimly lit for me to discern the long, curling eyelashes, or the dimple I know still adorns the earl of Egremont’s firm chin.

“I see you recognise me.” He lifts his eyebrow, relaxing his grip on my jaw just enough to allow me to offer a brief nod. His palm remains across my mouth though and I cannot make a sound.

“Then you will know why we are here?”

We?
I dart my gaze around the dark chamber, seeking the other, the one who is always close at hand. He emerges from the shadows of the room, a bundle of my mistress’ clothing in his arms. The same blond hair, eyes the exact shade of dark mahogany he shares with his older brother.

The St. John brothers. Ralf, now earl of Egremont holds me pinned in the bed, his hand across my mouth, the other arm across my chest preventing me from moving. Behind him, Sir Piers tosses the clothing across the coverlet.

“We need to move. Is she coming quietly?” Piers murmurs the words to his brother but they are no less menacing than if he had bellowed them at me. I have always hated shouting but the low tone terrifies me every bit as much.

The earl leans over me again, tightening his grip. I cannot breathe.

“My lady, we have business to conduct, you and I. You do know this, don’t you?” Again he relaxes his hold, enough to restore my meagre supply of air and enable me to nod my response.

“But not here. You are leaving with us. Now.”

My features must betray my confusion since he offers more information in settlement of my unspoken question. “The same way we entered, through the window.”

We are four floors in the air, the walls outside are sheer, a drop of fifty feet into the freezing, filthy moat. I whimper behind his hand.

“Fear not, my lady, we will see you safe down to the boat.” He shifts a little, enough to release the bedclothes which hold me trapped. He keeps his hand pressed over my mouth as he draws the covers away to expose the pale silk of my nightdress.

“Ah, very pretty. I suspect married life will prove pleasant enough, for me at least.” He turns to glance over his shoulder at his brother. “Bind her wrists.”

Sir Piers grabs my hands and uses one of Lady Eleanor’s scarves to secure them together in front of me. Stunned, I offer no resistance.

“That’s good. We cannot risk you making a sound and raising the alarm. You will understand the need to gag you, my lady.”

I shake my head, attempt to wriggle free. It is to no avail.

“Eleanor, I am about to remove my hand from your mouth for a moment. If you make so much as a murmur I will have no hesitation in rendering you unconscious. Do you understand?”

I can only stare at him, bemused. They have mistaken me for the countess. I need to tell them of their error, then surely they will leave and allow me to remain unmolested. I shake my head, trying desperately to form words under the earl’s palm.

His fingers tighten around my jaw. His grip is painful, choking me. I lie still.

“One sound and you
will
regret it. And the outcome will be unchanged. You are coming with us. I ask you again, do you understand?”

I am shaking. Violent tremors course through my body. I have never been so afraid in my life. But amid the terror he holds my gaze, his expression grim, determined. His intent is clear—if I make a sound he will render me unconscious. I have no choice, at least, not for now. I nod and close my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks.

He releases his hold on my jaw and I gulp in several deep breaths. I am hauled to a sitting position.

“Open your mouth, my lady.” This voice is different, though only very slightly. A fraction deeper, the merest hint of a rasp.

I lift my eyelids to see Piers is the one now holding me. He has another of Lady Eleanor’s scarves in his hand. He gives my shoulders a light shake and I obey.

As soon as I part my lips he shoves a rolled-up scarf into my mouth. He secures that in place with another length of silk. My lady will be furious when she notices the disappearance of her belongings as well as her maid.

I know a brief moment of near hysteria as I realise she will assume I ran away and worse, that I have stolen her property.

“Stand up.” Piers tugs on the scarf binding my wrists and pulls me from the bed. I stand before them, my mistress’ sheer silk nightdress doing little to protect my modesty from their gaze.

“I had expected her to be taller.” The terse remark is made by Piers as he allows his gaze to travel the length of my body.

“She compensates in other areas.” Ralf’s appraisal is curt. He is intent on stuffing a gown, leather shoes, and several chemises into a rough sack. Lady Eleanor will be livid. The earl ties the top and throws it to his brother. “You go first. I’ll follow with my sweet little bride.”

His words and the immediate prospect of being forced out of the window, spur me into further desperate protests. I try to scramble back into the bed, shaking my head violently. It is to no avail. Ralf grabs me and hauls me up against his body.

Piers moves to the window and sits astride the sill. “It would be a shame to bruise her but do what you have to do. We cannot risk her alerting the guards.”

“Aye. We’ll be right behind you.” Ralf cups my chin in his hand, tilting my face up toward his. “Eleanor, I want you to lift your arms above my head and loop them around my neck.”

I shake my head again but with less conviction.

“Do it of your own volition, or I will do it for you. You know what that will entail.” His tone has hardened. This is it.

Defeated, I lift my bound hands and reach up to slip them over his blond waves. His hair brushes his shoulders and it is soft against my numb wrists. As soon as I am holding him as he instructed, he shifts to lift me in his arms. With two long strides we are at the window. I crane my neck to see Piers a couple of feet below me. He is holding fast to a stout rope, his feet planted firmly on the dark grey masonry. He flashes us a grim smile, his teeth glistening in the thin moonlight.

“Ralf has you and you are safe, my lady. But know that I am just below and will catch you should either of you slip.”

I whimper, the sound lost in the silk gag. Ralf lowers his face to my ear.

“Do not be afraid. Trust me. Trust us. We will not let you fall. You are, after all, to be my bride.”

I am rigid in his arms, clinging tight around his neck.

“My lady. Eleanor—it will be all right. I promise you.” It is Piers again, his low, calm voice penetrating the haze of fear which threatens to overwhelm me. I look down again, meet his sure, confident gaze and I manage a little nod. I have no option but to trust them with my life.

“I am going to seat you on the sill now and climb past you. Do exactly as I say.”

I shake my head and try to hang on even more tightly. How my perspective has shifted in the last few moments.

Ralf positions himself astride the sill as Piers did a short time ago. He places me on the edge, my bare feet dangling in the cold night air. Carefully he inches around until he is in front of me, my arms outstretched around his neck. He has hold of the rope in one hand and he leans away from the wall, his feet firm against the stone.

“Come forward and wrap your legs around my waist. Keep in close to my body.”

No. No.
No!
I cannot do it. I just cannot.

“Madam, remember the alternative. I can and will carry you down, with or without your assistance.” His voice is cold, dispassionate, and dripping with certainty. The fingers of his free hand are clenched into a fist. I know what comes next. Unless I obey.

I shuffle forward. Sobbing behind the gag as the safety of the window becomes just a memory.

“Wrap your legs around me, Eleanor.” He uses his free hand, no longer clenched, to adjust the bottom of my nightdress, hitching it up around my knees to free my lower legs. The icy bite of November wind against my exposed skin causes me to shiver even more.

“Once down you will have a cloak. Come, let us be quick.” His tone is encouraging now, warmer. I abandon any hope of escape at least for the moment and hug his body as tight as I can. I hook my ankles together and press my cheek against his broad chest.

“Mmm, that feels nice, sweet bride. I regret your reluctance to marry me but trust in time I will be able to convince you of the merits of the idea. Certainly, I have no doubts regarding our compatibility. I am sure you will have realised that by now.”

He starts the descent, the movement of his hips causing me to rock against him. I am naked under the flimsy nightdress. My exposed quim pressed into his midriff. The swell of his erect cock nudges my bare bottom, the only barrier between us the rough wool of his breeches. I am under no illusion at all regarding his enthusiasm for the married state.

For myself, the imminent prospect of a watery grave has dampened any ardour I might otherwise have felt for this object of my childhood devotion. That and the less than chivalrous treatment meted out to me thus far. I hang onto him, my eyes shut tight. I know if I look down I will lose whatever remains of my shattered wits.

I fight down the mounting panic, each step my captor takes bringing me closer to safety. Or not.

He has made it clear he intends to marry the countess. His intentions toward her worthless servant are far less clear. He is likely to just toss me into the moat anyway, as soon as he learns of his mistake.

“Almost there. Just a few more feet.” The disembodied voice from below offers reassurance though I doubt Ralf St. John requires any such comfort. For myself, the news is welcome. If we were to hurtle down into the moat now I might have a slim chance of surviving the impact at least.

Moments later the solid hips and thighs which have been all that prevented me from plummeting into the green depths slide away as Sir Ralf stands upright.

“You can put your feet down now, my lady.”

He may think so. I prefer to cling on like a limpet.

A low chuckle somewhere to my rear suggests Piers St. John finds my terror amusing. “She appears to have discovered a fondness for you after all, brother. Mayhap you will not need to spank her quite so hard as you feared to attain the necessary acquiescence.”

“Perhaps so. Though she has still caused us a great deal of trouble, this little bride of mine and that cannot go unremedied.”

“Aye, we both have a score to settle there. But first we need to get her safe to our camp. Put her down and assist me in rowing.”

“Eleanor, you can open your eyes now.” Ralf murmurs the words to me, his breath tickling my ear. The sensation might be pleasant were it not for the fact they apparently intend to beat me anyway, despite my cooperation in the matter of my abduction. “Put your feet down on the deck and let go of me now, my lady.” He pats my bottom, the gesture familiar yet menacing too given his intention to mete out discipline, however undeserved.