Pillaging Elinor's Castle [Elinor's Stronghold 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

They opened the gate only wide enough to let Devon, his horse and mule inside, then slammed it shut. Meanwhile, the guards surrounded the man, every one of them bristling with weapons and distrust.

“I told you I come in peace. I wish to join your service,” said Devon, holding his hands well away from his sword.

“I don’t understand why you would do such a thing. Remove your armor, and give your weapons to Albin. We will talk in the presence of Father Augustus, not alone.”

“Agreed.”

Albin helped Lord Devon remove his armor, and Rhys noted it was of good quality and well cared for. His clothing beneath was of high quality, too, but that meant little. He may have been wearing his best clothes deliberately to mislead them. The problem was, Rhys respected the man. He’d fought fairly and honorably at the tourney, demonstrating solid skills and a noble demeanor. Rhys didn’t want to think the man was a liar and turncoat, but why else would he be here, except to lead an attack on the castle?

One of the guards had sent for Father Augustus, and the priest came to stand beside them. Then Rhys, Lord Devon, and Father Augustus walked over to a long bench set against a wall and sat, Lord Devon in the middle.

“Speak,” said Rhys, his stomach clenching in knots of fear and worry.

“I’m the third son. My oldest brother will inherit the land, and my second brother is there to support him. My options were to join the church or to fight. I joined Lord Jeffrey as he seemed a man of honor and skill. There was both in the seizure of your demesne. I’m sorry if I offend you, lord, but it was a fair fight, and won truly by Lord Jeffrey and his men. It was a miscalculation on his part not to douse the fire before it damaged so much of the stored food though.”

Lord Devon looked him in the eye, and Rhys nodded. Yes, the battle for his demesne had been fought according to all the rules of honor, and he’d lost. His biggest mistake had been to rely on a palisade and stakes, instead of building a proper wall as he should have done.

“You speak the truth,” he said.

Lord Devon nodded. “But this latest fight was not noble, nor honorable, nor good. It was stupid. Lord Jeffrey was told again and again to send out parties to hunt and gather, to replace the lost food. But instead he brooded, and argued, and drank ale, and planned an attack on the castle. You don’t send soldiers against a castle. You need siege engines and battering rams!”

Rhys could tell Lord Devon was trying to tamp down his anger. He waited, and Father Augustus said, “Did you speak with Lord Jeffrey yourself?”

“Yes, I did. We all begged him to lead hunting parties, to tell the peasants to gather foods from the forest, but he wouldn’t listen. His only thoughts were on winning the castle. A castle guarded by trained soldiers, all well aware he planned an attack on them.”

“So you suddenly decided to pledge allegiance to me instead?” asked Rhys.

“Not suddenly at all. I came to the tourney to see how you managed your people. I found you to be an honorable man, and a sensible leader, who paid attention to the needs of his people. That battle last week was no battle at all. It was a childish temper tantrum. When we returned, I asked Lord Jeffrey to be freed from service to him. He refused to answer until yesterday, but then he freed me. I am released from liege-ship to him. I wish to enter service with you. I can recite my lineage, and I’m sure the priest will be able to verify what I say.”

“You understand I will have to keep you separate from my household until your credentials are verified?” asked Rhys.

“Yes. Although I’d prefer not to be kept in chains!”

The conversation lasted much longer, but Rhys had decided. Lord Devon would be treated with every respect, but no freedom, until letters of recognition were received.

* * * *

“Lord Jeffrey is a problem that won’t go away,” Hammond warned Rhys at dinner that day.

“I know and can see no end to the problem. We must hope he listens to his advisers and begins to care for the land he’s won, instead of letting it go to waste while he plots to get this castle.”

“Do you believe Lord Devon, then?” asked Hammond.

“I think so. I know some of the people he mentioned. Father Augustus is writing letters as we speak and will send them to priests he knows in several towns. Inside a week, we should know if Lord Devon speaks truly or not. But nonetheless, we’ll maintain double watch on the castle walls.”

“Meanwhile, we must do something to keep the people busy and happy while they’re held here in the stronghold. It’s much too dangerous for them to return home yet, but they’re used to working hard. So much free time will lead them to fighting and disharmony unless we can keep them properly occupied,” said Hammond.

Rhys shuddered. He knew what Hammond said was true, but he had no idea about how to solve the problem. Already the men were practicing hard at all their battle skills, and double guard duties kept them occupied, too. The women had cooking, cleaning, and sewing to do, as well as caring for the smaller children, but Hammond was right. There was not enough work for everyone to do all day, and soon fights and disagreements would arise.

Elinor spoke hesitantly. “I thought we might make some banners for the walls of the great hall. In winter, the fire cannot keep it warm enough, and cloth hanging on the walls would help stop the draughts as well as look pretty.”

“What sort of banners?” asked Rhys.

“When Rhyannon arrived, Wade said something about half the banners in the kingdom being red and gold. It reminded me that my mother’s family banner was blue, with an eagle rampant. Just as we divided the children into teams, we could divide the best sewing women into teams, each making a banner. My mother’s crest, my father’s crest, your crest, Rhyannon’s crest, and others people want as well. We’d need some people who can draw well to outline the animals on the fabric, and Father Augustus to write the words, a few carpenters to design the frames. All in all, many people could become involved in the project, and it would be of interest to everyone, yet not take the fighting men from their duty.”

“Do you have that much fabric in the right colors though?” asked Hammond.

“There are more than enough bolts of linen for a dozen banners.”

“Wonderful. The problem is solved.” Rhys felt happiness fill him as he looked at Elinor. She was so beautiful, so very lovely, and such a good match for him. She’d brought him a home and a position of high status. She filled his bed with love and his arms with her hot, delicious flesh. But she was more than that. She was a fitting lady to be at his side, in some ways wiser than himself in her knowledge of the people and their needs. He was the luckiest man in the valley, of that he was certain. All he had to do was hope that Lord Jeffrey settled down and looked to his own new lands, instead of to theirs.

* * * *

The people embraced the idea of the banners as enthusiastically as they had the messenger children and swimming lessons. Ash from the fire was spread on one of the benches, and the best artists among them drew the designs over and over again, until everyone was sure they were perfect, then carefully drew them again onto the fabric.

Carpenters argued about the size of the frames and where the banners should be hung for the greatest visibility, as well as the most useful effect of blocking draughts.

Women brought out their needles and thread, measured the swatches of various colors, and began pinning designs together.

But underlying the fun of the project was the sure knowledge that Lord Jeffrey was an ongoing problem who may attack them again at any time.

Finally, Hammond and Rhys sent out their cleverest child messengers, the ones who were the sharpest observers, to hide at the forest’s edge and watch Lord Jeffrey’s demesne.

“Remember everything I have taught you,” ordered Wade. “You must be so unmoving, the birds in the forest will continue to sing. Hug the tree trunk close to you. Your body must be molded to it so none can tell where the tree ends and you begin.”

The children nodded seriously, aware of the huge responsibility they were being given. But really there were no other options. The stronghold needed information, and the children were the ones least likely to be noticed gathering it.

Father Augustus found himself surrounded by people as he traced the Latin words for one of the banners in the ash on the bench. A small boy looked at him and asked, “Can you write my name?”

“Mine, too,” demanded several others.

“It will take me all day to write everyone’s name,” the priest objected.

Elinor thought for a moment. “Why don’t you write, ‘the people of the stronghold.’ That is true for everyone.

Father Augustus nodded and smoothed a space in the ash, carefully writing the words.

Elinor watched them and thought it would be good if more people than just the priest could read and write.
Many castles have a clerk who writes letters and fills in records and account books, but here Father Augustus has to do everything. I shall ask him to choose two people to teach to read.
Latin was a difficult language, she knew. She could recite all the common prayers and responses for church services, but she felt sure writing in English would have been easier. It was not practical though. Most letters were sent from priest to priest, or to convents and monasteries, so Latin was the language to use.

Elinor looked around the great hall, filled with people happily working on their projects. In one corner, several young mothers sat on the floor with their babies. One mother was nursing her babe, another settling her child to sleep, and several other small children were sitting on the floor, banging rocks together or sucking on meat bones.

Aunt Heloise and Rhyannon were in the center of a group measuring the colors of fabric ready to cut them. Elinor didn’t need to move any closer to know her aunt would be reciting “measure seven times and cut once.” Fabric was much too expensive to waste by cutting it in the wrong place. Maybe measuring seven times was a little excessive, but the general idea of checking carefully before cutting was a sound plan.

Rhyannon was smiling and happy. Elinor worried about her. She clearly loved Alistair, but a marriage between them could not happen. Nobles didn’t marry for love but for land and alliances. A woman was a possession to be sold to the highest bidder, or, if her father or brother was able to arrange it, to someone who would at least take good care of her as well as making a profitable bargain.

Which brought her mind around to Lord Devon. A week had passed, and Father Augustus expected to receive letters from his fellow priests any day about Lord Devon’s family and behavior. Elinor hoped he was telling the truth and was a good man. Their stronghold needed men of honor, and another noble would be of great advantage to them, too.

Shrugging her thoughts away, Elinor hurried across the room to help make the banners.

* * * *

She was insatiable, every man’s wet dream come to life. For the past week, it didn’t matter how many times he or Lord Rhys fucked her, she was always ready for more. Her nipples were always hard little points, her cunt wet and ready, and her arms open to welcome him between her thighs.

Already this night both he and Lord Rhys had plowed her cunt most thoroughly, but now she was rubbing those lush breasts against his chest. He flipped her onto her back and filled his hands with her breasts, pulling on the nipples and cupping the globes. She wiggled her body against his, trying to press her hips up into his. His prick stood instantly to attention. “On your knees so I can hold your breasts,” he ordered. She slid out from under him, moving onto her hands and knees and giving him the most wicked look ever over her shoulder. His prick grew another inch at least, and he grasped her hips, lifting her ass up to fit his weapon at her cunt. He held her still for two heartbeats then slammed inside her with everything he had, wanting to make her scream as she’d done when together he and Lord Rhys had hit her womb.

She didn’t scream, but she pushed back on him, wanting more. He wrapped one arm across her breast, pressing the nipples into his skin, then shoved three fingers from his other hand into her cunt beside his prick. Touching her, touching himself this way, almost made him blast his seed into her, but she wasn’t ready, so he concentrated on teasing her nubbin. It was as hard as her nipples and fiercely hot, too. Carefully, he pulled and teased it, before pressing the heel of his hand over it, forcing her body harder into his.

She seemed to enjoy the rough play, so he slammed into her again and again, now holding her hips to get maximum depth in her. He drew back a little and slapped her thighs, first one side then the other. Her hot cream was flooding over his prick, making him more and more desperate to explode, but she wasn’t there yet. This time he slapped her on her cunt across her nubbin. She flew apart in his arms then, her body shaking in pleasure, and with relief, he blasted his seed into her. It always amazed him how much seed she generated in him. He should have run dry long since, but with Lady Elinor, he always had more to give her.

As soon as he pulled out of her, Lord Rhys was there, pushing Lady Elinor flat to the bed and slamming his prick into her ass. She wiggled back on him, wanting more, even though her body was still shaking with her release from Hammond’s fucking. Hammond watched, amazed, as she grabbed his limp prick and urged him to put it in her mouth.