Her Noble Lords by Ashe Barker

suspected ye of having addled brains. And he let ye live?” Joan is incredulous.
    “He did but I believed Piers would hang me. I still think he would have, if his brother had not survived.”
    “‘Tis a mercy the earl was spared then. So, ye are the new countess, is that the nub of it?” Agnes is pragmatic as ever.
    I shake my head. “The marriage will be annulled. I spoke my vows using another woman’s name. It is not binding.”
    Agnes peers at me, her curiosity piqued. “Is that what ye want, Linnet? To be unwed from our earl?”
    “No, of course not. He is—they are both—magnificent. But I am not a lady.”
    “Neither was their mother.” This from the cook, who has appeared behind us somehow and has been listening to my tale. “The old earl took ‘er captive on a raid across the borders. Led ‘im a right dance, she did, afore she finally agreed to stay here as his bride. Her family were crofters as far as I can recall, peasant stock like the rest of us. She was a wild one but a decent countess in the end. Raised two fine sons and a daughter.”
    “A daughter? I did not realise Sir Ralf and Sir Piers have a sister.”
    “Aye. Lady Cecily is older than her brothers by a good eight years or so. She married into the Darkenfields. From Penrith.”
    “I see.”
    “So,” she announces, her massive arms folded as though to dare anyone to challenge her assertion, “…the St. Johns do as they please. If Sir Ralf wants ye, he’ll have ye. Piers, too.”
    I can believe that, if the brothers’ approach to addressing Lady Eleanor’s objections is any indication. But she was a fine lady, bringing with her both wealth and influence. Lady Eleanor would have been a prize. The question is, does either of them have the least desire to be wed to a humble serf?
    And if so, which one might claim me?
     
    * * *
     
    “You are still here then. You’ll sit beside us at the evening meal, Linnet.” Ralf hollers his greeting and his command from the back of his horse as he canters across the bailey, a fine stag slung over his saddle. Piers’ mount is similarly laden. It would seem they have had a successful day.
    I manage a swift curtsy as the horses clatter past, then wonder if I should make my way to the earl’s private quarters to greet them, or find something to occupy me in the kitchens. Surely, Agnes or Joan will be able to loan me a suitable tunic to wear for menial work since Lady Eleanor’s satin is clearly not fit for the purpose. I consider my dilemma for several minutes, then acting on instinct alone, I make my way to the lords’ tower and to the solar on the third storey. I knock on the door and enter when summoned.
    “Ah, little maid. Please be seated.” Piers gestures toward the settle. “You are able to sit, I presume?”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you.” I believe I can, more or less. I accept the seat offered and arrange Lady Eleanor’s elegant skirts around my legs. “I… did you have a good day? The hunt went well?”
    Ralf responds, “It did, though we are both famished.”
    “I believe cook has prepared a rabbit stew and suet dumplings.”
    “You have been reacquainting yourself with our domestic quarters, then?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “And?”
    “My lord?”
    “How did that go? Did your old friends remember you?”
    I smile at him, pleased that he should ask. “Yes sir, they did. It was pleasant. Lovely, actually. We talked and…” I pause, not wishing to cause any trouble. “I do not mean that they neglected their duties.”
    “I expect they may have but we can overlook it on this occasion. I hope you are now persuaded that you might remain here.”
    I fold my hands at my waist, linking my fingers to avoid fidgeting. I meet his eyes. “I would like to, yes.”
    “Excellent. That outcome alone justifies the loss of an afternoon’s work. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to bathe before I eat.” He loosens the leather jerkin which he wears over his shirt and strides toward the