Chapter 28
Agnes
Over the next few days, Ash stuck to Agnes’s side whenever he could.
She was rarely left alone with her family, and never with Francis, always accompanied by him or Olly.
Mealtimes became a crowded affair, with Ash’s family, along with Sara, taking up so much room and air that Francis rarely had a chance to make any of his typically cutting comments.
After confirming his involvement in the attack on Ash, Olly had taken to sitting at Francis’s side when they ate or sat in the hall.
Agnes had assumed that this was a private joke on his part, even if it made her terribly anxious.
She realised, after watching Francis try and fail to engage him in conversation, that the true reason was much more amusing.
‘I make sure he sits on this side,’ Olly had said one night, gesturing to his bad ear, ‘so I do not need to listen to him, and to save you all the burden of responding to him.’
Muriel had become impossible to corner. She was busy, always with their parents or, worse, with Francis himself.
Those few opportunities Agnes managed to take with Muriel alone were entirely fruitless affairs.
Agnes was unkeen to ask outright if she was aware of the true nature of the attack, but her less direct questions were yielding nothing.
It was one evening over a week after Pepper’s arrival when Agnes finally managed to find her alone, and Muriel once again refused to speak to her, giving her a weak excuse about feeling unwell before shutting the door to the guest chambers in Agnes’s face.
Frustrated by her sister’s stubbornness, Agnes cursed beneath her breath and stomped in the opposite direction, intending to find Ash and Olly.
She was so distracted that she did not notice Francis heading her way until she had walked directly into him. He grabbed her shoulders.
‘Francis.’ She froze. ‘My apologies. I was lost in thought.’
He gave her a long, assessing look. ‘So it seems. I presume all is well?’
She wondered what would happen if she were to hit him.
‘Yes,’ Agnes said, ‘Quite well.’
Still, his hands were on her. She could feel his clammy touch through the fabric of her sleeves.
‘You look as if you have had a fright,’ he said.
‘It is nothing.’
The grip tightened minutely.
‘Come with me. We may talk privately.’
He was leering at her.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Francis.’
He did not let go. ‘You do not need to lie to me, Agnes. I know your husband is—’
‘There she is!’
Francis’s grip loosened. Agnes took the opportunity to shake him off, turning to see Ash and Olly behind her. They both looked as if they had been rushing – faces red, a little breathless. Before Agnes could greet them, Ash stumbled forwards, pulled her boldly away from Francis, and kissed her.
Agnes scrambled to grab the front of his tunic as he ducked her down. Her heart was trying to escape her ribs, her breath utterly stolen. It lasted a moment – it lasted an age – and then he released her.
She clung to him, the ground beneath her feet feeling suddenly unsteady. He grinned down at her, eyes sparkling, lips twisting. He turned to Francis without letting her go.
‘I am afraid I have need of my wife.’
Francis spluttered some retort, but Ash ignored him.
‘Come on, my Lady. And you, you wastrel,’ he added, glancing towards Olly.
Olly gave Francis a deep mock-bow with a grin, then took his place at Agnes’s other side as Ash led her away down the corridor. As they turned the corner, Olly broke into a run, dragging them behind him until they reached Ash’s chamber door, at which Olly bundled them both inside.
‘Well,’ Olly said breathlessly, ‘that worked.’
‘Are you all right?’ Ash said, turning to Agnes at last. ‘We noticed he had caught you, and we had to get you away somehow—’
Agnes’s heart was pounding. It had little to do with their sprint through the keep.
‘The kiss was my idea,’ Olly added. ‘So you may blame me, if it was unwelcome. Do not berate poor Ashel for it.’
Agnes looked between them, the feeling in her chest ebbing. It had been a ploy to remove her from Francis’s company. A good ploy, by all means: they had successfully spirited her away, and no doubt riled him in the process. But the kiss itself was no more than a mummer’s farce.
‘I do not intend to berate him,’ she said. ‘It was … a keen idea. And—’ Her neck was hot. She snapped her mouth shut.
‘And what?’ Olly said, raising an eyebrow.
Ash was looking at her a little too closely. She could not keep his gaze.
‘And nothing,’ she said, turning away. ‘It does not matter.’
‘What happened?’ Ash asked.
‘I tried to speak to Muriel and she shut the door in my face. I ran into Francis on my way to find you.’
The men shared a look. ‘Did he do anything?’ Ash asked.
Agnes shook her head. ‘Nothing. Just … looked at me.’ She shuddered. ‘Urgh. The sooner he is gone the better.’ She dropped onto Ash’s bed, flopping to her back to stare at the canopy above. ‘We should remove Francis from the keep and have done with it.’
‘It is a little too late for that,’ Olly said.
‘Unless you wish to find him now and have him hauled away,’ Ash added.
Agnes laughed, despite herself. ‘Perhaps.’
There was a pause. And then the bed shifted as the men sat beside her, one to either side. She heaved herself up onto her elbows just in time to see Ash and Olly looking away from one another. Ash’s cheeks were red.
‘The way I see it,’ Olly said, glancing from Ash to Agnes, ‘is that we can either follow Ash’s demands and have Francis removed—’
‘I did not demand that.’
‘Or we can find some way to seek distraction until the morning, when we can attempt to find a better plan for speaking to Muriel.’
Agnes peered at Ash’s mottled cheeks.
‘Can I presume,’ she said, speaking slowly, ‘that you do not mean a game of chess?’
‘Do you wish to play chess?’ Olly asked, eyebrows raised.
‘I cannot say I do,’ she said. ‘Ash?’
Ash glanced down at her. His eyes were dark. ‘No,’ he breathed. ‘I think I have had enough of chess.’
Olly grinned at them. ‘What a wonderful happenstance,’ he said. ‘So have I. Agnes … my Lady, my liege. What would you have us do instead?’
Despite now knowing it had only been an act, the memory of that kiss was still tingling on Agnes’s lips. She sat up.
‘Kiss each other.’
She had expected them to move – to stand, or shuffle closer to the centre of the bed. What she had not expected was for Olly to reach around her, caging her between his arms, then tug her against his chest as he placed a firm kiss to Ash’s lips.
Agnes gasped, as did Ash, who clearly had not anticipated being suddenly crushed against her. She was pinned between the two men, their mouths meeting over Agnes’s shoulder. She clung to Ash, Olly moving to hold on to her from behind, his hands resting at her sides.
She leaned her forehead against Ash’s shoulder. Someone shifted, and then there was a soft, gentle touch against the exposed nape of her neck. Lips, mouth, tongue. She gasped.
‘Agnes—’
Ash’s voice, so therefore Olly’s mouth on her skin.
She gripped him tighter. Would he kiss her?
Would she kiss him? Before, it had all been jokes and tests and games.
But now the urge was taking her over. Her chest was tightening, the place between her legs already wet, the need growing more urgent with every touch of Olly’s lips to her neck.
Her hands slipped against Ash’s tunic. The fabric was in the way; it was too much, too warm, and without even realising what she was doing she had slipped her hands inside, flesh to hot flesh.
Ash hissed through his teeth. One of his hands made its way to her thigh.
His touch was like lightning. She wanted more. She wanted it all.
Olly pressed closer. They were kissing again, their chins digging into Agnes’s shoulder. She felt every movement, heard every soft noise.
She breathed out low against Ash’s chest. She wanted it – she wanted him – more than she had thought was possible. She had not known any of this was possible, not when she had lain with her previous husband, not when she had pleasured herself, not when she and Sara had played beneath the sheets.
She wanted Ash. She wanted Olly, too, although she oughtn’t, knew that giving in to such lusts made her sinful.
But she was already sinful: sinful for being herself, for being other than the lines of her body. What was one more sin?
Besides, Ash was her husband. It was a sin not to lie with him. Why not now? Why not here, with Olly besides?
She could feel Ash’s prick, already hard, through the fabric of his breeches.
‘Ash—’
She mumbled his name, hands sliding against his skin. She drifted lower, fingers playing in the coarse hair that coated his chest and stomach, delighting in the softness of his skin, the plushness of him. She hesitated at the band of his breeches.
‘You will need to go lower than that.’
Olly’s voice sent shivers down her spine. She had not realised they were no longer kissing, nor that Olly knew what she was doing. She let out a breath.
‘Oh?’
‘Indeed,’ he muttered, lips ghosting over her ear. ‘Perhaps you require some assistance?’
In truth, Agnes did not require assistance. She knew full well how to pleasure a man, or at least coax him into hardness – not that Ash needed her help in that regard. But the idea of it, of Olly guiding her, and in turn them both pleasuring Ash, was too delicious to resist.
‘Please,’ she muttered, twisting her head around so her lips brushed the edge of his cheek.
One hand still wrapped around her middle, Olly reached between them so his hand rested on Agnes’s. He guided her down to palm Ash’s cock, fingers folding into the taut linen of his braies.
Agnes pressed harder, feeling as much as she could. She and Olly moved as one, hands roaming, sliding beneath the fabric. When she wrapped her fingers around his prick, it was hard and hot. Ash groaned, thrusting helplessly into her hand. Behind her, Olly laughed languidly.