Chapter 17 Belle-Belle
Belle-Belle
Rejected by Guillaume, struggling to get to know Aubert…my mind had been reeling for the past day.
What did I truly know about either man? About myself? I could not help but stew during the ride, feeling as though I wore a visible brand of unworthiness.
Mostly, I absently petted Comrade’s mane while we rode, allowing the men to converse among themselves.
Occasionally I drew out my locket, as though by gazing on the images therein I might find strength to continue this pathetic ruse of mine.
My attention drifted from self-pity to the present moment, and I gathered that the men were finding more ease in their conversations of late.
That, at least, would make our task to aid the king easier, even if I was a poor judge of character, a poor leader, and a poor excuse for a woman who sought companionship.
Luckily, we ended our trek earlier than usual in the day, and as I dismounted and handed Comrade’s reins off, I was told that there was a bath waiting for me.
The steam’s embrace flushed some of my defeatist misery.
For many minutes, I simply sat in the tub, absently noticing my skin turning pink and red.
The heat was good, yes, because it remedied most of a day spent in the saddle, but it reminded me that I should not stay in the bath forever, that hot water remained a precious commodity in most parts of the kingdom.
And who was I to take up such a wanted resource?
Furthermore, while the warm water relaxed most parts of my body, it only served to increase the heat in my core, reminding me what I lacked in terms of desirability.
I stayed in the tub longer than usual, watching my fingers pucker. My limbs felt heavy, and I was loathe to move. Movement brought memories. Memories brought pain.
I might have stayed there all evening, wallowing in quiet self-loathing, but a tap on the door preceded Lucas’s sweet voice, telling me that he could bring up dinner, but that the men would much prefer my company in the common room.
Heaving an aggrieved sigh that would have made Marguerite proud, I stood on pink legs, reaching for the towel that had been thoughtfully left nearby.
I donned clothing from the trunk again, opting for a more relaxed suit than usual, since we were neither riding nor needing to impress anyone.
This inn was set out all on one floor, which told me immediately that its builders had not been very worried about its defensibility.
That meant a short walk to the common area.
Steaming bowls of venison stew awaited, along with four handsome faces looking to me for approval before eating.
My men.
Guilt froze my gut. Of course they weren’t mine. Benoit and Lucas perhaps, but Guillaume and Aubert were their own men, apart from military service with me as their pledged knight, and I would do well to remember it. Oaths bound both ways, however.
I put on a smile filled with false bravado. “Let us eat.”
The stew was well-seasoned, but I only picked at it, eating a little more at Benoit’s urging. I could tell he was worried that I had not been myself lately. But he did not press the issue, thankfully, not in front of the others.
Eventually I excused myself, using gold from the trunk to pay the first portion of our bill at the inn. I told the men to eat and drink their fill, and let the innkeeper know that I would pay the remainder on the morrow.
I thought it had been a subtle suggestion for space and privacy. Colette would have been proud; she had always said I was too brash, too forthright.
Instead, there was a soft knock at my door minutes later.
I answered the door in but shirt and trousers, expecting to find Benoit.
But Lucas’s honey-brown eyes met mine first.
“Milord, I wish to speak with you. Privately,” Lucas had said.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The last time I had made assumptions and spilled my heart, it had gone badly.
And Lucas spoke, assuaging my fears, telling me that he and Benoit were both—both!
—ready to soothe me. I enjoyed the kiss with Lucas, trying not to let my mind race ahead too much.
We had an enjoyable few moments together, and then the room echoed with a knock.
As soon as I admitted Benoit to the room, he took up the plea, his large shoulders bowed as he dropped his gaze.
“Please, let us speak, Milord. We have noticed you are distraught and wish to reassure you that Guillaume finds no fault in your behavior. His past plagues him more than most, and he wishes to address those things within himself before he makes them your problem.”
I inhaled sharply, wondering—did Guillaume truly not hate me, then? Had I not entirely misinterpreted his signals?
Benoit’s pale blue eyes found mine, as though sensing my thoughts.
“You did no wrong, Milord. That is what we are here to tell you.”
I let out a sigh, almost a sob. If this was the merest precursor to war, the questioning of oneself before one led one’s men into battle…how could I withstand it? How could I prove myself to the king?
“If we may continue,” Benoit said, “Lucas and I are here to offer you comfort. Not out of obligation, nor out of any desire to redress your wounded pride or to coddle you. Not because we serve you, but because we are your steadfast friends and lovers.”
“Not that we would presume,” Lucas interjected boldly…
…but he did not get to finish that sentence, because I lunged forward and kissed him again, dragging him towards my bed in the process. We stood entangled as Benoit watched.
I was hungry for touch, hungry for affirmation, feeling the whole of my eighteen years starved of affection once family had departed or died, once we had become isolated at the estate, once my status had kept me separate from all but immediate family.
I ached for touch. For my men.
Lucas’s lips were soft and yielding under mine, and I could taste a hint of the cloves and other spices in the wine the inn had served. I reveled in the taste of him, in how he opened his mouth to my tongue, allowing me in.
Benoit moved so quickly for a man so large, as suddenly he was behind me, pressed against me in all his…largeness.
His breath tickled my ear as he leaned down and murmured, “We wish only to make you feel as treasured as you feel to us. If you find anything displeasing, you must speak up, and we will cease it, or change it.”
Being pressed between two men…and hearing that they wanted only to make me feel treasured…
it was almost too much, especially after the last day that I had spent berating myself for being insufficient and generally terrible.
My knees buckled with a combination of relief and desire.
Strong hands bore me up, though, and carried me to the bed in the room.
Fortunately, as the noble of the company, I had been granted the room with the largest bed, and once Benoit laid me down upon it, there was room for Lucas to recline on one side and Benoit on the other.
Benoit pressed his stubbled chin to the back of my neck, gently kissing me there. Lucas, in turn, captured my lips with his. Never having had two sets of lips on me at once, I was utterly enchanted with the sensations, and soon I was panting and writhing against both men.
I did not know what to do with my arms, though, and at first they were pinned against my chest. My chest grew warm, and I wished to be touched there as well; fortunately, Lucas interpreted my attempts to free my arms, and he leaned back, allowing me to loop my hands around the back of his neck.
This let me draw him in for an even deeper kiss, our tongues warring in the place where our mouths met.
I moaned, feeling the heat build in my core.
Benoit responded by kissing the backs of my shoulders as though frenzied, yanking my shirt down to expose more of my skin.
Emboldened by the feelings rising in me, and the knowledge that I had already consumed the tea Aubert had prepared for me, I slid my hands away from Lucas’s neck, aiming downwards, to loosen his pants, or mine, or both.
He ceased kissing me, and gently caught my hands with his.
“Milord, I mean it when I say I would do anything for you, and with you. But I must know one thing first.”
A mere hand’s breath away from his face, I stared into his honeyed eyes, comforted by the desire I saw there.
“What is it, Lucas?” I breathed.
“What is your given name, Milord?”
My breath stopped in my throat. Of all things to ask, why this? I scrunched my eyes shut, scowled, and prepared for yet another rejection.