Free Her Noble Lords by Ashe Barker Page B

experience?”
    I have no doubt at all on that score. I must just pray Piers is swift in his delivery of justice and that I can survive the ordeal reasonably intact. At this moment, I am far from convinced of either.

Chapter Six
     
     
    “Do you recall that night on the Welsh Marches? It would be three, maybe four years ago. We were camped out just west of Gloucester with Henry Marwood, preparing to subdue the Marcher barons on behalf of the crown. Yet again.” Piers utters the question slowly, as though giving some consideration to his words.
    “Aye, I recall the occasion well enough. Henry was in his cups as I remember it. We were not convinced his powers of recovery would permit him to see the battlefield in the morning, let alone give a decent account of himself upon it.”
    “That is the very evening I have in mind. Do you recall much of his conversation that night?”
    “Some. He was very drunk but I remember he spoke of his lands and estates and of his new bride, the lovely Eleanor.” Ralf casts a wry grin in my direction. “He was most enamoured of you, my dear.”
    I have no opportunity to respond, though in truth, I have nothing left to say on the matter.
    It would seem Piers does. “Aye, he was. Perfectly besotted in fact. He waxed quite lyrical as I recall, sharing details of a particularly intimate nature as the ale flowed and the evening grew late.”
    Ralf is frowning, clearly trying to remember just what was said that night that was of any significance. Piers does not prompt him. After a few moments, my husband’s expression clears.
    “The birthmark!”
    “Indeed,” agrees his brother. “If Henry described it accurately and I see no reason to suppose otherwise, a most unique birthmark, too—one which would identify the bearer and leave no room for doubt, I would say.”
    “How is it we did not remember this before?”
    “‘Tis simple enough. We did not believe the wench and we saw no reason to seek further corroboration of her tale one way or the other. We should have.” Piers looks to me. “If your story is true and you are indeed lady’s maid to Eleanor of Wellesworth, you will know the mark of which we speak. It is on her person, in a location not likely to be known to any but her closest servants and her husband. Are you aware of such a birthmark?”
    I nod. I know exactly what they are referring to. Lady Eleanor has a horseshoe-shaped mark below her right breast, almost hidden under the lower curve there. It is pinkish in colour, almost half an inch in length.
    “Would you describe the mark, please?” This from Ralf.
    I do so, at their request pointing to the exact spot on my own body where the identifying birthmark is to be found.
    “Do you have such a mark on your body?” asks Piers.
    “No, sir.”
    He turns to face his brother, an enquiring grin across his features. “Ralf, I do not suppose you reached the stage where you might have…?”
    My husband shakes his head. “Nay. My bride’s rather extreme response to my attempt at lovemaking rather curtailed matters before I reached that point.”
    Piers returns his attention to me. “I see. In that case, madam, perhaps you would be so good as to remove the shirt.”
    “But…” It is on the tip of my tongue to protest that they do not both need to see the evidence. I bite back the words. It will do no good since it is clear that neither man intends to leave. Even so, I balk at being nude in front of the pair of them.
    My husband’s normally relaxed features take on a sterner edge. “We will strip you in any case for your switching, since we will require you to be naked for that. Please do not make it necessary for me to summon guards to aid you in disrobing.” Ralf’s tone has hardened and I know the outcome is inevitable.
    Resigned to what is to come, I stand, reach for the hem of my garment, and pull it up over my head.
    Both men gaze at my breasts and I resist the almost overpowering urge to cover them. Instead, I