Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
One moon later Astrid found herself in a far better humor; standing as she was before a tall crystalline mirror at the back of her royal feasting hall.
This day marked the sacred handfasting of Queen Astrid the Good and her warrior guardsmen, Magnus and Eirik. And for the occasion the queen commanded the creation of a stunning bridal gown; one culled from the silks, ruby and lace she had accrued during the course of her recent journey.
She beamed in approval at the sight of the resulting work: a swaying, shimmering flow of scarlet red fabric emblazoned with the image of a swan across the skirt, and trimmed with lace at the cuffs and high collar.
Although she allowed the lengths of her chestnut hair to fall free and unbound for the day’s festivities, Astrid still wore the tall golden helmet that symbolized her role as Viking queen. And she clutched in her hands a fragrant bouquet of pearl pink Queen Roses—luminous florals handpicked and named in her honor by her adoring future husbands.
Lost in the reverie of the happiness she felt on this, one of the most blissful days in the earthly lives of her and her beloveds, she barely noticed when the door opened behind her. And when she saw the angelic vision that now filled her doorway, she gasped outright.
Adorned in a long, silk mint green gown that flattered her fall of golden blonde hair and fair, carved features, Princess Inga the Radiant more than lived up to her moniker. Yet in the eyes of her adoring sister, nothing shone brighter than the sight of a smile she hadn’t seen in many a moon.
“Sister!” Inga choked out, racing forward to clasp her relation in a fond maternal embrace. “Do forgive me, I beg ye. Do allow me to stand beside ye on this, the day of your handfast.”
Shutting her eyes tight, Astrid choked back some unbidden tears as she clutched her sister to her.
“Thank ye, Inga, so very much,” she told her, adding as she drew back to pin her sister with a warm, meaningful look, “I know all too well the oddity and novelty of this, my marriage of three. Yet I rejoice that you are able to accept….”
“Nay, my sister,” Inga interrupted her, stilling her words with a delicate hand. “I never was truly repulsed by your life, but only envious.” She paused here, adding on a long sigh, “As we grew together, my dear, I always did accept our roles in this existence. Ye were strong and bright of mind, while I was merely beautiful. I stood back and watched as ye were crowned queen, and as ye continued to rule our land, a woman of power and acclaim that I could never be. And then I saw ye take as a lover the man I wished to claim as my own.”
Astrid froze.
“What are ye sayin’, Inga?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Inga sighed.
“I’ve fancied Eirik,” she confessed, bowing her head at this shameful admission. “I’ve coveted him since we were teens. I thought that with his golden hair and bright eyes, he would make an ideal mate for me.”
Astrid chuckled.
“Tis all right, dear sister,” she assured her, patting Inga’s shoulder with great understanding. “Eirik and Magnus are beautiful men that any maiden would covet. And while I am sorry to hurt your dear heart, I do have good tidings for ye. Eirik, it turns out, has a handsome younger cousin who remains unwed. And he has taken leave of his clan in Denmark to join us for today’s ceremony.”
Inga smiled. And wide.
“Aye!” she exclaimed, clasping hands with her sister. “Tis a blessed day, in more ways than one.”
These words echoed in Astrid’s mind moments later, as she and her sister stepped into the emerald-hued grasses of rolling meadows; vast Swedish greenspaces lined and dotted with exotic growths of pearl pink roses, lavender violets and pure ivory daffodils.
Yet in her eyes the most radiant florals took the form of the climbing vine of Queen Roses that mirrored the buds of her ethereal bouquet; entwining through the pure ivory arches of the pristine trellis that stood in the dew-glistened grasses of a nearby bank bordering a crystalline pond.
Standing in the shadow of this radiant, floral-adorned structure were the men of her heart; themselves adorned this day in chain mail shirts of pure, rich gold, shining helmets that matched this glorious hue, and tight black leather pantaloons.
Handing her bouquet to a beaming Inga and stepping forward beneath the trellis to meet her lovers in full, the queen stood between her two most loyal subjects as nearly 90 others stood in witness.
The grooms immediately offered her some symbols of livelihood and honor, as was dictated by the ritual of the handfasting. With beaming pride they handed her the gold hilted swords they had brought with them to the altar; their beams widening as she presented them in turn with gold cast, ruby encased crowns that served, not only as symbols of her own station in life, but of their new status in her kingdom as well. A single tear creased each of their cheeks as she named them the kings of their land.
Then the brothers exchanged a glittering set of red diamond rings with their queen—thus commencing the ritual of the handfast.
“Magnus and Eirik,” she declared loud and proudly, “On this day we perform the timeless rite of the handfesta, which means to strike a bargain by joining hands. And at this hour, my lovers and friends, the bargain that we strike will bind us for eternity, as wife and husband…and husband,” she finished awkward, adding with a warm beam, “I love ye both, so very much, and am proud to claim ye as my kings and wedded mates.”
Pressing her hands to their full, moist lips for the echo of a sweetest kiss, Magnus and Eirik stared deep into her eyes as Magnus declared, “To this day, milady, our lives with you have been nothing short of a blissful adventure. On this day, my queen, we embark on the greatest adventure of all. On this day, you do us the honor of becoming our wife.”
“We love ye, Astrid,” Eirik offered, joining his brother in bowing deep and low before their queen. “Forever and eternal.”
After clutching her hands and kissing her lips as the crowd roared forth in approval, they bound their wrists briefly with a scarlet satin band; then watched as Inga retrieved a honey cake from a nearby feasting table and brought it forth beneath the trellis.
“Did she bake the cake?” Eirik whispered to Astrid, tone taut and nervous as he grinned through gritted teeth.
“Nay, my love,” Astrid reassured her husbands, chuckling in spite of herself as they sighed relieved.
Soon the bride and her grooms each sampled a bite of the sweet, symbolic cake, with Astrid hand feeding two choice morsels to her beaming, abiding mates. Then she herself received a token morning gift from the hands of her adoring men: a sparkling necklace of gold-linked scarlet rubies that they secured around her neck.
“We are as one,” they whispered together, clutching their hands as the crowd around them roared with approval of a union sealed.
An hour later the newly wed trio stood alone at the heart of the meadow; all three staring in pure, wide eyed wonder at the nature made mecca of rainbow hued florals and sparkling, crystalline waters that played such a significant role in their lives.
“This is the place we first made love,” Astrid reminded her grooms, holding her arms open to them as they raced to stand at her side, “This is the place where we sealed that love. And this, my darlings, is the place that we will celebrate that same love.”
She sighed contented as her handsome husbands wrapped their arms around her body, showering her cheeks and neck with adoring kisses as they rubbed and massaged her back and stomach and pressed their hard, muscular bodies against her silk clad sides.
She shut her eyes tight as they held and clutched her to them, stroking her hair, kissing her face and rubbing every inch of her body.
These same eyes flew wide moments later, as with a hearty growl her flame haired husband swept her from her feet; carrying her to the grassy knoll that bordered their favorite pond. Setting her body down slow and tender in the dew glistened grasses beneath them, he covered her body with his as their lips met and meld in a strong, binding kiss.
Sweeping her up in two strong muscled arms, Magnus held her closer than close as he stripped her dress nice and slow off her shoulders; his hands following the path of his sumptuous mouth as he kissed and suckled her heaving breasts and planed stomach—at the same time tossing the dress behind him to his waiting brother, who rose to his feet and lay it on the bench that adjoined the nearby feasting table.
Then, standing tall and proud to his impressive height, her fair haired husband pulled his gold chain mail over his head in a smooth, deliberate manner—revealing in full the massive bronzed chest and flawless abdominals she so adored and flexing both for her sublime pleasure.
Sensing her arousal, Magnus applied his touch to his wife’s sensitive arousal points; rubbing and kneading her nipples with one hand until they were hard and erect, while dipping his free hand between her legs to tease open her feminine folds.
As she let loose with an ecstatic moan, Astrid’s eyes rolled heavenward as each of her senses was ignited. She basked in the vision of a teasing Eirik as he swayed to and fro in a seductive motion, all the while gyrating his hard, trim hips and baring his massive, muscular body for her pleasure. And she basked in the sublime feeling of touch and sensation, as an attentive Magnus kneaded her clit as he buried his head in her chest—licking her nipples as his agile fingers continued to work her fevered nub.
She gasped outright as his hand shifted downward to slip inside the confines of her soaking wet pussy—touching and rubbing a sensitive spot as spasms of hard, exquisite pleasure spiraled upward throughout her entire body.
“On this, my love, the day of our handfasting,” Magnus whispered in her ear, “We seek to show you the ultimate pleasure—to show you the way that a wife will be loved.”
He accented these words by rubbing and stroking the inner wall of her feminine garden. And while his brother flexed his pectorals and danced naked for the pleasure of their wife, gyrating wild from head to toe as he flaunted his long, erect shaft before her, Magnus continued to kiss and lick her breasts and neck--and to stroke that special place deep inside her core.
Just then, he hit the spot.
The queen screamed outright as her entire body erupted in a firestorm of indescribable pleasure; a feeling so intense that she trembled and quaked as her pussy gushed forth with its sweetest juices.
“By Valhalla,” she cried out, collapsing in the arms of a waiting Eirik as he knelt on the grass beside her.
“This, my love, is the brand of pleasure that we can offer you every single night,” he cooed, falling with her into the cushion of dew glistened grass as his massive, muscular body covered hers.
Her breasts crushed against his chest as he cradled her trembling body, seizing her lips in a tender kiss as he rubbed and massaged her quaking shoulders.
Finally she relaxed in the cocoon of his arms, the remaining spasms of her special climax finally subsiding as she wrapped her arms around the shoulders of her fair-haired husband.
Their thighs and hips locked between them as her still hard nipples grazed his hard bronzed chest.
Enclosing her in the folds of a tight, warm embrace, Eirik whipped the whisper soft lengths of his long golden hair across her buxom chest as he continued to kiss her senseless. Their tongues entangled and their mouths joined as she ran two loving hands down the length of his planed, firm back.
Although both thrilled and satiated by the heat of her exquisite pleasuring, the passionate queen still hungered for more. And as she and her golden haired lover rolled free in the grasses beneath them, she wrapped her long legs around his trim waist and opened herself to him; writhing wild in his strong embrace as he pulled her closer to him.
As Eirik’s warm, sweet lips rubbed and massaged hers, his long, hard shaft rose to tease her tender feminine cleft; finally plunging inward to fill her to the core as his perfect abs flexed wild against her stomach.
Spreading her thighs wide and slapping his hard behind to deepen and enhance his penetration, Astrid stroked her lover’s golden hair as they came to lay still and sweet in the softness of the meadow—facing each other as she felt the presence of another man at her back.
She sighed contented as a now naked Magnus ran his hands down her back—tickling and kneading her sensitive spine as his massive body writhed against hers.
Ensnared content in the cocoon of her two eternal mates, she shut her eyes and once again pictured them at the table of Valhalla. And as an impassioned Eirik surged forth clear to her core, and Magnus continued to touch her body soft and gentle with his own, she saw in her mind’s eye that their life forces merged into a constant, radiant whole. She now knew beyond a doubt that her beloved Freya, the Norse goddess of both love and war, blessed and graced their union.
And she knew that by the grace of her union with these two magnificent men, her heart would always be full.
THE END
A LADY AND HER LORDS
(VICTORIAN THREESOME)
MFM MENAGE ROMANCE
CHAPTER ONE
A rare but welcome beam of London sunshine flowed free through the crystalline panes of Cybele’s carriage window, further enhancing the cheery mood of the relaxed, reclining noblewoman.
It wasn’t often, Lady Cybele reflected, that the rubenesque 24-year-old easily could be classified as relaxed or retiring. On a regular basis she worked her days away as a copy editor at her parents’ publishing company in Birmingham, England; one of the few lasses in Queen Victoria’s England, or so she’d been told, who insisted on taking an active role in her family’s generations old business.
“Oh I don’t know,” she often jested in return, “I consider Queen Victoria herself to be a stellar example of a lass who works and thrives in her family business.”
Even so, she had to admit that she greatly enjoyed her work; a lifelong reader and lover of tales well told, she cherished every day devoted to the selection and editing of manuscripts that someday would take the form of elegant bound books; beautiful tomes that bore the signature stamp of Carrington Press, her family’s imprint, and shipped to bookstores throughout Europe and around the world.
Yet even overly obsessed wordsmiths needed a day off, once in a while. And it was with great relish that Lady Cybele looked forward to an entire weekend away; her first to be enjoyed on her own, without the presence of her parents or even a chaperone.
“Of course, it is not considered seemly for an unmarried miss to vacation by herself—but after conking my Da atop the head and persuading Mother to put down the bayonet, I finally managed to escape our homestead,” she mused in jest, bracing herself as her ‘vehicle of escape’ hit a rough patch on the cobblestone road that lead to London proper.
Actually, all that she’d really had to do was assure her doting parents that she would be in good hands for the duration of her trip; a respite set to be spent at Magnolia Resort; a lovely and very upscale vacation spot where her family maintained a suite of rooms for the purpose of such getaways.
Cybele grinned as she contemplated the fragrant gardens and stylish, classically designed suites found on the grounds of the Magnolia Resort; her grin broadening as she contemplated the gentleman who owned this deluxe establishment; one open only to families of the Ton, the finest in all of Great Britain.
Himself the son of an elite lineage that thrived and specialized in the tourist industry, Lord Colton Jones was also a handsome gent with thick dark hair, midnight black eyes and a firm if slender frame; a body often clad in the finest silk suits, tailor made for him in London town.
“I believe, in fact, that we just might share a tailor,” she mused, taking a quick glance down the length of the azure silk day dress that fit and flattered her full-figured form.
And that wasn’t all she desired to share with the charming, genial 30 year old; one that she’d had quite the crush on since the two had met 10 years ago.
“We were just children at play then, sharing the fun of his family resort—who knew that we both would go on to play a major role in the running of our family’s businesses?” she mused, adding with a rarely released girlish giggle, “We really do have so very much in common. And perhaps now that I’ve come on my own to patronize his resort, he might feel emboldened to ask me to dinner.”
Furthermore, she pondered, he might even find cause to ask her to dance with him this evening, at the Friday night social that always kicked off the weekend at the Magnolia Resort.
Throwing her head back against the blue velvet cushion that lined the back of her carriage, Cybele shut her eyes and imagined herself ensconced in Colton’s firm, sturdy arms; feeling as light as air as he swung her around the dance floor.
“It would be a real trick to make me feel light as air,” she thought, gritting her teeth as she considered her full-figured form.
Although often praised for her wit and intellect, and upon occasion for her shoulder length mass of soft golden hair and eyes of emerald green, Cybele never had been rated as a classic or desirable beauty of the Ton; and that, coupled with her independent spirit, probably accounted for a marital status commonly defined as “spinster.”
“And I quite enjoy every moment of that status, thank you very much,” she sniffed aloud, nodding for emphasis. “I work and play as I please, without having to answer to any man. I have my own name, my own money, and I refer to no man as sir or master.”
Still and all, she figured, it might indeed be nice to call a man her beau, perhaps even her lover; to feel his touch and savor his kiss, and not only on the dance floor.
For just a moment she allowed herself the pleasure of a forbidden fantasy; one that found her in Colton’s arms, perhaps even in his bed; relishing the feel of his hard, firm body pressed against hers, his sumptuous wet lips touching and worshipping every inch of her face and form.
“Miss?”
The sound of a brisk, masculine voice served to break Cybele’s sensual rhapsody; prompting her eyes to fly wide as heat suffused her cheeks.
Thankfully her silver-haired driver, the ever-reliable Peter Ramsey, seemed oblivious to her erotic state; regarding her instead with a look and tone that bordered on grave concern.
“Miss, I do believe we had better pull off to the side of the road, if just for a moment,” he informed her, adding as he gestured out her nearby window, “I believe that I see some young gentlemen in need of our assistance.”
Following the direction of his broad, rather frantic gesture, Cybele’s eyes once again flew wide as she beheld a most distressing sight: the vision of a sleek, coal black carriage disabled by the side of the road—its back left wheel hanging free and loose as the fine ivory stallion that lead the disabled carriage bucked up wild on its hind legs; raging free in a radiant fury as its snow white mane flew to and fro in the winds of a sunny but balmy afternoon.
Finally her gaze rested on the trio of occupants that had disembarked from and now steered well clear of their fallen ride; all looking quite helpless as they stared with wary eyes at the restless, wild-eyed horse that strained and pulled against its reins.
Taking no more time to get a closer look at the startled, woebegone passengers, Cybele directed Peter to halt their carriage at the side of the road; jumping from its back portal to race full on in the direction of the raging stallion.
Ignoring the shocked, loudly voiced pleas of the people around her, a determined Cybele advanced forward until she stood stock still before the horse; shushing and cooing in a delicate tone as she thrust her hand forward.
Visibly calming beneath the effects of her tender, unobtrusive presence, the stallion stilled and even whinnied in contentment as she stroked his ivory coat; finally shifting his head to nestle her neck as she whispered her approval of his improved behavior.
Once assured of the restored peace that suffused the air around her, Cybele cast a cautious gaze in the direction of the carriage; relieved to see that Peter had joined the vehicle’s driver—a slight, balding man in his early 60--in repairing the loosened wheel.
“Top job, gentlemen!” she praised them, saluting the two gentlemen with her free hand as she continued to stroke and pet the newly sanguine, always equine beast beside her.
“And may we say the same of you, Miss.”
Now Cybele jumped like a skittish colt as her own senses were soothed, and by the sound of a deep, melodic voice distinctly masculine in tone.
Turning toward the source of this most delightful sound, Cybele almost jumped again as she beheld the two most beautiful men she’d ever seen.
Nearly identical in features, the two gentlemen both boasted flawless sculpted faces that boasted bronzed skin, carved cheekbones, full, sumptuous lips, and tall, muscular frames bedecked today in dinner suits of ebony silk; accented as they were by sleek white silk satin shirts and gold cravats that sparkled in the sun above them.
“Odd apparel choices for this time of day,” Cybele mused in silence. “Still and all, I suppose if I looked that grand in any particular ensemble, I too would wear it all the time, both day and evening!”
Returning her admiring gaze to the faces of the gentlemen before her, she noticed at last the few similarities that seemed to differentiate them. Indeed, while the man on the left boasted eyes as bright and azure as the sun above and hair the greatest gold, the gent on the right bore hairs and eyes the hue of blackest midnight.
Both boasted dazzling, white-toothed smiles as they traipsed the emerald-hued grasses before them to come just a little closer to her.
“Thank you so much, Miss,” the dark-haired gentleman nodded in her direction, offering her a sturdy, gentlemanly hand as he continued, “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lord Phillip Barrington.”
Cybele blushed as the thusly called Lord Phillip bowed low over her hand; his wide, dark gaze holding hers as he pressed his full, moist lips soft against her skin--this simple, gentle gesture sending an unbidden chill coursing up the length of her spine.
She was just recovering from this odd thrill when the fair-haired gentleman claimed her free hand; ensnaring her with his own jewel blue gaze as he, too, delivered a lingering kiss that amazed her with its subtle charm.
“And I am Lord Barnaby Barrington. My brother and I present ourselves to you on behalf of the London Barringtons.”
Cybele nodded.
“Yes, well, you present very well I must say,” she greeted with a grin, adding as she curtsied before them, “I am Lady Cybele Carrington, of the Birmingham Carringtons.”
Phillip nodded.
“It’s a pleasure, Miss,” he bowed low before her in yet another charming, courtly gesture. “And would it be so disrespectful if we were to call you by the name of Cybele the Brave?”
“Indeed!” his brother agreed, duplicating his brother’s bow with a single smooth flourish. “My entire family and our staff are quite frightened of that insane horse—but you approached and quieted him as though he was an innocent polo pony. And, in doing so, you allowed our driver to approach the carriage and repair its broken wheel—and even lent us the services of your own driver to assist him.”
Phillip nodded.
“Madame, we are in your debt,” he agreed, adding in smooth, flirtatious tones, “How may we ever repay you?”
Cybele shrugged.
“Ah, believe me Gents. You well repaid me just seconds ago, when you deemed me Cybele the Brave,” she told them, adding as she squared her shoulders and stood full erect to her full 5’3” in height. “I almost feel as though I should don a suit of armor, one that won’t clash with my favorite strand of pearls, and brandish a rather long, sharpened sword.”
She grinned as both the brothers guffawed outright.
“You are a delight, Miss!” Barnaby praised her, adding as he arched an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction, “So please tell us; how is it that a fine lady such as yourself has such a great knowledge of horses?”
Cybele pursed her lips.
“Well for one thing I’ve been riding since I was child. My family owns a 100-acre estate in the Birmingham countryside,” she told them, adding in a thoughtful tone, “And, come to think of it, I’ve also edited my share of equestrian manuals at my family’s publishing house.”
Phillip gaped.
“You work?” he marveled, eyes wide in shock.
“And your family owns a publishing house?” Barnaby gaped, eyes wider in bewilderment.
“Yes and, well, yes,” Cybele told them with a grin. “We own and operate one of the most successful presses in all of England, and I am now a senior editor at the company.”
Her grin broadened as the brothers exchanged wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions that were downright adorable in nature.
“That’s wonderful, Miss,” Phillip praised her, adding as he lifted his chin and stood at his full, impressive height, “And as it turns out, my brother and I are the twin sons of Nathan Barrington; one of the premiere bankers in all of London.”
Cybele pursed her lips.
“I thought that your surname sounded well familiar,” she affirmed with a nod, adding as she arched her eyebrows in a show of keen curiosity, “And what about you gents? Are you bankers now as well?”
Barnaby shook his head.
“Well not at the present,” he revealed, shuffling his feet beneath him. “We just graduated university last year, and opted to take a brief respite before joining his bank in just a few months. In the meantime, though, our primary job titles fall beneath the categories of rogues and revelers.”
“…And we hope to do a great deal of reveling and, um, rogueing this very weekend, as our family’s reserved suite at Magnolia Resort,” Phillip added.
Cybele blinked.
“Magnolia Resort?” she asked, her hand flying to the smart, wicker blue-ribboned bonnet that sat atop her thick gold curls. “That is precisely where I am headed today.”
Phillip gaped.
“And you plan to travel there with only your driver?” he queried, feathered eyebrows flying upward at this unexpected news. “No chaperone or lady’s maid?”
Cybele winked.
“Indeed I am,” she assured him, adding with a downright wolfish grin, “You two are not the only one planning to do some reveling this weekend. And although I am not quite certain as to exactly what reveling constitutes and entails, I am quite certain that I just might find it most enjoyable.”