The Huntress and the Nightingale Ch. 03

Author's Note: Wow, I have actually been working on this on and off for over a year. Thank you so much to everyone who has left a kind comment encouraging me to keep going and telling me how much you love this series. It meant the world to me!

I didn't forget about you and I kept going!

Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this next installment.

III.

Weeks passed by quickly now that Louis had arrived to stay.

On occasion she would journey to Versailles when summoned but she always returned even if it was deep into the night or very early in the morning. She and Clara ate nearly every meal together, spent quiet afternoons in the library reading to each other, and passed the chilly nights in Louis' bed sleeping soundly when they weren't making love. Clara only returned to the blue rooms assigned to her in the east wing to dress or when Louis was late returning from the Sun King's ever growing palace.

Clara found Louis to be a welcome distraction after the months of near monotony she endured before her arrival. She'd only had music lessons, every book in the library to read, writing letters to her friends in Vienna, looking after Sebastien, and garden walks with Constancia to break it. As much as she enjoyed them all, it didn't give her the same flavor to life that Louis provided. There wasn't much to do in the wintry French countryside but having her lover and patron so near warmed her heart. Even Constancia seemed brighter, she switched out her black and grey attire for deep hues of green, blue, and earthy browns instead.

The deep cold of the season came abruptly one morning to the wooded manor.

Layer after layer of powdery snow blanketed the grounds overnight. Clara woke before Louis to a stretch of white outside their window that quieted the usual greeting of birdsong she had become accustomed to.

Pulling back the heavy blankets, she shivers as she reaches for her oversized robe nearby, the lapels lined with rust fox fur, and hefts it over her shoulders. The soft rugs and animal skins on the floor guard her feet from the cold but the fire is long dead. Winter's chill crept into the bedroom while they slept.

As she draws closer to the window, the brown-skinned soprano pulls the heavy garment tight around her nightgown to guard herself from the cold and peeks outside. It is snowing too much to see much of anything but what she could see was caked in frost. From Louis' windows she could make out the vague outlines of the stables and the stocky build of its caretaker struggling to pull the heavy doors shut behind him. Once it was, a smile tugged eagerly at Clara's lips. No one would be traveling in this weather, the poor man could barely close up the barn.

No one would be coming to the manor or leaving it.

That meant only the stable attendant, the cook, the rosy unmarried maid, Constancia, Louis, herself, and of course Sebastien were the only souls on the grounds. All the other staff lived in the hamlet nearby and her music tutor would certainly not be coming today either. The manor would be quiet and Louis would not be called away.

"Mon dieu, it is snowing isn't it?" Louis groans behind her. Rolling over, she is half covered by the heavy blankets, revealing the lean musculature of her back. In her sleep, her auburn hair has become a frizzled mass of curls but it did nothing to shield Clara from her lover's hazel stare. This time of year, her deep olive skin pales with the lack of sun but her freckles kept their color, creating a stark spattering of brown speckles over her body.

Clara can only smile as she approaches the bed again, removing the heavy housecoat from her shoulders and diving back into the warmth beneath the blankets. Louis welcomes her with open arms and the smaller woman finds herself quickly enveloped in them, pulled to her lover's nude body. She has kept her strength during the winter and her hold around Clara borders on possessive. Without warning, Louis pushes her head between her lover's breasts covered by only her cotton chemise and breathes in the scent of her body still lightly perfumed from last night.

Last night she'd gone to bed before Clara, the Huntress recalled.

She'd stayed up after dinner to practice her music and had Constancia accompany her on the harpsichord. Louis remembered vaguely heading back to her chambers and stripping to only her shirt before crawling into her bed piled high with furs. The sheets felt particularly cold against her body when she slid beneath them; however, the dark wine from dinner and the faint wafting of her Nightingale's crystal aria effortlessly lulled her to sleep.

When Louis woke again, the fire had died down, deep quiet held, and it was dark in her room. There was the smell of lavender and rosewater, so reminiscent of her first love, and the faint touch of warm, slender fingers tracing her jaw.

Her eyes struggled to adjust in the blackness, making out the familiar shapes of her hunting trophies that lined the walls and a silhouette above her. She remembers kissing the knuckles of that hand then whispering a beloved's name with a longing that could only come to light when she was deep in her cups.

She is answered by a soft murmur of French and the black of night closing in as the fire finally dies. Suddenly she feels something soft, wet, hot, and so familiar between her thighs, taking long languishing laps at her folds. Warm hands and arms hold her beneath the blankets, encircling her waist to keep the leanly muscled woman flush against a warm mouth.

Her nipples tightened and hardened beneath her plain shirt as her body grew increasingly hot and sensitive. That same mouth grew bolder, she remembered, and latched itself around her clit to suck it just as she always liked. Gentle yet insistent, perhaps even sweetly demanding, wet slurps made her shiver as her first orgasm washed over her then briefly cry out when a stronger second one followed close behind.

She doesn't remember anything after that, the combination of two climaxes and several glasses of deep red wine put her firmly to bed. Waking up and seeing Clara at the window this morning is all she remembers next but something tugged at her.

Last night, it could not have been her songbird shoving her tongue between her thighs in the dark.

Clara feasted on her on numerous occasions. She was intimately familiar with not only her plush mouth but the point, width, and texture of her tongue. The young soprano treated the lips of her cunt like a fruit to be savored and cherished from the first bite to the last. Never did she rush the act and never did she seek to pull pleasure from Louis so much as nurture it instead.

The tongue from last night attempted to wring her into knots and succeeded. Pointedly so. It was ravenous and yet somehow frustrated.

Deep in her thoughts, she idly ran her fingers through Clara's hair (hardly listening to what she was saying) until she was jolted out of them by a gentle rap of knuckles on the door. Before she could protest, the singer was out of her arms and answering it for her.

Predictably, it was Constancia arriving to dress them. The severe looking woman appeared in a deep brown frock, one of the plump and rosy cheeked maids just behind her in her usual dark blue uniform holding two folded sets of fresh clothing. At their feet, Sebastien, Clara's spaniel, weaved between their skirts until he found himself once more pawing at his mistress' legs for attention.

Louis did not bother to cover herself as the two servants swept into the room. They each curtsied for Clara and then performed a deeper one for the noblewoman laying topless in bed. Constancia immediately went to draw the curtains to let more light in, ignoring Louis' nudity, while the maid continued to stare at her Master in wonder and grow redder by the minute. Muted winter's sunlight hit her freckled body, bringing out the contrast of her brown nipples against pale olive skin, and the maid finally averted her eyes shyly. No one noticed her stare, not even Clara as she plucked a pale blue winter frock from her arms.

"This one today, Constancia? Louis?" Clara asked the two women, turning her back to the maid as she spread the dress out over her body. Long sleeved and made of thick woolen fabric, it would certainly keep her warm within the manor despite the square neckline that allowed ample cleavage.

Louis smiled softly as she looked upon her lover, remembering when she had the dress made for Clara long before she arrived. Her eyes drift briefly over to Constancia who is already offering the singer her compliments then back to the brown-skinned woman waiting for her opinion.

"It's lovely," she says simply, resting her hand palm up against the coolness of her forehead, "wear it to breakfast."

Clara appears delighted at the prospect and glances briefly to Constancia before turning her warm gaze on Louis, "Of course, Monsieur-"

"I despise it when you call me that in private." Louis interrupts sharply, rising from the bed in her full freckled nudity.

Clara sucks in a breath at her annoyed tone, the maid blushes brightly then lowers her eyes, and Constancia simply watches the scene unfold before her. The dark haired woman is the first to make a move, she approaches a nearby wardrobe and pulls a loose blouse from it to toss to the noblewoman unceremoniously. She catches it and pulls the billowing fabric over her head. The room is awkwardly silent as Louis buttons her cuffs, grumbling in less than polite French beneath her breath. Once finished, she turns to find the other three women have lowered their gazes submissively in response to her flared temper.

It annoys her even more but etiquette demands it of them, she is the Master of this house.

Bare feet padding across the chamber floor, the tall noblewoman approaches her soprano and gently raises her chin with the tips of her fingers. Clara lifts her doe-brown eyes to her patron's to find her expression softened and a small smile on her lips.

"I don't mean to be cross with you, songbird," Louis murmurs, her voice lowered to a more soothing octave, "you are my treasured guest, not my servant. You need not refer to me so formally here."

Louis bends to kiss Clara's forehead affectionately, locking eyes with the rosy maid still blushing just behind her as the singer does the same with Constancia standing patiently by the wardrobe. She couldn't tell if the older woman's black eyes were on her or the slope of Louis' shoulder but she gleaned nothing else from it. All thoughts flee her mind when the olive woman presses her lips to her own in an affectionate kiss, leaving her practically breathless when she parts.

She'd never kissed her in front of others before, not even in front of the servants of her own house or the one she left in Vienna. It surprised her, leaving the singer flushed on her cheeks and between her legs.

"I-I will try to remember," Clara stammers over her French, still holding her blue dress tight to her body, "beloved."

"Good, get ready for the day. Have our little maid here draw a bath if you like," Louis smiles, stepping around the brown woman to retrieve her clothes from the red-faced maid, "we'll watch the snow from the music room instead."

This idea perks Clara up quite a bit and she smiles buoyantly at Louis, "Oh, I would love that. It is snowing too hard for our daily walks and I want to perfect the aria from last night-"

"Yes, last night..." Louis muses, turning away from her singer and the waiting maid to lock eyes with Constancia, "you stayed up to continue practicing, I remember."

She did indeed remember but it was not Clara's voice that she recalled but the pleasure of a greedy mouth and tongue between her legs. The Housekeeper does not blink as her Master approaches her, depositing the bundle of clothes into her hands with an unblinking stare. Her dark eyes glitter in the morning light, as if she knows something Louis does not.

"Take our guest to have her bath. Cook should be heating water by now, he can heat more." Constancia says, her authoritative tone leaving no room for argument. She breaks her eye contact with Louis to flick them sharply at the maid. Clara is busy admiring her new dress again with Sebastien darting around her legs but the young servant winces at the Housekeeper's poignant look. She leads the soprano and her small canine companion out of the chambers with a few quiet words.

Clara only glances at the women, Housekeeper and Master, left behind with a small smile as she obediently closes the door behind her.

Now alone together in the quiet room, Constancia quickly brushes past Louis to sort out her clothes for the day on the bed. The aristocratic woman watches her with a clearly discerning eye from behind, openly letting her gaze linger at the small of the housekeeper's back, her cinched waist, or follow the lines of her arms and nimble fingers.

The air is thick between them.

Not just with the heat of the now roaring fire but also with a growing tension that sets the fine hairs on Louis' arms and legs prickling. A lump in her throat grows as her hazel gaze settles on Constancia, unblinking and unwilling to look elsewhere. Constancia is doing everything in her power to not look up, to not speak, and simply concentrate on her task. Occupying herself with the pieces of her Master's outfit just barely masks the tremble in her hands and the small pant of nervousness in her breath.

She can feel Louis' intense gaze on her and it becomes increasingly hard for the Housekeeper to ignore. Hoping her thick lashes hide the glint of her dark eyes, she glances demurely over her shoulder as she lifts a pair of trousers from the bundle. The warm, inky blackness of her stare remains lowered to the thick carpet but the invitation, small, unspoken, yet blaring, was there.

It takes just a few steps for Louis to approach the woman from behind and encircle an arm around her waist. In one motion, the Huntress not only turns her around but pulls her close and audaciously lifts her just enough for her free hand to snake up Constancia's dress. Predictably, the housekeeper shrieks in terror at her Master's behavior and attempts to push her away weakly.

But it is all an act and Louis can see right through her.

The myriad of keys around Constancia's waist rattle coldly as Louis tosses her onto the bed, rumpling the clothes that she just carefully laid out for her. Neither woman seems to care, they are both far too busy. Louis pushes and Constancia pulls at her brown frock and pressed white petticoats. Once lifted out of the way they expose her shapely olive legs clad in warm, wool stockings and a dark thicket of curls resting where her thighs meet.

Louis wastes no time on her childhood friend turned former lover. Her fingers reach under Constancia's lifted skirts to caress her and both women gasp upon contact. Her cunt is warm and dripping with wetness, the lips parting easily for Louis to insert one finger and then another inside. Both digits are gripped greedily by the woman's tight walls, pulling her deeper within.

Instinct takes over both women as their longing for each other becomes increasingly apparent with each thrust of the noblewoman's fingers. Constancia clings to her blouse, pulling her broad Master atop her and Louis crushes her mouth to hers, unable to hold back a low groan at the taste of her Housekeeper. Traces of Cook's sweet jams, buttered bread, and the watered down wine she must have had for breakfast dance upon her tongue.

Constancia's hips rise to meet the increasingly powerful thrusts of Louis' fingers sliding in and out of her. She's so drenched there's no friction or resistance to be had, only the wet sounds of her pussy and her muffled gasps against Louis' lips. Her thighs remain gladly spread wide for her noble lover, betraying her quickly approaching orgasm to any secret onlookers by their visible trembling.

Not long after, pleasure crests within the widow, her gasps silence themselves for only a moment before she lets out a guttural cry of release. Louis pushes herself up on her free hand in response, giving her just enough room to pummel the woman with a few more powerful thrusts of her fingers. Wetness pools in her palm as she wrings one orgasm and then another from the olive woman, taking pleasure in watching Constancia's face twist in pleasured agony each time until she reaches for her arm to hold it still.

"Enough, my Lord, enough..." the Housekeeper pants, face flushed and her black eyes drunk with lust, "you have sated me well."

"Sated you, for now," Louis growls in response, slipping her fingers finally from the woman's grasping walls and into her own mouth to suck them clean, "you have been keeping this from me."

"Monsieur," Constancia begins to protest, "I-"

"Did you think that I would not know the difference between you and her?" Louis' voice is dark and her stare unblinking, even accusatory as she hovers over Constancia. The two women lock eyes but it is the Housekeeper's gaze that softens and breaks first.

When her dark orbs turn away, Louis grits her teeth and murmurs, "You will always have me, Constancia. You did not have to hide your desire from me."

As the words tumble from the noblewoman above her, Constancia sucks in a breath in response. Her eyes meet Louis', the expression on her face almost pleading as a swell of emotions overtakes her.

"After all you have denied me for so long, l'amour de ma vie, I would give you anything..." Louis' voice trembles and her stern look cracks with it, revealing the hurt woman beneath as tears well in her hazel eyes, "Anything that I could..."

Warm, salty tears finally slip from the noblewoman's auburn lashes, wet the swells of Constancia's breasts, then disappear into the press of her cleavage. A thick curtain of Louis' wavy, lion's mane hair shrouds part of her face as she begins to weep openly, unable to stop the tears now that they've begun.

"Mon amoureuse," Constancia whispers, reaching up to gently cup her Master's face and wipe her tears with the pads of her thumbs, "you reached for me in your sleep and you looked so handsome. You begged for my love and I could not...could not..."

She pulls Louis' face to hers for a kiss that the noblewoman is quick to deepen then allows her to nuzzle her face into the welcoming, soft, warmth of her cleavage. The two women lay there, clinging to each other, until Louis' breath evened and she slipped into an exhausted slumber.

Taking great care with her master's body, Constancia rolls the leanly athletic woman off of her, cradling her head until she could lay it on the blankets. As she rose, the Housekeeper realized for the first time in the sixteen years since she'd been married (plus the five of those as a widow) that she felt the heavy press of guilt's gravity lift from her shoulders. It was a marvelous feeling, despite the circumstances, and Constancia made a promise to herself to enjoy it more.

She loved her husband but she always loved Louis so much more.

It takes just a few minutes to straighten out her dress, secure her wool stockings, and tuck a few strands of dark errant hair back in place. For the first time, she thinks she catches a glimpse of what Louis must see in a gilded mirror then bites her bottom lip.

Constancia watches her lover rest for a moment before she slips out of her chambers, closing the doors with a soft click behind her.

After all, with most of the staff gone there was still work to do.

---

It snowed for days and for days Louis would bury herself in Constancia's breasts whenever she could, happy to even have a brief whiff of the lingering scent of lavender on her skin. On some occasions she would trap her in a darkened corner of the manor's hallways while Clara wrote letters before bed to hike up her skirts and sink her fingers between her legs. She delighted in the way the candlestick would shake in the widow's hand as she struggled to curtail her increasingly bated breaths.