The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

She froze, not even breathing as she seemed to contemplate his threat. He waited.

“No, sir,” she said in a small voice.

“Then you will lie still and take your punishment.”

She started weeping then, probably more out of frustration than pain, and he clasped her hand with his left and gave her another half dozen spanks. Then he pulled her skirts down and flipped her around to cradle her in his arms. She wept for a moment, and then recovering, reached up to slap at his face. He caught her two wrists in one of his hands and pressed them into his chest, wedged between them.

“Stop that. Shh.” He held her very tightly to his body, not allowing her to push away.

“You heard the Prince,” he told her, by way of explanation. “I'm your keeper. That means I'm the one who has to teach you to mind around here.”

She head-butted his chest twice in fury and then collapsed into sobs. He stroked her hair, her arms, her face. He rocked her and held her until her eyes drifted closed.

After a while, Phillip entered the tent and sat down, taking in the scene without comment. “How's she doing?”

“Not so well. Fairly miserable, actually.”

“Aye,” Phillip said, seeming to understand everything. He was like that—he had an uncanny manner of knowing the most intimate details of all hearts. Ferrum loved him for it. The two had been raised as brothers—both fostered by the Duke of Umbria, who had known Phillip's true identity. The Duke had trained Phillip in leadership and war strategy and Ferrum in arms and combat, knowing the time would come when they would need every bit of it to make a run at the throne.

“Why'd you make me her keeper, of all people?”

“You think I can't tell when you've gone soft on someone?”

Ferrum met his eye at that, surprised. Was he soft on her? He looked down at her delicate form and felt a surge of fierce protectiveness. Aye. He was plenty soft on her. God's teeth, he was lost to this little flower.

“Thank you,” he said to Phillip, and Phillip nodded, standing up.

“Want me to blow out the candle?”

“Nay. I still have to bind her wrists. I thank you, though.”

* * *

She woke to find Sir Ferrum staring at her as they lay, nose to nose, wrists bound together. She blinked at him in confusion. He began unbinding their wrists immediately. “I didn't want to wake you,” he mumbled as an explanation to why he'd been staring at her as she slept. She rubbed her wrists and avoided looking at him, feeling awkward and vulnerable after the last spanking.

“Danewyn,” Sir Ferrum said, turning her gently around to face him and looking at her kindly. She pursed her lips and looked up at him defiantly, but then found herself melting under his warm gaze.

“Aye?” she asked when Sir Ferrum did not go on.

“Peace?”

Some mad part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms, but another part wanted to kick him in the shins. But she did neither. She allowed him to pick up her hand in his large one and watched, her eyes locked on his, as he slowly lifted it to his mouth, brushing the back of it with his lips. His lips were so soft for such a hardened, rugged man. Her heart beat faster in its cage as she stared into his kind eyes, wishing he would touch more than her hand with those lips. He smiled and squeezed her hand before releasing it. She smiled to herself, realizing it was the first time in her life anyone had ever treated her like a lady.

She left the tent feeling warmed and in good spirits, and she passed the day as Ferrum's shadow, observing the practiced way he managed the troops, overseeing their drills and giving them orders for the maintenance of camp. He was truly a knight of great worth to the Red Fox. But the rest of the men were just like the rowdy customers she'd been serving for years, and it seemed it was impossible for her to keep her mouth shut as Sir Ferrum had requested.

“When are you going to share the whore with us, Sir Ferrum?” one of them challenged after supper that night.

Sir Ferrum bristled. “She's not for the taking.”

“Oh, really? That's not what I heard.”

“Did you not hear what I told Murdock last night? She is the Royal Seer. She's not here to whore. No one touches her. Understood?”

“I was just teasing you, sir,” the young soldier said placatingly.

“I don't take 'em as young as you anyway,” she mocked. She held up her little finger. “Too small!” The men roared with laughter as the man she'd insulted sputtered.

Sir Ferrum, however, did not look amused. He gave her a withering look, and only then did she remember his directive to be respectful to the men, even if they were not so with her. He pointed, silently to their tent, and with a flush, she realized he meant to spank her. Anger made her ball her fists. She looked pointedly away, ignoring him. He leaned closer. “Go. To the Tent, Danewyn. Now.”