The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

She dressed and followed him into the cool air outside their tent. It was misty, every leaf covered in dew. She shivered, and Ferrum went back to the tent to bring her his cloak. She took it, feeling warm, inside and out. No one had paid attention to her this way before. But it was probably just Ferrum's way with women—not her in particular.

He carried a bow and arrow and led her silently through the woods. She tried to walk as quietly as he did, wincing every time she snapped a stick and Ferrum looked back at her sharply. Eventually, he held a hand out, and she froze, watching as he pressed an arrow into his bow and soundlessly released it. She hadn't seen the stag until he fell crashing to the ground.

Ferrum ran to it and snapped its neck with his hands. She gasped, trying to contain her horror. She knew he was only trying to minimize its suffering, but to see Ferrum's big hands wringing death so easily was a shock. He looked an apology at her as she came closer to see. He'd slain a giant animal with a full rack. The men would feast tonight. “Well done, Ferrum,” she praised him shakily. He smiled sympathetically and handed her the skein of wine.

“Come, let's sit over here and have a bit of bread and cheese before we head back,” he said, leading her to a large smooth boulder where they both could perch. She climbed up and accepted the bread. It was strange how perfectly normal and comfortable it felt to be with Ferrum. They spent every moment of every day in very close range of each other. She had no privacy from him—he escorted her to relieve herself, watched her dress, and observed her every move and every thought, it seemed. For a woman who had been selling her body for coin for years, she had never felt so exposed to a man. He disciplined her. He made love to her. He took care of all her needs.

As if he sensed the direction her thoughts were headed, Ferrum looked at her soberly and brushed some of the strands of hair that had come free of her braid away from her face.

Like a little fool, she blushed. “This hair,” she said impatiently, to cover it up. “It's so fine it will never stay back. People think they'd like blond hair, but I say it's a curse!”

“Nay, it's beautiful.”

“Nay—it's thin and fine and is not good for anything at all! I hate it.”

In a single smooth movement, Ferrum snatched her up and laid her over his lap. Her skirts were up before she'd managed her first protest, and his huge hand was spanking her full force.

“Stop! What are you doing, Ferrum?” she spluttered.

He ignored her, continuing to spank fast and hard, slapping the same place twenty times until she was kicking and howling in indignation.

“Stop! What did I do? Stop, Ferrum!” She fought like a wild woman, which did not impede Ferrum's onslaught in the slightest. He moved onto the other side and she felt the delayed sensation of burning flooding into the side he'd just finished. She whimpered and kicked some more. He showed no intention of slowing or even stopping, and she was starting to panic. She screamed at him in anger and frustration. Her whole bottom was on fire, and she felt frightened, not understanding what the punishment was about.

At long last, he stopped and rubbed. The relief made a sob-like escape out of her mouth. He pulled her up, and she glared at him in fury, her lower lip trembling.

“Nobody criticizes my girl,” he said firmly.

She stared at him in disbelief. Laughter started to bubble up along with incredulity, replacing her anger. She started to giggle, covering her mouth, tears forming in her eyes. She laughed and laughed and laughed, wiping at her tears as Ferrum gathered up their lunch and placed the giant stag around his shoulders.

He started walking without another word. She caught up, still giggling every now and then.

“You are a terrible brute, Ferrum.”

“Aye.”

“That hurt, you big oaf! Not that it would ever stop you—you take pleasure in it, don't you?”

A smile played on Ferrum's lips, but he didn't look at her. He just kept walking. “You're asking for another spanking,” he warned mildly.

She looked up at him through her lashes. “Mayhap I am.”

He stopped walking to look at her. She waggled her eyebrows and took off at a run, giggling the entire time. She heard the thud of the stag being dropped and then the long strides rapidly overtaking her. For such a giant, Ferrum was surprisingly light on his feet. Her own feet lifted off the ground as he caught her about the waist and yanked her skirts up all at the same time. She screamed and giggled, twisting to try to avoid his heavy hand on her still hot and tingling bottom. He landed five good ones on her.