The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

“I need you to take her. I can't—” his voice cracked.

Phillip nodded. “I'll handle it.”

* * *

Sir Ferrum had neither spoken nor looked at her since they left London. The way he'd killed the soldier while she was still astride him had shocked her to the core. Another hands' length and his blade would have slit her throat too, though she imagined he was the sort of man who always knew exactly where his weapon ended. There was a coldness coming from him now that she'd been trying to understand.

Aye, she'd sneaked out, but since he'd followed, he certainly realized it had been in the interest of rescuing the men. Feeling lost, she busiest herself by helping make the wounded men comfortable. She fetched them food and drink and served them before she sat down to eat. Ferrum disappeared for the rest of the afternoon and stayed apart from her for the evening meal. When she started to head toward their tent at nightfall, the Prince caught her arm.

“You're sleeping in my tent tonight.”

She looked at him in shock. “What?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Had you not noticed Ferrum's angry with you?”

A feeling of hot and cold washed through her. Tears pricked her eyes. The prince was studying her curiously. “You did not know, did you?”

She shook her head dumbly. “I—well, I—wasn't sure,” she finished lamely.

“Go in my tent. We can talk about it.” His voice was firm, but his eyes were kind.

She entered his tent and watched as the Prince's page Edwin moved the newly replaced table to the side and produced a bedroll for her. He spread it between what appeared to be his and the Prince's. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and she felt profoundly lost.

“Find me a bit of rope to bind her, Edwin,” the Prince commanded, and the page left.

He sat on a stool and indicated she take the other one. She sat facing him, her anxiety growing as he regarded her in silence.

“Thank you for what you did to save our men. It took courage to do what you did, not to mention cleverness. But you broke rules to do it. You never act without permission from your superior—in your case, from me or Ferrum.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said her face flushing.

“But surely you knew that. Why did you sneak out alone?”

Her throat felt dry. If he had not told her Ferrum was angry with her, she might have been indignant at the questioning, considering her success at rescuing the men. But as it was, she simply felt adrift. She blinked and cleared her throat. “I Saw the King's soldiers were there—the ones who were keeping your men. I feared Ferrum would not permit me to go—it was my old tavern, you see. I just meant to gather information to bring back to him. I did not know he would follow and take on five men himself.”

The prince's lips twitched a bit. “Five to one is not so worrisome when Ferrum's involved,” he said mildly. “But you're right, your actions put both your and his safety at risk.

“Is that why Ferrum's angry?”

“You really don't know.” The prince studied her curiously. “Nay, if you did, you would be on your knees begging me for mercy right now.”

She blanched.

“It was your whoring.”

She stared at him. She had guessed that much, yet she was still confounded by the whole situation. “But I—”

The prince held up his hand to silence her. “It's between you and Ferrum. He will cool down eventually.”

Edwin returned with the rope, and the Prince grasped her wrists and pinned them together.

“Ferrum always wrapped them with linen first,” she protested, then flushed when the Prince raised an eyebrow at her.

But he did not bark at her. Instead he sighed. “Fetch me a piece of linen,” he commanded Edwin, who trotted off to obey him. When he returned, the prince wrapped the linen and then the ropes. He tied them much tighter than Ferrum ever did—tight enough to make her suck in her breath with the pain. The Prince peered at her. “Too tight?”

She nodded in relief. He untied them and tried again, still tying them tighter than Ferrum ever had, but not so tight they actually pained her. Then he simply pointed at the bedroll Edwin had laid out for her. Heavy-hearted, she sank down on it. Edwin extinguished the lamp, and she laid in the dark, listening to the Prince and his page getting settled.

She couldn't have been more shocked when she felt a hand squeeze her breast. It was not aggressive, more exploratory. She froze, feeling instantly sick. It was the prince. He slid closer, running his hand down her hip and pulling her skirts up. She rolled away but he followed, and she couldn't travel far because Edwin was lying on the other side of her. He slid his hand between her knees, and she clamped her thighs down hard to prevent him from traveling up any higher. “Don't,” she hissed.