The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

She turned to face him and stood on her tiptoes to try to look him in the face. “No.”

Sir Ferrum stared at her in shock. She imagined a knight of his size and command was not often defied, but she didn't care—she wasn't afraid of him. He leaned closer so the men couldn't hear. “Do you want me to spank you in front of all the men?” he demanded.

That threat infuriated her even more. How dare he even suggest such a thing? She lifted on her toes again, and before she could heed the signal of warning shooting behind his eyes, she spat right in Sir Ferrum's face. His expression flashed to anger, and she needed no one to tell her that a huge, angry warrior signified real danger. He snatched up the braid at the back of her head and dragged her three paces to a log where he pushed her to her knees. She made a small, terrified cry. He sat down on the log facing her and took a deep breath as if to calm himself. Her body had gone limp with instinctual submission, and she could only stare at him with wide eyes. What had she been thinking? Mayhap it had been his patient punishment that had lulled her into a false sense of security with him, but she realized now that he was not a man with whom she ought to trifle.

The camp had gone silent, the jeers and laughter replaced by the crackle of tension in the air as they all watched.

“I'm sorry,” she said quickly.

“Wipe it off,” he said in a deadly voice pitched for her ears alone.

She immediately wiped the spit off his scarred cheek, feeling the hard, ropey knots of disfigured flesh under her trembling fingers. “I'm sorry, Sir Ferrum,” she said again.

He nodded. “I am too,” he said grimly, and she feared he meant he was sorry for what he was going to do to her. Would he spank her in front of the men? The thought had enraged her only a moment before, but now she would welcome his public discipline if it was the worst he'd do. She would welcome it if it meant he would forgive her. It was odd to discover she cared about that, but she did. Like it or not, she was the Red Fox's prisoner, and Sir Ferrum was her keeper. He had been her sole protector, and losing his esteem, losing his gentle care-taking, was more frightening than any punishment.

“You're going to kneel here at my feet until I dismiss you, and then you're going to go into the tent for your punishment.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, lowering her bottom down to sit on her heels at his feet. Her body was trembling so much she was sure he felt it where her ribs pressed against his leg. Why had he decided to punish her in the tent rather than in front of the men? Would the spanking be far worse in private?

Ferrum sighed and leaned his forearms on his knees. She waited, her eyes riveted to his face. After a moment, he seemed to recover his temper. “Don't ever do that again,” he said evenly.

“I won't,” she said immediately. “I give you my word.”

“Go into the tent.”

“Yes, sir.” She got up immediately and walked to the tent, feeling the eyes of the men as they pretended not to watch.

“Nobody calls her a whore again—is that clear?” Ferrum's voice rang out authoritatively.

A chorus of “yes, sirs” followed.

She blinked back tears as she ducked her head in their tent.

Ferrum did not follow immediately, which made her anxiety grow. She kept herself busy by straightening his things in the tent, rolling out their bedrolls and making orderly arrangements of his supplies. When she ran out of things to do, she sat on the bedroll to wait. He made her wait a long time, and when he came in, he looked tired and grim. She stood up to face him, twisting and tugging at her own fingers, then shaking them out when she saw him looking at them. He'd brought a stool in with him and he set it down and perched on it. She went immediately to him and knelt again at his feet.

He contemplated her, and gentleness seeped back into his expression. After a moment, he touched the back of her head, where he'd grabbed her braid. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Her eyes blurred with tears at the unexpected concern. She shook her head. He brushed a tear that had escaped her eye with the back of his fingers. “I scared you a fair bit.” He sounded regretful.

She didn't answer but placed her hands and her chin on his knee, looking up at him submissively.

“I don't want you scared of me,” he said sadly, and she realized that probably most people in his life were. “Why is it that you wouldn't obey me until you were scared?”