The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

She had no idea how long she was there. When reality drifted back to her, she realized Sir Ferrum was sitting below her, whittling a piece of wood with his back resting against the log. She felt empty—completely devoid of any fear or anger or resentment. She thought of all the whippings she'd received at the hand of her mother or whatever man had taken on the role of father that day, and though this was had been the worst, she felt almost content now that it was over. Her body was heavy and relaxed and her mind still had that floaty quality. She ought to be angry at Sir Ferrum for both the pain and humiliation of the punishment, but she was not. The care he'd given her, even as he'd punished her, had somehow felt more tender than any touch she'd ever been offered. But she'd sensed that about him from the start. In a surge of warmth, her hand trailed down from her log perch, and she wound her fingers in his long shaggy brown hair. He looked up, surprised. He reached for the skein of wine next to him and handed it up to her.

She drank deeply from her prone position and passed it back. She couldn't even think about moving. The idea of peeling herself off the log seemed impossible. Sir Ferrum got to his feet and seemed to realize it, because he picked up one of her knees and slowly swung it to meet her other leg, bringing them both to touch the ground as she hissed. He tossed her skirts down, and she winced at the sensation of the fabric on her delicate skin. She shifted from foot to foot, wondering how she would walk. She was stiff and still in more pain than she'd have thought was possible.

Ferrum picked up the cloak and wine and then shocked her by scooping her into his arms without ceremony and walking briskly. She hesitated, then twined her arms around his neck and laid her head down on his shoulder, not understanding the sense of closeness she felt with this man, but not denying it either. Before long she heard the sound of the river, and Ferrum placed her softly on her feet.

“You'd best walk into camp on your own,” he said. Every step felt stiff and pained, but she walked the remaining way into camp, where the carts were loaded and the men were sitting around looking as if they all were waiting just for her.

The Prince approached them. “Nice tracking,” he said to Sir Ferrum, and the knight nodded in reply. “Come,” the Red Fox said to her, holding a hand out.

“I've already punished her,” Sir Ferrum said preemptively.

“So I see,” the Prince said mildly, and she wondered what he saw. Probably it showed on her face. She placed her hand in the outstretched one he offered, feeling strangely like he was treating her more like a lover or a sister than a prisoner as he led her away from the other men. He stopped and eyed her. She shifted, her bottom too uncomfortable for her to stand still. “He is terribly good at punishing, isn't he?” the Prince asked without any hint of mockery. “Most pages he whips don't ever step out of line again.”

She wondered if that was why the prince had cautioned him to be gentle the first night.

“Perhaps I should have been clearer with you,” the Prince said. He brushed the hair back from her face in an oddly intimate gesture. She got the chills when she realized it was likely because in his view, he owned her. “I am very impressed with your gift of sight, Danewyn. I would like for you to be my Seer. You would be an honored member of my camp, and when I have regained my kingdom, you will be rewarded handsomely.”

“And if I say no?”

She saw the faintest hint of a smile play on his lips and then disappear. “You know the answer to that question already.”

She felt a surge of anger, and she narrowed her eyes.

“You do have a choice, though, you see. You may choose to accept a position in which you will be honored and your gifts will be exalted, or you may choose to remain a prisoner of my camp.”

She wanted to say something nasty, but she didn't dare. She would play along until she was able to make her escape. “I choose to be your Seer,” she said stiffly.

“When your thoughts match your words, you will treated as such.”

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

He touched her cheek. “You know how I feel about lies.” She felt a shiver run through her, as she once again had the feeling that this man was capable of seeing right into the depths of her mind and heart. “I'm not asking for your answer today. I want you to think on it. You'll be treated according to what I see in your heart.” He released her from the intensity of his scrutiny then, and she felt suddenly like weeping. She blinked back her tears as she watched his retreating back. To her relief, Sir Ferrum appeared next to her, taking her elbow and leading her to a horse.