The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

“I'm hopeless with women,” he admitted, hoping to soften her with his own humility. “I always say the wrong thing.”

He felt all the fight go out of her. She twisted to look at him.

“How did that offend you?”

She frowned, looking as though she wanted to hit him again, but seemed to reconsider. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

“No. You can't hit me and then give me the silent treatment.” He took her little jaw in his hand and turned her face back to him with his eyebrows raised in a warning.

She flushed, her shoulders sagging. She looked at him sullenly for another long moment before she said, “I meant that not as a bargaining tool—I gave it freely.” She shrugged. “To repay you for your gentleness with me.”

His heart lurched at that. Gentleness? He couldn't recall any woman had ever found him gentle. He had always been Ferrum the Giant—the rough, ugly ogre who terrified women with his scars, his size, and his lack of finesse. He swallowed and stroked the hair back from her face. “I apologize. I meant you no offense. I just don't want you to—never mind. I'll shut it before I offend again.”

At that, she smiled, reluctantly. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen on her, and it confirmed she was truly an angel from heaven. There was a dimple on one cheek, her teeth were white and straight, and the warmth that came into her face transformed it. She wiped the blood from his chin with her thumb, rubbing it on his tunic and then licking her thumb to wipe off the blood that had dried. Apparently dissatisfied, she leaned forward, her little pink tongue starting to extend. God's teeth. His breath hitched as she met his face with her warm, wet tongue, actually licking his split lip clean. He groaned and his hands tightened on her, the need he had just spent returning anew.

“You're not going to set me free, are you, Sir Ferrum?”

He shook his head to clear it and blinked at her. “It's not for me to decide,” he answered honestly, though he knew the answer was no. She studied him with keen intelligence behind her eyes. Though she said nothing, he was almost certain she was making her plans for escape.

He bound one of his own wrists to hers, so if she tried to work them off in the night, he would notice. Then he led her to his bedroll and lay down, pulling her down as he lowered himself. They lay facing one another, their bound hands between them. He watched her eye the bonds.

“Forget about escaping, little flower. You won't get away, and if you try it, the whipping I give you will be so much worse than the one you I gave you tonight.”

Her jaw set at that, confirming his suspicions. He was going to have to keep a very close eye on her.

Chapter 2

Escaping in the night was an impossibility. Sir Ferrum's eyes popped open every time she made the slightest move. Several times she'd found herself staring wordlessly into those dark depths, the directness of the gaze making her lose her breath. This man unsteadied her in a way she'd never experienced before. She truly had desired to suck his cock—it had not been to manipulate him as he'd accused. She'd felt his erection and knew how simple it would be to satisfy him. And though it had seemed perfectly normal in the moment, as she lay there bound to him that night, she questioned the desire. It was not one she'd ever had before.

She was brought into the Prince's tent in the morning after breaking fast. He was standing the way he'd been the last time—staring at maps on a makeshift table. He waved to the stool again. She sat, feeling nervous about interacting with this intense man. He pulled up a stool next to her. Ferrum settled in his same position against the wall of the tent, arms folded.

“I wish to use your Sight, Danewyn.”

She nodded. She truly had no objection to using her Sight if it could help. She was no friend to the king, not that she believed the Red Fox would be the savior everyone seemed to imagine he would be. Although, now that she'd met him, mayhap she did believe it. There was certainly something special about him.

“I want to know if King Benton knows—I mean believes—that I exist.”

She felt into the question and felt a clear answer. “Yes, my lord.”

“Does he know I am organizing an army?”

Again, she listened to the space inside the question for her answer. “He has heard rumor of it, my lord.”

“But does he believe that rumor?”

She did not hear a clear answer to that. She shrugged. “I cannot say.”

“Does that mean he is not sure?”