The Lord's Right

by Carolyn Faulkner

  So that was what it meant when a man spilt his seed! “But that’s a sin!” She rose and brought him the towel, holding it for him as he got out of the tub.

  Piers crossed to the door and called for Archie to have someone come collect the tub. As he dried himself, completely unselfconscious about his nakedness in front of her, apparently, he chuckled a bit. “I’ve always been surprised at that concept. It’s not as if there’s not more where that came from.”

  Amber was trying desperately to look anywhere in the room but at him. She settled on staring out the window, and blotting the thing he’d just made her do out of her conscience as best she could. What was that thing he’d made her touch, and what had happened to him? It had seemed to be a lot like what he’d done to her recently, but she didn’t have equipment like that down there. She’d never seen the like, except on male animals.

  “You can go now, Amber, but keep close. No venturing into the woods for hours at a time.”

  She had the grace to blush that he even knew she did this.

  Piers came up behind her. “Mrs. Tulane keeps me informed of everything you do—and everything you don’t do,” he advised.

  “The king is honoring us with a visit, and we will be pressing every hand into hard service to make ready for his arrival.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Amber curtsied, and walked towards the door to his room.

  “Use the back stairway, my flower. No sense in ruining your reputation unnecessarily.”

  As if the arrangements for the king with the entire castle and most of the nearby village scurrying around underfoot in preparation weren’t enough, recently everyone in his regiment, it seemed, was coming out of the woodwork to ask him for permission to marry Amber, with the distinct exception of Troy, who had never forgiven her for his mishap with the fountain. He, instead, spent his time filling Piers’ ear with vitriol against her, such ridiculous things as that she was a spy, a whore, and a witch, and anything else unpleasant he could concoct.

  But everyone else sang her praises as if she were a gift from Heaven above, despite the fact that Piers knew that Troy did his best to spread his vicious gossip amongst them, too. But her good deeds outshone his patently false words. She’d healed this one’s boil and that one’s tooth and stitched the other’s certainly mortal wound, all with a soft, woman’s heart and a gentle, angel’s touch. If he had to hear one more randy buck singing her praises, he was going to massacre his own regiment.

  Finally, at the end of training, he told Bruce—who was one of the few who had not come to him, even though Piers knew that he, too, thought very highly of Amber—of the situation, and told him to distribute this information amongst the men: that if any of them wanted to marry Amber, they would have his blessing, but he would claim droit de seigneur. Luckily, Fitzwilliam was too shy to have asked, or that declaration would probably have gotten Piers handed his head on a platter.

  From that day on, no one came to him asking for Amber’s hand. None of his men would ever consider having a woman to wife after he’d taken her virginity on what was supposed to have been their wedding night. It just couldn’t happen. Their honor meant too much to them.

  Bruce had done as he was told, but then also came back to Piers, who was his commander but also an old friend, as soon as he got the chance. The two of them sat in the great hall, while servants scuttled about them, spreading fresh rushes on the floor along with small, tied bundles of sweet smelling dried herbs. “Any more of them jackanapes sniffing after Amber?”

  “Not a one.”

  “I thought not.”

  Piers chuckled, taking a long pull on his wine. His friend seemed to want to say something, but was hesitant. “What is it?”

  Bruce was uncomfortable with what he was about to say, but came out and said it anyway. “The girl. With what I just said to the men, you’ve condemned her to spinsterhood, not that she isn’t really already too old. But no one is ever going to offer for her now.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. Piers had allowed his jealousy to overtake him, and he had made a declaration to all the men in the area that she was his, without actually making her his, without giving her the benefit of his name in marriage or even taking her as his mistress, which would have given her at least some small measure of protection. As it was, there would be nowhere she’d be safe from the gossip, ridicule and speculation about the fact that he’d told the male population that he desired her, and that he intended to trump any man who wanted to give her his name in order to take her virginity for himself.

  In essence, he’d labeled her his whore, however unintentionally.

  Piers frowned deeply at his own blunder.

  “The king’s been spotted an hour away!” a servant boy announced loudly, and the furor inside the hall tripled in pace.

  He trusted his people to do what they needed to do. He had to find Amber. Piers sought out Mrs. Tulane, who was just coming out of Amber’s room.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. She finished her work; she made all the bundles of herbs for the rushes. Don’t they smell wonderful, now? But I’ve lost track of her. She’s probably gone wandering in the woods again, you know how she does, Sir.”

  Piers was thinking that she better hadn’t, since he’d expressly told her to stay close to the castle.

  Mrs. Tulane was prattling on. “Those tunics you had made for the staff arrived just now, though, Sir. I was putting hers in her room. That was a lovely thing you did, Sir. Everyone’s clothes were looking right worn. Now we’ll all look fresh and bright for His Majesty!”

  If he’d thought he could have gotten away with just getting new clothes for Amber, he would have, but he’d thought that might have singled her out a bit too much. He wished he’d carried that idea through to his solution with the men. It had cost him a pretty penny to get one new set of clothes for every servant in the castle, but it would be worth it to put on a nice face for the king, he supposed, and it would definitely be worth it to see Amber in something new, that was of good quality.

  He slipped into her room and grabbed the deep green garment that was on the bed and tucked it into his shirt, then headed out to see if the hunter could track the hunter.

  He was gratified to find that he could. Her feet were smaller than those of the men usually found in the woods, so her tracks were generally easy to spot, although there were a lot of them, and it took a careful eye to discern which were the most recent, and he found he enjoyed the challenge. When he finally found her, though, he was not of a mind to disturb her, for a moment, but rather kept well back and watched, grateful for the cover and the chance to observe her at her most natural.

  She swam like a water nymph, diving under and holding her breath for an impressively long time, diving for a white rock she threw further and further into the pristine lake. There was a small waterfall at one end, and he enjoyed the immeasurable pleasure of watching her swim out there and wash herself most thoroughly, wishing, as parts of him began to ache, that he was out there to assist.

  When he was younger, he might well have thrown caution to the winds and joined her, but with the king only an hour away, he knew he couldn’t do that in good conscience. He knew how that would end, and he didn’t have time for it, especially considering that she obviously needed to be reminded that she had been prohibited from doing exactly this.

  So, as she climbed, naked and glistening out of the water, he appeared out of the forest, walking onto the shore and preventing her from reaching for her clothes. Instead, he appropriated the scrap of cloth she’d brought to dry herself with and proceeded to do it himself, rubbing her briskly but gently all over until she was entirely dry, and even taking several swipes at her hair, but giving up since there was so much of it. But he did manage to get a lot of the water out of it, and seemed to enjoy running his hands and the cloth through it.

  Amber had stood docilely throughout this process, which had surprised him somewhat. That wasn’t like her, and he was a t
ad suspicious. But he didn’t waste any time once he thought he’d gotten her to the point where she’d be a little more comfortable standing out of the water, and he brought her a bit to his side, bent her over while holding her with one arm, and stepped on that long hair of hers with his foot, which trapped her right where he wanted her. She couldn’t get up without scalping herself, and her bare bottom was exactly where he wanted it. The wooden training sword he’d been using earlier in the day was the perfect implement to help refresh her memory about the rule he had set for her. It wasn’t as if he had made a thousand of them. She should have been able to obey that one.

  “What did I say to you not too long ago about staying close to the castle, Amber?”

  She had forgotten. She really had. There had been so much hustle and bustle with the king arriving shortly, and she just couldn’t stand it any longer. Amber had made sure she’d gotten everything done that she could, helping everywhere she could, but she needed to escape for a while, just one last time, knowing she’d be pressed into service in every possible way while he was here, so she ducked into the woods to swim and bathe while she thought no one would miss her.

  Of course, he would notice, and she would end up punished, as always. It seemed he never missed a chance to blister her for one reason or another. Sir Piers punished her three or four times more often than her father ever had.

  She shuddered to think what he was using on her now. Amber could feel the welts rising individually each time his arm fell, and, as usual, she was crying almost before he’d begun spanking her. It annoyed her to no end that she had so little control of herself around the person she wished she had the most control. Her emotions seemed so scattered with him, and it was as if he knew her body much better than she did—how to deliver it searing pain and unbelievable ecstasy, sometimes in the same instant.

  It was in the middle of this disciplinary session that they heard thunderous hoof beats, and before they knew it, they were descended upon by a large army of men bearing the king’s crest, and then by the king himself, who stepped to the forefront and required that his men, who found the scene to be quite comical, step well back into the woods.

  King William, who knew and liked Piers quite well, walked down to the shore, where both of his subjects were on their knees to him, one quite prettily but unintentionally giving him a very nice view of English scenery, indeed.

  “Rise, rise, the both of you.”

  Piers did so immediately, handing Amber her new tunic and shoving her behind him to don it quickly.

  Amber was shaking so badly that it took her five times longer than it might have, because she knew the King of England was a mere ten feet from her.

  When she was done, she barely peeped around Piers, wanting to sink to her knees again, but King William wouldn’t hear of it. “I see you’ve found a fair English flower with whom to occupy yourself, Sir Piers. And what an interesting occupation it is.” He smiled broadly. “Please introduce me.”

  When Piers drew her towards the king, his hand strong and steady on hers, his strength infused her, and she became more of herself and less the frightened maid, despite the ignominious circumstances.

  She met King William with a deep curtsey, but squarely, not shrinking from him, proudly, as she should. Piers was very proud of her, knowing it was hard for her, especially considering the scene he’d stumbled upon.

  He drew her up with one hand, kissing the back of hers. “I had concern that there was a maid in distress, but I had no idea just how distressed. Tell me, Miss Amber, were you deserving of the punishment Sir Piers was administering?”

  Amber colored beautifully, and both men found themselves heartily admiring it.

  Piers’ heart was in his throat at her possible answer, but she surprised him, as he should have known she would. “By the letter of his law, yes, Your Majesty.”

  The king was pleased at her answer, nudging Piers in the ribs. “Ho, this one has a bit of the devil in her, does she not, Sir Piers? I’ll leave you to the beating then. It seems she’s in the need of one.”

  He left them laughing, which Amber thought, with a king, was probably a good thing.

  She had hoped, against hope, it seemed, that that would have been the end of her spanking, but Piers was too strict for that. After they heard His Majesty’s men all laugh—on her account, she was sure—and gallop away, he finished her off, quickly and quite viciously, sure that the sounds of the horses’ hooves would drown out the sounds of her screams and his sword gracing her bottom.

  “When I tell you not to go into the woods, my flower, then you are not to go into the woods, until I lift that ban.” He rained down several last swats, but kept her in position, quite liking the natural bond her hair made when under his foot. “What did I just say?”

  How did he know how much she hated to repeat things back to anyone, like a child forced to recite lessons? She hesitated just a second too long, and got more for her trouble—more swats, more pain, and a much hoarser throat.

  “Amber?” he asked, when he stopped again.

  “Wh–when you say I’m n–not to go into the woods, I’m not t–to go into them un–until you lift the b–ban, Sir.”

  He let her up, but didn’t free her; instead he swooped her up in his arms and threw her up onto Tygan, kicking the horse into a gallop. “Tell me if you know a way to get us back to the castle before the king.”

  She wasn’t sure, but they just made it a few minutes before His Majesty, long enough for Piers to change into his best, and Amber to do her best to fade into the woodwork of the servants, keeping herself busy enough to forget what had just transpired between herself, the king, and Sir Piers.

  The king was met with all manner of ceremony. The villagers showered him with flowers and clapped and sang his praises, which fairly astounded him. They were the cause of his lateness to the castle. He could speak of little else when he first arrived, having been much less warmly received everywhere else he traveled. Piers knew he had Amber to thank for this, but he could hardly tell King William that, so he accepted the king’s accolades for himself.

  They closeted themselves away for the afternoon, going over the plans for the new castle and its fortifications. The king would travel to the site himself and inspect the construction while he was here, once he’d recovered from his trip. Tonight, there would be a great feast that would last for several days; the castle smelled of the meats and pies and breads that were baking for the occasion, as well as the sweet smelling rushes and herbs that graced the floor.

  The feast began at dusk, with entertainments, jesters and musicians, and Sir Piers and the king sat at the high board, along with Bruce, and Fitzwilliam.

  King William leaned over to Piers and commented, “This place suffers from the lack of women, Sir Piers. Where is your Josette?”

  He told the king that he had sent for her, but she hadn’t arrived. In truth, he hadn’t thought much of Josette since he’d become involved with Amber, except to request her presence, and it was probably a good thing he had or he was going to end up becoming entirely too wrapped up in her. Amber might make a good mistress, but Josette would be the proper wife he needed.

  “What about that wench I saw you with earlier?” King William’s elbow was wont to find its home in Piers’ ribs. “Amber, was it? She’s quite the comely wench, and it looked like you’d done quite a good job on her bottom.”

  “She’s become somewhat of a healer around these parts. All of my men swear by her. And, despite what you might think and what you’ve seen, I understand she’s quite virtuous.”

  The king looked taken aback, and quite disappointed, at that pronouncement. “A healer, you say? And virtuous, at that? Mayhap you shouldn’t wait for your Josette, Sir Piers, but take an English wife, instead!”

  This had the whole hall laughing, just when Amber entered the room carrying a basket full of bread. She’d been pressed into service in the kitchens, where it was utter chaos, because it was one of the most dilapidate
d parts of the castle and they were trying to not only feed an army of men, but to feed the king himself, which demanded a boatload of the best quality foods available, and armies of servants to serve them.

  Several of the girls were filling the men’s cups, for the umpteenth time already this evening, with mead, some, like her, were distributing the food. She knew most of the people she was serving, and the majority of them were nice to her, or at the very least, polite.

  The only one who gave her trouble was the one she expected to do so: Troy. Every time she came near him, he reached out and did what he always did to her; he grabbed her breasts, or pinched her bottom, or both. She was just about ready to break out that little blade she always wore and relieve him of one or more of his digits to make him think twice about doing so the next time she came around with a roll or a ladle of stew.

  This time, he turned around on the bench and put one hand on her breast, and reached up between her legs with the other.

  Despite what Sir Piers had said, most of the men appreciated what Amber had done for them, helping them with their ailments, and they did not appreciate Troy making an ass of himself annoying her. A lot of them leapt to her aid, but unfortunately, in the fracas, Troy located the band on her thigh where she now kept her knife, slipped it out, and had it at her neck before she could prevent him from doing so.

  Troy dragged her into the middle of the hall, knocking down the acrobatic tumblers and stepping on midgets, pulling her up before Sir Piers and the king, poking the tip of the blade against her neck while they watched. “Here’s your precious whore, Sir Piers.”

  Piers watched, his entire body tense as a single drop of Amber’s red blood dripped down the short blade. He’d faced enemies in battle before, but he’d not expected they’d come from within his own ranks to threaten his own. He could see how terribly frightened she was, and anger welled up inside him such as he had never known.

  No one threatened that which was his and lived, and she was more his than most.