Held For Ransom

by Rose, Renee

  As her breath returned to normal and her mind thawed, she became aware of her position. She stood completely naked, her breasts pressed against Gorran’s ribs, flattened in his crushing hold. Her cheek lay on his muscled chest, the dusting of hair on his chest tickling her skin, the etching of the crow emerging as audacious as the man who bore it. A symbol of intelligence and fearlessness, a crow was sometimes seen as an ill omen, a sign of magic or curse. She was certain he had been that to many a man who met him in battle.

  She lifted her face to look at him and he continued to cradle her cheek with his hand, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone as he gazed down at her. “You believe I sleep-walked into the lake?” she asked, doubt tinging her tone.

  “Mayhap you were in a trance? Last I saw you, you were staring into the fire and I do not believe you moved again until you walked out the door without your cloak.” His brows crowded together, concern etched on his face.

  She gazed up at him, his face bent so close to hers. His beard had grown in since the tournament, a golden brown accent on his hard, heavy jaw. He had beautiful lips for a man: She wondered if they were as soft as they appeared. She realized, with a start, they were lowering toward her own, as if he had read her mind and wished to answer her question.

  They met her mouth with gentleness, yet the contact renewed her trembling. She leaned into him, answering the kiss by parting her lips and tasting his mouth fully. In a flash, his hand shifted to grip behind her head, his tongue licking into her mouth with a hunger that set her belly on fire.

  Like a flower, she felt her sex open its petals between her legs, heat flooding down her inner thighs.

  His lips trailed across her jaw to her ear, then made their way down her neck. She leaned her head back, gasping. “Crow.”

  And then she remembered.

  Digging her nails into his arms, she jerked back. The blanket fell to her feet, revealing her body in all her Goddess glory, but she paid no heed.

  “Gorran, you must go to Stonecroft at once.”

  His face sharpened, and she thanked the Goddess he had the ability to shift his attention so quickly.

  “Tell the king he will be threatened from two directions at once–the Picts will attack from the north and one of his own will try to claim his castle while he is gone.”

  “Who?” Gorran demanded.

  “I cannot see. Not another king, yet not one who lives at Stonecroft.”

  “Someone he trusts?”

  “Nay. My brother trusts few. Someone from a high house within this realm.”

  Gorran picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders once more. Placing the kettle on, he stoked the fire, then dragged her pallet closer to it, and set stones from the hearth at the foot of the bed to warm it. “Get in bed. I will go as soon as I am certain you will survive your little swim.”

  She obeyed, appreciating the way he minimized her near-death.

  “I guess you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “The necessity of guarding me at night. You saved my life, Crow, and I am grateful.”

  He poured the heated water into a cup and handed it to her. His eyes trailed down her hair like a caress. “’Tis not your gratitude I crave,” he said, turning and walking out the door.

  ****

  The guards at the gates of Stonecroft were unimpressed by his story.

  “I am sure you do have a message for the king,” one of them drawled.

  He took a step closer, making eye contact. “I am Gorran, the man who kidnapped Princess Ariana and held her for ransom. I serve her now at Avalon. Surely you have heard?”

  The guard darted a glance at his companion. The second guard stared back, then drew his sword. He put his hand on the hilt of his own, but resisted drawing his weapon. The guard’s blade came to rest under his chin. “You were given orders to protect the Princess. Where is she now?”

  “I do not have time for your idiocy! My message is for the king, take me to him now or suffer the consequences when he discovers you have impeded my delivery.” He infused his words with every bit of command and the guards responded as they were trained to do, snapping their shoulders back and lifting their heads high on their necks.

  “We shall see,” the second guard said, but grasped his arm, hauling him inside the gates and into the castle.

  Two more guards took charge of him, one on each arm, as he waited outside the throne room. The king himself threw open the doors. “In,” he commanded.

  The guards began to drag him in.

  “Take his weapons and release him.”

  He handed over his sword and daggers, allowing the guards to search him for additional blades. When they finished, he walked inside, trailed by the guards.

  The king’s knights stood near him, several whom he recognized.

  “What news do you bring?”

  “Your sister sends me with a message. Expect trouble in spring from two sides at once–the Picts and someone from within the realm.”

  “Who?”

  “She did not know. Not another king, and not one who lives here in your castle.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, my lord.”

  King Broderick regarded him with a cool, green gaze. “How does she?”

  A simple question, yet difficult to answer. Guilt washed over him.

  She suffers by my presence.

  He doubted it had been the king’s intent to cause Ariana more pain by delivering him to her as a slave, and yet it had. He imagined she wished to forget her abduction and his constant presence made it impossible.

  “Well enough.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed, as if he understood all that lay beneath the simple statement and he, too, blamed him for her continued suffering.

  “Go back to Avalon,” he commanded.

  He bowed. “Thank you, my lord.” He hesitated at the door, knowing the knights would begin strategizing and his years as a knight made him want to stay. “If you have need of my sword, my lord, it is yours.”

  “Your sword is not yours to give,” he spat. “Nor would I trust it when it has been raised against me in treason.”

  “And yet you trust it to protect Avalon.”

  The king walked toward him, until they stood within striking range. “I trust you with my sister because I have seen where your heart lies,” he said in a lower voice, as if he did not wish all his knights to hear it.

  “My presence does not bring her solace,” he said, his heart rate increasing at the admission.

  “Nor did your absence.”

  He gave his head a shake as the room spun under his feet.

  What did he mean?

  “Go back to Avalon, Gorran. The problem is for you to solve.”

  He walked back up the hills, struggling to understand the king’s words. His absence did not bring her solace. Did that mean she had suffered after she returned from her captivity? Had he scared her? Or did he mean–nay, he did not dare hope to believe she had pined for him. More likely the problem he needed to solve was to somehow obtain her forgiveness so they both could move on.

  ****

  Stepping off the crude barge that carried him across the water to Avalon, he tied the little float to a tree and headed to search for his lady. Not finding her in the usual places, he began to scout the outer buildings. A crow flew overhead, calling to him. He stopped to watch it, his skin prickling with the portent. Crows always brought him messages, usually a warning of danger.

  An invisible band tightened around his heart. Ariana. Where could she be? Oh Goddess, let her be safe. He began to run, following the flight of the crow, his senses sharpened by the imagined danger. The crow cawed again, making a wide circle over the old observatory tower. His eye followed the movement, then dipped to the tower and he stumbled. Ariana stood atop it, her back to him, gazing out across the expanse of grazing land. Had the crow not led him there, he might have been annoyed at his headstrong princess who could not be bothered
with keeping her own neck safe. But the omen caused ice to pump through his veins, a terrible dread gripping his chest as he ran forward at full speed.

  He saw the moment the flooring gave way and she plunged out of sight. He could not hear whether she screamed, as a bellow erupted from his own throat at the moment she fell and did not stop until his voice gave out. He pumped his legs, running faster than he had ever run, covering the thousand feet to the base of the tower.

  The sound of rocks crashing still echoed within the tower.

  “Ariana!” he yelled.

  The crow called again, circling overhead as he pounded up the stone stair.

  “Gorran!”

  His body went weak at the sound of her voice. She was still alive. Thank the Goddess.

  “Ariana!” He crested the top of the tower, peered down into the gaping hole.

  “Help me, Gorran.” Her voice sounded thin and frightened.

  He crouched at the edge, blinking until his eyes adjusted to seeing in the darkness within. She had landed on a piece of rafter about ten feet below, her feet barely fitting on the small shelf. He pulled off his belt and threaded one end through the buckle. Lowering it to her, her said, “Place this around your wrist and hold on.”

  She fit her small wrist through the loop and he pulled his end taut as she wrapped her hand around to grip the leather.

  “I am going to pull you up. Use your feet to walk up the side of the wall.” He tugged upward without waiting for her reply. His feet slid on the edge, having no place to brace against. Unable to leverage his full weight, he relied on the strength of his arms, grunting as he pulled her. Her toes found purchase and she lifted a foot higher. He adjusted his hands on the leather and pulled again. She gave a little scream when her toes slid out from under her, her legs flying out over the cavernous abyss.

  “Do not look down. I have you, princess,” he soothed as her lower body returned to the wall.

  She panted, her eyes huge with terror.

  He pulled on the belt again, his arms straining with the effort, every muscle in his body taut. Using her toes again, she aided his effort and he hauled her another two feet up, where her other hand reached the ledge. Wrapping the end of the belt around his own wrist for safety, he reached down and caught hold of her under her armpits, pulling her out as he fell backward.

  ****

  She fell atop Crow, his hard body heaving with the effort. She did not move, unsure of the safety of their current location. Crow’s head fell back, relief evident in his exhale. He smelled of fresh air, and sweat had dampened his hair at the temples.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked in a clipped voice, lifting his head to peer at her, his tone still urgent.

  “No. Bumps and scratches, that is all,” she said, easing her wrist from the belt and rubbing it.

  He rested his head back again, then sat up all at once, picking her up with him. Standing, he took the belt and helped her to her feet, then scooped her into his arms.

  “I can walk, Crow,” she protested. “I am not hurt.”

  He ignored her, his face stony, as he picked his way down the stairs.

  Fear from her near-death still coursing through her, she shuddered at lurching sight of the ground far below. “Is this not more dangerous than allowing me to use my own feet?”

  Again, he did not answer. Reaching the bottom, he walked on without putting her down, his strides long and purposeful.

  “What are you doing? Put me down, Gorran. I command you to put me down.”

  He approached the barn and deftly unlatched the door with one hand, shifting her weight against his chest. A niggling fear grew as she took in the uncompromising set of his jaw.

  She struggled uselessly against his hold as he carried her to a hay bale, where he sat down and flipped her face down over his legs. Her skirt flew up onto her back, the cold air hitting her bare bottom seconds before his hand crashed down on it.

  “Stop!” she shouted as he began to apply his hand with rapid-fire strokes. “You cannot do this!”

  “And yet I am.”

  She wriggled, fighting his hold, managing to get one leg off his lap, only to find it hauled back up and both legs pinned beneath one of his.

  “I meant to wear my ire out with the flat of my hand before I applied the belt, but if you cannot hold still…”

  A slap of leather crossed both her cheeks and she shrieked.

  “You have no right!” she cried, throwing her hands behind her to cover.

  “Aye,” he grunted, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back. He applied the belt as fast and hard as he had used his large palm. She twisted her hands in his hold, using her nails when she found his skin, but she could not get free. The sting grew, exploding into a shower of fire as her cold bottom heated under his chastisement. She panicked, still writhing and wriggling, unable to escape the continued onslaught.

  “You are my slave! You cannot do this!”

  “Aye. You may punish me for my disobedience when I am through. For now, you will have to take your spanking.”

  “I will have your throat slit!” she hissed.

  “Fine, but I will still have my say first,” he said, never slowing or wavering in his abuse of her flaming backside.

  She grit her teeth, anger making it easier to endure the pain.

  “Did I not tell you the tower was unsafe?”

  She squirmed. His right to punish her aside, she knew he had a valid point.

  “Answer me!” he snapped, spanking even harder than she thought possible.

  She screamed. “Aye!”

  “So why did you go up there?”

  “Please stop,” she croaked, tears pressing behind her eyes.

  To her surprise, he did, resting his hand which still gripped the odious belt on her swollen bottom.

  “I am tearing it down.”

  “As you wish,” she panted.

  He said nothing for a long moment, mayhap catching his own breath. “Why did you go up there?”

  She wriggled on his knee, uncomfortable. “Let me up?”

  “No. I am not finished with our discussion.”

  She shuddered, fearing he meant he had more spanking to do. “Release my wrists, I will not reach back.”

  He lifted her to stand between his thighs. Easing the grip on her wrists, he gave her a challenging look. “Hold up your skirts for me.”

  She flushed, understanding the test of her humility to his dominance. Yet what choice did she have but to obey? Slowly, she gathered her skirts in her fingers and pulled them up above her waist, revealing her sex.

  He stared at it, then lifted his eyes to her face, shocking her with the dark hunger she found there. Everything shifted, then. Something other than the whipping caused the trembling in her legs. The heat from her bottom spread to her sex, which swelled, moisture seeping from it. All anger disappeared as she sensed the depth of his emotion.

  He pulled off his cloak and laid it on the hay beside him. Guiding her back over his knee, he placed her in a better position this time, with her torso supported on the hay bale, her face on his woolen cloak. He stroked her welted cheeks with his work-roughened hand.

  “I am almost finished,” he said, his voice thick. “Answer me well and I will go easy on you.”

  “Crow…”

  “Do I need to hold your wrists?”

  “No.”

  “If you reach back I will use the belt again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His hand lifted from her bottom and came down on the back of her thigh, making her yelp. He repeated the action, striking in the same place a half-dozen times before moving to the other side.

  “Why did you go on the tower, princess?”

  “To feel the Goddess,” she gasped. “It lifts me–I can see all of Avalon.”

  He rubbed her stinging bottom as she answered.

  “Did you feel lifted today when you nearly broke your neck?”

  “I knew the Goddess would protect me,
” she said stubbornly.

  He delivered another dozen spanks to her tender cheeks. “Aye, she delivered you to my hands, where she surely knew you would be punished.” He ran his hand lightly over her twitching bottom. “It is time someone cared enough to take you to task over your habit of acting without regard to your safety,” he said, his hand trailing down the back of one thigh and returning. “Trying to leap headfirst off a horse... stabbing your captor without a plan for dealing with the other two...a little more concern for your well-being would do you good.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave her bottom a pat. “Good girl.” His hand slid inside the back of her dress, stroking all the way up her spine and down again. The feel of his touch on her bare skin intoxicated her. He circled her bottom, slid down her thigh and returned, stroking the inside of her leg. She tensed when his fingers hit her sex, gliding over her honeyed slit.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “This is your reward,” he said, his voice gravelly, “for accepting your punishment.”

  She released her held breath, parting her thighs to give him access. “I did not think I had a choice.”

  He gripped her hips and lifted them into the air, pulling her up to rest on her hands and wrangling one leg over his shoulder. “Then it is my apology,” he said, his breath warm on her sex before he licked into her. She squirmed, the sensation so intense.

  Crow chuckled. “Are you still fighting me?”

  “No,” she said, but could not seem to stop her wriggling.

  “Because I am willing to pick up spanking again.” He pressed his face between her legs again, his beard soft against her outer lips, his tongue expert in its ministrations. He found her rosebud of pleasure, circled and sucked it until she climaxed, clamping her thighs around his ears as she shuddered.