Tamed by the Knight

by Loki Renard

  “I know that it is not the place of a knight to take anything from a princess,” Madeline said haughtily, holding out her hand. “Pack it anew and strike a fresh light if you please. Your infernal interference has put a damper on my afternoon.”

  Sir Gregory shook his head curtly and held her pipe aloft. “I rather think I should take this to your father and let him see what amusements you find left to your own devices. Where are your chaperones? Where are your ladies-in-waiting?”

  “I do not need to be followed about wherever I go,” Madeline said. “Besides, my father would not believe you.” A most smug smile spread over Madeline’s pretty lips. “He does not believe the reports of the ladies-in-waiting, why would he believe you?”

  “Because I am not a chivvying lady, but a knight of his realm.”

  “And I am his daughter,” Madeline replied.

  “His insolent, misbehaved daughter,” Sir Gregory amended. “Who fraternizes with squires and shirks the duties of her station.”

  His tone was scathing in the extreme, which Madeline did not take to in the slightest. Princesses were rarely chastised, and certainly never lectured by knights. Though she did not have his height or his stature, she matched his scorn in her expression and posture.

  “Who are you to speak to me in such a fashion? I think it is you who has forgotten his place and duties,” she replied. “Now give me my pipe.”

  “I will not,” he said. “And I suggest you moderate your tone.”

  Speaking of tones, there was some threat implied in his, but Madeline did not care for that. He could glower and growl all he liked; she was a princess and he was merely a knight.

  “I order you to give it back to me this instant!” She became more strident in her demand. Surely he would give in if she ordered him with sufficient authority.

  “Princess, I would not give this back to you if the king commanded me himself,” Sir Gregory replied. “Rewarding your shrill and shrewish temper would be doing you the ultimate disservice. Take yourself back to your chambers, and do not let me find you consorting with squires again.”

  Edward the squire had taken the opportunity to slip away during their argument, leaving Madeline to face the knight’s wrath alone. That did not concern her in the slightest. He might be a man of war, but her tongue could be as dangerous as any sword.

  “Rather a squire than a puffed-up buffoon!”

  Sir Gregory’s expression drew grim. “Princess, you are dangerously close to being thrashed.”

  “Bwahahahaha!” Madeline laughed at him, clutching at her side, so great was her mirth. The very idea was completely out of the realm of possibility. The worst punishment Madeline had ever endured was being forbidden from the stables after being caught on the back of Lord Crawley’s stallion. She had long since found a way around that particular restriction thanks to the willingness of servants to lie in return for royal favors. “Give me what is mine,” she insisted, holding her hand up under his nose.

  Instead of restoring her pipe to her, Sir Gregory took her hand and turned her about. She quickly regretted the ditching of her petticoats, for the relatively thin fabric of the servant’s dress offered hardly any protection at all against his palm, which landed across her buttocks with a hard slap, shocking and paining her in equal measure.

  Madeline had never experienced physical chastisement before. She found it most unpleasant. Not only was it uncomfortable, but it was very embarrassing to be struck upon her hindquarters like some commoner. Shame flushed her cheeks as heat suffused her buttocks.

  “Stop! In the name of the king, stop!”

  Her cries were more plaintive than regal as she twisted in Gregory’s grasp, her slipper-clad feet dancing back and forth beneath the beating of his palm, which was now coming in steady unavoidable strokes.

  “I will stop when you apologize for behaving in a manner unbecoming a princess,” Sir Gregory informed her.

  “Apologize! For being treated brutally? Never!” Madeline squirmed around to face him. “You will pay for this with your neck!”

  Gregory tugged her back around and slapped her bottom yet again, his strong hand sweeping back and forth through the air, landing over and over against her tender rump. He was thrashing her as if she were no more than some peasant scamp, showing little regard for the illustriousness of her person.

  “Make your apologies, princess, or it will be the worse for you.”

  Worse? She couldn’t imagine anything worse than what was already happening. “It will be worse for you if you don’t unhand me!” Madeline shouted the threat. “The headsman will be too good for you, I will have you chained to four horses and… aoowww!”

  Her screech came not from pain but shock as the knight summarily lifted her dress and slapped under it, searing her bare cheeks with the hot kiss of his palm. She cursed and spat, fighting her tormentor with every muscle in her body.

  Sir Gregory responded by not only slapping her harder, but by picking her up with one arm wrapped about her slender waist and carrying her to the marble bench given by Lord and Lady Salisbury on their last visit. Their taste in marble furniture ran to the solid, so it unfortunately held their combined weight with ease. Gregory tugged her over his strong thigh and continued slapping her bare buttocks, now displayed in all their maidenly glory.

  Her modesty was compromised, her flesh aflame, her mind in chaos. As a chaste woman, Madeline had never felt the touch of a man other than the kiss of lips on the back of her lily white palm. There were many rules she broke, but the edict of chastity was not one of them. Lecherous lords abounded in the court, but they held no allure for Madeline. She had always preferred the knights, but they usually maintained their distance. This was her closest private encounter with one, and it was proving incredibly unpleasant.

  “Will you apologize, princess?”

  “I will not apologize, but I will laugh when they take you to the dungeon!”

  Madeline might have been experiencing the first spanking of her existence, but she was not inclined to give in to Sir Gregory’s demands just because he was striking her. One could not allow oneself to be coerced by force, lest one be forever vulnerable to such methods.

  Sir Gregory stilled his hand. “Your buttocks are the color of a rose,” he said. “And your trembling tones tell me that you are feeling the effects, so why do you not see the error of your ways?”

  “The blood of kings runs in my veins,” Madeline hissed. “Do you think you can tap me with your effeminate hands and force me to submit? Fool!”

  The eloquence with which she spoke surprised her as much as it seemed to surprise him. His hand hovered above her bottom, frozen in time.

  “I would say the fool is the woman who taunts the man thrashing her hide.”

  “You would no doubt say a great many things,” Madeline replied. “Now unhand me and give me my pipe.”

  “You are not in a position to make demands, princess. Surely you would prefer your freedom to your pipe?”

  “I want your head!” Madeline kicked out in an attempt to escape Sir Gregory’s grasp, but he tightened his arms and held her firmly in place. “You know my father will have your gizzards strung along the castle walls for this,” she threatened. “You have compromised my modesty, disturbed my maidenhead!”

  “Rest assured, your maidenhead remains intact,” Gregory replied, his tone dour but with a hint of amusement. “As for your modesty, you did not seem to be much concerned with that when you were cursing like a peasant and consorting with a squire.”

  “I was not consorting with anyone. Return my clothing to its proper place and let me go this instant before I have you thrown to the lions.”

  “There are no lions here, princess.”

  “I will have some brought in just to eat you!”

  “Oh,” Sir Gregory chuckled darkly. “Whichever prince marries you best have his hand well callused before he does.” With that, he began to thrash her once more, his hard palm beating a tattoo against her b
lushing cheeks as she squealed and wailed and called his parentage into question most vociferously. It went on for what seemed like an interminably long time, until her bottom was so hot and sore she could no longer stand it.

  “Stop!” She beat her fists against his leg. “Stop!”

  “It stops when you apologize,” he reminded her.

  “I wouldn’t say sorry if it were the only word I knew,” Madeline insisted.

  “Then you will be very sore come the end of this.”

  What saved Madeline from an endless punishment was the appearance of two ladies-in-waiting who announced their coming presence with tinkling laughter. Sir Gregory might not have feared Madeline’s threats, but he clearly was concerned by the prospect of being discovered in a compromising position. He righted Madeline and pushed her skirts down, returning her to modesty in less time than it took a grain of sand to fall through an hourglass.

  The ladies-in-waiting came about the corner, curtsied upon seeing Madeline and carried themselves off to another part of the castle. Madeline took the opportunity to remove herself from Sir Gregory’s reach and rub her bottom through her skirts to soothe some of the ache away. She glared at him, her eyes narrowed at his rakish face. He was so very handsome, his beard well-trimmed, his shoulder-length hair shining like a raven’s wing. For the first time, she noticed the light scar running over the bridge of his nose. There was another on his lower lip, evidence that he knew what it was to endure pain.

  He looked at her with a steady gaze, his blue eyes locked on her with an expression that was hard to read. “You were lucky this time, princess,” he drawled. “Take care that I do not catch you again.”

  “If I were you, I’d take care not to show my face in the castle again, lest I tell my father what indignities you subjected me to.”

  Sir Gregory rose to his feet. Concerned that he might take hold of her once more, Madeline lifted her skirts and made a quick escape.

  Chapter Two

  Madeline retreated to her chambers and looked at her bottom in a looking glass. It was suffused with crimson from the middle of her cheeks to the tops of her thighs. She could feel heat emanating from her skin, put there by his palm.

  “Vengeance will be mine, Sir Gregory,” she vowed quietly. “Vengeance will be mine.”

  Unfortunately, vengeance against a knight was not easy to come by. She could have informed her father of the indignity performed upon her, but there was the risk that Sir Gregory would tell the king what she had been doing with the squire—which could lead to some serious consequences for the squire. It was one thing to run afoul of a knight, something else entirely to have a squire sent to the dungeons, or beaten to within an inch of his life.

  No, Sir Gregory would have to learn that crossing a princess came with its own consequences, entirely independent of what a king might do. A princess was not without resources of her own; Sir Gregory would soon learn that.

  Madeline was determined that her revenge should be swift and painful, however, and just as embarrassing for him as her thrashing had been for her.

  “Princess!” Her favorite maidservant, Anna, came bustling in. Anna had been in Madeline’s service since their early adolescence. It was Anna who Madeline confided in even more than Elizabeth, who usually evinced disapproval when Madeline shared her less than expropriate thoughts. “Madeline, is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Is it true that you have taken up with Sir Gregory?”

  Madeline’s jaw dropped. “It is absolutely not! Who said that?”

  “A kitchen maid saw the two of you in the garden. She said that your skirts were up about your ears and he was frigging your fanny.”

  “No!” Madeline clasped her hands to her cheeks.

  “Very descriptive she was,” Anna beamed. “She said your quim was quivering on his fingers, she could see it all.”

  “It’s not true!” Madeline scowled. “And you should not listen to the filthy strumpets from the kitchen.”

  “They say Gregory is a fine swordsman,” Anna said playfully, most amused by the conversation. “Does his sword make your sheath yearn?”

  Madeline slapped Anna lightly on her arm. “You are talking nonsense.”

  “Not nonsense,” Anna disagreed. “Your sister will be married soon enough and then it will fall to you to be mated. You could do worse than Gregory. They say he slew nine men in the battle of Brigam, and though his mount fell, he went to his feet and dispatched three more.”

  “What use do I have for such a brute?” Madeline’s tone was scathing. “He may make a good guard dog, but a princess need not sleep with a cur.”

  Anna’s eyes went wide, and her smile grew broader still. “I knew it must be true!”

  “I have just told you that it is not!”

  “You would not profess such hate if there were not some matter between you.”

  “There is nothing between us,” Madeline replied. “But I must take you into my confidence. You will not breathe a word of this to anyone, will you?”

  “Of course not. You have my loyalty to the very end.”

  Madeline hiked her skirts and showed Anna the blushing proof of Sir Gregory’s belaboring. “This is what he did to me,” she said. “He came upon me and a squire in the midst of trading favors.”

  Anna’s eyes widened. “You have been trading favors with squires?”

  “Not those favors! There have been tales of most potent hemp coming from the east. I had arranged for the squire to get me some, which he did, but Sir Gregory came upon us before I could have more than a taste and took it from me.”

  “No!” Anna’s shock was almost as complete as Madeline’s had been.

  “Yes. I asked for it back, of course, but when I did that, he began striking me.”

  “He just started to beat you?”

  “He did!”

  “Why did you not call for help?”

  “He did not allow me to!” The story was growing out of control, but Madeline already half-believed it herself. “He clapped his hand about my mouth and struck me until his arm gave out.”

  “Princess, you must inform your father.”

  “No,” Madeline said. “And you must not tell anyone either. Remember, I swore you to secrecy.”

  “Of course,” Anna leaned close, her face in her hands in an ongoing expression of shock. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Madeline replied, “but he must suffer as much as I did, preferably more.”

  Anna nodded in total agreement whilst Madeline paced back and forth, holding her skirts out in the rear so the fabric did not touch her heated cheeks. Sir Gregory had made her most uncomfortable. For that he would pay many, many times over.

  The problem was that a princess did not have much access to the world of a knight. The knights who were quartered in the castle lived in the outer towers, where they were attended to by their squires and the occasional maidservant when the bedding was changed either once a month or when lice infestation called for a boiling of linen and clothes alike. Most of the time there were but five knights in residence, none of whom would have dared lay a finger on a princess. Sir Gregory and many others had been brought in for the wedding, not because there was any real reason to fear interference, but because the king wanted to make a show of might for the prince of Navarre.

  “We should go into the knight’s quarters and take his armor,” Madeline said, lifting her finger to the heavens to punctuate the idea. “Without his armor, he will be unable to do battle. He will have to have a new set made.”

  Anna nodded, but her expression was plainly confused. “How will that shame him?”

  “A knight who loses his armor is like a dog who loses his teeth. What is the point of him?”

  “A suit of armor is very heavy,” Anna pointed out practically. “Perhaps you should take just a part of it—or take his blade, unman him.”

  “His blade,” Madeline smiled slowly. “That is a much better idea. He ma
y be able to have another sword made, but it will not be the same. He will miss it.”

  “Certainly,” Anna agreed. “A knight’s sword is priceless.”

  “Irreplaceable,” Madeline agreed, her dark eyes sparkling with the brilliance of it all.

  * * *

  Three days later, Madeline put her plan into action. She had let the matter rest long enough for Sir Gregory to grow complacent. He might have suspected some kind of retribution in the hours following her thrashing, but days later he probably would have forgotten ever laying a hand on her.

  Madeline had not forgotten however; she had not forgotten how it felt to have a strong man lay his hands on her and impose his will. Whenever she thought of the shameful event, she flushed from top to toe and felt a strange excitement that settled in her lower belly and compelled her fingers to stroke between her thighs.

  In the privacy of her bedchamber, Madeline closed her eyes, let her hand drift to her mound, and remembered the tall knight with the flashing eyes and the hard hand. If he were capable of baring a princess for naught but a rude word, what might he do when he discovered the loss of his sword? What liberties might he take once he realized who had taken his prized possession? The memory of being over his hard thighs, her own legs bared, her bottom uncovered, her mound and lips exposed to his wrath was enough to make juices seep from the petals of her quim.

  She rubbed the tingling bud at the top of her lips until she felt release, but it was not enough. Self-pleasure seemed hollow compared to the stimulation she now knew was possible at the hands of a man. He had not touched her between her thighs, but his hand had landed near enough and jolted her into a world of new sensation that had quite ruined her for herself.

  Madeline slept little the night before she put her plan into action. She touched herself over and over, finding little trembling climaxes that ultimately failed to satisfy. She would not be satisfied until she had her vengeance, that much was certain. When the first rays of sunshine began warming the sky, Madeline rose from her bed and donned simple servant’s clothing.