by Loki Renard
“Betrothed, but not married. No priest has stamped his seal on our union yet.” She wrapped her arms around a pillow and stared daggers at the handsome knight.
“Soon enough, sweet princess, soon enough.” He stripped off his nightshirt, baring his body to her gaze. Madeline felt her loins tingle at the sight of him, muscled and scarred, shaped and formed by the forces of bloody battle. There was not a part of his body that did not tell the story of war, of valor, and of strength. She found herself reacting viscerally to the sight of the contours and planes of his body, the hardness of his frame, and the broadness of his person. Somehow he managed to look larger without a shirt on than with it.
“Remember your place,” she jabbed verbally, causing him to raise a brow in her direction.
“I know my place,” he drawled. “I know both our places. Yours is with your bare hide bared beneath my lash.”
“You have beaten me enough today,” Madeline replied. “I cannot bear to lie on my back because of you.”
“I warned you that you would be treated as a squire,” Sir Gregory replied, his blue eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. “And at your first convenience you set out to test me.”
“I was set upon by a brute, forced to fight with my fists,” she sniffed in response. “You left me to fend for myself. Little help you were when I needed you.”
“You were in no danger, Madeline. All you needed do was tend to the horses, make nice with the other squires, and not go out of your way to antagonize the knights. Do not speak so rashly next time you are in the presence of a knight. Sir August was remarkably patient with you. Other men will not be so kind. You will find yourself knocked down before your tongue is done wagging.”
“That is what you say,” she replied. “But you are not the one who was set upon, nor the one who was punished for defending yourself. You were most unfair.”
“Poor princess,” he said, moving to sit on his side of the bed. His presence was all the more imposing for its proximity. Madeline was glad for the shield of her pillow, ineffective as it might be it at least gave her a little in the way of bulk. He reached out and brushed the hair that was not remotely close to being in her eyes, thanks to the haircut she had endured at his hands. “A squire’s life is not an easy one, is it?”
“I have not known a day of peace since I met you,” Madeline said. “So I would say that it is my life that is not easy when you are near.”
“You will know peace soon enough,” Sir Gregory replied. “Once you arrive at your new home and take your place as my bride.”
“The bride of a brute,” Madeline sneered. “Destined to endure all sorts of carnal indignities, no doubt.”
“You protest too much, sweet princess,” Gregory said, casting her pillow aside. “I saw the smile on your face when I entered the stables, and I see how your eyes shine now. You’re sore and you’re tired and you’re far from home, but you’re happy.”
“Am I?” Madeline tried for a scowl.
“You are,” he said, letting his hand drift across her cheek in a fond caress. “You seek trouble wherever you go, princess. And I begin to think that you seek punishment equally as eagerly.”
She proved him wrong by turning her head and biting his palm.
“You see? You have not had enough. You will not go quietly to sleep, will you? You need my hand on your hide yet again.”
“I do not,” Madeline said, her teeth still fastened on his hand. Her words were muffled, but her teeth were sharp. Gregory did not seem concerned by her toothy grip; clearly she was not inflicting much discomfort on him. He did throw back the covers though, loop his arm about her waist, and haul her naked body across his thighs. She kept her grip on his good hand, but that made no difference; his left hand clapped against her bottom hard enough to make her yowl and release his right hand. The next slap landed between her spread thighs, nearly catching her mound.
“I have punished your bottom about as much as can be done in one day,” he said, pausing to inspect the bright red lines that crossed her tender flesh at regular intervals. “But there are more places to teach you.”
Madeline let out a shocked yelp as his hand cupped her bare mound and a little shiver passed through her loins as he tenderly played with her lips, stroking back and forth along the length in a caress that made her quiver.
“A priest will join us in spirit, but we will join ourselves in flesh,” he said, his voice gruff against her ear as his fingers claimed her. “And this part of you is no different from any other.” His fingers lifted and returned in a slap that landed across her lower lips, striking the softness around the entrance of her body.
Madeline moaned in response, the sting mingling with the pleasure to create a sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. He repeated the treatment several more times, slapping her quim until she yelped softly and squirmed her rod-reddened bottom.
“Does your precious puss hurt?” His fingers returned to their softer strokes, soothing her pain. “You seem very stimulated, princess. This sweet flower is spreading its nectar all over.”
She was shamefully wet, a response she could not control. A well-behaved princess did not allow her thighs to become drenched with lust for a knight, but Madeline was not well behaved and she did not try to hide her desire. Instead she spread her legs, letting her petals flower into full bloom.
Sir Gregory’s growl of need was her reward. He had quite forgotten about her behavior. He was focused on the conquest of her body.
“You are a shameless little wench,” he said, slapping her bottom with the flat of his hand. “Look at you, spread out for me like a wanton maid.”
She was no match for Sir Gregory, but her nudity was a weapon more powerful than any he wielded. The thick length of his manhood strained as his blue eyes devoured her pert breasts, tipped with pink nipples erect with excitement.
“Wanton?” She raised a brow. “I am chaste, Sir Gregory. As chaste as the moon.”
“And displaying yourself just as boldly.”
“You have seen me many times before,” Madeline said. “Bared me on our first meeting, no less. What shame should I feel around a man who is my betrothed?”
“The lord will forgive me for succumbing to this temptation,” Sir Gregory said, his large palm reaching to cup her breast. “You are ripe, princess. I will drink your nectar.”
She did not know what he meant until he released her, allowed her to squirm away, then caught her almost immediately, flipping her over onto her back so her sore bottom met the sheets as he hauled her close, hands on her thighs, spreading them so he could feast on the juices of her quim. His tongue lapped none too gently against the entrance of her body and Madeline squealed with delight. The flesh he had spanked was eager for his touch, the heat of his mouth wet and ravenous against her nether lips.
Pleasure unlike any Madeline had ever known consumed her body. Each lash of his tongue unleashed waves of heat that did not contain themselves to her mound, but went rushing through her blood, sending her senses spinning. She reached down, her fingers curling in the dark length of his hair as his nose brushed against the tight nub of her clitoris and made her thighs quake in response.
Her bottom was pressed against the bed most firmly, aching in a way that would have caused her distress but for the fact there was no room for such a sensation. The ache was folded into the rushing ecstasy flowing from her loins to her limbs, taking her body in its sway. Madeline was quite lost, no longer in control of her actions or faculties as Gregory played her like a fiddle, taking the bud of her clitoris between his lips and strumming it with the tip of his tongue until she clasped at the sheets and wailed to high heaven, every muscle in her body tense as a tidal wave of pleasure beyond pleasure caught her and carried her to peaks beyond her wildest imaginations.
Not content to let her settle, Gregory drew away whilst she was still quivering and began to slap her mound once again. “This is what you get for being a teasing minx,” he said, swatting over the
top of her mound.
“Enough!” Madeline covered her quim with both hands and bore the slaps on the back of her knuckles instead. “I yield!”
“Do you?” A wolfish grin spread over Gregory’s face. “I never thought I would see the day.”
He lowered his head and lapped his tongue against the hard nub until her legs strained and her moans filled the room. She was so close to a climax, but he would not let her have it. He kept her there on the edge until she was sure she could stand it no more.
“Please,” she gasped. “Let me have my fill…”
“I would love to fill you, Madeline, but you are not yet mine to take, are you? We must not sate ourselves.”
“We have already done so… in the forest, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” Sir Gregory drawled, his lips inches from hers as his fingers toyed between her thighs. “I remember how eager and wet you were, how you opened up for me like a flower in the morning sun. I remember how your juices flowed…” He let his voice trail off as he once more spanked her pussy lightly, sending jolt after jolt of heaven rushing through her body.
“Turn over,” he said. “And hold your cheeks apart.”
Caught in a haze of lust, Madeline obeyed. She would have done almost anything if it brought her closer to the beckoning climax that was swirling through her loins.
“Spread yourself for me, princess,” Sir Gregory growled. “I wish to see all of you.”
Madeline complied, a blush rising to her cheeks as she took hold of her hot rear rounds and parted them so Sir Gregory could see not just her quim, but the tight bud of her anus as well. She felt his fingers dance lightly across the entrance of her body, gathering her juices. Then they traveled up and touched a place she never imagined she would be touched. With one hand on her hips holding her in place, Sir Gregory began to massage her bottom hole with the pads of his fingers, pressing and teasing until the tight ring of muscle began to relax and his thick digits penetrated her bottom.
“You are going to make a most compliant wife,” he murmured, gently stroking his middle finger in and out of the tight channel of her bottom. “For all your spirited disobedience, you are a wanton little wench at heart.”
He got no disagreement from Madeline. Her loins were aflame with need stoked by his careful yet masterful touch. He pushed his fingers further inside her bottom, taking her deeply with the thick length. The sensation made her feel vulnerable and aroused in equal measure as her empty pussy clenched in hope of being likewise filled.
“One day, this will be my cock,” he informed her. “Deep in your rear, my sweet princess, plundering your hot depths.”
“You have not had me in the proper way,” Madeline murmured into the sheets. “And you already want my bottom too?”
“I want every part of you,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “I want you in every way a man can have a woman, and I will have you too.” As he spoke he slid one finger into her quim and thrust it deeply along with the one in her bottom. Madeline let out a muffled cry as the two digits worked a powerful magic between her thighs.
When his thumb brushed against her clit, she could take no more. She came with a wailing cry that rent the air as she thrust her hips back, claiming his fingers with her clenching pussy and anus, her hips grinding for all they were worth as tremors ran the length of her body. Her orgasm was so powerful that she lost her senses for a moment, coming back to the world to find herself curled up in Sir Gregory’s arms, his lips on hers as he kissed her tenderly.
“Are you well, my sweet?”
“I could not be more well,” she replied. “If I had died a thousand times over, I would still be well for having gone that way.”
Sir Gregory chuckled and ran his hand down her bare back in a slow caress. “That was quite the opposite of death, my sweet. That was life piled on life.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It was. I think perhaps… I may have been heard outside the room. What will the other knights think you are doing with your squire?”
“I think the other knights will know well enough that there was a lady in my chamber,” Sir Gregory drawled.
“I made a convincing squire though, did I not?”
“You make a convincing scamp,” he said, holding her close as he pulled the coverlet over her naked but oh so sated form. “Go to sleep, Madeline. You will need your strength for tomorrow.”
Chapter Six
He spoke the truth. The morning came early for Madeline. Sir Gregory woke her before the sun had roused itself and informed her that it was her job to fetch his bread and his morning brew, and to ensure that the horses were fed and brushed.
Madeline informed him that he could go boil his head and that she was going to go back to sleep. What ensued was not a lot of sleep, but a rather loud and insistent slapping delivered to her still sore cheeks.
“You are a brute,” she said, stamping across the room. “I wonder that anyone would become a squire.”
“Young men become squires so that they might one day become knights and have their own squires.”
“And what is my reward? To one day become a wife who watches her husband gallop off to adventure whilst she tends his brood? There is no advantage in my performing the duties of squire. Do them yourself.”
“If I do them myself, people will notice and wonder. Rumors will start.”
“I do not care about rumors. I am not your servant. Get your own damn food. I will see how the hounds and horses are faring.” Madeline pulled her britches on, donned her shirt and cap, and stormed out of the tavern to the stables. The hounds had not roused themselves; they were slumbering at the end of chains. Even the horses were at rest, Melyngar nibbling lightly at Hexmark’s wither with sleepy affection.
A snoring in the shadows told her that Sir August’s squire had spent his night with the animals. She felt a small pang of pity for the young man. A squire’s life was rough and hard and there was little in the way of reward as far as she could tell. Madeline had often used the guise of servants to get her own way, but she had not spent a great deal of time thinking about their lot in life. As a princess she had regarded the people who served her almost as props, not truly people, just means to an end. It struck her rather suddenly that each of the servants had their own thoughts and hopes and dreams, small and petty as they might be.
Sir Gregory approached and handed her a hunk of bread stuffed with melted cheese. “Eat, you scamp,” he growled. “Do it quickly. I would be off before the sun breaks the horizon.”
Madeline took the food and ate of it. She had not recognized her own hunger until he brought her food. It was a little difficult to eat quickly whilst being glowered at, but she managed it.
“What makes you screw your face up so?”
“The disobedient little scamp who seems so reluctant to play a role in her own rescue.”
“The Dark King isn’t here,” Madeline pointed out. “You are not rescuing me so much as carrying me off to your hovel.”
Sir Gregory narrowed his eyes at her. “You speak rashly and rudely as always. Watch your tongue. Better still, refrain from using it at all. I have little patience today. Every hour we spend on the road is one hour I am not by my king’s side. I have heard word that the battle is intensifying. The Dark King is moving on the outer villages and on the farmlets.”
“Then go to your king,” Madeline shrugged. “I will make my way in the world on my own terms.”
Sir Gregory growled again as he went to retrieve the horses and unchain the hounds. He saddled the horses whilst Madeline fed herself, then helped her mount when she was ready.
“Scowling at me will not make me any more of a squire,” she said, taking Melyngar’s reins in her hand.
Sir Gregory did not reply, he simply turned Hexmark toward the north and spurred him onwards. Melyngar let out a little whinny and followed suit with Madeline clinging to her back as best she could as Gregory set a bold pace. Nosewise and Holdfast raced ahead, their jowls streaming
in the wind made by their own bounding excitement.
There was no argument whilst they rode. There was no conversation either, just the rushing of the wind and the passing of scenery. Her father’s kingdom was larger than she had ever imagined, and it encompassed what Madeline was sure must have been some of the prettiest valleys and magnificent hillocks in all the world.
In spite of Sir Gregory’s dire warnings she sensed no danger, for the sun was falling on her and the breeze was soft and all seemed right with the world. It was a great shock when three dark riders emerged from the forest line. She knew instantly what they were, for they wore black armor and horned helmets, which immediately struck mortal fear into her heart. Demons on earth, they were, devils incarnate. Their faces and eyes were well hidden by the thick steel of their blackened helms, but their foul intentions were clear as they began following after her and Gregory, spurring their horses with ugly shouts.
Caught in the rear, Madeline felt panic rise. Sir Gregory was a good twenty feet in front of her and the dark riders were quickly gaining. She need not have worried however, for Sir Gregory looked over his shoulder, saw how danger pressed in on her, and drew Hexmark to a spinning halt, the great stallion rearing as it turned and charged back toward the pursuing men. Nosewise and Holdfast followed, baying at the top of their lungs. The sound turned Madeline’s marrow to jelly as she witnessed their transformation from bounding pups to vicious beasts hell-bent on drawing blood.
“Ride, and do not look back!” Sir Gregory shouted the order as he thundered past, his blue eyes narrowed to two vicious bolts. There was anger in his tone, but she knew it was not for her. It was the ferocity of a warrior who senses battle is near.
“Go, Nosewise! Go, Holdfast!” She heard Gregory’s cry behind her. Though she should have been fleeing with all haste, she could not leave Sir Gregory to his fate. Melyngar seemed to share her reservations, for instead of taking flight, the mare turned herself to face the battle.