The Knight's Prisoner

by Renee Rose

  They rode back through the night and arrived at camp by noon, all of them dead tired. He couldn't speak or even look at Dani. When they arrived, he helped the injured men get settled before briefing Phillip on the rescue, including Dani's part in it.

  Phillip's understanding was complete. There was no sympathy there; Phillip wouldn't offer something he didn't want. Just understanding.

  “I need you to take her. I can't—” his voice cracked.

  Phillip nodded. “I'll handle it.”

  * * *

  Sir Ferrum had neither spoken nor looked at her since they left London. The way he'd killed the soldier while she was still astride him had shocked her to the core. Another hands' length and his blade would have slit her throat too, though she imagined he was the sort of man who always knew exactly where his weapon ended. There was a coldness coming from him now that she'd been trying to understand.

  Aye, she'd sneaked out, but since he'd followed, he certainly realized it had been in the interest of rescuing the men. Feeling lost, she busiest herself by helping make the wounded men comfortable. She fetched them food and drink and served them before she sat down to eat. Ferrum disappeared for the rest of the afternoon and stayed apart from her for the evening meal. When she started to head toward their tent at nightfall, the Prince caught her arm.

  “You're sleeping in my tent tonight.”

  She looked at him in shock. “What?”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Had you not noticed Ferrum's angry with you?”

  A feeling of hot and cold washed through her. Tears pricked her eyes. The prince was studying her curiously. “You did not know, did you?”

  She shook her head dumbly. “I—well, I—wasn't sure,” she finished lamely.

  “Go in my tent. We can talk about it.” His voice was firm, but his eyes were kind.

  She entered his tent and watched as the Prince's page Edwin moved the newly replaced table to the side and produced a bedroll for her. He spread it between what appeared to be his and the Prince's. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and she felt profoundly lost.

  “Find me a bit of rope to bind her, Edwin,” the Prince commanded, and the page left.

  He sat on a stool and indicated she take the other one. She sat facing him, her anxiety growing as he regarded her in silence.

  “Thank you for what you did to save our men. It took courage to do what you did, not to mention cleverness. But you broke rules to do it. You never act without permission from your superior—in your case, from me or Ferrum.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said her face flushing.

  “But surely you knew that. Why did you sneak out alone?”

  Her throat felt dry. If he had not told her Ferrum was angry with her, she might have been indignant at the questioning, considering her success at rescuing the men. But as it was, she simply felt adrift. She blinked and cleared her throat. “I Saw the King's soldiers were there—the ones who were keeping your men. I feared Ferrum would not permit me to go—it was my old tavern, you see. I just meant to gather information to bring back to him. I did not know he would follow and take on five men himself.”

  The prince's lips twitched a bit. “Five to one is not so worrisome when Ferrum's involved,” he said mildly. “But you're right, your actions put both your and his safety at risk.

  “Is that why Ferrum's angry?”

  “You really don't know.” The prince studied her curiously. “Nay, if you did, you would be on your knees begging me for mercy right now.”

  She blanched.

  “It was your whoring.”

  She stared at him. She had guessed that much, yet she was still confounded by the whole situation. “But I—”

  The prince held up his hand to silence her. “It's between you and Ferrum. He will cool down eventually.”

  Edwin returned with the rope, and the Prince grasped her wrists and pinned them together.

  “Ferrum always wrapped them with linen first,” she protested, then flushed when the Prince raised an eyebrow at her.

  But he did not bark at her. Instead he sighed. “Fetch me a piece of linen,” he commanded Edwin, who trotted off to obey him. When he returned, the prince wrapped the linen and then the ropes. He tied them much tighter than Ferrum ever did—tight enough to make her suck in her breath with the pain. The Prince peered at her. “Too tight?”

  She nodded in relief. He untied them and tried again, still tying them tighter than Ferrum ever had, but not so tight they actually pained her. Then he simply pointed at the bedroll Edwin had laid out for her. Heavy-hearted, she sank down on it. Edwin extinguished the lamp, and she laid in the dark, listening to the Prince and his page getting settled.

  She couldn't have been more shocked when she felt a hand squeeze her breast. It was not aggressive, more exploratory. She froze, feeling instantly sick. It was the prince. He slid closer, running his hand down her hip and pulling her skirts up. She rolled away but he followed, and she couldn't travel far because Edwin was lying on the other side of her. He slid his hand between her knees, and she clamped her thighs down hard to prevent him from traveling up any higher. “Don't,” she hissed.

  He started working his hand more aggressively between her legs, trying to move it up, and fear made her bolder. She struck out with her bound hands. They were neatly caught and pulled over her head and the hand returned to her breast, dipping inside her outer dress and shift to pinch her nipple. She kicked at him. “No,” she snarled between clenched teeth. She tried to roll away but with her arms pinned, couldn't manage it. She caught sight of Edwin's frightened expression on the other side of her, which told her the raping of women was not a normal occurrence in the prince's tent. Little comfort that gave her, though.

  She started thrashing about madly, wondering if she should scream. Her mind flitted to Ferrum—would he save her? The thought of him gave her renewed fight, and she craned her neck around, trying to bite the arm holding her.

  The prince straddled her, pinned her wrists down to her chest and held her, staring down with a shrewd look. There was nothing amorous about his expression—no passion or even aggression. To her utter confusion, he smiled slowly. “I was just making sure,” his perfectly calm voice informed her. She kept wriggling to get out from under him. “Shh. You're all right—it's over. You're safe. I just had to find out for myself.”

  “Find out what?” she gritted, as he climbed off her and used her wrists to roll her to her side, his other hand catching her knees and drawing them up to her chest, so she lay curled in a fetal position. He put one hand on the side of her head and pressed it down against the bedroll, pinning her there. She struggled to lift her head, and he didn't allow it, yet she felt he was comforting her.

  “That you gave to Ferrum honestly. I thought as much, but I wanted to be absolutely certain.”

  “You bastard! Go to hell!” She snarled, kicking at him.

  “No kicking,” he said, grabbing her ankle to stop it. As usual, the absolute authority in his tone overrode any rebellion she'd been attempting. He continued to hold her down in the fetal position, one hand on her head, waiting as the fight drained out of her. “I'm sorry I frightened you,” he said.

  Considering he was a prince and she was a nobody, she was more than a little surprised he had actually apologized. Her anger dwindled, leaving her empty and tired.

  “I think it will be all right,” he said.

  She tried to lift her head again, and this time he let her. She stared at him in the darkness, trying to discern his face. He was leaning on his elbow, considering her with the same dark glittering gaze with which he always regarded her. Did he mean things would be all right with Ferrum?

  “Hearts mend,” he said simply.

  * * *

  Ferrum woke with a splitting headache the following day. He went out of his tent, snarling at everyone and everything in his sight. When Dani tried to sit beside him at breakfast, he stood immediately and walked away without a word. It was cowardly, h
e supposed, but he simply couldn't be near her. There was a tightness in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. The thought of her spending the night in Phillip's tent made it even worse, so he simply closed his mind to it all.

  Phillip came over to him after breakfast, and Ferrum glowered at him, wanting to be left alone. “She loves you,” Phillip said matter-of-factly.

  The tightness in his chest grew worse. He coughed, literally unable to breathe for a moment. He couldn't speak but merely shook his head at his foster brother.

  “I know people, Ferrum. I know this.”

  He blinked, still struggling to simply move his breath in and out. Something in the center core of him was screaming, was longing, to believe Phillip. But he just couldn't. He shook his head again and walked away without answering.

  He spent the morning chopping a felled tree into smaller pieces for their fire. It was his preferred activity when he was in a foul mood—a constructive way to relieve his aggression. With each swing of the ax he imagined he was cutting down each man Dani had ever given herself to.

  After several hours, she approached. He was swinging the ax harder than necessary, causing the wood to fly up in splinters. He knew she was standing there, but he neither looked at her nor acknowledged her in any way. He felt her anxiety at being ignored growing.

  “Ferrum? Will you speak to me, please?” she demanded after a stretch.

  He didn't stop chopping, but he did look at her, giving her a raised eyebrow.

  She stalked over and stood right in front of him, so he had to swing wide to avoid spraying her with wood chips. He left the ax in the log and squared off to her.

  “Look, I've always been a whore. You just didn't want to believe it of me,” she said, her voice strained.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her once. “No. That's not it,” he gritted out. “That's not it at all.” He picked her up by squeezing her upper arms into her torso until she was eye to eye with him. “I don't care about what you've been.”

  Her chin was thrust forward, but her lips trembled. “You're jealous, then? Surely you know he meant nothing to me! I did it for the men—for your men!”

  He shook her again, and her dangling legs danced with the movement. “Aye. I saw how it meant nothing to you. I imagine I meant nothing to you, either.”

  Anger crossed her face. “How can you say that?” she demanded, spit flying in fury, tears spilling as she spoke. “That's what you really think? Truly? I should not be surprised. You never believed in what I offered you. I guess in your eyes a whore is not capable of love. Is that what you think?”

  Pain seared in his chest. He stared at her, torn by his anger and some new hope seeping through. He wanted to throw her down and walk swiftly away, but he couldn't move. He couldn't look away. The depth of pain in her eyes matched his own. He faltered. Mayhap he'd been wrong.

  “Or do you think your scars make you un-loveable?” she asked in a soft and dangerous tone.

  He set her down on the ground, feeling dizzy. Something in him had just cracked open, and the flood of conflicting emotion was too strong.

  “You were always planning to escape,” he accused her, trying to find solid ground. How could he believe in love from someone who wanted to leave?

  “But I didn't,” she pleaded, weeping openly. “When I walked in that tavern, I felt sick, Ferrum. And I knew my place was with you.”

  The world tilted and righted itself, and he felt the ground more solidly under his feet. A full breath filled his chest for the first time all day. “I thought you were mine.” His voice cracked on the last word, and tears filled his eyes momentarily before he blinked them back angrily. Her eyes widened and she opened and closed her mouth with a look of shock. He cursed himself inwardly for showing her emotion like that.

  But her eyes filled with tears as well. “That's what I'm telling you—I am yours,” she whispered. “I'm sorry, Ferrum,” she said, looking genuinely pained. “I didn't think about how—” she swallowed, “—how my servicing another man would affect you.”

  It hadn't occurred to him she wouldn't understand fidelity. But he supposed someone who had given her body to hundreds of men might not attach the same meaning to it he did. He rubbed her arms where he'd been holding her, fearing suddenly he had left bruises. “How could you not know you were mine?” he asked, but his voice was forgiving.

  She dashed at her tears with the back of her hand and shrugged. “I don't know—I never imagined anyone would want me.”

  He believed her, but it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard in his life. “But Dani, I told you that you were mine. Many times. Did you not know that meant mine alone?”

  She shook her head. “I don't know—I just never thought you meant anything by it. Are you saying you'd have me… as your…” she trailed off uncertainly.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “My wife? Aye. Would you have me, little flower?”

  She nodded silently, tears still running down her pale cheeks.

  He pulled her head toward him and kissed the top of it before folding it into his chest. “I'll kill any man who touches you,” he said with a note of challenge, not sure if she truly knew what she was agreeing to.

  “I won't allow any man to touch me, Ferrum. I promise.”

  “I'll use you however I like. All day long if I want.”

  She laughed tearfully into his chest, then tipped her head back to look at him. “I hope so.”

  “I will tie you up and spank you and make you say you love me.”

  “Tonight?” she asked, her voice soft with desire, eyes filled with heat. His cock hardened.

  “Aye. Tonight I will spank and spank and spank and teach you never to stray again.”

  Her breath had quickened, and he saw the war between fear and desire in her face. He ran his thumb along the delicate bones of her cheek. “I'll make you remember who you belong to,” he said, his voice husky. He saw the twin points of her nipples standing up under her bodice just for him.

  * * *

  She was trembling all over just in anticipation of his touch. She had no doubt he would spank her all night, as he had promised. He had sent her into the tent with the order to kneel in wait for him.

  “Take off your dress, little flower,” Ferrum commanded softly, extinguishing the candle so their forms wouldn't be seen as shadows through the tent walls. Still, their sounds would be heard—not that it would be the first time the camp had heard her punishment or their sex.

  He was sitting on his bedroll, his eyes heavy-lidded, filled with a dark desire. She met his eye as she slowly peeled off her clothing and let it fall to the ground in a heap. She stepped out of the skirts and bent to pick them up and fold them neatly, but Ferrum growled, “Leave 'em. Come to me.”

  She went and knelt before him, waiting for instruction. He took hold of one of her nipples and pinched, slowly increasing the pressure until she gasped and involuntarily tried to move away, which—of course—only made it worse.

  “Mine,” Ferrum growled.

  “Yes,” she agreed, panting. He released her nipple. “I want your bottom right here,” he said patting his lap. She laid across his lap. “No, like this,” he said, picking up one of her legs and swinging it over his head so she straddled him, facing away, her bottom presented to him with her legs spread wide. She was lying over his outstretched legs, and he tossed a blanket down to her for cushioning. She had only just tucked it under her chest and head when the first slap fell. Ferrum continued swatting her in rapid succession, changing from side to side until her entire bottom started to sting. It felt good, even as the burn increased. She reveled in Ferrum's intense focus on her after the silent treatment he'd given her. She enjoyed the sting of his hand on her flesh, the way her sex was spread open for his view in this position.

  The intensity of the sting began to grow, and she had to close her eyes and breathe, willing herself to relax and open to the sensation, rather than try to escape it. She heard herself whim
per but felt no true distress.

  He continued with no sign of stopping, and soon she started to grow agitated. She wrapped her lower legs behind his back to keep herself from kicking, fearing she might kick him in the face in the position she was in. Even as her agitation grew, the level of intensity with which he was striking her increased. Her whimpers grew louder, and her bottom started bobbing, trying in vain to dodge the blows. She felt the urge to beg and plead welling up in her. She pushed it firmly back down and let herself cry instead. She clutched at his lower legs with her fingers digging in and started to sob softly. Still, he didn't stop.

  He began to slap just one side—the same place over and over again until her hips were writhing frantically under the cruel bite. He then moved his target and slapped up and down that thigh several times before moving to give the other side the same tortuous treatment. The anticipation of knowing what was to come made it worse, but because it was her left side he couldn't strike her quite as hard in the position she was in. Still, it smarted terribly.

  The spanking suddenly stopped, and she felt his lips pressed to her hot cheek, the scratch of his stubble feeling rough against her chaffed skin. He rubbed her bottom for a few moments. Her pussy was dripping wet, so hungry for his touch. She feared he'd make her wait all night for her pleasure, but he was not so cruel. She felt a finger dip into her honeyed moisture, but then it withdrew too soon. The moistened finger pressed into her arsehole, and she moaned and pushed back to allow entry. It felt too large and too rough and she had to fight hard not to tighten against it.

  “Ow… ah… Ferrum,” she gasped.

  “Yes, my little flower,” he rumbled in a low voice, and she felt a second finger pressing into her sex. That gave her everything she needed, and she followed its movement. He was using a thumb in each hole, if she was feeling it right. The palm of his hand cupped her mound and gave her delicious feedback on her nub of pleasure. He worked the thumbs simultaneously together, stroking in and out, then alternating first one, then the other, which she preferred. Tension coiled up in her, wrapped tighter and tighter as she spread her legs wider, pushing back at him eagerly, rocking her hips to meet each thumb as it alternately pushed into her. She started making a soft, keening cry as the need became almost painful, and then she tumbled over the edge of the cliff, bucking against him, biting her lip to keep from howling as the pleasure rolled through her in delicious waves. Spent, she collapsed limply on his legs as he slid his thumbs slowly out of her.