The Princess and the Huntsman

by Patricia Green

  He continued to frown at her, towering over her like a near-to-toppling tree. “Do not push me.”

  In fact, she did push him, with her two hands, though it did not move him even an inch. When that didn’t work, she slapped him full on the face. He turned his cheek slightly, but did not flinch. Brandywyn’s eyes rounded and her breath stilled as she saw the fury on his face. She instantly regretted her temper tantrum, but could not back down.

  Tom grabbed her by the waist and bent her over his hip, hiking the shirt up to the small of her back; her bottom was bare, for she had no underclothes. “I am your guardian for the nonce,” he told her. “You will be polite!” With that, he set a resounding slap on her bottom.

  “Ouch! Unhand me! Do you dare to strike a princess? You shall hang from a gibbet!”

  “Hang me, then, but I shall have my pound of flesh first.” He commenced spanking her in earnest. Each blow jarring her through and through. Her bottom had just been beginning to feel better, too, but now, oh, now it was ailing once again. Tom continued to spank her, despite her protests, despite her squirming.

  “Show some manners, Brandywyn!”

  “Varlet!” Her protests were growing weaker and weaker as tears threatened to fall. And still, he spanked her again and again. “Please,” she finally pleaded. “Please stop. I shall be more kind.”

  “I do not believe you,” he said, laying another half-dozen spanks on her fiery buttocks. The pain had rippled down her thigh to her knees along with his hard hand. “And I shall have my bed back this night!”

  “Very well! I relent. Please stop, please!” She was sobbing, her nose running and her mouth and chin trembling. Misery assailed her as she realized that she was a pawn in the hands of men—men who had no desire to listen to her rightful demands.

  With one more resounding smack at the juncture of her two nether cheeks, Tom pronounced the spanking over. “Mind your manners, Brandywyn. You may stay with me until you remember your true identity, but this princess tale should cease. No doubt, your poor treatment by the kidnappers clouded your mind. I shall help remind you of who and what you really are.”

  Despite her woeful condition, she still bristled at the use of her name and was furious about his disbelief.

  “But I am Princess Brandywyn!”

  “Of course you are,” he said, a pitying light in his gaze.

  “Oh! You are a lout!” Still, this was not the time or place to argue over it. She needed to remember that on the morrow she would be heading back home.

  “Get into the bed,” he told her firmly.

  She sniffled and her breath came in sobs, but she followed his command and crawled into the blankets.

  “Move toward the wall.”

  Brandywyn scooted over toward the cool wall and watched Tom blow out the light and remove his clothes, all but his shirt. His manly parts were covered by its hem, but deep within, Brandywyn wished he was uncovered. She had never seen a man that way so close up, and this was the closest she would get outside of her marriage bed. Curiosity ate at her, but she closed her eyes and bit it down. Her aching bottom reminded her that he was not to be trusted wholly.

  The blankets rustled as Tom got into the bed beside her. Her breath caught. He was so warm, his scent masculine but clean. His legs brushed hers and she could feel the hair that covered them and the strength of his muscles.

  Tom turned on his side, away from her, and promptly fell asleep.

  Although she was a tiny bit insulted by his lack of interest in her, Brandywyn was also very tired and somewhat relieved that he was no rapist. Thus far, she had been lucky in that regard. She vowed to rise before Tom and make herself gone before he arose.

  Chapter Four

  Brandywyn was still sleeping when Tom rose and began his morning ablutions. As he washed his face in the stream and scrubbed the overnight sweat off his body, he wondered if the kidnappers had been too hard on her. Her bottom had shown a few old bruises when he had spanked her. He felt bad about that. He would have to remember to be more gentle with her as her skin was delicate. She was in a difficult situation, and that had to be considered. Be that as it may, she still needed to learn obedience or she would put herself in dangerous situations. She was very headstrong, and needed a firm but loving hand to find her way. He would be the man who taught her. At least while their situation remained as it was.

  He threw on his clothes, milked the cow, and returned to the cottage bearing milk for their breakfast. There was a loaf of bread left over from the previous day, and Tom thought that would do to break their fast.

  While he worked on a leather project, Brandywyn stirred. She was tousled and sleepy-looking. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stretched in the rough bed. As the covers fell away from her, he admired her full breasts and the curve of her waist beneath his worn shirt. She was young and beautiful as no one he had ever met before. The only time he had seen her look lovelier was when he watched her on the beach. How extraordinary she had been, so carefree and laughing. He longed to kiss her chafed cheeks and tenderly minister to her. It seemed very likely she was still a maid, though one could never be sure without a trial. It made him jealous to think of her with another man, but there was no reason to belabor the point in his own mind. He would find out soon enough.

  “Good morning, Brandywyn.”

  She stiffened at the sound of her name, but said nothing about its use. “Good morning, Tom.”

  “Come and break your fast with me. I have fresh milk and hearty bread here.”

  “I must…” She looked around for a moment. “There is no screen.”

  “No.” He knew what she wanted, but ‘twould not be given. She needed to learn that she was not always going to be treated like a princess.

  Brandywyn blushed furiously, right to her roots. “But… I need to use the chamber pot.”

  “‘Tis under the bed. Do you go ahead.”

  “Leave me, then. I cannot use it with you here.”

  “Of course you can. There should be no secrets between us, sweeting.”

  “Tom… Please.”

  Perhaps ‘twas an embarrassment for her, and humbling, but a bit of humility would do her good. He shook his head and gestured toward the underside of the bed.

  “I demand—”

  “Brandywyn, demands will avail you nothing. Do what you need to, and leave off with demands.”

  “Oh! Oh! You try my patience sorely! Very well, I shall piss on your floor!”

  He frowned. It seemed she was full of surprises. “Do you, and you will clean it up, and earn yourself another spanking in the bargain.”

  Brandywyn’s shoulders sagged a bit for a moment, but soon she straightened them and, chin held high, she got out of bed, removed the chamber pot and, hiking the shirt up in the back—but not in the front where he could catch a glimpse of her private parts—did what she needed to do.

  Well enough. She had relented. As she stood, Tom gestured toward the door. “Empty it into the privy. ‘Tis around in the back and down the short path toward the forest.”

  “Why did you not tell me you had a privy?!”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Oh! Oh! I shall have you drawn and quartered! Hung by your ears! I shall—”

  “Aye, aye, aye. No doubt your depravations here will have me dead soon enough. Go empty the chamber pot.”

  “I shall not. ‘Tis not proper for a princess to handle such matters.”

  Tom found his patience, though it was sorely tested. “You are not a princess here. Do as I said.”

  She appeared to think it over, though her jaw remained tight with anger. Huffing her disdain for such a menial task, she gingerly picked up the chamber pot and went outside with it. Tom knew she would not run away. He had gathered her clothes from the rock that morn. She had naught but his shirt to wear. He ought to keep her naked, he thought. ‘Twould do her right.

  Her reappearance in the room banished such thoughts. They broke their fast in silence. Tom gave her the
clothes she had arrived in, much cleaner for the washing, and settled back down to work on his leather project.

  Brandywyn dressed silently, putting the garments on over his shirt. Tom had to hide his smile. They had slept in the same bed, yet she hid herself behind maidenly virtue.

  “I want to go home,” she pronounced, standing near the table where he worked.

  “Where is home, exactly?”

  “Why, the royal palace, of course!”

  “Um-hm. I see we have much to work upon.”

  She stomped her bare foot. “I demand—”

  “There you go again. Are you daft that you cannot see past demanding everything you wish? Can you not say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?”

  Frowning, obviously quite angry, she ground out, “Please take me home.”

  Tom looked her up and down. “Think you they will accept you as the princess when you have naught but a man’s shirt and rags to wear?”

  She deflated visibly. “They know me there.”

  “They know a woman in silks and satins, with combed hair and clean nails. She is not you. They will treat you as an imposter, Brandywyn.”

  Biting her lip, she fisted and unfisted her hands, obviously frustrated and considering her options. “Then take me to the village. They will surely help me by giving me proper clothes.”

  “Uh-hm,” he said again. “Of course they will.” He handed her his leatherwork. “Shoes. You cannot go about with bare feet. You will harm yourself.”

  Brandywyn looked at the ghillies, back at him, and down at the shoes again. “Thank you.”

  “That is better. Now might I see a smile on that pretty face?”

  She gave him a sweet smile.

  “Well enou’. Put them on and I shall take you to the village.”

  She sat in the chair and held out her foot. “Dress me.”

  Tom sighed. She was persistent, certes. “Dress yourself.”

  “I do not know how to fasten these slippers. You do it.”

  “Can you tie a knot?”

  “Of course I can!”

  “Figure it out.”

  “Cannot you be my lackey this one time?”

  “I am never your lackey, Brandywyn. Best you remember that.”

  “I hate you!”

  Although that statement hurt, Tom chose to ignore it, gesturing to her feet instead.

  Frowning, she bent to the task. It took her a few moments to discover how to attach the humble slippers to her feet, but she managed, sighing with pleasure when she had accomplished the chore.

  Tom offered his arm and led her out of the cottage and down a circuitous path toward the village. Brandywyn appeared to take no notice of her surroundings, walking with her head held high as though it was her due to be accompanied silently. To himself, Tom thought about her high-handed ways and vowed to teach her manners and humility. It was his goal and he would see it done, or die trying. Angry as she could be, dying was not so far-fetched an idea. Brandywyn might take up a knife and do him in!

  After a while, the trees parted and the village came into view. Brandywyn, her expression imperious, stopped the first person she saw. “I am Princess Brandywyn of Ring. Clothe me.”

  The young woman laughed. “And I am Queen Maj of Bastin!” She looked at Tom. “Where did you find this one? Under a faery ring?”

  Tom smiled. “The girl has had a shock, ‘tis all. She has this notion and has not found her wits yet.”

  “Ah.” She patted Brandywyn’s arm, and Brandywyn quickly pulled it away. “Not the friendliest, is she?” said the woman, frowning now.

  “Er… no,” Tom admitted. Being shunned by the villagers would hamper his efforts to provide for himself and Brandywyn.

  “I am Princess Brandywyn,” the girl insisted. “I demand—”

  “Let us move on,” Tom said quickly. He nodded at the village woman. “Good morrow to you, goodwife.”

  The woman eyed Brandywyn suspiciously. “Daft,” she pronounced. “Good morrow to you, Tom Huntsman.”

  Brandywyn was undaunted. “But—”

  Tom took her arm and pulled her along.

  Yanking her arm away, Brandywyn said, “Leave me. I shall do’t myself.”

  Tom pondered this for a moment. The girl would have to learn on her own. “Very well.” He turned and walked away, watching her stop another passerby on the street and receive the same rejection.

  Following along a way behind her where she could not see him, Tom saw her fail miserably at her quest over and over again. Villagers were gathering in small knots, pointing at her as she made her demands, stomping her foot angrily. Finally, turning in the street and seeing that she was not going to be catered to, Brandywyn started back down the street the way she came.

  Tom stealthily followed her, but instead of asking for directions back to his cottage or to the palace, she stomped out of the village, head held high, to find her own way through the forest. After half an hour, she was hopelessly lost, of course, but she persisted with dogged determination.

  The forest darkened as the trees became more dense, and Brandywyn got further and further afield. Tom thought maybe she could not even make her way back to the village again to get help.

  Finally, tired of the game, Tom got ahead of her and leaned up against a tree until she reached him.

  “Oh! Tom Huntsman!”

  “Aye, Brandywyn, ‘tis I.”

  “I am on my way home. Do you leave me alone.”

  “Admit it. You are lost.”

  “I am not!” Her chin jutted out stubbornly.

  “Why did you not ask for directions?”

  “I knew I could find my way, of course. A princess is well educated at geography.”

  He snorted. “So you could find yourself to… Carlisle, for example, but getting to the royal grounds was a bit too local for you?”

  “I would have found my way! Now get out of my way. I want to be off.”

  “You are going the wrong way. The cottage is that way.” He pointed eastward.

  “I told you, you dunce,” she said, talking slowly as though speaking to a fool. “I am on my way home. To the palace. Where I live.”

  Tom took her by the arm, and though she struggled, his grip was firm. He had no need to hurt her to pull her alongside of him as he headed toward the cottage. “You live with me until we can find out who you really are. My home is your home for the time-being.”

  “No!”

  He paused. “Do not attempt to gainsay me in this, Brandywyn. Be cooperative and you will do well.”

  She struggled a bit harder, digging in her heels. “Let me go!”

  “You press me. You have endangered yourself enough for one day. Come along.”

  She smacked his arm. “You are a knave! Release me or I shall… shall…”

  “Have me drawn and quartered? You can only do that once, Princess.”

  “Oh! I hate you, hate you, hate you!”

  He tugged her along. “So you have said.” It pained him that she was so stubborn and determined to make him out the rogue, but that did not prevent him from keeping her safe. It was a thankless job.

  They fought each other all the way back to the cottage where she threw herself into the chair, pouting mightily.

  “You persist in making things hard on yourself, Brandywyn,” he lectured, pacing in front of the hearth. “And you put yourself in direct danger, this day. What if kidnappers had found you in the forest again? Did you think of that? Did you wish to be raped in the dirt?”

  Her pout got a little shaky. “No. I wanted to go home.”

  “That was all you thought about, without thinking things through. You are not a princess, sweeting, and I shall not treat you like one. You deserve another spanking.”

  Brandywyn stood abruptly. “No! Do not touch me!”

  “Stand behind the chair and put your hands on the back. Do it or it will go harder upon you.”

  “I shall not! You cannot make me!”

  He arched
a brow. “Are you certain of that?”

  She backed down, though her golden brows still dipped. “Beast!”

  “Your name-calling wears thin, Brandywyn. Do as I said.”

  Slowly, with exaggerated care and much dragging of feet, she did as bid and put her hands on the back of the chair.

  “Bend, woman, and offer your arse.”

  Her knuckles went white where they gripped the chair. “You ask too much.”

  Tom thought maybe this was true. He moved her into position himself. Her thin skirt went up over her bare bottom and Tom felt himself stir. It was such a beautiful bottom, unblemished—the marks from the kidnappers’ torments had disappeared with the passage of time—round and sweet. He paused to get a wooden hairbrush. Seeing it, Brandywyn gasped and began to plead.

  “Please do not beat me, Tom. I promise to think ahead more.”

  He stood at her side, gazing into her eyes, trying to determine if she was sincere. Certes, she was sincere about not wanting to be spanked, but thinking ahead… less so. He would have to spank some sense into her. “I shall ensure that you give matters more consideration.” Tom drew back his hand and Brandywyn cringed, her eyes closing tightly as he swung the brush at her bare behind. He did not swing very hard; ‘twas obvious that she was unused to being punished.

  The first spank caused her to squeak, but that was all. He watched her reaction to the next three spanks. Each time, she squirmed a little more.

  “You will be mindful of your safety in the future, Brandywyn,” he told her. Swatting her three more times. She gasped at each blow and went up on tiptoe. “You will stay near the cottage, where it is safe.” Four more smacks, and her chin was trembling. “You will not insist on being treated like a princess, throwing epithets and insults everywhere you go.”

  Brandywyn began to sob and a few tears ran down her face. Tom’s heart went out to her, but he had to make the point. Her bottom was bright red, unbruised, but definitely unhappy. “Do you agree?”

  Her sobs grew louder and he spanked her again several times. “I ask you, woman, do you agree to behave?”

  She nodded, her face red, her eyes dripping.