The Princess and the Huntsman

by Patricia Green

  “Brandywyn, you seduce me with every sound you make, every breath you breathe.”

  “Ah, Tom. I love you.”

  His answer was to pump harder and that was all it took to send Brandywyn to the heavens, touching the stars, and bumping her head on the moon. She slowly, ever so slowly as a down feather, came back to earth, just as Tom made his special noise and went still inside her.

  He sounded a little winded when he said, “Soon, Brandywyn, I shall tell you all. Be good until then.”

  “Aye,” she replied on a sigh. “I can wait.”

  They washed and found their way to bed to sleep dreamlessly until just before daybreak when sounds outside woke them.

  Chapter Ten

  There was shouting outside the cottage, and torches lit the early morning pre-dawn. Brandywyn began to roll over away from where she had been spooning with Tom. Whatever was going on outside was scary. A horse whickered.

  Brandywyn was nudging Tom to wake him when the door burst open, slamming against a row of shelves behind it and smashing dishes onto the floor. Brandywyn screamed, but Tom was quite awake. He grabbed a long knife from beneath the bed and faced the intruders, gloriously naked, but muscles tense, ready for battle.

  “Princess Brandywyn!” The man spanning the doorway was a barrel-chested man of some height, and although he was loud when he called her name, normally he was a gentle, jovial fellow, full of smiles and kind words.

  Staring open-mouthed, blankets pulled up to her chin, Brandywyn could only squeak her response. “Aye, Sir Daven. ‘Tis I.”

  “Who is this fellow?” asked Tom, his back still to her.

  “‘Tis Sir Daven Ableman, Tom. He is the captain of my father’s guard.”

  “What?”

  Sir Daven boomed in the room, waving a sword toward Tom. “You heard aright. I have come for the princess, who has been lost to us all these weeks. You are arrested, young man, for kidnapping and holding her against her will.”

  “But Sir Da—” Brandywyn began, only to be interrupted by Sir Daven.

  “Throw down your knife, rogue, or be skewered where you stand. That paltry arm is nothing to my great sword.”

  Brandywyn could see Tom hesitate. Truly he was outmatched. She spoke up, hoping to avoid bloodshed. “It is all right, Tom. This man is known to me. He will not harm me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. I am quite sure. He has come on behalf of my father of a certainty.”

  “Aye, that is the case,” Sir Daven agreed. “His Majesty found out about your captivity only a day ago, and sent me right away. My men and I have ridden hard to get here. And just in time, I see.” He eyed her location and state of undress, Tom’s similar nakedness, and frowned deeply. “Has he abused you?”

  “She is my wife!” Tom answered, taking a defensive posture again.

  “Ha!” Sir Daven replied. “You lie, varlet. We shall get to the bottom of this soon enough; now put down that blade and meet your fate on your own two feet and not belly down.”

  “Tom!” Brandywyn cried. “Do as he says! He will surely slay you if you do not!”

  “‘Tis my place to defend you,” Tom replied with gritted teeth. “Do not gainsay this.”

  “But Tom—”

  “Enough of this,” Sir Daven shouted. “‘Tis the king’s wish that we take you alive and in chains, if we might. Drop your weapon!”

  “Please, Tom,” Brandywyn said softly.

  Tom’s posture softened, and he put the weapon down, defeated for the moment.

  Sir Daven threw Tom’s clothes off the chest to him. “Dress, young man, and come with me.”

  While Tom was dressing, three burly guards came in, surrounding him, blocking him from Brandywyn’s view. Once he had his boots on, they dragged him from the cottage. He struggled, but he went. His shirt was half-untucked and his doublet was left behind.

  “Please do not harm him,” Brandywyn pleaded. “Sir Daven, he is my—”

  Daven waved his hand in dismissal, interrupting her. “He is a criminal, likely to be hanged. Go quietly, Princess. Your father awaits.”

  Knowing that she could explain the entire mess to her father somewhat mollified Brandywyn. She nodded.

  “Decently array yourself, Princess. We will wait outside.”

  It took Brandywyn only a few minutes to dress in her stained bodice but clean shirt and skirt. Her ghillies were not riding boots, but she thought she could manage anyway. By the time she exited the cottage, she had decided that any protestations she might make to Sir Daven could only get Tom into further trouble until they reached the palace. Daven seemed disinclined to treat him other than roughly. Her husband’s hands were locked in shackles and they had tied a gag in his mouth.

  “Please, Sir Daven,” Brandywyn said with a cry. “Do not abuse him! He does not deserve it. Truly he is a good—”

  “Princess,” Daven said, interrupting yet again. “You have been under some stress. This fellow obviously used you ill. We will sort it out at the palace where your father awaits to judge. He, himself, will have the final say on what goes. But I cannot release the man, no matter what you say. Try to understand.”

  She did not understand, and she was very irritated by Daven’s continued interruptions and his stubborn attitude. But, as she did not want to make matters worse, she remained silent.

  Tom was mounted on his horse, and Brandywyn took the horse they had brought for her. A carriage would have slowed the party down too much, and she knew this, so she accepted the ride gratefully. Reaching her father with all speed was more important than comforts.

  They rode through the day, stopped for the night. Poor Tom was tied to a tree, and only allowed bread and water for his supper, quickly gagged again. The next afternoon, they arrived at the palace.

  Tom was dragged, struggling despite the bulk of the guards who held him. Once in the audience room, he was thrown to the floor facing the empty royal chair.

  Brandywyn hurried in after him and waited for her father to enter the chamber. He did almost immediately.

  “Brandywyn!” he cried with smiles and a few tears. Running to him, she nearly knocked him down with hugs and kisses all over his bearded face.

  “Father! How I missed you! So much has happened.”

  He set her away from him and looked her over carefully. “You look the worse for wear, daughter. ‘Tis obvious that you were abused.” King Dent hugged her tightly again. “We are most aggrieved.”

  “No, Father,” she tried to explain around his hugs. “The first brigands who took me, they were cruel and most foul, but Tom Huntsman saved me. He does not deserve the harsh treatment he has suffered and continues to suffer. Please release him.”

  “Release your captor? Brandywyn, are you ill that you do not see him for the rogue and scoundrel he is? He kept you away from your home for weeks!”

  “Father… Father, I beg it of you. I love him.”

  “Pah! ‘Tis some delusion you suffer from this awful ordeal. You cannot love this rogue.”

  “But, Father, I do. I truly do!”

  Dent frowned at her and then nodded. “Do you tell your tale and we will judge on the sanity of your arguments.” He walked her over to the throne and motioned for a servant to bring a chair for her. They sat together and Brandywyn told her story. When she got to the part Tom had played in her safekeeping, she began to cry. He looked so miserable there, kneeling on the floor across the room, tied and gagged.

  “He has kept me safe all these weeks, thinking that I was made senseless by the rogues who first captured me. I was dressed in these rags—well, not entirely. They gave me even meaner garments, and Tom gave me better ones. See my shoes?” Brandywyn stuck out her feet. “Tom made them for me with his own hands.”

  King Dent snorted, unconvinced.

  “He has been nothing but good to me. Even the spankings were—”

  “Spankings?”

  She blushed. “I was not a cooperative guest.”

&nbs
p; “Ha! You have not been cooperative for years.”

  It was true and she knew it. “You speak truly, Father. I have been a shrew, cruel to everyone around me. After Mother died, I was beset with bitterness. I am very sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  Dent took her hands in his. “Of course, my dear. We love you and that has never changed, even while you did.”

  “But,” she said excitedly. “I have changed! I am a new woman. Tom has shown me that I do not need the fripperies of the palace, so many servants, fine clothes and jewels, to be a whole person. I do not need to rely on my bitterness as a defense against sadness, Father. I fell in love with him for these teachings and his gentle understanding.”

  “Gentle? I thought he spanked you.”

  “I deserved it. I was rude and shrewish. Had I been kinder, I am sure he would have believed my words and brought me here to you, but I kept making demands, demands that must have made me seem demented, in the face of my unpleasant treatment by the kidnappers.”

  “We understand. You truly love him?”

  She nodded. “Aye. With all my heart.”

  “Hmph. Let we hear him speak upon it, and plead his case.” With a gesture, Tom was pulled to his feet and brought forward. They removed his gag, but left his hands tied.

  Tom worked his stiff jaw and stared at the king with open hostility.

  Dent was not intimidated. “My daughter pleads for your release. She says you treated her well enough. We wish to hear your side of matters.”

  “Finally!” Tom said. “I have been trying to convince these oafs to listen to me.”

  “Convince me, ruffian, or swing from the gallows. Those are your only choices.”

  Nodding, Tom began his story. “Brandywyn, Princess Brandywyn, was being transported by a group of criminals, I know not where to. I saw them passing nearby where I was hunting, and saw that she was in danger, so I took to the road and fought them. They saw they were beaten, and the cowards ran away. The princess was left behind.”

  “He speaks the truth, Father.”

  “Shh, do not interrupt, Brandywyn.”

  Tom went on. “She was upset, I thought demented by her horrible experience. I took her back to my cottage hoping that she would come to her senses and tell me where her family lay. She was dressed in rags and dirty. She had marks on her face. Her abuse was obvious. ‘Twas a miracle that she was not raped and broken, except for her mind—or so I thought.” He paused for a moment. “I nursed her, cared for her. She was recalcitrant and insisted that she was to be treated like royalty, but judging from her wild behavior and her dress, I continued to believe her story was false. I will admit, she was persistent in her claims. But things relaxed. She soon calmed down, and I began to suspect perhaps her claims were true.”

  Brandywyn gasped. “You said nothing!”

  “‘Twas very recent, my love. I needed corroboration.”

  “Go on. We bore easily,” Dent said gruffly.

  “Aye, sire. Well, we fell in love. Simple as that. I saw her changing and my heart could not resist the sweet woman before me. Her demands ceased and her demeanor lightened. I think she loved me, too.”

  “Aye, Tom! I love you dearly.”

  “Anyway, things happened and days—weeks—went by. She accepted my proposal when I made it, and we married with all haste.” There was a long pause.

  “That is all?”

  “Aye, sire. That is all. I love your daughter and she is my wife. I wish to have her back.”

  “You have no standing in the court. You are but a poor… what are you?”

  “A hunter, sire.”

  “Poaching from my game preserve, no doubt.”

  “No. Too far away from your preserve, sire.”

  “Hmph. So you say.” The king looked at Brandywyn, taking her hand and squeezing it. “You truly love this hunter? He is nothing, Brandywyn. We would have you have a prince, and yet you choose a pauper.”

  Brandywyn looked her father straight in the eyes. “I love him and would live as his wife, in his humble cottage on the edge of the forest. I missed you and some things in the palace, but, truly, Father, I was very happy with Tom.”

  Dent appeared to consider these remarks. Nodding at his men, he said, “Untie him. We shall make something of him, since that is only proper. We cannot have my daughter living in a cottage away from her place in life.”

  “I do not want your largess,” Tom braved. “I can take care of my wife without aid.”

  “Hush, varlet. You will do as your king commands, and nothing less.”

  Tom held his tongue, though Brandywyn could see his anger in the tightness of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. He rubbed his arms as they were freed.

  The king ignored him. “Brandywyn, do you truly love this man? This hunter? Tell me truly and do not fear reprisal. We will not castigate you for mistaking gratefulness with love.”

  “Oh, Father. He is my heart’s true love. Please believe me.”

  “Well, we are truly pleased with your state of mind, daughter. You have changed, returning to the sweet and loving girl we knew four years ago. We will allow you to have this husband.”

  Brandywyn stood and threw her arms around her father. “Thank you! Thank you, Father!”

  “Hmph,” King Dent pronounced, though he did so with a smile on his face. He gestured toward a servant. “Take them both to chambers and dress them properly. We shall have a feast to celebrate my daughter’s return.”

  Brandywyn looked to her father, her husband and back again. King Dent nodded slightly, and Brandywyn threw herself down the red carpet to the end where Tom stood. She practically felled him with the force of her hugs and kisses. They shared a searing reunion kiss until Dent cleared his throat and frowned.

  “Go now, before we change our mind,” he said.

  Holding hands, Brandywyn and Tom followed a servant out of the royal audience chamber.

  They were taken to separate quarters. Brandywyn went back to her suite and Tom was taken to the guest wing.

  Later, Brandywyn bathed and perfumed, dressed in her proper attire of silk, satin, and lace, made her way to the main hall where the feast was set.

  There, upon the dais, sat King Dent, with Tom a chair away from him on his right, and Prince Gammon on the king’s left. Brandywyn’s chair was to the king’s immediate right, next to Tom. She smiled at her husband and took her seat. A royal goblet of wine was set between them and Brandywyn took a sip as her father began to speak.

  “Hear ye!” The room quieted. “This feast is to celebrate the marriage of my daughter to her beloved.” All in the chamber looked at Prince Gammon. “He is Prince Gammon of Carlisle!”

  Brandywyn gasped. “No!”

  “Hear me out, daughter.”

  Brandywyn grabbed Tom’s hand and squeezed it with all her might. He petted her hand and whispered, “All will be well. Listen.”

  She stared at him, for he had surely lost his mind, but with an effort, she focused her attention on her father.

  “The man you all know as Prince Gammon of Carlisle is a false prince.” Now the collective court and guests all gasped along with Brandywyn. “He is, in fact, Duke Ronoco of Carlisle, Prince Gammon’s courtier. The prince and I made an agreement to… erm… coax Brandywyn into seeing reason and marrying a prince that was proper for her. Celebrate her marriage with great joy and zeal, for the kingdoms will be united at peace.” He sat down, beaming.

  “Father! You could not! You did not!” Tears began to form in her eyes. Betrayal was a bitter fruit to swallow.

  “Aye, daughter. Prince Gammon, whom you know as Tom Huntsman, is truly what we said he was. Ronoco is not the prince. He took Gammon’s place in order to report about your unfavorable attitude, for Gammon did not believe you had so changed.”

  Brandywyn looked at the prince beside her and burst into tears. “You have played me false. My heart is broken with this betrayal.” With that, she raced away from the table to take refuge in the palace ga
rden, a place she had always found peaceful and tranquil.

  * * *

  Tom, now known to all as Prince Gammon, looked at the king and the king at the prince. “I told you,” Tom said. “I told you that she would feel abused by this plan.”

  “You heard the reports from Ronoco yourself, Gammon. They showed her to be willful, arrogant, and stubborn. She would not marry one she thought was her equal. She would not chance loving someone again and being hurt. You taught her to love, and for that we are ever grateful.”

  “For all the good it is going to do me. If she ever talks to me again, I shall be most surprised.” This was one situation in which Gammon would have preferred to be wrong, and that Brandywyn would see the sense in the plan and not perceive it as betrayal. She had needed to be jarred loose from her harsh prison of bitterness.

  When King Dent had contacted Gammon, so long ago, he had explained the situation, but Gammon had been slow to agree. He remembered a time, years previous, that he had visited Ring and met the royal family. Dent had been a fine figure of a man then, his queen regal and beautiful, and his little daughter, Brandywyn, sweet and girlishly playful. She had been about six at the time, and Gammon had been nearly sixteen. There had been nothing but a meeting between them at that time, but Gammon had been impressed with the tenderness in the child.

  While he took a turn in the garden, he had come upon her nursing a baby bird, a memory that foreshadowed her treatment of the fledgling at his cottage. He found the episode so endearing, so gentle in nature and outlook, so different from what King Dent had explained in his recent letter. Gammon could not believe she had changed so drastically.

  But she had. Had she been even a tenth as sweet as the little girl Gammon remembered, he would have told her immediately who he was. She was not. Spankings, time, and gentleness had brought her around. Perhaps they would work in this case, too.

  “I must go to her, Dent. She needs to see reason.”

  The king nodded. “Go. Do what you must. She is not a stupid girl. Talk to her. Spank her if she remains stubborn; we will not forbid it.”