Gammon hurried off, asking servants along the way where he might find her. They led her to the garden where he found her, tucked into a gazebo surrounded by climbing roses. The fragrance was rich and luxurious. Brandywyn was highlighted by moonlight streaming through the gazebo roof. She was enchanting, with her pale yellow hair highlighted to a creamy silver. But her eyes were reddened and weeping had overtaken her.
Gammon approached quietly, hoping to soothe her. “My love, do not fret so. All will be well. I still love you. Can you not love me as I am?”
“You betrayed my trust, Tom—Gammon. I hate you!”
Her hatred really hurt. “Stop and think, Brandywyn. I am still the person you love. The hunter you knew. The man who made your shoes, and who fletches his own arrows. A simple man with simple needs for love and companionship. My title is unimportant. I would give it up, abdicate, if ‘twould bring back your love for me.”
“You would do that?” she asked with a sniffle.
He nodded, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “I would. Is that what you wish?”
Her demeanor changed and she tensed again. “How do I know you are not playing me false once more? You would get my agreement and then drag me to Carlisle.”
“You loved the pauper; can you not love the prince?”
“No.”
His heart sank. This was untenable. “Why not?”
“Because you… because… I cannot.”
“I ask you again, why?”
“I did not wish to marry a prince. I told my father that countless times.”
“Whom did you wish to marry?”
“No one. I wish I had never seen you, you knave. You are a damnable liar and cheat.”
“Watch your language.”
She sneered at the warning. “Damn, damn, damn.”
“Brandywyn…”
Rising, she leaned toward him and spit in his face when she said, “Damn, damn, damn, damn. And double damn you!” Brandywyn made to stalk off, but Gammon reached out and snagged her arm.
“You might not wish to be my wife any longer, Brandywyn, but I do demand your respect. I tried to do what was best for you, what your father asked of me in your own best interest, and you damn me for it. You say you hate me, but I am still the man you loved yesterday.”
“Let me go! You miserable cur!”
“Enough!” Gammon pulled her back into the gazebo and sat down on a bench, pulling her over his knee easily. “This will be our parting, Brandywyn, but ‘twill be nothing like amicable.”
“Stop! Let me go! Oh, how I hate you!”
“Hate me then, but I shall still warm your bottom!” Gammon pulled up her long, thick skirts and tucked them under the back of her bodice. Soon enough, her drawers were down and her bottom was displayed before him. Without preliminaries, his hand came down on her rear with great force. Brandywyn squealed and fought him. Gammon easily subdued her.
Three more times he struck her behind, each time bringing on a new cry and more kicking and struggling. She was not making this easy on either of them, and Gammon was frustrated and unhappy at her rejection. He knew the forced spanking was unlikely to win back her love, but perhaps it would reset her temper and make her see reason—before she left him forever. He did not want her to return to the embittered, lonely girl she had become when her mother died. His plan with King Dent had certainly backfired, but aside from teaching her some manners before they parted, it was too late to change what had passed.
Six more times he smacked her bare bottom, and she soon began to cry. It sounded like less a cry of pain and more a cry of catharsis. That encouraged Gammon, so he spanked her again and again. Her bottom was hot to the touch and, even in the moonlight, he saw that it was very red. Her crying was pitiful and he was losing the will to spank her further.
“Do not curse anymore, Brandywyn. ‘Tis not appropriate and only makes you look more the shrew.”
“Very well! Please stop!” Her words were nearly lost in her sobs. “I shall never curse again. I was just so mad at you.”
He gave her one more whack and then stopped. Gammon pushed down her skirts and pulled her into a sitting position on his lap. “I know you were mad. You had a right to be, sweeting, but your temper kept you from seeing the truth about me—about us. We are mated, my love. We are meant to be together, whether I am a prince or a simple hunter. Our love is fated and would have happened no matter the circumstances of our meeting.”
She pressed her teary face against his velvet doublet. “Do you really think the gods meant us to be together?”
“Aye, I do. For no other reason than that you had lost your way and I helped you find it, finding my other half along the way.”
Sniffling, she curled up tighter against him. “Am I your other half?”
“Aye, you are, my love. I was half-alive without you. I did not even realize it before we met.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No. As I said, you had a right to your anger and I have been remiss by not saying I am sorry for I truly am. But it should be over now. It is time to give up your bitterness and have the life you deserve, a happy life.”
“I want to be happy. I was happy, at the cottage with Tom Huntsman.”
“Carlisle is not so far from Ring, you know. And we are a hardy people, close to the earth. We do not usually lean on fripperies and courtly ways. I think you would find it somewhere between our life in the cottage and your court life here in Ring.”
She looked up at him, eyes still tear-filled. “There would be servants, I suppose.”
“That cannot be helped. I am a prince and next in line for the throne.”
A nod. “I would like to bake bread, though. Might I do that?”
“Anytime you wish. And stew geese, and tidy our suite. Although, I draw the line at you ruining your hands doing more laundry. Can we agree on that?”
Another nod. “I am afraid.”
“Of what, sweeting?”
“That nothing will ever be the same again.”
“From one day to the next, nothing is exactly the same. One day is a day of sunshine, the next of rain. There will be laughter and tears. We will spill our wine and we will drink of it. The important part is to move on each day. There are many wonderful surprises yet in store for you, Brandywyn, whether you choose to stay with me or not.”
“You would really let me go?”
That gave him pause. She was the love of his heart. Letting her go would leave him an empty shell, but could he be so selfish as to insist that she honor their vows, despite resenting it? “If I must, but I would be very, very reluctant. Can you not love me? Even just a little?”
Brandywyn gave a little laugh. “A little, mayhap.”
“How little?”
“Do not be greedy.”
Gammon tickled her and she giggled. “I love you with all my heart. Marry me in earnest. We shall have a huge wedding with several priests from our favorite gods. We shall invite everyone in both kingdoms. The temple gongs will sound in each and every city. Let us celebrate our future together, Brandywyn. Let us move forward.”
There was a long pause and Gammon began to despair of ever finding his way with his wife again. But soon she answered. “Aye. Let us move forward, together.”
Hugging her tightly, he gave her a deep kiss, twining their tongues together like two inseparable vines. She was breathless when he withdrew from her. “I love you,” she whispered.
Chapter Eleven
It took nearly a month to plan, but everyone hurried as fast as they could. Royal weddings were a complicated undertaking, requiring many hands and minds. While they waited, Brandywyn and Gammon were not idle. They spent long hours together in her father’s garden, and then took a brief trip to Carlisle so that she could be presented to his people. The wedding was to take place on the Isle of Ring, but many Carlisle nobles and the Carlisle royal family were planning to travel to attend.
On the magical day, a day which the priests assured the co
uple was a lucky day for lovers, Brandywyn woke to find hundreds of flowers of all varieties adorning her suite—gifts from Gammon.
Brandywyn dressed carefully in the requisite shade of pink, a bright, rosy color, like springtime blossoms and sweet icing on cakes. She wore full skirts, belling out from her hips, a tight bodice that pushed up her breasts into twin mounds high on her chest. There was golden embroidery on every inch of the gown, lending it a shimmer and regal shine. Her father allowed her to wear the royal jewels for the occasion, and the tiara was heavy platinum encrusted by rubies and diamonds. Tarntra took charge of her mistress’ hair, coiling it and wrapping it, leaving little curls dangling like flirting faeries around her head.
There was nothing as beautiful on that day, and Gammon’s eyes said so as she walked down the path toward him, smiling at the huge crowd that had gathered in the temple courtyard. Nerves assailed her as she drew closer to her lover. Was she doing the right thing? Gammon had vowed never to deceive her again, but was that a deceit itself?
She thought of the nights she had spent with him in his guest chamber. Long, sweet nights with tickling, lovemaking, and talking into the wee hours. They had been separated for the last three nights, as was the custom, and those had been lonely nights, fraught with worry about what she was about to do, immediately followed by certainty that it was right. Tarntra called it ‘maidenly jitters’ but, as everyone knew, Brandywyn was no longer a maiden. In fact, she believed that sometime in the not-so-distant future, she was to be a mother. She had not spoken of it to anyone, not even Tarntra. It was too soon to know for a certainty, and Gammon should be told first if it was true.
If it suited her, she could have decided to separate from Gammon; no one would force her to abide with him, but she loved him. He was worthy of her love. His apology had been heartfelt, and Brandywyn truly believed he regretted the deceit, if not the outcome. In all fairness, she did not regret the outcome either. She had been very unhappy with her life before the experience of being kidnapped. Gammon’s men, the original kidnappers, had been harsh with her, but it had awakened her to how spoiled she had become, how rough and brutal other people’s lives could be. Tom’s love had given her a chance to start anew. Brandywyn wanted that fresh, shiny new life, and she wanted it with Gammon of Carlisle.
He smiled at her as she approached. Gammon’s smile was beautiful and full of happiness. His brown hair was a bit less shaggy than it had been when he was Tom Huntsman, but his blue eyes held the same twinkle. A twinkle meant just for her.
Shivers rolled over her skin, the kind of shivers that said that here was a promise of goodness, fated by the gods but made manifest by none other than Gammon and Brandywyn.
Finally, she was next to him and they knelt before the two priests—one from Ring and one from Carlisle. The incantations were lengthy, but Brandywyn heard little over the roaring in her ears. She was so excited she thought she might faint, but one look at Gammon’s handsome face kept her steady, and his hand holding hers would never fail to catch her should she wobble.
The vows themselves were simple, and very much like those they had said in the village, save one thing.
“Brandywyn, do you agree to be Gammon’s helpmate as the ruler of your combined kingdoms? Will you treat Carlisle’s people as your own?”
“I shall, sir.”
“And Gammon, do you agree to help Brandywyn rule with grace, dignity, and compassion as your princess and a princess of both kingdoms?”
“I shall.”
“Very well.” He touched his thumb to each of their foreheads. “You are married.”
Holding hands, Brandywyn and Gammon raced out of the temple, laughing as the people threw tiny purple pinwheel flower seeds at them, raining a lucky color upon them as they hurried outside. Gammon stopped her for a very dramatic kiss before the people, and the crowd went wild with joyous cries and shouts of congratulations.
There was a big feast after the ceremony, with many dignitaries in attendance. All means of savory and sweet dishes were served, along with copious quantities of wine and ale.
Brandywyn enjoyed spending time at table with Gammon’s parents and younger brother. They were good people, salty and earthy, as Gammon had said. They hugged her and kissed her cheeks, accepting her into their family with enthusiasm. Gammon’s mother even whispered in Brandywyn’s ear, “He’s been waiting for you since you were a little girl, Brandywyn. Even he did not realize it, but I did.”
Delighted with the secret, Brandywyn gave her new mother-in-law a particularly big hug and her husband a particularly big smile.
Later that night, they retired to Gammon’s familiar guest suite, but it had been redecorated to suit a royal couple rather than a bachelor prince. The furnishings were of rich, brown hardwood, accented with gold foil vines. The tables and chairs were of the latest design, elegant and yet sturdy. Even the bed had changed into a grand, enormous featherbed with matching blue coverlets with gold embroidery and navy blue satin bed curtains with the coat of arms of Carlisle upon them.
In a way, Brandywyn missed the old room, for she had enjoyed their play there, but this was a beautiful and elegant space, and she was truly less interested in the furnishings. Gammon held her attention much more.
They shared a glass of wine, quiet and contemplative as they sat together, with Brandywyn on Gammon’s lap. Soon, however, the servants came in to undress them and prepare them for bed. Brandywyn allowed Tarntra to unlace her bodice, but insisted on doing the rest herself. She intended to tease Gammon with a wriggling revelation, one garment at a time.
Gammon was all for it, and also insisted on preparing himself for bed. The royal valet pulled off Gammon’s thigh-high boots and that was all.
Ever so slowly, Gammon watched Brandywyn as she removed her clothing. One piece at a time, tossed all over the room, festooned tables, chairs, even a candle stand. Fortunately, there were no lit tapers there! When she had gotten down to her chemise, Gammon stopped her.
“Let me take it off you, Brandywyn. Let me reveal your beauty as I would reveal a fine painting to discerning connoisseurs. For I am the connoisseur of Brandywyn of Carlisle, and forever shall be.”
How could she resist such a pretty speech? Brandywyn wriggled seductively as he lifted the chemise from her body. Her nipples tightened as the cool air touched them, but her sex was hot and moist. Brandywyn smiled at her husband, secure in his love.
It took only a few minutes for Gammon to remove his own garments, minutes that Brandywyn counted like hours, for she wanted to touch him, taste him, remind herself of every tantalizing inch of him.
Once he was as naked as she, she ran to him, reaching between their pressed bodies to hold his rod. Her hand worked upon it, and though it was hard already, it grew harder and bolder yet. Gammon groaned with the pleasure and took her nipples to task for teasing him. He tested their texture in his fingers, rolling and lightly pulling on them until Brandywyn moaned as loudly as he had.
Letting go of her breasts, Gammon reached into her hair and let the golden mass down, strewing pins all over the floor. Brandywyn didn’t care about the pins, especially when he took a handful of her hair and tugged her face into the proper position for a long, drawn-out kiss.
“I can hardly wait for you, my love,” he whispered as they broke. “If you keep stroking me like that, I shall prove it.”
Brandywyn giggled and let him go with a long stroke as she stepped back and turned. “Catch me, first!”
She led him a merry chase all over the suite, through the day room, into their dressing rooms, all over the bedroom, at which time he carefully tackled her onto the bed, giving her rump a hearty smack when they landed there together in a heap.
Brandywyn yelped, but some pixie in her also wriggled her behind, teasing him to try more than one spank. Gammon did not disappoint her. He pressed her down into the bed and rose to his knees to spank her in earnest.
Although she yelped with each spank, she also felt herself loosen with
every spiky moment. With each prick of pain there was a corresponding throb of pleasure, until she was nearly beside herself with desire.
He continued spanking her. “Your bottom is not nearly red enough, Brandywyn,” he told her, though his spanks were not as rough as for a punishment. “We must try harder.”
Spanking her playfully, he commanded, “Get red, bottom! Your master commands you!”
Brandywyn giggled uncontrollably, and finally the spanking stopped. She was practically in tears from laughter when Gammon rolled her over on her back and pressed her down with his body. “Ah, the maid laughs at my attempts to discipline her! What can I do to make her see my serious intent?”
“Kiss me?”
He appeared to consider this with mock sincerity. “Mayhap a kiss will show her the mastery of my ways.”
Gammon’s lips descended on hers, making her toes curl as her breasts pressed against his chest and her belly ached with his prick hard against it. Moaning into his mouth, she grasped his bottom and squeezed.
“How now, wife?” he said with a grin. “You abuse my person as well? Have you no respect for me?”
Breathless, Brandywyn shook her head playfully.
“Ah! What a trial you are! I think I shall have to punish you further.”
“Punish me with a steely rod then, my prince.”
He wriggled against her. “This steely rod?”
“Aye, that one.”
“Very well.” Gammon climbed up further in the bed and lay on his back. “Ride and show me your horsemanship, woman.”
Brandywyn was not about to resist such an invitation. She took a position straddling his hips and bent over his body, teasing him with her nipples on his chest, squirming against him until he slapped her bottom again.
“Ride!”
“Aye, master, my commander,” she said, giggling.
It took her a nonce to poise herself above his eager prick and slowly, so very slowly, lower herself down upon him. He let out a breath of passion as she slid him all the way home. “Aye, sweeting. That is the way.”
The Princess and the Huntsman Page 13