The Princess and the Rogue

by Jordan St. John

  “Command, always command. They will obey you. They have to,” said Morgaine. The countess and her courtiers had counseled Scarlett on how to act like a princess. From how to act with servants, to what silverware to use, to courtly manners, they had stuffed Scarlett’s head with information until she thought she’d burst. But Scarlett was a quick study. After all, she could read and write, having been well taught by the good sisters.

  So as the imposter settled into her new life as Princess Juliet, how could she know that the real princess was having a very different experience?

  * * *

  Bathen Castle

  Where was she? The days had been a blur. It had been hard to tell the difference between night and day. Most of the time she’d been trussed up in the back of a wagon. They kept her asleep by forcing her to drink some type of potion that made her drowsy. She had no idea how many days it had been since her abduction. Because that is what had happened. Juliet realized now the rocking of the wagon had stopped and she’d been unceremoniously dumped into this place. But what was this place? Who had done this and why? She was the princess of the realm. This was not supposed to happen.

  Now as the faint light of dawn streamed in through a window, she rose on one elbow and looked around, trying to assess her situation. She was in a large room. All around her were platforms in alcoves supporting sleeping figures. They looked like young women. She looked down at herself and ran her fingers across the plain cotton shift that she wore. Someone had stripped her out of the page’s clothing and dressed her in this. She blushed as she thought of the implication. Who had done that?

  She fell back on the rough sleeping platform, woozy still, only to be awakened by a loud noise.

  “Wake up! Wake up! Everyone up. Time to go to work.”

  Juliet saw a beefy woman in the dress of a servant banging a pot with a spoon. She had flung open the door to the room and was now yelling at everyone. The sleepy girls started to arise. Now was her time to announce her identity. Then they would rue the day they’d been born.

  “Stop,” she commanded. “You there,” she said, addressing the woman with the pot and spoon. “I would see your master immediately.”

  The woman stopped, put her hands on her hips, and cocked her head in amazement.

  “And who might you be?” she said, her expression one of disbelief that she would be challenged by one of her charges.

  Juliet drew herself up and proclaimed, “I am Princess Juliet of Greystone. My father is King Robert and I demand to be taken out of this place. I demand to see your master, and I demand to be treated in a manner worthy of my station. There has been a hideous crime perpetrated on my person, and those responsible for keeping me in this condition will be severely dealt with. Do you understand?”

  For a moment there was dead silence. The other girls, all of whom were young, watched wild-eyed. Some put their hands to their mouths, barely daring to breathe. Juliet looked about, wondering what they were all afraid of.

  “You’re the new one, aren’t you? Brought in last night, were you?” She was nodding, a thin smile on her face. The smile changed to a frown, and she shook the spoon at Juliet. “You listen to me, missy. If you’re a princess, I’m the queen of the five kingdoms. You’ll keep your tongue in your head if you know what’s good for you. You want to see my master? There is no master. There’s my mistress, and if you keep this up, you’ll meet her soon enough. You won’t like it, either.”

  That just made Juliet angry. She stomped her foot. “Who do you think you are to question me, woman? I am a royal princess and I demand your obedience now. Now go and get this mistress of yours at once. Bring her to me immediately, or I’ll have your head!”

  One of the girls sidled up to Juliet and whispered to her, “Please. Do not aggravate Moll. You will get us all punished. We are going to be late as it is.”

  Juliet had not noticed that, as she turned her head to listen, Moll had advanced quickly. She was jerked away as the woman grabbed her by the arm.

  “Just what do you think you are doing?” Juliet practically screamed.

  She was rewarded with a full-bodied slap across the face. Then another, backhand this time. Juliet slumped over in disbelief, her hand massaging her cheek, stunned that someone would actually strike her after she had told them who she was.

  “I don’t have time for you now,” Moll snarled. “But after work, you and I are going to have a little conversation. You will learn. Yes, you will learn.” She looked about. Everyone was stock still. “The rest of you. Get moving. Into the scullery with you, or you’ll all go on report. And that means lashes.” At once the spell was broken and the girls quickly threw on smocks and put on shoes.

  “Hurry,” said the one who had whispered to Juliet, “or it will mean whippings for all of us.”

  Juliet was too shocked at the turn of events. Cowed and in a daze, she could only move slowly in lockstep with the others. What had thrust her into this nightmare?

  * * *

  Greystone Castle

  Scarlett quickly discovered that the more imperious she was, the more demanding, the more those around her were intimidated and, therefore, deferential and less likely to challenge her. That was good, because then they wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t actually Juliet of House Greystone. At first some of her ladies and servants had remarked that she seemed somehow different, but by adopting a fiery temperament she kept them at bay. The one who knew, of course, was Tomas Cramden, the high minister.

  He had sought her out upon her arrival and had told her what sort of person Princess Juliet was. She didn’t seem like a nice young lady by his account. The high minister instructed her that Juliet was spoiled, petulant, and impatient. She had to have her way and wanted it immediately. He even hinted that Juliet was not above reprisals against those who disobeyed her or crossed her in any way, even to the extent of having them punished by her servants or her personal guard.

  Scarlett was aghast to learn that Juliet had ordered lazy stable boys and pages whipped across their bottoms by the groom if they displeased her. Females were reported to her chief housekeeper, an older woman named Griselde. Juliet would sometimes hold court in her chambers and remand the miscreants to Griselde. The woman’s method of punishment was often a sound spanking with a paddle that hung from a peg on her wall. It wasn’t unusual for Juliet to casually order someone who had displeased her to Griselde’s chambers to be dealt with.

  Scarlett could understand why the younger girls tended to avoid the head housekeeper. She was a large woman with a dour disposition who was intimidating, even on the best of days. It was said that she ran her own staff with a heavy hand. Such imperious behavior ran totally against Scarlett’s nature, but she understood that in order to maintain the charade, she’d have to act the part.

  Then there was the high minister himself. At first he had been kind, helping her to adjust to her new situation, explaining to her how life at court worked and what would be expected of her. It was not easy for a simple village girl to assimilate into such a role, but she was trying. Lately, however, the attentions of the high minister had taken on a different tone. At supper he sat next to her and had, on occasion, rested his hand on her thigh under the table, out of sight. He frequently touched her during their conversations, his hand lingering. His manners were courtly, but it seemed to Scarlett that he thrust himself upon her in an uncomfortably familiar manner. Scarlett didn’t know that much about courtship, but it appeared as if he acted more like a suitor and less like a high minister should act around the king’s daughter.

  Of King Robert she saw very little, as he kept mostly to his chambers. He had barely acknowledged her when they first met, his disposition had been so poor. So Scarlett mostly had free run of the castle, her actions tempered only by the high minister and members of his immediate coterie. They watched her very closely, however.

  The one thing Scarlett had noticed when she was admitted to the king’s chambers was a smell. It triggered a memory, bu
t at first she couldn’t quite place it. The odor was faint, but clearly it was there, a cloying sweetness that was distinctly out of place. So she thought back.

  The sisters of St. Agnes performed many functions for the surrounding villages, and one of them was the art of healing. Scarlett had been keenly interested in this service, and had spent long hours in the infirmary at the convent, watching Sister Bernadette and Sister Marian. They had taught her how to treat the sick, which herbs were best for what illnesses, how to make poultices and potions, and where to find plants and roots from which to make medicine.

  Then she recalled a tradesman who had arrived one day, complaining of a stomach ailment. The sisters took him in and examined him, trying to diagnose the exact nature of the illness. Scarlett observed that he was indeed sick, to the extent that he was bedridden. She had attended him, as was her task, and had noticed an odor in the room. This smell in the king’s room was been very similar. She made a note to herself to think on this at greater length, because she recalled that Sister Marian had identified the source of the smell and that led to the man’s diagnosis and eventual cure.

  Scarlett had been shocked to learn that the man had been poisoned.

  “It’s a slow-acting poison,” Sister Marian aid. “Whoever did this to him has been giving him small doses to make it look like a natural illness. The poison is in fruit seeds and has a singular odor that permeates skin and breath.”

  Sister Marian had treated the man with an antidote that she made from a flowering thistle plant. In a short time he recovered. She explained to Scarlett that, most likely, someone had spread a powder made from crushed cherry pits on his food or had sprinkled it in his wine. The man left, grateful for having been healed and weeks later a purse of silver was donated to the convent. Of the man Scarlett knew little, but in time a rumor made its way to the marketplace in Kern. Scarlett overheard someone say a merchant’s wife of a dozen years had been hanged in the town square in Avington.

  So now Scarlett was frightened. Was the king being poisoned? Should she tell someone of her suspicions? But he had physicians attending him. Didn’t they know? Then she remembered hearing that the physicians had been specially chosen by the high minister. And that fact, together with the high minister’s recent unwanted advances, made her more wary than ever. She felt alone, isolated, playing a role she did not understand. It made her wonder—what was her real purpose for being here? She desperately needed a friend.

  Chapter Five

  It had taken Roland Ferris a fortnight, but finally Greystone Castle was within sight. He was weary of the journey and looked forward to a few nights in a warm bed—indoors. He hoped that King Robert would be hospitable and he anticipated meeting the lovely daughter. He’d speak with King Robert, rest for a few days, and then be on his way home.

  He announced his presence at the castle gates and handed the commander of the watch the letter that King Richard had provided. He was then ushered inside, and his horse taken by a groom. A quick flutter of movement from an upstairs window caught his eye. It had looked like a pretty face framed by a lustrous head of reddish gold hair. An attractive maid, perhaps?

  He turned to the stable boy who had taken the reins as Roland dismounted. “See that he is well fed and brushed,” said Roland as the boy led his horse away. “It’s been a long journey for us both.”

  In the great hall he was received by the king’s high minister, Tomas Cramden. Cramden was arrayed in the robes of his office, a long black coat festooned with a necklace set with precious stones. To Roland it indicated apparent wealth. In fact the entire hall, its furnishings, its courtiers, even its servants, looked prosperous. “I was hoping to be received by King Robert,” said Roland. “I was dispatched here to call on him on behalf of King Richard of Angleterre.”

  Lord Cramden smiled. “Alas, Sir Roland, the good king is ill. He has instructed us to admit no one to his quarters. But,” he continued with an openhanded gesture indicating his lack of control over the matter, “you are welcome to stay for a day or so. Rest yourself and your horse. Our hall is at your disposal. Should I have someone show you some suitable quarters?”

  Noting that smile, Roland took an instant dislike to Cramden. There was something oily about his obsequious manner that edged its way under the knight’s skin, but he brushed it aside. Perhaps he was a good administrator, thought Roland. Everyone had talents of some sort. Yet the fellow had seemed almost pleased that King Robert was indisposed, and that bothered Roland. Vowing to himself somehow to see King Robert despite his minister, Roland allowed himself to be led to the guest quarters by a page. Richard would expect no less.

  * * *

  Scarlett put her hand to her throat. The tall stranger who had just dismounted in the courtyard was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Was he a knight? He had to be. He carried a sword and a shield and wore armor and a sigil. She didn’t know what the sigil meant, only that it looked like those worn by knights, the indicia of some noble house. But it was not one she had ever seen.

  The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a thick chest, dark, slightly wavy hair, and long, well-muscled legs. He moved with a litheness, an animal grace that indicated superior coordination and quickness, surely qualities a fighting man would need. The stranger had to be a knight. But what kind of knight?

  To Scarlett, knights were just as likely to be brigands as protectors. She knew the code of chivalry. She knew what knights were supposed to do, but in her experience many were no more that marauders, raping and destroying in the service of whoever employed them. So who was this knight, and, more important, could he help her?

  She met his acquaintance that evening in the great hall.

  “Princess, may I introduce Sir Roland Ferris of Durham?” said the high minister.

  He smiled at her, and inclining his head slightly, he took her hand. “Princess Juliet,” he said, “my pleasure.” He kissed the back of her hand. No one had ever done that before. It startled her. He saw it in her face and his eyes narrowed with concern. “Is something the matter?”

  She recovered quickly. “No, no,” she said brushing her hair back. “I am fine.”

  But she was mesmerized by the deepest blue yes she had ever seen. His nose was a little crooked. Had it been broken? No matter. She’d never been this close to a man of this much—she didn’t know what to call it, but she realized he exuded a raw male power that made her womanly parts feel tingly. Oh, there had been the odd village swain or two, boys the sisters had shooed away. But nothing like this man.

  She tried to make small talk at the evening meal, but Lord Tomas kept interrupting, cutting her out of the conversation. It irritated her and she allowed her annoyance to show. “Please stop interrupting, Lord Tomas. I want to hear all about the eastern lands from Sir Roland. He has surely seen many wonderful and amazing sights. Please tell me about the wondrous beasts you were describing, the ones as big a house with long snouts. What did you call them—elephants?”

  Sir Roland proceeded to tell her all about what he had seen. Scarlett smiled and listened, enraptured by Sir Roland’s accounts. But she didn’t miss the frown and the glare Lord Tomas shot her way.

  “I would very much like to see your kingdom, princess,” said Sir Roland. “The lands surrounding the castle remind me of my own home.”

  “And I would be happy to show them to you, Sir Roland. Perhaps tomorrow we could go for a ride.” The last thing Scarlett wanted to do was get on a horse, but it might be the only way she could get this man alone and see if he could be an ally.

  Lord Tomas did not like the idea one bit. “I think your highness’s delicate constitution would not permit that.” He turned to Roland. “I’m sorry, but the princess could not possibly accompany you. But you may ride wherever you like. I’ll even have the captain of the guard provide you an escort.”

  Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “I have no delicate constitution, Lord Tomas, and I’ll ride if I choose to.” She turned to Sir Roland and smiled
. “Tomorrow then,” she said, and rose to take her leave before anyone could say anything else. The prospect of tomorrow was exciting.

  Later in bed that night she thought back to her only real experience with the opposite sex. It had not ended well. She recalled the day Sister Helvetia had caught her in the hay with William, the chandler’s son.

  It had been just after her eighteenth birthday and one of the few times she’d been physically punished. Corporal punishment, sometimes prescribed as penance for certain sins, was meted out by Sister Malverna. Middle-aged and stocky of build, she had been given the job of disciplinarian within the confines of the convent. With a ruddy face that seemed stuck in a perpetual scowl, she struck terror into some of the sisters, especially the young novitiates.

  Scarlett had been taken before the prioress, Sister Anastasia.

  “Your sin is a sin of the flesh, my child, and can only be expiated by mortification of the flesh. The demon lust must be driven out of your body by the laying on of stripes,” she said. Then the prioress had sent her to Sister Malverna.

  The penitent’s chamber, as it was called, lay deep within the convent walls. Scarlett had approached it trembling in fear. Inside the chamber Sister Malverna was waiting. She held a strap in her hand, a long strip of leather secured to a handle and split into tails at the end.

  Scarlett was commanded to kneel on a bench of curious design. In front of the bench, at waist height, was a trestle. She bent over the trestle as commanded, thrusting her backside high in the air. Her hands found purchase by grabbing a bar below and she was instructed not to let go or raise up. Her skirts had been lifted, baring her bottom and thighs. Then she had waited, a cool draft raising goose bumps on her exposed flesh as Sister Malverna had shuffled into position.