The Doctor's Rough Treatment (Historical Medical Smut With A Side Of Story)
Page 6
“Why should I believe you… you’re just a barbarian of low birth.” Shania composed herself and gave him a contemptuous look.
His jaw clenched and the thick vein on his muscular neck bulged. “My manner of birth doesn’t matter, I am a mercenary and my job this day is to take you safely back to your father.”
“Show me some proof.” She demanded, unsure if she was going to be safer in her cell or with this unknown mercenary.
Anticipating her exact request, he fished out a dagger with a jewel encrusted hilt and royal insignia of her kingdom, and tossed it to her. She grabbed it with both hands and studied it closely. It was her late mother’s ornamental dagger. She glanced up at him as he peered out of the cell crouching low.
“The alarm has been raised.” He said in low tones, “I see the guards with their torches approaching from the south gate.”
“Why should I believe you were given this by my father…?” She looked at him defiantly. “You may have stolen it from the regal knights who would have been entrusted with this family treasure.”
“Had I stolen it then why should I be the fool to come after you? That piece could fetch me more gold than I can carry in a year. We have little time, Princess.” He hissed. “We must go now.”
“I refuse to…” She began, but his huge hand clamped over her startled mouth and he was off and running with her cradled in his arms like a little sack of meal.
As he rounded a narrow corridor, a few of the Dark Keep guards blocked their way. Cullen callously dropped her to the dirt packed floor and whipped out his massive flat bladed broadsword with his right hand and a foot long wickedly gleaming dagger with his left. Shania temporarily forgot her misgivings and of the filthy floor as she watched her muscle-bound rescuer in action. The man was a blur of savage ferocity. Either he was natural born killer, or trained well in the art of killing by some master of the craft. One of the guards, the largest of the lot, swung his spiked ball and chain at him. Cullen caught the massive chain on his thick left forearm, wrapping it around twice. He yanked it hard and the guardsman came hurtling toward Cullen. A ruthless blow from the flat side of the broadsword smashed the big man’s nose and sent him sprawling to the ground.
The two remaining guardsmen approached with caution, but Cullen didn’t wait for them. He dived right into them, smashing the hilt of his dagger into the side of one man’s head and his heavy right fist into the other’s jaw. Both men crumpled to the ground. There was a fourth, smaller man crouching behind the three, but he just turned tail and ran. Cullen didn’t chase him; instead he scooped up the princess as if she was a sack of dry oats and slung her over his shoulder. Shania noticed that even if he had the outer appearance of a savage, remorseless killer, he hadn’t actually killed those guardsmen, but knocked him senseless instead. Why he did that, she wondered, for surely these men would not do the same for him. She didn’t get the time to think on that as her massive rescuer sprinted through the narrow passageway until he came upon a set of steep stairs.
He bolted up the stairs, seemingly knowing his way around the Keep and ran at breakneck speed, leaping and hurdling his way through startled guardsmen and other inhabitants of the place. Within moments he was racing with her in his arms over the length of the western wall. The southern gate was heavily guarded, and he knew that even before he planned this rescue. With a wild reckless yell he leapt right off the wall and landed feet first into some tents pitched around the wall. Screams and yells ensued from those inside at the sudden intrusion. Not waiting around to assess the damage he caused, Cullen leapt onto a large dark stallion tethered on a pole beside a tent. With Shania slung over his broad shoulder, he kicked the horse into a fast gallop, away and into the dark night. A cohort of six horsemen came after them, curved swords and spear tips gleaming in the moonlight.
“You callous brute.” Shania screeched as they thundered into the forest that rolled out for miles before them, the Keep getting smaller and smaller in the horizon behind them. “I have never in my life been man-handled in this manner. I will have your head on a spike for this, you … you… lowly barbarian.”
Cullen didn’t answer the arrogant young woman; he kept riding silently with her still slung over his shoulder, stretching the distance between their pursuers, using all his expertise at horsemanship. After a while there was no sign of pursuit and Cullen decided to let his horse slow down to a trot. A few hours of easy riding later with him silently enduring her rants and wails until she grew tired, he slowed the horse down to a halt. It was a good place to camp, with a stream running by and trees that bore fruit all around them. Three more days of hard riding lay before them, to get to the border of the Western Kingdom, and another day to reach the castle of King Gawain, and he wanted the horse to gather as much strength as it could.
He dismounted and unceremoniously dumped his burden onto a soft patch of moss. Shania fell hard, but the soft moss broke her fall. Nevertheless, she had the breath taken out of her and was livid with rage. He ignored her and sat down to clean the blood off his broadsword. She watched his sullen expression. His cool, care free demeanor infuriated her. Never had a man felt so intimidating to her. She was used to perfumed nobles and prancing princes bowing before her and offering their slender arms for her to hold as they walked in obeisance beside her. This man was nothing like that at all, and it made her blood boil to not have her superior station acknowledged.
“Savage!’ She cried out. “Ill-mannered brute! Haven’t you been taught in the ways to treating a woman of high birth, a regal princess?”
He eyed her silently, running the whetstone across the length of his blade with almost mechanical precision, blue sparks spraying with each stroke. The huge warhorse happily munched away at the grass behind him.
“Well, what have you to say?” She screamed. “I am Princess Shania; men bow before me or lose their heads.”
“You’re not my princess, woman.” Cullen said, anger pricking at the back of his neck. “To me you are a burden I need deliver for a few coins, no more.”
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His Unlikely Bride