Her Rogue Knight

by Knight, Natasha

  “I can, and I will, and it will be a good lesson for when you are my wife,” he said.

  “I will never be your wife!” she protested.

  He lifted his hand and spanked her once again over her clothes. “You are a stubborn little girl, and you have more than earned this spanking. Your father may not punish you like this any longer but I certainly can and will.”

  She reached her hands back to slap his away and cover her bottom, but when she did, he grabbed both wrists in one of his hands and held them at her low back.

  “Thank you, that is much better,” he said, his other hand now gripping one buttock hard. “You want to rescue your sister,” he said.

  She stilled as he slowly slid that hand down the backs of her legs. When he reached the hem of her dress and his fingers touched the bare skin of her ankle, her breath caught.

  “You’re very brave,” he said, his tone just a hair lower, deeper. His fingers traveled upward, caressing now the back of her calf. “Courageous,” he continued, lifting her dress and her shift as one as he reached the hollow at the backs of her knees.

  She made a small sound, a whimper, while he circled that tender, ticklish spot. But the tickle was something other, something almost erotic. And she knew he knew it as he hovered there, just lightly touching her skin. Her body stilled momentarily, her wide eyes staring straight ahead, the muscles of her back, arms, and legs tensed.

  “But your way of going about this rescue is, quite frankly, absurd.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice small, wavering as cool morning air brushed the backs of her now bare thighs.

  “Preparing you,” he said, and as if he knew she would fight against him, he easily shifted her weight and draped his right leg over the backs of her naked thighs, trapping her perfectly to him.

  “Preparing me for what?” she asked, knowing and dreading the answer.

  “Your punishment,” he said easily.

  “You can’t! I…” she began, but stopped.

  “You what?” he asked, his voice almost teasing now as he bared one buttock.

  Her belly quivered, panic taking her over, forcing her to buck as she tried in vain to fight him.

  “Be still, Gemma,” he said. “You will take your punishment.”

  “I will not! Let me go!”

  “After I’ve warmed your bare little bottom to my satisfaction.”

  “No!” She mewled and tried to wriggle free.

  “What’s the matter?” he began, taking her dress up past her waist, trapping the material beneath her hands that he still held there, fully baring her bottom now.

  She whined in protest, but he ignored her. His big hand began to caress her buttocks, then stilled. She clenched her bottom tight. “I’m just a weak old man, after all. What have you to fear from me?” he said, raising his hand and bringing it down hard and fast twice on her exposed, vulnerable bottom.

  “Ow!” she cried out, trying to pull her legs in and somehow free herself, but the way he held her—her hands pinned at her low back, her slight body pressed to his giant one, his heavy leg draped over her smaller ones—she was trapped, at his mercy.

  Without another word, he lifted his hand and struck again, alternating from one cheek to the next, spanking hard and fast. She lost track of how many after the first thirty excruciating spanks. He didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath as she clenched and released her bottom, groaning, fighting to free herself, then calling out with the pain of what she was sure was his iron hand until he brought that hand to rest on her now hot, throbbing buttocks and began caressing, circling slowly.

  The sound of her uneven breath filled the now quiet forest. Only after a few moments of this was she able to actually form words rather than incomprehensible sounds. “It hurts,” she said, sounding foolish, feeling like a child.

  “I suppose it does,” he said, wrapping his hand now around one thigh, gripping her hard and pulling her legs apart.

  This was different than the spanking, and any remaining courage gave way to desperate pleading. “Please, don’t!” she begged quietly, very aware of the pink lips of her sex peeking out from between her thighs. Was her spanking to be just the beginning of her punishment? What more did he intend to do?

  He ignored her, his thumb touching her bottom as he still held her leg in a vice-like grip. With that one digit, he pulled her cheeks apart. She dropped her head, feeling the heat of shame rise to her cheeks.

  He held her like that for what seemed like an eternity, and she squeezed her eyes closed, imagining his inspection of that most private part of her.

  “Please,” she begged quietly.

  After an eternity he spoke. “I only intend on spanking you, nothing more,” he said, his voice calm, quiet, if just a little thicker.

  She opened her eyes when he covered her bottom once again with his hand.

  “Keep your legs like this,” he said. When he lifted his hand from her leg, she did as he said, even as she squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the next round of punishment. He struck hard and didn’t spare her thighs, alternating between each at first, then striking the same spot twice, then three times before moving to the next.

  She remained as still as she could now, and even though she tried not to give him the satisfaction of making any sound at all, she found herself crying out with each stroke, her bottom on fire. Her eyes overflowed with tears as sweat collected along her forehead, her whole body heating from the inside out. “Please stop! I’m sorry I said those things about you! You’re not a weak old man. I’m sorry. I was just angry.”

  “What else are you sorry for?” he asked, the blows raining down without any indication of stopping in the near future.

  “I’m just sorry. You’re hurting me! Please stop!” she tried to kick her trapped legs, but he carried on as if her struggles were nothing at all. “I’m sorry I went against my father. I’m sorry I took the money. And I’m sorry I’m…”

  He slowed a little, and when he did, the heat and throbbing sting of her backside were almost unbearable.

  “You are sorry you’re what?” he asked, caressing again.

  A fresh tear fell, but this was not one from the pain of her punishment. “I just wanted to get my sister before they did anything to her.”

  “I understand that, but your father did not want you to go for your own safety. And he was right. You are in no position to do this on your own.”

  She heard his words, still very aware of the large hand that rested on her buttocks, ready to deliver another round. She dared a glance over her shoulder, but his eyes were on her exposed, vulnerable, red hot bottom as he circled there, rubbing her buttocks, her thighs.

  “Please don’t send me home. Let me come with you at least,” she asked.

  He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she felt the ridiculousness of her situation, lying face down across his lap, her dress and shift lifted to her waist, her bottom exposed, her humiliation fresh in every way.

  “I do not think I have much choice,” he said, and with his eyes on hers, he lifted his hand and brought it down one final time, this blow being the hardest yet.

  This one forced a breath from her, but she managed not to make a sound. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when he let go of her wrists, she immediately brought one to the ground before her and with the other, wiped her face. He held onto her waist as he lowered her shift and dress back down and stood her up, holding her close to him by her hips and looking up at her for a moment before rising to stand just inches away. She pushed the hairs that had escaped their loose braid off her face and then gripped her bottom. Rubbing out the pain, she turned tear-reddened eyes to his.

  “If I take you home now, I lose half a day, and I cannot allow you to return home alone.”

  Hope made the embarrassment of her moments-ago punishment somewhat bearable. “You’ll take me with you?”

  He nodded once, his face growing very serious. “Aye. Against my better judgment.”

/>   “Oh, thank you!” she said, reaching up, nearly hugging him in her excitement. “I promise you will not be sorry. I can shoot with an arrow—”

  He cut her off, shaking his head and raising a hand to halt her words. “Allow me to finish.”

  Her face fell, but she waited.

  “If you are to come with me, you will agree now to do as I say without question. You’ll obey my rules no matter what, and you will do so immediately. Am I clear?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What sort of rules?” she asked.

  “Any sort. You are my responsibility now, and I need your obedience to keep you safe. Do you agree?”

  She backed up to study his face, knowing she had little choice in the matter. “Fine,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

  He took a step and covered the small space she had put between them. He then lifted her chin so she was made to look at him. His hand on her skin felt hot, reminding her again of her recent disgrace.

  She blushed.

  He smiled.

  “Do you agree?” he asked again.

  She narrowed her eyes, then closed them and nodded. “Yes, sir. I will obey your rules.”

  “Good girl. And what happens if you do not?” he asked, still holding onto her upturned chin.

  Her blush turned a deeper shade of red, and the heat of her bottom seemed to spread outward and upward, warming every inch of her, awakening every part of her. “I get punished.”

  “Punished how?” he pushed, obviously enjoying her discomfort.

  Gemma swallowed her pride for her sister, but internally, she vowed revenge. “You spank me,” she said.

  “On your bare bottom,” he supplied. “And today’s spanking will feel like a tender caress the next time I have to do it.”

  She only stared at him, wanting to hate him in that moment, her body’s reaction so different than it should be. His warning in fact only served to awaken that dormant space between her legs.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, wanting this over, wanting to look away from him, to have him look away from her.

  His smile grew wider. “Collect your blade. If you’re going to use it, better to learn how so you don’t hurt yourself or me in the process. We will ride for a while first. When we stop, I’ll teach you. You can shoot well with your arrows; I’ve seen that. Just do not do anything without my instruction first. Clear?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Sir William.”

  He released her and moved toward his horse, picking up his sword in its ill-fitted scabbard. That was the moment she spied the faded red dragon marking the hilt of his sword. It was worn and much of it had been rubbed away, almost as if someone had tried to scratch if off.

  She studied it for a moment, noting the three jewels that lined the otherwise old scabbard, until he turned slightly while rummaging through his saddlebag.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, offering her an apple.

  She shook her head, processing what she had seen, trying to make sense of it.

  He bit into the apple he had produced, holding it in his mouth while he secured sword and scabbard onto his back. He then motioned for her to get her horse.

  “Let’s ride then,” he said, mounting his horse and waiting for her as she collected herself, untied Morning Glory, and climbed on top.

  Chapter Three

  “You have lived on my father’s land for nearly five years now?” she asked as they rode, he comfortably seated as he led the way, she constantly shifting in her seat while the effects of her spanking slowly wore off.

  “Yes,” he answered simply.

  She glanced at his profile. He had cut his hair since she had seen him yesterday, so it now hung in thick waves to just above his shoulders. He wore simple clothing but wore it with the elegance of a king, even though the jewels she had glimpsed lining the scabbard were the only thing of value on his person.

  She herself wore a dress that had once belonged to her mother. It was a deep shade of violet, trimmed intricately with gold thread, and fell to the ground. She had tied the sleeves of her shift off high so her forearms were exposed. Her corset was the one piece that was newer - more because of the fact her mother had not worn it more than a few times. It was a richer shade of the dress and came up high over her shoulder, dipping below her breasts, and tying in the front. It provided no support, but instead, it lifted and showcased her small but full breasts beautifully. She had braided her thick hair loosely to lay across her shoulder and down to her waist.

  “I’ve only seen you a few times,” she continued.

  He turned to look at her, and when he did, she glanced down to her reins, turning her left wrist up and studying the fading marks there.

  “You should have a bracer,” he said, nodding to the bruised skin.

  “I don’t need one,” she said, pride not allowing her to admit she could not afford one and had no leather to make one herself. She rubbed her right hand over the marks, then turned her wrist back down.

  “How long have you been responsible for feeding your family?” he asked.

  She realized how different his tone was compared to when he had first found her earlier.

  She shrugged her shoulders. Her father hadn’t been able to do much in the last years. She had no brothers, and so she had taken the lead. “I don’t know. A few years,” she said. “My father… since my mother died, he just lost too much I think. He had to give up a good portion of our land to feed us. Mary’s husband died a few years ago, and she and her sons are now dependent on us too, and there is no money to feed them. If I do not hunt, we do not eat. It’s simple. And besides, I like it.”

  “But you are solely responsible to care for your family.”

  “No. Mary helps with father, and her sons work the animals and fields.”

  He nodded and turned forward. It was then she realized how he had steered the conversation off himself.

  “What’s our plan?” she asked, annoyed she had been so easily guided off her task.

  “We ride most of the day today. I believe I know where they will have taken Alys to. We will stop at a small inn I know of tonight, eat a good meal, have a proper rest, ride again the full day tomorrow.”

  “What do they want to do to her? What will happen on Beltane?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  He turned to her and slowed his horse so he rode directly alongside her. “If they believe she is even part Fey, they will make a sacrifice of her the night of the Beltane celebrations. They will drink her blood as she dies, taking her life slowly in order to gain what they believe is her immortality.”

  Gemma’s stomach heaved, and she turned her horrified face away.

  “All we can hope for is that they do not discover their mistake in taking the wrong sister before we get there,” he added.

  “But if they know she’s not Fey, they won’t kill her.”

  * * *

  Sir William looked at her. “You are young and naïve, Gemma,” he said, sparing her the rest, knowing that if they believed Alys was Fey, they would need to keep her maidenhead intact and keep her alive. She would be safer for longer.

  She did not pursue the topic, perhaps sensing for herself what his complete answer would be.

  “Do you believe it?” she asked. “The stories of Avalon. The Fey?”

  How much could he tell her? How much without giving himself away?

  “There is always some truth to legend,” he said, his answer purposely vague as he slowed to a stop. “The river runs through here. We will break, give the horses a rest,” he said, dismounting. “Wait until the sun is not so hot to carry on to the inn.”

  He turned to offer her a hand, but she refused it and climbed down off her animal on her own. Her stubborn streak ran deep. He had meant what he had said earlier: she was brave. As much as he respected that, he knew he would have to temper that bravery with obedience. His cock stirred at the prospect of teaching her the latter.

  “Large beast for you, isn’t she?” he asked
, gesturing toward the horse she rode.

  “No, she’s perfect for me,” she said, leading Morning Glory to a grassy clearing. They both left their horses untethered and watched for a moment as they grazed. He slid his scabbard off his back and pulled his shirt over his head. The afternoon had grown hot and the sound of the water irresistible.

  “Would you like to wash?” he asked, throwing his shirt onto the rock where his sword and scabbard lay.

  She watched him, unable to speak for a moment. He studied her as her eyes darted to his broad chest, his thickly muscled arms, shoulders and stomach, then to the ground, then back again to his face. Her own turned a pretty shade of pink that made him smile. She was pure innocence.

  “Take off your dress and wash, Gemma. I’ll turn away,” he said when she was finally able to meet his eyes.

  “I don’t need to,” she said. “I’m not too warm.”

  “You may not have another opportunity.”

  She looked at the river, her eyes filled with longing as she licked her lips, but she shook her head. “No thank you,” she said, walking toward the horses.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, stripping off the rest of his clothing and walking shamelessly into the water.

  * * *

  Gemma tried to busy herself with Morning Glory but couldn’t help watching Sir William from the corner of her eye. The man had just stripped naked in front of her, well, nearly in front of her. And he had told her to do the same! Yes, he had spanked her bare bottom, but that did not mean she was going to strip and allow him to watch her bathe!

  He made a sound of utter bliss, and she turned a jealous face in his direction. He swam to the farther bank while she watched, his body glistening as it rose with each stroke then disappeared beneath the surface. He was pure muscle, pure man. She’d never seen a man naked before, but looking at Sir William now stirred strange feelings within her. When he reached the other side, he turned his face back to her, catching her watching him. She dropped her gaze immediately and returned her attention to Morning Glory.