by Loki Renard
“Good girl,” he praised, drawing her up to her feet. He kissed her deeply, sharing the taste of himself with her as he spun her about and pressed her against the tree, his fingers going between her thighs to find her bare. “You’re so wet,” he growled. “Soaked with need.”
Madeline gasped as his hot fingers pressed up inside her, the flat of his palm pressing against the tender bud of her clit as he began to penetrate her with shallow but firm thrusts. His fingers were hot inside her, stretching her wider than she had ever been stretched before. Her hips ground in response, pressing her wet clit against the palm of his hand as he urged her virginal body toward a climax worthy of a courtesan.
She screamed her orgasm to the stars as it unleashed itself upon her, taking every nerve in her body in its sway as he held her close and kissed her through it, the taste of his seed still potent as his fingers swirled inside her one last time, then left her empty but fulfilled.
Resting her head against his chest, Madeline panted with exertion as he sank back down into the roots of the tree where he became her source of warmth and comfort once more. He drew his cloak about the pair of them, kissed the top of her head, and bade her sleep, an order the now completely exhausted and entirely sated Madeline obeyed without question.
Chapter Four
The next morning Madeline came to consciousness in Sir Gregory’s strong embrace. “Wake up, princess,” he drawled affectionately. “You have survived your first night in the wilds and it is time to go home.”
“Home,” Madeline said, almost immediately argumentative, for her stomach was empty and her bladder was full. “Where will home be once I am in wedlock? Will I sleep in the tower with the other knights? Will there be a hovel to call my own?”
Sir Gregory’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Princess, you are most spoiled.”
“I am not spoiled,” Madeline replied. She stood up and stomped away behind a bush to relieve herself. There was little dignity in it, which only served to further stoke her temper. When she returned, Sir Gregory was readying the horses, his stallion and a beautiful buckskin mare with dark legs and a light body. “I simply know what I am worth,” she said. “If you marry a princess, you must be able to keep a princess.”
“Is that so?” He looked her up and down. “I imagine you’d fit inside an iron cage quite well, or perhaps chained to a wall. That would keep you in the place you were supposed to be at the very least. I will not have time to chase you all over the countryside once we are wed.”
“If you so much as try…” Madeline shook with indignation at the very concept. “You would rue the day, you would rue it!”
“Calm down, princess,” Sir Gregory laughed. “There is no punishment given where one is not deserved. All you need do is behave yourself.”
“A fine idea!” Madeline’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Leave me be in these woods. I would rather take my chances with the wind and the cold than…”
“Hush,” Sir Gregory snapped. “And take your mount. The sun is well into its journey and we should be too.”
Madeline had no desire to return to the castle, knowing full well she was returning in shame. Her escape had not been subtle, nor had it been disguised and she was certain Sir Gregory would make her ride back through the castle town to prove that he had captured her. Tongues would wag until the end of time, and though Madeline did not usually concern herself with the gossip of the lower classes, shame was shame. Elizabeth would no doubt have some choice words for her. It was one thing to cause scandal, quite another to cause scandal that might distract from the upcoming wedding.
“I’m not going back,” Madeline said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him boldly.
Sir Gregory turned away without a word and cut a switch from a willow tree. Madeline watched as he pared the slimmer twigs away from the main switch, then brandished it in her direction. “Would you like to taste willow, or will you ride comfortably?”
“Take your little branch and lodge it where the sun doth not spread its rays,” Madeline snapped.
“Very well.” He took a swift step forward, laid hold of her, and pushed her toward a fallen log. Madeline had little chance of evading the consequences of her rash tongue as she was tipped over the smooth bark-covered round and her skirts were flipped up toward her head. Sir Gregory was once more making free with her modesty, looking upon her maidenly charms with little in the way of reverence. “If you will not listen to sense, perhaps the lashing of this will speak to you.”
Madeline had nothing to say in response. She would not beg for clemency, nor would she give him the satisfaction of seeing her panic at the prospect of a whipping. There was a pause, then a swish as the willow cut through the air. She braced herself for the impending sting, but the switch never landed. Instead it dropped softly to the ground and Sir Gregory’s hand came down over her mouth.
“Silence,” he whispered.
Stuck with her bare bottom free to the elements, Madeline maintained silence. There was an urgency in the man’s voice that told her it was not the moment to rebel. At first she did not understand the reason for the instruction, but as seconds drew on she began to hear distant sounds that grew louder and more distinct. Footsteps and the steady clip-clopping of hooves moving through forest trails heralded the arrival of a party of men.
“Do not so much as breathe,” Sir Gregory murmured in her ear. By that time he had shoved her skirts back down and was protecting her with his body, covering her smaller frame with the expanse of his own broad one. Caught beneath him, Madeline would have pointed out that he had done more than breathe, but a creeping fear had pierced her bones. She had caught a glimpse of the people in the distance and though she did not know who they were, Sir Gregory’s reaction told her that she needed to be concerned. Her own instincts were also tingling, making her as still as a rabbit under a fox’s stare.
The whole forest seemed to hold its breath. Not a bird sang, not a leaf seemed to move as the patrol passed by, heavy boots and hooves falling without regard for anyone who might hear. The ground quaked with their footfalls and the air itself became denser, harder to breathe.
Sir Gregory and Madeline stayed as still as statues for the duration of their passing and for quite a time after. It was not until the birds began to sing their songs that they moved. Sir Gregory lifted his body from hers, the loss of his weight leaving her feeling somewhat bereft as he helped her stand. He looked down at her, his expression more grave than she had ever seen it before. His handsome features were more attractive than ever, his brilliant blue eyes locked on her with great intensity.
“Do you know what you have just seen?”
Madeline shook her head. She had seen little other than dark helms and black leather-clad men who moved without talking to one another. Whatever they had been doing, it boded ill, she was certain of that.
“Those were the outriders of Batheor, the Dark King.”
“Oh, the Dark King,” Madeline said, nodding.
“You have heard rumors about him, I’ll warrant. The tales are spreading fast and far.”
“No. I was present when the commanders briefed my father.”
“Were you now, and how did you achieve that?”
“That would be telling,” Madeline said.
“I will press you on that later,” he replied with a sidelong look. For the most part his gaze was still focused on the distance, darting from place to place as he kept watch. “You know then, that the Dark King is not so much a king as a bandit. He does not conquer kingdoms and install himself upon their thrones; he ransacks their riches and moves on. His men pillage and burn and leave nothing behind. They are nomads with no hold or home, moving across the lands like a plague.”
“If they are this close to my father’s lands…” Madeline did not need to finish the sentence. It was quite obvious how dire the situation could be if the Dark King was intending to move on the kingdom.
“They have picked a poor time if so,” Sir Greg
ory said. “With your sister’s wedding taking place so soon. The castle is fortified to the hilt.”
“Or perhaps the wedding is precisely why they’ve decided to come. There will be a great many noblemen to slaughter,” Madeline pointed out pragmatically.
Sir Gregory’s bright gaze landed on her. He gave a curt nod. “Whatever is afoot, we must make haste. They may simply be scouting, or making their way to another hold, but the forest allows many men to move without being seen. An invading force could be upon the kingdom in days if that is their target.”
Sir Gregory mounted his stallion and gestured for her to come to him. She did and he pulled her up ahead of him on the stallion.
“I should ride the other horse,” Madeline said, protesting though she quite enjoyed feeling the strength of his body behind her. Sir Gregory was insufferable in a dozen different ways, but his body provided comfort beyond anything she had felt before. Encircled by his arms, Madeline felt no fear. Whether they came across the Dark King’s forces or not, she felt herself to be perfectly safe.
“No,” he replied flatly. “This way there is no chance of becoming separated; besides Melyngar will follow wherever Hexmark goes. She knows her place.”
“Hexmark, so that is his name,” Madeline murmured as Sir Gregory wrapped his arm steadfastly about her waist and urged the stallion gently forward. As he had said, the mare followed suit without hesitation, falling in at Hexmark’s hindquarters.
They picked their way carefully through the forest, pausing often to make sure that they had not alerted any scouts. It took a very long time, for the snapping of a twig could bring their progress to an extended halt, but Madeline did not mind. Though Sir Gregory was clearly concerned and impatient to bring news to his king, she was far more concerned with the way his hips rocked against her buttocks, the prominent ridge of his manhood making its presence felt even in that tense situation.
Slowly the trees began to thin and the grassy plains where the peasant shacks and fields were laid out like squares on an irregular chessboard came into view. The light was a relief, and the peaceful scene told them that nothing had befallen the kingdom as yet. That did not affect the urgency of their mission, however. The moment they broke free of the tree line, Sir Gregory spurred his stallion into a gallop toward Griffon Hold.
The castle was set upon a natural hillock, its round towers rising into the sky like the fingers of an old God. The town was ringed around it, stone and wood walls protecting those fortunate enough to live under the protection of the king. Madeline had not often had cause to see her home from a distance; the sight of it made her choke up with pride, for it was as grand as it was beautiful, a bastion of civilization amidst the bucolic landscape.
Madeline’s great-great-grandfather had laid the first stones of the castle. Subsequent generations had added to it, each leaving new wings, new legacies of stone. One day Madeline planned to make her own additions and imprint her legacy on the landscape for all of time. That day was yet to come, but she knew it would arrive as surely as she knew the sun would rise at the end of each night.
They rode homeward fast and hard, galloping across the plains faster than Madeline would have been able to manage on her own. To her it seemed as though they were not riding so much as flying, taken by the powerful wings of some great equine angel. Hexmark had performed well for her, but his performance was elevated beyond compare when ridden by his master. Sir Gregory had no problem staying mounted with the reins in one hand, his other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his body as he kept them both in pace with the horse’s powerful motion.
“You are a fine horseman,” she admitted when he slowed to allow the stallion to rest a few miles from the castle. “And this is a fine horse. I had no idea what he was capable of.”
“Unfortunately for those who gave you chase, even at half-speed Hexmark is faster than most other steeds. I knew he would take care of you,” Sir Gregory replied. “He is an intelligent soul who has saved me many times. I trust him with my life.”
Madeline found herself smiling. Her conversations with Sir Gregory had been largely adversarial; she had never heard him speak well of another living creature. When he spoke of his horse, it was with a pleasure and pride that warmed her heart.
“When we return to the castle, I will lock you in my chamber,” he said, swiftly changing the course and mood of the conversation. “For your own safety, of course. I will report to the king, notify him of what I have seen and preparations for defense will be made. Understand, Madeline, the kingdom may be in grave danger. This is not the time to act in rebellion. I do not wish to find you sneaking out dressed as a washerwoman, or disguising yourself as a wart.”
Madeline snorted. “So begins a glamorous life being locked away in poky rooms. Will you be fitting me with a chastity belt as well?”
“Your chastity does not concern me as much as your tongue,” Sir Gregory replied grimly. “It gives reign to your impetuous, impudent nature.”
“Be glad for that nature,” Madeline replied. “For it earned you the hand of a princess. My father would never have given me to you if I had not been caught in your chambers.”
It was Sir Gregory’s turn to snort. “I will not be glad for it, but I will correct it,” he promised as he once more spurred Hexmark into a gallop.
There were no further words until they had thundered up through the streets of the castle town and into the castle proper, where Sir Gregory was greeted as a hero by knights and squires who put their hands together for his triumphant return with the princess in tow.
“Excuse me,” he said to his comrades as he dismounted, then reached up, wrapped his arm about Madeline’s waist, and drew the princess down over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of potatoes. “I have something to stow.”
Laughter met his comment. Madeline responded by biting her thumb at all and sundry as she was carried off. Sir Gregory hauled her all the way to the top of the tower without any apparent exertion and placed her on the bed in his chamber.
“I will not stay here,” she said, her defiance ignited by the cheers and shouts that could still be heard through the window. She did not at all like being treated as a prize, some object to be hunted down and won, but that was exactly how she was being treated by every man in the place. By now the king had probably been informed of her return, but she knew he would not come to her. She had disgraced him and she would not be redeemed until she was safely married.
“You will stay here,” he said. “Because you know as well as I do what is at stake. And every minute you force me to deal with you is one minute the Dark King draws closer without opposition. You are putting the lives of everyone in the kingdom at risk for the sake of your temper.”
His words shamed Madeline and made her feel pangs of guilt, but neither of those feelings made her agree to imprisonment. “I should come with you,” she said. “There’s no need to leave me behind. I can help.”
“You can help by staying here and not causing any further trouble. Your presence would be a distraction.”
“I’m coming,” Madeline said, pushing up from the bed. She did not want Sir Gregory to get the idea that their marriage was going to consist of her sitting in rooms waiting for him to be done with danger. “I will not live my life like a candlestick.”
“I cannot begin to imagine what you mean by that,” Sir Gregory said, crossing to the door, “but I tell you, if you put so much as a foot out of this room, you will be a very sorry princess.”
“It means you cannot leave me on the shelf.”
Sir Gregory raised his eyes to the heavens briefly, then made his way toward her, took hold of her forearm, and drew her against his hard body. His eyes flashed down at her. “Madeline,” he said in gravelly tones. “You are very close to receiving the thrashing of a lifetime.”
“You may beat me all you like,” Madeline replied. “I was there. I saw the Dark King’s men and I know as much about him as you do. Maybe more. I have
heard a great many things in my time. I keep my eyes and my ears open.”
“Forget your eyes and ears. It’s your nose I worry about. You stick it wherever it does not belong,” he growled down at her, not impressed in the slightest. “I tell you this now, Madeline. You are to be my bride and you will do as you are told. That means staying where I tell you to stay.”
“No.”
Her defiance made his brow twitch. That was the only warning she received before he dropped to sit on the bed and pulled her over his thighs. Her skirts were thrown up over her back and his hand met her bare cheeks in a hard slap that resounded around the room.
“This is but a fraction of the punishment you deserve,” he said, clapping his palm against her tender flesh over and over again with fast, hard slaps that made her wail. “If I had more time, I would take you to task, but your father is waiting and the Dark King will not wait for a spoiled princess to be thrashed into line.”
“Sir Gregory! That is enough! It hurts!” Madeline raised her voice in complaint. The striking of his hand was leaving her hindquarters in a very unpleasant state, whacking heat into places she had not known it was possible to strike. His hand was landing not only on her bottom, but between her cheeks, slapping the tender flesh in the valley between the rounds.
Madeline bucked her hips, trying in vain to escape Sir Gregory’s wrath, but there was no hope of breaking free. He palmed one hot cheek and spread her wide, letting his hand fall with punitive intent against the soft puffy pouch of her lips. Madeline squealed in outrage, unable to believe just how far Sir Gregory was prepared to go in order to secure her obedience.
“Of course it hurts,” he said, slapping the lips of her tender quim with quick, stinging slaps. “I very much intend it to, and I will see to it that it hurts a lot more later. In the meantime, this will give you something to think on.”
