by Loki Renard
“Stop!” Madeline gasped, grinding her hips hard against his thighs to avoid any slaps landing on her tender clit. The motion resulted in bolts of pure pleasure shooting through her loins even as his fingers punished her virginal cunt. “Please! Stop!”
He could not see her face. He could not know how it was flushing with heat, or how her lips were parting as she panted her way toward a most unlikely orgasm. Every time his fingers landed against her lips she became a little more lubricated, a little more ready for the intrusion of his manhood. He might have been focused on punishment, but her body had a different agenda. Every part of her quivering, writhing flesh was preparing to be speared by the cock she could feel pressing against her hip.
“Will you do as you are told, Madeline?” He stopped spanking, his fingers stilling on her thigh too far from her pouting pussy lips to be of any use.
“No,” she said, biting her lower lip as her hips moved in a slow circling grind.
“I see,” he said. “Then you will be chained.”
Madeline parted her lips to laugh, but Sir Gregory did not seem to be speaking in jest. He called for irons and irons were indeed brought by his faithful squire. Madeline could not speak for the indignity of it all as the knight clapped the heavy iron about her ankle and thence secured it to a ring mounted in the wall. She said little as he deprived her of her freedom, content to give him a withering look that she imagined spoke volumes.
“That will keep you in place,” he said. “I will speak with you more anon.” With that he strode out of the door, leaving Madeline locked inside his chamber.
“Fool,” she muttered to herself. The irons were not designed for a woman, and though they had at first seemed to fit by merit of the fact that the cuff sat against her foot, the moment she pointed her toe, the thick iron slid off and hit the floor with a merry thud.
He would pay for that mischief, she vowed that silently as she made her way out of his room and down through the tower. There were a few squires about the place, but those she threatened with the loss of their tongues if they were to speak of her escape.
Madeline made her way into the castle through the kitchens. She did not threaten anyone there, for it was not necessary. The kitchen staff were most noble and loyal to her, and they said nothing as she proceeded up through a very little used staircase designated for servants. A small door barely taller than her knees stood part way up. Few noticed it, for it was covered by a tapestry, one Madeline had hung herself. She pushed it aside, went to her hands and knees and crawled through the little portal. It led to a very small chamber behind the wall of her father’s office. The castle was filled with such hidey-holes, designed to provide the royal family with places of sanctuary in the event of an invasion. Madeline’s ancestors had built them, but they seemed to be all but forgotten. Certainly her father never seemed to notice her sitting there, soaking in all the matters of state.
“Did you retrieve my daughter?”
“I did,” Sir Gregory said. “She is safe and well.”
“I worry for her,” the king confessed. “She is headstrong and nothing at all like her mother or her sister. You will make her a good husband, I hope. Do not let her dictate the terms of your relationship or you will never hear the end of it.”
“Thank you, sire,” Sir Gregory said. “I have other, more grave news. Whilst retrieving Madeline, we stumbled across the Dark King’s outriders. They seem to be moving in this direction.”
“That is grave news,” the king said. “We must make preparations for an aggressive defense.”
Madeline shifted slightly in her hiding spot. The motion stirred up the dust in the little chamber. Some of it made its way into her nose and she let out a sneeze. In the room beyond Sir Gregory’s eyes snapped to her. She could swear that she had been spotted through the little crevice in the wall.
As he began to stride toward the wall, she made a quick escape, rushing from the hidey-hole all the way back to the knight’s tower and up to his room. She was seen by dozens of people, but she did not care. She just wanted to get back to Sir Gregory’s room rather than be caught by him in front of onlookers.
She raced up the stairs, past squires and knights who stood aside to let the princess pass. It was nice to know that even in her disgraced state she still commanded some small measure of respect. She was trying to shove her foot back into the irons when Sir Gregory came striding into the room, his brow furrowed. He shut the door behind himself, put his hands on his hips, and fixed her with a stern look.
“You,” he said, “are the most incorrigible scamp I have ever met. I wonder how you have made it to such an advanced age without crossing death the wrong way.”
“I have no idea of what you speak,” Madeline said, feigning innocence.
“You were spying on my audience with your father. You loosed yourself from the leg irons and you crept into the castle. Dozens of people saw you, Madeline.”
“They were ridiculous in the first instance,” Madeline said, rising to her feet atop the bed so that for once she was taller than he. “Tell me,” she said. “What did you decide?”
Sir Gregory put his hands on his hips and glowered up at her. “As you no doubt know by now, the Dark King is particularly vicious when it comes to those of royal blood. Your entire family is in extreme danger.”
“Extreme danger is the only kind of danger, isn’t it?”
“Take this seriously, Madeline. This is not some amusement or court intrigue. This is a credible threat to the continuation of the Griffon line.”
“My mother’s inability to produce a male heir has more or less meant the end of the Griffon line,” Madeline replied. “I have asked many times if I might be heir, but they laugh at me and send me off to a dress fitting or a lesson in thumb twiddling.”
“Focus, Madeline,” Sir Gregory snapped. “At this very moment, a vile army is bearing down on us. Lives will be lost. I will do my very best to ensure that yours is not one of them.”
It was impossible to ignore how handsome he looked when he was so serious and grave. The expression made his face harder, the lines of his cheeks more pronounced, the glinting of his blue eyes more intense than ever. Madeline had the sudden impulse to kiss him. She reached out with both hands, wrapped her fingers in his hair, and pressed her lips to his with an impish giggle. What she got back was a growl and a hard slap to her bottom.
“I will thrash you, princess. Mark my words, I will whip your bottom until you forget what it is to be able to sit. If you will not heed my words…”
“Oh, stop,” Madeline said, screwing up her face. “I’m listening. I’m not crying in a corner or weeping on your shoulder, but it is possible to listen without doing either of those things. I’m not afraid of the Dark King.”
“You should be,” Sir Gregory replied.
Madeline had been scared in the forest, but she was no longer concerned. Griffon Hold had stood against invaders and intruders for many decades. A jumped-up bandit with a penchant for beheading royals would not change that.
“Your mother and sister are traveling to the Navarre court,” Sir Gregory informed her. “Your father and his knights will be engaging the Dark King. You and I will be heading north to my family lands, where we will be married and you will be safe.”
“So you will drag me off to some cottage,” Madeline said. “Why can I not go with my mother and sister?”
“They think it best that you travel in my company,” Gregory said. “Now come, we must make haste; with the Dark King’s outriders about, the journey will be dangerous and we will make it alone. The more men, the more attention we will draw. You can clearly ride, so you will take my squire’s horse.”
“And your squire?”
“He will go to battle with your father,” Gregory replied. “He is ready. Nice of you to be concerned for him, or is it just your hemp supply you were concerned about?”
Madeline narrowed her eyes at him in a smirk. “I think this plan is very poor. And I thin
k your place is with your king.”
“My place is to protect his daughter and his lineage,” Gregory replied. He tossed a bundle of clothes at her. She caught them and shook them out to reveal a tunic and leggings.
“What are these?”
“You know perfectly well what they are. Squire’s clothing. You like to dress up, don’t you, princess?” His handsome smirk mocked her gently as he produced a bowl and a pair of shears. “We will have to cut your hair, of course.”
“My hair?” Madeline grabbed at her locks protectively. “Why my hair?”
“Because a squire does not have long locks. If you are to make a convincing squire, you must dress like one, look like one, and behave like one. That means obedience too. That will be difficult for you, but you will have to try as best you can.”
“I do not care for this plan,” Madeline said. “My sister and mother will not have their hair cut and their dresses changed for britches and rough linen.”
“Your sister and mother have not proven themselves to be impudent and dangerous to the point where they must be minded lest they steal a horse and go haring off into the forests. Now change your clothes. Quickly. We will leave within the hour.”
“Turn your back,” Madeline insisted. She did not care if he saw her naked, but she did want to claw back some small amount of control. She could taste the adventure about to unfold and she was excited by it. This was the first deviation from what had always seemed the inevitable course of her life. A princess was born to marry someone advantageous to the kingdom. Elizabeth’s marriage certainly fit the mold, as it would cement an alliance of great use to the de Griffons. But Madeline knew her own marriage would not benefit the kingdom at all. Her marriage was less a forging of an alliance and more a way to solve a problem—the problem being her.
Sir Gregory was gentleman enough to comply whilst she removed her dress and donned the squire’s clothing. There was little in the way of comfort. It was rough and scratchy against her skin, and the prospect of wearing it day after day was almost unbearable. There were no underclothes to speak of, so she was left with her tender parts rubbed by the rough fabric in a way that felt like punishment, especially against a hot bottom.
“I cannot wear these,” she complained. “They are uncomfortable.”
“You wished to run away, princess,” he said. “Had you succeeded, it would have been much more uncomfortable than a scratchy pair of britches. Now come here and let me cut your hair.”
“I can tie it back,” she suggested. “And hide it beneath my collar.”
“Your tunic does not have much in the way of a collar,” Sir Gregory replied. “At any rate, a short cut will further the illusion. Hair grows back. Heads do not. Now come.”
He spoke with terse authority that brooked no argument. From the window, Madeline could hear the general uproar of the knights preparing to defend the castle. This was a desperate time and it called for desperate measures.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Do what you must.”
She sat on the stool Sir Gregory indicated with his long finger and let him gather her long flowing hair into a fist. There was tension as he held it, but the application of the shears soon eased that as her locks were separated from her head. She felt a strange lightness as the length fell away. It was followed by an equally strange heaviness as Sir Gregory put the bowl upside down on her head and began cutting around the rim. The process did not take long; in a few minutes Madeline was transformed. The bowl was removed and the last remnants of hair brushed from her shoulders.
“Adorable,” he said, smiling down at her. “You suit a squire’s style.”
Madeline smiled and glanced in the mirror that sat atop his nightstand. She looked rather unlike herself, or rather, she looked like a different version of herself. No longer the elegant princess, she was transformed into a valiant squire, one who was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.
“Come,” he said. “Our party awaits.”
“We will be traveling with others? An armed escort?” In spite of her bravado, Madeline rather liked the idea of being accompanied by a contingent of soldiers. Her mother and sister would certainly be protected that way.
“Something like that,” Sir Gregory replied. “Come.”
Madeline followed him to the stables where their horses had been readied. The horses were not alone. There were also two hounds, tall, lanky creatures with broad chests and wide heads filled with flashing teeth. Their black-rimmed maws opened in wide panting grins as Sir Gregory approached. One lunged toward him as he drew closer and put its paws on his chest. Standing erect, it was almost as tall as he. Sir Gregory greeted the creature with a vigorous rubbing on the back of its head, which made the animal throw its face into the air and pant its glee. It was a well-dressed beast; a thick metal collar ran the length of its neck, etched with scenes of battle and valor. Sir Gregory laughed as the beast lapped at his face with its great tongue.
Looking on in wonder, Madeline was both intimidated and amazed. She had seen the war hounds occasionally at great distance, but they were much larger and more powerful than she had imagined. Their coats were thick and dense, of a gorgeous golden hue, and their paws were almost as large as the hooves of the horses who stood nearby.
“This fellow is Nosewise,” Sir Gregory said by way of introduction. “The other is his mother, Holdfast. They are most excellent battle hounds. Having these two is as good as having half a dozen armed men.”
Nosewise dropped back to four paws with a heavy thud and grinned in Madeline’s direction. She gave the animal an uneasy wave. He easily outweighed her, and she was certain her head would probably fit in his mouth. Being accompanied by such a beast was like being told that their escort would be a lion. Though both hounds seemed friendly enough in that moment, she could easily imagine how fearsome they would be unleashed on a foe.
“You need not fear either of them,” Sir Gregory assured her. “They are very well trained.”
“In the art of rending flesh and breaking bone,” Madeline said, edging her way around toward Melyngar. The horses were also armored, lightly enough not to slow them unduly, but with face plates protecting their forelocks from the slings and arrows of potential attackers.
“The dogs are armored, the horses are armored, and you are armored,” Madeline noted. “Should I not also wear some?”
“I do have chain mail in your size,” Sir Gregory said. “But you may find it impractically heavy, especially when riding.”
“Let me try it,” Madeline insisted, donning the leather cap he handed to her. “I would be protected at least as well as a hound.”
Entertaining her desire, Sir Gregory called for mail. It was brought to him, making a soft tinkling sound. Madeline was rather excited by the prospect of wearing it. No princess she had ever heard of wore mail. Elizabeth could keep her grand dresses; Madeline would be wearing a dress of linked chain.
He held the hauberk up over her head and let it fall over her shoulders in a soft clatter not unlike the falling of rain on shingles. The weight was greater than she had imagined and she felt herself stooping beneath the burden.
“Lovely,” she said. “Perfect.”
“Walk toward me,” Sir Gregory said, taking three strides back. “Let me see how you move.”
Madeline managed three shambling steps whilst the tall knight shook his head and smirked. “It is far too heavy for your frame,” he chuckled. “It will unbalance you in the saddle. Remove it.”
“No,” Madeline insisted, fingering the metal rings. “It will keep me safe.”
“There is no safety in being weighed down,” Sir Gregory replied. “If worst comes to worst, your agility and speed will be all that stands between you and harm. Aside from myself, Nosewise, and Holdfast, of course. Come here and let me have it.”
“You are wrong,” she declared. “I am agile as ever!” She tried to dart away, but only succeeded in tripping over her own feet. She would have fallen but for Sir G
regory catching her by the back of the metal shirt.
“Do you like having a head full of teeth, princess? You will not have them long if you fall on your face.”
“Very well,” Madeline sighed. “Take my mail.” She stood, lifted her arms, and allowed him to remove the garment. It was nice to be relieved of the weight, but she was certain that she would not be able to fulfill the role of squire, even to a level of disguise. “If I cannot wear the mail, how will anyone believe that I am your squire?”
“There are plenty of young men who do not wear mail,” Sir Gregory said. “Those who see us will simply think that you are new in your apprenticeship. You will be seen as less of a threat.”
Madeline wrinkled her nose. “I could be a threat.”
“To yourself, certainly,” he replied dryly. “Now mount up. We must make haste.”
Madeline looked up at the filly, which was just an inch shy in height of Sir Gregory’s stallion. Usually someone would help her into the saddle, but Sir Gregory did not seem inclined to help and everyone else was studiously ignoring her.
“How shall I mount? Shall I grow wings and fly up to her back?”
Sir Gregory snorted. “A squire should be able to take his seat without aid. Put your foot in the stirrup, reach your hand as high on the saddle as you can reach, and swing yourself up.”
Madeline made a half-hearted hopping attempt, which achieved nothing more than to make the mare prick her ears back.
“You need some encouragement?”
“Yes… ow!”
She squeaked as Sir Gregory applied his palm to the seat of her britches with a whip-like slap, which propelled her up and into the saddle in very short order.
“That was not necessary,” she glowered down at him.
“There’s no time to be tender,” he said, striding to his own mount. “We have a long, hard ride ahead of us. You must act as a squire as much as you can.”
He swung himself up into the saddle with no apparent effort at all. He moved with a fluid physical grace that left Madeline’s stomach performing acrobatics of its own.
