He led his troops on, still traveling slowly, though there was no purpose in detaining in the area. The following night Aldis poked his head in the tent.
“Sir Balen?”
He grunted in response.
“Grindholm's back from scouting. Says there's a camp of men a half-league away—looked like those from the same troop we trounced at Falconworth.”
He sat up sharply. Stonegate—her neighbors to the east. “Go back and eavesdrop. Listen in to glean where they're headed or what they're up to.”
“Yes, sir.”
Unable to even pretend to try to sleep after that, he got up and paced the camp. His men eyed him warily, as if they feared he was in a temper. He was glowering, but it was not temper. Nay, it was worry over Lady Camilla. His lady. For so he thought of her, though it could never be.
He could not trust Sir Aelbert to protect her. He could not bear the thought of another battle at Falconworth. What if Lady Camilla stood atop her tower shooting arrows without armor again? The thought made him cold.
Grindholm returned two hours later, brimming with news. “They're headed to Falconworth—they've paid off Aelbert!”
Aelbert. He surged to his feet, enraged. He should have known there was something wrong about that knight.
“Get my armor!” he yelled to Aldis. Aldis scurried to comply and his men all scrambled out of their tents, gathering their things with an efficiency that made him proud. By then, he had recovered his wits. “Nay, back to your places, men. I was not thinking straight. If we route the Stonegate troop here we'll have no proof against Aelbert. Better to follow in stealth and defeat them both.”
“Defeat Aelbert's men and the Stonegate troop?” one of his men said doubtfully.
He turned a level gaze on the man, who instantly lowered his. “When have my men ever been afraid of being outnumbered?” he demanded.
There was some shifting and a moment of silence, but then Aldis answered boldly, “Never, my lord!”
“Never. You have already defeated Stonegate men once. And Aelbert's men appeared to be nothing more than a band of untrained village boys. Nay, men, there's nothing to fear.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“Tomorrow we'll circle back to Falconworth—by the high road. We'll press forward at a quick pace, so that we might arrive first and can lie in wait.”
The men nodded again.
“Get some rest, then. We'll leave at first light. You men on night watch—I want you listening very closely for any sign of the Stonegate troop approaching our camp, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the men agreed.
The night passed without incident and they left at dawn, as planned. They traveled swiftly, arriving from the back side of Falconworth Castle and hiding themselves there in the woods to wait. Balen made his men stay perfectly still in the camp, for fear they'd be detected by either Aelbert, a villager, or the Stonegate men. They passed a full day and night that way until the following day when they heard the Stonegate troop's approach. He waited until he heard the sound of bugles, shouts, and splintering wood before he routed his men around the curtain wall from the back side.
Aelbert had left the iron portcullis open and the Stonegate troop had already smashed through the wooden gate with their battering ram. Mayhap that had not been fully closed, either. The Stonegate troop had swarmed the bailey where they seemed engaged in a half-hearted battle with Aelbert's men. There was not a single man fallen, that he could see. It was a farce—a show of arms that was not genuine. The louts!
Aelbert, the knight responsible for the invasion, was standing atop the tower, his arms folded across his chest, simply observing. The Stonegate troop had rolled a climbing structure up to the tower wall and were using it to throw their ropes to the top, unimpeded by Aelbert or his men. The traitorous knight hadn't welcomed Stonegate and his troop openly, but he wasn't defending Falconworth at all.
Balen was going to kill him with his bare hands, if he could manage it. He gave the cry and his men rushed through the smashed gate, attacking the Stonegate men. Aelbert's head jerked up in what he guessed was dismay and then his own breath caught. Standing directly behind Aelbert, with an arrow pointed directly at his exposed neck, was Lady Camilla.
A jumbled mix of emotions plowed through him. Respect, that she had deduced the double-cross and had the courage to take matters in her own hands; fear that if she missed her mark, Aelbert would surely kill her, and frustration at his inability to help her. He realized, then, that she was looking straight at him. Was she waiting for a signal? He swallowed and gave her one slow nod. She returned the gesture, then focused on Aelbert and let her arrow fly. His heart was in his throat as he watched the knight jerk in shock, turn to face her and then slowly drop to his knees.
He almost dropped to his own with relief. But the Stonegate men were almost up to the tower wall and Lady Camilla was still standing there, staring out at them. He gestured violently, “Get inside!”
She looked at him, but merely fit another arrow in her bow, took aim, and felled the Stonegate man nearest him. Dear God, he hadn't even seen the man, he was so caught up with getting Lady Camilla to safety. “Get. Inside! Now!” he bellowed. He was sure she had heard him, but she continued, fitting yet another arrow. God's balls! She was absolutely maddening. He grit his teeth and turned to enter the fray, killing both Stonegate's and Aelbert's men alike with a violent vengeance. Both groups were unprepared for the onslaught from his troop, and his men made quick work of the battle. When he killed Lord Stonegate himself, the rest of his men began dropping to their knees.
His men looked to him for direction. “Do we show mercy, Sir Balen?”
With great effort he bit back his urge to kill: Aelbert was dead; Lord Stonegate was dead. Panic and confusion was sweeping Aelbert's men. “Aelbert is dead!” he bellowed across the bailey. “Will you die today, as well?”
A stillness fell across the bailey and then one by one, Aelbert's men laid down their swords and joined the Stonegate men on their knees. “Take their weapons,” he ordered. “Eating knives, too.”
* * *
Lady Camilla stowed her bow and arrow in her chamber.
“Sir Balen's back—he saved us!” she exclaimed to Tola.
The two of them ran down the stairs two at a time. She barreled out of the castle, her light blue gown flapping behind her. She wanted to run straight into Sir Balen's arms. But no. He had betrayed her—she must not open her heart to him again. Even if the sight of him now brought tears of joy to her eyes. He had rescued them. Again. The knight who had nothing to gain by fighting for Falconworth had saved their lives, and the one she had hired had thrown them to the wolves.
In a symbol of true gratitude, she joined the enemy on her knees before him, bowing her head. “Thank you, Sir Balen,” she breathed, emotion closing her throat.
Almost as soon as she'd knelt, he was hauling her back to her feet. “Please don't,” he said through his helmet. He pulled it off and she drew in a breath, dazzled as she had been that first day by his rugged good looks.
“That is not necessary, Lady Camilla,” he said, looking flustered that she had knelt. He was still holding her, his large hands wrapped around her upper arms.
She tilted her head up and drank him in, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. He stared back. “You came back,” she choked out, trying to gain control over her emotions.
“Aye, lady,” he said softly, his eyes roving her face.
“How did you know?” she asked, confused. “Did you know?”
He nodded. “We crossed paths with the Stonegate troop and sent our scout to eavesdrop. When I heard Aelbert had been paid off, we circled back to see if it were true. Now, listen, I want you to go inside and wait until I'm sure all the prisoners are secured.”
She wanted to defy his assumed authority over her, but she took in his immovable face and knew it was a useless battle. She went inside with Tola, issuing orders for food and ale to be brought out and
chambers prepared. The afternoon was a blur of serving her guests whilst Sir Balen dealt with the surrendered men and yet another reconstruction of her gate. When they finally sat down to supper, she was nearly falling down she was so exhausted from the strain of the day. Sir Balen broke the bread and sliced the cheese, serving her with a deference that made her belly leap nervously. She couldn't manage to treat him coldly anymore. Not after what he had done for Falconworth. Nor could she consider him for marriage, though Father Bernard was still giving her prompting looks. She felt a deep sadness that she could not seem to shake.
She excused herself after ensuring that Sir Balen's chamber had been prepared for him and went to her own, where she sat on the bed and stared at the wall, seeing nothing. The door clicked open and she spared a glance, expecting her maid, Lena. Instead, Sir Balen's hulking form came through the doorway, closing the door behind him quietly.
She leaped to her feet. “You cannot be in here!” she exclaimed.
“I cannot and yet I am,” he said mildly, wandering into the chamber, his eyes glittering as they took in the details. “I have come to spank you.”
She backed up, shaking her head. “Nay, sir. You may not. You have no right to spank me, and I will not allow it.”
He ignored her retreat, but continued to wander about the chamber, idly picking up her arrow bag and pulling out an arrow. He twisted off the sharp tip, and then flexed the arrow between his two hands.
An icy chill swept across her skin as her legs suddenly went boneless, realizing his intent.
“As your knight, it is my duty to keep you safe. When we are in battle, I become the master. When I give a command, it must be followed. Else I cannot guarantee your safety.”
She had backed herself against the far wall. “But you are not my knight.”
“Aren't I?”
She took a breath, eying the arrow he was still flexing between his hands. His logic was sound. But she had no intention of submitting to him now, or ever.
“Come over here, now, Lady Camilla.”
She shook her head.
“I assure you the spanking will be much worse if I have to force you.”
Heat prickled her skin. She didn't doubt his threat, and there was really no way out of her situation. She lifted her chin and marched over to him.
“Thank you,” he said softly, guiding her to bend over the edge of the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut as he lifted her skirts, baring her bottom for chastisement. He touched the arrow to her bottom, as if to perfect his aim. He tapped it twice, then the first stroke whistled through the air with as deadly a sound as if it had left her bow. It struck like a line of pure fire across her exposed bottom and she jerked in response.
He touched her bare cheeks with the arrow again. She felt something soft—the feathers. He ran the feathered end of the arrow along the weal he had just created. She shivered.
“I am not unimpressed by your skill with a longbow, Lady Camilla,” Sir Balen said before lifting the arrow and bringing it down again.
She took in a mouthful of quilt to keep from making a sound as the pain of the second stroke exploded into her consciousness.
“And your courage is irrefutable.” Another line of fire erupted across her two cheeks.
She let out an involuntary whimper.
“But when it is my duty to defend the castle, I need to know that you are safe.”
He brought the arrow down across her quivering cheeks again and she surged forward in her position, crying out. Despite all her resolve never to submit to this man, she was already preparing to beg. The pain was excruciating.
“If I give you an order during a battle, you must obey it,” he said firmly. Another biting stroke landed, pain searing across her bottom. There was a pause, which she hardly noticed, because her mind had gone completely blank. He tapped her bottom lightly with the arrow.
“Yes, Sir Balen?” he prompted.
She growled into the bed covers in response, irritation at his arrogance overcoming her fear of more punishment. He could go to hell before she'd answer his prompting. She pushed herself to stand, half expecting him to hold her down for more, but she made it to her feet. In a moment, Sir Balen's arm was around her waist and he pulled her toward him as he sat on the bed. She landed on his knee with a stifled gasp. Her welted bottom burned against his hard thighs and she struggled, remembering all too well what had happened between them the last time she'd been in this position.
“Shh,” he said. “It's all right. I just want to talk to you,” he said, holding her firmly until she settled. The pain of her welted bottom against his hard thighs made squirming out of the question. “Tell me something, Lady Camilla,” he requested. “Were you angry with me before I left because I'd pleasured you or because you thought I'd been with a whore?”
She went still and turned her head toward him, though her eyes didn't make it to his face.
“I did not use that girl—I was paying for the squires to have a tumble, because I'd promised them.”
She lifted her eyes to his, her heart hammering in her chest.
* * *
“'Tis true,” he assured her, seeing how he'd gained her attention. “There's no other woman in the world for me than you. And I know you're married and there's naught we can do about it, but I just wanted you to know that.”
Her cornflower blue eyes filled with tears and then suddenly she was sobbing, covering her mouth with her hand and ducking her head away from him. He pulled her head to his chest and smoothed her hair, kissing the top of her head as he rocked her like a child. She wept with abandon.
“Shh. I'm sorry, my love.”
She sniffed and lifted her head. “Wha-what are you sorry for?” she asked between hiccups.
He shrugged, feeling helpless. “I don't know—I'm sorry you're crying, I guess,” he said, pain for her distress tearing through his chest.
She shook her head. “Nay. I have something to tell you.” She struggled against his hold and he reluctantly allowed her to stand, coming to his feet as well. She paced the length of the room and then turned back to him.
“I've had word that my husband is dead.”
Hope fluttered in his chest. “When?”
“Six months ago.”
It died again. There had been no husband. She'd let him believe she was not available when she knew that she was. What kind of game was she playing?
“Have you thought of taking a new husband?” he asked stiffly.
“Aye. I've had a contract drawn up.”
“Have you,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Have you already proposed a marriage to someone?”
“I'm doing so now,” she said, looking at him directly. His palms were sweating and his heart was pounding in his chest. Did she mean him? Or that she'd sent word to someone else and had not heard back yet?”
“What do you mean?” he managed to say, though his throat felt strangled.
She crossed the room to stand before him. “I'm asking you to marry me, you ridiculous man,” she said, looking up at him with her characteristically bold gaze.
He was moving before he knew it, picking her up by the waist and taking two strides forward where he pressed her up against the wall. He tipped her head to the side and kissed passionately up her neck, nipping at her ear with his teeth.
“Is that a yes?” she gasped.
He kissed her full on the mouth, his tongue plunging deeply inside as he lowered her to her feet, pressing his body against hers. “What do you think?” he growled. He grasped her bodice, thinking he would unlace it, then with a surge of impatience, he rent it in two. Camilla gasped, but her expression held no fear. Rather, her eyes danced with anticipation, need, even. The dress and shift dropped to the ground and she kicked them off, tucking the toes of one calfskin boot under the heel of the other to rid herself of her footwear.
He reined in his desire and took a step back, drinking in her exotic visage. She blinked at him, then seemed to grow shy, pulling
her long dark hair forward over her shoulders to cover her peach-tipped breasts.
“Nay, let me look at what's mine,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He pushed her heavy hair back and stood back again, devouring her with his eyes. “Beautiful,” he breathed. He stepped forward and scooped her into his arms. “And mine.”
“Aye,” she said, her breath hot on his neck.
He laid her on the bed and crawled over her. She was really his. Balen looked down at his lady, her dark waves splayed out all around her face as she gazed at him with shining eyes. He lowered himself over her and claimed her mouth roughly, unable to hold back any of the passion that had built within him since the day he'd first spied his lady atop her tower.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and met his lips eagerly, which intensified his need. He cupped her breast, rolling and pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger before sliding his hand still lower, savoring the delicate feel of her soft skin until he reached the silky thatch between her legs. His fingers stroked her moistened sex and she shivered. He parted the damp lips, spreading her moisture up toward the stiffened peak of pleasure, causing her to moan. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue into her mouth as one finger pressed into her. He plunged his tongue into her ear as his finger dipped into her again and she squealed at the double invasion. Her hips were writhing against his hand now, asking for more of his finger.
“Yes, Balen.”
He thrust a second finger inside her and she bucked against him, her wetness making his path slick and ready.
“Camilla. My lady,” he growled possessively, feeling more satisfied than he could ever remember feeling.
“My lord,” she murmured back, thrusting her breasts in the air as his fingers plunged in and out of her. He bent his head to one of her breasts, sucking, making the nipple harden with his tongue. She whimpered with need, grinding her hips over his fingers until she brought herself to a climax, her muscles contracting around his fingers as her thighs clamped tightly on his wrist. He withdrew and tore his leggings off. His shaft sprung from them, fully erect, bobbing with the movement of his disrobing. Her eyes widened at the sight of it, but again she did not look afraid. Instead, she groaned and rolled her head on the bed wantonly. He emitted another growling sound as he pounced on her.
Lords and Ladies: Two Medieval Spanking Novellas Page 5
