The Princess and the Rogue

by Jordan St. John

  Bathen Castle

  In her private library, Morgaine perused the message from Lord Cramden that had just arrived by courier. An intriguing plan, and it just might work, she thought. The trick, of course, would be to find an imposter who looked enough like the princess that the deception could be carried off. And I’ll keep this message just in case. Not that I don’t trust my cousin, but…

  Then she smiled. So he wants me to apply my special type of training to the young princess, does he? The idea appealed to her. It was one thing to train simple village girls captured in raids or spirited away from their homes, but a highborn princess? Now there was a challenge.

  The plan required a suitable subject, one who looked the part. She’d send out her spies in the morning. There were lots of naïve village girls. She’d find someone suitable, tell her story, and teach her how to act like a princess. Then she’d snatch the real princess right out from under Robert’s nose. Once Princess Juliet was secure in Bathen Castle, the training would commence. Something I very much look forward to, thought the red countess.

  Chapter Three

  The Village of Kern, near Bathen Castle

  On Tuesdays Scarlett went to the market to sell medicinal herbs, poultices, and ointments for the convent. It was mostly safe then. She walked with Sister Bernice and Sister Patricia, covering the three miles to the village of Kern in about an hour. Actually, the good sisters insisted on accompanying Scarlett on these treks, whether they had duties or not. The young woman attracted more than her share of attention from the local gentry. It might have been the flaming red hair, the pretty face, or the shapely figure, but more likely it was a combination of all three. So Sisters Bernice and Patricia stood alongside like Praetorian Guard, ever watchful as Scarlett both sold medicines and exercised her knowledge, picking the best plants at the best prices for the convent’s infirmary. Later the trio would venture into the forest and supplement their goods with wild herbs, fungus, and roots.

  The convent of Saint Agnes had taken Scarlett in as a young child. She had been found wandering in the forest, but what had become of her parents, no one knew. That had been over thirteen years ago. The sisters had raised her, taught her, and given her a task. She had been fascinated by the healing arts and had learned medicine from Sister Marian. They’d also given her a name, Scarlett, for her lustrous mane of red hair.

  So on a bright Tuesday morning the trio made its way to Kern, leading the wagon pulled by the convent’s rather tired-looking, and only, donkey.

  “They say it is becoming more dangerous along this road,” said Sister Patricia, casting a watchful eye about as they walked along.

  “It is the bandit, Rand LaFlors,” said Sister Bernice. “The road here does skirt the edge of Darkwood Forest.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to fear from Rand LaFlors,” said Scarlett. “He only robs people with money. We’d be a poor haul, I’m afraid. The pennies in my pocket are hardly worth his time, sisters. I’m more afraid of the men in the service of the red countess.”

  Both of the sisters crossed themselves at the mention of the name. “Don’t even use that name, Scarlett. It gives her power. The woman is evil, I can feel it in my bones,” said Sister Bernice. “Pray the good lord protects us from her ilk. We have fallen upon ill times since the earl died.”

  Scarlett shuddered. She was aware of the rumors. Several young girls from Kern and neighboring villages were reported to have disappeared. Some thought the girls had been abducted by the outlaw, Rand LaFlors, and secreted away to his hideout, deep in Darkwood Forest. Others thought that they were taken to serve Lady Morgaine at Bathen Castle. That was not so unusual in itself. Often young girls were sent by their families to enter service in the houses of the landed nobles. What was unusual was the rumor that some had been taken against their will, and had been cut off from their families. Just last week a council of villagers in Kern had dispatched a courier to King Robert asking for assistance. Either way, the villagers needed help.

  * * *

  Gwri tried to be inconspicuous. He pawed through the fruits and vegetables at the market stalls as if he were really interested in buying, but the proprietress, a beefy farmer’s wife, fixed him with a suspicious glare. Soon she might call for a constable, thinking he was about to steal something. That wouldn’t do. The last thing he wanted was to be noticed. But he rarely was. Gwri’s singular talent was that he was a spy, and a good one. Small and wiry, he moved with a furtive grace that made him almost invisible. That’s why he’d been picked for this task. So unlike Morgaine’s men-at-arms who made everyone run and hide whenever they were about, Gwri just blended in, observing, listening, and taking note.

  Red hair, his mistress had said. Long red hair. And young. And pretty. Well, that was a tall order, to find a maid of those qualities. He’d hit market days in four surrounding villages and, so far, nothing. But it was a mission at which he wanted to succeed. The red countess rewarded her servants who delivered.

  He’d gotten a taste of that a week before when she’d summoned him to her private punishment chamber. At first his blood had run cold. The infamous room, deep in the bowels of Castle Bathen, was a place to which no one went willingly. He’d heard the stories. So he had sweated nervously, which had caused his wool singlet to itch and chafe as he’d been escorted to see his mistress.

  But to his delight, it was not he who was destined for the post or the block. As he was shown inside, he could see a pair of maids, pretty ones, too, naked as the day they were born, bound to the whipping frames. A frame of this type consisted of an upright post with a short padded trestle joined to it at waist height by a brace. The post had manacles for securing the hands. The naked maids were bent over the trestle, their arms stretching forward to the manacles on the post. The posture accentuated the thrust of their succulent buttocks, much to Gwri’s delight.

  Morgaine noticed Gwri and motioned for him to stand back. She then grasped a rod made of stout switches from a bucket of brine and shook it. Gwri heard her scold the girls about something having to do with a broken glass and then she proceeded to give each one what must have been the flogging of her life.

  Gwri couldn’t keep his eyes off the flexing, bounding buttocks as the switches fell. The girls’ skin turned pink, then red, with repeated applications of the birch rod. There was much wailing and many fervent promises of better future conduct, jiggling of breasts and buttocks, and stamping of feet, but Morgaine was not deterred. A full three dozen strokes were meted out to each maid before the flogging ended.

  “Did you enjoy watching, Gwri?” said Morgaine as she replaced the third or fourth rod, the others lying in frayed pieces on the stone floor. Her eyes shone brightly with excitement and her face was flushed as if the exertion of administering a flogging had energized her. At the frames the girls sobbed miserably.

  Gwri nodded. Already he was thinking that he’d have to visit Milly, his favorite tavern wench, to relieve the mighty erection he sported.

  “Then you will do as I ask, and I may invite you again. Perhaps I can teach you to wield the rod.” Then she fixed him with a harsh glare. “On the other hand, if you fail me, you may find yourself secured to one of these,” she said, pointing to the whipping frames.

  Gwri hadn’t needed any further motivation, and that is why he watched the crowd intently. The village folk moved from stall to stall, sampling, squeezing, and occasionally, buying. Then through a gap in the throng he saw her. At first just a flash of red. But he knew—it was the hair. He followed, straining to get a better look, while trying not to be obvious about it. He slid into the shadow of a tent where he could see her unimpeded. Yes. No doubt about it. She had shimmering long red hair, she was young, and she was exceedingly pretty. Now to shadow her and see where she went. Then he’d inform his mistress.

  * * *

  Several days later

  Scarlett awoke in a soft bed covered with silken sheets and cozy warm blankets. Where was she? And how had she come to this
place? Then to her horror she realized she was naked. Her clothes had been taken from her. She pulled the sheets tightly about her to cover her nakedness. She looked around. It was a large room with stone walls covered in rich tapestries. Sunlight streamed in through a wide open window through which she could see distant fields and hills. The bed was huge, with tall posts draped with gauzy fabric to form a canopy.

  The last thing she remembered was being in the marketplace. She’d stopped at a stall, one she had not seen before. It sold perfumes, scents for ladies. The stall had seemed out of place, too rich for a village market like Kern’s, but the proprietor had noticed her. He had been insistent that she try some. She had protested that she couldn’t afford his wares and the good sisters would think it vain and foolish. But the smiling proprietor had been tenacious, and the sisters had been off on an errand to buy a cow while she did the shopping. So she giggled and let herself be persuaded to try an exotic scent. He put two drops on her arm and bade her breathe deeply. And then… nothing. All had faded to blackness. Now, she was here in this bed, and that’s all she knew.

  Footsteps approached the chamber and Scarlett shrank back at the sound, covering herself tighter. But when the door was flung open, several maids entered bearing clothing and hot water. The oldest, dressed better than the others, was clearly some sort of supervisor. She informed Scarlett that they were there to assist her in her bath and dress. After that there would be breakfast, and later an audience with their mistress.

  Scarlett marveled at the clothes. They were richer than anything she’d ever worn. Even the underwear. It was silk. Of that she was sure. The gown was a forest green and it complemented her hair, which was taken up and styled into an elegant bun, just like she’d seen on noblewomen. And the breakfast! There were delicate pastries and honey, succulent pears, sausage of some sort, and cream. It was more food than she could possibly eat.

  Afterwards she was escorted to see the person they had referred to as ‘the mistress.’ Scarlett was understandably nervous. What on earth would such a person want with the likes of her? Then she stopped and put her hand to her mouth. She felt her heart pounding. There was only one person in these parts who had the wealth to live like this. The red countess! It had to be. But why? She was just a simple country girl. Why lavish all of this on her? Her thought was interrupted. They had arrived at a door and her escort was knocking. The door opened and she was guided inside.

  Waiting for her was a beautiful woman whom Scarlett judged to be in her forties. She wore a red velvet gown of exquisite taste and craftsmanship, bedecked with jewels. Her hair was black and straight, parted down the middle and her skin was white. An aquiline aristocratic nose was set off by high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that fixed Scarlett with a gaze of such intensity that it made her think of a hawk staring down its prey.

  Scarlett stopped short, suddenly very apprehensive.

  But the woman smiled. “Come in, my dear. Don’t be afraid.”

  Cautiously, Scarlett entered the room. “How did I come to be here? What is this place? Why am I dressed this way?” she said.

  “So many questions, my dear. All will be answered in good time. First, how you came to be here was that you came willingly after we found you in the village, wandering from stall to stall on market day. This place is my private residence, and I am a loyal subject of King Robert. That is all you need to know for now.”

  Scarlett was not reassured. “But Sister Bernice and Sister Patricia, they will wonder where I am. I must be on my way back to the convent, I have chores, meals to prepare, I…”

  Morgaine silenced her with a finger to Scarlett’s lips. “It is all arranged. The sisters have been informed of your whereabouts.” The lie poured smoothly from Morgaine’s lips.

  Scarlett didn’t know if she believed that. And the story about her coming willingly—had she? All she could remember was the stall selling scents.

  To Scarlett it was all bewildering. Why on earth had she been brought here and treated so?

  “Now to business. Please sit.” The countess motioned her toward a divan, while a chair was brought over for Scarlett by a footman.

  “I know you have many questions and all will be answered, but first let me ask you a question. How would you like to be a princess?”

  “I don’t understand. I’m just a commoner, an orphan. I can never be royalty,” said Scarlett.

  “But you can be. Let me explain,” said the countess. “Juliet Greystone is King Robert’s daughter. She looks a lot like you. In fact, you could pass for twins. But this is the hard part. Princess Juliet is ill, and she must be taken to a place of healing where special doctors can attend to her. At the same time, all must appear normal in King Robert’s household. The people must not fear that something has happened to their beloved princess. For reasons you would not understand, it is important that appearances be maintained. You must trust me on this. It is for the good of the realm.”

  Scarlett heard the explanation, but didn’t fully understand. If the princess were sick, that was unfortunate, but people got sick all the time and needed doctors.

  “And so, until the princess recovers, the king needs someone to be the princess, to take over her day-to-day life as though nothing were amiss. Do you see?”

  Scarlett didn’t see, but she now understood what she was being asked to do. “You want me to take the princess’s place? To be her?”

  “Yes,” said Morgaine. “No one will know except a few close to the high minister. He will be the one to guide you in this mission.”

  “But the sisters at St. Agnes—they need me. I can’t leave them,” Scarlett protested.

  “The sisters will be provided for, if you perform this task that your king has asked you to do.” Morgaine cocked her head and narrowed her eyes as she delivered this last bit of explanation, which to Scarlett sounded like a command.

  The full implication sank in. What amounted to the only family she had ever known would be taken care of if she would do this thing. How could she refuse? The king had commanded it.

  “Yes,” said Scarlett. “What must I do?”

  Morgaine smiled. “Why, you must learn to be a princess, of course.”

  Chapter Four

  Outside Greystone Castle, two weeks later

  Juliet liked to ride. In fact, she fancied herself an expert horsewoman. Her father had forbidden her to ride alone, but he had been feeling poorly, which gave her a golden opportunity. As she frequently did when her father was present, she dressed in boy’s clothes and snuck out of her quarters, right under the watchful eye of Dame Frida, her nursemaid since birth and frequent chaperone, to steal her way to the stables. Once there, she commanded Johan, a stable boy, to saddle Flower, her favorite horse—and to tell no one lest he invoke her wrath. And just like that, she was off on Flower. The plan worked so well that she repeated the escape on a regular basis. She would feign tiredness late in the afternoon, retire to her quarters, and change clothing, only to sneak out moments later. She would return in time for the evening meal, with no one the wiser. What she did not see were watchful eyes following her every movement.

  At first she was not alarmed when approached by the four riders as she was on her way returning home. Sunset was coming and she wanted to be sure that her father did not notice her absence. As they came closer she began to be alarmed. Before she realized what rough-looking fellows they were, it was too late to run. They came straight for her and boxed her in before she even had a chance.

  “So,” said their leader, “a stable lad on a fine horse. It can’t be yours.”

  “It’s my horse,” she snorted. “Now get out of my way.” She was about to tell them who she was, then thought better of it.Such an admission would put an end to these adventures. She would be watched constantly after that, with no chance to do this again.

  “Oh, ho. It’s not a lad at all, but a young girl,” said the leader. “What are you doing out here alone, girl?”

  Juliet decided to say
nothing.

  “What’s the penalty for horse stealing in these parts, lads?” asked the leader, twisting about in his saddle to survey his men.

  “Hanging, I’m sure,” said one of the men. “Or maybe, because she’s a girl, just a good whipping on her tender rump.”

  The eyes of the others lit up at that prospect. Underneath the page’s plain leggings and tunic they could see the curves of her womanly figure.

  “I’m sure she has a fine ass, men, and I know you’d love to see it duly thrashed, but we must be about our business.”

  Juliet saw him reach for something in his saddlebag. It looked like a hood. Before she could react, he’d slipped it over her head. There was a curious scent that she had never smelled before. Then her world went black.

  * * *

  Greystone Castle, that same day

  Scarlett arrived under cover of darkness, as if returning late from a ride in the country on her horse. She hardly knew anything about horses and had been terrified when the countess’s men had told her she’d have to ride one. It was the princess’s own horse. Scarlett did not ask how they had procured the animal.

  They had arrived to within sight of the town of Kingsgate and Greystone Castle that evening in a wagon, and the horse was brought forward on a lead. It was then that she was told that she’d have to ride it back to the castle. Up to that point, her experience with beasts of burden had been limited to leading the convent’s poor donkey about. Fortunately, the horse knew the way and when they released her at the edge of the woods, she merely hung on as Flower headed for her familiar stable. Unfortunately, the guard of the watch spotted her and she had some explaining to do to her housekeeper and servants.

  Her heart pounding, wondering if the deception would work, she stumbled through an explanation. “Oh, I lost track of the time,” she said. “Am I late for supper? Well, then, just bring it to me in my quarters.” To her amazement, no one said a thing. Her staff knew better than to question or contradict the mercurial princess so they merely obeyed. Morgaine had said they would.