The Princess and the Rogue

by Jordan St. John

  A broad strap was fastened across each girl’s back by Merilda and their wrists were locked in cuffs, low on the bench in front. The men moved behind the young women and loosed erections that had arisen once again in contemplation of new pleasures to be had. Both men guided their stiff cocks to the rear entrances of the girls’ bottoms. The girls shifted uncomfortably as they felt the presence of the men’s cocks nestling in the crevices of their bottom cheeks. Juliet saw Feyd spit and rub the spittle over the head of his prick before placing it at Thora’s rear orifice.

  “We use the benches as training devices,” said Morgaine casually. “Once they get used to it, there is no need.”

  Juliet watched transfixed as the men thrust roughly with their stiff cocks. The girls squirmed, but were chided by Morgaine to relax as they had been taught. When the men were in to the hilt, they started a slow rhythm, alternately thrusting and withdrawing, while the objects of their desires moaned at the shame to which they were being subjected. Limbs quivered, necks arched back, and muscles were tensed as the two maidens tried to cope with the invasion of their most secret places.

  It was an awful sight for Juliet to behold. So this was what the dreaded training regimen was all about—learning to pleasure a man in every way imaginable and accepting punishment if it was not perfect. Juliet had seen all she wanted to see. She had to get out of here before they were done, and it seemed like a good time to leave while they were all so preoccupied. She slipped quietly out of the observation room and made her way back down the way she had come.

  Chapter Nine

  Not much escaped the watchful eye of Rand LaFlors. The tall, rangy outlaw hid in the shadows, nearly invisible, and watched the girl on horseback pick her way along the creek. Rand could tell she was a good horsewoman—and that the horse she was riding was a fine animal. It would make a very nice addition. He didn’t have that many horses, and his band could certainly use another. As for the girl, well, maybe he’d find a use for her, too. She looked a bit out of place. The plain clothing marked her as a mere servant girl. If that were the case and she’d stolen that horse, she was in big trouble indeed.

  At any rate, the girl was a rare beauty. Young, about twenty or so, she had the face of an angel and long, flowing red hair. It seemed odd to LaFlors. Wasn’t she that girl from Kern, the one who lived with the sisters? He decided that she was. Then what was she doing on a horse headed deeper into Darkwood Forest, seemingly all in a panic? No one rode headlong into Darkwood Forest. Not even Morgaine’s men, at least not alone. Morgaine. The mere thought of that witch made Rand grind his teeth.

  The girl cast worried glances over her shoulder and attempted to spur her mount along, her movements bearing the look of someone in flight. She’s running from something, thought Rand. If she thought to throw her pursuers off track by going down the creek, it wasn’t working, because Rand could hear hoof beats in the distance. Riders were approaching. Soon they rode up right next to him, but he was concealed and they never saw him.

  There were three of them. The red livery identified them as Morgaine’s men. They would be on her in minutes, and she would be back in Morgaine’s clutches for whatever purpose that witch had in mind. Rand didn’t hesitate. He nocked an arrow and loosed it at the trailing rider. It struck and he fell. The other two never noticed. They kept bearing down on the girl. Rand raced through the woods to catch up with the remaining two.

  She tried to spur the horse forward, but she faltered in the creek. The two riders reached her and one tried to grab the reins, but she slashed him across his face with what looked like a switch. He howled a curse and the other one tried to grab her.

  Rand launched himself at the second rider, grabbing him and pulling him off the horse. The soldier gave a surprised yell, but it was cut short by Rand’s slash across his throat with a dagger. The third man looked stunned at what had happened to his partner, then turned around to look behind him. All he saw was the empty horse of the third man.

  “They’re both dead,” snarled the outlaw. With his other hand he had drawn a sword. “Care to try your luck?”

  The third rider eyed the man who had killed two of his party, standing in the creek, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and apparently decided he wanted no part of LaFlors. He turned tail and ran. The outlaw watched him go, then sheathed his weapons and turned around, thinking to secure the girl’s horse.

  The girl had not moved. She appeared stunned, startled by the sudden violence erupting around her. He reached for the reins, but she snapped out of her frozen state, and slashed him right across the cheek with her riding switch.

  “Get away! This is my horse,” she shouted. Then she turned and headed out of the creek and down a trail through the forest.

  Rand put a hand to his cheek where the girl had struck him and watched in stunned amazement as she rode off. Well, she wouldn’t get far. This was his forest.

  * * *

  Juliet rode for what seemed like a long time before she let herself relax and slow down. While she was grateful that this brigand, whoever he was, had come along and saved her from her pursuers, she was not about to be taken prisoner by him. That would be trading one jailer for another. She followed the trail, not knowing where she was headed. Her only thought was to put as much distance as she could between herself and that awful woman.

  Her carefully planned escape had worked. After the close call with the countess and the two Ieryn princes, she had been more careful. She still carried with her the image she could not erase from her mind—the sight of the two village maids used so callously.

  She had bided her time. For days she had waited for the right opportunity. It had finally arrived in the form of a grand ball to be given by the countess. The night of the event, which was attended by a large group of foreigners and their servants, there had been enough general confusion that she had been able to walk into the stables, saddle the horse she had befriended, and ride out.

  There had been considerable risk to the enterprise, she knew. Had she been caught, there was no doubt a severe whipping would have awaited her. Perhaps she would have been given to the trainers. Morgaine seemed fond of administering punishments to the girls who labored in her castle, sometimes for trivial reasons, and escape would surely be considered a major offense. But she had been willing to take that risk in the hopes of ending her nightmare and returning home.

  She made a vow to herself to do something about the evil practices of that awful woman. Her father would never allow them to continue. If only she could convince someone of who she really was, surely they would help her, if for no other reason than the reward that would surely follow. If she could just get word to her father.

  Her father. She feared for him. Something was wrong. This illness of his did not seem natural. She especially mistrusted his high minister, Tomas Cramden. Ever since she had come of age and her beauty had blossomed, he had looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. It was a leer, much like the ones men directed toward voluptuous serving girls. She didn’t like being around him. She wondered if he was planning something, and if it was he who had had her kidnapped to get her out of the way. That thought made her even more anxious.

  Her main problem would be food, and very soon. She was hungry, but she had no idea how to fend for herself in the woods. Meals had always been provided for her by others. She’d had servants, cooks and lackeys, maids and footmen attending to her every need. Now she was alone. She rode on, for hours it seemed, deeper and deeper into the forest, following a faint trail. At one point she came to a fork. One way, which looked more traveled, struck out toward distant hills, the other way continued to follow the creek. She decided that people were more likely to live next to water. She followed the narrower path along the creek.

  She hadn’t been wrong. The path led to a clearing and in it stood a hut. A thin trail of smoke emerged from the chimney. A dwelling with fire inside meant someone lived there. Perhaps there was food.

  Juliet dismounted. T
he clearing and the hut were silent. It did not appear that anyone was around.

  “Hello!” said Juliet. “Is anyone here?” She heard nothing but crickets and the chirping of birds. Satisfied that no one was about, she stole toward the little house, and knocked gently on the door. Dead silence answered her. Still, not a soul around. She pushed the door open. It made a creaking sound, but no one rose up in alarm. She looked in. There was nobody inside.

  It was a tidy one-room hut with a fireplace that smoldered. An iron pot hung there, and from the pot came the smell of something cooking. She lifted the lid. Inside was some sort of stew and it smelled delicious. Her stomach growled. Dare she? Juliet was certainly famished. She could take just a little. Maybe the current resident wouldn’t even notice. She’d eat a little and be on her way. An earthen bowl with a spoon inside sat on a crude table. Juliet scooped out some of the stew and sat down to eat. It was delicious. Potatoes and carrots swam in some kind of broth that tasted like venison. Juliet was so preoccupied with wolfing down the stew that she never heard the door open, nor saw the two people who entered the hut.

  “See? I told you a thief had come to my dwelling. I saw her go in. And here she is, stealing my food.”

  Juliet jumped. She jerked her head toward the sound. Standing in the doorway was an old woman and someone else. The brigand from the road.

  “Well,” said the outlaw, or whatever he was. “I see we meet again.” He put his hands on his hips and regarded her with a sardonic smile.

  “You know this girl?” said the old woman.

  The brigand nodded. “Yes, Mother Theda, we’ve met, after a fashion.”

  Juliet now had time to get a good look at the man. He was tall and lithe with light sand-colored hair that fell to his shoulders. Intense grey eyes bore into hers and she shivered. He had no beard, but his chin bore some short blond stubble, as though he hacked off his facial hair every few days or so. The man wore the simple clothing of a huntsman, all browns and green. He carried a sword in a side scabbard, and a longbow was slung over his back. His face was thin, but fair to look on, with a hawkish nose and a strong jaw. Juliet decided instantly that although he was rough looking, he was handsome. And that gaze of his was disconcerting.

  “Well, the nerve of her. Stealing food from an old woman. She should be soundly thrashed.” The woman emphasized this last statement with a thump of her walking stick.

  At the same time Juliet noticed the woman eyeing her curiously, as if she were trying to remember something. The woman cocked her head and seemed about to speak, as if she remembered something, when the outlaw spoke.

  “Just a minute, mother. Before we commence with the whipping, let’s find out who she is.” His dry tone suggested he was humoring the old woman. He turned to Juliet and said, “And just who are you, girl? And I might add, where did you get that horse?”

  This was her chance. Juliet drew herself up and said with as much authority as she could muster, “I’m Princess Juliet Greystone of the kingdom of Westvale. King Robert Greystone is my father and I demand that you take me to him at once.”

  The brigand shook his head. “Well, there you have it, mother. She’s a princess.”

  The woman cocked her head and squinted at the girl. She seemed less angry now, and now stared intently at Juliet, as if trying to place her. “Rand, you must do something.”

  “I intend to, Mother Theda. But first, let’s find out who she really is.”

  Juliet stamped her foot. “I just told you. I’m Princess Juliet Greystone.”

  Rand LaFlors started toward the girl, who stood there defiantly at first then started to back up.

  “Forgive me, your highness,” said Rand with a bit of sarcasm, “but I find that highly unlikely. My sources tell me that Princess Juliet is alive and well, living at Greystone Castle.”

  “But that’s impossible. I’m right here, standing before you. Is this place not within the boundaries of Westvale?”

  “That it is, your highness. You are in Darkwood Forest on the western boundary, but then again, being the princess, you should know that.”

  “I was abducted! Abducted and brought here in a wagon. They made me sleepy. I did not know where I was. There was a castle—I was a prisoner of this horrible woman. So I escaped. Now take me home,” Juliet stamped her foot again and folded her arms across her chest, “or my father will have your head on a spike.”

  Rand’s eyes narrowed. “I do not take kindly to threats, especially from a village girl who should know better.”

  “The girl perhaps meant no harm,” said the old woman. “This young woman looks familiar…” Mother Theda let her thought trail off as she tried to remember. Then she shook her head, as if the memory wouldn’t come. “Still, someone should teach her not to steal from a helpless woman and to hold her tongue. You could take her to the village and turn her over to the constable, but he might place her in the village stocks and apply the lash.”

  “That might be a bit extreme, Mother Theda, but I agree, chastisement is warranted.” To Juliet he said, “You broke into the home of the woman who prepares medicines and healing herbs for my people, and you ate her supper.”

  “I… I didn’t know. I was hungry. But—but she is my subject and I am royalty,” said Juliet with a stammer, recovering some composure.

  “Well, princess, I think it’s time you saw how the common folk live. When they misbehave like you are doing, they are punished.” Rand looked at the old woman. “Mother Theda, with your permission?”

  “What are you going to do to her?” said Theda.

  “Nothing as drastic as a village flogging. I think a good, sound spanking will do,” said Rand, advancing on the girl.

  “Don’t you dare!” screamed Juliet, back-pedaling to place herself out of reach of the determined outlaw.

  But it was too late. The outlaw moved faster than Juliet believed possible and grabbed her wrist. She felt herself being tugged forward as the man made for a chair that he jerked away from the table with one hand. With the other, he held onto her wrist. Once seated, he toppled her across his lap.

  Juliet fell forward, the earthen floor rushing toward her face. Miraculously, her fall was arrested before her nose touched the floor. Juliet panicked. She hadn’t been in this position since her mother had disciplined her years ago for some bit of impertinence. It was a helpless feeling, and Juliet felt mortified beyond belief. That a commoner, probably an outlaw, would do this to her, a royal princess, was unthinkable. But it was happening. And her mortification was just beginning. To her horror, she felt him lifting her skirt. The hem slid slowly up the backs of her legs until her drawers were exposed.

  It was absolutely humiliating that a man should see her thus. But it was not over. Her mouth flew open in shock and she squealed at the indignity as she felt the awful man yank her drawers down, baring her bottom. A soft breeze caressed the denuded cheeks, and she blushed furiously, now totally humiliated. Another shock hit her system when she felt the outlaw’s palm touch her, patting her bottom casually. It sent a cold chill up her spine and she wriggled anew, protesting vociferously.

  “Let me go! You have no right! I’m a royal princess!” Juliet kicked with all her might, but the outlaw held her across his knee with a steely grip.

  “Now, princess. I’ll have a few answers. Who are you and what are you doing in my forest?”

  “I’m a royal princess of Westvale. Release me at once!”

  “All right, your highness. Have it your way.” Rand raised his arm and placed a hard spank square across the girl’s bottom. The sharp crack resounded in the dry enclosed space of the hut.

  “Ow!” cried Juliet. But she barely had time to register the shock because a volley of brisk spanks followed that had her wriggling and kicking. The steady smacks from the outlaw’s rough palm stung her bare cheeks, raising the heat in her flesh. At first it was a tingle. Then it felt warm. But as the barrage of hearty spanks piled one on top of another, her bottom began to feel uncomfortabl
y hot, as though she had backed too close to a stove.

  Then the sensation drifted toward unbearable. The steady smack-smack-smack of the outlaw’s palm striking her wobbly bottom filled the confines of the hut. Juliet squealed. She pounded her fists on the dirt floor. She arched her back and squirmed furiously. Nothing helped halt the fiery blaze engulfing her bottom. He was spanking her on alternate cheeks, then sometimes right across the middle. He was relentless. After a while it all just spread to a scorching blaze in her behind that finally overwhelmed her.

  Juliet broke down sobbing. “Stop! Stop! Please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to steal anything,” she blubbered. The spanking stopped while the man rested his hand on her bare seat. To Juliet her backside felt like it glowed like an iron in a fire.

  “So I’ll ask again. Who are you?”

  “I told you,” she sobbed. “Juliet Greystone.”

  Rand sighed. “All right. I can keep this up all afternoon.” And he raised his hand to resume the punishment.

  “Wait,” said the woman. Juliet raised her head and saw that curious look on the woman’s face again, as if she had remembered something. “I think she’s had enough.”

  “As you wish, Mother Theda.” The outlaw helped Juliet to her feet. He addressed the blushing girl. “You, stand over there. Face the wall and keep your skirt up while we talk about what to do with you. Go!” he said, sending her on her way with a hearty smack that made her squeal.

  Juliet stood facing the wall of the hut. Her bottom burned and she felt utterly shattered. It was doubly humiliating for her to have to keep her skirts up, displaying her bare nether cheeks to this pair while they discussed her fate.

  “I suppose I could take her in,” said the woman, “at least until we can find her people.”

  Rand scowled. “She’s a village girl, obviously, but she was on the run from the red countess. It was Morgaine’s men I fought several miles back. No doubt this one was abducted by the countess’s men. But I can’t understand her insistence on this wild story that she’s a princess.”