The Knight's Prisoner: A Medieval Romance (Medieval Discipline Book 1) Read online

  “I had a dream this morning—but it was not a dream.” The prince merely nodded, and she was grateful he didn't require an explanation she could not provide. “I saw myself admitted to Camelot, to, ah… pleasure the king.”

  The prince raised his eyebrows.

  “I had a needle hidden in my braid, and I pricked him with it.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “I don't know,” she admitted. “That's all I saw. My sense was there was some kind of poison on the needle, though I know not what.”

  The prince nodded slowly and was quiet for a long moment. “I know of a poison that could kill with even such a tiny dose,” he said at last. He looked at her, conflict flickering on his face. Finally he sighed, as if defeated. “Ferrum will not allow it.”

  She felt a stab of anxiety. She had to do this—it was the only way to save Ferrum. “But you are the prince.”

  He hesitated again, then shook his head sadly. “I won't go around him.”

  “Won't go around him for what?” Ferrum asked in a dangerous voice.

  She jumped and turned around in dismay, cursing his ability to move so stealthily he'd entered undetected. His expression was stormy.

  She found she couldn't speak. She looked to the prince, who hesitated, looking back at her. He clearly didn't want to speak it either.

  “Ferrum won't allow what?”

  Her mouth was dry, and she still couldn't speak. He was going to see this as another betrayal. And what's more, he would stop her from doing what she'd seen she must do.

  “Danewyn has been shown a way to defeat Benton and win the throne,” the prince said carefully.

  Ferrum looked from one to the other suspiciously. “What is it?”

  The prince hesitated and looked at her. She drew in a deep breath. “I saw myself killing him.”

  Ferrum's eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “With poison on a needle that I hid in my hair.”

  Ferrum stared at her, comprehension turning his face even stonier, if that were possible. “How did you get near him?” he asked, though he looked as though he'd already guessed it.

  She swallowed. “I was allowed into Camelot as a…”

  Ferrum nodded grimly. “I see.” He looked from one to the other of them and then turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber. She stood up to follow, but the prince grabbed her elbow.

  “Nay. If he leaves, it means he's too angry to speak. Let him go.”

  “I have to do this,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice.

  The prince nodded. “Aye.”

  She looked at him, surprised he'd agreed. “So you will help me?”

  He nodded slowly. “I will try to help with Ferrum.”

  She blew her breath out in exasperation. “And if Ferrum will not agree?” she demanded, knowing full well he would not. “You both will die! I have seen it.”

  The prince nodded slowly. “Aye. But I would rather face death than betray my brother.”

  “I would rather have him alive and betrayed then dead!” she snapped.

  The prince held up a placating hand and nodded. “We'll work on Ferrum—when he has cooled down. Let him burn it off for a while, then we'll try again.”

  She watched Ferrum from the castle window. He spent the entire day working on repairing the stone wall. By late afternoon, the prince sent for her. “Go and talk to him now.”

  She nodded silently and set off for the castle wall with grim determination.

  Ferrum had his shirt off, his huge muscles rippling as he moved the big rocks. She knew he felt her approach, but he ignored her.

  “Ferrum.”

  He did not stop or acknowledge her in any way.

  “Ferrum!” she shouted.

  He continued moving the rocks.

  “Will you stop? Look at me! I haven't even done it, yet,” she pleaded. “You can't be angry with me for talking about doing something.”

  “Talking with Phillip. Not me,” he gritted, still working.

  The knot in her belly tightened with guilt. He was right—it was a betrayal in itself. “I'm sorry for that.”

  “You wanted to do it—behind my back.”

  “Aye, because I knew you wouldn't hear of it.”

  He stopped his work and whirled on her. “And you wonder why I'm angry?” he snarled.

  She pushed on, despite his fury. “But it must be done, Ferrum,” she said. “And I will do it—with or without your permission.”

  “You will not!” he thundered.

  Her body went weak with instinctive submission, and she stumbled back from him, blinking back the tears springing into her eyes. “Ferrum, I did not give my heart to you—nay, my life to you—just to watch you die.” Her voice cracked on the last words as she stood there, begging with her eyes that he understand, that he allow her to do what must be done.

  He must have seen her desperation, because his face softened, slowly. He sat down on a large stone and considered her. She took a step forward, then stopped, unsure, until he lifted his head and opened his arms to her. She ran into them with a sob in her throat, burying her fingers in his hair, clutching his huge head to her chest.

  “You love me,” he said, as if reassuring himself.

  “Aye, Ferrum. You are everything to me.” The scarred side of his face was angled out, and she rubbed her palm up and down it. He pulled away abruptly, but she followed, aggressively maintaining her hand on it.

  “Mine.”

  He looked up at her, startled, and she saw an intense neediness in his eyes. She pulled his face against her breasts, blinking tears. He squeezed her tightly for a long time, saying nothing more.

  After a while she asked, “Will you let me go, Ferrum?”

  He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer, but at last, he spoke. “Aye,” he said heavily. “I must.”

  She pulled away to look at him with relief. “Truly? You will allow it?”

  He looked sad. “If you were shown it, it must be the answer. I trust in your gift, Dani.”

  “Though not in me,” she said sadly. “Are you still angry?”

  He nodded slowly. “A bit. I'm going to punish you, little flower.”

  Her insides dropped at the same time her sex contracted.

  “Do you want it now or after supper?”

  Fear was already starting to course through her—she remembered the harshness of the punishment he'd given her for running away, and she had a feeling this one might be as severe. She chewed her lip. “Now,” she managed to say.

  He felt Dani's hand trembling in his as they walked back to the castle. He gave it a squeeze. When he'd said he was going to punish her, he'd expected her to protest, or to appeal to him sexually, but she was completely submissive. Like the pages, who knew when a 'no' had wiggle-room and when it was firm, she seemed to have a perfect sense for when he really meant a punishment and when he was just putting her in her place. Her submission helped him to feel stronger about letting her go to Camelot.

  But he hated it. Her life would be in horrible danger, for one thing. For another—ugh—the idea of her giving herself to another man made him want to tear a tree out by its roots. But Phillip believed in her ability as a Seer, and she had never failed them with her Sight. So he must believe that if she was given this vision, it was for the good of Briton.

  In their chamber he took off his sword belt and dropped the scabbards from it before he sat upon the bed. “Come here.”

  She came and stood between his legs. He looked up at her seriously. “You promised me you wouldn't let another man touch you.”

  “I know but—”

  He held up his hand. “You don't make decisions without me, Dani.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered remorsefully.

  “And don't ever try to go around me like that again.”

  “I'm sorry, Ferrum.”

  He tugged on her skirt. “Take this off.”

  Again, she obeyed without any re
sistance, removing her outer dress and the shift as well. His breath caught in his throat with a painful sort of squeezing. She was so exquisitely beautiful. And he did not want King Benton to see what he was admiring. He swallowed.

  When she returned to stand before him once more, her eyes did not quite meet his, hovering somewhere on his chin before flicking to the belt he'd laid beside him on the bed. He did not prolong her discomfort, pulling her down across his lap with her torso resting on the bed. Her body felt chilled to him, but he imagined she'd be sweating soon, so he didn't offer her a cover. He began spanking with his hand—he wanted to be sure there was no anger left in him before he picked up the belt. Already most of his ire had drained away just watching her humility as she'd undressed and submitted for her spanking.

  He loved her. He felt it so strongly, even as he spanked away, turning her pale skin to pink and then red. The way she'd held his scarred face and called it hers had un-dammed some part of him. All his emotions were swirling now—the state of grace at being loved by someone, his fears and jealousy around her mission, and the remaining hurt that she had meant to betray him—to go behind his back and offer her body up to the King. The grief over the Duke's death was still there too.

  Dani was weeping, and though she'd taken the initial stage of the spanking well, she was starting to wriggle around so that he needed to scissor her legs between his to keep her from kicking. He paused and rubbed her flaming bottom. With his other hand he stroked her back and found, as he'd suspected, a sheen of sweat was forming. He picked up the belt and doubled it, bringing it smartly down across the middle of her reddened cheeks. She screamed into the blankets. He continued to strap her, and she thrashed around frantically, reaching back with her hand and trying to buck off him. It seemed more panic than disobedience, and he was torn between giving her a break and hurrying to get it over with. He opted for a break and pulled her up to stand in front of him, cupping and rubbing her hot bottom. She was crying, and she did not meet his eyes, staring fixedly at his tunic instead.

  He stroked her thigh. “You're taking your punishment well, Dani,” he soothed her. “Go and stand in the corner for a rest.”

  She met his eye then. “Stand in the corner?” she asked incredulously through her tears.

  All he had to do was raise his eyebrows, and she dropped her chin and went promptly to the corner. She rubbed her bottom and leaned her forehead against the wall, her shoulders hunching as she cried. It pained him to see her that way—he wished he'd just finished it. He gave her a few moments before he called her back, and the fear in her face as she approached was pure agony. He stroked her thigh again. “It's almost over.”

  She nodded tearfully, and he pulled her back across his lap and picked up the belt. He strapped down her bottom and back up again, watching as the welts rose. He gave her another ten to make it memorable and then tossed the belt on the ground. “I'm finished,” he said and lifted her off his lap and into his arms, walking around the other side to pull back the covers and lay her down. Then he pulled off his boots and laid next to her, taking her into his arms and stroking her back and her hair. “I love you, little flower,” he said.

  “Oh, Ferrum,” she sobbed into his chest.

  “Dani, my love. My little flower.”

  He held her until she fell asleep and then slipped out to let Phillip know he had agreed to the poisoned needle plan. He brought supper back to their room and woke her, feeding her in bed, before he curled his body around hers and held her as she fell back to sleep.

  Phillip left most of his troops in Umbria to defend it, riding out with only twenty men. It would be easier to blend in that way, and stealth was of the utmost importance. They camped on the outskirts of Camelot, safely hidden in the forest. She changed into a fine green silk gown Phillip had found for her in Umbria, and she'd made a wreath of honeysuckle for her hair.

  Ferrum had sharpened two bone needles to the finest points, and Phillip's page Edwin dipped them in poison. Ferrum tried to hide them in her braid, but his fingers were too large. “Let me,” she said, holding out her hand. “'Tis better I do it so I know how they lie and which end to grasp.” She tucked them into her hair.

  Ferrum wouldn't look at her—he'd been quiet for the entire journey.

  “We'll send Edwin as your escort,” Phillip said. “They won't be threatened by him because he's just a boy, but Ferrum's trained him his whole life. He's as lethal as any of my men.”

  She looked at Edwin, and he lifted his chest, looking quite honored at being her protector.

  “How do you suppose you'll get in?” Phillip asked.

  She pressed her lips together. “I'm not sure. I imagine I just go knock on the gates and offer my services.”

  “Not to anyone but the king!” Ferrum snarled, taking everyone aback.

  She flushed. Did he think whores get to pick and choose their customers? “I'll do my best,” she muttered. Edwin looked at her sympathetically.

  “Well, I supposed this is it,” she said nervously, looking at Ferrum, who was still avoiding her eyes.

  “Fare thee well,” the prince said, clasping both her hands in his own. He did the same to Edwin. She turned to Ferrum, who cupped her head in his hands with an intensity bordering on violence. “Be. Careful.”

  “I will,” she assured him. “I promise.”

  He nodded grimly. “We'll be right here, waiting for you. If it seems like there's going to be trouble, just leave. Better you get away alive than complete your mission.”

  She nodded and kissed his hands. “I'll be back soon.”

  She was wondering what exactly she would say when they got to the gates, but Edwin surprised her by taking charge. “I've brought my sister here, to entertain the king,” he said, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

  The guards chuckled. “That so? She doesn't look much like your sister.”

  Edwin smirked. “We're not blooded. All the better for me, if you know what I mean.”

  She had to hide her shock—she'd had no idea the polite young page could talk like a tavern boy.

  The guards opened the gate. “Go on in and ask for Sir Andrew. He'll tell you if the king wants entertaining or not.”

  “Thank you,” Edwin said and gestured cockily for her to precede him.

  They found Sir Andrew easily enough, and he did seem interested. He fingered her braid like she was a horse for sale, twirling it around his fingers and bringing the tail of it up to tickle his cheek. “I'll have to test the wares first,” he said to Edwin.

  To Edwin's credit he did not show any discomfort with the suggestion at all. “Of course, my lord. But if you don't mind the request, I'd prefer if it were only you. She gets tired easily, and I don't want her to lose her stamina for the king.” He gave a bawdy wink and once again, she found herself surprised at this hidden layer to the young page.

  “Right, right, I understand. And what do you charge?”

  They haggled over price a bit, with Edwin emphasizing her beauty and skills. She was shocked at the amount he was able to charge for her—if she'd had a handler like him in London, she'd have been rich.

  Sir Andrew was easy to service—she sucked his cock and was done with it. Then he left her in an empty chamber and told her to wait. She waited for a long time and then began to grow nervous. She opened the door and was relieved to see Edwin was stationed right outside it. “All right, my lady?”

  She smiled—she was not accustomed to being called a lady. “Everything's fine. Do you wish to come in here and wait with me?”

  He shrugged. “Do you wish it?”

  She nodded and held open the door. Edwin came in and sat on the floor in a subservient position. She sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I'm sorry I didn't help you that night in the prince's tent,” Edwin offered.

  She smiled at his sweetness. “Nay, Edwin, you did right. You trusted your master, and he had a good reason for his actions—at least he thought so,” she said wryly. Edwin grinned at
her.

  “Ferrum loves you… fiercely,” he said.

  She smiled. It relieved her somewhat to discuss Ferrum here. “Ferrum does most everything fiercely.”

  Edwin's grin stretched into the bawdy smile she'd seen with the guards. “So I hear,” he said, and she almost giggled.

  They spent the evening in the room together, waiting, growing hungry, and trying not to grow anxious. At last the door opened, and a guard shouted, “Comes the king!” as a short, portly man entered. There was no doubt, with the way he carried himself, that he was the king. She and Edwin leaped to their feet, and she curtsied deeply while Edwin bowed.

  “Wait outside,” he dismissed Edwin with a wave of his hand.

  Her heart was pounding, but she pasted on a lascivious smile.

  “Unwind your hair,” he commanded, and she stopped breathing, even as her fingers went to the thread holding the braid to unwind it. Shite. What was she going to do? She unbraided it slowly, attempting to look seductive as her mind whirled. She would stick the needles into her dress—nay, her clothes would surely come off. Into the bedding, then. She went to the bed and crawled on it with what she hoped looked like an invitation, praying he wouldn't be angry she had moved without being bidden. She finished unwinding the braid and held the two needles carefully in one hand, which she let stroke down the length of her hair and then drop to the bed, where she plunged them into the bedding. Then she began to untie her bodice, giving the King her best bedroom eyes.

  He watched her, arrogance twisting his lips into a sneering smile. “Nay, you'll start on your knees, whore,” he said. She obeyed, getting off the bed and kneeling before him, freeing his cock from his leggings and taking it into her mouth. She prayed he would want more than this, because the needles were in the bed, nowhere near her grasp now. She brought him right to the point of climax and then released his cock from her mouth, crawling up on the bed and looking over her shoulder playfully and waiting with held breath. Please let him follow.

  He slapped her ass, but to her relief, followed her up onto the bed. Unfortunately, he caught her hips while she was still crawling, and entered her from behind. She could reach the needles, but with him behind her, there was no way she would be able to poke him. She reached for a needle, just in case—she could always stick it back into the mattress if need be. She gave him no encouragement in this position—just held still while he drove into her, hoping he would lose interest and require a different position. It seemed to work, and after a while, he grunted and pulled out. She immediately dropped to her side and rolled to her back, parting her legs and arching for him.