King Dom Comes (9 page)

Sudden
guilt struck her in how she had spoken to both the peasant pirate and chamber
maid in a haughty display of poor manners. King Malkai would have been both
ashamed and angered by her behavior. He had always spoken firmly about honoring
those who serve nobility for, one day, they could rise up and remove a king, or
queen, from the throne. She shuddered, remembering the feel of his hardened
palm as it landed across her bottom the last time he had disciplined her. She
had hated that feeling; the disappointment that had come from him, and the
humiliation that it brought to her. She missed the man greatly, and knew that
he would want her to make immediate amends for her demeaning attitude.

After
quickly brushing her hair with her ivory comb and soothing her distressed
spirit, she braided it over one shoulder and viewed herself in the polished
metal plate with a sigh. Her long, red hair and freckled complexion would stand
out like a conflagration among these pale skinned, fair-haired people.

"Yes?"
she called, at the knock upon her door.

"Mistress
McCleary, your carriage awaits," a man's heavily accented voice called.
"Are you ready yet?"

"Aye.
Why must we leave so early? The sun has barely risen in the sky," Shannon
asked, inviting him in.

"We
wish to make haste to our first camp before nightfall, Mistress," the
knight answered. "We can rest then."

Shannon
gathered her travel bag and rummaged through her small, personal items, which
included her ivory comb, shawl, christening spoon, feeding knife, mending kit,
a candle stub, and a pouch of herbs and spices. She frowned, pulling a swatch
of white, silk cloth from the bag. She unfolded it and placed her hands over
her mouth. Upon it was an embroidered map of Ireland and Eastern Europe, and
the route of travel was outlined with gold. How had it got there?

She
weighed the fabric in her hands, stunned by the softness and attention to
detail in the images. Needlework was not her forte, but she could appreciate
the skilled hand that had sewn this map. Looking closely, she noticed tiny
pearls sewn along the route. Were these to be her resting spots? Why would he
want her to know where she would be at all times? Was this a gift or a warning?

Marta
stood waiting at the carriage with a basket of food and a jug of wine. She
curtsied. "Your dress, hat, slippers and surcote have been beaten clean of
dust and packed in your trunks. His Majesty stated that he will spare you the
burden of wearing uncomfortable clothing for this journey, but to be prepared
to adorn yourself as a proper lady should upon your arrival."

Annoyance
flickered across Shannon's brow. She had had enough of the messages, and
immediately forgot her intent to make restitution with the girl. "He said
that, did he? Doesn't it disturb you to know you are nothing but a parrot to
him? When you speak to him next, you can tell him to kiss my arse,"
Shannon said loudly, ensuring that the ten knighted men of her escort heard
every word. "You may also tell the fool that I will dress as I please, I
will do as I please, and if he wishes to question me, he may do so
himself."

"Please,
Mistress, do not speak thusly!"

The
wind picked up as Shannon looked angrily at the simpering woman. "I will
not be dictated to by anyone, especially one too cowardly to show his face. You
may tell him that as well, since he seems to speak to you and no one else. You
can also inform him that when he grows a cock big enough to be known as a man,
he may approach me as his father did. On his knee."

Marta's
face paled as the sound of thunder roared overhead. "He said that I was to
accompany you."

"And
I said you are not. I have no patience for being swaddled like an infant in
either clothing or in words. Be gone with you, girl."

A
crack of lightning raged across the sky. Shannon's hair lifted around her face
as she stared at the terrified maid. Before another rumble was heard, Marta
handed Shannon the basket and ran into the inn as fast as her feet could carry
her. The sound of clucking behind her caused Shannon to investigate its origin.

"Do
you make a habit of frightening ignorant maids, Mistress McCleary?"

Shannon
glared at the man who was perched atop a dark brown horse. His eyes were dark
with annoyance, and the backdrop of ominous storm clouds added menace to his
handsome, lightly bearded face. She scanned the rest of him, mildly surprised
to notice a billowing black shirt covering his wide chest, and that his feet
were shod with long riding boots.

"Do
you make a habit of asking ridiculous questions, Master Moarte?"

"I
do. Why do you speak to that girl in that manner?"

"I
have no patience for dictators or those who represent them."

"Are
you suggesting the maid is attempting to be an authority over you?" he
asked.

"I
am suggesting that she is using words that she allegedly received from my
future husband in order to insinuate herself. In addition, she has made some
inappropriate comments that I do not take kindly to. I have little patience for
personal intrusion."

"I
harbor the same complaints, Mistress."

"What
of you? Have you become a land pirate now, Master Moarte?"

Dom
laughed, slipping off the horse and catching her hand. He kissed the back and
bowed. "That I am. I informed you that I would accompany you on the
journey back to my homeland."

"And
I informed you that I do not think that the king would approve of such an
escort."

"What
the king doesn't know will not hurt me. Or you. I do not, however, think he
would take kindly to how you speak to others, or the things you say about
him."

"Are
you telling me that you know him as well?"

"We
are very close, he and I," Dom said, with twinkling eyes.

"Did
he send you to spy upon me?" She stepped back, her eyes flashing with
anger. "A true man would have come himself and seen his betrothed first
hand."

"Ah,
yes," Dom chuckled. "But a wise man would send a friend, so that the
truth would not be diluted or swayed. I lead this journey in his name."

"An
honorable man would have led this expedition himself. Your king is a
swag-bellied, dimple-arsed, craven halfwit fool."

"Careful,
lass," Dom said in a low voice, "There are many here who would kill
you for those words. You ought to behave as though he is always in your
presence. View me as his representative."

"His
representative? Very well. Let him know that this is my response to his
cowardice and foolery," Shannon said, slapping her palm as harshly against
his cheek as possible.

Dom's
eyes widened, and then narrowed. He held his hand up to the armored men who had
drawn broadswords. "Why did you strike me, woman?"

"Because,
as the king's representative, I hold you responsible for my discomfort,
starting with assigning that simpering buffoon of a maid to try to frighten
me."

"Discomfort,
my lady, comes in many forms. Starting with this!"

Shannon
screeched as Dom quickly laid her over his outstretched leg and lifted her
skirts. He ordered the men to turn their backs and act as a barrier to prying
eyes as he, still standing, bared her pale backside right there in the middle
of the street. A shaft of early morning sunlight escaped through the dark
clouds and glowed upon her bottom, pinpointing the region of chastisement.

"Release
me this instant!" Shannon ordered, struggling against his iron hold.
"I warn you…"

"I
do not fear your warnings, good woman. But I do fear your temper. You shall
learn to mind your manners and exercise restraint in your words," Dom said
firmly, splattering his hard hand across the jiggling cheeks of her soft
posterior. "Nor will you ever raise your hand to me again, young woman.
Never! Apologize, or I shall continue with this thrashing."

"I
shall do no such thing!" Shannon shouted.

His
hand smacked effortlessly against her tender, young flesh and sent a scorching
burn through her nether parts. Shannon's fight against her tears failed. Yet,
so great was her pride that she refused to utter an intelligible word. She sank
her teeth into his side instead.

"Guardsman!
Hand me a plank from the wood pile!" Dom commanded, shifting his position
to sit upon the steps of the Golden Herring. Shannon caught the ground with her
hands, her flailing legs wildly exhibiting her hidden valleys. She felt the
cold, damp wood being laid across her buttocks.

"I
ask you again, Mistress McCleary. Do you choose to apologize, or receive a
paddling?"

"I
will never apologize to the likes of you," Shannon hissed. "Touch me
and you will die!"

"I
think not, dear lady."

Shannon
gasped, arching her back as the plank landed cleanly against her skin. She
tried to release a scream, only to find it caught mutely in her throat. She
struggled wildly against the clapping wood slate that threatened to forever
tenderize her bottom.

"No!"
she cried out. "I beg of you to stop!"

"Apologize."

Shannon
sobbed, unable to bring forth her banshee cry against him. Why could she not
protect herself from the cruelty of his punishment?

"I
beg you. Please." Shannon's frantic kicking began to slow. "I
apologize. Please, no more."

"There,
now that was not difficult, was it?" Dom asked, tossing the plank aside.
He adjusted her braies and chemise to cover her smoldering bottom and smoothed
down her skirt over the undergarments. He grabbed the underside of her upper
arm and pulled her to stand before him. "Should you display anymore bouts
of temper, high-handedness, or slap me again, I will use a set of reins upon
your backside. Am I understood, woman?"

Shannon
nodded, staring at the ground. She resisted the firm hand that lifted her face.
"Do not struggle against me. I am here to protect you. My impression of
you is something that the kingdom will consider when it weds you."

"I
am marrying the king, not the kingdom," Shannon sniffed, still looking
down.

"Lift
your eyes to me, lass. When you marry a king, you marry his land, his subjects,
his family and his politics. I will groom you for your place as queen during
this journey. During that time, you will learn how to please your husband and
your people."

Shannon's
eyes widened with fear. Did he intend to take her womanhood as well as her
dignity? His hand stroked her face. "I see that look in your eyes. I will
not be forcing myself upon you. You will remain unsullied until your wedding
day, but we will be making several stops along the way for lessons. Have you
questions?"

"I
have many, but ones that you cannot answer," Shannon pouted.

"In
time, then. I ask you this," Dom stood up and smoothed her tousled braid.
"Do you wish to take Marta with us as your handmaiden?"

"I
do not. Her fear of the king annoys me, as does her ignorance."

"You
have chosen then. I hope you will not regret it. Prepare to depart," he
called to the soldiers. Shannon watched the men resume their positions on their
horses and the carriage, grateful that none tried to make eye contact with her.

"I
have chosen what, Master Moarte?"

"Call
me Dom, if you please," Dom said, hoisting himself onto the back of his
horse.

"Dom.
What is it I have chosen?"

"You
have refused a handmaiden. That simply means," he waved to the footman to
help her into the carriage, "that you will receive my assistance instead.
From this moment on, I alone will be responsible for all your personal
needs."

"What?
No!" Shannon shouted. The carriage door shut abruptly in her face. Dom was
to be her handmaiden? Such a thing was unheard of! A keening like a cold night
wind rose in her throat, and she released her wail within the carriage walls.
Dom Moarte would pay for her humiliation one way or another!

"That
be a banshee cry, Your Grace," a guard whispered to the stoic man.

"Aye,
it is. But fear not," Dom patted his shoulder, "it is not aimed at
anyone, nor can she harm you or any of the men unless you threaten her life.
Right now, she cries for herself and her tender bottom."

"Is
she truly a witch, Sire?"

"I
know that not," Dom sighed. "But if she is, I promise to teach her
how to use her gifts to help, not harm."

"What
of you? If she turns her cry upon your blood, she can kill you."

"She
cannot. Please gather the men away from the carriage, so that I might explain
outside her hearing. My father told this to me," Dom said, from atop his
horse. "The banshee of her clan cannot destroy those who mean her no harm.
Nature will not permit it. As long as you are loyal to the crown and seek no
injury to either me or our country, you will be safe."

"How
would being loyal to you protect us from that?" a man asked, rubbing his
skull as Shannon's cries began to cause them headaches.