The Knight's Prisoner (3 page)

She was brought into the Prince's tent in the morning after breaking fast. He was standing the way he'd been the last time—staring at maps on a makeshift table. He waved to the stool again. She sat, feeling nervous about interacting with this intense man. He pulled up a stool next to her. Ferrum settled in his same position against the wall of the tent, arms folded.

“I wish to use your Sight, Danewyn.”

She nodded. She truly had no objection to using her Sight if it could help. She was no friend to the king, not that she believed the Red Fox would be the savior everyone seemed to imagine he would be. Although, now that she'd met him, mayhap she did believe it. There was certainly something special about him.

“I want to know if King Benton knows—I mean believes—that I exist.”

She felt into the question and felt a clear answer. “Yes, my lord.”

“Does he know I am organizing an army?”

Again, she listened to the space inside the question for her answer. “He has heard rumor of it, my lord.”

“But does he believe that rumor?”

She did not hear a clear answer to that. She shrugged. “I cannot say.”

“Does that mean he is not sure?”

She felt again. “Aye, my lord.”

The Prince glanced at Ferrum and rubbed his beard.

“What else?” He sat back and crossed an ankle over his other knee. “Will I win the throne?”

She got the same prickling of the skin on her arms. She swallowed. “I have already said so, my lord,” she said.

Again, he did not fail to notice the change in her skin. He ran his finger over her arm as he had the last time. “I know, I'm sorry. I just liked your answer so well the first time, I wished to hear it again,” he said, and she couldn't help but smile.

He was a very disarming man. Mayhap it was his humility that made her bold. “What would happen if I just chose not to answer your questions?”

The Prince made a sudden move, and she flinched, expecting a blow. Ferrum lunged forward at the same moment, then checked himself. As it turned out, the Prince had merely been reaching for his eating knife, which he lifted to his teeth to pick a bit of meat out as he gave a hard look at Ferrum. She tried to decipher the meaning of the look. It looked… accusatory. And Ferrum looked guilty. She replayed the moment and realized if Ferrum had lunged, it had not been to protect his prince, for surely he required no protection from her. So it had been to protect her from the Prince. And that was probably considered treasonous.

After Ferrum had lowered his eyes guiltily, the Prince turned his steely gaze on her. “What do you think is the answer to that question?” he asked icily.

She swallowed.

“Answer me.” There was not a hint of softness in the man now, and she shivered at the implied danger in his voice.

“I-I don't know.”

“Make a guess.”

“I respectfully withdraw my question, my lord.”

“Ah,” he said with a note of “of course you do.”

“Does Benton know where to find us?”

She shook her head, still feeling chilled from their interaction.

“Is he mounting a campaign against us?”

She listened. She wasn't sure of the answer. “I'm not sure.”

The Prince's eyes narrowed. “Why aren't you sure, Danewyn?”

She swallowed and shrugged. “I just can't tell. Mayhap because you scared me just now.”

The Prince uncrossed his legs and sat forward on the stool, grasping her jaw in his hand. Her heart beat rapidly in its cage, but she met his gaze steadily. If he truly was able to tell truth from lies, he would know she spoke the truth. He released her face and sat back again.

She blew out her breath.

“You were afraid last night.”

“Aye.” She felt overwhelmed, suddenly, with the questioning. The truth was, she didn't know how to control the Sight. She didn't know what made it clearer or what made it disappear altogether. And no one had ever demanded she be able use it upon command before. A single tear escaped from the center of her eye and skated down her cheek.

The Prince reached for her face again, this time his touch gentle. He thumbed away the tear and then kept him thumb there, rubbing her cheek. His tenderness made her lose composure completely, and both eyes filled with tears, which started spilling immediately, wetting her trembling lips. He released her as she pulled away, and she dashed at her tears with the backs of her hands.

“You're dismissed,” the Prince said softly.

Ferrum took hold of the nape of her neck when she met him at the tent door, and his large hand offered her comfort, even as it directed. She liked the feel of it—heavy and secure. Warm. Gentle, even with its massive size and power.

He led her through the camp on what seemed to be his morning rounds—checking in on the men and giving orders for the day. The men were curious about her, staring openly and leeringly, like customers in her tavern. Sir Ferrum introduced her every time as the Prince's Royal Seer, a title that made her uncomfortable, and not only because she had no intention of staying. She had always hidden her Sight, fearing negative attention. It was not something she would ever claim or flaunt, particularly because she had no idea how to be a Royal Seer or any such thing.

“Nay, Sir Ferrum, you jest. I heard she's a light-skirt from the tavern,” one of the men said.

“I heard you banged her in the back and then liked her so well you threw her over your shoulder and carried her to camp!” another man called out. The men roared in laughter.

Ferrum glowered. “Watch your mouth, man, or I'll beat you stupid. That's enough out of all of you!”

“Nay, Sir Ferrum, he heard it true, why deny it?” she called out so they all might hear, causing another roar of laughter and jeers.

Sir Ferrum gripped her upper arm and swung her around to face him. “Danewyn, shut it.
Now
,” he hissed, his expression one of warning.

She dropped a mocking curtsy, but kept her mouth shut as bidden.

He pulled her closer to him, leaning his scarred face toward hers to speak in a low voice. “You do not stir trouble with the men. You will keep your mouth shut unless you're spoken to, and when you do speak, it will be respectfully. Is that perfectly clear?”

His displeasure with her made her heart beat faster. She looked at him, not wanting to show how chastened she actually felt. “Or what?” she asked boldly.

He shook his head at her. “Or I'll spank you till you can't sit down.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm and tried unsuccessfully not to lower her eyes—they flickered down and up several times.

“Yes, sir,” he prompted.

She managed to look at him. “Yes, sir,” she said, satisfied when the words came out sounding clear-voiced and unafraid.

* * *

Ferrum left Danewyn in Phillip's watch that evening while he made the nightly rounds of camp, making sure every man had done as he should. As he returned to the Prince's fire, he sensed before he heard a tension in the air.

“Shut it, whore!” Murdock swung back an arm as if to backhand Danewyn. Ferrum roared, running to the scene. Phillip had barked at the same time, and Murdock dropped the threatening arm without striking her.

“…Ferrum is her keeper. No one touches her but him!” he heard Phillip telling Murdock as he arrived.

“What's going on?” he demanded.

“You need to teach this little whore some manners,” Murdock snarled.

Rage crashed through him, and he heard a rushing sound in his ears. He wrapped his fist in Murdock's tunic. “She is NOT a little whore. She is the Royal Seer of the Red Fox, and she will be accorded some respect around here.”

Murdock looked taken aback. He craned his neck to look past Ferrum for Phillip's take on it, but Ferrum didn't have to look—he knew Phillip would back him up. Else Phillip wouldn't have just declared the lady was his ward. He waited until Murdock conceded by dropping his eyes and mumbling an apology. Only then did he release the soldier and turn to Danewyn. “Come,” he commanded.

She followed him warily to his tent.

“What was that about?” he asked her when the flap closed behind her.

She thrust her chin forward and shrugged. “I didn't like the way he was talking to me.”

“So what happened?” he asked.

“I told him I couldn't suck a cock that small, but there might be a sheep back in the village he could try.”

He sighed and rubbed his scar. “You didn't.”

“Aye,” she said, starting to look pleased with herself.

“What did I tell you this morning, Danewyn? You need to keep your mouth closed and stay out of trouble in this camp, or things won't go well for you here.”

“Oh, really?” she said sarcastically. “Worse than they're going?”

His shoulders sagged. This was a situation he couldn't win. She was rightfully bitter about being held prisoner, and if he weren't worried about keeping her safe, he might have thought her retort to Murdock was worth a laugh. But Phillip had just declared he was her official keeper, which meant the worries of both keeping her safe and correcting her behavior fell entirely on him.

“'Yes, sir' is the only appropriate response to me right now, Danewyn,” he said tiredly.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him defiantly.

He tilted his head to the side and considered her. “I doubt you want to feel my hand on your arse so soon after the whipping I gave you last night.”

Far from making her repentant, that only served to fuel her anger. The muscles in her jaw stood out as she grit her teeth. “You can go lick a sheep's cunt too,” she spat.

Shite.
He sighed. He wrapped an arm around her torso and pulled her down as he sat upon his bedroll. She struggled wildly, which didn't surprise him. He pulled her face down over his lap and flipped her skirts up to reveal her bottom, which still sported several faded lines from the night before. He spanked her bouncing orbs with his hand, and she cried out and cursed him, struggling and kicking her lower legs.

As he spanked, he spoke, “You will speak respectfully to me and to the other men in this camp. If they disrespect you, I will handle it—not you. Understood?”

She refused to answer at first, but when he started spanking harder, she gasped, “Yes, sir!” When he continued spanking, she cried out louder, “I said ‘yes, sir’!”

“I thank you for that, but you're still getting the spanking you earned,” he said calmly, his hand growing hot from the flattening impact it made on her cheeks.

“Stop!” she shouted and renewed her struggle with ferocity.

It was tempting to spank harder, but instead he stilled his hand on her bottom and made his voice very quiet. “Danewyn. You don't want my belt again, do you?”

She froze, not even breathing as she seemed to contemplate his threat. He waited.

“No, sir,” she said in a small voice.

“Then you will lie still and take your punishment.”

She started weeping then, probably more out of frustration than pain, and he clasped her hand with his left and gave her another half dozen spanks. Then he pulled her skirts down and flipped her around to cradle her in his arms. She wept for a moment, and then recovering, reached up to slap at his face. He caught her two wrists in one of his hands and pressed them into his chest, wedged between them.

“Stop that. Shh.” He held her very tightly to his body, not allowing her to push away.

“You heard the Prince,” he told her, by way of explanation. “I'm your keeper. That means I'm the one who has to teach you to mind around here.”

She head-butted his chest twice in fury and then collapsed into sobs. He stroked her hair, her arms, her face. He rocked her and held her until her eyes drifted closed.

After a while, Phillip entered the tent and sat down, taking in the scene without comment. “How's she doing?”

“Not so well. Fairly miserable, actually.”

“Aye,” Phillip said, seeming to understand everything. He was like that—he had an uncanny manner of knowing the most intimate details of all hearts. Ferrum loved him for it. The two had been raised as brothers—both fostered by the Duke of Umbria, who had known Phillip's true identity. The Duke had trained Phillip in leadership and war strategy and Ferrum in arms and combat, knowing the time would come when they would need every bit of it to make a run at the throne.

“Why'd you make
me
her keeper, of all people?”

“You think I can't tell when you've gone soft on someone?”

Ferrum met his eye at that, surprised. Was he soft on her? He looked down at her delicate form and felt a surge of fierce protectiveness.
Aye.
He was plenty soft on her. God's teeth, he was lost to this little flower.

“Thank you,” he said to Phillip, and Phillip nodded, standing up.

“Want me to blow out the candle?”

“Nay. I still have to bind her wrists. I thank you, though.”

* * *

She woke to find Sir Ferrum staring at her as they lay, nose to nose, wrists bound together. She blinked at him in confusion. He began unbinding their wrists immediately. “I didn't want to wake you,” he mumbled as an explanation to why he'd been staring at her as she slept. She rubbed her wrists and avoided looking at him, feeling awkward and vulnerable after the last spanking.

“Danewyn,” Sir Ferrum said, turning her gently around to face him and looking at her kindly. She pursed her lips and looked up at him defiantly, but then found herself melting under his warm gaze.

“Aye?” she asked when Sir Ferrum did not go on.

“Peace?”

Some mad part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms, but another part wanted to kick him in the shins. But she did neither. She allowed him to pick up her hand in his large one and watched, her eyes locked on his, as he slowly lifted it to his mouth, brushing the back of it with his lips. His lips were so soft for such a hardened, rugged man. Her heart beat faster in its cage as she stared into his kind eyes, wishing he would touch more than her hand with those lips. He smiled and squeezed her hand before releasing it. She smiled to herself, realizing it was the first time in her life anyone had ever treated her like a lady.