The Princess and the Rogue (10 page)

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It was agonizing, an awful feeling, this invasion of her very core. She wanted to weep. Squirming made it worse. This… this
thing
in her burned, as though it was consuming her from the inside out. She almost wished they would return. She would take more of the whip—just to escape the torture of the horrid thing.

In her distress she heard a new sound. A light shuffling reached her ears. Someone, or something was at the door. She craned her neck to see. In the dim light she could make out a form, but tears blurred her vision.

“Scarlett!” she heard a voice say. “What have they done?”

She recognized the voice. Part of her wanted to shout with joy. Roland had found her. Then she realized she was naked and bound, her whipped bottom cocked up at an obscene angle and a foreign object lodged in her anus. She was acutely embarrassed that he should see her this way. She stammered, “They—they,” but her voice was choked with sobs and she found it impossible to speak.

“Just take it out—please,” she was finally able to plead with a whimper.

“My God,” said Roland. Then he was at her side, and she felt his fingers gently probing between her cheeks. He found the diabolical ginger root and pulled the thing out. Blessed relief washed over her and she exhaled.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed. “Oh, God, you can’t imagine…”

“Sh-h-h,” he cautioned. “We have to get out of here now.” Deftly he loosed the bonds that held her and pulled her to her feet. Staring at her from behind, he remarked, “I’d say you’ve been flogged rather thoroughly. You’re all red and welted. But,” he sighed, “you’ll still have to ride. There’s no help for it.”

He handed her the clothes bundle. “Maeve gave these to me. Dress quickly.”

She dropped the bundle and threw her arms around him, no longer caring about her state of nakedness.
So what?
she told herself.
He spanked my bottom, didn’t he? He may as well see the rest of me.
He returned the embrace, comforting her as best he could. “Dress now. We must leave before they come back.”

Scarlett put on the yeoman’s garb she had acquired from a page. She had told him it was for a prank and had sworn him to secrecy. The boy had been more than willing to be a conspirator for the beautiful princess. She had kept the bundle hidden, knowing the time would soon come when she would have to use it. It had been clear to her for some time that she was in danger. She was grateful that her maid Maeve had found Roland, who must have gone to her chambers in search of her.

There was little time to think of that now as they hurried through the keep, avoiding the watch and making their way to the stables. Many here were loyal to King Robert. They had no idea of the plot being executed under their noses. Others were newcomers, no doubt part of Lord Cramden’s ever-growing entourage, like the man who had dragged her to the dungeon. Strange men arrived daily, and Scarlett suspected they were loyal to the high minister. When the time came, they would surely take up arms against those who had pledged themselves to King Robert.

Scarlett had covered her head with a cap, stuffing her long red hair underneath it. She averted her face whenever they chanced upon people who might recognize her. To most, she hoped, it looked as if Roland were being accompanied by a young page. Perhaps they would not notice the girlish figure filling out the tunic and trousers.

Roland carried off their exit with both stealth and bravado. He avoided encounters with men-at-arms and boldly carried on with others as if he owned the castle and had every right to do as he pleased. It worked.

They exited the front door and crossed the courtyard, Roland watching this way and that for pursuit. Surely the alarm would be raised when Lord Cramden returned with his torturer and found an empty chamber.

She watched as Roland roused the groom and called for his horse. He also selected one for her, telling them that he was taking his page out for training. No one questioned him. Lackeys did not question the orders of a knight. The horses were brought forward and Roland helped Scarlett into the saddle. She winced and almost let out a yelp, but Roland looked sharply at her and shook his head. It wasn’t until they reached the front portcullis that Scarlett heard commotion behind them. A group of armed men poured into the courtyard.

“Stop them! He’s abducting the princess!” shouted their leader.

Roland wasted no time. He spurred his horse and whipped the flanks of Scarlett’s mount. Both animals surged toward the gate as it began to lower. They both cleared the spikes of the door by a hair and it slammed to the ground behind them. Then they were off, galloping through the town of Kingsgate in the moonlight, putting as much distance as they could between them and their pursuers.

Scarlett’s mount had been about to run away with her. Roland caught up to her after they had cleared the town and were some distance down the road. He grasped her reins.

“Which way?” he said.

“West,” said Scarlett. “We must go west, toward my village. That is where the convent of St. Agnes is, and that is where the antidote is.”

“Then let’s go,” said Roland. “They will come after us. We both know too much. Or they suspect we do. Just hang on. Your horse will follow mine. Are you ready?”

Scarlett nodded. Roland spurred his horse forward. Her mount surged after him with Scarlett clutching the reins and the saddle, hanging on as tightly as she could. It hurt to ride, but the hurt was easier to bear knowing that this knight was on her side. And she could not deny either the passionate nature or the intensity of the feelings that welled up inside her. He had flipped her across his knee and had given her a humiliating spanking. That much was true. No man had ever touched her like that. But he had also believed her, and he had rescued her from Lord Cramden. And he had made retrieving the antidote his mission as well as hers. She realized her attraction to this man was real and growing. But he was a knight, probably from a highborn family. What could he ever feel for her, a common orphan?

Chapter Eleven

It seemed to Scarlett as though they rode for hours. Finally Roland slowed the pace. “I think we are far enough ahead for now,” he said. “They would have to guess which direction we went.”

“But they might think I would head toward home,” said Scarlett.

“True enough,” said Roland. “But we must seek shelter nonetheless.”

By now dawn was peeking over the horizon. The road followed a stream, and Roland led the horses into the water and they walked until Scarlett was exhausted.

“We will stop here,” he said at last. They had come to a woodsman’s hut next to the stream. It was dilapidated and apparently abandoned. He helped her down off the horse and carried her inside.

The inside was better than the outside. It had a stone hearth, a rudimentary table, some tree stumps for chairs, and an elevated sleeping pallet. Roland had a wool blanket rolled up on his saddle. He unfurled it on the sleeping pallet.

“You’ve had a hard day, girl. Get warm under this.”

Scarlett did not have to be coaxed. She threw the blanket over herself and tried to burrow into it, but Roland shook his head, apparently not satisfied.

“Strip off those clothes. We are going to have to use each other’s body heat to get you warm.”

She blushed. “What? My clothes?”

“All of them,” said Roland.

Scarlett’s eyes went wide as she watched Roland take off his own clothing. His chest and shoulders were broad, his stomach flat. When he pulled his trousers off, she saw muscular legs and slim hips. Scarlett had never seen a man naked before, and the sight of Roland in nothing but a flimsy loincloth was sending shivers of a different sort up her spine. She gulped. The man was gorgeous. It almost made her forget how cold she felt. But nothing could prepare her for the feel of his hardened body as he slid in next to her under the blanket.

“Wha… what are you doing?” she said as he flipped her around so that he could spoon with her. She felt his strong arms envelop her, felt his body press itself against her backside, felt his breath on her neck. She was quite aware, as his midsection pushed up against her buttocks, that the only thing separating her sex from his penis was a thin layer of cloth.

“I’m getting you warm. Our body heat will warm each other. You have to trust me. I’ve seen men die because they could not get warm. The best thing for you to do is relax and sleep.”

Even in her exhausted state she could feel pangs of desire for the man who had rescued her and whose arms held her now. And he had been right. In the warmth of the cocoon he had made for her with his own body, she succumbed to the lure of sleep.

Hours later, she awoke. From the light it looked like midday. Her core was now well warmed, and she bathed languidly in the heat radiating from her protector’s body. Part of her wanted to stay this way forever and never move. But alert now, she became aware of his touch. Roland was half asleep and his hands moved across the front of her body, brushing the nipples of her breasts. He shifted slightly and she felt a length of hardness pushing into the split between the cheeks of her buttocks. An insistent pulse arose from somewhere deep inside her. A curious wetness seeped between her legs. She rubbed herself against him and a surge of pleasure shot through her. She realized she wanted this man. She wanted him now. The pulse was growing stronger. Her body throbbed with desire. Resolving to deny herself no longer, she twisted her body around until she was facing Roland. At that moment his eyes fluttered open.

“Are you…?” he started to say.

“Sh-h-h,” whispered Scarlett. She pressed her lips to his, lightly at first, then hard. Her mouth opened and her tongue flicked against his lips. When his mouth yielded in response, his tongue sought hers. Scarlett pressed her breasts against his chest. Roland reciprocated by tightening his arms around her shoulders, drawing her into an ever more intimate embrace. His hands thrilled her as they roved gently down the length of her body, touching here, caressing there. She winced as he squeezed her bottom. He felt her body react and he stroked her gently there.

“We’ll get some witch hazel for that,” he murmured.

“I don’t care,” said Scarlett. “I just want you. I want you inside me.”

Scarlett shifted so that she lay beneath him. She opened her legs. Roland took a hand away to make an adjustment to his clothing and she felt his hardness. She explored beneath the blanket with her hand and grasped his maleness, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from Roland. Hitching herself up, she guided it between her legs until the head was at the entrance to her womanly portal.

“Now. Now,” she whispered.

The man needed no further urging. With one hand beneath her, he pushed his hips forward. She felt the length of him sliding in and she threw her head back, marveling at the surge of intense pleasure she felt. He didn’t stop until he was inside her to the hilt. He began to grind his hips in tiny movements that generated a delicious friction and she moaned. Scarlett gave herself to him completely. He could do anything he wanted.

He withdrew partway, then thrust. Then again and again. It was slow at first, a sort of ecstatic torture for Scarlett, but in moments she was lost in a delirium of pleasure that flowed over her in waves, each one bigger than the last. The thrusts came faster and harder. Scarlett’s body reacted, moving to the rhythm he established. Soon they were locked in that ancient dance, their bodies slapping together in wild synchronization. His eyes found hers and he gazed into them intently as if trying to read her responses to his lovemaking. But Scarlett was gone. The things he was doing to her. While his erection created surges of pleasure, his fingers squeezed her nipples and he smothered her neck with kisses. Finally she could stand no more and something burst inside her. It rose then crested like the largest wave of all, breaking over her in an all-consuming, thundering crash of passion. She felt Roland’s pace quicken, too, until his body went stiff, every muscle straining as his hips jerked wildly and the warmth of his seed flooded her.

They lay side by side afterwards. Scarlett had never felt her body glowing before. But she was sure that it was. It glowed with an all-consuming liquid warmth. Roland turned his head and smiled at her.

“I don’t mind telling you that I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you.”

She smiled back lazily and teased him. “But the first thing you did was spank me. Have you forgotten that?”

“No. And when I gave you that spanking, which was richly deserved, it was all I could do to keep my hands off you.”

“You don’t have to restrain yourself ever again, sir knight.”

“I don’t intend to,” he said.

The second bout of lovemaking was slower, but no less intense, and left them both gasping for breath and satiated. She thought about that spanking while he stroked her sex again with that stout erection, and wondered if it had ignited her desire for him in some way. She recalled that, for some time after that incident, the warm glow in her bottom had seemed to provoke some lustful thoughts. Maybe someday he would do that to her again. She wasn’t at all sure that she would mind if he did.

Scarlett would like to have stayed snuggled under that blanket forever, but later that day they departed. Roland was adamant that they put distance between themselves and any pursuit by Lord Cramden. They headed west, toward the lands of the red countess. Scarlett hoped they weren’t heading into even greater danger, but that was where the antidote could be found.

Chapter Twelve

In Darkwood Forest

“After you’re done carrying water from the spring, Daphne needs help gathering firewood.”

Juliet bit back a sharp retort. She was being ordered about by Ota, an older woman who saw to it that the younger women did the chores. About one hundred people lived in the camp and everyone had assigned tasks. Meals were communal. The men hunted while the women kept camp. There was a lot to do. Besides the cleaning and mending, females were expected to tend crops growing in a tilled plot of open land. The crops grew in a meadow that the men had cleared to allow some sunlight to penetrate the dense growth.