Betrothed
Authors: Renee Rose
Betrothed
By
Renee Rose
©2012 by Blushing Books® and Renee Rose
Copyright © 2012 by Blushing Books® and Renee Rose
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Rose, Renee
Betrothed
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-709-0
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics
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This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Prologue
“Take off your clothes.”
Julia swallowed. As her trembling fingers undid the laces on her bodice, she stole a peek at her husband's face. As usual, it was inscrutable. But he had been worried about her, and she knew from experience that his worry quickly morphed into anger.
She slowly slid out of her dress and her shift, feeling acutely aware of her nudity as he watched her from where he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Come here.”
Her feet reluctantly carried her to stand before him. But he hadn't asked her to fetch his belt— that was some relief.
She was already over his knee feeling the sting of his strong hand on her bared bottom when he asked, “Why am I spanking you?”
He was spanking her fast and hard and it was difficult to answer him between her gasps. She turned her face to the side, out of the blankets so he could hear her. “For coming back to the castle after dark?” she managed to choke out.
“I was
worried
about you, Julia!” He did not pause for a moment from his task of chastising every part of her upturned bottom. “Why did you not bring a servant with you when you went to pick blackberries?”
“I just—” His hand continued raining down her punishment. “—wanted— to be alone,” she gasped.
He paused then and rubbed her smarting flesh, a tender act that was sometimes as effective at producing tears as a spanking. Indeed, the tears came freely now.
“I can understand that,” he said. “But
falling asleep
out there by yourself?” He started spanking again, just as hard, and this time she wept. Then his hand stopped abruptly, mid stroke. She held still, her muscles twitching and flinching in anticipation of the next spank. But it did not come. He lifted her back up slowly and turned her around so she sat straddling him, giving her an idea of the direction this punishment might be taking.
“Julia, why do you think you've been taking so many naps lately?” he asked, studying her face. Still weeping, she wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. Bronson must have realized she wasn't composed enough to talk yet, because he pulled her in to sniffle in his neck. He stroked her back and her heated bottom and thighs and whispered comforting words to her.
“I'm just thinking... the moon is full again and you never had your monthly courses.”
She sat straight up in surprise, her tears evaporating completely. “You're right! Do you think it could be?” She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing.
Bronson smiled brightly. “It would explain all the napping and forgetfulness.”
They beamed at each other for a moment and then she leaned forward and nipped at his ear with her teeth. “Why couldn't you have thought of that
before
you spanked me?”
Bronson roared with laughter. “Do you think that would've saved your pretty little bottom?” He fell back onto the bed and pulled her on top of him. “Think again, little flower,” he said, squeezing the part in question affectionately. “Think again.”
Chapter One
“STAND DOWN!” Bronson, Duke of Pembridge and Earl of Montmore bellowed at the two men engaged in what appeared to be mortal combat below him. He kicked his horse and pulled him around to find a safe path down the steep bluff from which he was looking down. God's teeth, the man on top was trying to
rape
the boy below him. The boy was struggling wildly, kneeing the aggressor between the legs and writhing to get free, but the man on top maintained an upper hand, striking his face and pulling his leggings down... but you can't mount a boy from that angle. A girl, then. Dressed as a boy. It must be.
He kicked his horse even harder, shouting again, “STAND DOWN. Get off NOW!” But the boy— woman— whatever, had her own salvation in the form of a dagger, which she used in one swift thrust up under the ribs of her assailant. The bigger man collapsed on top of her small figure. Closing the distance, he watched as she struggled frantically to get out from under him.
He'd nearly reached them by now. “HOLD!” he called out, but the boy— girl—woman— whatever looked at him with pure terror and took off running into the woods. He cursed and gave chase, his knights and soldiers stopping to see to the stab victim. “Hold!” he demanded again.
It was easy enough to head her off on mount. He simply blocked her path, putting the chest of his huge destrier close enough that she had to back up against a tree to avoid being stepped on. He dismounted. She was breathing in little sobs and her eyes looked wild. He took a good look at her. Her cap had fallen off to reveal hair was cut short like a boy's. She was dressed in the fine clothes of a knight's page, which were now covered in blood.
“Easy now,” he spoke reassuringly. He took her shoulders gently. “I saw what happened.” In a lower voice, “I saw what he was trying to do to you.”
Her eyes snapped up to his, wide with question. Probably wondering if he knew her secret. He was surprised to find he felt a strong urge to protect her.
As he inspected her up close, he was almost certain that she was female. She had fine, delicate features, small ears and slender fingers. Her skin shone with good health and breeding— a peachy cream sprinkled with freckles. Her hair was the most amazing color— neither brown nor blond, nor red, but something in between all three— a burnished copper that literally shone in the filtered summer light. The eyes were a startling shade of pale green with thick, dark lashes. If she wasn't female, then she was the unluckiest boy ever born. It was possible. The dead man might have assumed him to be female and been wrong. And if that were the case, he wasn't about to unman the boy more by saying anything. He'd wait until he was absolutely certain.
“He did not succeed, did he?” he asked her gently.
She shook her head. She'd been hurt in the fight— one cheek was already swelling with what would be a nasty bruise and her lower lip was bleeding and swollen.
“What's your name?”
“Jake. It's Jake.” Her eyes pleaded with him not to contradict her. Definitely a lady.
He allowed his eyebrows to rise just a little. Andrew and John, his two most trusted knights joined them.
“What happened back there,
Jake
?”
“I had stopped for supper and to make camp there and he—” the girl swallowed. “He came out of the trees and attacked. He robbed me—took the jewels I was carrying.” She didn't go on and he couldn't blame her.
“Who are you and why are you traveling alone?”
“I was a page to... the Duke of Pembridge...”
Andrew snorted. Bronson shot him a warning look and kept his own face perfectly straight. The Duke of Pembridge, indeed. Clearly she had no idea she was standing before said Duke.
“...but he wasn't happy with my services, so I'm returning home.”
Bronson's eyebrows came together. A strange twist to her lie, condemning herself in that way.
“You ran away?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Were the horse and jewels yours to take?”
She hesitated and flushed a little. “The jewels were. The horse I will return as soon as I am able.”
Another snort from Andrew.
She was looking up at him through her lashes in a way only a woman would. She lacked talent at her charade as a boy. Naming him as her former master was an unlucky choice, but the rest he would guess she kept as close to the truth as she could. She had stolen a horse and run away, with her own jewels. She had pluck, he'd give her that. And he was determined to get the rest of the story out of her.
“I am Bronson, Earl of Montmore. These two men are my knights Andrew and John.” He
was
the Earl of Montmore. In addition to being the Duke of Pembridge. It was his second title and he'd rather not call her out on her lie yet.
“My lord... could you use a page?” She shifted nervously. “Not a permanent one, but for now, while you travel? What I mean is, mayhap I could travel with you and be of some service?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me, why was the Duke of Pembridge unhappy with your services?” As he spoke his name he gave the slightest lift of his eyebrows, for his knights' benefit. He saw them smirk.
She blinked at him. “Well, to be honest,” she said, “The Duke is a difficult man to please. He has a ghastly temper and he beat me indiscriminately.” She looked at him, wide eyed and serious.
He nearly choked, himself, at that. Andrew's shoulders shook with silent laughter and John rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Well, how do you know I wouldn't be the same sort of master?”
Her eyes dropped to the ground and she kicked at a stone with the tip of her very feminine looking calf-skin boots. “I can just tell.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen, my lord.”
“How could you be of service to me? What talents do you have, Jake?”
“I'm a better archer than most, and I'm great with horses.”
“Not bad with a dagger, either,” Sir John muttered.
At that, she looked stricken. “Is he dead?” she asked in a very quiet voice.
“Aye.”
She paled and then turned a shade green. She turned away from them and vomited. Again that protective urge swept over him and he put a hand on her back, lending his strength through its touch. “Your first kill?” he asked gently.
“Aye.”
* * *
The man who had chased her down had the kindest eyes. Once she'd looked into them, she'd felt all the terror drain out of her. He was young and handsome in a rugged sort of way— curly brown hair, strong jaw, broad chest and shoulders. He couldn't be more than five and twenty years old and had the dress and command of nobility.
He put his hand on her back while she vomited, waiting patiently for her to finish, comforting her in the way a man comforts a boy. But he knew she wasn't a boy, didn't he? He'd seen what that ruffian had been trying to do to her. And although it should have upset her that he knew, for some reason she found it reassuring. As if she wasn't in this alone, anymore. Since she'd run away from the king's castle to avoid her marriage, she'd felt unbelievably alone and lost.
And he hadn't revealed her secret to his men. As soon as the words had come out of her mouth asking to be his page, she knew she wanted desperately for him to take her on. She felt safer near him. She wanted to stay with this man, or at least travel with him until she figured out where to go.
“Let me think about taking you on as a page. In the meantime, though, I'm going to advise you not to tell that story again about you being page to the Duke of Pembridge. It doesn't speak in your favor.”
She thought she heard his knights snickering at that.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Come,” he said, leading her back toward the dead man. “The dead man is your burden now. You must deal him.”
Though her gut clenched at that, Julia followed him as commanded. There were twenty men or so by now— an entire troop of his, gathered around the body. They had rolled the man onto his back and the blood had soaked through his clothes and pooled around him. So much blood. She threw up again to the snickering of his men. Then she panicked.
“Where are my jewels?”
“These jewels?” asked one of the men, holding up the leather pouch that held her valuables. She felt the threads of desperation creeping back into her voice.