Betrothed (3 page)

The men chuckled. 

“Not that you mind sharing your tent with her,” John ribbed him.

“Not a bit.  Far more interesting than you men, I'll tell you that.”

“What will you do with her?”

He shrugged.  “I told her she could travel with us as far as she likes.  But in the meantime, I hope to make her see reason.  Running away will only make her situation worse.”

“Aye.  Especially if she gets herself involved with the horrible Duke of Pembridge!”  Andrew's eyebrows waggled for effect.

“
Indeed
.”

Chapter Two

Julia awoke to a kick in her ribs.  A page was standing over her with his hands on his hips, glaring down.  She'd seen him the night before.  He must be almost of the age to be squire— mayhap twelve years old and he hadn't liked the idea of another page serving his lord.  But she couldn't help that, could she? 

“Wake up, you lazy arse!”

She scrambled to her feet. 

“Lord Bronson is up and you're meant to serve him.”  He eyed her state of dress— the Earl's large undershirt draping down her body like a dress.  Oh sweet virgin Mary, she hoped he couldn't see her breasts.  Her eyes darted to the linen wrap still hanging from the tent poles.  She had to get him out of here so she could get dressed.

“Matthias!”  the Earl's sharp voice brought the boy's head around with a snap. 

“You'd better hurry,” he told her as he left the tent. 

She heaved a sigh and wondered if the Earl had called him out of there to rescue her.  He did seem to be that sort of man.  She liked him.  She liked everything about him, really.  But she probably shouldn't trust her own opinions at this point.  He was the only “friend” she had in the world right now, so of course she would latch all her affections onto him. 

She wrapped her breasts and finished dressing quickly.  The tents were already being pulled down.  Matthias was sitting next to the Earl, breaking fast.  She stopped, uncertain whether she should start pulling down their tent.  The Earl beckoned to her.  “Eat.  Then you and Matthias will pack my things.  The men will tear down the tent.”

She almost curtsied again.  Curse it.  She was going to have to rid herself of that reflex.  “Thank you, my lord.” 

In the tent, she rolled her bedroll up quickly as Matthias took charge of the Earl's things.  He ignored her when she tried to help so she ended up standing there watching his efficient methods.  If it weren't so grating, she would see the humor in it.  But at least it confirmed her impression of the Earl.  Any man who would inspire such loyal and jealous following was a man of worth.

“The stools go in the wagon,” he finally deigned to speak to her.  She picked up the stools and carried them out.  There were three wagons, actually.  She wondered which one held the lord's things.  Then she remembered with a sinking feeling that her dead man was also supposed to go in one of them, and that he was her responsibility. 

“This wagon.”  Sir John appeared next to her and pointed to the closest wagon. 

“Thank you,” she said breezily and put the stools away.  By the time she turned back, the Earl's tent had already come down and the camp looked mostly packed.  Reluctantly, she walked in the direction of the dead man.  There was no way she could lift him by herself.  She'd have to ask for help. 

But when she arrived at the spot, there was nothing but the dark brown stain of spilled blood on the earth. 

“Looking for 'im?”  A soldier called out to her, grinning.  He was sitting on the side of the wagon, nudging his toe at the dead man, who had been wrapped up in a blanket.  She was so relieved she smiled.  “Thank you!” she called back.  “I was wondering how on earth I was going to lift him in there by myself.” 

The soldier laughed.  “You couldn't have.”  Then he grew serious.  “It was a fine kill, taking down a man twice your size.”

It was a compliment, she knew.  But it caused the same churning sickness in her belly that she'd felt the day before.  She nodded in reply as politely as she could muster and stumbled back toward the Earl.  His squires had already prepared his destrier, so she went to work saddling her own horse.  The mare had grown used to her over the past few days, and she stood patiently as Julia worked at honing her skill of swinging herself up to mount without a boost. 

It was a long day's ride and Julia spent most of it considering the Earl's advice.  He seemed to have an objective opinion and he'd brought up several points she hadn't considered— namely, that by running to her family in Normandy, she'd be causing them trouble with her intended, and that there may also be consequences from the king, himself.  When news of her father's failed attempt to take over the Duke of Pembridge's land and his subsequent death had reached her, it had come from the king's messengers, who ordered her to pack her things.  They escorted her to the king's court where the king had told her of his decision to give her hand to the Duke.  It had seemed grossly unfair at the time.  But now that she considered it, he could have simply stripped her of the lands and delivered them to the Duke.  She might have ended up in a nunnery or worse— as a peasant in her own village.  The knot in her belly tightened even further.  That may still be where she ended up.

“Give it to me, I'm handy with a needle,” Julia offered when the Earl tore his sleeve on a bramble at camp that night. 

“I would imagine you are,” he said in a low voice, flashing her a grin that made heat flare low in her belly.  He stripped off his tunic and undershirt, and she found herself facing a broad, chiseled chest.  Heat flared everywhere.  He was beautiful in the manliest way.  When she lifted her eyes from his chest to his face, she found he was laughing at her.  Her face grew hot and she quickly snatched the shirt from his hands and turned away. 

She sat on a rock, her practiced fingers making neat little stitches as she watched the hum of the organized camp.  There was an ease of familiarity and long practice.  The men could set up and strike camp so quickly— they each knew their jobs and no one tripped over one another.  Well, except for her and Matthias. 

As if cursed for thinking of him, the boy came over and dropped a pile of clothing at her feet.  “Lord Bronson says you're to mend these, as well,” he sneered.  Clearly the poor page Jake had plunged even lower in the boy's estimation for being able to mend.  He squatted next to her and picked up a rock. 

“Did your mama teach you to sew like that?” he said derisively. 

“Aye.”  She smiled to herself.   

He scowled at her smile.  “Sewing is for sissies.  Were you tied to her apron strings until yesterday?  Your mama would've done better to make a man of you sooner.”

“And your mama would've done better to teach you some manners,” she said pertly. 

Matthias' freckled face turned as red as his hair and he stood up.  She set down her mending and also stood, recognizing the challenge for what it was.  She wasn't afraid.  He was no bigger than her, for one thing.  And she'd had the fortune of growing up with four brothers who'd taught her the finer points of wrestling. 

His fist swung for her face.  She ducked and launched her shoulder into his belly, knocking him on his back on the ground. 

“BREAK IT UP!” she heard dimly as she straddled Matthias' chest.  She ignored the yelling and spit in his face and as she did, his eyes widened with surprise.  His gaze had gone to the open gap of her undershirt where he got the full view of her bound breasts. 

“Not a word out of you,” she hissed, but she was hauled roughly to her feet before she could say anything more. 

“There's no fighting among the troops!”  It was Sir John who was doing the yelling.  He yanked Matthias to his feet as well.  “That's a beating for both of you, now take off your shirts.”

Julia's heart stopped and Matthias gaped at her as well.  Even Sir John suddenly froze and looked at her strangely and she realized that he, too, must know her secret. 

The Earl's hard voice cut in from behind them.  “I will deal with them.  Into my tent, both of you.  NOW.” 

“What were you thinking?” the Earl snarled at her when they were inside.

“My lord, it was my fault, I threw the first punch,” Matthias spoke up.  Clearly chivalry ran strong in these troops.

Bronson ignored him.  He paced back and forth in the small confines of the tent, making it seem even smaller.  He continued to address Julia alone.  “You are my guest here, you—”

“My lord, I was picking on him— I mean, her—”

At that, Bronson whipped around and advanced on Matthias.  He wrapped his big hand around the boy's throat and lifted him to his toes. 

“Did you know she was a girl when you threw that punch?”  His voice was deadly. 

“No, my lord,” the frightened boy shook his head rapidly.

The Earl released his hold from the boy's neck and dropped him back on his heels.  Matthias' hand went to his throat.  “I'm sorry,” he coughed.  “I didn't know she was a girl.  I couldn't think why you liked her so well and I guess it made me mad.  I was picking on her and when she gave it back to me I punched her.”

“You
hit
her?” the Earl whirled back to her with alarm. 

She shook her head. 

“Nay, she was too quick for me.”  Matthias seemed admiring of her now that he knew she was a lady. 

The Earl sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation.  “All right, Matthias, you will be her shadow from now on.  Your duty is to make sure she is safe here. Do you understand?”

Matthias lifted his chest, clearly pleased with his new assignment.  “I will guard her with my life, my lord.” 

“I know you will.  Now take off your shirt.”

Matthias complied and the Earl took off his sword belt.  Julia cringed as she watched him give the boy ten hard lashes across his back.  Matthias' face was red and there were tears in his eyes, but he remained stoic.  He put his shirt back on.   

The Earl turned slowly to face her, the belt still in his hand.  She attempted to be as stoic as Matthias, despite the fact that her heart was beating in her throat.  She came to stand before him with her head bowed.  He considered her, not saying a word. 

“Should I take off my shirt?” she squeaked. 

Another silence under his scrutiny.  Then he asked, “Have you ever been lashed on your back?”

She shook her head, unable to answer.  “I'm thinking your bottom might be a better target.  It's a bit easier to take, though it will make riding uncomfortable.”

“W-would I have to take my leggings off?”  She darted a glanced at Matthias.  That would be profoundly embarrassing.

He shook his head.  He put one foot up on the stool and held his arm out to her.  “Come here.”

She obeyed.  He folded her upper body over his knee and lifted her tunic.  She held her breath.  The strokes came just as hard and fast as they had for Matthias.  Ten stinging blows, one right after the next— no time to catch her breath, even to cry. 

Just as swiftly, he lifted her off his knee and back onto her feet.  She was gasping, still in shock and just beginning to feel the full force of the fiery pain on her backside.  It had happened too fast for her tears to get started, so they were caught now, burning behind her eyes, sobs stuck in her throat.   She kept her head down and tried to compose herself. 

“You're dismissed,” he said to both of them.  Though she wasn't crying, Julia felt nowhere near ready to go out and face the men.  Matthias headed out immediately, but her feet felt glued to the ground.  The Earl grasped her wrist and gently pulled her into him, pressing her face into his chest.  Her lower lip was trembling and her chest felt as though it would explode.  The tears still neither came out nor went away as she stood there trembling in his arms.

“Ow,” she finally mustered.

The Earl chuckled and pulled away, lifting her chin to regard her with his kind eyes.  “Aye.  'Tis supposed to hurt.  That's the point of it, really.”  Then his face grew serious.  He took her by the shoulders and shook her a little bit.  “What were you thinking?  He's not much bigger than you, but he's a boy, for God's sake.  You could have been hurt.”

“Nay,” she said a bit scornfully.  “I had big brothers.  I am quite practiced at outmaneuvering boys.”

Before she knew what was happening, he'd sat down on the stool and pulled her over his lap.  He lifted the back of her tunic again and to her horror, she felt him tugging down her leggings.  Her face grew hot at the embarrassment of having her bottom bared by this man who she liked and respected.  She heard herself whimper.

* * *

He should not have pulled down her leggings.  Though she may for the moment fall under his jurisdiction, she certainly didn't belong to him, and baring her backside was crossing a line.  But she had planted the idea in his mind, and now that he was determined to spank her again, he simply couldn't stop himself.  She had a perfect little bottom— small and toned with muscle.  The skin was the same beautiful alabaster as her face, except with several red lines where his belt had already marked her.  Her legs were parted enough that he could see—oh God—her sweet little sex was so alluring.  He felt himself grow hard and hoped she couldn't feel it. 

He started spanking her with his hand, watching as he turned the whole of her backside pink and then red.  She started crying almost immediately, but she didn't protest, and apart from her involuntary flinching while she waited for the next smack, she held herself very still for his punishment.  She was too sweet, too well-bred to give protest. 

His irritation with her faded quickly.  It would be impossible not to forgive a lady when she was in this position.  He stopped and rubbed her bottom, trying to shove down the improper thoughts that rose in his mind as he did.  To end them, he pulled up her leggings, lifted her up and turned her around to sit on his lap. 

He folded her back into his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring softly.  “It's alright....  it's over now...  let it all out....you'll feel better for crying....you took it very well.”