The Doctor's Rough Treatment (Historical Medical Smut With A Side Of Story) (6 page)

Cullen stood in the light rain
outside the high walls of the imposing structure. The Dark Keep was all it as
called looked every bit of its foreboding nomenclature. It was well entrenched
within the mountains of the Eastern Kingdom, three days ride away from the
borders of the Western Kingdom. It was the fourth day since his meeting with
the hooded man in the unsavory tavern, whom Cullen knew was the king himself,
and he had ridden his warhorse hard through the vast forested landscape. The
rain refreshed him and the horse. He had it tethered to a pole beside a few
pitched tents outside the walls, of merchants and other men seeking to make
money for their wares inside the walls of the Keep.

He had found their company
welcoming. Being traders and merchants they had travelled the lands and a sight
like him was nothing out of the ordinary for such men. He had to wait until
dark to make his move, a few hours wait also did well to get him some rest and
prepare for his rescue attempt. Mostly as a mercenary, Cullen had been hired to
slay, to fight against others like him, and even assassinate a powerful rival
to some king, noble or chieftain. This was his first attempt at a rescue and
that too of a woman, and a princess no less.

Being part of a race of natural
born warriors, Cullen was well versed in the art of warfare and hardship, owing
to a life in the highlands, where surviving every day was a battle won. He glanced
at the merchants around him, soft and compliant men for whom silver tongues
were of more value than sharp steel. They had their uses too, especially when
it came to a good meal and gambling.

“And what are you here for, my
large friend.” The short squat man standing beside him asked. “You are no
trader or merchant, unless it is slaves you wish to buy or sell.”

“I am here on a diplomatic
mission.” Cullen smiled at the man, though it did not reach his steel blue
eyes. “One that will ensure future trade.”

“And whom do you represent, where
are you from?” The tradesman pressed.

“My people are from the cold
highland hills of the North.” Cullen scanned the walls of the Keep, noting the
guards on patrol.

“The North?” The fat man laughed.
“What do the people of the North have worth trading with the opulent Eastern
Kingdom… animal pelts and dried meat.”

“Our skills with the sword,
Jessop.” Cullen adjusted the leather strap on his helm.

“Why, is there a war brewing?”
Jessop looked suddenly wary.

“There’s always a war going on, my
friend.” Cullen strode off toward the walls as the first few bright stars
became visible in the darkening skies above. “Thanks for the fine lamb stew and
for taking care of my horse. I will be back shortly.”

“Fare you well, my large friend.”
Jessop sighed. “In whatever diplomatic adventure you’re undertaking.”

***

“Halt, who goes there, answer or
die.” The harsh words yelled outside the wooden door to her cell drifted to her
sharp ears as she stretched herself on the wooden cot, the only piece of
furnishing there.

Some fool had caught the guards’
attention outside making them raise a ruckus and now her sleep had been
shattered. Seven days ago she had been kidnapped from the royal guardians of
her father, King Gawain’s summer palace and brought here to this foreboding
keep across the borders of their kingdom. She didn’t know what for, but being a
princess was good enough reason to be kidnapped. She knew her father would pay
any ransom for her, but she was not abducted for the wealth of the kingdom.
Instead it was an attempt to stop her from marrying the prince of another
kingdom to the south, thus making their nation even more powerful and a
possible threat to this one in the east. She had never met this southern Prince
before, never even heard of him and couldn’t really care.

Princess Shania couldn’t give a
hoot for such matters of state and politics. Though she was terrified at the
abduction, she was so far not treated badly by her captors. Perhaps they knew
better than to spoil their only means of leverage, whoever they were. She had
been blindfolded and brought to the Keep to be locked up in the little cell,
about two days ago. They had given her proper food and drink, proper for a
commoner, but acceptable enough to quench her thirst and hunger for the moment.
And now when she finally laid her head down to rest, someone was raising hell
outside.

She sat upright when a loud crash
sounded right above her cell. Voices were raised in anger and the sound of
scuffling ensued.  Metal rang on metal, screams of men maimed or dying echoed
inside. Then there was a sudden deathly silence as if nothing had ever
happened. Whoever the fool trying to escape was must have been dealt with by
the guards.

Suddenly the door to her cell
exploded in a rush of splinters as a large man wearing the helm and armor of
the Dark Keep guardsmen came hurtling in headfirst, hit the hard floor and lay
there very still, his glassy stare looking up at the ceiling of the cell. She
stifled a scream, not knowing what to expect, but her heart was beating
furiously. A huge shadow blotted out the torch light coming in through the
shattered door, and then it ducked low to step into the little cell.

Shania screamed this time as the
largest man she had ever seen stepped into her little cell, a huge broadsword
in his massive fist, dripping with fresh blood. He wore some leather and metal
armor and his immensely muscular arms and shoulders bore the marks of many
scars and ceremonial tribal tattoos. The large iron helm on his head had a
visor covering his eyes, his grim lips were a thin line and his powerful jaw bore
a few days’ worth of dark stubble. She pressed herself back toward the cold
wall of her cell, her green eyes wide in terror.

“Her hair be as brilliant as the
sunset, and her dazzling eyes as green as the evening sea, she has the face to
stay the gods and the body to make men kneel before her, ever ready to die.” He
said, in a low guttural rumble that seemed to emanate from his deep chest. “You
are the Princess Shania, of the Western Kingdom… heir to the crown of Gawain,
the King.”

She eyed him warily as he stood
there, not willing to acknowledge him without knowing who he was. He stood
there silently awaiting her response, throwing a furtive glance over his
massive shoulder every now and then. Realizing that she was not certain about
his intentions, he took off his helm. His long dark hair tumbled in sweat slick
curls around his handsomely rugged face and she stared at the steel blue eyes
that looked back at her intensely.

“Princess, I am Cullen of the
Northern Highland Clans, hired by your sire to return you to him.” He said
urgently. “Come, we have to leave before they rouse the main army.”

“Why should I believe you… you’re
just a barbarian of low birth.” Shania composed herself and gave him a
contemptuous look.

His jaw clenched and the thick vein
on his muscular neck bulged. “My manner of birth doesn’t matter, I am a
mercenary and my job this day is to take you safely back to your father.”

“Show me some proof.” She demanded,
unsure if she was going to be safer in her cell or with this unknown mercenary.

Anticipating her exact request, he
fished out a dagger with a jewel encrusted hilt and royal insignia of her
kingdom, and tossed it to her. She grabbed it with both hands and studied it
closely. It was her late mother’s ornamental dagger. She glanced up at him as
he peered out of the cell crouching low.

“The alarm has been raised.” He
said in low tones, “I see the guards with their torches approaching from the
south gate.”

“Why should I believe you were
given this by my father…?” She looked at him defiantly. “You may have stolen it
from the regal knights who would have been entrusted with this family
treasure.”

“Had I stolen it then why should I
be the fool to come after you? That piece could fetch me more gold than I can
carry in a year. We have little time, Princess.” He hissed. “We must go now.”

“I refuse to…” She began, but his
huge hand clamped over her startled mouth and he was off and running with her
cradled in his arms like a little sack of meal.

As he rounded a narrow corridor, a
few of the Dark Keep guards blocked their way. Cullen callously dropped her to
the dirt packed floor and whipped out his massive flat bladed broadsword with
his right hand and a foot long wickedly gleaming dagger with his left. Shania
temporarily forgot her misgivings and of the filthy floor as she watched her
muscle-bound rescuer in action. The man was a blur of savage ferocity. Either
he was natural born killer, or trained well in the art of killing by some
master of the craft. One of the guards, the largest of the lot, swung his
spiked ball and chain at him. Cullen caught the massive chain on his thick left
forearm, wrapping it around twice. He yanked it hard and the guardsman came
hurtling toward Cullen. A ruthless blow from the flat side of the broadsword smashed
the big man’s nose and sent him sprawling to the ground.

The two remaining guardsmen
approached with caution, but Cullen didn’t wait for them. He dived right into
them, smashing the hilt of his dagger into the side of one man’s head and his
heavy right fist into the other’s jaw. Both men crumpled to the ground. There
was a fourth, smaller man crouching behind the three, but he just turned tail
and ran. Cullen didn’t chase him; instead he scooped up the princess as if she
was a sack of dry oats and slung her over his shoulder. Shania noticed that
even if he had the outer appearance of a savage, remorseless killer, he hadn’t
actually killed those guardsmen, but knocked him senseless instead. Why he did
that, she wondered, for surely these men would not do the same for him. She
didn’t get the time to think on that as her massive rescuer sprinted through
the narrow passageway until he came upon a set of steep stairs.

He bolted up the stairs, seemingly
knowing his way around the Keep and ran at breakneck speed, leaping and
hurdling his way through startled guardsmen and other inhabitants of the place.
Within moments he was racing with her in his arms over the length of the
western wall. The southern gate was heavily guarded, and he knew that even
before he planned this rescue. With a wild reckless yell he leapt right off the
wall and landed feet first into some tents pitched around the wall. Screams and
yells ensued from those inside at the sudden intrusion. Not waiting around to
assess the damage he caused, Cullen leapt onto a large dark stallion tethered
on a pole beside a tent. With Shania slung over his broad shoulder, he kicked
the horse into a fast gallop, away and into the dark night. A cohort of six
horsemen came after them, curved swords and spear tips gleaming in the
moonlight.

“You callous brute.” Shania
screeched as they thundered into the forest that rolled out for miles before
them, the Keep getting smaller and smaller in the horizon behind them. “I have
never in my life been man-handled in this manner. I will have your head on a
spike for this, you … you… lowly barbarian.”

Cullen didn’t answer the arrogant
young woman; he kept riding silently with her still slung over his shoulder,
stretching the distance between their pursuers, using all his expertise at
horsemanship. After a while there was no sign of pursuit and Cullen decided to
let his horse slow down to a trot.  A few hours of easy riding later with him
silently enduring her rants and wails until she grew tired, he slowed the horse
down to a halt. It was a good place to camp, with a stream running by and trees
that bore fruit all around them. Three more days of hard riding lay before
them, to get to the border of the Western Kingdom, and another day to reach the
castle of King Gawain, and he wanted the horse to gather as much strength as it
could.

He dismounted and unceremoniously
dumped his burden onto a soft patch of moss. Shania fell hard, but the soft
moss broke her fall. Nevertheless, she had the breath taken out of her and was
livid with rage. He ignored her and sat down to clean the blood off his
broadsword. She watched his sullen expression. His cool, care free demeanor
infuriated her. Never had a man felt so intimidating to her. She was used to
perfumed nobles and prancing princes bowing before her and offering their
slender arms for her to hold as they walked in obeisance beside her. This man
was nothing like that at all, and it made her blood boil to not have her
superior station acknowledged.

“Savage!’ She cried out. “Ill-mannered
brute! Haven’t you been taught in the ways to treating a woman of high birth, a
regal princess?”

He eyed her silently, running the
whetstone across the length of his blade with almost mechanical precision, blue
sparks spraying with each stroke. The huge warhorse happily munched away at the
grass behind him.

“Well, what have you to say?” She
screamed. “I am Princess Shania; men bow before me or lose their heads.”

“You’re not my princess, woman.”
Cullen said, anger pricking at the back of his neck. “To me you are a burden I
need deliver for a few coins, no more.”

***

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