The Princess and the Huntsman (6 page)

“I insist. The bed is big enough for two and I shall do you no harm.”

Her gasp was immediate, though her nipples tingled again. “Absolutely not! Do I stay, you will sleep ‘pon the floor. We cannot share a bed.”

His look shuttered. It was the first time she had seen him anything but open. “You do ask much of a fellow, Princess.”

“I command what is my right. Do you doubt me?”

“In fact… Aye, I do.”

“How dare you!”

“I dared to save you from those scoundrels. I dared to feed you and give you rest,” he pointed out.

“Those are my due. I am your ruler.”

He muttered something she could not hear. “Very well. Take the bed and I the floor. I do insist on having a blanket, however.”

She nodded. “I shall be gracious, in this case, owing to your service of me to this point.”

He made a bow, but Brandywyn felt it mocked her. “Gramercy, Highness.”

Tom extinguished the light after she had curled herself up in the blankets on his bed, and naught but moonlight intruded into the peace and safety of his home.

* * *

“Kill it! Oh! It bit me! Kill it!” Brandywyn was beside herself. An insect had made a meal of her as she slept.

Tom sat up with a start. It was still dark in the cottage, but Brandywyn could see him clearly. He wore his same clothes, though loosened and without his boots.

“Brandywyn? What?”

“A ravening creature bit me!”

“Ravening?” He stood. “I see nothing.”

“Light the lamp, fool! I shall show you.”

Sighing, Tom lit the oil lamp. “Do you show me.”

Brandywyn held out her pale arm. On it was a small, red bump. “See?”

“Tis a mosquito bite, Brandywyn. Nothing more. I assure you that you will not perish for lack of blood.”

“You mock me! And use my name familiarly! I did not give you permission to do so.” She was furious. “Kill it! Find it and kill it!”

“‘Twould be impossible,
Princess
. It is too small.”

“Knave!”

“There is no need to call me names. It will not change the matter.” He was frowning.

She rose from the bed and confronted him with hands on her hips. “You defy me? How dare you defy me, you lowly peasant!”

He faced her squarely and did not bend to a knee as a supplicant should. Brandywyn bristled. “You go too far,” he warned her. “I have done naught to raise your ire so. Back down or I shall show you the measure of my hand on your bottom.”

The spanking from Smith gave her pause. Was there no end to the mistreatment she would suffer? “I shall tell my father and he will have you gutted and stuffed with oats, like a holiday piglet.”

He continued to frown at her, towering over her like a near-to-toppling tree. “Do not push me.”

In fact, she did push him, with her two hands, though it did not move him even an inch. When that didn’t work, she slapped him full on the face. He turned his cheek slightly, but did not flinch. Brandywyn’s eyes rounded and her breath stilled as she saw the fury on his face. She instantly regretted her temper tantrum, but could not back down.

Tom grabbed her by the waist and bent her over his hip, hiking the shirt up to the small of her back; her bottom was bare, for she had no underclothes. “I am your guardian for the nonce,” he told her. “You will be polite!” With that, he set a resounding slap on her bottom.

“Ouch! Unhand me! Do you dare to strike a princess? You shall hang from a gibbet!”

“Hang me, then, but I shall have my pound of flesh first.” He commenced spanking her in earnest. Each blow jarring her through and through. Her bottom had just been beginning to feel better, too, but now, oh, now it was ailing once again. Tom continued to spank her, despite her protests, despite her squirming.

“Show some manners, Brandywyn!”

“Varlet!” Her protests were growing weaker and weaker as tears threatened to fall. And still, he spanked her again and again. “Please,” she finally pleaded. “Please stop. I shall be more kind.”

“I do not believe you,” he said, laying another half-dozen spanks on her fiery buttocks. The pain had rippled down her thigh to her knees along with his hard hand. “And I
shall
have my bed back this night!”

“Very well! I relent. Please stop, please!” She was sobbing, her nose running and her mouth and chin trembling. Misery assailed her as she realized that she was a pawn in the hands of men—men who had no desire to listen to her rightful demands.

With one more resounding smack at the juncture of her two nether cheeks, Tom pronounced the spanking over. “Mind your manners, Brandywyn. You may stay with me until you remember your true identity, but this princess tale should cease. No doubt, your poor treatment by the kidnappers clouded your mind. I shall help remind you of who and what you really are.”

Despite her woeful condition, she still bristled at the use of her name and was furious about his disbelief.

“But I
am
Princess Brandywyn!”

“Of course you are,” he said, a pitying light in his gaze.

“Oh! You are a lout!” Still, this was not the time or place to argue over it. She needed to remember that on the morrow she would be heading back home.

“Get into the bed,” he told her firmly.

She sniffled and her breath came in sobs, but she followed his command and crawled into the blankets.

“Move toward the wall.”

Brandywyn scooted over toward the cool wall and watched Tom blow out the light and remove his clothes, all but his shirt. His manly parts were covered by its hem, but deep within, Brandywyn wished he was uncovered. She had never seen a man that way so close up, and this was the closest she would get outside of her marriage bed. Curiosity ate at her, but she closed her eyes and bit it down. Her aching bottom reminded her that he was not to be trusted wholly.

The blankets rustled as Tom got into the bed beside her. Her breath caught. He was so warm, his scent masculine but clean. His legs brushed hers and she could feel the hair that covered them and the strength of his muscles.

Tom turned on his side, away from her, and promptly fell asleep.

Although she was a tiny bit insulted by his lack of interest in her, Brandywyn was also very tired and somewhat relieved that he was no rapist. Thus far, she had been lucky in that regard. She vowed to rise before Tom and make herself gone before he arose.

Chapter Four

Brandywyn was still sleeping when Tom rose and began his morning ablutions. As he washed his face in the stream and scrubbed the overnight sweat off his body, he wondered if the kidnappers had been too hard on her. Her bottom had shown a few old bruises when he had spanked her. He felt bad about that. He would have to remember to be more gentle with her as her skin was delicate. She was in a difficult situation, and that had to be considered. Be that as it may, she still needed to learn obedience or she would put herself in dangerous situations. She was very headstrong, and needed a firm but loving hand to find her way. He would be the man who taught her. At least while their situation remained as it was.

He threw on his clothes, milked the cow, and returned to the cottage bearing milk for their breakfast. There was a loaf of bread left over from the previous day, and Tom thought that would do to break their fast.

While he worked on a leather project, Brandywyn stirred. She was tousled and sleepy-looking. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stretched in the rough bed. As the covers fell away from her, he admired her full breasts and the curve of her waist beneath his worn shirt. She was young and beautiful as no one he had ever met before. The only time he had seen her look lovelier was when he watched her on the beach. How extraordinary she had been, so carefree and laughing. He longed to kiss her chafed cheeks and tenderly minister to her. It seemed very likely she was still a maid, though one could never be sure without a trial. It made him jealous to think of her with another man, but there was no reason to belabor the point in his own mind. He would find out soon enough.

“Good morning, Brandywyn.”

She stiffened at the sound of her name, but said nothing about its use. “Good morning, Tom.”

“Come and break your fast with me. I have fresh milk and hearty bread here.”

“I must…” She looked around for a moment. “There is no screen.”

“No.” He knew what she wanted, but ‘twould not be given. She needed to learn that she was not always going to be treated like a princess.

Brandywyn blushed furiously, right to her roots. “But… I need to use the chamber pot.”

“‘Tis under the bed. Do you go ahead.”

“Leave me, then. I cannot use it with you here.”

“Of course you can. There should be no secrets between us, sweeting.”

“Tom… Please.”

Perhaps ‘twas an embarrassment for her, and humbling, but a bit of humility would do her good. He shook his head and gestured toward the underside of the bed.

“I demand—”

“Brandywyn, demands will avail you nothing. Do what you need to, and leave off with demands.”

“Oh! Oh! You try my patience sorely! Very well, I shall piss on your floor!”

He frowned. It seemed she was full of surprises. “Do you, and you will clean it up, and earn yourself another spanking in the bargain.”

Brandywyn’s shoulders sagged a bit for a moment, but soon she straightened them and, chin held high, she got out of bed, removed the chamber pot and, hiking the shirt up in the back—but not in the front where he could catch a glimpse of her private parts—did what she needed to do.

Well enough. She had relented. As she stood, Tom gestured toward the door. “Empty it into the privy. ‘Tis around in the back and down the short path toward the forest.”

“Why did you not tell me you had a privy?!”

“Did you ask?”

“Oh! Oh! I shall have you drawn and quartered! Hung by your ears! I shall—”

“Aye, aye, aye. No doubt your depravations here will have me dead soon enough. Go empty the chamber pot.”

“I shall not. ‘Tis not proper for a princess to handle such matters.”

Tom found his patience, though it was sorely tested. “You are not a princess here. Do as I said.”

She appeared to think it over, though her jaw remained tight with anger. Huffing her disdain for such a menial task, she gingerly picked up the chamber pot and went outside with it. Tom knew she would not run away. He had gathered her clothes from the rock that morn. She had naught but his shirt to wear. He ought to keep her naked, he thought. ‘Twould do her right.

Her reappearance in the room banished such thoughts. They broke their fast in silence. Tom gave her the clothes she had arrived in, much cleaner for the washing, and settled back down to work on his leather project.

Brandywyn dressed silently, putting the garments on over his shirt. Tom had to hide his smile. They had slept in the same bed, yet she hid herself behind maidenly virtue.

“I want to go home,” she pronounced, standing near the table where he worked.

“Where is home, exactly?”

“Why, the royal palace, of course!”

“Um-hm. I see we have much to work upon.”

She stomped her bare foot. “I demand—”

“There you go again. Are you daft that you cannot see past demanding everything you wish? Can you not say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?”

Frowning, obviously quite angry, she ground out, “Please take me home.”

Tom looked her up and down. “Think you they will accept you as the princess when you have naught but a man’s shirt and rags to wear?”

She deflated visibly. “They know me there.”

“They know a woman in silks and satins, with combed hair and clean nails. She is not you. They will treat you as an imposter, Brandywyn.”

Biting her lip, she fisted and unfisted her hands, obviously frustrated and considering her options. “Then take me to the village. They will surely help me by giving me proper clothes.”

“Uh-hm,” he said again. “Of course they will.” He handed her his leatherwork. “Shoes. You cannot go about with bare feet. You will harm yourself.”

Brandywyn looked at the ghillies, back at him, and down at the shoes again. “Thank you.”

“That is better. Now might I see a smile on that pretty face?”

She gave him a sweet smile.

“Well enou’. Put them on and I shall take you to the village.”

She sat in the chair and held out her foot. “Dress me.”

Tom sighed. She was persistent, certes. “Dress yourself.”

“I do not know how to fasten these slippers. You do it.”

“Can you tie a knot?”

“Of course I can!”

“Figure it out.”

“Cannot you be my lackey this one time?”

“I am never your lackey, Brandywyn. Best you remember that.”

“I hate you!”

Although that statement hurt, Tom chose to ignore it, gesturing to her feet instead.

Frowning, she bent to the task. It took her a few moments to discover how to attach the humble slippers to her feet, but she managed, sighing with pleasure when she had accomplished the chore.

Tom offered his arm and led her out of the cottage and down a circuitous path toward the village. Brandywyn appeared to take no notice of her surroundings, walking with her head held high as though it was her due to be accompanied silently. To himself, Tom thought about her high-handed ways and vowed to teach her manners and humility. It was his goal and he would see it done, or die trying. Angry as she could be, dying was not so far-fetched an idea. Brandywyn might take up a knife and do him in!

After a while, the trees parted and the village came into view. Brandywyn, her expression imperious, stopped the first person she saw. “I am Princess Brandywyn of Ring. Clothe me.”

The young woman laughed. “And I am Queen Maj of Bastin!” She looked at Tom. “Where did you find this one? Under a faery ring?”

Tom smiled. “The girl has had a shock, ‘tis all. She has this notion and has not found her wits yet.”

“Ah.” She patted Brandywyn’s arm, and Brandywyn quickly pulled it away. “Not the friendliest, is she?” said the woman, frowning now.