Authors: Carolyn Faulkner
Droit De Seigneur
Droit de Seigneur
By
Carolyn Faulkner
©2012 by Blushing Books® and Carolyn Faulkner
Copyright © 2012 by Blushing Books® and Carolyn Faulkner
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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Faulkner, Carolyn
Droit de Seigneur
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-712-0
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
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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.
Chapter One
Thwaaaaack!!
She knew better than to move while her father punished her. She was eighteen, an old maid, and this was hardly the first time she’d been bent over the old stump in the back, father’s one hopelessly worn but unfortunately wide belt finding its way unerringly across the swollen hillocks of her backside again and again.
It seemed she never learned, and there was no hope in sight that she’d ever leave his house – not that there was much of a salvation there, either. It wasn’t as if her husband wasn’t going to punish her just as her father had all her life. It would just be trading one man’s belt for another’s, probably.
She groaned out loud with the next cut across the backs of her thighs, unable to stop herself from pulling against the leather straps he’d planted in the other side of the trunk just for her, since she tended to reach back and get her hands strapped.
“Da?”
Amber closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, recognizing Faine’s high pitched voice behind her. She knew her face matched the angry red of her bottom and was glad the little girl couldn’t see her. It was embarrassing to be as old as she was and have her little sister see her being punished like this, but her father wasn’t about to ease up disciplining his daughters if they lived under his roof, and it seemed that she was going to be bent over this stump until the day she died.
“Yes, pixie?” He never missed a beat of Amber’s punishment; indeed, it seemed that he put more of his shoulder into it now that he had an audience.
“Starr says she needs you and to come right away, please.” If anyone in their family could get away with trying to order their father around – even somewhat sounding like it – it was Faine – she was the apple of his eye. Lawson and Twyla Cooper had had six children all together, but only three of them had made it through infancy.
There had been two boys amongst the lost babies, and those were the children Lawson mourned the most. There would be no boys to carry on his name.
Amber was grown and should have been married with babes of her own at her more than generous breasts, but that wasn’t looking probable, considering that she seemed to be more of a boy than a girl in a lot of ways, for which Lawson only blamed himself. He’d allowed her to spend more time with him than he should have, instead of requiring that she stay home with her mother and learn the more wifely arts – which she could do, but didn’t enjoy – he’d allowed her to tag along with him, with the result that she could ride, fish, and hunt better than most of the boys – or men – in the nearby village of Sunder.
As a result, she chafed against the more stifled environment females endured - cooking and cleaning and seeing to the little ones. Her reputation as a hoyden had preceded her, and no man in the area would have her. Who wanted to marry a woman who could show you up on horseback, and, almost worse than that, wasn’t afraid to do it?
No man had ever offered for her, and Lawson had long since stopped expecting anyone to. His attempts to tame her had always failed. She might conform for a short time – long enough for her bottom to stop smarting, but within days she was back at it again, and he hadn’t the heart
– or the strength - to beat her constantly.
He’d decided, long since, that he had to pick his battles with his headstrong eldest.
If only she’d been a boy – she would have made a magnificent son.
Lawson drew a long, deep breath, and laid the last, fiery stripe across the rounded crest of the ruins of her bottom. It was one of the worst punishments he’d ever given her, but then, she didn’t usually risk her life.
As many heartaches as she caused, as much as he wished she were different and easier, he knew he couldn’t stand to lose her, and he knew he had to impress on her the fact that she couldn’t keep harassing the Normans.
They’d lost the war, and she just had to come to grips with that fact. Annoying them would only make things worse. Rumor was that they were going to be gifted with an overlord shortly, and there was a large concentration of Norman soldiers not far from the small village.
Everyone knew where they were, and everyone with any sense was giving them a wide berth.
Someone, however, had loosed all their horses, scattering them to the winds, and had made off with several skins of wine as well as other foodstuffs. Stirrups had been cut, and general mischief had been made.
Lawson walked up behind his daughter as she straightened her tunics and refused to face him. He knew she was probably not crying even if she was, but she never came to him for succor, whether it was after a spanking or for a bump or a skinned knee when she was a child.
She’d never gone to Twyla, either, preferring, instead to run into the forest to cry alone. “You’ve got to stop doing this, Amber. I know my strap won’t be enough to convince you and I don’t know what to do to get through that stubborn head of yours. But you’re going to get yourself killed – or worse – if you keep teasing the Normans.”
It was as close to tears as Lawson himself ever got, either. Although Faine was his favorite, Amber was his firstborn, and at least as close to his heart, despite her annoying streak.
And yet, he knew that his words fell on deaf ears. She turned and smiled at him, that fey smile his wife used to give him, before she died of childbirth fever after giving him the bright eyed gift that was Faine.
“I’ll be fine, Da. Really. I didn’t do anything so horrible. I just wanted to let them know that we weren’t going to make it easy on them.”
“We lost, Amber. We’re the ones who are supposed to do as they say, not the other way around.” That was never something that Amber was particularly good at. She’d always balked at being told what to do, and she’d earned more trips over his lap – or the stump - than any three of his children, and any five of his neighbors’ young ones, combined because of it.
Still he reckoned he couldn’t complain too much. She had a gift, that one. She had the touch - her mother’s gift - with animals, plants, and even some people. Plus, she had the luck of the Irish – or something like it. Someone – perhaps Twyla - had to be looking out for her, or she would have been dead several times over by now.
But the Normans would have absolutely no compunction about killing her. None at all, regardless of whether or not they knew she was a woman. He knew that she sometimes disguised herself as a boy when she went on her little raids. They’d string her up sooner than question her, especially if the men that were in the area now had been sent ahead to secure things for the man who would become their overlord.
Lawson had heard rumors of the soldier who had been chosen, and he hadn’t liked anything he’d heard.
But there she stood; smiling beatifically at him, as if she thought nothing and no one could possibly harm her when she should have known better. He didn’t think he’d ever felt quite so helpless to prevent a terrible tragedy, except when Twyla’d lay dying. He knew as soon as he turned his back that she’d be off again to do whatever she wanted, and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He thoroughly expected that, one day, she’d go off into those woods and he’d never see her again.
She needed a man – a strong man – to take her in hand and tame her. None of the men in the village - or any of the surrounding villages, for that matter – were up to the task, in body or spirit. All he could do was pray that God wouldn’t see fit to take yet another member of his family away from him.
“Och, Da, there’s no fun in that, then, is there?” she popped a kiss on his cheek and ambled towards the woods, where he’d known she would head. At least Amber never held a grudge, against him, anyway. It was as if she understood that his discipline was the price she paid for doing exactly as she pleased while living under his roof.
Granted, she did make sure that the other girls kept the house running efficiently, and she had been the one to do that herself until Starr had become old enough to take over the reins.
There was some friction between Starr and Amber, as Amber was the oldest and Starr couldn’t be married off until Amber was safely wed, which didn’t look like it was ever going to happen.
Starr had had her eye on the son of the village smithy, who had his eye right back on her, but also on any other eligible girl in the area, and Star had become less and less eligible as time had worn on and her elder sister had become longer and longer in the tooth.
She wandered into the woods, rubbing her bottom absently as she made her way. Amber didn’t have to think much about where she was going; she’d grown up here and the woods were her sanctuary. Her mother, along with showing her how to coax the best out of plants and beasts, had enchanted her with stories about woodland faeries and sprites and elves and such during her childhood, and she’d believed every single word, so much so that she’d spent a lot of her time –
well, as much as she’d been allotted in between chores – looking for the little buggers, so far without success. But the forest had befriended her, nonetheless, providing a kind of solace that human kind could not. She had all kinds of hidey holes and treasure troves hidden everywhere, that at first, when she was a child, contained childish trophies and special items. Now they contained potions and herbs, as well as emergency food, weapons, wine and water enough to sustain her and her family for a while, just in case. She’d rigged several simple shelters that were hidden to the naked eye, as well as constructing several traps that kept the family supplied with meat.
The chances were good that her trapping days were going to be limited shortly, because the lord of whatever manor they constructed certainly wasn’t going to allow her to poach on his territory, but she was going to keep it up until someone told her to stop, ignoring the fact that she might not be told so much as simply be hung if she was caught. She’d already curbed her usual forays for deer, which had severely limited the family’s diet. Amber had heard the rumors and had seen for herself that King William’s handpicked men were about, looking for a place to build a castle fortress for their new overlord, who sounded like a downright dreadful man, from what she’d heard about him.
But then, all Normans seemed dreadful to her.
She appeared out of the thick forest in front of him like a wraith, and his horse, Tygan, reared unexpectedly, nearly unseating him. But for all the commotion she caused, she never acknowledged him, or his ill-behaved horse. She merely crossed what rough trail passed for an English road and entered the woods on the other side. Piers ruthlessly controlled his mount, embarrassed that he’d lost control of him in the first place - and in front of a common English wench, at that. Yet, there was something about her that intrigued him, and more than that, annoyed him.
He wasn’t used to being summarily ignored.
After swinging down from his mount, he followed her into the woods, catching up to her only a few steps in. He swung her around with a jerk on her arm and was amazed to see that when she whirled around she’d assumed a fighting stance and had a small blade in her right hand. If he hadn’t been so surprised he would have burst out laughing. He was at least twice her size and had a lifetime’s worth of battle experience on her, he’d be willing to bet.
But she wasn’t smiling, and a frightened woman with a blade could be dangerous.
And apparently she wasn’t afraid to use it, he surmised, when she stabbed at him and managed to draw blood from a small nick on his forearm, only because he was trying not to hurt her – why, exactly, he wasn’t quite sure himself.
His left eyebrow rose. This woman was growing more and more intriguing by the minute.
