Droit De Seigneur (2 page)

He’d barely been on his own land for more than an hour, and already someone was challenging him to a fight – and that someone was a female, at that! What kind of welcome could he expect from the men of the area? Had his reputation not preceded him? Had no one in these backwards parts ever heard that they called him Cruel Piers?

Within seconds, once he put his mind to it and let himself forget that she was a woman, he had her clamped against him and completely subdued.

Well, as subdued as Amber ever got. He’d applied pressure to a point between her second and third fingers such that agony shot through her hand and she’d dropped her small blade, wishing desperately that she’d kept something more substantial on her person. But she kept her feet kicking and her head butting, however ineffectively. Her toes were – she was sure –

breaking against his rock hard shins, and she was certain her forehead was going to wear the brand of his chain hauberk as she banged her head incessantly against it.

He switched her position and carried her at his side like a log, where she could do less damage to the both of them and simply thought for a moment. Part of him wanted to laugh, and part wanted to bury himself deep within her, and he wasn’t at all sure he liked either impulse.

But the foremost thought in his mind was that this young woman needed to be taken in hand. She was wandering in the woods all by herself. She was obviously of marriageable age. Where was her husband? Or at the very least, her father? Why wasn’t she home, taking care of her babies?

Or the house? Why hadn’t she noticed or acknowledged the fact that she’d frightened his horse, and then attacked him when he’d come to take her to task about it?

Obviously, whoever’s responsibility it was to see to this woman wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He wasn’t the type to shy away from doing what he thought was right. Whether the job was big or small, Piers never shied from bending his back to hard work. It was one of the things that made him so beloved by his men – he was always right there beside them in the thick of the battle, unlike a lot of leaders, who preferred to lead from a safer, more comfortable distance.

And this job was just right for him. He thought back to France, where the amiable Josette awaited his word to come join him, once he’d established himself here in this foreign land. She would make a most biddable wife. There was not a contentious bone in her body. She would be content to give him sons and run his household, as a woman should.

As he settled onto a fallen log and placed Amber face down over his lap, controlling her outraged protests with depressing ease, he said a prayer for her husband, if indeed there was one.

From the way this woman was acting, he needed it. With no more ceremony than if he was taking out his cock to relieve himself, he lifted her tunics, which he noted were worn, but extremely clean, to expose her already scourged bottom.

“Well, I can see someone’s already beaten me to it.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile at his unintentional word play. Someone had definitely already been at her bottom, and they’d done a nice job of it, too, but apparently it hadn’t taken, if its message had been to keep her at home.

“Why’d you get the strapping?” He recognized the marks of the strap well, having used it himself in several instances, as well has having been on the receiving end on more than one occasion his own youth. Then he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “And who delivered it?” It was on the tip of her tongue to call him a Norman pig. It was glaringly obvious that he was a part of the occupying force that was scouting out possible sites in the area for building the castle fortress where their Norman master would live. But then she also had half a mind to pretend she didn’t know the French the Norman was speaking. Most hereabouts didn’t; it was only because of her Mother’s wish that her girls be educated – and her father’s complete devotion to her mother – that she did. She could both read and write French and English, as well as Latin and Greek, plus she could do basic maths and had a predilection for sciences, especially botany, which she’d already parlayed into an herb garden that had villagers from far and wide coming to her – however grudgingly - for remedies that only she seemed able to concoct.

While she was deciding, the man who, unbeknownst to her, would be her Lord and Master let her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t the type who appreciated being left waiting. He repeated his question in clear, unaccented English, just in case, but also applied several unforgiving swats to her exposed rear, to hurry things along.

His swats were nothing like those her father gave her. Lawson had long since given up spanking her with his hand; he didn’t have the upper body strength necessary to make an impression on her, so he’d taken to using implements, which gave him the emphasis he needed for his stubborn daughter.

But this man didn’t need help from anything but his own huge palm and impossibly broad shoulders that strained against the chain hauberk. To her complete shame, she’d shrieked with each smack, which was exactly what she didn’t want to do in front of this man. Her father was her father, and she loved him, he was a larger than life figure to her, but he wasn’t a physically big man. He was about her height, and didn’t weigh much more than she did.

The man over whose lap she currently resided was nothing if not huge. He had long black hair that wasn’t covered by a helmet, which may or may not have been the smartest choice, considering that the Normans had only recently completed their conquest of the English. His eyes were a bright, intelligent green that seemed to cut right through her. For a moment, just before she’d lunged at him with her pitifully small knife, it had seemed as if those eyes had seen much more of her than she’d wanted him to, and that was what had prompted her to take a swipe at him. He’d made her feel vulnerable by just looking at her, and she didn’t like that, especially not the idea of feeling vulnerable to the enemy, whether she was supposed to be one of the vanquished or not.

His thighs were broad and strong, she could attest personally to that since they were rock hard beneath her stomach, and one hugely muscled arm lay surprisingly gently across the small of her back, holding her – and the tunics he’d unceremoniously lifted to reveal her naked and previously punished backside - in place but not causing her any pain.

It wasn’t the arm across her lower back that she had to worry about, she realized, when two more bruising blows were delivered to her already blistered rear. “My father. My father strapped me.” She stopped herself there, figuring it prudent not to tell him that she’d been stealing from a group of people who, from the look of him, were probably his own men. He was definitely a solider of some sort or other, not that she knew a lot about Norman soldiers, nor did she intend to learn.

Unlike her father, he was making freer with his hands than he should, rubbing her offended parts and even letting his fingers travel down the crack of her bottom to boldly tickle the junction of her thighs.

If she’d thought she could find a vulnerable spot on him, she would have bitten him, but all that she was presented with was covered with chain mail, and her teeth were too valuable to her.

“And what were you being punished for, Madame?”

“It’s Miss,” she corrected bravely.

“Miss, is it? No man around here can handle you, hmm?” He asked, emphasizing each of his words with a smack that had her bottom aching and her eyes flooding with tears.

The audacity of the man! And the accuracy, but the audacity mostly! Amber could feel her cheeks burning worse than they had when he’d flipped her tunics up over her bum without so much as a by your leave. He knew her all too well on an all too short acquaintance and he seemed intent on getting to know her better much too quickly for her tastes.

Without interrupting that awful rhythm of slaps, he asked again, “And why did he lay the leather to your impudent bottom, Miss . . . ?”

Again, she had half a mind to give him a made up name, but thought better of it. “Amber.

Amber Cooper.” The words came hard to her, as she did her best not to cry, although it was a lost cause. She’d be damned if she’d let a Norman pig reduce her to tears. She hadn’t let anyone see her cry since her Mother died when Faine was born, and she wasn’t going to start now, with some strange Norman warrior who fancied a slap and tickle in the woods.

But it was hard. He knew what he was doing. His hand rarely fell in exactly the same spot, but it was big enough that there were always areas that overlapped, so every swat was agonizing.

“I – I,” she’d never been at a loss for words before in her life, but this man was accomplishing a lot of firsts for her. She couldn’t think straight for the fire he was igniting in her bottom. “I was wandering in the woods. Papa doesn’t like me to do that.” He stopped for a moment, and Amber was completely humiliated by the sigh she let out when the barrage of swats finally let up. “Ahh. So today,” he checked the sky for the position of the sun, “by only noon, you’ve already disobeyed your father twice, nearly unseated me from my horse, and attacked me, and been punished twice. Quite a day’s work for a mere woman.” She’d started struggling even before he’d begun insulting her, not that it had gotten her anywhere. She was exactly where he wanted her, and not an inch different from when she’d begun flailing to try to get away from him. The only thing different was that she was now more exhausted than before she’d begun.

But she wasn’t out of fight, by any means, and, out of the corner of her eye, she could see her small blade not far from his left foot. If only she could lean over, just a bit, just enough . . .

Chapter Two

Several things happened at once. His leg went out from under her, yet, when she tried to use this sudden change in position to her advantage, she found herself still well trapped. The knife she’d been aiming for, desperately reaching for, almost dislocating her arm from its socket in order to reach, was kicked well away, and a hard flat item crashed down onto her already swollen nates. Pain exploded in her bottom and her head, and she lost herself entirely, bursting in to abject tears.

She rolled herself into a ball, wanting only to disappear, hoping to die, and wishing that he would simply get on with the killing, like all the Normans did. Instead, to add insult to injury, he was suddenly surrounded by cadre of soldiers, all of whom saluted him as their leader.

One came forward and bowed down on one knee before the big man, who stood, paying no attention to Amber whatsoever, for which she was truly grateful. “We believe we’ve found a spot, my Lord. It awaits your approval.”

“Thank you, Troy. I’ll see it now.”

To her surprise, he put his cape over her, then she heard him mount that magnificent black beast of whose wild mane of black hair matched his own. “Fitzwilliam, escort the lady back to her father.”

And with that, he was gone, and she felt more alone than she had in all her life.

Fitzwilliam did exactly as he was told, nothing more, nothing less, although, all the way home, he did keep sneaking glances at Amber. For her part, she had made sure to quickly scoop up the knife she’d lost to that awful, dark man who had ended up being exactly the man she’d least wanted him to be, before they departed, and then she did nothing to make it easy for him to follow her through the woods, knowing them like the back of her hand, she nearly lost him several times on the way, and she wasn’t at all sure he could make it back to his men. But then, that wasn’t at all her problem. She’d deliberately taken him in the most circuitous route possible, and whether or not he made it back was in God’s hands.

The entire family poured out of their home when she arrived in the yard followed by a Norman soldier, who, once he realized she was home, did an immediate about face and headed back into the woods. Her Da had his head in his hands, certain that she was a step away from the gallows, but Amber merely kissed him and asked if dinner was ready. Her sisters poured over her, asking her all sorts of questions about what had happened over a dinner of the rabbit she had caught the previous night, that had been stewing since dawn and was nice and tender.

“I met some man, a big soldier. He was huge and on a big black horse. He had long black hair and was wearing chain mail armor, and, at the end, before he sent me home with that man, Fitzwilliam, his men called him ‘my Lord’ –“

“You met Cruel Piers, you fool girl, and lived to tell of it!” her father said, clutching her forearm and his chest at the same time.

“Cruel Piers?”

“The Count de Montforte. He’s the one King William has chosen to come build a castle here. He’ll probably stay at the remains of Fordwick Castle down Westbury way until it’s built, but the place is crawling with his soldiers. It was his troops you toyed with last night, girl, and probably his wine we’re drinking right now.” Her father loosed his crude wooden cup as if the wine itself was poisoned.

Amber took it up herself and had a large gulp, grunting, “You’d think, as rich as he’s supposed to be, that he’d provide a better quality of wine for his men.”

“Do I want to know any more of what went on between you and the man who holds the fate of this family – this entire territory - in his hands, girl, or is it best that I remain in darkness about it?”

She had the grace to blush, and Lawson sputtered. “Has he had knowledge of you, lass, already? A Norman was good enough for you when none of the men around here were?” Amber frowned. “Of course not, Da. But he did . . . “

“Did what, daughter?” He was quite afraid to ask.

She played with her cup, quite disinterested in her dinner. “Well, I crossed the road in front of him while he was traveling on that great black beast of his. I didn’t notice him at all; I was lost in my own thoughts, and I almost unseated him. He wasn’t very happy with that, but I honestly didn’t see him, Da. He came after me, into the woods, and . . . and spanked me.” Her sisters gasped and giggled, their hands to their small, bright faces.

“So you got it twice this afternoon, did you?”