Lady Meriwyn's Punishment (4 page)

Henic, his own page was there, but the others seemed to be hanging about him as well. He thought he detected a sense of guilty excitement. Something was certainly afoot. That evening, after he had greeted Meriwyn and Anna, had a bath and heard from the steward, he sat down near the hearth and called to the boys.

“All right, what happened while we were gone?”

The pages all looked at one another. He could see an excited interest in most of their faces, which meant only one or a few were the guilty party, and the rest were eager to see what would happen. He swept their faces, looking for the boy who had trouble meeting his eye. Redwald. He had a swollen, purplish eye and a guilty look upon his face.

Henic stood at Redwald's elbow and nudged him. “Tell him,” Henic whispered.

Redwald's face reddened.

“Does this matter concern anyone other than Redwald?” he asked the rest of them.

“No, sir,” they all muttered after recovering from their surprise that he had guessed the culprit.

“Then leave us to speak in private,” he directed. The boys scattered reluctantly, stealing glances over their shoulders as they departed. “How does he
do
that?” he heard one of them whisper as they walked away.

“What happened?” he asked directly.

Redwald scuffed his calf-skin boot in the hay. “I hit a girl,” he mumbled at last.

“Pardon me?”

Redwald lifted his eyes. “I hit a girl,” he said miserably.

“Ah. I see,” he said, his interest sharpening. “Tell me about it.”

“It was Anna.”

Now it was abundantly clear why all the pages had taken an interest in Redwald's transgression. If he had not already seen Anna in perfect health he might have worried, but it was Redwald who sported the bruise on his face. “Tell me,” he commanded.

Redwald's ears turned pink. “We were practicing with the sling and we quarreled.” He lowered his eyes. “I called her a name and then...we fought.”

“Who threw the first punch?” he asked with a sinking feeling.

“Anna.”

“I see. And then?”

“Then I knocked her down and hit her and then Lady Meriwyn and Ricbert made us stop.”

He rubbed his face, feeling more and more grim about the situation. Neither his lady wife nor his daughter had mentioned anything about the incident. “What did Lady Meriwyn do?”

“She made me promise to never hit a girl again. She said if I did--” the boy stopped abruptly.

“If you did--?” he prompted.

The boy shook his head. “I mean, she made me promise, so I did.”

“She said if you did... what?”

The boy scuffed his heel in the hay again. “Nothing.”

He gripped the boy's shoulders and gave him a shake. “Never lie to me, Redwald!” he growled. “A knight never lies to his master, nor should a page.”

He could feel the boy trembling under his touch, but Redwald raised his eyes bravely. “She said if I promised, she wouldn't tell you what had happened,” he mumbled.

“I see.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for confessing your mistake, Redwald. I appreciate your honesty.”

“I beg your forgiveness, sir.”

“Aye, you seem sorry enough to me. I won't punish you this time, but if I find you've been fighting with
anyone
-- boy or girl, you'll be whipped soundly.”

The boy sagged in relief. “Thank you, sir.”

He stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Make sure you keep that promise you made to my lady wife.”

“Aye, sir-- I will.”

He sighed and strode off in search of Meriwyn. He found her eagerly awaiting him in their chambers, her outer dress off, her long hair unbound and spilling over her shoulders. Unfortunately, the activity that had been on both their minds would have to wait.

“Meriwyn.”

“My lord?”

“Why did you not tell me about the fight between Anna and Redwald?”

Meriwyn's face grew tight. She drew herself up, her small hands clenched into fists. “Because I handled it,” she replied primly.

His temper flared. “
Handling it
would mean you addressed the problem at the time and then reported it when I returned,” he said. His voice had raised and Meriwyn took a step backward, her face paling, though her mouth was still set in a stubborn line.

“There was no need to report it if I'd already addressed it!” she declared shrilly.

“No need to report it? Who is the master here?” he demanded.

She took another step backward, her mouth opening and closing once before she managed to speak. “You are, of course, my lord.” She flexed her clenched fingers. “I didn't know it would be so important to you, else I would have told you first thing,” she said placatingly. “I had other things on my mind...” she said, giving her hair a toss over her shoulder and turning on her bedroom eyes.

“Nay, woman, you deliberately kept it from me! You told Redwald you would not tell me if he promised not to hit a girl again. And now you've just made it far worse for yourself by lying to me. You will be punished for this.”

Meriwyn dropped all pretenses, showing real fear now. “I'm sorry, Conrad,” she said quickly, still backing up, though he was not advancing upon her. “I just didn't want the children to be whipped. There was no real harm done.”

He nodded slowly. “You don't trust me to be a fair disciplinarian?”

She looked at him with wide eyes, which she eventually lowered without answering.

“I see,” he said sadly, sitting on the bed. “Because you think a whipping is barbaric? Is that it?”

She flushed and gave a tiny shrug.

“I did not decide to whip Redwald, nor do I plan to whip Anna, unless speaking with her changes my mind. You, however...” he trailed off, watching as one of her eyes began to blink rapidly in a nervous tick. He extended an arm toward her. “Come here, little wife. Come and find out for yourself whether I can be trusted to discipline my wards.” He kept his voice gentle, having realized that showing his temper did little to reassure her that he was not a barbarian.

She blinked back tears now but did not move from where she stood. “Come, Meriwyn. You know you deserve it. You deliberately hid something from me and then you lied about it. Come to me now for your chastisement.”

Her foot moved and then stopped again. He could see the fear and the desire to obey warring within her. “Meriwyn,” he said reassuringly. “It's just me.”

His words turned her insides to liquid. She met his eye then and their gazes locked. She saw compassion there, and love. The anger he had shown when he'd first come in was gone. He was holding an arm out to her, as if he meant to embrace her, rather than spank. She stumbled forward and allowed it to encircle her waist and guide her gently across his lap. She was glad he had not asked her to undress this time. Instead, he slid her chemise up himself, his large, calloused hand traveling up her calf and then her thigh, across the curve of cheeks he was about to strike. She held her breath.

His hand came down sharply and she made a little “oomph” sound.

She was relieved it was just his hand. “Thank you,” she said.

He spanked again and again. “For what?”

“Oomph. Using your hand,” she grunted.

“Ohhh. Sorry, little wife, but you will be getting the strap today as well.”

Panic welled up in her chest at that. What was he doing now, then? How long was this to go on? She squirmed as he continued slowly, methodically, creating an unbroken rhythm with the sound of her slapped flesh. He was orderly with where he placed the spanks-- first one cheek, then the other, then directly in the middle, striking at exactly the juncture where bottom meets thigh and nowhere else, so that the intensity of the burn created in those places began to mushroom until she kicked her legs and whimpered, “Please!”

“I'm sorry, Meriwyn, but you earned this,” he spoke calmly through his slaps.

“Conrad! Oh!” She wanted it to stop. She was afraid of the pain. She was sure she couldn't take any more-- and he still meant to strap her! “Sir? Please!” she cried.

“Shh,” he said, stopping the spanking to rub her heated bottom. The rubbing brought immediate relief to both her smarted backside and her panicked emotions. “You're doing well,” he soothed. She couldn't see how enduring the onslaught of his hand constituted “doing well” but she kept her mouth shut. His thighs felt firm and hard under her trembling body. He kept one hand wrapped around her waist, firmly holding her in place as the other stroked her sorely spanked bottom. She whimpered, wishing more than anything that it could be over.

His hand came down hard again, though, and she jumped, jolted out of her momentary reprieve. He began the spanking again at full force, and this time she did not submit to it-- she wriggled and writhed against his hold, trying to free herself. This was too much-- he had no right to hurt her this way. At last he stopped and pulled her up to her feet.

She glared at him, furious. Her hair fell into her face and she didn't bother to push it back. She felt her lower lip tremble, so she bit it so he wouldn't see. She would not give him the satisfaction of making her cry.

Except that he did not look satisfied. She thought she saw pain in his eyes, which confused her.

He stood up and led her to the corner of the room, facing the wall. “I want you to stand here for a moment, Meriwyn.”

“What?” she spit out, incredulously. She was not a naughty child who should be made to stand in the corner.

“Aye. It's to give you a break from the chastisement and a chance to think about the position you're in.”

“The position I'm in? I am all too well-aware of the position I'm in-- I am standing in a corner!” Her shrill voice filled their chamber.

“Enough!” Conrad whirled her to face him. “You have tried my patience, Meriwyn, and now I have reached my limit. If you refuse to accept your punishment, you may sleep downstairs on a pallet with the serfs!”

If it had been his kindness that had caused her to rebel, his anger certainly had the opposite effect. Her knees went weak and she whirled to face the wall so fast she saw stars.

Conrad sighed. “Thank you,” he said heavily and moved away.

She didn't move or speak, but simply stared at the place where the outer stone wall met the wooden wall that served as a partition to their chamber. Her heart beat quickly in her chest as a tear slid down her nose. She had made a mistake. Several, really. And the last thing she wanted was an angry husband. She ought to go and beg forgiveness on her knees. Except she was supposed to be facing this corner. She should have said something when he'd barked. Should she say something now? Stay in her corner but tell him she was sorry? Nay, she was supposed to be contemplating the position she was in. It was a cursed one, she knew that much. She couldn't contemplate much beyond the throb of her tingling bottom, her dread of the strapping she had coming, and her fear that Sir Conrad would not forgive her.

“Come here.” His voice was calm again. She turned and faced him. He sat in the same position on the bed, but this time had a leather strap lying next to him. She moved to stand before him, her thumbs worrying her pointer fingers at her sides. “Take off your shift.”

Her belly tightened and though she would not have thought it possible, her heart thumped even harder against her ribs. She silently begged his mercy as her trembling fingers pulled off her covering. She pressed her elbows into her sides and hunched her shoulders, as if that would somehow offer protection from his burning gaze on her vulnerable, naked body.

He stood and she took a step back to accommodate his towering height. “Sit,” he commanded.

She was confused. “Sit?”

“Aye.”

She sat nervously on the edge of the bed where he had just been, feeling the residual warmth he left behind. He picked up the strap and towered over her. She was completely confused about what he planned to do to her, which only compounded her distress.

“Lie back and lift your legs in the air.”

“My legs?”

“Aye.”

She lowered herself to her back on the bed and raised her legs, only then realizing his intent. “Hold your legs back for me.”

Her breath entered and exited shallowly as she fumbled to obey him, completely humiliated by the position. Her bottom was fully spread and exposed to him-- but even worse-- her sex was as well, and there was no place to hide her face from him. He held onto her crossed ankles and lifted the strap. She gasped before he brought it down smartly across her bottom. The pain screamed through her and her body jerked in response, her legs kicking against her arms, her bottom bobbing and tightening. He brought the strap down again and she cried out, her body jerking involuntarily. “Oww,” she moaned softly.

Again the strap came down. This time he looked at her face afterward. She turned hers sharply away from him, wishing she had some way of hiding it. The leather bit into her tender flesh again and she began to weep. He continued to whip her, pausing between each stroke so that the pain was fully reverberating before the next one fell. It was horrible-- not just the searing pain, but the humiliation of it. She was not counting, but she guessed he had delivered a dozen or so strokes when he paused. “Do you hide things from your husband, Meriwyn?” he asked quietly. There was no malice or anger in his tone, but she still heard the warning notes.

“No, sir.” She shook her head emphatically on the bed through her tears. “Never. I will never hide anything from you again,” she sobbed.

She thought she saw his face soften, but he delivered another searing stripe across her raw orbs. “Do you lie to your husband, Meriwyn?”

Again she rolled her head from side to side. “No, sir!”

Again he brought the strap down on her unprotected bottom.

“Do you submit to his authority over you?

“Yes, sir!” she gasped. “Please, Conrad! I'll be good. I'll never question your judgment again!”

He lowered the strap and looked at her. Through her tears, she saw pain in his eyes. “You do question my judgment, don't you?” It was if he was just realizing it now that she'd put words to it.

“No! No, sir. Please,” she begged him, still sobbing, tensed and waiting for the next stripe.