The Knight's Seduction (6 page)

Barrett appeared behind her and she tensed. He began to rub her buttocks firmly, spreading the localized pain of her welts to the whole of her bottom. Her flesh blazed with stinging heat and though she had disliked his touch at first, it began to ease the intensity of the whipping. It also caused those strange spiraling sensations to swirl in her stomach and a pulsing to begin in her sex. She hated to admit it, but some part of her might actually like the overbearing way he handled her. Had she wanted to be spanked? Impossible.

He lifted her to stand, tossing her skirts down and brushing her hair away from her face. “Eight licks and not a tear. I knew you were brave,” he said, although he sounded a bit sad, as though it had pained him to whip her. “I can lock you in my chamber for the day or you can come outside with me, but I can’t allow you free rein to roam about the castle on your own.”

“I’ll come outside with you,” she said immediately. The idea of being locked alone in his chamber all day frightened her.

He looked surprised, but pleased. Picking up her cloak, he wrapped it around her shoulders, fastening it at the throat. “You will have to behave or you’ll get the crop again, and I don’t imagine your poor bottom could take that,” he said, reaching behind her and giving her throbbing backside a squeeze that pulled her body against his.

She meant to push him away, except her legs did not hold her and she fell against him. He wrapped strong arms around her and held her close. She should not cling to him like a child who needed reassurance, except she did, actually, crave something from him. She lifted her face, not knowing what she would say, and to her dismay, her eyes filled with tears.

One spilled and he brushed it away, peering down at her with kindness. “My intent is not to break you, Lady Daisy. Only to gain your cooperation.”

More tears spilled. She had never cried so much in front of another person, at least, not that she could remember. Not even after she’d fled to Hohenzollern. And yet, he did not seem alarmed by her weeping. Rather, he seemed to accept the tears as his tribute and wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Do you need to stay here and have a cry? I can come back for you in a little while.”

She shook her head, shamelessly pressing herself closer.

* * *

He pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. How insensitive of him. Just because she hadn’t cried during her thrashing, didn’t mean she was ready to be paraded out through the castle moments later. He embraced her, rubbing her bottom to minimize bruising.

She moaned, and he became alert. Desire or pain? Mayhap a bit of both. He cradled her head and lifted her face, brushing his lips softly over hers. She responded and he kissed harder, claiming her mouth with the authority provided him as her husband. When he broke away, she looked dazed.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

Her head wobbled as she nodded.

He smiled to reassure her. Escorting her out in the bailey, he found the back wall that had been wrecked in an attack in late autumn. Repairs had to wait for one thing and another, but Erik was wise to have the men work on it now, even in the cold of winter. Facing spring raids without a proper defense could be the end of a small kingdom like theirs.

The men stood waiting for him, some lounging about, sprawled on their arses. They scrambled up when he arrived, lifting their chins and chests in the fashion of the Roman army.

“Couldn’t get started without me?” he groused.

The higher ranking men looked flustered. “Prince Erik said you’d be out to direct us, sir.”

He grinned to show he hadn’t been serious. “And so I am,” he proclaimed. He attempted to push thoughts of ravishing his lovely bride from his mind and took in the scope of the project.

“Hans and Adam, set about collecting what we need to mix a mortar. The rest of you get busy hauling rock. I want it sorted into piles of small, medium, and large. We’ll need more than what’s here, too. So Fritz, Andreas, and Herbil, bring the wheelbarrow outside of the wall to bring more stone in. That’s it, men. Get busy.”

“Did you bring your new wife to haul stones as penance for that bite she gave you this morning?” Adam asked with a lewd grin.

He cursed inwardly and snatched the man up, wrapping one fist in the fabric of his shirt and cocking the other to pound his face. “Do not. Speak disrespectfully. About my wife,” he growled loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Forgive me, sir,” Adam exclaimed, his face pale.

Barrett held him bent backward, his arm ready to strike for a long moment before he released him with a shove. “Anyone else have a wisecrack about my lady wife?”

A chorus of
no, sir
answered.

“Very well. Get to work.”

He turned to Daisy. He had hoped few had noticed the bite in the dining hall and he had chosen not to punish her publicly because he wanted her to feel comfortable at Rothburg. Humiliating her more than he had already done would be inconsiderate, at least until she had settled in.

Daisy’s eyes were round, but she surprised him by saying, “I will move stone if you untie my wrists.”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Nay, lady. I’d have a dagger in my back the moment I turned around.”

She looked disappointed, as if her request had been genuine. She took a step closer to him. “I’m sorry about the bite,” she said in a low voice so the others would not hear. “I do not know what came over me.”

Mayhap he was a fool, but he believed her. He cupped her face and stroked her soft skin with his thumb. “You’re forgiven, wife. But that doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

“No,” she agreed, her shoulders dropping.

“Stay where I can see you, love,” he said and joined the task of sorting stones, heaving the largest rocks. When he turned around, he realized Daisy had decided to help anyway, picking up the smallest stones between her bound hands and making a neat pile against the wall.

“Daisy,” he called. “Come here.”

She looked up in surprise and walked over.

“What are you doing?”

She stuck her chin out at a defiant angle.

God, he’d come to love the spunk in her.

“I’m helping. While it is quite impressive to watch you work, I think I should get quite bored doing nothing.” Her eyes had traveled across his chest and over the muscles in his arms, and she blushed, as if she just realized what she’d admitted.

He smiled. “All right, little one. I will set you free if you wish to work. But if you give me any trouble at all, you’ll be locked in our room for a fortnight. Understand?”

She shuddered. “Yes, sir.”

He unwound the ribbon from her wrists, sorry when he saw how raw they’d become from twisting against the binds while laboring. “You’ll stay right beside me. And if you even think of throwing a rock at me…” He raised his eyebrows and gave her his most stern look.

To his surprise, she giggled.

He grinned. He’d rather have her laughing at his authority than angry. He was determined to win her heart, even if he had to keep her chained to his side for a year to do it. So far, he’d found her enigmatic. One moment easy to manage, the next a feisty spitfire. Of course, she might be putting him on—simply pretending to soften until she had her opportunity to escape. She certainly had the intelligence for such a game.

That idea bothered him more than he’d like to admit.

Daisy set to work at a pace that wouldn’t last, picking up midsized stones, far too large for her to carry. Her face grew red from exertion, little beads of sweat forming at her hairline, despite the cold. She threw off her cloak and continued.

He watched her as he worked, his cock growing hard. Was it wrong to be aroused by a lady in hard labor? Probably. But it spoke to an animalistic need of finding a mate capable of survival. Daisy would not die in childbirth like his mother, one of the castle’s serving wenches, had. But more than her capacity to bear children, seeing her hard at work, without a single complaint reignited an old dream of his: leaving Rothburg and purchasing his own small property.

Without a strong woman at his side, such a dream would never come to fruition. He had enough silver to buy the property, but hadn’t had the lady. Certainly he could have picked any wench from the castle and she would’ve worked her fingers to the bone for him. But he fancied a loftier life.

As a bastard child, born of a serving wench but acknowledged and raised by a prince, he didn’t really fit anywhere. His father had promised him if he pledged his sword to his younger half-brother, the rightful heir, he would always have a place at the high table of Rothburg. And so it had been. He did not covet Erik’s title or his inheritance. His brother treated him as well as he would a full-blood sibling. But no lady at Rothburg would marry him. They wanted a nobleman. A true knight, rightfully born. Not a bastard. And while he had ventured out to make his own fortune as a mercenary, he had never even thought to take a lady from another castle as his wife.

Would it bother Daisy to have a bastard for a husband? He glanced at her again. She looked exhausted, still lugging heavy stones to and fro.

“Take a break, Lady Daisy. You’re looking tired.”

She ignored him and kept working.

He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Enough,” he murmured in her ear. “You’ll ruin your pretty hands.”

* * *

Daisy spread her palms to examine them. They were raw and swollen. What did Sir Barrett’s look like, then? He had been hauling enormous stones all morning with a bite wound. She picked his palm off her belly and opened it. He had hard callouses to protect his skin, but the wound looked swollen and bruised with angry red outlines on the dirt-filled punctures.

“Don’t worry, I can still spank with this hand,” he murmured in her ear, his words sounding less like a warning than a seduction.

The unnerving fluttering sensation started in her stomach again. Did Sir Barrett
enjoy
spanking her? She thought again about his words that morning when she’d pleaded he spank with his hand instead.

I would love to.

Did he mean he would love to accommodate her request? Or he really loved to spank? The muscles between her legs clenched at the memory of being upended over his lap, her bottom jiggling at the slaps from his bare hand. Those very same muscles had been affected—each stinging blow had spoken directly to her core, stimulating and vibrating. Her bottom, still throbbing from her whipping that morning, tingled as if his hand was still upon it.

“You men need a bit of refreshment?” a female voice called out from behind them. A serving wench stood behind them, one hand on her hip, the other carrying a bucket of fresh water and a dipper.

“Over here, Margrite,” Barrett summoned.

The girl sauntered over, looking Sir Barrett’s body up and down and licking her lips. “It’s so honorable to see the master works as hard as the men,” she said, her voice a sultry purr.

Daisy took an instant disliking to the girl. Why did she speak so intimately to Barrett?

He ignored it, and filled the dipper, holding it up to Daisy’s lips. She started to refuse, but he ordered, “Drink.” Even without her wrists bound, he served her.

She hardly knew what to think about that. She drank from the dipper, daintily at first, then deeply as she realized her thirst.

“That’s it,” Barrett encouraged.

When she finished, he drank from it himself and handed it back to the wench, who curtsied low enough to show her cleavage.

“They say it’s the reason you make such a good commander,” Margrite said, continuing her flirtation.

“Go on, Margrite, the other men are thirsty, too,” he said, giving her backside a slap.

She giggled and looked at him coquettishly over her shoulder as she scampered away.

Daisy’s jaw clenched. “Are you in the habit of slapping the backsides of all the women of the castle?”

To her great satisfaction, Sir Barrett froze and looked like a guilty boy. “Forgive me. I am not accustomed to answering to a wife. I suppose you do not take kindly to such a thing?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I most certainly do not.”

The moment of looking chastened passed. He stepped closer. “I was just trying to get rid of her. But you can punish me later if I gave offense,” he said with a wolfish grin.

Her neck and chest grew warm as a ridiculous vision of him offering his bare, muscled bottom up for her small hand rose in her mind. Her eyes dropped below his waist, peeking at the way his strong legs filled out his leggings. When they returned to his face, she found him smirking.

“Do you not have work to do?” she snapped, flustered.

He chuckled. “Aye, my lady. I will return to work.”

She watched him, admiring the huge bulging muscles under his shirt. She considered what Margrite had said. He probably did make an excellent commander. She rested a while, but had no inclination to sit, since her bottom still hurt too much, and standing around watching grew tiresome. Eventually she began to work again. Her muscles ached and her hands had been scraped raw, but she enjoyed being outdoors and exercising her body.

She had never been the sort of lady who relished sitting inside and spinning with the ladies. She had certainly done her fair share of weaving, but Prince Frederick, Princess Susanna’s father, had given her a fair amount of freedom. They’d pitied her, she supposed. When she’d come to their castle, she’d scarcely eaten or spoken for weeks. It had been a traveling minstrel with a harp who finally coaxed her out of her trauma. Prince Frederick had been kind enough to buy the harp from the minstrel, who gave her lessons over the course of a month before he left, rich enough to buy himself a new instrument.

After that, she’d learned every song she could from the traveling bards and provided music and song for the king’s table. It kept her apart from the others. Made her strange enough that no man should seek to wed her. That, and her longbow practice. She taught herself, at the tender age of twelve. Perhaps it had been foresight, because even then, she feared their castle would be sacked. Much more so after Eberhard, Princess Susanna’s uncle took over as commander of their troops.