The Princess and the Huntsman (14 page)

Convincing herself was considerably more difficult than that, and she did not succeed. Instead, she approached the project with stealth, peering over her shoulder often as she carefully looked through the items in Tom’s trunk. There were a few shirts; another threadbare doublet and trunk hose; a shiny pair of relatively new boots—unusual; a book in some foreign language; some wooden children’s toys, though she did not recognize them; and a sword of high quality. Some of these items were hard to explain. Was Tom truly a thief? A highwayman? A rogue? He seemed such an upright fellow, how could it be that he was otherwise?

Worried, but not losing focus, Brandywyn found the small ring box in a corner. She withdrew it and opened it carefully. There lay the signet ring. It was heavy in her fingers as she examined it. The ring was of high quality silver, with filigree on the sides and a small ruby on each side of the symbol in the middle. Unfortunately, she did not recognize the symbol. It was a stylized letter C. Brandywyn wracked her brain, trying to think of a nobleman in court who might have a letter C for his signet. There were several. It was likely to be one of theirs, but since Brandywyn could not identify it certainly, it would be impossible to return it without going to the palace itself, which Tom steadfastly refused to do. Perhaps this was why.

On the left side of the letter C was a tiny bull’s head on its side. That ought to help her figure out the owner, but it did not.

Annoyed at her lack of success at discovering who the signet ring belonged to and how Tom came to have it, she frowned as she put the ring back in its hiding place.

It would have to wait for the right time. Tom would surely tell her, did she ask sweetly.

* * *

As promised, Tom arrived late in the day, but still before suppertime. As he cleaned the goose he brought home, he told Brandywyn of his day and the various ways he had managed to take what he needed from the forest, but no more than that. The villagers’ needs were simple and he was not their only supplier. Hunters from the south and north brought game and other goods to the village as well, trading for whatever they could in return. This day, Tom had traded for the goose and something special for Brandywyn—a clean and well-made, but sturdy, skirt. The homespun was soft, in a proper mossy color, and with no embellishments. But because it tied around the waist, it did not need to be fitted to her specifically—as a bodice would—and so Tom could bring it home immediately.

Brandywyn was delighted and grateful. It was such a thoughtful present from him; her heart sang. She put it on right away, and while it did not go with her threadbare bodice, it was a big improvement. She felt pretty for the first time in a month or more.

They supped together, gazing at each other lovingly, touching hands often. Brandywyn was so in love with him, she fairly burst. A niggling little fear kept sneaking into her thoughts, however. That signet ring, those shiny new boots, that well-wrought sword… Tom might be in trouble for having these things so above his station. It worried her that someone might take him away from her and do him harm.

They worked quietly after supper, Tom making a new leather archer’s arm guard, and Brandywyn putting the goose into the stew pot to cook overnight. She saw this as an opportunity to broach the question she had been mulling over all day.

“Tom… Tom, my love,” she said, as innocently as she could manage. “Tom, where did your signet ring come from? I looked at it today, and I do not recognize the C on its face.”

He did not look up from his work, though Brandywyn could see his shoulders tense. “You looked through my trunk?”

“I was… looking for a fresh shirt.”

Tom’s gaze fell full upon her. “You lie.”

She did not like the look of anger on his face and guilt traveled from her heart to her gut. “Why do you not tell me, Tom? I am your wife. We should keep no secrets between us. Did you steal it?”

Carefully, he put his handiwork down on the table and rose to lean over it and face her more closely. “You would accuse me of stealing when you so clearly were snooping in my belongings?”

“Are not your belongings also my belongings as well?”

“It is not right that you pry into my trunk without asking me first. I am entitled to say aye or nay to this incursion into my privacy.”

Brandywyn bristled. She had no privacy. She had nothing, and yet here he was, cutting a part of himself away from her in the name of privacy. Standing to lean toward him over the table, she spoke through gritted teeth. “I am your wife! I demand access to your things! I found many things in that trunk that cannot possibly belong to you: boots, a sword, the ring. How came you to have these things, Tom? I need to know.”

He stood fully and glowered at her. “‘Twas not your place to rifle through my things. What you found is no business of yours.”

Although she was furious, Brandywyn modulated her voice as best she could. “I worry, Tom. If you are a thief or highwayman, you might be caught. I would be bereft without you.”

“That does not mitigate your transgression, Brandywyn. You could have asked me first.”

“I am asking you now. Where did that ring come from? And do not tell me you inherited it from a rich uncle. Do not lie to me.”

“No matter what I tell you, you will remain suspicious. It was wrong of you to go through my chest, and you will be punished for not asking first. You gave me no chance to give you the truth before you drew your conclusions. Highwayman!” he scoffed. “I cannot believe you would think me so low a creature.”

Brandywyn was embarrassed about that doubt, but he had given her no answers. Mayhap it was something he intended to tell her with time. Although they were married, it was not as though all their lifetimes of experience came out all in a rush over the course of one evening or even one month. She had been wrong to investigate without giving him a chance to clarify and satisfy her curiosity honestly.

“I am sorry, Tom.”

“You will be sorrier. Let we see what is in that trunk for misbehaved wives.”

His tone had her worried. Mayhap he had a cudgel she had not seen. Nay. He would do her no harm, she knew that. Still, he looked angry and determined.

“Go to the trunk. You now know its contents. There are no secrets there.”

Brandywyn eyed him with concern for a moment, but when he gestured toward the trunk, she slowly dragged her feet to the case.

“Open it. Look for some wooden cones.”

The trunk squeaked on its hinges as she opened it. She did not want to rummage around in it, so she hesitated. Offending him further would not be wise. Then she thought of the children’s toys. They were both wooden and cone-shaped. She knew right where they were.

“This?” she asked, holding up one with a round wooden base about two inches in diameter. The cone that sat on the base was very smoothly sanded hardwood, and looked unused by children’s hands. In fact, it looked like a groomed pine tree, conical but without a fine point on the top, and narrow at the trunk.

“Indeed. That one will do. Now, do you bring it to me.”

Brandywyn closed the trunk and brought the cone to her husband.

“Now, do you take your clothes off.”

“Do you intend to spank me again? Mayhap I have earned it, but—”

“Mind me.”

Muttering about being overly predictable, Brandywyn removed her clothing and stood near the hearth for warmth.

“I will spank you, Brandywyn, but this cone will seal the punishment.” He picked up the cup of fresh butter she’d churned that day. Brandywyn remembered their first sexual encounter and how the butter was used. She thought maybe Tom intended to spank her and then take her in that way again. If so, she was not averse to the pleasure after the pain. Her mood brightened, though she still dreaded his hand on her behind.

“Come to me and bend over the table, hands toward the middle.”

Brandywyn eyed the cone, her husband, the table, the butter, but ultimately did as she was bid. Her rump stuck out toward the hearth, her hands toward the middle of the table, where she rested her elbows. She was bent in half.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom take two fingers of butter from the bowl and put it on the softly rounded end of the cone. Next, he applied what was left of the butter on his fingers to the puckered rosette between her bottom cheeks. So, aye, that was his intent, first a spank, followed by lovemaking. Brandywyn relaxed.

But what was the cone for?

Only moments later she found out, for Tom began to push the narrow end of the cone against her bung hole, gently but inexorably inserting it.

Brandywyn was horrified. “Tom! Tom, stop! What do you? That is unpleasant. You are stretching me! I will tear.”

“No, love, you will not tear, but you will stretch uncomfortably. Remember that discomfort when you consider going through my things again without asking.”

“Ow!” The cone penetrated, stretching her until, with a pop, it set in place. The trunk of the little tree continued to keep her open, and the base of the toy kept it from sinking deeper, but that tree inside felt huge and invasive, much bigger than Tom’s prick.

“Now, I shall spank you.”

“No! No, Tom!”

“Aye, aye, Brandywyn. I will not permit nosiness again.”

Groaning, Brandywyn lowered her cheek to the table and gritted her teeth. The sensation inside her bottom was bad enough, but the spanking on the outside was going to make it all the worse.

There was a pause, but it was soon followed by Tom’s hard hand striking her right buttock. It was a hard slap, jarring her entire body. The next several spanks alternated between left cheek and right cheek at no particular rhythm. Brandywyn writhed. With each spank, the bung plug moved and the pressure caused discomfort again. Her bottom was soon stinging from the spanks as well. Over and over, Tom smacked her behind, then down both of her thighs. Tears dripped down Brandywyn’s cheeks and wet the table. Moments later she was sobbing.

Everything hurt, right down to the way her breasts were flattened against the table. She rose to her toes with each blow to her bottom and cried out, whimpering between slaps. The pain was excruciating, and Tom gave her no respite.

The fire behind her from the hearth did nothing but exacerbate the fire on her bottom and she felt like she was scorched. Surely she would be bruised and purple when this awful punishment was over.

“No more snooping, Brandywyn,” Tom lectured.

“No, sir! No, I shall not!”

“Ask first before you venture to make judgments. I am no highwayman, and you should have known that.”

“I know. I did know. I was scared for you.”

More spanks rained down on her thighs and Brandywyn cried out with each one.

“Allow me to see to myself, wife. I am a capable person.”

Although she should have bitten the remark back, Brandywyn spoke before thinking. “With that long, sharp, nobleman’s sword?”

That got her harder spanks, but no answer.

When she was truly exhausted, limp as a dead snail, Tom stopped spanking her.

“Now, do you tell me in your own words. What will you never do again?”

Sniffling, gasping, Brandywyn answered tearfully. “I shall never pry into your things again without asking permission. I shall never accuse you of crimes, even in my own mind. I know you are a good man, Tom. I do know that.”

“Good enou’. You may rise. Come sit upon my lap on the bed.”

Slowly, Brandywyn unbent herself and followed him to the bed. She gingerly sat upon his lap. Although she cuddled into him, Brandywyn could not get comfortable. “What about the tree?”

“Tree?”

“The tree in my… the tree.”

“Ah. ‘Tis a plug, Brandywyn. In a few minutes I will remove it and toss it in the midden. Of course, then I’ll have to make another one for other times when you are naughty. I’ll make sure to carve a bigger one next time.”

“Bigger?” she squeaked.

Brandywyn could feel him nod against the top of her head. “Mayhap you will avoid it by being a very good girl, hm?”

Her answer was quick. “Aye!”

“I shall be pleased to keep it unused forever then.”

Finished with her tears, Brandywyn wilted against his chest, tired, but safe and comforted in Tom’s arms. “I shall never be naughty again.”

Gentle laughter made her husband’s chest rumble. “I find that hard to believe, wife. But I shall help you try whene’er you need it.”

They sat quietly for several minutes while Brandywyn tried in vain to find a comfortable sitting position. Her bottom burned and her bung was discomfited greatly. After a while, however, Tom helped her rise to her feet, and guided her back to the table.

“Bend over again.”

Brandywyn wondered if it was going to hurt coming out as much as it hurt going in, but she did not have long to wait to find out. It definitely hurt worse. The lower part of that tree was wide, stretching her until she was cringing and moaning. Finally, it popped free.

“Stay there,” he ordered and Brandywyn watched him walk out the door. He returned a minute or two later, his sleeves rolled up, wet at the elbows. He’d discarded the tree and washed in the stream.

“May I get up now?”

“Would you like pleasure after your punishment?”

“A reward?”

“Mayhap. You took your punishment well. You must have realized how richly you deserved it.”

Brandywyn’s face went hot. “Aye. I was wrong.”

“Indeed.” He stepped behind her and Brandywyn heard the rustle of his clothes. His doublet got tossed on the chest and his old, worn boots made a loud thunk as they hit the edge of the trunk.

Tom rubbed his pelvis against her hot bottom and made his erection obvious. “You entice me in this position, wife.” Gentle fingers prodded her woman’s place. “And you are wet. Are you certain you disliked that punishment?”

Although she could hear the tease in his voice, Brandywyn held back a giggle. “You are a rogue, Tom Huntsman.”

“Aye. I am. A rogue who loves you and who will shortly take his ease upon you.”

Brandywyn breathed a sigh of pure pleasure at the feeling of his thick rod penetrating her channel deeply. It felt so good, so right to have him there. Purity of emotion made her heart ripen. Tom began to thrust and soon her only thoughts were of him filling her slick sleeve, his ballocks slapping at her swollen nub, teasing unmercifully with every plunge.