The Princess and the Huntsman (16 page)

Later, Brandywyn bathed and perfumed, dressed in her proper attire of silk, satin, and lace, made her way to the main hall where the feast was set.

There, upon the dais, sat King Dent, with Tom a chair away from him on his right, and Prince Gammon on the king’s left. Brandywyn’s chair was to the king’s immediate right, next to Tom. She smiled at her husband and took her seat. A royal goblet of wine was set between them and Brandywyn took a sip as her father began to speak.

“Hear ye!” The room quieted. “This feast is to celebrate the marriage of my daughter to her beloved.” All in the chamber looked at Prince Gammon. “He is Prince Gammon of Carlisle!”

Brandywyn gasped. “No!”

“Hear me out, daughter.”

Brandywyn grabbed Tom’s hand and squeezed it with all her might. He petted her hand and whispered, “All will be well. Listen.”

She stared at him, for he had surely lost his mind, but with an effort, she focused her attention on her father.

“The man you all know as Prince Gammon of Carlisle is a false prince.” Now the collective court and guests all gasped along with Brandywyn. “He is, in fact, Duke Ronoco of Carlisle, Prince Gammon’s courtier. The prince and I made an agreement to… erm… coax Brandywyn into seeing reason and marrying a prince that was proper for her. Celebrate her marriage with great joy and zeal, for the kingdoms will be united at peace.” He sat down, beaming.

“Father! You could not! You did not!” Tears began to form in her eyes. Betrayal was a bitter fruit to swallow.

“Aye, daughter. Prince Gammon, whom you know as Tom Huntsman, is truly what we said he was. Ronoco is not the prince. He took Gammon’s place in order to report about your unfavorable attitude, for Gammon did not believe you had so changed.”

Brandywyn looked at the
prince
beside her and burst into tears. “You have played me false. My heart is broken with this betrayal.” With that, she raced away from the table to take refuge in the palace garden, a place she had always found peaceful and tranquil.

* * *

Tom, now known to all as Prince Gammon, looked at the king and the king at the prince. “I told you,” Tom said. “I told you that she would feel abused by this plan.”

“You heard the reports from Ronoco yourself, Gammon. They showed her to be willful, arrogant, and stubborn. She would not marry one she thought was her equal. She would not chance loving someone again and being hurt. You taught her to love, and for that we are ever grateful.”

“For all the good it is going to do me. If she ever talks to me again, I shall be most surprised.” This was one situation in which Gammon would have preferred to be wrong, and that Brandywyn would see the sense in the plan and not perceive it as betrayal. She had needed to be jarred loose from her harsh prison of bitterness.

When King Dent had contacted Gammon, so long ago, he had explained the situation, but Gammon had been slow to agree. He remembered a time, years previous, that he had visited Ring and met the royal family. Dent had been a fine figure of a man then, his queen regal and beautiful, and his little daughter, Brandywyn, sweet and girlishly playful. She had been about six at the time, and Gammon had been nearly sixteen. There had been nothing but a meeting between them at that time, but Gammon had been impressed with the tenderness in the child.

While he took a turn in the garden, he had come upon her nursing a baby bird, a memory that foreshadowed her treatment of the fledgling at his cottage. He found the episode so endearing, so gentle in nature and outlook, so different from what King Dent had explained in his recent letter. Gammon could not believe she had changed so drastically.

But she had. Had she been even a tenth as sweet as the little girl Gammon remembered, he would have told her immediately who he was. She was not. Spankings, time, and gentleness had brought her around. Perhaps they would work in this case, too.

“I must go to her, Dent. She needs to see reason.”

The king nodded. “Go. Do what you must. She is not a stupid girl. Talk to her. Spank her if she remains stubborn; we will not forbid it.”

Gammon hurried off, asking servants along the way where he might find her. They led her to the garden where he found her, tucked into a gazebo surrounded by climbing roses. The fragrance was rich and luxurious. Brandywyn was highlighted by moonlight streaming through the gazebo roof. She was enchanting, with her pale yellow hair highlighted to a creamy silver. But her eyes were reddened and weeping had overtaken her.

Gammon approached quietly, hoping to soothe her. “My love, do not fret so. All will be well. I still love you. Can you not love me as I am?”

“You betrayed my trust, Tom—Gammon. I hate you!”

Her hatred really hurt. “Stop and think, Brandywyn. I am still the person you love. The hunter you knew. The man who made your shoes, and who fletches his own arrows. A simple man with simple needs for love and companionship. My title is unimportant. I would give it up, abdicate, if ‘twould bring back your love for me.”

“You would do that?” she asked with a sniffle.

He nodded, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “I would. Is that what you wish?”

Her demeanor changed and she tensed again. “How do I know you are not playing me false once more? You would get my agreement and then drag me to Carlisle.”

“You loved the pauper; can you not love the prince?”

“No.”

His heart sank. This was untenable. “Why not?”

“Because you… because… I cannot.”

“I ask you again, why?”

“I did not wish to marry a prince. I told my father that countless times.”

“Whom did you wish to marry?”

“No one. I wish I had never seen you, you knave. You are a damnable liar and cheat.”

“Watch your language.”

She sneered at the warning. “Damn, damn, damn.”

“Brandywyn…”

Rising, she leaned toward him and spit in his face when she said, “Damn, damn, damn, damn. And double damn you!” Brandywyn made to stalk off, but Gammon reached out and snagged her arm.

“You might not wish to be my wife any longer, Brandywyn, but I do demand your respect. I tried to do what was best for you, what your father asked of me in your own best interest, and you damn me for it. You say you hate me, but I am still the man you loved yesterday.”

“Let me go! You miserable cur!”

“Enough!” Gammon pulled her back into the gazebo and sat down on a bench, pulling her over his knee easily. “This will be our parting, Brandywyn, but ‘twill be nothing like amicable.”

“Stop! Let me go! Oh, how I hate you!”

“Hate me then, but I shall still warm your bottom!” Gammon pulled up her long, thick skirts and tucked them under the back of her bodice. Soon enough, her drawers were down and her bottom was displayed before him. Without preliminaries, his hand came down on her rear with great force. Brandywyn squealed and fought him. Gammon easily subdued her.

Three more times he struck her behind, each time bringing on a new cry and more kicking and struggling. She was not making this easy on either of them, and Gammon was frustrated and unhappy at her rejection. He knew the forced spanking was unlikely to win back her love, but perhaps it would reset her temper and make her see reason—before she left him forever. He did not want her to return to the embittered, lonely girl she had become when her mother died. His plan with King Dent had certainly backfired, but aside from teaching her some manners before they parted, it was too late to change what had passed.

Six more times he smacked her bare bottom, and she soon began to cry. It sounded like less a cry of pain and more a cry of catharsis. That encouraged Gammon, so he spanked her again and again. Her bottom was hot to the touch and, even in the moonlight, he saw that it was very red. Her crying was pitiful and he was losing the will to spank her further.

“Do not curse anymore, Brandywyn. ‘Tis not appropriate and only makes you look more the shrew.”

“Very well! Please stop!” Her words were nearly lost in her sobs. “I shall never curse again. I was just so mad at you.”

He gave her one more whack and then stopped. Gammon pushed down her skirts and pulled her into a sitting position on his lap. “I know you were mad. You had a right to be, sweeting, but your temper kept you from seeing the truth about me—about us. We are mated, my love. We are meant to be together, whether I am a prince or a simple hunter. Our love is fated and would have happened no matter the circumstances of our meeting.”

She pressed her teary face against his velvet doublet. “Do you really think the gods meant us to be together?”

“Aye, I do. For no other reason than that you had lost your way and I helped you find it, finding my other half along the way.”

Sniffling, she curled up tighter against him. “Am I your other half?”

“Aye, you are, my love. I was half-alive without you. I did not even realize it before we met.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. As I said, you had a right to your anger and I have been remiss by not saying I am sorry for I truly am. But it should be over now. It is time to give up your bitterness and have the life you deserve, a happy life.”

“I want to be happy. I was happy, at the cottage with Tom Huntsman.”

“Carlisle is not so far from Ring, you know. And we are a hardy people, close to the earth. We do not usually lean on fripperies and courtly ways. I think you would find it somewhere between our life in the cottage and your court life here in Ring.”

She looked up at him, eyes still tear-filled. “There would be servants, I suppose.”

“That cannot be helped. I am a prince and next in line for the throne.”

A nod. “I would like to bake bread, though. Might I do that?”

“Anytime you wish. And stew geese, and tidy our suite. Although, I draw the line at you ruining your hands doing more laundry. Can we agree on that?”

Another nod. “I am afraid.”

“Of what, sweeting?”

“That nothing will ever be the same again.”

“From one day to the next, nothing is exactly the same. One day is a day of sunshine, the next of rain. There will be laughter and tears. We will spill our wine and we will drink of it. The important part is to move on each day. There are many wonderful surprises yet in store for you, Brandywyn, whether you choose to stay with me or not.”

“You would really let me go?”

That gave him pause. She was the love of his heart. Letting her go would leave him an empty shell, but could he be so selfish as to insist that she honor their vows, despite resenting it? “If I must, but I would be very, very reluctant. Can you not love me? Even just a little?”

Brandywyn gave a little laugh. “A little, mayhap.”

“How little?”

“Do not be greedy.”

Gammon tickled her and she giggled. “I love you with all my heart. Marry me in earnest. We shall have a huge wedding with several priests from our favorite gods. We shall invite everyone in both kingdoms. The temple gongs will sound in each and every city. Let us celebrate our future together, Brandywyn. Let us move forward.”

There was a long pause and Gammon began to despair of ever finding his way with his wife again. But soon she answered. “Aye. Let us move forward, together.”

Hugging her tightly, he gave her a deep kiss, twining their tongues together like two inseparable vines. She was breathless when he withdrew from her. “I love you,” she whispered.

Chapter Eleven

It took nearly a month to plan, but everyone hurried as fast as they could. Royal weddings were a complicated undertaking, requiring many hands and minds. While they waited, Brandywyn and Gammon were not idle. They spent long hours together in her father’s garden, and then took a brief trip to Carlisle so that she could be presented to his people. The wedding was to take place on the Isle of Ring, but many Carlisle nobles and the Carlisle royal family were planning to travel to attend.

On the magical day, a day which the priests assured the couple was a lucky day for lovers, Brandywyn woke to find hundreds of flowers of all varieties adorning her suite—gifts from Gammon.

Brandywyn dressed carefully in the requisite shade of pink, a bright, rosy color, like springtime blossoms and sweet icing on cakes. She wore full skirts, belling out from her hips, a tight bodice that pushed up her breasts into twin mounds high on her chest. There was golden embroidery on every inch of the gown, lending it a shimmer and regal shine. Her father allowed her to wear the royal jewels for the occasion, and the tiara was heavy platinum encrusted by rubies and diamonds. Tarntra took charge of her mistress’ hair, coiling it and wrapping it, leaving little curls dangling like flirting faeries around her head.

There was nothing as beautiful on that day, and Gammon’s eyes said so as she walked down the path toward him, smiling at the huge crowd that had gathered in the temple courtyard. Nerves assailed her as she drew closer to her lover. Was she doing the right thing? Gammon had vowed never to deceive her again, but was that a deceit itself?

She thought of the nights she had spent with him in his guest chamber. Long, sweet nights with tickling, lovemaking, and talking into the wee hours. They had been separated for the last three nights, as was the custom, and those had been lonely nights, fraught with worry about what she was about to do, immediately followed by certainty that it was right. Tarntra called it ‘maidenly jitters’ but, as everyone knew, Brandywyn was no longer a maiden. In fact, she believed that sometime in the not-so-distant future, she was to be a mother. She had not spoken of it to anyone, not even Tarntra. It was too soon to know for a certainty, and Gammon should be told first if it was true.

If it suited her, she could have decided to separate from Gammon; no one would force her to abide with him, but she loved him. He was worthy of her love. His apology had been heartfelt, and Brandywyn truly believed he regretted the deceit, if not the outcome. In all fairness, she did not regret the outcome either. She had been very unhappy with her life before the experience of being kidnapped. Gammon’s men, the original kidnappers, had been harsh with her, but it had awakened her to how spoiled she had become, how rough and brutal other people’s lives could be. Tom’s love had given her a chance to start anew. Brandywyn wanted that fresh, shiny new life, and she wanted it with Gammon of Carlisle.