Droit de Seigneur Read online

  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 wi
ne 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?”

  “That’s about what he said. He complimented you on your work, and asked why I’d been punished.”

  Lawson’s eyes bulged. “And what’d you tell him?”

  “Well, I couldn’t tell him the truth, now could I? I told him you’d given me a licking because I’d been wandering out in the woods by myself, and he said he guessed it didn’t take, and he set about rectifying the situation.”

  Her father was now about apoplectic. “What happened then?” he wheezed out, barely, grabbing a gulp of the wine he’d swore he wouldn’t touch.

  “Well, I was reaching for my knife – “

  The other three gasped yet again. “Reaching for your knife?!” Amber nodded. “Yes, the one I pulled on him when he came up on me on the woods all of a sudden. Remember, I said I hadn’t noticed him, so I had no idea he was behind me – he could have been anyone, and I always carry a knife.”

  “Mother Mary and Joseph!” her father exclaimed, crossing himself.

  It was at that moment that the man himself burst into the small room, filling it with his presence. Three of the people that had been sitting with her at their table, such as it was, dropped immediately to their knees in front of him, but Amber simply rose and curtsied instead.

  Piers took the two steps necessary to grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head back, saying, “Hoyden, what have you done with Fitzwilliam?”

  “Nothing, Sir. He left as soon as we arrived here,” Amber answered truthfully, afraid for one of the first times in her life, but trying desperately not to show it.

  “He has not arrived back at camp, and no one has seen him. Are you sure he came to no harm?” In truth, Piers had come to the end of his rope. The woods were thick with under brush, tiny sheep trails, half broken down and ancient rock walls, and paths, and he had half a mind that he knew what had happened to the man had nothing to do with his bad sense of direction, so he came right to who he thought might have been the source of the problem, intending that she would be the one to clean it up for him.

  Her father piped up, his voice several octaves higher than usual. “I beg you, my Lord, no one here would hurt your man. He was fine when he left us.”

  “I’m not sure that no one here would wish him harm,” Piers responded, looking directly at Amber. He shoved her ahead of him, out the door. “You’re going to help us find him, and you’d better pray, for your sake, that he’s alive.” He, for one, didn’t want to have to explain to the lad’s father that he had died while under his care.

  There had been very few times in Amber’s life that she’d regretted anything she’d done, but this was one of them. Perhaps taking Fitzwilliam straight to her home, since this was obviously unfamiliar territory to him, might have been the more judicious thing to do. But she squared her shoulders, laced on a pair of knee length boots, grabbed a belt packed with useful items that she laced about her waist, as well as a satchel full of other medicinal items, just in case, and set out well ahead of the man who had commanded her and the small cadre of men who had followed him there, leading the way into the woods from whence they had come.

  She tracked him easily, spotting the times he’d turned around and back tracked on himself, fallen into the stream, grasped a rash inducing plant, had an encounter with a badger –

  which the badger had apparently won – and discovered him, shivering, exhausted and bleeding, huddled in a hollow near a small bog she often went to to collect its soothing mud, which she immediately used to help his itchy rash.

  Amber ordered his men around like she was the commander instead of him. They looked to him at first, and after his initial nod, they obeyed her without question. She had several of the larger ones set up a perimeter guard, just in case, putting the smaller ones, with torches, close to her so that she could treat the unfortunate Fitz, which she did so with compassion and alacrity, pronouncing him fit, if not the best of woods scouts.

  Piers’d been amused to notice that she’d kept him in the middle of it all, well guarded and close to her. He’d wondered if that had been by accident, but he was beginning to think that little this maid did was by accident.

  Piers clapped Fitz on the shoulder. “Take him home, lads.” Home was relative – a small camp nearby, until they moved into their temporary quarters while the castle was built.

  “Wait!” She knelt by the bog and filled a small skin with a generous amount of the muck, handing it to him with what he thought was a small smile, but it was so fleeting it might not have been. “Apply this as often as you need to to control the itching. But don’t wash it off until all of the itching has gone.”

  Fitz smiled shyly down at her, gawky, awkward boy that he was. He’d taken a shine to her, Piers could see. And she needn’t have any worries that he was going to wash anything off himself, much less something that was there to help him. That boy probably hadn’t seen a bath since he’d left his mother’s apron strings to come to court when he was six.

  They were off, and she was alone with him. Again.

  “It’s a good thing you’re a good tracker and you’ve an excellent hand with potions, Amber. It wouldn’t have gone well if we hadn’t been able to find Mr. Fitzwilliam.” Amber shrugged. It was of little consequence to her whether or not a Norman soldier was lost, and she told him as much.

  The look on his face, as well as his tone, was sobering to the bone. “I realize that fact, my dear. But what you don’t realize is who that man’s father is. Think of it now, you’re obviously a smart wench. Fitzwilliam. Fitz. Son of. William. He’s the King’s by blow. You just found King William’s bastard son.”

  Amber sat down, right where she was, not caring that her best tunic was getting filthy.

  She had deliberately gotten the King’s son hopelessly lost in the forest.

  “Tell me something, Mademoiselle Cooper. What would you have done this afternoon, if I had allowed you to reach your little knife this afternoon, while I was spanking you?” She tried not to let the surprise show on her face, but knew she had lost that battle. “I would have done something that I would have hoped would have stopped you from beating me further.” She didn’t always do the right thing, but she tried to tell the truth, as best she could.

  Piers was impressed. If he had been in her place, he would probably have made exactly the same move, not that that was to be encouraged in a female. She certainly was an unusual one.

  “My men told me that someone had raided their camp last night and caused some general mischief – nothing too serious. Stolen some wine and let loose the horses, things like that.” As he spoke, he wandered around her, like he was inspecting a slave at the market. “Might you know anything about such things, Miss Amber Cooper?”

  “Why ever might you think something like that of me?” she asked, proud of the fact that her nervousness wasn’t betrayed in her voic
e.

  “Because some of the stirrups were cut with what was a small, short blade,” he answered, easily wresting hers from where he remembered she kept it tucked in her belt, “one just such as this.”

  “There are thousands like this all over the British Isles, Sir. If you fancy mine, however, you may keep it with my compliments.” She curtsied low to him, again.

  When she rose, he was smiling down at her, in a way that set her teeth on edge. Like a wolf who had spotted a particularly tasty dinner.

  “I like you, Amber. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, for a woman, and an English one at that.”

  “I like you, too, Sir,” she answered, “for a man and a Norman.” Amber figured her words were pretty much sealing her fate, as she said the word Norman in a way that there was no doubt that she still considered him to be her enemy, regardless of the outcome of the war, but that was all right. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to live in a world full of Normans, anyway.

  To her surprise, he merely threw back that big, lion’s head of his and roared with laughter, then his hand shot out and he grabbed her by her upper arm. “You’re coming with me.” They tramped through the woods for a long time, much longer than she knew – although she could never admit that she knew – it would take them to get to the place where his soldiers had made camp.

  “Where are we going?”

  Piers didn’t deign to answer her, but continued to walk. He was so much taller than she was, that one of his strides equaled nearly three of hers. Amber was in superb shape, but he was tiring her out without even trying. Eventually, though, he saw how knackered she was becoming and relented, placing two fingers to his lips and emitting an ear piercing whistle that had his huge stallion racing to him through the trees.

  Amber hadn’t had a chance to admire the beastie before, but she was thoroughly entranced now. He was a fine piece of horseflesh, and she wished he was her own. She never dreamed she’d have a chance to ride him, but soon found herself atop the thing, if at a terribly awkward angle – he’d lifted her so that she wasn’t astride or even side saddle in front of him or behind – she was lying horizontal over the horse like he was going to wallop her as they rode, with her bottom facing south and her head facing north across the saddle!