Betrothed, page 6
“My lord?”
“You may question me and my decisions about the demesne all you like in private, but never in front of others. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Bronson,” she said, her voice sounding wispy to her ears.
“Come here,” he said.
She slowly crossed the room to him, fearing he planned to chastise her. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, but it wasn't to punish— instead he bent his mouth to her breast, gently teasing her nipple through her thin linen shift with his teeth. “Did you want to argue Sir Roland's case to me?”
Suddenly Sir Roland and his plight seemed very unimportant to her. She leaned into his arms, grateful for a chance to release the awkwardness between them in a constructive way. And they did.
But she found it was not so easy for her to remember when to speak and when not to. Bronson was so lenient with her in many ways. He clearly enjoyed her company, taking her with him when he went out on demesne business.
When one of his squires asked if he was going to allow her to dress as a page again and join their troops the next time the king called him to battle, he laughed and said, “I would be delighted to have 'Jake' back in troops, he was easier on the eye than the rest of you louts. Not a bad archer, either.” Then he looked at her and grew serious, “Nay, my heart nearly failed when I couldn't find her after that last battle. I'm sorry, love, you'll have to stay home next time.”
“Will I stay here?” she asked. After all, he had three demesnes— hers, Pembridge and Montmore. Many lords never had to see their wives more than a few times a year if they kept her at a different castle than the one where they passed their time.
“If you like. But you'll be wherever I am if I'm not at war. Is that what you're asking?”
She rewarded him with her most brilliant smile as an answer and he chuckled and touched her cheek with affection.
So it was that several weeks later at the dining table, when Bronson was discussing the need for finding a new lord for one of the manors by way of a husband for the deceased lord's widow, Julia cut in, remembering her own betrothal trauma, “Surely you'll give the widow at least some small consideration in this equation?”
When she saw the raised eyebrow, she knew immediately that she'd done it again. Her fear of punishment made her feel defensive, though. “You could offer her a choice of men,” she said sullenly, knowing full well she sounded like a child.
After supper Bronson held her wrist as she started to stand up from the table, pulling her firmly back down next to him and dismissing everyone else so that the two of them were left there alone. His face was stony.
“Are you saying you wish you'd been offered a choice?” he asked tightly, the tension in his jaw made the angles of his face stand out more starkly than usual. With a rush of dismay, she realized that she had not only questioned him in public, but far worse, she had given personal offense. Her eyes filled with tears. “No. I mean, yes. But no,” she shook her head, realizing she was making no sense. “What I mean to say is that...” She abandoned any attempt to answer his question. “Bronson, I'm sorry.”
“Answer the question.”
She sighed and chose her words carefully. “I did wish I'd been offered a choice. You know that— I was wary enough of the king's choice to run away and risk your wrath and that of the king. But surely you also know that if I were given a choice today there is no man in the world I would pick but you.”
Bronson stared at her. “So really you could not have been trusted to make your own choice.”
Julia's anger flared. She slapped her palm on the table. “The king did not make the choice with my interests in mind at all!”
Bronson raised his eyebrows in warning at her outburst, but he spoke with exaggerated patience. “Julia, the king knows me. I have fought by his side. He knew I would not mistreat any wife he chose for me.”
“Oh so I am just any wife, now, am I?” Julia started to get up from the table.
Bronson pulled her back down. “Do not walk away from me unless you've been dismissed,” he said.
She flushed.
“Yes, Bronson,” he prompted.
“Yes, Bronson,” she whispered, feeling suddenly defeated. She stared at her hands in her lap. He lifted her chin and looked at her silently for a moment. “Come on, let's go upstairs.”
He dismissed his squires and her maid from their undressing duties and flopped on the bed, fully clothed. She pulled off his boots herself and he gave her a faint smile and patted the bed next to him. Her palms were sweating as she pulled off her dress and climbed up next to him in her shift.
He was lying on his side, his head propped on one hand. He wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her in closer to him and began tracing her ear, like he had done that first night in his tent. The memory of it made her tears start again.
“What do you wish me to do?” he asked heavily.
“About me?” she whispered.
He frowned. “No, about the widow.”
“Oh.” She stopped crying and sat up. The widow was the least of her concerns at that point. “I'm sure you know best,” she said at last.
He rolled his eyes and blew out his breath. “Then what are we quarreling about, Julia?”
“Are you going to beat me now, Bronson?”
“What?” Now he sat up.
“For questioning you in front of your men?”
He raised that one eyebrow again, a look she was beginning to fear. He cocked his head to the side. “Well.... I had not planned on beating you,” he said slowly and she kicked herself for saying anything. “But mayhap that would help to clear the air.”
Like a coward, she started to scramble away from him. His hand closed on her arm and he shook his head. “Don't run from me,” he said quietly. “If you have courage enough to stand up to me at our dining table, you can have courage enough to face in me in our chambers.”
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Bronson.”
A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. “Come here,” he said patting his lap.
She swallowed. At least he didn't have a belt in his hand. She slowly crawled over his lap and put herself into place, pressing her face into the blankets of the bed in shame. He lifted her shift slowly, his hand trailing up her leg and across her newly exposed bottom with the feel of a caress. She shivered at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin and the fear of anticipation.
She gasped with the first smack and hunched her shoulders, burrowing her head deeper into the bed as his hand came down again and again. He was spanking hard and she didn't even try not to cry. It had been so stressful to have her first quarrel with Bronson and though the spanking hurt, in a way it was good to have the release. Mayhap it would clear the air. Smack. Smack. Smack. Again and again his hand fell, alternating sides and mostly striking the lower half of her bottom. She tried to hold very still and stay in place for him, to accept whatever chastisement he thought was appropriate. Smack. Smack. She knew she deserved it. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. She had acted no better than a petulant child down there.
After a few moments he finished spanking and began rubbing her bottom. It was such a sweet and loving gesture that she melted completely. She felt wholly his. His for punishing and his for making love to. And sure enough, his thoughts had gone there, too. She felt his fingers reach between her legs and find her sex, stroking it until it was slick and swollen. Her tears had stopped and she found she was moaning softly now. He slid her farther up onto the bed and rolled her onto her back. His fingers entered her and she spread her knees and arched her hips back. Bronson groaned.
As he slid a finger into her— no mayhap it was two— and built a rhythm until he was plunging deeply and then curling his fingers inside her so that she could feel them tickling her inside wall. The sensation was one like she had never experienced— so intense, so pleasurable, that she suddenly got so wet she almost wondered if she'd peed a little. He didn't stop the incredible treatment and soon she was climaxing with a shout, then clapping her hand over her mouth, lest the servants hear her. Bronson laughed and rolled her onto her belly.
She lay there, panting, wondering suddenly if he meant to spank her some more, until she felt his fingers were between her legs again. Then—oh! His thumb pressed into the cleft of her cheeks and found the hole that was farther back. She clenched her cheeks in surprise and embarrassment. Bronson chuckled and persisted. She let out a squeak. His thumb was circling around her button there, applying gentle pressure but not really forcing entry. By Our Lady, she had never known such thing was possible! It was so embarrassing, and yet so... no, no, no—she simply couldn't! She tried to scramble away and thankfully, he removed his hand, but then two firm hands grabbed her thighs and dragged her back down toward him and he did spank her— several more sharp slaps that left her gasping, clenching her cheeks in anticipation. But he was laughing.
“Julia,” he said with mock admonishment. “You were a very naughty wife tonight. Now you must take your punishment. And this is how I've decided you shall be punished.” She peeked a look at him over her shoulder and he was grinning, obviously pleased with the direction his punishment had taken. He held her eyes as he plunged his fingers into her again and she buried her face, too embarrassed to look at him. His thumb circled around her lower button again, gently applying pressure. Her heart was pounding, she was gasping and then she was appalled to find that she was relaxing and allowing it, even welcoming it. Because despite the distinct embarrassment of being touched there, she found the pleasure of having his fingers in both places more than doubled the intensity of her pleasure. Mayhap it more than tripled it. She was discovering that he had very clever fingers indeed. Fingers that required no help from his mouth or sex. As he found a rhythm rocking his hand back and forth from one entry to the other, he built up speed and intensity until she cried out and climaxed for the second time, her muscles clenching and contracting as she gasped his name.
After that discovery, he wasted no time in showing her what else he was capable of when she was on her back and he above her. He slid in easily— she was more than ready for him at this point. At first he looked at the ceiling as he drove into her, like he was trying to distract himself, but after a while he found a wonderful rhythm and he looked down at her and smiled affectionately, then pinched one of her nipples between his finger and thumb.
“Oh!” she cried and he laughed and lowered his torso down to hers, kissing and biting at her neck, then reaching one hand underneath her to cup her hot cheek. He held them tightly together that way, so that they moved in concert, and then his finger sought and found that button again. This time he pushed more insistently, though, and suddenly she found his finger had entry and he was penetrating her in two places at once. As shameful as it was, she knew better than to fight him on it and verily, she couldn't deny the waves of pleasure she felt from it. It was not more than a few moments of that before she felt as if she exploded— as if her whole self turned inside-out, so great was the climax he drew out of her. She shuddered and clenched, her sex milking the climax out of him, and she was satisfied to hear him shouting now, too, over her cries.
At the end of it all, though her bottom still smarted, she felt absolutely blissful. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed it. He rolled onto his side and cupped her hot bottom in his hand, caressing her in a way that kept the fire in her belly still kindled.
After they had caught their breaths and laid together in a blissful harmony, he said, “So you do or you don't care about who I choose for the widow?”
“What? Oh.” Julia brought her mind back from its satiated drifting. She leaned her head on her elbow and studied him. “Well...would you consider giving her a choice? If it comes down to two men who are equal in your mind?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She rewarded him with a grateful smile. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Julia, verily the widow has nothing to do with us. I shouldn't have brought our marriage into it to begin with.” He sighed, “I'm just glad you weren't given a choice, that's all.”
She felt a rush of love at that. “So am I,” she said truthfully and snuggled into him.
He patted her bottom affectionately.
Chapter Six
Spanking Julia had been a pleasure. She'd been so submissive and looked so beautiful lying across his lap like that. After being a leader of men for the past seven years, Bronson found that being a husband was a bit of a different game. Julia was nervous in her new role and she was looking to him for guidance. The trouble was, he didn't really know yet what he should and shouldn't correct.
Oh, some of it was easy— the things he wouldn't stand from his men, he would refuse to take from her as well. Like walking away without being dismissed, or speaking disrespectfully. But the rest of it he had previously been inclined to let slide because she was... well, adorable.
But last week she'd been expecting him to punish her for questioning him in front of his men and he'd known only a fool wouldn't follow through on giving her what she thought she deserved. He hadn't spanked her that hard or long and they both had enjoyed the aftermath. But he was resolved to chastise her in earnest the next time something came up. He couldn't have her thinking he wasn't serious when he spoke to her.
They were in the great hall and he was giving orders about which servants should be assigned to a duty. “But Hannaford has always been in charge of shearing the sheep,” she interrupted. “I should think he would be better suited there, than working on the barn.”
He raised one eyebrow at her with a frown. Like his men, she'd grown to recognize his various looks and when she saw that one she suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth and went pale. He folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.
“Forgive me, my lord. You know best, of course,” she mumbled, turning on her heel to escape.
Cruel though it was, he let her anticipation build, saying nothing to her until after supper, when he simply asked her to go to their chambers and wait for him.
She was pacing about their chamber when he arrived, her face pinched and apprehensive.
“Were you just testing to see if I would actually punish you or do you really believe I can't handle the management of this demesne?” He asked her quietly.
She blanched. “Neither, my lord,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It's just... I'm used to things being a different way and I forget my place. I'm sorry.”
He nodded. “Thank you for your apology.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Fetch me one of my belts,” he said and watched her reluctantly walk to the armoire. He made a big show of inspecting the belt she brought him and then pointed to the edges of it. “Not this one, it has rough edges— it might cut your skin. Find a smoother one.” she headed back to the armoire. “And more narrow,” he added. She glanced back nervously. She brought back another belt, which he inspected just as closely and found acceptable.
“Take off your clothes,” he said softly.
She was quaking as she stripped off her dress and shift, studiously avoiding his eyes as she undressed for her discipline.
“Come here.”
She came to stand in front of him, naked and blushing, and he pulled her down to sit on his right knee. “Why am I punishing you?”
She looked at her hands. “For questioning you in front of others.”
“Aye. I will always be willing to hear your opinion, Julia. You just need to find a better way to offer it to me.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“When I was a squire along with John and Andrew, my father had a knight who took great pleasure in punishing his wife. He was always giving us advice about how best to go about it, and although we thought he was half crazy, the strangest part was that he and his wife were closer than any couple in the castle. There was never any doubt that they were deeply in love and they seemed to have a very happy marriage. We could never understand it.
Anyway, one piece of advice that I remember him giving was to spank with your hand first, so that there's less of a chance of leaving marks when you use your belt afterward.” He shrugged. “I thought we would test that out because it would please me— nay, that's a bad choice of words— I would be content to not leave marks on this beautiful little bottom,” he said lightly stroking the curve of her bared cheek.
At this point she was thoroughly embarrassed and frightened so he wasted no more time. He leaned her over his left knee, so her upper body rested on the bed and began to spank her with his hand, listening to the little grunts and squeaks she made with each smack and being sure to redden every part of her cheeks. As he slapped her again and again, his irritation with her faded completely. He became acutely aware of how beautiful she was and how sweet her submission. She hadn't argued or tried to talk her way out of the punishment. She hadn't made him chase her and hold her down. She had taken off her own clothing and stood naked before him with a bowed head, offering the belt he had asked her to fetch. And now she quietly held herself in place as he smarted every inch of her bottom.
After a few more minutes, he sat her back up onto his right knee, feeling the heat from her bottom through his leggings. Her hair was adorably mussed and her face was red but her eyes were dry. He was surprised.
“Can I not make you cry with my hand alone?”
She looked startled at that. Then she said thoughtfully, “I'm not crying because you are so calm. If you yelled at me, I would be bawling from your words alone.”
He started to remind her that he'd promised to never punish her in anger when the full meaning of her words set in. It was his regard that she cared about, not his punishment. His little wife wanted to please him, mayhap she even loved him. The thought set off a flare of passion, and he grew hard, his arm tightening around her naked figure. He lifted her onto her back on the bed and covered her body with his own, kissing her with demand, worshiping her with his hands and mouth, taking her until they both climaxed.
