A Stern Lord for My Lady by R.R. Vane

Chapter 2

Lady Alicia straightened the dress she wore, a new cramoisy gown, trying to appear calm and confident. Both she and her father had been summoned by King Henry to Court. A mere formality, her father had assured her, before Alicia’s betrothal to Erec de Jarnac would become final. Alicia had accompanied her father with misgivings. She’d come to perceive King Henry was not favourably disposed towards her father or their family. Henry was always looking for ways to fill his own treasury, and his coffers seemed perpetually empty. He did not like it when his vassals possessed wealth, and he did not like that Alicia’s father was in favour of Queen Eleanor and her eldest son by the English King, Young Henry, who, for a while now, had been at odds with his father. While not openly supporting Eleanor and Young Henry, Alicia’s father had nevertheless given to understand that he approved of the queen’s feuding with her royal husband. Alicia herself did not care for all this. She cared for her marriage to Erec de Jarnac, which was agreeable to her. Sir Erec was amiable and courteous, and he would prove a biddable husband. Besides, he was wealthy and well born, wealthier and better born than Bertran FitzRolf, whose suit she’d rejected. Still, FitzRolf and his family held the king’s favour. Would Henry be angry for her rejection of FitzRolf?

Alicia made her curtsy to the sovereigns, both seated on their thrones. Eleanor was newly returned from her own court in Poitiers, and would remain in England only for the marriage of her son, Young Henry, which was to take place in August. Everyone knew Eleanor and the king were now barely able to sit in the same room together. Soon, Alicia knew, they might plunge the country into civil war due to their feuding.

“We have called upon you, Lady Alicia, to answer for the letter you sent to one of my most esteemed vassals, Bertran FitzRolf, who’s a De Morne.”

Alicia held her breath. So, she had not been mistaken, Henry was displeased she’d refused FitzRolf. She looked to Queen Eleanor, pleading for her interference, but the queen cast her a stony look. Alicia felt a cold stab in her heart. So Eleanor could and would do nothing to help, in spite of the fact Alicia’s father was loyal to the queen and her cause.

Suppressing a deep sigh, Alicia straightened her back, answering the king in a firm, but respectful voice.

“My father has refused FitzRolf’s suit. It was his right to do so, my liege, since he did not consider this lord knight a suitable match for me.”

Henry might still be their king, but he had no right to force his vassals to marry people of his own choosing. Besides, her father had rejected FitzRolf’s suit graciously and courteously, so there was nothing the king could reproach them for.

“It has come to our attention, Lady Alicia, that you have shown disdain to the suitor you rejected, calling him naught but a lowly bastard,” the king said, and it seemed his voice was angry.

Eleanor said nothing. She just stared away from Alicia in a displeased manner.

“There is a letter you sent to FitzRolf,” the king continued. “There were many other insults written there, which I will not read to the assembly, out of sheer respect for Sir Bertran and his family.”

Alicia’s heart went still. The king was plainly stating she’d rejected FitzRolf on account of him being a bastard. Alicia glanced upon her father, stunned. She’d not rejected Sir Bertran because he was a bastard. She’d rejected him because her other suitor had seemed a more appropriate match.

“Your father tells us he tried to prevent you from acting in such a discourteous, defiant manner, but it was to no avail. You’ve become a law unto yourself, a presumptuous, unruly female, who would not even obey her own father,” the king continued.

Alicia could not believe her ears. It was a lie! Had her father said such a thing to the king? But why? She widened her eyes at the assembly, then cast a mystified look in her father’s direction.

“Your arrogance and disobedience should be punished, daughter,” her father said, not daring to look her in the eye.

She stared at him. The decision to reject Bertran FitzRolf’s suit had been made of common agreement. She’d told her father Sir Erec de Jarnac was a better match, as his lands were bordering their own, and he’d readily agreed, knowing it was a wise choice. As was proper, his had been the clerk to pen the letter to send to Bertran FitzRolf, and she’d trusted the rejection her father had sent had been firm, but decorous. What kind of letter had her father dictated to his clerk?

Alicia now saw the whole court was watching her in deep silence, and she perceived Bertran FitzRolf’s father, Lord de Morne stared at her with a stony look in his eyes. The king nodded to his vassal, giving him permission to address her.

“My son may choose to style himself FitzRolf, but he is a son I fully acknowledge. My firstborn. The son you disdainfully referred to as a lowly bastard,” Lord de Morne said sharply. “The insult shall not stand!”

The faces of all those assembled were grim. Alicia took a deep breath as Lord de Morne tossed a letter at her feet. It bore her father’s seal, but Alicia now painfully understood the insults had been written in her name. She pursed her lips and closed her fists, to prevent herself from berating her father. She’d always known he was a soft, mild man, but she’d never believed him cowardly. She knew he’d been offended by what he’d called the De Mornes’ presumptuousness in asking for his only daughter’s hand in marriage. She understood he’d used her as a shield behind which to hide in order to mock their presumptuousness.

King Henry did not look amused, and neither did the formidable Queen Eleanor. It was said that even she held Bertran FitzRolf in high favour, although she was now at odds with her husband. Alicia scanned the assembly, trying to figure out who among the assembled lord knights was Sir Bertran. He should be standing close to his father’s side. Would he be wearing the De Morne house colours, which she knew to be white and blue? Her gaze was drawn by a tall knight standing on Lord de Morne’s left. He had a big, tall frame, which was broad-shouldered. His hair was light brown and his countenance somewhat rugged. And he was staring at her. She found it hard to hold the stare of that pair of grim hazel eyes with gold flecks in them. He was not wearing the De Morne house colours, but a simple, unadorned tunic of brown-green. However, by the way he was staring at her, there was no doubt left in Alicia’s mind. This was Bertran FitzRolf, the suitor she’d rejected. She perused him, unable to stop herself. A lean, narrow waist and a tall frame. Incredibly broad shoulders and arresting eyes. A countenance that seemed enhanced, rather than marred, by that faint, white, vertical scar which slashed the side of his left cheek, and extended to his forehead. Dispassionately, she decided he was a better-looking man than even Sir Erec. But that did not make him a better match for her.

King Henry spoke, and it was with deep anger when he did so.

“The insult shall not stand. But the marriage will stand. By royal decree.”

Alicia looked at the king, mouth agape. He could not do that, could he? She shot a look of alarm at her father, who hung his head.

“Besides, De Lancres has already rescinded his former rejection and has now given his consent. Haven’t you, De Lancres?”

Her father nodded, speaking in a hollow voice.

“Yes, my liege. Yes, I have.”

Alicia could not believe her ears. Was her father truly so cowardly? Hadn’t he had the courage to tell her of what had passed? He usually discussed each and every decision with her, so why not this one? Glancing at him, she understood he felt ashamed that he had to bow his head and accept the king’s command. And she also understood he’d rather place all the blame on his seemingly wilful daughter, rather than fully acknowledge his own shame. Queen Eleanor did not seem inclined to help, so her father had to bow to Henry’s rule.

“The insult should not stand though,” Lady de Morne uttered, echoing the former words that had been spoken, and coming to stand by her son’s side. She was a tall, distinguished woman whom Alicia had sometimes glimpsed when she’d been at Court. Lady de Morne cast a disdainful glance in her direction.

“And it will not, my lady De Morne,” Queen Eleanor spoke at last, bowing her head in acknowledgement. “My royal husband and I will see the punishment carried out, by your son, in front of the whole assembled court.”

Punishment? Alicia told herself this was one of those nightmares from which she was going to wake up soon, safe in bed, in the solar at her home. Still, the murmurs of assent from the crowd sounded very real to her ears.

“Lady Alicia, since I’ve decreed FitzRolf should be your husband, it’s only fair he should be given the chance to school you to better manners, before the wedding vows are made and the contract is signed. A woman’s obedience is her most prized virtue. And I will have my vassal marry an obedient woman,” King Henry said with a faint smile on his lips.

Alicia stared at her sovereign, not knowing whether to speak and truly uncomprehending what was going on. She knew she’d unwittingly given grievous offence to the suitor she’d rejected, and it was plain the king had also taken offence. But, she understood in some relief, the king did not think to banish her or imprison her in a convent. Instead, he’d decreed that she marry FitzRolf. Was that her only punishment? What more punishment was her royal liege speaking of?

“You may proceed, Sir Bertran,” the king spoke, nodding in the direction of the tall knight she’d perceived.

With widened eyes, she watched the tall knight approach her, then firmly take hold of her hand. She glanced at her father helplessly, as the knight dragged her to him. Her father had folded his arms, and was making no gesture to help her. Indignation rose high within Alicia, and she found her voice, shouting, as she began to struggle, “Wait! I demand to know what’s happening!”

There were guffaws from the assembly, and a voice in the crowd saying derisively, “You’ll know, my lady, soon enough.”

Alicia belatedly saw that Sir Bertran was dragging her towards a wooden bench, which seemed to have been placed apurpose on one side of the dais where the royal thrones stood. How had she failed to notice it before? She’d been too distraught, obviously. She widened her eyes in horror when she saw what lay upon it. Unmistakeably, she recognized a willow switch, long and supple.

“What Sir Bertran will do shall be a lesson to all ladies who act discourteously to worthy lord knights who’ve earned the royal favour,” the king’s voice intoned.

There was no doubt in Alicia’s mind as to the nature of her punishment. Rage and humiliation burnt inside her, but she understood it was to no avail to scream or keep struggling. It would only make the humiliation worse. So she stopped struggling. She braced herself to be valiant, thinking the ordeal should soon pass. She’d close her eyes through it and brace herself through the pain. And then it would all be over.

She strived not to protest when her captor placed her, face down, over his lap, positioning her for her punishment and firmly pinning her arm behind her back. But he seemed to hesitate for a moment, and the king’s voice came to spur him.

“Through her own arrogance, the lady has forfeited all right to modesty, Sir Bertran. You’re to deliver a punishment that is memorable for all those present.”

It seemed to Alicia that Sir Bertran heaved a soft sigh before he lifted her skirts, displaying her bare bottom for all the court to see. Alicia felt she would simply die of shame, but, thankfully, only her bottom was on display, as her quim was modestly hidden by her position over his knee. Still, there was no modesty in the way her front lay pressed against this man’s body.

“Proceed, Sir Bertran,” King Henry’s voice boomed, with grim satisfaction in his voice.

Alicia braced herself for the sting of the switch across her flesh, but the switch didn’t come. Instead, a large hand made a slapping contact with the centre of her upturned bottom. She heard the loud spank at the same time as she felt its unexpected sting. Her face blazed with shame, and with the realisation she was feeling a young, handsome man’s hand against her skin, in this intimate, undignified position. She thought to herself that the switch would have been preferable. It would have stung more, but it would have spared her the added humiliation of this intimate contact.

She stared at the red-carpeted dais, unable to close her eyes. The second spank that soon landed, in the very same spot, simply burnt, and she just did not have time to catch her breath as a volley of further, rapid spanks fell across her heated bottom cheeks. The fiend who was delivering them had a large hand, like a shovel, and it easily covered the most vulnerable parts of her bottom. Alicia winced and bit hard into her lip every time the fiend’s hand made contact with her bottom. Both cheeks. Left cheek. Right cheek. Both cheeks again. Merciless spanks that spared nothing. They were setting ablaze every inch of her upturned rump. Soon Alicia lost count, and she began to buck and wriggle under the sheer scorching fire of the punishing hand. Yet the fiend’s other hand seemed to have an iron grip, and held her firmly in place.

The spanking seemed to go on forever, bringing scalding tears into her eyes and a nearly unbearable, infernal heat in her bottom. The fiend appeared to know well what he was doing, since his main target tended to be her sensitive sit spots. The pain was becoming too much to bear, and Alicia found herself first crying, then simply blubbering, not caring who would hear and see her absolute humiliation. She just wanted him to stop. She even opened her mouth to entreat him to do it, and beg forgiveness for everything the court thought she’d done. But it seemed to her she’d even forgotten how to speak. So she only sobbed, in pain and utter shame.

The fiend stopped, just at the moment she’d thought he never would. She just lay there, sobbing, too weak to even wriggle, as his firm left hand still held her in place. His right hand now rested on her bottom, and even the touch of it was too painful to bear.

Through the haze of her tears, she heard King Henry’s merciless voice.

“You’ve yet to use the switch, Sir Bertran,” the monarch said.

Alicia sobbed, incredulously. The sting was already unbearable. Now the switch would surely make her swoon with pain. Yet she didn’t dare ask for mercy. It would be cowardly of her to do so, and even more shaming than the punishment she’d undergone.

Sir Bertran’s hand still rested on her bottom, and at last he spoke, in a gruff voice that sounded strangely soothing.

“Enough, my liege. I say the lady’s had enough.”

The unseen crowd around them seemed to be buzzing with gleeful zest and laughter, but at this point Alicia did not truly care for them. She felt a wave of unbounded gratitude for the fiend who’d spanked her. He seemed more merciful than the king, although he’d put this mighty burn into her bottom. The burn was fierce, but, at this moment, as he was resting his big hand on her scorched skin, she felt an unexpected pang of pleasure inside her quim. A sweet, delicious ache that blinded her to everyone around her. At this moment, the crowd seemed to have dissolved around them, and there seemed to be just her, lying across his lap, feeling his palm against her tender flesh. The way his palm was resting upon her seared skin kindled a strange sort of fire inside her, as if the blazing sensation in her chastised behind had conquered her entire body. She recalled only too well how comely the fiend was, and how she’d struggled to tell herself this did not matter when she’d first set eyes on him. Yet she also recalled the king was now glancing upon them, and she recalled the switch hadn’t been yet employed. Would the king still command Sir Bertran to use it?

* * *

Bertran suppressed a sigh,feeling a stab of pity for the sobbing woman who lay on his lap. He’d spanked her hard, and her bottom was now a shade of fiery red, nearly matching the dress she wore. No doubt she’d have trouble sitting down today, and the sting may extend even tomorrow. Yet, he’d not spanked to bruise, putting more sting than sheer thumping force into his spanks. She was sore and uncomfortable, but not in numbing, mindless pain. He was a solider, but not a brute, and he was smart enough to realise he’d share his life with this woman. He knew she already despised him, and was well aware she would be furious with him for what he’d done, in front of everyone to see. Yet, there was still a chance she might not hate him. He’d only chastened her. Very well so, indeed, and she seemed spent and subdued. Adding further pain to an already blazing bottom would be an unnecessary cruelty. And it may make her hate him. There was no point in earning his future wife’s hatred. It was enough he already had her disdain.

From where he sat, King Henry cast him a displeased look, but Bertran didn’t flinch, holding the monarch’s stare. Bertran might be the king’s vassal, but he was now a lord held in high esteem. So he would heed his king’s command, but speak his mind when he thought it was his right to do so. Lady Alicia was to be his wife, and as her almost husband, he had the right to discipline her as he saw fit. At this moment, Bertran deemed the discipline he’d bestowed on his lady was enough. He was aware the king would enjoy a further spectacle, one that involved a good switching, but he was not inclined to provide such entertainment for the king. It was shaming enough for both himself and his future wife that they’d had to conduct this lesson in discipline in public.

Queen Eleanor whispered in her husband’s ear, and the king heaved a deep sigh.

“Very well, Sir Bertran,” he said rather reluctantly. “We can all see the lady’s well and duly chastened.”

The murmurs from the crowd seemed somewhat disappointed, and Sir Bertran glared at those lords and knights who were avidly looking upon his future wife’s shapely, well-rounded bottom. He deeply resented their avid stares, but a part of him could not fault them. As it was, he was having a hard time controlling his arousal, and had been struggling to do so throughout the whole punishment. He’d never spanked before, nor had he thought his cock might wish to stir while he was doing it, but Lady Alicia’s bottom was a true wonder to behold and touch. Firm and rounded just to his liking. He loved the scorching heat of it under his palm, and he found himself loving its freshly spanked redness. It looked simply delicious.

He was aware she was still sobbing softly, as she lay in her undignified position, and he felt very guilty for his enjoyment of the punishment. He was indeed aroused by the intimacy of the punishment they’d shared, yet he did not truly take pleasure in her discomfort. He also knew he’d humiliated her in front of the entire court, and, to a proud woman like Lady Alicia, the humiliation must burn ten times worse than the spanking itself. He hadn’t failed but notice she had not begged for mercy or forgiveness. She was proud, and, he had to admit, valiant, even in her defiance. He’d known grown men, soldiers, who didn’t display as much restraint and dignity when they took their punishment.

He gently lowered and straightened her skirts, covering her bottom, and noting she sobbed even harder as he did so. He’d been often spanked in his childhood, so he knew too well the kind of pain she was experiencing now. He felt sorry for her, as he helped her stand up. He saw her wince in pain, and cover her bottom with both hands, rubbing it furiously for a moment. Then he saw her become fully aware of the crowd simpering behind her. Lady Alicia gritted her teeth, and suddenly let go of her bottom, straightening herself and squaring her shoulders, in a regal gesture. She had dignity, that much was plain, and he couldn’t help but admire the way she now faced the crowd, head held high, as she calmly wiped her tear-stained face with the kerchief she’d pulled from her sleeve.

“Let this be a lesson to all haughty, presumptuous wives,” King Henry said, rising, obviously meaning this jab for Queen Eleanor who was at strife with her royal husband.

Queen Eleanor smiled brilliantly, apparently oblivious at her husband’s jab. Bertran had always privately thought she was twice the ruler her husband was, but the king was his liege, and it was to him he would always offer his loyalty first.

“Now, since the dire part of this day is over, let us get on with the merry part of it. An exchange of vows, followed by a wedding feast, which Lord de Lancres has been kind enough to provide at his own expense,” Eleanor said graciously.

De Lancres nodded, rather green in the face. Bertran knew only too well he’d been coerced into funding a lavish wedding feast for his daughter at Court, which Henry had demanded of him. Bertran himself did not particularly look forward to the feast. He despised crowds and court entertainments. But he supposed he would have to suffer through all of it. He cast a sideways glance at Lady Alicia, who was standing by his side, dejected, but straight as an arrow. She would certainly have to suffer through all of it. Even if he knew her punishment was well deserved, he felt sorry for her, especially since he knew she would have to suffer one more humiliation this night. She would have to lie with him, a bastard she despised.

Honour decreed he should breach her maidenhead tonight, allowing for the sheets to be displayed as proof of his bride’s virginity. He didn’t put it past Lady Alicia to seek an annulment if he did not do the deed tonight. She might try to seek shelter in a convent if the marriage was not consummated, claiming her husband was in truth unable to claim his rights. Bertran could never shame his family thus. The taint of bastardy that had clung to him so long had shamed them enough.

Truly not knowing how to act around a woman he’d just spanked, Bertran awkwardly offered Lady Alicia his arm. She glared at him, but, to his relief, she reluctantly took it. They proceeded to what was to follow.