Claimed by the kings, p.9
Claimed by the Kings, page 9
“No,” she answered in a small, soft, very guilty voice. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s exactly right,” Ragnar interjected. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think when a stranger approached you in the market. You didn’t think when you kept that a secret from us. And you definitely didn’t think when you drank it. This wasn’t one lapse in good judgment, princess. You haven’t shown any kind of sense since this began. You are far more concerned with rebellion.”
“You sound like Milo.”
“Milo was right,” Ragnar said gruffly. “Now come here, lay yourself over my thighs, and take the spanking you are due.”
* * *
Elizabeth looked incredibly sheepish, but to her credit, she did as she was told. She slid her naked body off the bed and came to lay across his thighs. Ragnar patted her bottom, enjoying the way his palm covered her cheek entirely. She was a beautiful young woman, a spirited one too. If she had been born a barbarian, she might have made an excellent huntress. As a princess, she was perhaps ill-suited to her confinement.
He began to spank her, keeping his word to Milo and his promise to Elizabeth too. The slaps were firm and swift, covering her bottom in a barrage that turned pale cheeks pink. She let out plaintive squeaks that were rather adorable and that might have softened his resolve if it weren’t for the fact she could have just as easily have drunk hemlock as vision brew.
“I’m sorry, Ragnar!” She made another impassioned appeal just as her bottom started to go a brighter shade of red. “Really, I am truly sorry. I was stupid. I know that. Truly I do.”
He had never heard her apologize for anything so much. That fact made him slow his slaps and speak to her instead.
“You have to promise me you will never do anything like this again,” he said. “If you want to drink something, you must show me it first.”
“I promise!” Elizabeth gasped. “It was terrible. It was frightening! I will never do anything like it again, I truly, truly, truly promise!”
Her cheeks were not as red as they could have been, but truth be told Ragnar did not have it in his heart to thrash her too severely. He knew all too well that the effects of the brew were in many respects their own punishment. Milo’s anger seemed to have chastised her greatly as well.
In spite of himself, Ragnar found his palm stroking her bottom instead of spanking it, and then he pulled her up so she could sit on his lap. She rewarded him for his kindness by nuzzling against his bearded face.
“You will tell him, won’t you,” she said hopefully. “You will tell him that you already punished me and that I have learned my lesson.”
“He will make his own decision when he speaks with you,” Ragnar said. “I would not count on him to be as lenient as I have been.”
“But that’s not fair, to be punished twice.”
“You answer to two kings, Elizabeth,” he said. “It may not be fair, but I think you know you have been fortunate with me. Be grateful for that at least. I barely punished you at all.”
“Thank you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. In spite of himself, Ragnar could not help the smile that rose to his lips. She was a naughty little minx, but she was his naughty little minx.
Chapter Nine
Milo did not return that night. Nor was he back the next day.
Elizabeth noticed his absence and remarked that he must be terribly angry with her to stay away for so long. Ragnar assured her that it was not anger that kept Milo away, but when she inquired as to the reason for his absence, Ragnar did not have an answer.
“It is my fault,” she said sadly, gazing out the window. “You saw how very angry he was with me. And with you… he was furious with the both of us. Perhaps he has decided he no longer wants the kingdom, or me.”
She was convinced, but Ragnar was not nearly so certain that the reason for Milo’s continued absence had anything to do with Elizabeth. He privately sent several patrols in search of the king, but they returned with little in the way of information. Nobody had seen Milo, none of the peasants tilling the fields, and there was no sign of him or his horse.
As the day wore on and night fell and another day began, Elizabeth began to become quite withdrawn. Her mood was the least of Ragnar’s problems, however. Milo’s men were starting to become restless. There were whispers of foul play. The camaraderie that had been building between Ragnar’s forces and Milo’s men started to deteriorate as rumors swirled and became stronger.
It became clear to Ragnar that he was going to have to find Milo one way or another. It was equally obvious that Elizabeth would have to come with him. He could not risk letting her out of his sight, in case Milo’s disappearance was the result of foul play.
Having marshaled his men into three search parties, he made his way to the tower where Elizabeth was lying on her bed, moping for her lost lover. She turned toward Ragnar as he entered, wiping her reddened eyes. Her sorrow was so great it seemed to fill the entire room.
“Come, princess,” he said. “We are going in search of Milo.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly looking as though she were holding back a vast sea of tears. “Good luck. I will not say farewell, for I will likely lose you both.”
“You do not understand,” Ragnar said. “We are going in search of Milo. You as well as I.”
His words were apparently so strange to her ears that she was not sure she had heard them at all. “We are?”
“I will not leave you here alone,” Ragnar said. “I need my eyes on you. So you will ride with me and my men and together we will find King Lionheart.”
“Will I be in danger?”
Ragnar looked at her with an intensity in his dark gaze that gave his words additional weight. “I will not allow danger to so much as breathe on you.”
A smile broke across her pretty face. “Let us go find Milo.”
She did not know what she was getting into, and Ragnar did not have time to let her know. He put her on a horse and told her to follow directly in his wake at all times.
“I should have a weapon,” she said as they rode out of the city.
“You don’t need a weapon. You have me,” he replied over his shoulder. Elizabeth grinned, looking tremendously pretty in the sunshine. She was wearing a simple green robe that emphasized her red hair and emerald eyes and had he not been on a serious mission, Ragnar would have loved nothing more than to take her in his arms and make love to her.
As it was, he had to command the men to spread out and search. There were valleys, forests, and little hamlets spread out around Ammerdale City, and Milo could be hidden away almost anywhere. Privately, Ragnar was concerned that Milo might already be dead. It was not in his nature to flee, and though he had been frustrated with Elizabeth, there was no chance he had left her.
Ragnar elected to search the forest with Elizabeth in tow. It was perhaps something of a risk, but his men were in earshot and he had his horn, which he could blow if he were to need help. The more of the land they could cover, the better.
For hours they rode through underbrush, horses plodding slowly as they scoured the countryside. It was difficult, tedious work, and he was proud of how well Elizabeth handled it, though she was hardly used to spending time in the saddle.
“There!”
Her sharp eyes had spotted a small scrap of red cloth fluttering against a thorn.
“Excellent spotting, princess,” Ragnar said, spurring his horse toward a trail that was largely obscured by a great vine and bush. He would have missed it entirely if it were not for her shout. The trail went on for a mile or so through dense forest, then emerged into a clearing where the remnants of a camp were obvious in the form of middens of discarded food scraps, the charred remains of a fire—and a man tied to a tree.
Milo.
Ragnar barely recognized him at first. His clothing was filthy and tattered and his blond shock of hair was matted with earth and other filth to the point it no longer looked blond. His head hung down against his chest in an unconscious pose. He was held upright by ropes wrapped around his torso, arms, and legs, which bound him to the trunk of the tree. It was immediately obvious that he had been beaten. There was dried blood beneath his nose and bruising around his eyes.
Elizabeth let out a gasp of shock and horror. She slid from the horse, ran to him, and wrapped her arms around him as delicately as she could. Milo let out a cry of surprise as he came to consciousness.
“Milo! What have they done to you?”
“It’s alright,” he reassured her. “I am… well. No real harm has come to me.”
“It’s my fault, isn’t it! I made you angry and you left and…”
“Move aside, princess,” Ragnar said. “I must cut him down.”
Ragnar bought a sharp knife down against the ropes, sawing at the bonds that kept Milo in place. As the ropes fell away, Milo’s muscles failed him. He collapsed into the leaf litter of the forest floor, to Elizabeth’s shrieked dismay. Ragnar came back around the tree and hauled Milo up to his feet, half-carried and half-walked him to the horse.
The steed stood obligingly still as Ragnar hoisted Milo up and into the saddle. Milo did his best to hold himself erect upon the horse, but it was obvious that he was in pain and he soon slumped forward against the horse’s neck.
“Who did this?” It was Elizabeth who asked the question. Ragnar could see his anger reflected in her pretty face. She was most disturbed by what she had seen, and he wished she had not seen it. She had the stricken expression of someone who had finally understood an aspect of humanity that had escaped her throughout long years of enforced innocence.
“He needs water,” Ragnar explained. “Questions later. Water now.” He held the water skin up to Milo’s lips and the king gratefully took a few sips. He looked utterly exhausted, and Ragnar could see the effects of several beatings upon the man. Anger rose in him, a fury that somebody had dared attack his ally. It was an act of disrespect, not just toward Milo, but toward him as well.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” The words were directed at Ragnar.
“Of course I came,” Ragnar replied. “We have an alliance.”
“We have an alliance,” Milo nodded, his voice rasping.
“Your voice sounds so strange,” Elizabeth said. “The cool night air must have made your throat sore.”
Ragnar knew very well that Milo did not have a sore throat from a cold night. His was the voice of a man who had yelled and screamed for hours. He could only imagine what must have been inflicted on him to produce such a result.
He ended up having to strap Milo into place on the horse. The man’s muscles were weakened by exposure and dehydration and lack of food. He and Elizabeth rode on the second, fresher horse, keeping Milo’s steed tied to theirs.
Ragnar blew his horn three times and the patrols he had sent out to patrol around the area met them as they emerged from the clearing and together they all rode back to the castle, where they were met with much concern and interest from all parties. Milo had not long been a presence, but he had gained loyalty from more than his own men. Ragnar noticed that several of the barbarian troops made it a point to ensure that the king was alive, and seemed glad to see that it was so.
Elizabeth refused to leave Milo’s side as he was carried into the fortified tower and taken to the physician’s chamber. There were two men in residence there; one who had provided services to Milo’s army, the other to Ragnar’s. Both looked grim as Milo was carried into their presence, his face an ashen gray pallor.
“You go no further,” Ragnar said, barring Elizabeth’s way. “The medicine men need to attend to him.”
“I don’t want to leave him,” she pouted.
“He needs to rest,” Ragnar said firmly. “You will see him tomorrow. The physician will sedate him, there is nothing you can do now.”
“But…”
Ragnar took hold of Elizabeth by the shoulders and spoke calmly, but firmly. “I need your obedience now, princess,” he said. “As does Milo. He is quite ill and suffering with his wounds. You can best help him by letting the physicians do their work without interruption.”
She nodded slowly. “Very well,” she said. “But I wish to see him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Ragnar agreed. He turned her around and sent her toward her chamber with a swat to her bottom before going into the physician’s chamber himself. The heavy oak door had hidden the gasping and growling between clenched teeth, wounded animal noises emanating from the young king as the physicians tended to the marks on Milo’s body. There were lacerations and seared marks, an array of unpleasant wounds inflicted in a deliberate nature that made Ragnar’s fury simmer.
Milo gave him a wan smile as he entered the room. He had the flushed appearance of a man who had been given a sedating brew and who would soon be entirely off his gourd.
“She wants to see you,” Ragnar said. “I have managed to put her off until tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Milo said. “For saving my reputation before Elizabeth. I would not have her see me like this. She has seen too much already. I wish she had not been with you when I was found.”
“She was only concerned for you,” Ragnar said. “She missed you terribly. I faced a mutiny from your men and from her.”
“Ah,” Milo said through cracked lips. “So that was why you came for me. To avoid mutiny.”
“I came for you because we have a pact,” Ragnar growled in friendly fashion. “I don’t leave my allies to suffer or fall. I would have thought you would have a guard with you. Why did you ride out without one?”
“I wanted to be alone,” Milo said. “My thoughts were confused. They are not anymore.”
“Good. We will need to be single-minded to deal with those who…”
He was interrupted by the opening of the door and the fast scurrying of Elizabeth’s feet as she utterly disregarded their agreement and ran to Milo’s side, bursting into great sobs as she did.
“I am sorry!” Tears flowed from Elizabeth’s eyes profusely as she went to her knees next to Milo. “It was all my fault. I was bad and I made you leave…”
“It was not your fault,” Milo reassured her. “What happened had nothing to do with you…”
Misery was still written all over her face in spite of his reassurances. “I made you angry and you left, and then someone did this to you.”
“I am a king who has just made a conquest, Elizabeth. The world is full of people who would do this and worse if they were to have the chance. It was my fault I did not take an adequate guard.” He reached out and put a hand on her head as she bowed it and cried profusely into the bed.
Ragnar could see the effort even the small motion took Milo. He reached out, took Elizabeth under her arms, and drew her up to her feet.
“You have seen him now,” he said. “And you see he needs rest. Will you let him rest now?”
“I will,” she sobbed. “I just want to know who did this.”
Ragnar glanced at Milo. He also wanted to know who was responsible, but debriefing a man in as much pain as Milo was in was quite often pointless. The physicians would have given him a brew to make him relax and to stifle some of the pain, and even if they had not, the discomfort would lessen his ability to make sense. He needed rest, and plenty of it.
“We will find out in due course,” he told Elizabeth. “Now give the man his rest.”
“No,” Milo grunted. “She can stay. I know… who did this. They expected me to die. They spoke carelessly toward the end.”
“Who?” The question came from Ragnar and Elizabeth at once.
“A general named Gusig. He wishes to marry Elizabeth.”
“Gusig!” Elizabeth screwed her face up in true disgust. “He is foul. I would not marry him if there were no more men left in all the world.”
“Who is he?”
“He was once one of my father’s generals,” Elizabeth said. “He fled before my father’s death. He must have taken some of the soldiers with him…” She sighed. “We have lost track of many of the old guard. In the final months, my father was unable to command. The armies were splintered, under attack from every corner…” She cast a faintly reproachful look at Ragnar as she spoke.
Ragnar knew very well that it was his and Milo’s actions that had been to blame. No war was ever without consequences, no conquest ever so complete that all resistance was eliminated on the first pass. He was not surprised that there was an old general with designs upon the crown. He was surprised that the man had been so brazen and so brutal as to attack Milo and subject him to such cruel treatment. It was an opportunistic, sadistic act that would be paid for many times over.
“He is disgusting,” Elizabeth repeated. “I will not marry him, I will not!”
“You are ours,” Ragnar reminded her. “He is nothing more than a coward who will regret the day he dared order his men lay hands on one of our number. I will have his head, and the blood of every man who was involved.”
* * *
Ragnar looked as fierce in that moment as Elizabeth had ever seen him. She felt a shiver of fear and admiration rush through her belly and settle low in her abdomen. It was exciting to see him in the state that would have struck terror into anyone who would dare oppose him. She could not imagine an old braggart like Gusig being able to stand up to Ragnar for a moment.
She could barely stand to look at Milo. He had always been so handsome and proud, but in that moment he was so hurt, so wounded that he seemed much younger than his years. She wanted desperately to comfort him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight, but everything seemed to cause him pain.
“May I wash his face?” She addressed the question to the physician. “I must help in some way.”
She took the bowl of warm water and the cloth and gently began to clean the streaks of mud and blood from Milo’s visage. His eyes were closed now, his breathing even. The brew that he had been given was taking full effect and she was glad for it.
“He suffered greatly for me,” she murmured.
