The Princess and the Soldier

His broad shaggy chest brushed against her soft nipples and she whimpered. She was frozen against a pillar, woolen travelling dress and ripped corset pooled around her feet.

She couldn't believe this was happening.

He held her hands tight above her head as she looked into his familiar face. Her father was dead less than four hours. She should be fleeing the castle and mourning him, not naked and pinioned by Lord Argile against a pillar.

She shuddered as his tongue dipped and tasted her neck. His rough swordsman's hands pinched a pink nipple. They had lost the war and now she would lose this, it seemed. Panic swatted at her breast in time with the thrusts of his hard erection under cloth still encased in brais. She struggled, rubbing her wrists against his steel grip. Despite his age, Lord Argile was a soldier still in his prime. The arm that held her fast flexed over his hairy armpit.

"Don't fight this Hortensia," he said. "I've wanted you since you visited our court for that joke of a treaty."

That was three years ago.

"I was but a girl," she sobbed out. Eighteen now, though. A princess ripe for marriage. An alliance with Prince Roger of Burges was planned for this year. Her father, the Prince and brother to King Roger I of France was next in line to the throne. Her pedigree didn't matter now. Count Baldwin of Flanders attacked their castle and now this. She could still hear sounds of battle in the courtyard below as he rubbed his hand down her body.

His mouth moved lower and bit her taught nipple where his hand had been. She gasped at the pleasure pain and resolved to crush the pleasure. She would not enjoy this.

She remembered her knife disguised as a comb in her hair. The one her mother made her wear when the war began.

She watched the bone and sinew in his thick neck below black and grey hair as his head moved to her other breast. The neck was tan and course with muscle. Even in the throes of despair she could not bring herself to take his life. She could hurt him. Do something rather than meekly accept his body into hers. She reached for the knife in her hair and couldn't grasp it. She stretched, masking the movement with a moan and felt the rose shaped tip of the knife. Argile groaned. He thrust his other hand down her naked belly to the soft red hairs covering her vagina. He pushed a hard thumb into her and she gasped, losing the grip on the hairpiece.

"Yes my princess whore. I think I'll keep you chained in a dungeon to fuck when I want."

His words spurred on her determination to get free. She was a princess and a descendant of strong women since Joan of Arc. She would not yield.

She twisted, her breasts swaying as she moved. He turned her and pushed her towards the bed. She tasted the feathers in her coverlet. No chance of reaching the knife now. His hard erection pressed into her naked buttocks. He spanked her and she squealed. He thrust one finger deep in her vagina and she moaned in pain.

"You're wet for me mijn kat," he spoke in Flemish now but she knew the language. A creak and the door burst open. Argile flew back towards his sword on the floor near the pillar and Hortensia scrambled off the bed and turned to face the enterer.

"Markus," she gasped, running to him. Her dear childhood friend now a soldier in her father's army. His bulging blacksmith's arms held a hammer in one hand and sword in another. His long brown hair was streaked with blood. There was a cut on his chest and one on his head, fresh from the fight still raging in the courtyard below. Even defeated, her people would not surrender.

Markus looked at Hortensia naked and trembling next to him. He began to shake and then turned hate filled eyes to Argile. Hortensia tried to pull him out the door with her, uncaring for her nakedness, but he was a stiff wall of muscle. Argile was the best swordsman in Flanders. He would cut Markus down like a puff of pillow.

"Go Sia," Markus said. The nickname sent warmth and fear through Hortensia. She knew he meant to sacrifice himself for her. He pushed her towards the wooden door but she could not leave.

Argile wore a smirk, knife held at the ready and sword in his other hand. Markus attacked with a yell, hammer high and sword thrust forward. Hortensia wanted to flee but fear for her friend held her frozen. Argile laughed and parried Markus' blow, knocking the hammer aside with his sword and thrusting a knife at Markus. It grazed his side and Markus hissed.

"I was going to fuck her gently her first time," Argile said. "Now I'll make her scream in pain after I kill you."

Hortensia knew what Argile was doing.

"Don't let him distract you," Hortensia said and the bloodlust in Markus' eyes cooled and concentration entered his expression. He attacked again with short precise blows which Argile parried.

Hortensia felt like a useless lamp standing there just waiting to shatter. What could she do? There was no one to help outside the door. If only she had learned to fight. Women were worse than useless in battle, she thought. A burden to defend.

She took the knife from her hair, the long auburn strands unraveling down her body. She did not want to kill but perhaps she could distract. She may very well die but she couldn't watch Argile murder someone else she loved. The realization that she loved Markus surprised her but she tried to focus on the clang of swords. She would explore that feeling later, if they survived. She inched her way to the side of the room behind Argile and when the enemies moved apart she yelled and flew onto his back driving the knife into his shoulder.

He grunted in pain and threw her across the room. Her head hit the stone wall and she collapsed, unconscious.

In the opening Hortensia provided, Markus pushed his sword deep in Argile's chest and Argile dropped to his knees. Markus widened his eyes and let go of the sword in surprise. He had expected to die defending Hortensia's honor and give her a chance to flee. Argile gurgled a breath, his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped.

Markus took out the cross he wore to say a quick prayer. As angry as he was at Argile's perfidy he would ease Argile's path to death's greedy arms.

He turned, and found Hortensia crumpled on her side. She looked asleep except for the lump starting on her ivory skin above her brow. Worry filled him. He used to watch her asleep by the pond near his father's forge. A silent guard. His eyes traced her naked curves and he felt like a letcher but his cock sprang to attention. He had been on a long campaign with Sia's brothers and the last time he had seen her, from a distance at a celebration meal in the castle, she had just become engaged.

He hated to put his dirty hands on her but head injuries were tricky and they needed to leave. It was the Count of Flanders' castle now and they had to flee. He touched a finger to Sia's cheek. He had kept his distance near the river in their youth and he resolved to keep his desire under check and keep his distance now. He wrapped his cloak around her and lifted.

It was dark and her head ached. Still she knew where she was.

It was an old hermit's cottage between the mountains to the east of the castle. It wasn't visible from the castle as it edged around a mountain far from the road. The vines on the house made it look like an overgrown bush. The perfect hiding place for her and her brothers when they were children.

She sat up and started as the heavy coverlet fell off her to reveal her nakedness under a cloak. It all came back to her in a sudden rush. Her father's death in a surprise attack. Her mother telling her to pack whatever she could carry. Her almost rape. Markus attacking Sir Argile.

Where was Markus?

She pushed the fur covers aside. She closed the cloak to hide her bare body and walked to the rusted old door half off its hinges. She swayed and held the handle for balance. The door opened and she startled. Markus framed the door, heavy eyes intense on her cataloguing her body. The sword and hammer crisscrossed his back. He had washed and his hair was still wet. She flushed under his quiet regard. He was carrying firewood and she was blocking the doorway.

She turned away to let him inside. Now that they were alone, she felt awkward and unkempt. She belatedly realized she should be worried for her family, but her foremost feeling was relief that she was safe. She had this man to thank for that.

Markus put the firewood down in the old fireplace. She heard the snap of matches and a glow lit up the dark wood. He came close to her.

"How do you feel?" He asked. "You should lie down." He walked her to the bed.

"I feel fine. Thank you for..." she couldn't finish the sentence.

Markus sighed heavily and sat next to her on the bed staring at the flames.

"Did he..." he couldn't finish the sentence either.

"No," she said and tried to project brisk confident though she felt shaky. She sat next to him and took his hand. They sat there listening to the fire crackle and spit. A moment of peace in a savage day.

"We must move on," Sia said. "To Lord Almark, then west across the Scheldt river to French territory. Are there others you can trust? My brothers?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can locate them."

Or if they are dead, she thought. He thinks to spare me worry.

She turned to him, her sweet scent still present after her travails. Soap and something warm like vanilla. He inhaled a deep breath. Once they got to Ghent, there were allies there who would sweep her away from him. He'd probably never be this close to her again. He should not sit so close to her. He began to stand. Sia put a hand on his chest.

"You're injured too," she said. She reached into his tunic and felt heavy muscle. How strange his body was, so strong and fragile. She shivered. She had almost lost him today.

He put his hand on hers to stop her.

"Sia," he almost groaned it. "I can't have your hands on me," she stilled and her brown eyes arrowed into his lighter ones.

"Why not?" she said, but she knew. She wanted to hear him say it.

"I've loved you since we were little," he said. Her eyes widened. "It hurts when you touch me."

She kept her hand over his heart.

"I wanted you too," she said.

He sprang up off the bed and she fell over onto the fur, her cloak opening to show him the curve of her belly and hip, the bead of her pink nipples, and the reddish hair covering her mons. He closed his eyes and turned away as if scalded.

"You can't. We can't," he sounded like a lunatic. His hands were shaking. The part of his brain that had wanted Sia for a lifetime whispered to him: Who was he, a mere mortal to say no to such a goddess? He would live for her pleasure.

"I was almost defiled today. I want you to make love to me." she said. She knew she wasn't thinking clearly. Her virginity was prized and meant to be sold by her father, promised to another man. Her father was dead and her future was uncertain. Except for this brave man.

She stood up, he was so attuned to her that even with his back to her he could hear the rustle of movement. He wondered if the cloak still gaped open. The answer was yes, he saw when she moved in front of him.

"Markus." She touched his rough stubbled face and brought him down to her for a kiss. Their mouths met with so much heat he thought he would burst. Her tongue, tentative at first, traced his lips. "I need you." she said and he moaned and let his eyelids drop. He pulled her to him as if she would vanish. Maybe this was a fever dream and he was actually in a tent dying after battle.

He opened his eyes. Sia was still there, pulling his shirt up and running her hands over his stomach and his chest then dipping down past the hair on his belly and inside his pants. His cock was so hard it hurt and her soft hand cupping him was the most exquisite torture. He was shaking. He summoned every particle of strength he possessed and stilled her hand.

"Sia, this shouldn't happen. Not between us. You were meant for someone better than me. A count, a prince."

"A Lord like Lord Argile?" she asked, anger in her expression.

Her lush lips pronouncing his name made him clasp her arms and pull her closer. Her naked breasts pillowed against his chest. She shuddered.

"I don't want someone better," she said. "I want you. I've wanted you for a long time. He was going to take this from me in violence. Let me give it to you in love instead."

She kissed his neck, sucked him, tasted him. He groaned again. He wished he were stronger but he wasn't. He bowed her onto the bed, and lay on top of her, tasting her, his tongue lashing every inch of skin on her breasts. She grazed his hands over his arms, back, his neck. She sucked at his ear and licked at his neck like a cat. Like an experienced sorceress.

He gripped the round globes of her bottom, full and lush. He spread her open and rubbed his clothed cock up and down her slit. She was so wet his pants were soaked. He wanted her wetter. He dove his head down on her vagina, sliting it open and licking inside, tasting her salty treasure. She panted moaned, pulled at his hair. He rubbed the nub above her slit with his thick finger and forced his tongue inside her. She arched off the bed, calling his name. He still couldn't believe this was her. His Sia. The woman he had watched grow so beautiful and so far out of his reach.

Their scents mingled and he couldn't tell where he began and she ended.

Finally she groaned, her thighs clenching around his head as he licked deeper. His finger found the nub at the top of her vagina. She would have screamed if he didn't think to put his other hand above and block her mouth. She bit down on his hand and moaned long and loud as he tasted a gush of her cum and lapped it up.

He rose above her looking like a fierce warrior, more animal than man. Breath pounded out his nostrils and she imagined he looked like his viking ancestors plundering her shores. He shoved his brais down and thrust inside her trembling cunt, hard and deep.

"Ahh," she moaned, stretched tight. He heard pain in her voice. He had meant to go slow.

"I'm sorry," he said loving how tight she was. He was barely able to speak, but began to withdraw.

"Don't stop," she said and moved her hips up, gripping his naked buttocks tight. He lost control. He moved in and out with fervor as her nails scratched his bare buttocks and he groaned. Her face was a mask of ecstacy and her large breasts heaved with every thrust. He licked and sucked one nipple then the next until she brought his face up for a kiss. Her tongue on his tipped him over the edge and he pistoned in and out of her, yelling her name as he filled her with his seed. He kept his wits long enough to reach down and rub that nub again and she came. This time he captured her scream in his mouth.