Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 1: Capture

"Get your dirty paws off me, you lawless brutes!"

Comte Roland d'Ypagne frowned, his eyes rising from the ciphered message he was studying to search for the cause of the racket. Finding nothing, he reclined in his hard chair and pinched the top of his nose. It was the end of King Louis XIII's first military campaign and he couldn't wait to return to the Louvre. The abandoned farm he had commandeered for his lodgings was far from comfortable, even after replacing the missing lauzes on the roof and fixing the door. The small windows were covered in stretched and oiled animal skin in lieu of glass, and the light was so dim he had to use a candle in the middle of the day. His eyesight was fading and he could feel the warning signs of major headache.

Behind him, his page and valet were playing dice, seated on a blanket in front of the fire. What could have been a peaceful domestic scene was abruptly interrupted by a blood curdling scream and the sharp sound of a slap.

The door burst open and a slender form was thrown to the ground. Two burly Swiss mercenaries walked in behind her. "I apologize for the disturbance, my Lord, but the bitch bit me, and she has good teeth!" The first man held out his bleeding hand as a proof, his face brimming with indignation.

Roland cocked an eyebrow, a slight smile stretching the edges of his mouth. "And you hit her! You know I do not condone violence against the fairer sex. I cannot believe that you couldn't subdue her. It was two of you against one small woman."

He waved towards the delicate nymph who was struggling to sit up, her hands and ankles tied up in leather bounds. Her fair skin was flushed, even more so where a flaming red hand print covered her cheek. Two brown orbs were throwing metaphorical daggers at him, the nostrils of her delicate nose flaring up in anger. Her heart shaped mouth was swollen and her chin trembled, framed by honey colored strands escaped from her braid. She was deliciously upset.

Roland's grin widened and he strode towards her, stopping about three feet from her wiggling body. He bowed low, with a flourish: "Mademoiselle de Brissard, welcome to my humble abode. I am afraid it does not have all the comforts a woman of your birth could expect, but I believe it is preferable to jail, don't you agree? You will remain here until his Majesty decides your fate. I wouldn't be too optimistic, if I were you. You have, after all, rebelled against him and murdered two of his tax collectors."

She glowered at him, yet refused to speak.

"Did you search her?"

The same man answered, his companion merely nodding in agreement. "We frisked her, and she fought us like a female possessed. You should call a priest, my Lord, I wouldn't be surprised if she harbored a devil."

Chuckling, Roland shook his head. "I very much doubt so. Did you take off her boots?"

The soldier cleared his throat, embarrassed. He was a member of the Reformed Religion and believed women were sin. "No, we just checked her clothing..."

Roland's smile vanished. "This isn't good enough. Do you know our King's father was stabbed with a knife that had been hidden in his murderer's boot? His Majesty himself will visit me later today to meet our prisoner, you would put HIS life at risk with your negligence? Pull off her shoes and socks now!"

Crestfallen, the two mercenaries crouched and grabbed the girl's feet. Roland watched with interest as she hissed and kicked uselessly at them. It turned out he was right. Two slim blades were laced around her calves and another pair hidden in the boots' soles.

"Hold her head." Roland was fast enough to avoid getting hit when she spat at him. He undid her plait, and a long needle fell down.

The vocal Swiss whistled. "She is armed to up her teeth! Well, even her teeth are weapons..."