Knight of Westmoorland: The Queen and the warrior Read Free

his mind.
    She was back, this time with a three-part wooden ball crusher. She fastened the first two parts together at the top of his sac and he felt it catch several hairs. The last section screwed up against the first two, capturing his balls in its vice. Watching his face, his eyes, she turned the screws tighter. And tighter still.
    He blinked rapidly. It was the only sign of the pain he allowed himself to show.
    “Do you have any children, warrior? Do you want to have children? Of course, King William doesn’t allow a knight to take a wife…does he? So, it won’t matter if I make you impotent.” She stepped back and looked him up and down. “It will be a shame, though. A waste of such a good specimen.”
    Circling him, she laid her hand on his shoulder and rose up to whisper in his ear. “You know how my questions will start. Why are you here? What is your mission? Let me know when you are ready to answer them.”
    She shortened the chain between his wrists and his collar, pulling his hands higher and twisting his arms until they threatened to dislocate from his shoulders.
    “I’ll leave you alone, for a while.”
    The soldiers retrieved the torches and followed the Queen out of the room and then he heard the door close. He was alone again, in the cold, in total darkness, his restraints even more brutal than before. The weights hanging from the chain drove the teeth of the clamps deeper into his flesh and he felt blood trickle down his chest. The metal cage clenched his cock like a fist and the wooden blocks crushed his balls mercilessly.
    He closed his eyes with a sigh.
    He’d always dreamed of meeting Queen Gracelyn, but not like this. Ever since the first time he’d seen her, almost a decade ago, when there was peace between Westmoorland and Cambridge.
     
    The young warrior watched the procession approach the castle gates and felt a curious quivering in his stomach. He’d only been a squire for a few months, but he had heard the other men talk about the young Queen Gracelyn of Cambridge. And not just her legendary beauty. There was more to the stories than that. It was said she was Royalty of a different type than his own King William; that everyone in her Queendom was treated the same, from the chief of her guards down to the lowliest peasant.
    Of course, King William treated everyone the same as well. But he treated everyone as scum he rubbed off the bottom of his boot before entering his castle.
    Queen Gracelyn, they said, was different.
    Her carriage pulled up in front of the castle and her manservant was instantly off his seat and holding her door, proffering his hand. She placed hers on top of his and met his eyes with a smile, acknowledging his service.
    As she alighted, a gust of wind caught the cape on her shoulders, whipping it around. Suddenly, it was loose, riding the current of air.
    His reflexes were quick. He snatched the royal fabric from the air, before it touched the dusty ground.
    Approaching her with it in his arms, he abruptly realized the audacity of his actions and dropped down on one knee, his eyes lowered.
    Her laughter was like a breeze playing with a silver wind chime. “Thank you, kind sir. Arise.” Her voice was surprisingly strong for a woman not yet out of her teens, and it was a heartbeat before he realized she was addressing HIM. Though he was a skilled swordsman, no Royalty had ever addressed him directly.
    He rose on trembling legs, his eyes still down. As she retrieved her cape, she brushed the fingers of both her hands across his arms. He raised his head in surprise and found her warm brown eyes gazing into his, lit with the smile that beamed on her face.
    All of the stories were true.
     
    He had loved her ever since, knowing all too well that his love was inappropriate, and futile.
    Over the years, he’d eagerly anticipated her monthly visits, volunteering for extra duty in the hope of catching a glimpse of her.
    She always met his eyes and smiled.
    Then, eighteen