Knight of Westmoorland: The Queen and the warrior Read Free Page A

months earlier, King William had wed the young Lady Jenna. Shortly after, streams that watered Westmoorland’s northern regions began to diminish, a few drying up completely. Because the origin of the streams lay in Cambridge’s south, King William blamed the Queen, even though a stretch of No Man’s Land separated the two borders.
    King William proclaimed Queen Gracelyn his enemy, nullifying a peace treaty that had stood for generations, and the warrior’s heart had broken. It was for this reason he volunteered for the mission to infiltrate her realm, but he knew not what his King was planning. His only instructions had been to observe.
    But to tell her even the little he knew would be treason. Cowardice. He was neither a traitor nor a coward.
    So he would suffer unimaginable torture at the hands of his beloved. Perhaps even death.

 
    Chapter Two
     
    H IS HANDS AND ARMS WERE numb, but one shoulder was dislocated. As long as he didn’t move, it only produced a dull ache, and that he could easily handle.
    But unable to stand flat-footed, not moving was difficult. The muscles in his legs burned, from the backs of his calves upward to his ass.
    His nipples were also numb, as were his balls. She wouldn’t really emasculate him…would she? After all, he was not a manservant; he was a knight!
    Occasionally, pain from his wounded side penetrated his consciousness above all else. He wondered if he was still bleeding; wondered how much blood he had lost. He was weak. The hunger he could block from his mind; he had trained himself to withstand it. But the thirst and the cold . These were different matters.
    Time no longer had meaning. He didn’t know if he’d been alone with his agonies for half an hour, or all night. He refused to let himself think about it; it was easier that way.
    His legs were trembling, trying to hold his weight. He lost his balance and felt the bones in his dislocated shoulder grind against each other. He didn’t realize he had voiced the pain until he heard his own scream echoing off the dungeon walls. His legs buckled and, for a moment, he let himself hang from the chain attached to his collar. The front of the collar pressed into his throat and his consciousness threatened to ebb away.
    It crossed his mind to let it happen. It would take several minutes before the pressure against his throat rendered him unconscious, but once done, the pain would be gone.
    But that would be cowardice.
    He braced the balls of his feet against the cold dirt floor and lifted himself. When the bones of his shoulder scraped together again, he was prepared and only a slight moan escaped his lips.
    He heard the door open and the flickering light from the torches lit the room again. Philippe, Marcus and another guard circled him. The third man was lean and tall, dark-headed and clean-shaven. Marcus stepped in front, reaching forward with a nasty sneer on his face.
    The warrior clenched his jaw and readied himself for what he knew was coming. The guard tore the clamps from his nipples in one swift yank, rocking the warrior’s balance and setting the bones of his shoulder off, again. The warrior inhaled sharply through his nose, but made not a sound.
    The guard reached out again and the warrior tensed. His nipples were one thing, but…
    “Marcus!” Queen Gracelyn’s reprimand came from somewhere behind him, near the door. “I will tend to that myself.”
    The guard’s face became a blank mask. “Yes, my Queen,” Marcus grumbled.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approach. As she neared, she lifted her hand, but the stroke of her fingertips against his skin was so light he barely felt it. An older man with shoulder-length gray hair and a wizened face accompanied her. The man surveyed the captured warrior with learned eyes.
    “My Queen,” The man said softly. “His right shoulder is dislocated.”
    Queen Gracelyn stopped in front of the warrior and her lips parted as surprise crossed her face. She quickly