His chest is broad, the muscles there clearly defined. They ripple under his tanned skin, reminding me that his power over me is physical as well as legal. If he intends to spank me, he will. His arms are solid, the strength there plain to see. He said he would hurt me. I have no doubt of it.
“My lady, your ribs?”
I draw a deep breath to expand my lungs, and find the effort neither too taxing, nor painful. I test the area of bruising with my fingertips and find it to be tender but not sore. I consider laying claim to a greater fragility than would be accurate, but decide against that. The best I might achieve is a delay, and throughout the period of waiting I would be tense, afraid of what was to come. Better to get this done with now.
Probably.
“I, I am fine, my lord.”
“I see. And your head? Any remaining dizziness or headache?”
I shake the head in question. He nods his.
“Your ankle will not be affected by what I intend for you, but I shall ask anyway. Can you stand? Can you walk?”
“I believe I shall be able to do so, my lord. After a fashion.”
“That is good. But you are shaking, my lady.” He lifts one eyebrow, whilst also reaching to caress my cheek. “You are afraid of your first punishment at my hands, I understand that. Be assured that you will come to no harm from me.”
I work to regain some semblance of control, though in truth he is right. Despite my determination to see this matter concluded, I am terrified. I contemplate even now attempting to make a run for it, but the dull throbbing in my ankle convinces me this would be futile. Counter-productive even. I have no wish to provoke him further.
Except that he does not have the appearance of an angry man. He seems calm, amused almost. And in no particular hurry to lay into me.
“If you need a private moment to relieve yourself first, that will be fine with me. Or perhaps you are hungry. Your spanking can wait until you have broken your fast, though I will insist that you remain naked.”
At his mention of a private moment my bladder makes its presence felt. I would appreciate that comfort, though I can find no appetite for food.
“Is there a privy I could use?” My voice sounds so small, pitiful even. Can he discern the threat of tears? My pride hopes not.
“Madam, this is a battlefield populated almost entirely by rude foot soldiers. There is no privy. There are however several buckets scattered around the tent from your bath yesterday, and you are free to make use of one of those. I will allow you a few minutes alone.”
He throws back the blankets that have been covering his lower body and stands up, his back to me. I am treated to a fine view of his taut buttocks and powerful thighs as he reaches to retrieve his chausses from the floor. He pulls those on and turns to me.
“You have your five minutes. Use them well. And my lady, you are shortly to endure a hard spanking, my hand on your bare bottom. If you so much as think about repeating your escapade of yesterday I will take a switch to your arse. You really do not want that. Not on the first day of your married life.” He tips me a polite nod from the doorway, then ducks through the opening to leave me to my toilet.
I stare after him for a few moments, resenting the implied further threats. I have given my word, he had no need to reiterate the details of my predicament. Sulking will avail me nothing however. I shove back the blankets and leap into action. Or rather, I hobble. I extricate myself from the snug furs and perch on the side of the bed shivering. The December morning is chilly, despite the still warm stones making up the stove in the centre of this tent. I wonder, did the duke replenish them during the night? Or perhapsit was his servant, Karl. The servant I know I must face this morning too.
I get to my feet and try an experimental step forward. My ankle throbs, but it is bearable. My ribs trouble me hardly at all. I manage to make my way to the bucket closest to me and use it to do what is necessary. I would take it to empty outside but the duke ordered me to remain unclothed.
I comb my fingers through my hair, but with no looking glass available to me I cannot properly braid it. I draw it back into a loose, rough plait, but by now I feel sure my allotted time must be almost up. Modesty propels me to scramble back into bed and I curl up under the covers to wait.
The duke does not keep me waiting long. He re-enters the tent, halting just inside the doorway to regard me. His features bear an odd expression, somewhere between amusement and regret. But I detect no sign of a reprieve.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
I nod.
“Ready then?”
Again I nod, but not so fast this time. I know this is going to happen. There is no merit in drawing it out. But even so…
The duke strides over to the table and pulls out one of the chairs. He turns it to face the bed and seats himself upon it. His bare torso is glistening, droplets of water clearly visible on his skin, and his hair is darkened by the remaining damp. He must have completed his ablutions whilst outside.
“Stop cowering among the furs, Natalia, and get yourself over to me. Now.” His tone has hardened, and the temperature in the tent seems to me to drop. I know better than to delay any longer. This is inevitable, and it is happening now.
I slip from the bed and stand beside it, my weight balanced on my left leg. I cannot resist the urge to cross my arms in front of my chest.
The duke frowns. “You said you were able to walk.”
