Here are two chapters in one, as you wanted them longer. Spelling and grammar checked but not fully edited yet, I'll put up the edited version later. Enjoy!
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Sabine watched warily as Roland got up and walked to a nearby trunk. He leaned over it for a while, catching his breath, and then opened the lid and rummaged through it. He soon found what he needed, a small jar, and his spare sword belt, a double length of thick leather linked by steel rings, with attachments for his scabbard and dagger.
When he turned back to her, Sabine made a desperate attempt to creep away. Gone was the blasé, yet attentive, courtier. His brows were drawn together, his jaw set, his eyes cold, and focused. On her.
She swallowed hard, and summoned her anger to get a hold of her rising terror. He had betrayed his promises; he was no better than her tormentors. It was only natural that she tried to defend herself. He had no right to touch her.
Roland cracked the end of the belt against his boot. The whimper was out before she could block it, and she shrank away from him.
She was back in her castle, surrounded by cruel mercenaries. They made a game of whipping her, betting on how loud her next scream would be. It had been a while, and her voice had deserted her, every inch of her body burning in excruciating pain...
"Eyes on me, Sabine, do not close them!"
She shook her head. She'd rather not see the blows coming.
"Last warning, Sabine, look at me. You would be wise not to challenge me." His tone was stern, but calm. Not the voice of a beast ready to tear her apart.
She peeked through her lashes.
He was crouching in front of her, the strap of leather folded in his hand. "Do you really think I would flay you?"
She cleared her throat and held his gaze. "What else would I think? That's what men do when they wield these, isn't it?"
"Men without honor, certainly. I gave you my word that I wouldn't hurt you. You, however, broke our agreement. You were not to fight me."
The nerve of him! "I never agreed to anything but to avoid public humiliation. And you only mentioned undressing me. You are no better than those men, you tried to trick me into giving in to you."
Roland's bellow resonated in the room. He purposely appraised her naked body, allowing his gaze to linger on her long legs, honey colored curls, and round breasts. She was a little too slim for his taste, accustomed as he was to the curvaceous ladies of the court, but she had a good handful of what he liked, where he liked it. Her ivory skin, marred by a few fresh bruises -no doubt due to her resisting arrest- was clean and fresh-smelling, a light scent of moss and wild flowers. Roland was delighted; as a child, he had followed his father in exotic countries, and had acquired the local taste for frequent bathing. Several years of service in the King's Chambers had not suffice to get him used to the stench of unwashed bodies that even strong perfumes couldn't obliterate. The Louvre itself reeked of human waste, most of his occupants using room corners as impromptu latrines.
Overall, the girl was acceptable. And stronger than her lithe form would predict, as he had had the displeasure to find out. She was a rebel, and a criminal. He had to keep that in mind. She had killed two tax collectors in cold blood. He had made the mistake of being courteous and compassionate, taking into account her gender and circumstances. She had proven him wrong. She wasn't a fragile damsel in distress and deserved no courtesy.
There was no time. The King would be there soon. Roland had to break her spirit, trick her to confess so that they could catch her accomplices. And he knew exactly how to do that, without using methods that Louis would disavow.
So he sneered. "Do not flatter yourself. You are pretty, I will give you that, but you wouldn't meet the needed standards to share my bed. Not quite voluptuous enough, and if I may say, rather plain."
Sabine's cheeks flushed bright red. Was he really implying that she would be interested in seducing him, of all the available males in the country? The conceited bastard! She lashed at him. "Thank God Almighty for that! You certainly don't meet MY standards..."
She regretted her words as soon as they left her lips. Too late. He had heard them.
"Is that so?" His face came close to hers, his mouth curled in a mocking smile. "Tell me, Sabine, what does it take for these shapely thighs to spread? What is it that your lovers have and I don't?"
Her blush was now reaching her collarbones and showing no sign of stopping. "I do not..."
Her throat tightened, and she jolted as if stroke by lightning as his fingers brushed the side of her chest. "I forbid you!"
"There is nothing you can forbid me, my sweet. You are, totally and utterly, at my mercy. And you haven't answered my question..."
Another caress, tracing a lazy line along her neck. She twisted wildly, to no avail.
"Your answer, I'm waiting..."
"I don't have lovers!" She blurted, desperate for him to stop.
Roland retracted his hand with a sly smile. "It's a pity, really. You don't know what you are missing. Or maybe you do?" He cocked an eyebrow.
She glared at him. She could still feel the path of his knuckles as a tingling line on her skin.
"Very well. Let's go back to business then. I'm expecting an apology for your earlier behavior. So..."
Sabine was fuming. "It is you who should apologize. I do not regret kicking you. You deserved it and I wish I could have hit harder."
"I was hoping you would say that," Roland mused, "or I would have felt bad implementing your punishment." He gently rolled her to her side, her back to him.
"Wait, what punishment? What are you going to do?" Sabine attempted to roll back but he positioned his knee to stop her. She couldn't see what he was doing and it was driving her mad with worry.
"You'll understand soon enough." He dug through her clothes to loop one end of the belt over her bound wrists, and then used the other end for her ankles.
Only then did Sabine understand what was happening. She struggled to free her legs, but he was stronger and had no trouble closing the buckle. He tightened it until he was satisfied with her position and stood up.
"It works with untamed fillies, stops them from bucking. It looks good on you," he said, and went to pick the rolled pallets that his servants slept on. He threw one on the ground along the closest wall, and spread the other in a vertical position, creating a floor level sofa.
Sabine could only hear and wonder what he was preparing. Nothing good, for sure. Her heart was racing and unshed tears threatened to spill.
"Punishment, Sabine, is an art," he stated. "It must be harsh enough, so as to deter the subject from repeating their mistake, and lenient enough that the subject would be grateful and understand you are teaching them a useful lesson. In order to achieve this delicate balance, one must know the subject well. What they desire, what they fear."
Satisfied with his arrangements, he scooped her in his arms and lowered her on the first pallet.
She shuddered at his contact, yet didn't fight. Tied as she was, it would just tire her. There was no getting out of this. She waited with baited breath as he sat comfortably, legs extended, the second pallet padding the wall behind his back. He arranged the blanket over his breeches and placed a small jar at his side. Then he grabbed her and pulled her into his lap.
