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few moments and then exclaimed, "Your parents had seven children and never learned to talk to one another?"
    He grinned in a charmingly boyish way. "They managed to communicate in other ways. Obviously."
    " Obviously !"
    "But over time I suppose my father learned a little Spanish, quite accidentally. And she learned a little French the same way. They were both too stubborn to learn deliberately. If they really wanted to get their point across in an argument they were sometimes obliged to try."
    Princesa was amused by this story, and she pondered it with her head tilted. "Seven sons!"
    "Yes." He sighed and leaned back on his elbows. "Seven bastards, for they never married."
    "Oh." She hugged her knees. "I don't remember my parents."
    "Why not?"
    "I don't know. I can remember nothing from before you filthy Normans came and raped our land."
    His eyes narrowed until they were little more than slender blades of silver. "You will take that back, slave. This place was a lawless, backward island until we came."
    "No. 'Tis the truth."
    "You will show your gratitude for my people saving this unruly land from the darkness of ignorance."
    "I am supposed to be grateful then, that my family was trampled and slaughtered where they fell, my home burned to the ground, my entire village erased, and I was taken captive to be a slave?"
    He answered quickly, "How do you know that's what happened if you don't remember?"
    "Well, I know that much!"
    "But you said you don't remember anything before the Normans came, so how do you know you had any family?"
    She stared angrily. "Of course I had a family."
    "Perhaps not. You may not even be of Saxon blood."
    His casual manner infuriated her further. "I am! Just because you're a half-breed bastard!"
    Oh, that put an end to his lazy pose across the fleece. He jerked upright, grabbed her by her hair and dragged her over his knees. "Say that again, no name slave whore."
    "Half-breed bastard. Drunken, shoeless wretch. And ugly too."
    He tossed up her gown and spanked her hard across her bare bottom.
    "This is how my father dealt with my mother when she dared talk back to him," he growled as the second spank fell against her buttock.
    She yelped, for that one stung worse than the first. "And we Saxons are the lawless savages?" she spat, struggling to get up. "You people are no better than swine."
    He pinned her with his other arm and even as she kicked out behind her, he spanked her again. And again. Her bottom burned, but as his hard palm and fingers came down faster on her hot, smarting flesh she noticed a curious development. Beneath her belly, the bulge of his crotch began to grow, poking at her through his leather breeches. The more she writhed, the larger it became, and she parted her legs slightly, pressing her vulva down with each spank, bouncing slightly against the uncomfortable ridge. It was arousing to feel that pressure and after last night's teasing she was eager to get relief however she could tonight.
    Suddenly he ceased spanking and slid his hand between her legs. She was slick enough that his finger slipped easily between her labia. He added another finger and then another, filling her pussy.
    "This is how he calmed her too, when she was in a temper," he grunted, fucking her with his fingers.
    "Ouch." She felt the need to complain although the friction of his ungentle fingers, combined with the throbbing in her arse had already begun the deep, heated throbbing in her nether regions.
    "Apologize for calling me swine."
    "Never! Pig! Boar!" She couldn't stop shouting. Didn't want to. A very wicked voice inside her urged her on in this rebellion, wanting to see how far he would go with her.
    He pushed her to the ground on her knees and forced her upper body down into the grass. "Now you'll feel my belt, Princesa. Prepare yourself."
    "Good. See if I care."
    She could hear him removing the wide leather belt from his tunic. In the next instant the strap lashed against her backside and she bit her