The Doctor's Rough Treatment (Historical Medical Smut With A Side Of Story) by Diana Quippley Page B

matter, I am a
mercenary and my job this day is to take you safely back to your father.”
     
    “Show me some proof.” She demanded,
unsure if she was going to be safer in her cell or with this unknown mercenary.
     
    Anticipating her exact request, he
fished out a dagger with a jewel encrusted hilt and royal insignia of her
kingdom, and tossed it to her. She grabbed it with both hands and studied it
closely. It was her late mother’s ornamental dagger. She glanced up at him as
he peered out of the cell crouching low.
     
    “The alarm has been raised.” He
said in low tones, “I see the guards with their torches approaching from the
south gate.”
     
    “Why should I believe you were
given this by my father…?” She looked at him defiantly. “You may have stolen it
from the regal knights who would have been entrusted with this family
treasure.”
     
    “Had I stolen it then why should I
be the fool to come after you? That piece could fetch me more gold than I can
carry in a year. We have little time, Princess.” He hissed. “We must go now.”
     
    “I refuse to…” She began, but his
huge hand clamped over her startled mouth and he was off and running with her
cradled in his arms like a little sack of meal.
     
    As he rounded a narrow corridor, a
few of the Dark Keep guards blocked their way. Cullen callously dropped her to
the dirt packed floor and whipped out his massive flat bladed broadsword with
his right hand and a foot long wickedly gleaming dagger with his left. Shania
temporarily forgot her misgivings and of the filthy floor as she watched her
muscle-bound rescuer in action. The man was a blur of savage ferocity. Either
he was natural born killer, or trained well in the art of killing by some
master of the craft. One of the guards, the largest of the lot, swung his
spiked ball and chain at him. Cullen caught the massive chain on his thick left
forearm, wrapping it around twice. He yanked it hard and the guardsman came
hurtling toward Cullen. A ruthless blow from the flat side of the broadsword smashed
the big man’s nose and sent him sprawling to the ground.
     
    The two remaining guardsmen
approached with caution, but Cullen didn’t wait for them. He dived right into
them, smashing the hilt of his dagger into the side of one man’s head and his
heavy right fist into the other’s jaw. Both men crumpled to the ground. There
was a fourth, smaller man crouching behind the three, but he just turned tail
and ran. Cullen didn’t chase him; instead he scooped up the princess as if she
was a sack of dry oats and slung her over his shoulder. Shania noticed that
even if he had the outer appearance of a savage, remorseless killer, he hadn’t
actually killed those guardsmen, but knocked him senseless instead. Why he did
that, she wondered, for surely these men would not do the same for him. She
didn’t get the time to think on that as her massive rescuer sprinted through
the narrow passageway until he came upon a set of steep stairs.
     
    He bolted up the stairs, seemingly
knowing his way around the Keep and ran at breakneck speed, leaping and
hurdling his way through startled guardsmen and other inhabitants of the place.
Within moments he was racing with her in his arms over the length of the
western wall. The southern gate was heavily guarded, and he knew that even
before he planned this rescue. With a wild reckless yell he leapt right off the
wall and landed feet first into some tents pitched around the wall. Screams and
yells ensued from those inside at the sudden intrusion. Not waiting around to
assess the damage he caused, Cullen leapt onto a large dark stallion tethered
on a pole beside a tent. With Shania slung over his broad shoulder, he kicked
the horse into a fast gallop, away and into the dark night. A cohort of six
horsemen came after them, curved swords and spear tips gleaming in the
moonlight.
     
    “You callous brute.” Shania
screeched as they thundered into the forest that rolled out