Chapter Four

The bedroom door is open, and Bryce is pacing around like an angry animal.

"Yes, my lord?" I whisper while keeping my head down to evade any wrath from the

Duke.

"The woman is my mistress, Clarissa," he bluntly states. "She tells you to do something,

do it."

"Yes, my lord." I still don't bother to glance at him.

"Go fetch some clean water for my bath, boy." There are an earthenware pitcher and

basin on a nightstand next to the Duke's bed. I quickly grab the pitcher and leave, heading down

towards the kitchens.

The kitchen was now eerily quiet, all the cooks and maids having finished their tasks for

the day. I found the water pump the Duke described to me, and I fill the jug.

I arrive back in the Duke's bedroom, and he is standing next to the now roaring fireplace,

staring into the flames, the flickering shadows highlighting the stress from the encounter with his

mistress. I almost feel sorry for him.

"Come here and undress me," he harshly commands when he senses my presence. Nope,

pity was gone.

I place the full pitcher back into the basin, and I walk over to the Duke to remove his

tunic and -WOW! Unlike my prince and senator, this man had more muscles and scars. The walls

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in my pussy clench, informing me that she was turned on! Down girl! But, I cannot help my

attraction!

"Don't stand there and ogle, Page! Undress me!" The Duke's impatience hurries me to

remove his leather boots and woolen hose. I grasp the reality that he was "commando"

underneath the hosiery, and I try hard not to stare, but just like my past two lovers, the Duke has

a massive cock. Bigger, I think!

I also cannot help appreciate his beautifully sculpted legs, well-defined by hours of riding

in the saddle. I would love to ride him!

NO! What in the hell was I thinking! I was supposed to be acting the boy, which means I

can never show my true nature. A girl. The fairies sent me here for a reason and wanted me to

pretend to be a male. I can avoid the temptation of the naked and well-endowed Bryce

Plantagenet.

A twinge of self-admonishment assails me when I lick my lips in thirst. I hate lying to

myself!

"Here," the Duke impatiently shoves a small piece of cloth into my hands. Oh, right!

Bath time!

I grab the pitcher and basin from the nightstand, placing both on the ground next to the

fireplace to pour the water into the bowl, wetting the cloth. I scrub the Duke's perfect body,

rinsing the fabric every so often, trying not to linger too long on a single body part,

simultaneously wishing I were doing the job as a woman.

My nipples were hard, and my boobs ache. They want to be touched, and there was a

small pulse at my core. Dammit all to hell! I keep taking deep breaths to concentrate on my task.

The man was washed thoroughly, from head to foot, and when I finish, I happily open the

lid of a chest, finding a clean, white nightgown. I stifle a laugh because men in my time do not

sleep in nightgowns. And my men slept in the nude. The Church and their abhorrence of the

human body. Such a pity!

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The nightgown slides over the Duke's incredible body but relieved he was now covered.

"May I leave to dump the water, my lord?" Bryce flicks his head in permission, and I return to

the empty kitchens to take a quick bath in a dark corner.

I do not have time to unravel the cloth binding my breasts, so I take the washcloth and

scrub underneath. I understand my measly bath will not be enough to keep me clean, but I will

worry about it tomorrow. Presently, I was feeling somewhat refreshed.

Bryce is already asleep in his bed when I return to the room. I snuff out the candles, and I

find my pallet in the dark. My eyes were heavy, and I let my exhaustion take over. I was out.

Crowing awakens me from my dreamless sleep. My body is full of aches, plus sleeping

on the pallet on the hard floor didn't help. I stretch before I stand, the room is still dark, with only

a shimmer of light from the coals in dying the fireplace. I creep my way to the door leading to

the office; the room is darker than the bedroom, the light from the fireplace not reaching past the

doorway. I have to grope around the far wall to find the door to the outside.

The office door squeaks open after discovering the metal handle, the sky through the

arrow-slit is turning a soft-blue, indicating the sun is about to rise.

I walk back into the office, and I grab a holder with a candle and light the wick from a

still-lit torch in the hallway using the flame to light the candles on the wall in the office.

After placing the candle on the desk, I return to the bedroom, keeping the door open to

find the chest with Duke's exercise clothing. I lay everything out on the trunk for him and grab

the pitcher to walk down to the kitchen.

The kitchen is again a hive of activity with people preparing for today's meals. The sight

is impressive to behold; the lowest people of the pecking order are the first to begin work for the

day. Nothing has changed in the last millennium.

I fill the pitcher with clean water and return to the Duke's bedroom. Bryce was already

stirring in his bed when I arrive, and I leave the refilled pitcher beside the bowl on the

nightstand. I back away from the bed, while the Duke stretches and swings his feet from under

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the sheets, placing them on the bear rug to stand. He yawns loudly and cracks his neck from side

to side.

I can't help to stare in fascination at the towering dark figure draped in a white gown

since the only light from the room was the lit candles in the office.

"Page, light the candles," Bryce's voice is hoarse from disuse and sounding impatient.

"Yes, my lord," I murmur, ducking my head in embarrassment while wanting to smack

my forehead in stupidity. I'll have to learn this job quickly!

I light the candles around the room in quick succession, snuffing out the candle in my

hand. The Duke was staring me, waiting for me, and I quickly understand he wants me to divest

him of his nightgown. I grab the bottom and rip the fabric over his head and replace the

nightshirt with the exercise shirt. I was hoping my seeing him naked from the night before had

quelled the hungry attraction for the man. Nope! I still like what I see!

The room was a little chilly because the coals from the fireplace were nearly

extinguished; the warmth from last night was almost sucked back into the cold stones. The chill

makes Bryce's cock shrink a little. I'm not looking! At least he doesn't have morning wood!

I help him into his hose, tunic, and then into the training padding. I buckle the last strap

on the padding when he informs me, "I forgot to mention that you will bathe at least once a

week. I loathe the scent of sour flesh from too much sweat." Okay? I didn't know OCD was

prevalent in the Middle Ages! Usually, people bathed once a month, if that!

I have an epiphany. I hope he's not telling me I stink! I prevent myself from performing a

pit check. But I am ever cautious, not wanting to give the man any excuse to kick me out of his

castle. "Do I need to bathe today, my lord?" My tone was respectful while remaining tactful.

"No," he huffs, as if I know if I stink to him! I don't respond, not wanting to start the day

on a wrong note. He is already a moody bastard!

We leave and go to the training yard.

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The day travels, as Bryce Plantagenet explained to me. I made a few mistakes, but the

Duke gives me a break since I was new.

Sir Hubert works with me on the long-bow and swordplay after I eat breakfast. I do not

have the stamina to wield both weapons for long, and I am exhausted by the time I return to the

castle with the Duke after midday.

I arrive at the Duke's bedroom with a pitcher of clean water when I discover the Duke

and his mistress are making up for the day before. Both were in a heated embrace, and I do not

want to witness anything further. I silently close the door, leaving the pitcher on the office desk.

The scene should not bother me, but it does. I need a distraction.

I sit on the ground outside of the closed office door after I grabbed the book "The

Odyssey," which the Duke must have returned to his library. I am at the end of the second

chapter when the door opens, and Clarissa sweeps out of the room as if she owns the castle. Just

the Duke's dick.

I don't know why she upsets me. The Duke was a different man from my men, but they

all made mistakes in their choices of companionship. Except me, I hope!

"Page, are you there?" The Duke calls out from the bedroom.

"Yes, my lord," I reply while standing with the book in my hand. I enter the room, and the

Duke is naked. Heat rushes me, and I quickly think about what he was just doing. The thought

works like a bucket of cold water.

"Come, dress me," he commands. I sigh and put the book down on one of the chests

while I grab the pitcher and a clean shirt and hose from another crate and dress him.

"I see you continued to read without me," Bryce's tone is neutral, and I cannot tell if my

taking the initiative annoyed him, but I can only respond truthfully.

"Yes, my lord." My remark makes his nostrils flare, and his eyes ignite. "I can re-read the

chapter, my lord," I hastily add, not wanting to anger him.

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"Yes," he responds gruffly, and like the day before, I read, and then we debate the Duke's

chosen passages in detail.

I cannot help but like Bryce when we are debating because he treats me as an equal. Even

though in his eyes, I'm but a young lad. But still, it was nice to be respected for having an astute

mind. Even if I am a woman.

The rest of the week follows the same pattern. Some days the Duke and his mistress

would argue, followed by silent make-up sex within the next twenty-four hours. I was glad there

were no sounds of pleasure leaving the room. I try not to let the situation bother me. But dammit!

It does!

I also discovered that I landed at this time on a Monday. So when Sunday arrives, I was

looking forward to the day. My first day off!

My hopes were dashed immediately because the required Sunday Mass was conducted in

the castle chapel BEFORE the sun rose, and it was a bitch to keep my eyes open during the

hours-long sermon because everything was in Latin. A language the fairies took from me when I

arrived here. Goddamn fairies!

I spoke fluent Latin when I was in ancient Pompeii. Now? I understand jack shit! The

only reason I was able to stay awake was that we, the congregation, had to continually stand, sit,

kneel, and cross ourselves at specific keywords during the mass. Now I understand why the

English went Protestant! Too much time and work to speak with my Maker!

I was stupid to wish for Sunday because, after the mass, I realized that we "pious

Christians," fast on Sundays. This meant NO breakfast, and no food until the sun sinks below the

horizon. Also, I had a shitload of the Duke's laundry from the week to clean.

It takes me a few hours to properly scrub the clothing clean, wring out the excess water,

and to hang on an outside clothesline. I was happy it was early spring and not winter when I was

tossed here.

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With the week of constant combat training, the cleaning of equipment, plus the now

tedious task of washing the Duke's dirty clothes, made the muscles in my arms hurt! I can use

aspirin or a muscle relaxer right about now!

"Oi, Page!" A castle servant yells as I'm hanging the last of Bryce's clothes on the line to

dry. I only turn to the servant when after I finish my task, cocking an eyebrow as my response.

"Time for court," the servant informs me. Damn! I was hoping to sneak off and take a

nap!

I don't answer, and I follow the servant who leads me to the hall. Bryce was already

sitting on his "throne" and seated next to him, was a scribe with a small table, to record all the

court proceedings. There is a line of people waiting for the Duke.

I stand behind the chair of the Duke, and a scroll was handed to me. I glance at the

manuscript, immediately understanding I was to announce the names and reason they sought out

the Duke's justice. This should be interesting!

And I was interested because I was witnessing Medieval justice in action! I am one lucky

girl-er- boy!

I read the first petition. A pig accidentally found its way into the neighbor's garden, eating

everything before said neighbor destroyed and salted the pig's flesh for the winter. Now, the issue

was the pig cost more than what was eaten. However, the neighbor had a meager plot of land,

and what the pig ate was the difference between life and starvation for the family. Very tricky!

The Duke takes a while to decide a fair judgment before issuing the decision to the

neighbor who killed the pig, "You will work the land of the pig owner for one day a month for

the next year. You will both," pointing to the two men, "decide on a date for each month. Next!"

With a wave of his hand, the complainants were dismissed. Shit! How was he able to create a

viable compromise?

Me? I assumed the Duke would take the side of the richer man. The one who owned the

pigs. Was I wrong! My respect for Bryce Plantagenet had risen a few notches.

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The next couple of cases were more or less the same as land disputes and livestock

issues. But the last petitioner was against a monk who raped his mentally disabled daughter,

causing her to become pregnant.

I had read, "The Time Traveler's Guide to the Medieval Times," and weirdly enough,

medieval society did NOT recognize rape, UNLESS the woman does not become pregnant.

Pregnancy means the woman enjoyed sex sufficiently to be impregnated. Fucked up, right?!

But this situation pisses me off enough that my tone reflects my emotions as I read the

accusations to the Duke. I had kept my voice neutral throughout the previous cases but as a

woman from the 21st century? Yeah, I was fucking pissed!

I am so angry in fact that I want to drop the scroll and punch the fucking smirking monk

in the face! The only thing holding me back is the Duke's glare of warning when he turns to

study me. He caught the change in my voice. I stare back him for a little longer than what was

deemed respectful. However, I lower my gaze and instead study the floor while grinding my

teeth. Fucking disgusting men!

The Duke turns his attention back to the two men, letting the grieved father tell his story.

The monk snorts, "Not my problem," after the peasant father described the battered and bleeding

body of his daughter the day she limped home from the fields, naming the monk as the

perpetrator.

The Duke signals to the monk to talk and listens to the monk's bullshit version of the

story. You know? "She tempted me, and I was unable to fight against her seductive charms."

Makes me sick!

The Duke steeples his fingers together, taking his time, weighing in both sides and

declares his judgment, "Father John, the daughter of my vassal, Tom of the Ford, is my

godchild." My head snapped up when I heard those words. Please make this wretched man pay!

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Bryce continues, "Because my godchild will be unable to work the land, proscribed by

my contract with her father for the months after she gives birth, you will forfeit 30 farthings to

the family." The smirk disappears from the monk's face, and his eyes bulge.

"I do not have the amount you demand! The sum is several years of pay for a lowly man

of the clergy!" The monk protests at the Duke.

"Not my problem," Bryce's voice was sounding bored, using the monk's words against

him. I hide my full grin behind the scroll. That's right! Pay up, motherfucker! Although

castration would have been my judgment.

I find the situation ironic in that a noble will rule against the Church. But hey! The Duke

is only human!