The Barbarian's Bride (12 page)

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Only later that afternoon did she wake and realize that Mara was missing. The servant was not anywhere in Rikiar’s house and Berner said he had not seen her either. Aisling was worried, so she took it upon herself to search for the missing maidservant. It was a task that took her the better part of the afternoon and led her all around the village. She spoke to many people, some who claimed to have seen Mara, most of whom had not.

Eventually, Aisling circled around to the stables behind Rikiar’s home. There she followed what she fancied to be Mara’s footsteps all the way to the hayloft. She knew she was on to something when she noticed that the hay appeared to be sniffling.

“Mara?”

The sniffling stopped.

Aisling climbed up into the loft and began looking through the hay. She found Mara’s shoe first, and Mara shortly thereafter. Peering into the half-light with genuine concern, Aisling questioned the servant. “Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

“Nobody likes me,” Mara sobbed.

Aisling crawled into the hay next to her. “That’s not true,” she said. “I like you. Rikiar likes you.”

“Rikiar said he only keeps me on because nobody else will have me. Helsa said I was always bad. You even wanted to beat me, and you’ve never beaten anyone in your life.”

“Just because you’re bad doesn’t mean people don’t like you,” Aisling said pragmatically.

“So I am bad!” Mara’s voice lifted in a wail.

“You know you’re bad,” Aisling said. “You’re proud of it.”

“I am not,” Mara sniffed. The tone of her voice told Aisling that Mara knew she was wrong. “Even if I am,” she continued, “it’s not nice hearing people say terrible things.”

“You could be good,” Aisling suggested.

“Like you? You’re not even actually good. You break more rules than I do. You just act all sweet and nice when you’re caught.” Mara’s gaze was accusatory.

“You and I are not the same,” Aisling said gently.

“I’m not a princess. I’m not Rikiar’s bride. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you,” Mara said, screwing her pretty nose up in rejection of the words coming out of her mouth.

“I meant we are different women,” Aisling reached out and squeezed Mara’s hand. “You are the only friend I have here. You are the only real friend I’ve ever had. I don’t want you to think I hate you.”

“Friends don’t beat friends, do they?”

“No,” Aisling said, shaking her head. “I didn’t like doing that. I won’t do it again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Mara smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Aisling said sweetly. “Shall we leave the loft? I think there are mice up here.” Something had been rustling in the far corner for as long as they had been talking.

“Oh, it’s not a mouse,” Mara said knowledgeably. “That’s a rat.”

Aisling squealed and scrambled out of the loft as fast as she could go, Mara’s laughter following her down into the evening air.

Chapter Seven

Days soon passed into weeks. Aisling began to grow comfortable with her lessons, Mara’s behavior improved a very slight bit, just enough to save her from whippings that made her cry, and Ravenblack Village began to feel like home.

Preparations were being made for the wedding, many of which took up both Aisling and Mara’s time. The decision of which wildflowers would adorn the bride’s hair took days. The decision as to which horses should pull the wedding cart took just as long. Helsa accused Aisling of being distracted many times, but with a kindly indulgence that Aisling very much appreciated.

Her gown was being sewn by the best dressmaker in the village. There were fittings galore, for the woman had never had an excuse to make anything so very ornate and had decided to create a gown fit not just for the chief’s bride, but for a queen.

One fine afternoon after a fitting, Aisling was left to her own devices. As was often the case, her devices became Mara’s devices and Mara soon had a plan to entertain the both of them.

“Come,” Mara beamed. “I have a donkey.”

“Congratulations?” Aisling was not sure of the proper response one was supposed to give when a friend announced ownership of a donkey.

“No,” Mara frowned. “I mean, we have a donkey.”

“I don’t…”

“Stop being so dull-witted! I mean there is a donkey we can go out riding on. Into the fields and maybe up into the foothills. Or the forest, if you are really brave.”

“Does Rikiar know?”

“Does Rikiar know?” Mara mimicked her in an unfavorable tone of voice. “No,” she said boldly. “Rikiar doesn’t know. But Rikiar is busy today. This is the day he dispenses justice, so we can do as we like.”

“We should ask…”

“The point of doing fun things is not asking to do them,” Mara said crossly. “Has Rikiar ever told you not to go riding on a donkey?”

“Well, no,” Aisling admitted.

“Then it must be okay,” Mara concluded. “Now are you coming, or do you wish to sit here all day being boring?”

Aisling thought it was probably not a terribly good idea to go with Mara. She also thought that she would probably have a rather good time if she did go, as Mara always seemed to have a good time. At least until someone strapped her silly.

“There is a spring,” Mara said. “In the foothills. It always runs hot and it fills a pool that is always warm. It’s like magic. Warm magic.”

That piqued Aisling’s curiosity a little more. “How far is it?”

“Only an hour or so,” Mara said. “You can see the village from there.”

“Very well,” Aisling said, convinced. “Show me this donkey.”

The donkey was a charming beast with large dark eyes and a relaxed temperament. It stoically bore both Mara and Aisling away from the village and up toward the foothills where the hot pool was supposed to be.

The journey seemed to be taking quite a long time, much longer than the hour Mara had proposed. Then again, perhaps it was not entirely an hour. One had little in the way of marking time aside from the sounds of the donkey’s hooves beneath them. Aisling was starting to feel very uncomfortable on the donkey’s back when they came over a ridge and saw their destination laid out before them. It was even better than Mara had described.

A light mist hung over the pool, which was surrounded by rocks and the occasional grassy incline that led right down to the water. Aisling forgot all her concerns the moment she dipped her toe into the water and discovered that it was indeed warm. Hot, even.

“Ohhh!” She grinned. “This is going to be nice.”

“It’s going to be better than nice,” Mara said. She unpacked her little pouch, revealing two bottles of mead and a bar of soap. “We will wash ourselves and drink. By the time we’re done, we’ll be tipsy and clean.”

Mara knew how to plan a nice afternoon out, Aisling gave her credit for that. They went to the far end of the pool near the foot of the hill where a nice flat rock provided a place to leave their clothes and place their mead bottles.

Quite naked, both women slipped into the water. Sighing with contentment, Aisling washed herself first while Mara took eager sips from her bottle. The time passed in a languid haze of mead and warmth. Aisling completely abandoned her cares and drank deeply of the liquid, which Mara told her was brewed just outside the village from the finest honey and spices.

“You will marry Rikiar soon,” Mara said, swimming about the pool.

“I will.” Aisling smiled as she sat with her back to the rock, watching her toes bob about under the surface of the rippling waters.

“You are no longer a timid little mouse,” Mara said. “You have come into your own.”

Aisling did not know whether to be insulted or glad. She decided Mara was probably just speaking idle words, as she was so wont to do. Half of what Mara said was to be immediately discarded. The other half should probably be reported to a higher authority. Aisling giggled to herself as she drank her mead, enjoying her private thoughts almost more than she enjoyed Mara’s company.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here.”

Rough voices interrupted the pleasant afternoon. Through the bushes came two rough-looking bandit types. Their clothing was torn and rumpled, covered in filth. Their weapons looked ill-kept. Helsa would not have approved of the state of their scabbards for sure.

Mara swam a quick retreat back to Aisling, but then they were stuck. They could not leave the pool without exposing themselves. Staying in seemed like a better idea, but they were still naked and at the mercy of two strange men.

“Leave us,” Aisling said, finding her voice. It came out a little more strident and high-pitched than she would have liked, but the message was clear.

“Leave you?” The taller bandit with the big shiny buckle at his waist leered at them. “We’ll not leave until we’ve had our fun.”

“Oh, dear,” Mara murmured.

“Stay back!” Aisling ordered.

The bandits guffawed with laughter.

“And how will you make us stay back? You with your pink-tipped breasts?”

“Do not look at me!” Aisling said, outraged. “I am a princess. I am Rikiar’s bride.”

“Rikiar’s bride, eh?” The bandit’s gaze became shrewd. “Well, ain’t that a funny thing. We just lost one of our own to Rikiar. Maybe you can take his place.”

“No, thank you,” Aisling said politely.

“It wasn’t an invitation. Out of the pool, wenches.”

Mara and Aisling looked at one another.

“You will not come out? Then we will come in!” The men started shedding their clothing. Their bellies were marked with all manner of pock scars and dubious growths which made them quite unappealing. “Come here, pretty,” the lead bandit growled, stepping into the water, his semi-flaccid manhood bobbing obscenely until it was covered by the water. He approached at a fast waddle, closing in on Aisling. All seemed to be lost—but for the fact that Aisling had thought to bring her blade. She reached for it swiftly, took it down into the warm depths and jabbed it forward so the tip made contact with some delicate and unmentionable part of the bandit’s anatomy. He stopped dead.

“Leave us,” Aisling said with soft menace. “Or I will leave you less of a man.”

The bandit snarled. Aisling pressed the blade forward just a fraction. He backed away, slowly.

“That was a mistake,” he growled. “That little knife will do nothing against my sword.”

Aisling and Mara scrambled for their clothes while the bandits scrambled back over the pool for their weapons. It was a race neither of them won, for just as Aisling was sliding her skirts over her hips, and the bandits were drawing their sheathed swords, a fresh party arrived in the clearing. They were not riding on donkeys or tramping on foot. They were riding tall horses and they were accompanied by large dogs, and they were Rikiar, Helsa, and Berner.

“Put your weapons down.” Rikiar growled the order in a dark baritone so threatening that the bandits actually did as they were bade. Helsa and Berner dismounted and rounded them up, tying their hands behind their backs with practiced knots.

“Stop dressing yourselves,” Rikiar snapped across at Aisling and Mara.

Aisling and Mara exchanged glances as Rikiar dismounted and strode toward them, completely ignoring the bandits. They had been as gnats to him, not worthy of so much as a glance. Aisling understood why the men had chosen not to fight. Not only were they outnumbered, but they were outweighed. Rikiar stood several full heads taller than the tallest bandit, and his shoulders were twice as broad. A beast of a man, he looked dangerously feral as he stalked toward them.

“Are you harmed? Did they touch you?”

“Nossir,” Aisling murmured.

“Good.” Rikiar drew her up into a tight hug, held her for a moment, then slapped her bottom with the powerful flat of his hand. Aisling squealed, but knew it was no less than she deserved. Even the most naive princess knew that wandering the countryside alone was potentially dangerous. She clung to Rikiar, her arms wrapped around his neck as he spanked her against his body.

Nearby, Berner was already disciplining Mara. He had grasped her without permission, ignoring her cries of dissent. Apparently his claim was not up for debate as much as Mara pretended it was. Her skirts were soon up around her waist, her bare bottom exposed to the elements as he thrashed her with all the concern and relief of a man who has almost lost his love.

Helsa stood with the bandits in tight custody, looking at the sight of the punished princess and her friend with an expression of satisfaction while Mara wailed loudly, protesting each and every slap being dealt to her. Her bottom wriggled appealingly, her hips rising and falling with every well-deserved blow. Berner did not say a word, he just held her squirming frame across his hard thighs and spanked until her bottom was brighter than the berries clinging to the nearby brambles.

As for Aisling, her punishment was not any more gentle. Rikiar’s left arm was wrapped firmly around her slim waist, pinning her to his hard body as his hand fell on her wet bottom over and over. Aisling’s skirts did nothing to mute the sting. Each time his hand landed, she squealed an apology and a promise not to leave without his permission ever again.

“That one needs more than a little swatting,” the lead bandit grunted. “She’s a vicious little wench.”

“Take those men back to the village,” Rikiar ordered Helsa. “They do not need to witness what will be done here.”

As Helsa led the men away, Aisling was left to her own devices for a minute while Rikiar cut a switch from a nearby tree. “Bend over and touch your toes,” he ordered.

Aisling wanted to argue, but his thunderous expression told her it would be best not to. With a hot bottom and flushing cheeks, she obeyed his order and was quite mortified when he threw her skirts up over her hips, baring her completely.

The concern over her nudity did not last past the first cut of the switch. The thin, whip-like branch cut a path of hell-fire across her bottom like none she had ever felt before. Rikiar laid another one after it, and then another, giving no quarter and showing no mercy at all.

Aisling’s eyes soon clouded with tears, but she could still make out Mara next to her. It looked as though Berner were doing something quite unspeakable to her bottom. He had produced something from his vest. It was something wood and polished, something rounded but with a flared base. A wooden plug.