The Barbarian's Bride (6 page)

The dresses Mara had bought were not of a kind Aisling was familiar with. They were made of what her maidservants back at the palace would have thought of as inferior fabrics, with barbaric touches of leather here and there. But Aisling rather liked them. Though they were simple, they were warm. She picked one that had a leather panel that ran the girth of her midsection and was otherwise made of a soft blue knit fabric that clung very nicely to all her curves.

“A very good choice,” Mara said, gently tightening the leather ties at the back of the garment. “You have a natural eye for fashion, princess.”

“Call me Aisling,” Aisling said. She could not go about the place being called princess. Princesses lived in castles. But she no longer did. And she was to marry a chief, not a king. For the moment, she was therefore without title—and glad of it.

“Aisling,” Mara agreed. “Come, Aisling, let us go to the market.”

Aisling’s first view of Ravenblack had been colored by her recent kidnapping. She realized as she looked upon it for a second time that it was actually as organized as any castle keep, perhaps more so. It was not just a place for a king to live surrounded by guards; it was a bustling center of commerce serving the needs of those who lived miles around. Mara informed her of that fact when Aisling wondered how so many people could possibly be filling the lower streets.

“They come in to the markets, sell their wares, buy supplies, and ride out at the end of the day,” Mara said. “That is why we have such a large marketplace.”

It turned out that Aisling had barely seen a fraction of Ravenblack on her arrival. She had seen a few stalls and thought that was all that was there, but it turned out that those stalls were the last straggling parts of a center of commerce so filled with swirling people and wares that it was quite overwhelming. There must have been fifty permanent stalls and many wandering merchants besides. Aisling estimated that there would have to have been at least five hundred people in the marketplace, more than she’d ever seen in her life.

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” Mara said sympathetically. “We need not go now. Later on it will be less crowded. Though some of the finer fabrics will be gone.”

“No,” Aisling said. “We go now.”

They plunged into the bustling crowd. For the first time in her life, Aisling was surrounded by common people on all sides. It was quite a strange experience, to have none of them paying any attention to her, being more interested in elbowing their way toward carts containing huge slabs of meat than noticing that there was royalty in their midst.

She was nobody special in that crowd, and it felt quite wonderful. Liberating. Aisling was soon wearing a broad smile and pushing with the rest of them. She watched Mara pinch a man’s bottom to make him move, an action which seemed to work admirably well, though she did not have the nerve to try it herself.

They did not buy fabric. Instead they bought a bag of boiled sweets and two candied apples and retreated to the hillock behind the market to eat them. Aisling’s smile did not diminish in the least as they sat on damp grass and feasted on their purchases.

“Rikiar said you were a bad influence, you know,” she said by way of conversation.

“He’s right,” Mara agreed without the slightest hint of shame. “I have been a bad influence as long as he has known me, and I intend on being a bad influence as long as I am alive.”

Aisling giggled. “But Berner will surely put a stop to that?”

“I am promised to Berner,” Mara said. “But I have refused to marry him.”

Refused to marry? Such a concept was beyond strange. Aisling did not understand it at all. “What does that mean?”

“It means I have not allowed him to marry me.”

“And Rikiar allows it? Berner allows it? This refusal?”

“I am not Rikiar’s property, or Berner’s for that matter,” Mara said. “Yes, Rikiar plies the lash occasionally, but he is not the kind to force a woman into marriage.”

“But a woman is made for marriage,” Aisling said, parroting that which she had been told by nursemaids and the like for as long as she could remember.

“A woman is made for many things, marriage being among them,” Mara replied. “A woman may wield a sword, or tailor a dress, or bake bread for the village, or fish the rivers… or she might be an herbalist and offer healing salves. There are many purposes for a woman.”

“Maybe you are right,” Aisling agreed. “But a princess is made to be married—usually to a prince.”

“Rikiar is not a prince,” Mara informed her. “I would not expect him to behave like one, if I were you.”

Aisling supposed Mara was right. So far, Rikiar had not behaved at all like a prince. A prince would have married her on their first night and deflowered her promptly thereafter, not patiently waited for her to gain some sexual fluency. A prince would have cloistered her away in her rooms, certainly not let her out to wander the village with one of her servants.

“I am glad Rikiar is different,” Aisling said. “He has changed my world.”

“Already, without so much as bedding you?” Mara nudged Aisling and grinned.

“He might have bedded me, you do not know.”

“I do know,” Mara said smugly. “I know everything that goes on. It is common knowledge that Rikiar is yet to have claimed you properly.”

“Is it now?” Aisling wasn’t sure she liked that at all.

“There are very few secrets in Ravenblack,” Mara explained. “Especially in Rikiar’s circle. Rikiar does not like secrets, so he does not keep them or make them. He is what he seems to be.”

Aisling was glad to hear that, though she had sensed it all along. Rikiar did not have much in the way of artful diplomacy about him. A strong man did not need to hide the truth or coat it in velvet and suede. And Rikiar was strong. The strongest man Aisling had ever known.

“Shall we purchase some fabric now? Have we grown fat enough?”

Aisling agreed to return to the fray, so they went forth into the market.

“This is fun,” Mara said, winding her arm about Aisling’s waist. “We can spend as much gold as we like and Rikiar will pay for it.”

“We only have the pouch of gold he gave us,” Aisling pointed out pragmatically.

“The merchants will take our word that Rikiar will pay them. And he will,” Mara beamed. “We could buy this entire market if we liked.”

“I don’t think we could carry it all,” Aisling smiled.

“There’s a fabric stall,” Mara said. “Ooohh, look at the ones with the gold thread!”

The fabrics with the gold thread were pretty, but strangely, Aisling found herself most attracted to the weapons stall. Perhaps it was because all the blades were so shiny, or perhaps it was because she’d always been curious about weapons, which she had never been allowed to touch. The most dangerous thing Aisling had ever laid hands upon was a needle. She walked right past all the pretty cloth and instead went to look at the daggers and swords laid out on sable planks of wood. Mara followed after her, regretfully abandoning the cloth in favor of her mistress.

“Hello, your ladyships,” the friendly vendor said. “What might I interest you in today? Something delicate for your belt?” He picked up a short dagger with a hypnotically gorgeous pearl handle and a sheath carved in two different kinds of wood. It was the most beautiful thing Aisling had ever seen, so pretty it was almost more ornament than knife. He handed it over to Aisling, who cradled it in both hands, running her fingertips over the hilt.

“It’s pretty,” Mara said. “We’ll take it. Send your note to Chief Rikiar. Oh, and this is Aisling,” Mara introduced her as something of an afterthought. “Aisling, this is Derwent. He is the most talented smith in these lands.”

“I believe it,” Aisling said, still quite captivated by her new possession. She turned it over and over in her hands a dozen times, admiring the craftsmanship. The sheath was quite stunning, chevrons of alternating color and texture all laid together so closely there was no visible seam between them.

“We’re not here for daggers,” Mara reminded her. “We’re here to get you some pretty dresses.”

“I know,” Aisling said, still staring at her treasure. Slowly, she slipped the hilt away from the sheath and the silver glow of the blade slid free. It was gorgeous, about three inches long and so sharp that blood appeared on her fingertip when she accidentally touched the edge. “Ouch,” she said, sticking her fingertip into her mouth and sucking on the little wound.

“Knives are sharp,” Mara said dryly. “Are you sure you’re going to be safe with that?”

“I’ll keep it in the sheath,” Aisling promised, loath to think Mara might take it off her.

“Very well,” Mara said. “Now can we find some fabric?”

Aisling assented and soon they were choosing between many beautiful skeins of cloth. There were blues and reds and greens and even a purple that Mara insisted on purchasing, but the entire time Aisling was actually thinking about her pretty knife, which was sheathed and safely tucked between her breasts.

“I think that is enough for one day,” Mara eventually said. “We’ve enough fabric for a dozen dresses.”

“Hmm? Yes,” Aisling agreed.

“You want to play with that knife, don’t you?”

“It’s so pretty,” Aisling said, drawing it out. She cradled the knife while Mara labored under the fabric all the way back to the house. There Aisling retired to her bedchamber and practiced drawing the knife from its sheath and putting it back in again. It was perhaps a pointless way to spend an afternoon, but she did so enjoy owning something with an edge. Something a little bit dangerous. She had never been allowed so much as a sharp quill in the tower lest she mark herself.

A few times she accidentally added to the first shallow scratch, but she did not mind. A little pain was nothing, and she could use the knife to cut little strips off the bottom of the bed sheet for use as bandages. She did that several times, becoming quite practiced at it.

“Aisling?”

Rikiar’s rumbling deep voice announced his presence before he stepped into the room, and most glad for it she was because it gave her time to hide the knife under the pillow. Or so she thought.

“Tired after a hard day at the market?” He strode in, masculine and strong.

She looked into his eyes and felt herself swoon. There was no man like Rikiar. She had seen many men that day, but none of them compared to him in even the slightest way. He came toward her, straddled her feminine form and pressed a hot kiss to her lips.

Aisling melted beneath him, enjoying the way his hard hips pinned her to the bed. There was a thick ridge betwixt them, one she was orally familiar with. The memory served to inflame her loins and stoke her ardor as she was kissed almost insensate.

“What is this?” The kissing stopped with the question.

When Aisling opened her eyes, Rikiar was holding her blade. His hand must have slipped beneath the pillows while kissing her and found the weapon. She did not know if it was mere chance or if he had seen her hide it there; either way it did not much matter. He had found it.

“I bought it at the market, isn’t it pretty?”

“Pretty?” His cheek dimpled momentarily. “It’s a knife, Aisling.”

“I know.”

Rikiar’s brow drew down across his enchanting eyes and his voice dropped in censure. “You weren’t sent to the market to buy knives.”

“Mara said we could buy whatever we wanted.”

“That’s true. But I would have thought you would have wanted dresses and jewelry,” Rikiar said, sitting next to her. “Not light weaponry.”

“I always had plenty of jewels and dresses,” Aisling said. “But I never got to play with knives.”

“Knives aren’t toys…” Rikiar glanced at her fingers and scowled. “Is that why you are bandaged?”

“I received a couple of little cuts,” Aisling admitted. “But I bandaged them up nice and neatly.”

“Aisling. A cut can turn septic and kill you. You must be more careful.”

“Yes, m’lord,” she agreed, bowing her head.

“I will take this,” Rikiar said, sliding the pretty knife into his pocket. “Until you have mastered the basics of handling a blade.”

Aisling knew better than to argue. She was not surprised Rikiar had taken it away from her. It was too much to hope that the barbarian would allow her all the freedoms she desired. She should be content with what he had given her, it was already more than she could have imagined.

“Are you sulking, my sweet?” Rikiar’s fingers lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him.

“No,” Aisling said. “I understand.”

“You are sad. Is it just because I took a pretty thing from you?” He ran his hand down her neck, over her chest and cupped her breast lightly. His touch distracted her from her disappointment and made her arch herself toward him. When his thumb played over her nipple, she moaned and bit her lower lip, suddenly eager to remove her dress and let him have his way with her naked form.

He kissed her again and she kissed him back, eagerly suckling his tongue until he growled and loosened his cock from his pants, presenting her with his hard member. She knew what he wanted. It was the same thing she wanted, to wrap her lips around his cock and suckle until they both felt better.

As she knelt before him, his cock deep in her mouth, Rikiar reached over her, slid his hand down her back and cupped her bottom, slapping her lightly. “Naughty princess,” he growled. “Buying knives and hiding them in the pillows.”

Aisling made an apologetic sound, which turned into a moan when he slid his fingers down into the damp crevice between her thighs and toyed with her feminine flower until she was more gasping around his cock than licking or suckling it. When his fingers began probing her depths she pressed back, willing him in deeper. Unfortunately the barrier of her hymen once more stopped his progress. Her whine earned her a sharp slap to her bottom, thence more caressing, which felt good, but quite failed to satisfy. Somewhere in the midst the teasing caresses, their clothes were removed, or perhaps fell away. Even when she was completely naked and he the same, she craved more. It was not enough to be caressed, or to ply her tongue across his cock. She thought she might go mad with lust if she were denied him any longer.