The Barbarian's Bride (8 page)

The thought seemed similarly potent for Rikiar, for he was soon spending his seed again, filling her up again with the cream of his essence.

“Will we marry now?” Aisling was still flushed with climax when the question passed her lips. They had made love not once, but twice. It was well and truly done. The thick white fluid coating her puffy lower lips was testament to that, as was the ache between her thighs.

“We are married in the only sense that matters,” Rikiar said, caressing her body with strong hands.

“We are married in the way rutting dogs are married,” Aisling replied quite indelicately.

Rikiar chuckled. “Do you want a grand ceremony, my bride?”

“A somewhat grand ceremony would be nice to make it official.”

“What will make it official is the swelling of your belly,” Rikiar grinned.

“We will definitely be married before that occurs,” Aisling replied. “My offspring will have legitimacy.”

“All offspring are legitimate,” Rikiar drawled.

“Not in my father’s estimation, nor in the eyes of those who will judge them.”

“Such a proper maiden,” Rikiar teased, kissing her nose. “Very well, we will have a grand wedding on the next full moon. In one month’s time you will ride through the streets of Ravenblack not as a prisoner, but as my wife.”

“Do you promise?”

“I do,” he said, pressing his lips to her hand. “I give you my word.”

Chapter Five

“You are glowing,” Mara said almost accusingly. Morning had broken and she was brushing out Aisling’s hair with long, sweeping, suspicious strokes. “He claimed you, did he not?”

Aisling beamed broadly, but did not confirm Mara’s suspicions. It was much more fun to let the woman speculate.

Mara smirked in the mirror. “You cannot hide the truth from me. I can see when a maiden has become a woman. It is in your eyes now, you know what it is to be ravaged by a man.”

“Perhaps you are confusing your own reflection?” Aisling teased gently.

“I know what it is to be taken,” Mara confirmed. “Berner and I have made love many, many, many times.”

“But you have not married.”

“If we were to be married I would live in his household and do his bidding day in, day out. I would become his wife.”

“I believe that is considered to be the point of marriage.”

“Yes,” Mara said. “But I like my freedom.”

“So Berner ravishes you when he pleases and leaves you be the rest of the time?”

“Quite so,” Mara beamed.

“Sooner or later there will be consequences to that.”

“None so far,” Mara replied. “And I thank the goddess for it.”

Aisling would have given Mara a disappointed look, but it would have been wasted on the woman. Besides, she had matters of greater concern to think about. Making love was very fine indeed, but her plans for the day did not involve making love. They involved learning how to use a blade so Rikiar would not thrash her if he found one on her person.

“Today I shall meet the blades tutor,” she said, watching Mara braid and pin her hair up and out of the way. “Who is he?”

“She,” Mara replied, her voice slightly muffled because of the hair pin she held between her lips. “Her name is Helsa. She is one of Rikiar’s best warriors.”

“A woman warrior?”

“Not all the women in the world are locked away waiting for princes,” Mara said, teasing. “Some of them take their places on the battlefield.”

It was a light-hearted jab, but it hit Aisling deep. She knew she was at a disadvantage for having been secluded.

“Do not look so sad,” Mara said. “You are beautiful and young and Rikiar already loves you more than any other woman in the world. He has his pick, and he has chosen you.”

Her words did cheer Aisling up a little. What cheered her up more was the arrival of her soon-to-be husband in the bedchamber.

“Have you made yourself ready, my sword-maiden?” He smiled at her. He was, as usual, wearing a leather vest and leather pants. Aisling laid eyes on the exposed parts of his broad chest and his brawny arms and felt herself swoon.

“I will always be ready for you, my love.”

“Oh, by all the…” Mara shook her head. “What a disgustingly pleasant woman you are.”

Rikiar chuckled. “Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from Aisling’s example. There is nothing wrong with being sweet and submissive.”

Mara finished pinning Aisling’s hair and stood aside, rolling her eyes as she did.

“Mara doesn’t want to be submissive,” Aisling said, standing gracefully. “She wants to be taken and used and set aside until such time as she is needed again.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I am a bottle of mead,” Mara sniffed.

“It is true,” Aisling replied. “You are Berner’s personal mead.”

“Well, you are Rikiar’s personal…”

“Ladies,” Rikiar drawled a warning. “Leave the fighting for the arena.”

“Oh, yes,” Mara said. “Do enjoy the arena, Princess Aisling.” She dropped into a curtsey absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

Aisling ignored her misbehaving maidservant, preferring to wrap her hands about Rikiar’s arm as he led her out through the village to the training grounds. They were a large flat expanse of bare earth from which every blade of grass had been stamped out by frequent footfalls. At one end of the roped-off area there were great dummies filled with straw, and targets meant for arrows. Racks of weapons stood at the other end, gleaming steel and dull wood alike.

“This will be good for you, Aisling,” Rikiar said as they walked. “It will help strengthen you.”

“You think I am weak?”

“No. I think you are tender and sweet and adorable, but I also think you are too unaware of danger when it looms close, or when you hold it in your hand. These lessons will help with that.”

A most striking figure was standing before one of the racks. It was a woman, a very tall woman who wore the same type of vest and pants that Rikiar did. Her arms were not as large as Rikiar’s, but they were almost equally toned. Her waist was slim and strong, her hips filled out her britches in a way that was simultaneously alluring and suggestive of great practical prowess.

“That is Helsa,” Rikiar said. “She will be your tutor.”

As they drew closer, Aisling saw that Helsa was beautiful. She had bright red hair and wicked green eyes. Aisling saw in two seconds that Helsa was everything she was not. She was tall and she was strong and she handled a blade as if it were an extension of her own body. In spite of her size, she was graceful.

“Helsa,” Rikiar said, slapping the woman on the back of her shoulder. “This is Aisling.”

Helsa turned and looked down at Aisling with mild interest. “Hello, princess.”

“Helsa will teach you how to handle a blade without cutting your fingers off.”

Aisling blushed, feeling extremely foolish. Both Rikiar and Helsa were looking at her with a sort of indulgence usually reserved for the village idiot.

“Do not be shy,” Rikiar said, kissing her cheek. He had misinterpreted her reaction. She was not shy. She was jealous.

With a few more words to Helsa, words Aisling did not pay any mind to, Rikiar left. He left her with a woman who made Aisling feel so insecure she could barely stand it. Instead of looking at Helsa, Aisling wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the ground.

“Girl,” Helsa said. “Do not stare at your toes. You will learn nothing that way.”

Aisling glanced over her shoulder, making sure Rikiar was well and truly gone before speaking her mind. “Let us not play at this charade,” she said quickly. “It is but a waste of my time and yours. I will never be able to wield a blade.”

Rust-red brows rose at her, and the wide mouth thinned into a flat line. “Anyone willing to learn can wield a blade. Are you not willing?”

Thoroughly aware that she was making a terrible impression on the large warrior woman, Aisling made matters worse with a shrug.

“Spoiled princesses will not do well in my arena,” Helsa warned. “If I ask you a question, you will respond quickly and politely, understand?”

Aisling made no real reply. She was paralyzed by jealousy and a most unfamiliar feeling of rebellion. She scowled at Helsa’s toned midsection, wishing she had the bravery to simply turn and walk out of the ring. Unfortunately, she didn’t. Unfortunately she was completely stuck where she stood, unable to obey, unable to properly disobey.

The warrior gave her a stare that fell somewhere between irritation and curiosity. “Is it your plan to simply stand there sullenly until I go away?”

“Maybe,” Aisling muttered. “You are wasting your time with me.”

“The chief gave me an order, and I intend to carry it out whether you like it or not, princess,” Helsa informed her. “The only time you’re wasting is your own.”

“I have plenty of it to waste,” Aisling said pertly.

Helsa frowned and cocked her head to the side. “Put your hand out.”

Unthinking, Aisling put her hand out. She was swiftly rapped over the knuckles by Helsa. She hissed and drew her hand back, which earned her a frown.

“I did not tell you to move your hand.”

“You hurt my hand,” Aisling complained.

“I did. Put your hand out.”

“You’re going to hit it again.”

“Whether I am or I am not, is no concern of yours.”

Aisling very much disagreed with that statement. It was a very pressing concern of hers. She kept her hand tightly clenched underneath her armpit, defying the order.

“Not so obedient, then,” Helsa observed.

“I am obedient, just not stupid,” Aisling replied. “And I don’t want your lessons, thank you very much.”

Helsa leaned down so her wicked green eyes were fixed on Aisling. What she said next annoyed Aisling very much.

“Who said you had a choice?”

Aisling was discovering something quite interesting about herself. She had been trained very carefully to obey any order coming from a man. She had not been trained to follow orders from women. She supposed it wasn’t really fair to make such a distinction, but there it was, sitting in her mind.

“I make my own choices,” Aisling informed the warrior.

Helsa snorted. “Do you think I will not whip you? Do you think being Rikiar’s intended will save you?”

Aisling did not care if Helsa did whip her. Something about the woman made Aisling very prickly and very annoyed. Maybe it was her beauty. Maybe it was her evident autonomy. Maybe it was because Helsa was very clearly everything she was not.

“Pouting little wench,” Helsa said. “I have no time for this. Put your hand out and take your punishment, or leave my ring.”

“Gladly,” Aisling said, backing away from the warrior woman. She was most happy to leave the ring. The pretty trinket was not at all worth the aggravation. She fervently wished she had listened to Mara and never bought the thing. A nice hat or a dress would have improved her life much more significantly and with less disruption to her normal routine.

Striding out of the arena felt wonderful, but the wonderful feeling faded the further she went away from the warrior. Triumph turned into uncertainty, which then turned into worry as she slunk through the village, back to Rikiar’s home.

She was not entirely surprised to be met by Rikiar, but she was indeed surprised at how thunderous he looked. His strong face and tough features were usually tempered by affection when he looked at her, but in that moment he looked quite fearsomely annoyed. His amber eyes flashed warning as she approached.

“What are you doing?”

Aisling screwed up her courage as best she could. “I told Helsa I didn’t want her lessons. I don’t. She’s mean.”

Rikiar snorted. “You march yourself back to that ring and apologize to Helsa, or I will show you what mean is, my girl.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For disrespect,” Rikiar said. “Helsa was teaching you as a favor to me. I told her you were quiet and easy to handle. I told her that you were a sweet girl. You have acted like a spoiled little wretch.”

“So sorry to have embarrassed you,” Aisling said, not meaning it in the slightest. Jealousy was still coursing through her veins. She had no evidence that there was anything between Rikiar and Helsa, but Aisling was certain there must be. What man could resist a woman with such obvious charms?

“What has gotten into you?” Rikiar growled the question.

“Nothing.”

“That is clearly not true.” Rikiar took Aisling by the arm. “We are going back to Helsa now.”

“I do not wish to,” Aisling resisted, digging her heels in as Rikiar tugged her forward. He turned with a perplexed expression on his face.

“You are being most unlike yourself, Aisling.”

“You told me I needed to be stronger,” Aisling said, allowing a little smirk to play about her lips. “I am complying with your wishes.”

Rikiar’s eyes narrowed at her, thick lashes almost obscuring his golden gaze. “This is not what I had in mind.”

“I do apologize,” Aisling said in a tone that clearly suggested she did not apologize at all. “Perhaps I am too simple to understand. Perhaps it is best if I am left to my own devices and the company of Mara.”

“Mara has her own affairs to tend to today,” Rikiar said, scowling at her. “If you do not mend your temper, I will be forced to punish you.”

“Punish me then.”

Rikiar turned her about and swept his hand down over her skirts five times in very quick succession. It hurt, a hot flashing pain that came with a curiously numbing sting that somehow did not actually numb anything at all.

“Is that what you needed?” He murmured the question in her ear. “Are you going to settle down now?”

Aisling stuck her tongue out and thumbed her nose. It was a juvenile action, one she had not taken in many years, but it suited her mood at the moment.

A snorting laugh accompanied the next hard slap to her bottom. “Aisling, you are asking for a proper whipping, the way you are behaving.”

Perhaps she was. She didn’t know. All she knew was that it felt good to unleash her frustration and have Rikiar absorb it—even if he did return it to her in the form of a well-slapped bottom.

When Rikiar swept her up in his strong arms, she barely protested. When she came down across his thigh, she sighed. And when he lifted her skirts and began spanking her with firm strokes of his palm, she accepted them gracefully, welcomed them even by lifting her hips and the pale twin globes of her bottom.