The Barbarian (14 page)

At least, for now,
in this moment, she trusted him to hold her and protect her.
 
A strange sensation came over him, a swelling
in his heart. He'd felt something similar before, with Elsinora once or twice,
but it was never this powerful. It almost stopped his breath.
 
Slowly, so as not to wake her, he raised one
hand to the back of her head and eased her closer still. She went willingly,
not a murmur of protest, just a sleepy sigh of contentment, her lashes
feathering against his skin. He dipped his lips to kiss her dark, sweet-scented
hair and thought how lucky he was that she came. It was lucky for them both.
Now that she was there with him nothing would part them again. Ever.

****

In the morning
when she opened her eyes and stretched he was already gone from the bed. It was
not yet light out, and Villette was humming her awful tune as she tidied the
chamber by candlelight, picking up the torn shreds of bridal gown and
periodically tut-tutting.

Even that tune
didn't bother her so much today. It was almost tolerable. Almost.

She sat up.
"Where is he?"

"Off hunting,
my lady. First thing they went."

"Oh."
She'd hoped they might lay abed a while, but apparently not. "I suppose
they must hunt to provide food."

"Yes, my
lady." Villette held up the massacred gown. "Was it very bad, my
lady? Was he big as a stallion, like they say?"

She thought for a
moment and then replied solemnly, "He was huge, Villette. I feared he
would split me in two."

The maid's eyes
grew wide.

"As you
see," Ami added with a deep sigh, "he tore the gown off me with his
teeth."

"My
lady!"

"I must have
a bath this morning. Will you see to it?" Her body was aching and sore as
she'd suspected and she wanted to be fresh and clean for him tonight. Pressing
her nose into the furs she breathed him in—his heated, manly essence. Her hair
tumbled over her face as she lay there smelling the fur and the fragrance of
their coupling. She felt wanton and very mischievous. Since she knew she was
smiling, she pushed her face further into the bed, hiding it.

"Don't weep,
my lady," Villette cooed anxiously, clutching the torn gown. "Oh, my
poor lady. Was it so very bad?"

She lifted her
head far enough to remind the girl about her bath and then she dropped down
again into the lovely warm, soft fur.

Bad? Oh, it was
bad. Tonight would be even better.

****

Villette stood by
to keep guard while she bathed behind the screen in the cookhouse. When she was
done and dry, Stryker had left instructions for the application of a salve
mixed by his apothecary. It was cooling and soothing, but she still feared it
was too late to do much good. Finally Villette helped her into a clean shift
and a woolen gown. When the maid began to braid her hair, Ami stopped her.

"I'll wear it
loose." She knew how he liked it so—had seen the spit and fire in his eyes
when she let it fall over her shoulders. A small voice inside her warned that
it did not matter how he liked her hair. 'Twas merely lust. He could have that
same lust for any woman in his sights. She was not special.

Nevertheless, she
combed her hair until it shone, then dressed it with a simple circlet of amber
stones.

As they prepared
to leave the cookhouse, she noticed a woman seated nearby, greedily devouring a
bowl of stew. Villette followed her gaze and whispered, "That is the whore
Morwenna."

So this was the
woman he'd used to slake his lusts just before their wedding vows. The wench
was unworthy of her attention, but morbid curiosity drew her across the
cookhouse to where the she sat. After all, this woman had knowledge that could
be useful to a newly wedded woman.

"You are
Morwenna of Marazion."

The woman wiped
her mouth on her sleeve and stood. "I am, my lady."

Other folk at work
nearby looked over in astonishment that Lady Amias should address a common
whore, but there had been many odd glances sent her way that morning as she
walked from the main hall to the cookhouse. Eyes followed her wherever she
went. Did they wonder why she could still walk this morning, she mused darkly.

"I would talk
with you. Come." She took a candle from the table, lit it in the cookhouse
fire, and led the way to a windowless storage chamber stacked with casks and
barrels of all description. Villette, although not invited, came too, following
her mistress as if her shoe was caught on her hem. Ami told her to stay
outside, but the maid set her jaw, suddenly stubborn. "I can't let you
have an audience alone with the whore, mistress. Wouldn't be seemly."

Ami gave her a
sideways look. "Seemly?" There wasn't much in that place that could
be called "seemly". It was comical, in fact, to suggest anyone would
care what she did. "It wouldn't simply be because you are a nosy little
gossip, would it?"

The maid flushed
and looked at her feet.

"Stand
outside the door and wait for me."

Villette answered
glumly, "Yes, mistress."

The door was
closed and Ami turned to face the whore.

Morwenna was a
well-rounded woman, older than Ami, her skin the color of late summer dusk, her
eyes and hair almost black. Her gown was drawn in at the waist with a tight
girdle, so that her bosom spilled out above it and her hips below. This was
more evident when she walked, for the woman had a leisurely, rolling sway that
reminded Ami of a spoiled, pampered cat she once owned.

The two women
stood in the small, cramped storage room and surveyed one another thoughtfully.
Whore and lady were curious about each other, it seemed, in their own ways and
for their own reasons.

"I want you
to show me what to do," Ami explained abruptly to the whore. "I want
you to show me how to please my husband."

Morwenna lolled
against a barrel and gave a sultry laugh. "Is that so, my lady?"

"I know you
have experience with him."

"Experience?
Not with your husband, my lady."

Ami sighed and
folded her arms. "I know he sent for you yesterday. What did he
want?"

"Aye, you
tell my mistress," Villette hissed through the wooden slats of the door,
"or I'll pull your hair, hussy."

"Villette!
You will not listen."

"Yes,
mistress."

"Go away from
the door."

"But you said
to wait—"

"For pity's
sake, walk ten steps from where you are now and wait there."

Morwenna was
gazing at her in mild bemusement. Then she said, "He sent for me before
the wedding to tell him which tunic to wear. Apparently I was the only wench
whose opinion he dare ask." She broke off in a husky chuckle. "I
would have preferred him without tunic, but he was in no mood to flirt with me.
He had other things on his mind..." She flicked her long curls over her
shoulder and winked at Ami. "...other women."

It would have been
proper to reprimand the whore for speaking in such familiar terms, but then she
had just asked the woman for advice on coitus with her husband, so she could
hardly afford to be picky or precious. "You expect me to believe he called
for you to give him advice on his attire?"

"Said he
needed a female perspective," Morwenna replied, leaning both elbows now on
the barrel top, her abundant bosom resting between them, pushed forward and
upward like two bald-headed babes in a sack. "I'm an older woman, been
around the place—here and there—I have an eye for a well-clad fellow. My
reputation precedes me, I'm told." The whore was proud, evidently, of
being asked her opinion. Her eyes shone like wet coal as she chuckled again.
"I hope you like the tunic he wore, my lady. I picked it for the color to
accentuate those fine blue eyes of his."

Ami realized,
chagrinned, that she had paid no attention to his tunic yesterday, too nervous,
too caught up in her jealousy over Elsinora.

"He did not
even seem to know his eyes were so blue until I told him. Don't suppose a
fellow like that ever looks at his own reflection, eh?"

No, she thought,
he would not. In all likelihood he had no idea how handsome he was.

Her shoulders
relaxed a little. "Will you tell me ... what I should do?"

Morwenna rolled
her eyes and gestured with her fingers together. "Lay still and think of
the chinks."

"She means
coin, mistress," Villette called through the door, assuming it required
translation.

"Ten steps,
Villette," she shouted back, annoyed.

"Yes,
mistress."

This time she
listened and thought she heard the maid walk away across the flagstone floor.

Again she looked
at Morwenna. "But I want to play a more active role. I don't want him to
always be in control. Sometimes I want to take it. The bed, it seems, is the
one place where a woman can lead."

The whore finally
became interested. She tilted her head to one side and surveyed Ami with a
longer, more thorough perusal. "Aye. You're a brave one then."

"Perhaps.
Show me some tricks." Although she'd never thought it would matter to her,
Ami wanted to keep his interest in the bed chamber, but she also wanted him to
forget Elsinora. It struck her like the blow of a lance. She didn't want to
live with the ghost of an old love between them. She'd expected nothing, wanted
nothing.

Until she met
Stryker and he held her hand.

That simple touch
had been her undoing, when she was so determined to remain collected, detached,
Ami the Unbreakable.

"I suppose I
can show you this." Morwenna reached for a carrot from a sack beside her.
She held it up in the light of Ami's candle. "Now imagine this is
his—"

"It's bigger
than that."

Morwenna eyes
looked around the candle and focused on her face.

"Much
larger,” Ami added.

"Aren't you a
lucky bitch." The whore laughed, tossed the carrot down and retrieved a
parsnip instead. "This will have to do. 'Tis the largest one here.
Now," she held it up and cupped the base in her hand, "these are his
balls..." Morwenna began to demonstrate her craft.

But suddenly the
door crashed open and there stood Stryker Bloodaxe. They'd had no warning,
although Villette was close by, gripping her apron to her lips.

"What the
devil is going on here?" he demanded, his furious gaze going from Morwenna
to his wife and back again.

The whore had been
so startled that she bit the end of the parsnip off in her mouth and now she
spat it out into her hand. "Don't do
that
,
my lady," she whispered wryly.

"Well?"
Stryker demanded again, filling the door frame, towering over them both.
"I wait for an explanation, Lady Amias."

"I wanted her
to teach me," Ami said boldly. No point beating about the bushes, she
thought. There were not many explanations she could make for being found in a
store cupboard with a whore sucking a parsnip. She lifted her candle and said
brightly, "Did you have a good hunt, my husband?"

****

He could not
believe his eyes. Then his ears. Every sense, it seemed, was failing him. He
grabbed his wife by her long sleeve and pulled her out of the store cupboard.
"We will discuss this in private."

He caught her
tossing a scowl at her maid as they walked out of the cookhouse and into the
brisk air. "And don't be angry with that girl," he snapped. "I
found her outside and asked her where you were. She could hardly refuse to tell
me just to save your hide."

"
Save my hide
?" she exclaimed, her
eyes flashing with angry sparks. "I did nothing wrong." She swung
around to her maid. "
Ten steps
,
Villette?" she hissed. "Ten steps and you were outside?"

The maid shrugged
guiltily, fidgeting with her apron. "I can't count past five, mistress. I
made the rest up."

"Then you
should have counted five twice girl!"

"Twice?"

"Two fives
are ten." Ami held her hands to her head. "Lord save me from these
imbeciles!"

Villette burst
into tears.

Stryker had no
idea what they were talking about, but he did know he could not have his lady
wife learning tricks from a whore. What on earth was she thinking? He grabbed
her arm again and drew her quickly along. "You will not consort with women
like that whore."

"I told
you," she pulled her arm from his grip. "I wanted her to show me how
to pleasure you."

He was completely
nonplussed. "You don't need to please me, woman." Stryker meant that
she already pleased him enough, but before he could explain further she shouted
over him.