The Barbarian Prince (18 page)

Morrigan misunderstood his meaning. She couldn’t ask him. To again say the words aloud would mortify her. It would force her to accept that she wanted him. It would leave her open to his continued rejection. It was a chance she couldn’t take, even with the tentative truce that was between them.

Picking her up, he slowly put her on the floor, letting her feel the strength of him as he lowered her down. Sweeping her into his steady arms, he carried her to the couch before the dim fire.

"Please," Morrigan begged, too weak to jump up and fight. She didn’t know what she was asking of him. Please kiss me. Please stop. Please just let me go home. Please keep me prisoner forever.

"I cannot give you that, slave," Ualan said, seeing her ache and feeling it tenfold. He lowered her onto the suede cushions that had been her bed since her arrival to his home, only to sit next to her with distance between their bodies. "Not until you are pardoned. It is impossible."

"You mean you don’t want to be my slave, don’t you?" she whispered, curling her feet under her thighs.

"You’re right, I would not indenture myself to you like that," he returned. Their words were softly spoken, without their usual malice. "I would dishonor us both, and that I will not permit."

"You have to always be the master," she mused, managing a wry smile. Her eyes were sad.

"Is that so bad?" Ualan asked, his Qurilixian accent rolling in a soft burr to wash over her. "Do you not wish for a husband who can make you proud? Men who are ruled too easily by women are not real men. Such a man could not protect you, provide for you, give you strong sons."

The last was rumbled out with an astonishing seriousness. Her entire being quaked. He did not relent. His eyes began to glow gold in the light. Morrigan felt as if the liquid depths were more than just a reflection of the fire.

"Tell me, Rigan, would you be proud to have a weak man as husband? A man who would hide behind your skirts when danger struck? A man whose sword arm would quiver at the first sign of battle? Would such a man bring you honor? Would he make you proud?"

Morrigan shook her head in denial. No words came out of her opened mouth.

"Then why do you resist your destiny? Why do you resist us? Do you think I would dishonor you in such a way? Do you need me to prove my worth to you?"

To Morrigan, it was a stupid question.

"Ualan, I know your honor is not lacking and with the right woman I know you would make a dutiful.…" His look narrowed. "No, let me say this. I know you would make a wonderful husband. But I don’t think this is my destiny. These last days should prove we are not meant to…." She paused. "I have a life…."

How could she explain?

"You mention this life and yet you do not live it. Why did you agree to be a bride?"

Morrigan wasn’t sure how, but he had moved closer to her. She could feel his heat, smell his scent. It was as if he were in her head, making her answer truthfully.

"I wasn’t … I didn’t…." Morrigan tried to pull away. "It’s not like that."

"What is this job you hold so dear?" he inquired, frowning slightly as she backed up. Easily, he edged forward.

"It’s … it’s freedom. How can you expect me to give that up to be your sla--?"

"Wife," he inserted firmly.

"Either way, Ualan, you would want me molded to your will--cooking, cleaning. It will drive me insane to be a housewife. I need more than that. I need…."

"Marriage is about compromise, Rigan. If you promise to try, I will promise to honor you as you are. A wife can enslave her husband in other ways. You do not need to be named my master."

He smiled, devilish and handsome. The idea had plenty of merit to Ualan, who instantly had visions of being strapped to his bed and at her mercy.

Morrigan was just confused. But his smile held enough hidden meaning to make her shiver. Enslavement? Is that what marriage was to him?

"No," he answered, not needing her to speak the words. He was focused on her feelings. It was a new sensation to him, to be able to feel someone so closely and purely as if both drew the same breath.

Morrigan blinked. The walls inside her heart might have had cracks in the mortar, but the bricks could still hold. "I didn’t say anything."

"You didn’t have to, Rigan." Ualan leaned back.

"Will you let me go? If I truly wanted it, will you let me go?"

"No." He didn’t even need time to consider. "Never. We were chosen for each other."

Morrigan stared at him, wondering how chosen they would be in a few years when he grew tired of her independent ways. How would he feel after she’d spent every second of a week on a writing binge, forgetting to eat and sleep? How about in forty years when her looks were fading and her body was falling and he no longer could desire her? Or when she was thick with his sons, sore and bloated and emitting strange smells as she heard pregnant women often did? Where would his attentions be then? And what would she be left with?

Her face turned hard and he could feel her pain like it was his own.

"Then I have no say?" she asked.

"Not in this. Knowing or not, you bound yourself to me. It cannot be undone," he allowed. If she left him, he would be alone. Not even if he wished for it, could it be taken back. He wasn’t ready to give her up and risk it.

"Why did you torture me that night in the tent?" she asked, suddenly having to know. If she were to agree to his role for her, then she had to have this one question answered. She already knew that in the tub he could not return her pleasure. But what about the tent? If she allowed him to get close again, she had to know he wouldn’t keep hurting her.

"Torture?" he asked, perplexed by her choice of words.

"I understand the other night in the bath," she said. Instantly a blush lit her features, but she swallowed it back. "But why in the tent? Why was I being punished?"

"I thought you wanted me to." Ualan furrowed his brows in thought. "Amongst my people, when a woman is chosen, it is up to the man to prove himself worthy. We aren’t allowed to use our words until the mask is lifted and we are deemed worthy of speaking, because--"

"Actions speak louder than words," she finished wryly, "and talk is cheap."

"Yes, precisely," he nodded, glad she understood. "And when you did not remove my mask and accept me, it was up to me to continue. If you would have taken my mask off right away, we could have talked through the night, ate, bathed, whatever you wished. Breeding is not allowed during the festival. It is a sign of bad luck if you do. It angers the Gods and is bad for the marriage. Though we would join eventually, essentially we were still strangers until the crystal was broken."

"But I heard the others in their tents," she gulped. This time she did hide her face. She was remembering the couple before the throne, to her everlasting mortification.

"Certain discoveries are allowed," he grinned. Reading her thoughts, he said, "And married couples are not hampered by this rule."

"Oh," she mumbled, wrinkling her nose.

"You have no need for this embarrassment," he said. His hand stroked the dark hair back from her face. The bulk of it was still tied into a knot and he frowned, making a mental note to get her something prettier to hold back her locks. "You can say anything to me, Rigan. You can ask me anything. I will always be honest with you." When she made a sound that said she highly doubted it, he added, "That night was torture for me, too."

It was a good explanation and made sense. From what she knew about his culture, it fit. Swallowing, she said, her voice muffled into the couch, "Fine."

Ualan cocked his head, leaning closer to hear the rest.

Morrigan turned to look at him. Drawing a deep breath, she said, "Fine. I’ll be your wife."

A grin spread over his features. Morrigan’s expression was more guarded. When the time came to leave, it would be hard. But he left her no choice but to deceive him. He would never let her go on his own. He had admitted as much and she had given him chance after chance to prove his words wrong. No, this man of duty and honor would not recant his word. The only way for her to get her freedom back was to take it, by any means necessary.

"But I’m not promising--." Her words were cut off as he yanked her forward. He kissed her with a swift passion that left her weak and breathless. When she tried to further the embrace by touching his face, he pulled back.

"We can’t," Ualan denied her. His body hated him, but was comforted by the fact that soon he would be able to possess her completely. And she was willing! If only he had realized earlier that the way into her heart was to kill her with soft words and kindness. She was such an aggravating vixen at times that he naturally rose to her challenge. "You need to be pardoned."

"How--?" she began, not sure her body could stand another month of waiting. It stirred restlessly on the couch.

"The royal celebration." Ualan smiled. Oh, but it was a gorgeous smile. Morrigan stared at the fire, doing her best to block her every emotion from him. It would not do for him to discover her plan. She knew she could never stay, but the idea of leaving him was killing her too. "It’s in a few days. I would be honored if you attended it with me."

Morrigan thought of her assignment. It would be the perfect time to take pictures of the royal couples and learn their stories. Her editor would be thrilled--four Princes at the cost of one marriage of inconvenience. She swallowed, taking a nervous breath. But did she really have a choice?

Her eyes were hollow. Her heart refused to beat as the guilt tried to choke the breath from her constricting lungs. Quietly, she answered, "Yes, husband, I would love to go to the celebration with you."

* * * *

Still in the haze of sleep, Ualan reached out across the mattress to feel for Morrigan. In his dreams, she had been there and closer. They were joined as one, no walls or barriers between them. Groaning, he came to full wakefulness, his body tensed and readied with his passions. Realizing she wasn’t by his side, his groan turned tortured. Soon, he told himself, never imagining he could be so happy. Very soon.

* * * *

Morrigan grumbled sleepily as she felt something poke her in the ribs. Swatting, she turned her back to whatever it was and tried to burrow once more into her dreams. The images that cocooned her were so real. She could feel Ualan’s lips pressed into hers. His eyes were gentle as he looked at her, adoring and demanding at the same time. His arms protected her throughout the night. It was heaven. She did not want to leave it.

Hearing a chuckle and feeling another poke, Morrigan grunted. Lifting her arm from over her eyes, she glared. Ualan stood above her. He was handsomely dressed in a long tunic shirt of black wool, the blue insignia of the dragon in the center of his chest. The sun from the dome above haloed around his head like an angel.

A damned fine warrior angel, Morrigan thought, trembling with the leftover influences of her dreams.

Glancing down, she saw it was his hand that poked her. With a dark grumble, she uttered, "I already agreed. Go away before I punch you. This slave is on strike."

Ualan smirked. His poking fingers turned soft, trailing over her loosened hair to her back. Fitting his fingers by her collarbone, he leaned over and whispered hotly, "When your slavery ends, I will have to work on waking you up in a way that is more pleasurable for both of us."

"Caveman," she mumbled without thinking. She stiffened, but relaxed when he chuckled at the insult.

Reaching down to nip the tip of her ear with his teeth, he whispered, "If that is what you wish … mmm."

This time Morrigan did hit at him. Her aim was weak from her position on the couch and it only glanced at his shoulder. But he had won. She was awake.

Lifting his hands in mock defeat, he backed away. Morrigan tried to glare through her tired yawn. He chuckled again, his smile light and carefree. She waved her hand in his direction trying to wipe him out of her vision. Why was he in such a good mood this morning? She was sure she preferred him surly. At least that way he left her alone.

"I hate this accursed planet," she grumbled, though her voice lacked conviction. "I can’t even tell what time it is by the light." Putting her hands in her hair, she rubbed her temples. "You need a food simulator, barbarian. I need to materialize some coffee."

"It is around noon," he gauged, looking up at the dome. "What is coffee?"

Morrigan studied him in disbelief. Shaking her head, she uttered, "Poor, poor, backwards people."

Ualan knew she was teasing him. He grinned like a fool. He couldn’t help it. He was so happy.

"It’s a drink and it has a lot of caffeine in it and I don’t like to wake up without it," she grumbled. His grin struck a nerve in her chest, and she hid her reaction by rubbing at her eyes. This man was really too handsome for his own good.

"Ah," he smiled, "sloken. One moment."

"Sloken?" mumbled Morrigan as he strode to the kitchen. "Whatever."

But upon hearing noises coming from within, she couldn’t resist getting up. Her maid’s uniform was crumpled but she knew she would find another in the bathroom. She stumbled to lean against the doorframe.

Ualan was taking a few ingredients out of the fridge and placing them absently on the counter. Morrigan had the wildest urge to go up to him and run her hand over his spine.

"You are still a slave," he warned, unable to hide his grin at her gasp.

Ualan had smelled her longing long before she awoke from her dream. Whatever it was in her head, it had been giving her much pleasure. It was only too bad he couldn’t get inside her mind with her. He’d give his sword arm to know what she fantasized about.

"So," Morrigan muttered, not realizing he could sense her longing. "You’re still a caveman."

"Then we make a perfect pair, don’t we?" Ualan mused, winking as he shut the door. Within seconds he whipped her up a drink and handed it to her.

Eyeing the dark green liquid warily, she uttered, "Sloken?"

"Drink," he commanded as he brushed past. Morrigan blinked at his fast movements. His fingers caressed over her neck as he left her, saying, "The dressmaker will be here soon."