The Barbarian's Bride (13 page)

“No!” Mara squeaked. “Not in my bottom!”

But it was going into her bottom. Aisling saw Berner press it against Mara’s tight little bud, which winked and wriggled, then welcomed it inside. He then spanked her with the plug inside her, which seemed to cause Mara a great deal more consternation than the earlier punishment.

“Don’t you mind Mara,” Rikiar growled, leaning down to grasp Aisling’s wet hair at the base of her neck. He pulled up gently, but firmly, making her arch and hold position for his lash. The punishments being handed out were unashamedly sexual in nature; evidently Rikiar and Berner thought nothing of sharing certain intimacies with one another, or at least within sight of one another.

“It hurts!” Aisling cried plaintively. “It burns!”

“Good,” Rikiar growled as the lash cut across her wet jiggling cheeks. “You will remember this next time you think about leaving the village without my permission.” He slapped the whippy switch across her bottom mercilessly, back and forth until Aisling felt as though her cheeks had been stung by a thousand hornets. She danced where she stood, her toes curling into the mud as her bottom bounced with the movement.

Finally he cast the switch aside and she thought that it was over. But it was not. With his grip still firmly locked at the back of her neck, he propelled her to a fallen tree where he pinned her over the rough bark, her nipples and bare stomach grazing against the trunk as he opened his britches and thrust his cock inside her with rough possession, filling her completely.

“You are my bride and you will obey,” he growled, sinking his hot hard flesh deep into Aisling’s quivering quim. She had little to say in protest or apology, all she could do was pant and moan as her mate ravaged her tender body with rough strokes.

In the middle distance, she could hear similar sounds to the ones she was making emanating from Mara. They were both being thoroughly fucked, hard masculine hips slapping against red hot bottoms as the disobedient maids made amends.

Aisling clasped the trunk of the tree and lifted her hips. Better to submit to Rikiar’s desire than be found disobedient again, and better to feel his hard flesh pressing down against the sensitive front of her inner walls than to be bounced roughly against the wood.

There was a grunt of something like pleasure and she felt his grip move from the back of her neck to under her body. He cupped her bare breasts, pulling her back against his hips as he pounded her tender slit with rough, punishing strokes. Before Aisling could reach her climax, he came, grinding his cock hard inside her and coating her cunt with his seed. Then he pulled out, slapped her bottom, and told her to get dressed.

Whimpering, Aisling obeyed. She had never experienced sex without climax before and she did not like it at all. Her lips and bud were burning with desire as she dressed, quite ashamed of both her behavior and the resulting punishment.

She was dressed just in time to see Berner pull out and spill his seed not inside Mara, but all over her very red, very plugged bottom. The sight of his juices coating her heated round flesh only served to further inflame Aisling’s frustrated desires, but she did not dare let on how badly she wanted to cum.

“Time to return home,” Rikiar said, leading her across to his horse and helping her up into the saddle. With her legs spread, her bottom pressed against Rikiar’s groin when he too mounted, Aisling found she could grind herself a little as they began to move, getting some small measure of satisfaction from the rolling gait.

Poor Mara was sniffling all the way home, for she was still plugged and Berner refused to let her take it out even when she asked very nicely.

“You will go straight to our bedchamber when we return,” Rikiar growled behind her. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Aisling said softly. She would have obeyed any order he gave her in that moment; she wished he would smile at her again, speak to her softly the way he did when he was pleased. She knew she had been terribly naughty and she knew that she had not yet fully atoned for her behavior.

“You will clean yourself. You will kneel beside the bed, and you will think about what you have done while you wait for me,” Rikiar added. “And when I come for you, I will decide if I will punish you further or not.”

Aisling grew tense at the idea of more punishment. Already riding was almost unbearable, though she knew better than to complain about a sore bottom after a well-deserved punishment.

When they arrived back in Ravenblack Village, she made straight for the bedroom as he had ordered. She cleaned herself, then knelt beside the bed and thought about what she had done. She thought about it for all of three seconds before her fingers slipped down between her thighs and began toying with her pleasure bud.

Heavy footsteps made her pull her hand away before she could reach even the smallest peak, leaving her a bundle of nerves as her lord and master entered the room.

“Come here,” Rikiar said, beckoning her across the bedchamber.

She went to him even though she was afraid that the future might hold more in the way of punishment. He seemed even larger in that small space, his broad, strong arms ready to whip her again at a moment’s notice. Rikiar gazed down at her, his expression stern.

“Do you know why you were whipped today?”

“Of course,” Aisling said. “It was because Mara and I sneaked out of the village.”

“Yes,” Rikiar said. “It was for that, but it was also because you made me fear for your life. That feeling is not something I would wish on anyone.”

He led her to the bed and lay down, resting his hands behind his head while Aisling toyed nervously with the dark hairs on his chest. Her bottom and thighs were still feeling the effects of the discipline Rikiar so casually mentioned. She suspected she would continue to feel them for some time. A slippery feeling was still present between her thighs, along with the warm, swollen sensation that accompanied sex.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Truly.”

“Are you?” Rikiar drawled the question. He seemed unconvinced, but he also did not seem inclined to thrash her in that moment. His orgasm had curbed his ire, but Aisling was still suffering with unrequited desire.

She pressed against his body and rode her groin against his thigh. He raised a brow, but did not stop her. Aisling blushed as she realized she was more or less humping him as a needy dog might, but she could not stop herself. His stoic silence only served to enhance the feeling that she was a wanton little slut, desperate for the relief only he could give her.

“Please,” Aisling whispered.

“Please, what?”

“Please, may I cum?”

A low rumble emerged from his throat. “You ask so sweetly, but I am not sure you deserve it. Running about outside the village with servants,” he censured. “If it had not been for Helsa spotting you, who knows what might have happened.”

“I know,” Aisling said, breathless and apologetic. “It was foolish of us. You were right to punish me.”

Rikiar narrowed his eyes slightly. “Do you mean that, or are you so desperate to have your cunt filled that you will say anything at all?”

“I mean it,” Aisling panted, moaning when he squeezed her nipple lightly. The action made pleasure zip from her breast to the quivering lips of her pussy and she pressed herself against his thigh harder still, spreading her wetness across his leg.

After watching her grind for several more minutes, he took some pity on her, drifting his hand down her back to her bottom and pressing his fingers inside her from behind. He stirred her cum-filled quim while she rutted herself to a desperate climax, panting and gasping against his lips.

“Horny little witch,” he drawled affectionately as he lifted a lazy hand and let his fingers drift through the dark curtain of Aisling’s hair. He was tender now, almost soft. She rested her head against the muscular plane of his abdomen and half-closed her eyes.

“Promise me you won’t make me feel that way again,” he murmured softly.

“I’ll try not to,” Aisling promised. She did not then know that it was a promise she would not be able to keep.

Chapter Eight

Three days before the wedding, the weather closed in around Ravenblack and with it brought an ill omen, one Rikiar was very glad to see, but one he knew would bring grave tidings. Merla Ravenblack graced the village with her presence at noon, her slender form wrapped in a dark velvet cloak, her thin pinched face devoid of a smile. Rikiar greeted her warmly and before his arms had released her from the filial embrace, Berner was at his side with bad news.

“Scouts have sent word. The king of Claddaugh has declared war. His forces are already entering the ranges. They will be upon us in less than a week.” Berner was not given to worry, but he looked concerned.

Rikiar swore softly under his breath. It was not unforeseeable that the king would want revenge for the loss of his daughter, but he had hoped it would take the form of a demand for reparations, not all-out war.

“How many men do the scouts say are on their way?”

“At least five hundred.”

Rikiar cocked his head to the side, doubtful as to the truth of the report. “Claddaugh barely has the men to defend its castle and keep. And you tell me that there are five hundred men making their way over the ranges?”

“I hear Claddaugh sold its silver, gold, and jewels, hired mercenaries. The king intends to reclaim his daughter at all costs.”

“I told you this would not end well,” Merla interjected in raspy tones. “This wedding is ill-fated. You must return the woman,” she said. “Otherwise I see great suffering for our people.”

“Aisling is not ‘the woman,’” Rikiar corrected her. “She is my bride.”

“I must have missed the wedding,” Merla rasped.

“We do not need to have wed for her to be my bride.”

“Actually, you do,” Merla said. “Until you are declared wed, she is but the princess you have been ravaging.”

“Then we will bring the wedding forward. Do it this very day and deprive him of the chance to claim her back.”

“The king will declare your union illegitimate. He will call it nothing but pagan witchcraft.”

“Then we’d best capture one of his priests to perform the ceremony.”

“No ceremony is going to stop the man from taking what he believes is his. For two and a half months you have made free with his daughter. His wrath will be terrible. His vengeance will be great.”

“And ours will be greater if he dares come within a hundred miles of this place,” Rikiar growled. “Please leave us be, mother. We must make plans to defend the village.”

“There is no need to defend the village if you are willing to give the girl back.”

“Aisling is not a chair, or a pen. She is not something I can give to another man. She is mine!” Rikiar’s voice shook with contained rage. “She belongs by my side. She belongs here, with our people.”

“And our people will bleed so you might enjoy her tender flesh. You condemn them to death.”

Rikiar stared amber daggers at his mother. The woman was impossible. No faith at all, that was her problem; she believed whatever her mushrooms told her, whatever her birds chirped in her ear. She did not see with her heart as he did.

“I should like to meet this woman for whom we will all die,” Merla said, ignoring his scowl. “It is about time the mother met the bride, don’t you think?”

* * *

Aisling was sitting at a window and wishing for sun when Rikiar came to her presence, along with someone new.

“Aisling, there is someone I would like you to meet.”

Aisling looked upon the short woman who had Rikiar’s eyes and knew immediately who she was. But that did not stop Rikiar from introducing her.

“This,” Rikiar said with a woeful tone, “is my mother.”

“Oh, how lovely to meet you,” Aisling said, curtseying with a smile.

Rikiar’s mother did not return the expression, nor the formality. She looked coldly down her nose at Aisling and sniffed—as if Aisling might be a piece of dust she could dislodge if only she’d remembered to bring her handkerchief.

“She is pretty enough. Is she worth the lives—”

“Mother,” Rikiar growled.

“Whose lives?” Aisling was naturally confused. The unfriendliness of she who would be her mother-in-law was quite unexpected. Aisling had never met anyone who didn’t like her before.

“Your father is sending an army to reclaim you,” Rikiar explained.

“Oh,” Aisling said.

“Not the brightest star in the sky, is she?”

Aisling cast a curious look at Mother Ravenblack. The woman really was quite determined to find fault at every turn. There would be no winning with her, Aisling could sense that immediately.

“You are here to meet Aisling. You are not here to insult her.” Rikiar was quick to come to Aisling’s defense. That, Aisling was grateful for. It meant she did not have to respond to the woman’s jibes.

“How long have you been a witch?” Aisling asked the question as politely as possible.

“One is born a witch,” Merla said. “It is in the blood.”

“Does one start casting spells in the womb?”

It was an innocent question, but it made Merla’s golden eyes gleam with irritation. “Your pretense of simplicity will not save you.”

“Save me from…?” Aisling was genuinely confused. The hostility seemed entirely unnecessary.

Rikiar put an arm around her shoulders. “Save your words,” he murmured in her ear.

She took his advice and silently bore the brunt of Merla’s withering stare while Rikiar addressed his mother.

“Would you have left my father and returned to a man who kept you imprisoned if he sent an army to take you?”

“Lives did not depend upon our marriage,” Merla said.

“Is it not up to the people, whether they wish to fight or not?”

“It is not up to the people if their homes are burned, their belongings plundered, their women taken…”

“It is up to them,” Aisling disagreed, rather boldly. “It is up to them whether they win or whether they lose. It is up to us whether we fight well or allow ourselves to be overrun. If they are coming through the mountains, then we should meet them there. We need not cower in the village, waiting to be attacked. We take the battle to the aggressor.” She shook as she spoke, quite overcome with passion. The news that her father wished to reclaim her had been a shock, but that shock had quickly turned to anger. She would not allow the man who had stolen the first twenty years of her life and locked it away to take another second. “I will stand and see my father’s face and I will tell him that I am his no more!”