The Golden Barbarian (8 page)

But Tess was not Pauline.

Still, she had made a bargain and must keep her part of it.

Undress. She knew that was part of it. To ready herself for the act, she must shed her clothing. She should be unclothed when Galen came to her.

Tess drew a deep breath and pushed away from the door. Her fingers went to the delicate pearl buttons marching down the back of her spring-green gown.

Five minutes later she was completely nude and lying beneath the covers. The room was warm. There was no reason for her to be shivering. Everything would be fine. Pauline liked it, and the woman at the café had not seemed to mind when the sailor fondled her bre—

The door opened. Galen stopped just inside the door and lifted the candle he carried. He saw Tess huddled against the oak headboard and his lips tightened with displeasure. “How delightful to have such an accommodating bride. I admit I didn’t expect to find you so compliant.”

“I don’t feel compliant.” Her voice was trembling, and she forced herself to steady it. “I have no liking for this.”

The grimness faded from his expression. “Then why are you being so meek?”

“It’s not meekness. It’s honor. We clearly cannot have a babe if I do not accept you into my body.”

“I see.” He closed the door behind him. “But I believe I told you I could wait for consummation.”

“But you said—” Relief surged through her. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

“I keep my promises. You’ll be the first to know when I change my mind.” He set the pewter candle-holder down on the closest table, removed his coat, and laid it across a chair. “I have no intention of forcing you.”

“It wouldn’t be force. A bargain is a bargain.”

“It’s a quirk of mine that I prefer enthusiasm to forbearance.” He untied his striped cravat and pulled it off. “You may not conceive a child at once, and I dislike the idea of you gritting your teeth every time I touch you.”

“I cannot promise you enthusiasm.” Her hand clutched more tightly to the blanket. “I don’t think I’ll care for it. Though I admit I’m a little confused by it all. Pauline likes it, but I have seen mares mounted by stallions that don’t look as if they’re very …”—she paused, searching for the correct word—“comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” He smiled. “No, there’s little comfort in it. And I can’t promise you there will be no pain, but I believe you’ll find it interesting.” He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. “When I show you the way of it.”

She stared at his powerful muscles. They ridged his shoulders, grew large on his upper arms, and chest. Her gaze followed the black triangle of hair on his chest to where it disappeared into the waistband of his black trousers. His flesh looked like burnished bronze. A queer fluttery feeling started in the pit of her stomach. “If you aren’t going to fornicate with me, why are you removing your clothes?”

“I’m going to bed.”

“With me? Why? You have a chamber of your own.”

His lips twisted. “Unlike the nobility of Tamrovia, in Zalandan husbands and wives not only sleep in the same chamber but the same bed.”

“How peculiar. I should think the lack of privacy must be something of an imposition.” She shrugged. “Oh well, I suppose I’ll become accustomed to it.”

“I trust so. Lower the cover.”

She stiffened, her eyes widening. “What?”

“Sit up and drop the cover. I want to look at you.”

Her cheeks began to sting. “I see no purpose in looking if you’re not going to do anything.”

“There’s a purpose. Lower the blanket.”

She forced herself to release her grasp, and the cover fell to her waist. She felt as if her flesh were ablaze as she lifted her chin defiantly to glare at him. “What rhyme or reason is there in exposing myself? I’m no beauty like Lady Camilla. You’ll get no pleasure from staring at me.”

“No, you’re no Camilla.” His gaze lingered on her shoulders before traveling down to her breasts. “But sometimes the smaller jewel has the most beautiful facets.”

“And sometimes the facets are so small you can’t tell whether they’re beautiful or not.” She couldn’t breathe. Her breasts felt tight, yet they were swelling under his gaze. “May I pull up the blanket now, my lord?”

He slowly shook his head, his gaze never leaving her breasts. “I think not. I believe we’re making progress.”

“Toward what end?”

He smiled. “Why, to the end of becoming accustomed to each other. From now on you will sleep naked in my bed, and I will fondle and caress you whenever I am moved to do so.” He sat down in the chair by the door, pulled off his left boot, and dropped it on the floor. “Kneel on the bed, facing me.”

She didn’t look at him as she threw aside the blanket and knelt on her haunches, facing him. “You cannot be enjoying this.” She heard his other boot drop to the floor. “I believe you’re doing this to shame me.”

“Don’t you like to have me look at you?”

“It makes me most uncomfortable.”

“You shouldn’t be uncomfortable. You’re quite lovely.”

She snorted derisively. “I have hideous red hair and eyes too big for my face and—”

“The most exquisite breasts and limbs I’ve ever seen.”

She inhaled sharply and kept her gaze fastened on the wall behind his shoulder.

“You don’t believe me?”

She swallowed. “No.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to furnish proof. Look at me.”

Her gaze moved reluctantly from the wall. He was naked, standing perfectly at ease, his legs
slightly astride, a brawny study in sleek bronze and black.

Her eyes widened as they traveled down his body to rest on his rampant arousal.

His gaze followed hers. “Proof,” he repeated softly.

“You look … different.”

“Different from what?”

“From when I saw you naked before.”

“You were only a child.” He chuckled. “Besides, you saw me after the fact, not before or during. Proof is not always in evidence.” He paused. “Though I’ve had a damnable time keeping it from becoming so today.” He took the candle and started across the room.

She instinctively tensed, her gaze clinging to his.

“Listen very carefully,” he said softly. “I do find you desirable, so desirable I ache with it.” He stopped before her and set the candle on the bedside table. “Can you doubt it now?”

She couldn’t speak.

His hand reached out and touched her hair with exquisite gentleness.

“You’re so
tiny,”
he whispered. “Last night as I watched you, I kept thinking how tight you’d be around me. Every time I think about you, I grow hard, wondering …”

She felt as if she were drowning. He was scarcely touching her, and yet she felt a deep tingling in her palms, in the nipples of her breasts, even in the arches of her feet. She tore her gaze away from his face. “I doubt you’ll fit.”

“You know better. A female is created to accept a man.” His hand moved from her hair to caress her throat. “To want a man. A mare may not appear to enjoy mating, but haven’t you seen one back up to a stallion, looking over her shoulder, wriggling her tail at him?” His thumb pressed the hollow of her throat, and she knew he could feel the leap of her pulse beneath the pad of flesh. “Do you know how much I’d like to have you do that for me?”

Shock caused her body to flinch. “I’m not an animal.”

“I meant no insult. Sometimes my words have no grace.” His hand left her throat and both arms fell to his sides. “I’m not entirely undressed. Help me.”

She gazed at him in bewilderment. What was he talking about? He was already naked.

He turned his back to her. “The ribbon tying my queue. Unfasten it for me.”

She rose onto her knees and with trembling fingers tried to unfasten the black grosgrain ribbon binding his hair. Her breasts brushed the warm flesh of his back. She felt a shudder go through him. She tried to arch away from him as she worked at the knot, but she brushed him again. This time the shiver that went through him was echoed by hers. Her breasts were aching, the nipples pebble hard, a strange throbbing between her thighs. What was happening to her? “I can’t seem to—Perhaps you’d better do it.”

“No.” His voice was guttural. “In Zalandan it’s
traditional for a wife to do this. It symbolizes that only she has the privilege to set her man free.”

But the act did not set Tess free. With every passing moment the feeling of being held and possessed by Galen was increasing. She finally managed to untie the ribbon and pull it from his hair. She tossed it on the bedside table and sat back on her heels with a sigh of relief. “It’s done.”

He shook his head, his back still turned to her. The candlelight caught the thick luster of his black hair as it flowed down to skim his shoulders, the play of muscles in his shoulders. She felt a sudden wild desire to reach out and stroke those muscles, tangle her fingers in his mane and pull him down to—

He turned to face her, huge, primitive, untamed. His eyes were glittering, a dark strand of hair now fell over his forehead, the rest of his loosened hair framed his face. His nostrils flared then, slowly, he slid both palms down his thighs in blatant invitation. Tess gasped, the muscles of her stomach clenching. He had not touched her, but she felt as if he had drawn her against his body with that one sensual gesture.

“Lust can arouse the animal in any of us,
kilen
. As I hope you’ll soon discover.” He drew a deep, harsh breath and closed his eyes tightly. “Dear Lord, very soon.”

His lids flicked open, and he stepped back. He leaned forward and blew out the candle.

Tess supposed she should have felt relieved, but the darkness only made her feel more vulnerable.

She could see Galen’s shadowy bulk before her, she could smell his scent.

“Lie down.” Galen’s low voice vibrated with tension. “I can’t take any more. It’s over for now.”

It had not really begun, Tess thought dazedly. He had only touched her hair and her throat, he had only looked at her body and murmured a few words of need and desire. Why did she feel this sense of bondage?

“Now.”

She scrambled under the cover and moved to the far side of the bed.

The next moment she felt the mattress give under Galen’s weight.

He lay beside her, not touching her, every muscle hardened with tension.

She lay beside him, her heart pounding, the odd throbbing in her groin.

“I don’t understand what this is all about,” she said haltingly. “Why?”

His voice was thick, his breathing harsh in the darkness. “I’ll have you the way I want you or not at all.”

“It’s only for the babe. What difference does it make?”

“A great difference.” He was silent for a long moment. “We are two civilized people. I will not play stallion to your mare.” He was silent, and when he spoke again, his tone was fierce, desperate. “Because, by God, I am
not
a barbarian.”

Chapter 3

Galen was gone when Tess awoke the next morning, and she experienced a rush of relief mixed with disappointment. His presence was exciting; he intrigued her mind while inspiring a curious vitality to possess her body. She wasn’t sure she was ready yet to try to understand his effect on her. Last night had been a most unsettling experience. What an unusual and unpredictable man Galen Ben Raschid was proving to be.

She dressed hurriedly in her old dark brown riding habit that she had refused to throw away despite Pauline’s pleas, left the chamber, and started downstairs. She had reached the landing when she encountered a young man wearing a
burgundy-and-cream striped robe and flowing white trousers tucked into brown suede boots. His face seemed familiar.

“I was just going to your chamber,
Majira.”
He bowed politely. “The
majiron
wishes to depart within the hour. Is it convenient for me to pack your valises now?”

“There’s not much to pack. I saw no sense in having my cases unpacked for such a short stay.” She frowned thoughtfully. “You’re Said, aren’t you?”

He bowed again. “Said Abdul,
Majira.”

“I didn’t recognize you at first.” Her eyes twinkled. “You’re wearing clothing.”

He blinked, appearing slightly taken aback, “May I pack for you,
Majira?”

Good Lord, he was as stiff and sober as the Mother Superior. “By all means,” she said solemnly. “Where is the sheikh?”

“In the stable. Shall I tell him you wish to see him?”

“No, you go about your business.” She started down the steps again. “I’ll find him.”

“Unescorted?” He looked slightly shocked. “There are men in the stable,
Majira.”

She glanced impatiently over her shoulder. “What difference does that make?”

“It is not fitting. You are the
majira
. It would be unwise for you to—”

“I’ll escort her, Said.” Sacha was standing at the bottom of the staircase. “Get to the packing.”

Said sighed in apparent relief. “As you wish, my lord.”

Tess shook her head as she watched him move quickly away. “He has no humor.”

“Said’s a good man,” Sacha said. “But he does have a highly developed sense of protocol. It’s a different world in Sedikhan.”

“So I’m beginning to discover.” She started down the last few steps. “What’s a
majira?”