The thick furs they wore barely covered their muscled, battle-scarred arms that seemed perpetually flexed. Their broad chests easily supported the weight of the battle axes hanging across their backs.
Helena felt… brittle just looking at them.
One of them looked up to the window where she was standing and their eyes met. His were a deep, penetrating blue. His stare was unwavering as they rode close to the second, higher wall.
Helena found herself unable to break her gaze away.
After what seemed like an eternity, he nudged the arm of the man riding next to him with his elbow and nodded toward Helena.
The second man looked up, his gaze just as piercing and just as unrelenting.
This time Helena tore her eyes away, her cheeks burning red with a strange embarrassment and shame at their piercing gaze. Something puzzled her. She shook her head and frowned and looked at Anastas. “Those are them,” she said softly.
Anastas nodded in agreement.
“But…” Helena couldn’t help but steal another glance through the window at the two rough warriors. “But which one… why are there two of them? Which one do you think will be my husband?” she asked.
Anastas scowled at her in response. “Do you not know their custom, m’lady?” Anastas asked softly, shaking her head.
“Their custom?” Helena replied, still shaken by their gaze.
“Yes, the custom of the Grahr?”
“I’m… I’m not sure I know what you mean?” Helena replied, turning to look at Anastas.
“Their ways are different from ours,” Anastas explained. “They… you see, when they marry… it’s just…”
Helena frowned. “What? What is it? You can tell me.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Anastas replied with a quick curtsey. “The Grahr have a custom that two men take a single bride.”
The bottom fell out of Helena’s stomach as her jaw dropped.
* * *
“My friends! Welcome!”
Vorag fought the urge to cringe at the sickly looking man’s obviously insincere greeting. He was no friend of his. Nonetheless, it would not do to start things off poorly. Dismounting, he walked around his horse, gripped the man by the forearm, and gave his body a good shake.
The smirk shook off his lips and Vorag had to resist the laugh that sprang from his belly up into his throat. He bowed his head instead. “King Sadon,” he growled, bowing low enough that he was the same size as the scrawny fellow.
Finishing his greeting, he stepped back, sweeping his arms out wide before standing up straight again. One corner of his mouth curled up as he watched Sadon swallow at how high up he had to look to stare into his eyes. “I am Vorag,” he said, his tongue twisting uncomfortably around the foreign words. “This is my brother, Golar.”
“An honour to meet you both,” Sadon said, his crooked smile returning as he glanced at Golar and nodded.
Golar stepped forward, grabbed the king’s arm, and shook him in the same greeting before stepping back, sweeping his arms out and retreating in a bow.
Behind him a horse snorted and stomped. A crowd had been gathered in front of the castle steps. Guards and peasants surrounded them, no doubt to see their princess being given away.
The memory of the woman he’d seen in the window twisted Vorag’s gut. It was too much to hope that she was going to be their prize.
He had been unable to tear his eyes away from hers. The long dark tresses of hair falling over her full breasts had mesmerized him. A hollow feeling had formed in his stomach as soon as he could see her no longer. He’d pushed through it, telling himself not to get worked up. If the princess looked anything like her brother, doing their duty would easily be twice as hard.
“My sister is preparing to greet you. You will forgive that she is not here right now. Perhaps we might step inside and discuss the terms of our arrangement while we wait? I was only able to tell her today that you would be arriving. She was quite surprised.”
Vorag ignored the way Sadon’s already ugly smile cracked into an even uglier grin. “It would be an honour to speak with you about the arrangement,” he said, bowing again.
“Please,” Sadon said, turning toward the doors of the keep. “Follow me.”
Inside the air was cool and the smooth stone walls reminded Vorag of the caves they called home. It made him more comfortable.
A large wooden table had been laid out with grapes and breads and sweet meats. Vorag nodded appreciatively at the food.
Sadon swept his hand along the length of the table. “Please. My house is your house.”
Vorag glanced at his brother then looked straight at Sadon as he spoke. “Your generosity is appreciated. We would prefer to set the terms of the agreement first and then celebrate. That is, if you don’t mind.” He left no room for Sadon to mind.
“Of course not,” Sadon said, unable to hold Vorag’s firm stare. “What did you have in mind?”
Vorag pulled a chair out from behind the table and sat down. He waited for the king and his entourage to readjust themselves while Sadon took a seat.
Golar lowered himself into the chair beside him.
“Our intrusions on the eastern lands will stop,” Vorag said plainly. “They were our ancestors before your settlers came but we will cede them to you. In exchange we expect regular patrols along the southern border of what you call Montvale. It is known to us that you call us barbarians,” Vorag said, then paused, eyeing each of the king’s entourage before turning back to Sadon.
None met his stare. Even the king looked away with an awkward laugh.
“You know nothing of the barbarians to the south of Montvale. They would eat your still beating heart in front of your dying eyes and laugh.”
A heavy silence descended on the other side of the table.
Vorag went on. “We require grapes. And grains. Our numbers grow and the mountains cannot feed our folk.”
Sadon smiled widely. “I have spoken to Thress, the duke of Montvale. He is willing to accept a tithe in return for peace. He has said his farmers can provide all of what you require to the foothills. You will have to take it from there. Their carts are not made for mountain trails.”
Vorag nodded, surprised by how amenable Sadon was being.
“With peace in the area,” Sadon continued, “we will reopen the mines. If you have men that have need of labor…” He left the sentence unfinished.
Vorag had not considered the offer. Of course with less raiding there would be more idle hands. The men would need something to do. “I will present your offer to my brothers.”
“Good,” Sadon smiled. “Very good. Then we are agreed? We can seal our pact by presenting your bride.”
A heavy feeling settled in Vorag’s chest. A glance at his brother told him Golar felt the same way. “We are agreed,” Vorag muttered, nodding his head.
“Excellent!” Sadon said, clapping his hands together like a damsel. “Then let us drink! And eat! Music!”
The soft strum of a lute began behind them, accompanied a moment later by a dulcet flute.
Vorag and Golar both turned to look at the instruments and the musicians playing them, unused to hearing any music at all.
Sadon’s entourage began speaking in animated tones, excited by the prospects the newly agreed-upon treaty presented. The merchants would be happy for the trade, no doubt.
The brothers pulled their chairs closer to the table. Vorag wrapped a fist around a shank of deer and chewed off a hunk, chuckling at the wide eyes and slack jaws it provoked on the other side of the table.
Sadon raised his flagon in a toast, mainly to disrupt the awkward silence that had descended on the room. “To new beginnings!” he called out.
The brothers lifted their mugs and clanked them with Sadon’s over the table, nearly knocking him over. A moment later and the conversations had started back up again and the room rang with life.
When he heard the rhythmic stomp of boots marching behind him, Vorag ins
tinctively pushed away from the table, yanked the battle axes off his back and spun around.
A few of the more ornately dressed men around the table let out womanly shrieks as his chair fell over and he braced himself for a fight.
A moment later as he realized the ‘soldiers’ he had been ready to decapitate were actually the same trumpeters who had hailed their arrival, Vorag felt his face flare with sudden embarrassment.
Golar touched his arm and threw his head back in a laugh. “Haha, what a fool you look, brother!” he said, slapping his knee.
The terrified trumpeters stood not knowing what to do until Vorag set the axes on the floor beside him and turned to Sadon, cheeks still red. “I am sorry. Too much time in the fight…” he muttered.
Sadon waved away his embarrassment, smiling gleefully. “Nonsense! You’ll make the perfect husband, er, husbands for my sister!” He stood as the trumpets blared, the chorus echoing inside the high walls of the dining room.
Golar stood up next to him as Vorag turned back around. He wiped his greasy lips with the back of his sleeve.
The great doors swung open.
Vorag’s heart thudded against his chest. As the procession made its way into the hall, his eyes rested on the voluptuous woman at its head.
She was the same dark-haired woman he had seen leaning through the window. Her eyes shone even greener than they had from afar. Her ample chest drew Vorag’s gaze. His eyes raked down to her slender waist and full hips next.
Vorag puzzled at the emotions that twisted inside his belly. This was not at all what sort of woman he had expected. She was a small woman but not petite. And beautiful. There was no other word for it. She was very beautiful.
“My friends, allow me to introduce to you my sister Helena. Your bride.”
Chapter Three
Helena’s knees went weak as she stared up at the two rough and well-muscled warriors standing in front of her but she would not let her fear show on her face. She managed a smile, then bowed to the two… barbarians; it was hard to find any other words to describe them.
They looked just like the mountain men she’d imagined from her father’s stories. Even more so up close. Their huge beards were unlike anything she’d ever seen at Dunkeep. Most men of the castle wore their facial hair short or not at all.
Helena had quite a difficult time tearing her eyes away from the two men she now knew were both to be her husbands. The idea sent another pulse of nervous energy through her belly and straight to her toes.
“I trust that she meets with your approval?” Sadon asked, his voice vicious, his smile as wicked as she’d ever seen it.
The two men didn’t turn to face him, only nodded, their stares seemingly burning straight through Helena’s white dress.
“Good,” Sadon purred behind them. “Then we have an agreement.”
The trumpets blared, startling Helena. As Sadon’s entourage and the small group of men surrounding the two warriors burst into applause, the room blurred. A knot tightened in her stomach.
A not unpleasant sensation tingled in her core.
“We have arranged for a celebration this evening,” Sadon said, stepping out from behind the two men, his mouth still twisted in the same wicked smile.
The two large warriors glanced at each other. “Celebration?” one of them asked, twisting his mouth around the word with a thick accent.
“Yes, uh… like a party. Festivity!” Sadon explained, waving his hands for emphasis.
One of the tall warriors grimaced and shook his head. “No time. We must return to our home,” he said.
Sadon’s grin faded.
Helena knew the look. He was easily offended and she wondered if he would take the refusal as a slight. He somehow managed to check his temper and stifled the outburst.
“Of course,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Of course we understand.”
One of the large barbarians gave a signal to the men in their entourage and they fell into line.
Before Helena could react, he leaned forward, swept her off her feet and into his powerful arms, then slung her like a sack over his shoulder. “What in the cave of Tardon are you doing to me! Let me down!” she shrieked, her fists pummelling his back.
Sadon’s entire entourage let out a gasp as they stared in horror at what was happening to her.
Redoubling her efforts, Helena pounded her fists and kicked her feet, hoping the effort would force him to let her go.
As she felt herself being lowered, she loosed one final punch that caught his arm. Expecting to end up on her feet, Helena scowled when she instead settled belly down over the warrior’s bent arm.
Her mouth dropped open in a shriek at the first painful swat that landed on her upturned bottom. Another, equally weighty swat came, this time against her other cheek. She wanted to scream again, to shout to be let go, but the shock of what was happening had stolen the wind out of her lungs.
As the barbarian’s meaty paw pummelled her backside, another much different feeling formed in her core. Not only did Helena become acutely aware that she was being spanked like a little girl for her protest, it was all happening in front of Sadon’s royal entourage and by her husband to be, no less!
The realization made her cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. There could be no ignoring, though, a deep and equally embarrassing sensation that had begun to tickle her core.
Her sex moistened at the stern chastisement and Helena’s cheeks became even redder when a dribble of it soaked her underthings so thoroughly that it trickled down her leg.
Her body sagged across the giant’s arm and as soon as it did, the harsh punishment stopped.
A deathly silence descended on the room. No one dared move or speak and Helena did not dare look up and show her shame. She almost gasped with shock as the large warrior set her down gently on her feet and stared into her eyes.
She wanted to look away, anywhere but at him, but his gaze was so riveting that she could only stare back.
He eyed her intensely, raking down her body with his hungry gaze, as if the spanking had excited him as much as it had her.
Her heart raced, beating inside her chest as she waited for him to speak.
“You will obey,” the warrior growled, raising an eyebrow.
Helena could not believe what she was being asked to say. Instead of a proper marriage ceremony, a wedding befitting her station, she was being taken from Dunkeep by these brutes and the words she was to be remembered by were to be ones of submission.
She set her jaw in defiance against the question and folded her arms across her chest. From out of the corner of her eye she saw Sadon come into view from behind the large warrior.
“You will find that at times she can be… somewhat defiant,” he said, sounding as if he were making apologies for her behavior.
Helena shot him a fierce glare. He seemed either not to notice or not to care.
“I am sure you will be able to tame her temper, though,” Sadon added with a nervous giggle.
Helena looked up and into the warrior’s eyes. A whisper of excitement scurried through her as she noticed the tiniest smile flicker across his lips. As if he’d just realized or remembered something.
She half expected to receive another punishment for not answering him. When he reached out and took her arm, she couldn’t help but flinch.
Instead of being swept into the air again, she was turned around by a firm but gentle hand. “Come,” the barbarian growled. “We go now.”
With that, Helena was escorted through the doors of the great hall one final time, not knowing if she would ever return.
* * *
Golar could not keep his eyes off the woman as they walked. She was nothing like he had expected. Her luscious curves swallowed his whole attention as she swayed in front of him. It had been a pleasure to tame her.
Stepping out into the fresh air came as a relief. Even though the stone walls of the castle were closer to the rock walls of the caves they
lived in, there was still a smell to them, a dampness that made him cringe.
He took a deep breath of air as he watched their entourage prepare the horses for the trip. He turned at the crunch of Vorag’s boot as his brother stepped beside him. Vorag seemed as enchanted with the lady as he was.
She stood a dozen feet away, by one of the largest horses. She had walked up to the mighty animal and fearlessly put her hand on its muzzle, petting the white diamond on its brown fur.
“She is…” Vorag began, then paused.
“She is not what I expected,” Golar said in their native Grahrsh tongue.
“My cock strains from looking at her,” Vorag said, his hunger obvious by his tone.
Golar nodded. “She will breed well.” His own cock hardened against his furs as he gazed at Helena again.
One of the men who had been attending the horses walked up next to them. “We are ready, brothers,” he said with a curt nod.
“She will ride with me,” Golar said as he began walking to his horse.
“And when was that decided?” Vorag asked behind him.
Golar stopped and turned to face his brother, an unknown sensation swelling his chest. He had no word to describe the protective instinct he felt about the woman. “Now. By me. Let us not make a scene in front of our hosts.”
Vorag’s arms fell to his sides. His stance changed, feet moving apart slightly into a fighter’s pose. “Very well,” he grunted. “Then I will breed her first.”
Another potent rush of the confusing emotion pulsed through Golar at the thought of his brother’s cock buried inside their bride. His lip curled in an angry snarl. “Very well. She rides with you.” He shook his head but couldn’t shake out the fury that was raging inside him.
Why? He and his brother, all of the Grahr, shared everything. Why did he find it so hard to think of sharing her?
“Is everything alright?” Sadon called out from the castle steps in the distance.
Golar looked over his shoulder and shrugged.
Mated to the Barbarians Page 2