Barbarian Slave

by Jayne Castel

  “What of Wurgest?” Galan asked quietly—too quietly.

  Donnel’s attention flicked to Tarl, his mouth thinning. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

  “Not yet,” Tarl grumbled, glowering at Donnel. “I was waiting for the right moment.”

  Galan turned to him, his eyes hard. “The right moment? All I know is that you saved Lucrezia from him. What did you leave out?”

  Tarl fought the urge to squirm. Suddenly the alcove seemed too small, airless. He had hoped this discussion could wait. “I had to knock Wurgest out in order to save Lucrezia,” he began, folding his arms across his chest defensively. “And when I saw him again, he felt he had a score to settle. We fought hand-to-hand for her, and I won. I thought he’d let it lie after that … but it seems I’ve offended his honor. Lucrezia no longer matters to him. It’s my blood he wants.”

  Galan stared at him, the silence between them deafening in the small space. When the eldest brother did answer, his voice was a low growl. “So you’re telling me that barely three moons after I make peace with The Wolf, you’ve made The Boar our enemy?”

  Tarl tensed. “You make it sound like it was my fault. I couldn’t let him rape her … how was I to know he’d take it personally?”

  Galan muttered a curse and raked a hand through his long dark hair. “You act without thinking, Tarl … you always have.”

  “So you’d have let him rape her?”

  “No—but I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to enrage him.”

  Tarl stepped forward, dropping his hands to his sides and clenching them. “What makes you think I did?”

  Galan glared at him. “Because the urge comes as naturally to you as breathing. For the love of the gods, Tarl. You didn’t just put your own neck on the line. You’ve put this whole tribe at risk.”

  The chieftain of The Eagles turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove, the heavy fur hanging swishing shut behind him. Tarl watched him go, bitterness tasting like gall in his mouth.

  Long moments of silence passed before he glanced Donnel’s way. His brother sat, propped up with furs, watching him, his face an impassive mask.

  “Thank you, brother,” Tarl said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I wanted to wait before telling him.”

  “There was never going to be a right moment,” Donnel replied, not remotely contrite. “It’s better to get it over with.”

  Tarl ground his jaw. “You could have interrupted … could have put him straight.”

  Donnel raised a dark eyebrow. “You can fight your own battles.”

  Tarl barked out an angry laugh. “Really? You saw the look on Galan’s face—he was only too ready to put the blame on me.”

  Donnel shrugged. “He’s only looking out for the tribe. Any threat to our safety falls on his shoulders.”

  Tarl shook his head, turning away from Donnel. There was no point in discussing this with him. Donnel had never understood the tension between his elder brothers, had never understood why Galan’s good opinion had always meant so much to Tarl.

  It did not matter what he did, he would always be the reckless one, the selfish one.

  For the first time Tarl wished he had never come home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Are We to Be Enemies?

  lucrezia dropped the sword with a yelp, as if it had just stung her, and jumped back.

  A few yards away, Tea gave her an arch look. “You can’t squeal every time I attack you. The blades are wooden, not iron. The worst you’ll get is a few bruises.”

  Lucrezia nodded, her face flaming. She understood that, and yet every time the chieftain’s wife advanced upon her, she lost her nerve. Although she was loath to admit it, she wondered if Tarl had not been right after all. Perhaps she had been foolish to pursue this.

  “Pick up your sword and raise your shield,” Tea commanded, circling her. “Let’s go again.”

  Doing as bid, Lucrezia flexed her fingers on the hilt of the practice sword and gamely lifted her rectangular shield with her left arm. Although it was made of pine, the shield was starting to make her arm ache; she was weaker than she realized. The warriors made this look much easier than it really was.

  “Bend your knees,” Tea continued, “and stop hiding behind your shield. It’s not just there to protect you—use it to fight with. Our shields aren’t large, so it’s not going to offer you a lot of protection. Move with it.”

  Lucrezia swallowed. “I’ll try.”

  The pair of them sparred alone in the fighting enclosure. It was a drizzly chill morning, just after dawn, and when Lucrezia had crawled from her furs she had asked herself what she was doing. He decision to start her warrior training had not seemed such a bright one as she stumbled out into the dark morning.

  “I’m going to take a swing at you,” Tea told her, continuing to circle her like a wolf. “And I want to you to block my blade. Use your shield, not your sword, and extend your shield arm with force.”

  “Very well,” Lucrezia replied, with more confidence than she actually felt.

  A heartbeat later, Tea attacked. Lucrezia hastily raised her shield, although the blow of impact sent her stumbling back. The edge of the shield smacked her across the bridge of her nose, making her eyes water.

  “Not strong enough,” Tea barked. “Every movement you make has to have force behind it. Focus!”

  “I thought I was,” Lucrezia muttered.

  Tea shook her head. “Think on someone who has angered you.” She favored Lucrezia with a wicked smile. “Next time I attack, imagine it’s their face you’re slamming your shield into.”

  Lucrezia snorted. They both knew who Tea had in mind. She thought on her conversation with Tarl days earlier. He had been so rude, so dismissive. They had avoided each other since, and she intended to go on ignoring him. Anger surged within her as she remembered the mockery on his face when she had shared her plans with him. Then she recalled how he had never intended to free her, and her ire rose further.

  “I’m ready,” she said between gritted teeth, circling Tea and bending her knees as instructed. “Come at me again.”

  Tea did, grinning savagely. This time the woman held nothing back. She swung her wooden sword in a wide arc at Lucrezia’s head. It was a violent blow, and would have knocked Lucrezia out, if it had found its mark.

  But Lucrezia was ready for her. Channeling all the frustration of the past few days—the powerlessness she had felt on the journey here—she slammed her shield up with the full force of her anger behind it.

  The blade and sword collided with a resounding thud, but Lucrezia did not stumble back. Instead she drove forward, forcing Tea to dance back a few paces.

  When she lowered her shield, she saw Tea was still smiling. “That’s better,” she said with a nod. “You’ve got promise.”

  Dripping with sweat, her body aching, Lucrezia left the practice yard and wandered through the village beyond the fort. Although it was a cool morning, she longed to douse herself with a bucket of cold water, for her body glowed like an ember. Her sparring with Tea had invigorated her. After a shaky start, she had surprised them both by her rapid improvement.

  She would go into the tower in a short while, and help prepare the noon meal. But first she needed to wash and cool down. There was a well in the center of the village—a lichen-encrusted ring of stones where a group of women were washing clothes. It was not the place to strip off and bathe, so instead Lucrezia left the village through the southern gate and made her way down a steep row of steps cut into the rocky hillside.

  Her bare feet sank into the fine pebbles upon the shingle shore below, and she crunched her way to the water’s edge. The fort, partially shrouded by a fine mist of drizzle this morning, reared above her. There did not appear to be anyone watching, but to give herself some privacy she walked farther along the shoreline before stripping off her sweaty clothing.

  Lucrezia had dressed for practice in a long plaid skirt with splits in the sides, and a leather ves
t. Underneath she wore a thin linen tunic that reached mid-thigh, which she kept on as she waded into the water.

  The chill made her gasp. There were lakes near her family’s villa north of Rome—the long extinct craters of volcanoes—where she had swum often both as a child and before her marriage. However, the water had never been this cold, even in the depths of winter.

  Gritting her teeth against it, Lucrezia waded in farther. Then she took a deep breath and plunged into the clear water. It slid over her heated limbs like icy silk, washing away the sweat of the morning’s training. It was so cold that it made her eyeballs ache and drove the air from her lungs, but she swam on until she was nearly a furlong distant from the shore.

  There, she floated on her back and looked up at the grey sky, enjoying the feel of the misty air upon her face. The initial shock of cold had subsided a little, although she could feel her body going numb. She would not be able to stay in for much longer.

  She remained in the water for as long as she could stand it and then swam back to the shore. Lucrezia waded out onto the shingle bank. Her skin tingled now; she had never felt more alive. Even on a grey morning like this, she enjoyed the majestic beauty of this spot, and looking across the great expanse of water before her. Loch Slapin was a salt-water lake that eventually opened out into a vast sea that stretched west. Eithni had told her that this island had many such lakes, hence The Winged Isle’s unusual shape.

  Lucrezia was still in her wet shift—wringing out her sodden hair while she looked west—when she heard the crunch of footfalls behind her.

  She whipped round, heart pounding. She had felt so at peace, so safe out here, but in an instant she realized it was merely an illusion. The reality was that she was alone and vulnerable. Had one of the men followed her from the fort?

  Relief caught in her throat when Tarl appeared—a tall broad shouldered figure in the drifting mist.

  Seeing Lucrezia standing there at the water’s edge, he pulled up short. Surprise flickered across his face.

  “Gods … you haven’t been swimming, have you? The water’s freezing this time of year.”

  His gaze then shifted from her face, traveling down her body. The wet tunic clung to her. Lucrezia glanced down to see that the sodden material was transparent. She may as well have been standing naked before him.

  She looked up to see Tarl’s eyes had turned smoky, his expression tightening. There was no missing the naked desire that flashed across his face.

  Flustered, Lucrezia decided to go on the attack. “Did you follow me?” she accused, forcing herself not to cover her body up, not to cringe away from him. There was little point in cowering now. It would not erase what he had seen.

  Tarl frowned. “Someone saw you leaving—I wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to run off again.”

  Lucrezia’s own gaze narrowed. “I told you I wouldn’t. You doubt my word?”

  “You have your freedom now. I thought you might decide to leave.”

  She huffed a breath. “I don’t know where you think I’d go.” She gestured to the loch behind her. “Did you think I was going to try and swim across to the mainland?”

  His mouth curved. “Well, if you did you’d be swimming in the wrong direction.”

  “I know that,” she snapped, before reaching for her plaid skirt. “I’m not an idiot.”

  He watched her, the humor fading from his face. “Are we to be enemies then, Lucrezia?”

  The way he said her name caused a thrill to feather across her skin. He angered her, offended her, and yet whenever he was near she felt a strange excitement curl in the pit of her belly. Tarl was looking at her with an intensity this morning, a hunger, she had never seen before on his face. It made warmth steal over her chilled limbs, and caused her breathing to quicken.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she stepped into her skirt, belted it and reached for her vest. Her under-tunic was still sodden, but she would be damned if she was going to stand here wet and shivering while he stared at her.

  “You made that choice,” she replied coolly. “I wanted us to be friends at least, but you threw it back at me.” She glared at him then. “I don’t know why I even felt concern for a man who would have kept me as his whore.”

  Tarl moved then, crossing the few yards between them. His closeness was disturbing, but Lucrezia held his gaze. “You would never have been that,” he said, his face more serious than she had ever seen it.

  She shook her head, denying his words. “You wanted me as your bed slave. You would never have let me go.” She stepped back from him, cool air rushing between them. He was standing too close, and despite her anger, his nearness rattled her. “I was just your possession—and now you’re sore because your war prize wants nothing to do with you.”

  His expression hardened. “Is that how you feel? So you hate me?”

  She thinned her lips, fighting an odd blend of confusion, longing, and hurt that bubbled just beneath her outrage. She did not want to be cruel, but it was hard not to lash out at him.

  Every time she looked at Tarl, she recalled how her life had been torn apart. Her training with Tea this morning had been hard, but it showed her that another future was possible—one where she could slowly heal.

  “I wish to leave the past behind,” she said, turning from him. “Please stay away from me, Tarl.”

  Tarl watched Lucrezia walk away, back toward the fort. Her long skirt swished around her legs, her back and shoulders were stiff.

  He would never have come after her, if he had thought it would upset her so much. He had offended her far more deeply than he had realized.

  No one had told him she had left the fort. He had come looking for her, and had seen her leave through the south gate. His excuse for why he had come after her had been a lie too—he had not thought she would try and escape. Instead he had wanted to speak to her. It had been in his mind to apologize, yet when she went on the attack his shield had gone up. Now she had made it clear; he was to leave her alone.

  Muttering a curse, Tarl dragged a hand through his hair.

  The sight of her, standing upon the water’s edge, would remain with him for the rest of his days. He would never forget the way the wet linen clung to her curves, showing off those magnificent dark-tipped breasts, and the dark nest of hair between her thighs.

  She had looked like a female selkie, come ashore in search of a lover.

  Tarl inhaled deeply; if only she had been one of those mythical creatures. The story went that if a man stole a female selkie’s skin, she would be in his power, and would be forced to become his wife—never to return to the sea.

  Then perhaps not—he had already seen how Lucrezia reacted to being his possession. She was right—he had not wanted to let her go. He would never have forced himself upon her, but he would have kept her with him in his alcove every night in the hope she would one day give in to the attraction that smoldered between them.

  That dream was over, he realized, disappointment a heavy stone in his gut. He would just need to accept it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hunting with Hawks

  Three months later …

  the clash of wooden swords echoed high above the fort.

  Tarl wandered toward the warriors’ fighting enclosure, his gaze alighting upon the two figures who fought within: one tall and statuesque, the other small and curvaceous.

  He approached the wooden perimeter fence and leaned up against it, watching the two women feint, parry, and attack. A surprised smile curved his mouth as he watched Lucrezia fight. Tea and Alpia had taught her well; she moved with lithe self-assurance, using her smaller size and agility to her advantage.

  She ducked now, her long braid flying behind her, as Alpia’s blade whistled above her head. A moment later she danced sideways, nimble as a cat.

  Tarl’s gaze devoured her. It was almost impossible to concentrate on her fighting technique when she was dressed like that. Two scraps of plaid covered her supple lush body: one over
her breasts and the other over her loins, leaving her shapely legs bare. She wore light leather sandals on her feet, and sturdy leather bracers over her tanned forearms.

  Tarl stared at Lucrezia, tracking her across the enclosure. They were in the months of The Maiden—the goddess of spring, new life, and fertility—and this woman looked like the goddess herself come to life.

  It was then that he saw Lucrezia spy him out of the corner of her eye. In an instant her calm self-assurance faltered. She stumbled, and Alpia was on her—knocking her flat on her back.

  Standing over her fallen opponent, Alpia cast a wry look in Tarl’s direction before her attention returned to Lucrezia. She held out her hand and pulled the smaller woman to her feet, a grin splitting her face. “I know he’s a fine-looking man, but you let the sight of him distract you in battle and you’ll end up with a blade in your belly.”

  Tarl saw Lucrezia’s face flush. She clambered to her feet and brushed herself, casting Tarl a dark look. “He was staring—it put me off,” she muttered.

  Tarl laughed, his gaze still upon her. “Alpia’s right. A warrior doesn’t let herself be distracted.”

  Lucrezia glowered at him, her jaw clenching. “Did you want something, Tarl—or did you just wander over here to get on my nerves?”

  He held her gaze. “As tempting as that is … I’m actually here on behalf of Galan. He’s organizing a hunting party for this afternoon and wanted to know if you two were interested?”

  “Aye,” Alpia said, still grinning. “I’ll join you.”

  Tarl nodded, his attention never leaving Lucrezia’s face. “And you, Lucrezia. Fancy a ride out, and a bit of hawking?”

  He could see she was tempted. It had been a wet cold spring so far and today was bright and sunny. Perfect for getting out of the fort and going for a ride.

  “Of course,” he continued. “There’s leather to be cured, and fowl to be plucked … if you’d prefer to stay behind?”