Barbarian Slave

by Jayne Castel

  “What does this mean, Ruith?” Lucrezia asked. “Surely Tarl will die if he goes to meet Wurgest alone?”

  The bandruí glanced at her. Ruith’s eyes were sharp, although she favored Lucrezia with an enigmatic smile. “I will have to cast the bones to seek an answer,” she replied, “although I wouldn’t look so worried. Tarl is his father’s son—a born warrior. Wurgest will have a hard time beating him.”

  Lucrezia gritted her teeth, irritated by the seer’s flippancy. “That might be so, but he’s still taking a huge risk.”

  Ruith gave her a long look. “I see you care what happens to him.”

  Lucrezia swallowed. “No … I only—”

  “Come to my hut tomorrow morning.” Ruith’s smile turned knowing. “We shall cast the bones together and see what the future holds for our brave but headstrong Tarl.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Divination

  lucrezia almost did not go to Ruith’s home the following morning.

  Eithni had left their dwelling early to visit Mael, whose little daughter had a fever. As such, Lucrezia broke her fast alone while listening to the wind gusting against the stone and mud walls. Usually she enjoyed her morning oatcakes with butter, but today they just stuck in her throat.

  We can cast the bones together.

  Lucrezia was not sure she wanted to suffer through Ruith’s knowing smiles and off-hand comments about how Lucrezia felt about Tarl. Truthfully, she was not sure herself these days.

  She felt on-edge, confused.

  When Tarl had told Galan he would face Wurgest alone, it had seemed as if a giant hand had just reached inside her chest and ripped her heart out. Even now she felt sick at the thought of any harm coming to him.

  Fool-hardy idiot. Lucrezia got to her feet and brushed oatcake crumbs off her skirt.

  Outdoors it was a grey breezy morning. The wind which whistled across the exposed headland was not cold, although it had drops of rain in it. Lucrezia’s hair blew across her face as she walked the few yards between Eithni and Ruith’s abodes. She liked how women could live alone here, safe within the walls of the fort. As the resident healer and seer, they both held special status and privileges, and so enjoyed a freedom that Lucrezia had never known.

  Lucrezia glanced up at the darkening sky. She would have to meet Alpia for sword practice soon; she would not be able to linger at Ruith’s home.

  Just as well … I should never have agreed to come.

  She walked up the path, in-between unruly growths of rosemary, sage, and thyme, and knocked on the seer’s front door.

  “Come in,” Ruith’s voice reached her.

  Lucrezia pushed the door open and stepped inside. The hovel was much the same as the one she shared with Eithni, although this one was smokier and messier. Ruith was not as tidy as Eithni; there were piles of drying herbs everywhere, and Lucrezia had to step over an iron pot filled with something foul-smelling in order to enter.

  Ruith was squatting next to the fire pit, eating an oatcake. She smiled at Lucrezia. “Good morning, would you like a cake?”

  Lucrezia shook her head. “I’ve just eaten.”

  The bandruí rose to her feet, her smile widening. “Let’s get started then.”

  She reached into her voluminous skirt and produced a handful of worn pieces of bone with symbols inscribed upon them. The seer held them out for Lucrezia to inspect. “These are my telling bones.”

  Lucrezia peered down. Upon closer inspection she could see the designs were quite intricate. Some were of animals and birds—she recognized a stag, a wolf, an eagle, a boar, and a serpent—while others were a collection of odd symmetrical patterns and rods. “And the marks upon them?”

  “The people of this isle use these symbols to tell our stories. I use these carven bones to divine the future.”

  Lucrezia glanced up, her gaze meeting Ruith’s. “And do they always tell the truth?”

  The bandruí gave her an amused look. “It depends.”

  Ruith moved to the center of the floor and cleared a pile of rags out of the way so that there was a patch of dirt free. Then she squatted once more and glanced over at Lucrezia. “Ask a question, and we shall see if the bones have an answer.”

  Lucrezia inhaled deeply. She had been afraid of this; she should have known Ruith would try to corner her.

  “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Ask them if Tarl’s decision is wise.”

  Ruith shook her head and clicked her tongue. “No—you must be more specific than that.”

  Lucrezia inhaled deeply; she felt trapped. After a few moments she wet her lips and met the seer’s eye. “Will Tarl fall?”

  Ruith’s face was expressionless as she turned her attention away and cast the bones across the dirt floor. Then she leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she struggled to read the bones in the dim light.

  Lucrezia watched, her chest tightening. I shouldn’t have come here.

  The bandruí took a while to study the bones, and with each passing moment Lucrezia grew tenser. The silence could not mean anything good.

  “What do you see?” she asked, when the waiting became too much. “Does it bode ill for him?”

  Ruith glanced up, and the look on her face caused a chill to feather down Lucrezia’s neck.

  “Aye,” she replied softly, before glancing back at the bones, as if hoping to see something different. “The Eagle and The Boar have fallen side by side, with the Speared Serpent above them. If my divination is correct, Tarl will be deceived … and then both he and Wurgest will fall.”

  Lucrezia strode through the fort, circuiting the squat stone tower and making her way toward the warriors’ fighting enclosure. She was a little early for her practice with Alpia, but after what Ruith had told her, she could not remain with the bandruí. Nor could she return to the dwelling she shared with Eithni.

  Dressed for practice, with two lengths of plaid wrapped around her loins and breasts, Lucrezia walked barefoot this morning. The damp wind gusted in from Loch Slapin, but she did not notice it. Instead her thoughts had turned inward.

  A sickly hollow feeling had taken up residence in her belly.

  Tarl will fall.

  She did not want to believe it, but like the other folk at Dun Ringill she had come to trust Ruith. The seer’s final words before Lucrezia departed still rang in her ears.

  The future is not written in stone. It shifts like sand on the shore, like reeds in the wind. Every act in the present has the power to change it. Now that you have a glimpse of what will come to pass … you have a choice to make.

  Lucrezia did not understand what Ruith meant. Her words seemed more like a riddle than advice, and her head hurt as she went over that conversation again and again. She could not help but feel that Ruith had just placed a terrible responsibility upon her shoulders.

  Maybe I can stop this.

  She arrived at the enclosure to see three pairs of warriors sparring. Tarl was among them. He fought a big man named Lutrin, and held his own easily against him. Lucrezia stopped at the edge of the enclosure, her attention riveted upon Tarl.

  The sight of him made her belly pitch, as if she had just jumped down from a high wall. Her gaze traveled over the muscular planes of his bare chest, and up to where his brown hair curled at the base of his neck. His handsome face was stern with concentration this morning, his eyes narrowed. He did not see her; his entire focus was on his opponent.

  Lucrezia drew in a ragged breath. What did this man actually mean to her?

  First my savior, then my captor … who is he now?

  She had done her best to put him out of her head over the past few days, but with each passing moment it became more difficult. If anything, she grew more aware of him; breathless whenever their gazes locked, flustered whenever he spoke to her. She still remembered that kiss on the journey here—how, despite her outrage, it had been the most exciting thing she had ever experienced.

  He was arrogant and bull-headed, and yet there was
a nobility, a courage, to this man that she had never seen in another. He had risked his life for her, a complete stranger, and in spite of his cocky manner had never attempted to force himself on her. And now he was ready to lay down his life to ensure the peace between two tribes lasted.

  Lucrezia’s eyelids stung, but she blinked back the tears. The man was too proud, stubborn to a fault. She had to talk to him, had to make him see sense.

  She continued to watch the two warriors spar. Now that she trained, she had a new appreciation for Tarl’s ability. Lutrin was big, nearly the same size as Wurgest, but Tarl used his own lighter build to his advantage. He moved lithely around the bigger man, not expending any more energy than necessary. Tea had explained to Lucrezia that it was also a female warrior’s advantage. She had told her that even the strongest woman could not match a small man in strength; instead she had to use her speed, agility, and wits against him.

  Eventually Tarl bested Lutrin, with a move that sent the warrior sprawling onto his side. Tarl leaped forward, kicked the wooden practice sword from Lutrin’s hand and stood over him grinning. “Yield?”

  Lutrin huffed, his face gleaming with sweat. “Aye—if you’re going to fight dirty again.”

  Tarl laughed. “Sometimes it’s the only way to win.” He straightened up and drew his forearm across his brow. An instant later he saw Lucrezia. Their gazes met and held, and for once she did not look away.

  Instead she stared back boldly, her breath catching at the intensity in his eyes and the devouring way he looked at her. Excitement feathered within her. Try as she might she could not deny her attraction to this man. He might be the most aggravating individual she had ever met, but at that moment she ached for him.

  She watched Tarl’s lips part, saw the naked hunger in his eyes. Suddenly the cool spring morning felt airless and overly warm.

  Lucrezia swallowed and made a valiant attempt to regain her equilibrium. If she was going to speak to him, she needed to be cool-headed. She could not let the unsettling emotions and desires that swamped her whenever Tarl was near take over.

  Not when his life was at stake.

  “Ready for practice?” Alpia appeared at Lucrezia’s side, shattering the tension. Although Alpia’s tone was light, Lucrezia saw the strain on her friend’s face, the worry in her eyes as her gaze settled upon Tarl. Lucrezia was not the only one concerned about Tarl’s impending fight with Wurgest.

  Lucrezia turned to her and forced a smile. “Aye …”

  In reality, she was not in the mood for it this morning. Her attention could not shift from Tarl; she had to get him alone so she could speak to him, make him cast this foolishness aside.

  She glanced back at the enclosure to see Tarl depart. He shouted a good-natured insult over his shoulder at Lutrin and walked toward the armory; the low-slung windowless building on the far side of the enclosure.

  Lucrezia opened the gate to the fighting enclosure and gave Alpia another quick smile. “I shall get a shield and sword. Back soon.”

  Without another word, she hurried after Tarl.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Meeting in the Armory

  tarl had his back to her when she entered the armory.

  It was dim in this windowless building, the only light coming from a single cresset that burned on the left wall. Tarl was hanging up his practice sword upon a rack. He was the only one there, although the muted sounds from the warriors a few yards away as they resumed practice drifted in through the open door.

  Lucrezia halted in the doorway. She had come after him on impulse, but now that they were alone, she was suddenly unsure of herself. Things were never easy between her and Tarl. Just a few shared words could easily escalate into an argument. Will he even listen to me?

  Chastising herself for being a coward, Lucrezia inhaled deeply and cleared her throat. “Tarl …”

  He turned, surprise flickering across his face. “Morning, Lucrezia.”

  She took a hesitant step forward. Talking to him about this was going to be difficult enough as it was; she could not hesitate or she would lose her courage.

  “Ruith cast the bones,” she blurted the words out. “Your fight tomorrow bodes ill. You should not go.”

  As soon as she had spoken, Lucrezia cursed herself. She was the daughter of a senator and had seen many present an argument eloquently; and yet she stumbled over the words as if she was just learning how to speak.

  His gaze widened. “Is that so? What did Ruith say exactly?”

  “That you will be deceived. That both you and Wurgest will fall.”

  Tarl’s mouth thinned. “Then the fight doesn’t bode ill at all.”

  “But you will die.”

  His mouth twisted. “Aye—but if it keeps the peace then it will be for the best.”

  Lucrezia moved toward him. “How can you say that? Why would you cast your life away as if it means nothing?”

  He frowned. “You’re questioning my decision?”

  “Yes … it’s rash and foolish.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Nothing changes then. I’m merely acting true to character.” He stepped forward so that they stood barely more than two feet apart. “Why break the habit of a lifetime?”

  “To save your own neck,” she shot back. “No one wants you to go tomorrow. Galan and Donnel think you’re mad to face Wurgest alone.”

  Tarl’s jaw tightened. “In the same situation, both of them would do as I am. My honor is at stake. If I don’t face Wurgest, I will carry the stain of cowardice with me for the rest of my days.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Despite her promise to herself to keep her temper, Lucrezia could feel her ire rising. She did not understand this man’s pig-headedness. “The gods take your honor. You’re playing into Wurgest’s hands. Did you hear what I just said? Ruith believes there is trickery involved. This is Wurgest’s ploy to get you alone. He wants revenge—he’s not interested in a fair fight between warriors.”

  Tarl folded his arms across his chest, his gaze narrowing. “Is that why you’re here, Lucrezia. To inform me about Wurgest’s treachery? Or is there another reason.”

  His arrogance infuriated her. Lucrezia clenched her fists at her sides and inhaled deeply, summoning the dregs of her patience. “What other reason would there be?” she growled.

  He stepped closer still, so close Lucrezia could feel the heat of his body, could see the light sheen of sweat over his bare torso. The scent of him caused her breathing to quicken, and her mouth went dry. Blinking, she forced herself to concentrate.

  “I don’t know … perhaps you are concerned for my wellbeing?”

  Lucrezia scowled. “I’m concerned you’re acting without thinking. I haven’t forgotten that you saved me from Wurgest. That’s what started this whole mess—I feel responsible.”

  His expression softened. “You’re not.”

  “I am if you go to fight Wurgest.”

  Tarl let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re like a dog with a bone, woman. Flaying me with your tongue will do no good. My mind is made up. I’m going tomorrow.”

  “Clod-headed, conceited mule!” Lucrezia’s temper spilled over. Without thinking, she struck out, pushing hard against his chest. However, it was like shoving a stone wall; he did not budge. “Go then. Fall on your sword and stain the ground crimson. See if I care!”

  She spun round to leave, but he caught her by the arm, hauling her round and into his arms.

  His mouth claimed hers, cutting off her cry of protest. And like that day in the tent all those months ago, the instant his lips pressed against hers Lucrezia was lost.

  Yet this kiss was different. The first one had been a surprise, a stolen moment; this one had many moons of things unsaid, heated looks, and building tension behind it.

  Tarl’s tongue parted her lips and slid into her mouth. The sensation was so exciting that Lucrezia melted against him; a cry escaping her. Tarl’s answering growl made wild need rear within her.

  Her hands wen
t up, pressing against the hard wall of his naked chest. She could feel one of his hands splay possessively across the back of her head, while the other slid down her back and pressed her hard against him.

  Lucrezia groaned and gave herself up to the feel of his tongue dancing with hers, the rasp of his stubbled cheek against her sensitive skin. Her arms went around his neck. Her breasts arched forward, pressing against him.

  Tarl spun her round, two steps bringing them hard against the wooden framed wall. A sharp edge bit into Lucrezia’s back, but she paid it no mind. Hot need consumed her; she devoured Tarl as if she was starving and he her last morsel. She twisted her body against him, frustrated by the straps of plaid and leather separating their bare skin. Then she bit his bottom lip, her fingernails digging into his bare shoulders.

  In response Tarl went wild, both hands cupping the back of her head as he savaged her mouth. She could feel the hard length of his shaft pressing against her belly. She did not care that the other warriors were barely more than ten feet away, that the door to the armory was open. All she wanted was to rip open Tarl’s tight leather breeches and spread her legs for him.

  She was just moments from succumbing completely, from losing the last shreds of inhibition. Too long had she denied this. She stood on the edge of a yawning precipice, one she yearned to throw herself over.

  The sound of a cough intruded.

  Tarl tensed, tore his mouth from hers and angled his head toward the open door. Breathing hard, Lucrezia followed his gaze.

  Alpia and Lutrin stood there. The male warrior carried an armload of weapons, while Alpia had come looking for Lucrezia after she did not reappear from the armory. Both of them wore stunned expressions, although Alpia swiftly recovered. She favored Lucrezia with a conspirator’s wink.

  “I can see you’re in the mood for practicing with a different type of sword this morning,” she said with a grin. “We should leave you to it.”