Maven shuddered with fear. And maybe also a hint of unbidden anticipation.
Chapter Six
The next day dawned clear and bright, the sun beaming through the high, thin, open-air windows of the fortress. Even so, Maven’s heart brimmed with darkness and dread as she sullenly made her way toward the great hall.
Lavonia had dressed her in the finest silken frock she’d ever owned. Made just for this occasion, it was the color of the sky in spring and draped her curves in a way that struck her as both elegant and provocative. Her bound hair was twisted with a shimmery ribbon of the same hue. She felt beautiful…and doomed.
When she entered the hall, only her mother and father awaited her, for unlike the wedding celebration she would have with Dane after they reached Rawley, the Giving Ceremony was a private affair, an ancient tradition practiced by the royal and other upper-class families who had something to gain by arranging their daughters’ marriages.
Her father looked as majestic as ever seated on his throne, and her mother appeared equally as regal, adorned in a dress of gray so pale it seemed almost silver. Before them on the floor lay a large white silk pillow, which she knew was to be her place until summoned during the ceremony, but she didn’t settle upon it just yet. She had one last plea to make.
She had never begged for anything in her life—and she detested being lowered to do it now, but it was her last hope. She dropped to her knees before her father’s throne and looked up at him.
“Father, I beg of you, do not do this! Do not give me to that man!”
Her father tilted his head and she could have sworn she saw sympathy in his gaze, but he only said, “It is done, daughter.”
Maven’s eyes fell shut in despair, but then she opened them wide, beseeching him once more. “Please! Please don’t make me go! I’m…” Oh Ares, she hated to admit this, but… “I’m afraid of him.”
Above her, Enrick let out an enormous sigh. “Your mother has expressed to me your worries, Maven.” So her mother hadn’t forsaken her as she’d thought. “But my decision stands. For the good of you, and for the good of our land, you will marry Dane of Rawley, and that’s final.”
Final, was it? Well, perhaps so, and there was nothing she could do about it, but she wouldn’t go without letting her father know what she thought. “For the good of you, you mean. To make sure you never lose power over Caralon. You’ve traded me like a slab of meat at market just to ensure you’ll always be ruler.”
Her father’s eyes darkened and she waited for him to lash out at her, but instead he took a deep breath and spoke calmly. “I love you, Maven, so I forgive you for what you just accused me of. Now I suggest you take your seat and be silent.” He pointed a long, commanding finger toward the white pillow below her mother’s throne.
Maven’s heart hardened even more than it already had. If he loved her, he had an odd way of showing it. Even now, knowing she was afraid, and after she’d stooped to begging him, he was still going to give her to the beast of the north. She lowered herself onto the pillow and stared at the floor, unwilling to look at her father any longer.
Just then, the large wooden door at the back of the hall opened and one of her father’s serving men stepped inside. “Dane of Rawley has arrived, Your Rulership.”
Maven’s skin prickled.
“Show him in,” her father said.
Maven’s heart felt as if it would leap from her chest as her soon-to-be husband entered the room. She didn’t look up, suddenly deciding to feign disinterest altogether, but she could feel his enormous presence the moment he came in. Each step he took toward them seemed to reverberate through the large space. From the corner of her eye, she could see he was a large, muscular man—frighteningly so, just as she’d expected. His hair looked dark, longish.
Oh Ares—she was dying inside with wanting to look at him, but she didn’t wish to give him, or her father, the satisfaction. Even so, the longer she sat there, and the closer Dane drew, she simply couldn’t resist subtly lifting her gaze.
What she saw left her utterly stunned. He was broad-shouldered, fierce-looking, and clearly capable of all the brutalities she feared, yet at the same time a shocking sexuality radiated from him. His hair was a darker brown than Donnell’s, his face roughly hewn and handsome, his stubble-covered jaw strong and commanding. He wore dark brown pants of soft leather, though his muscled chest was bare but for two crisscrossing strips of brown hide. Sinewy muscles filled out his arms as well, down to his wrists, which were circled by thick leather bands. It was all she could do not to tremble.
It was only then that she realized he wasn’t even looking at her. At all. A fresh burst of outrage filled her, but she forced herself to keep still and quiet.
“Welcome, Dane of Rawley,” her father said when the ferocious-looking man finally stood before him.
“Enrick,” he replied, his voice deep, self-assured.
“My wife, Jalal,” her father said, motioning to his right.
Dane gave her a short nod—and still he had not deigned to even glance at Maven.
“I have promised you my eldest daughter,” her father said, and she recognized this as the beginning of the short ceremony which Lavonia had given her the details of last night.
Dane simply nodded, another short, casual gesture—as if she were nothing.
“Do you vow you can provide her with a comfortable life?”
Lavonia had explained that these questions were a matter of tradition and formality.
Dane pointed to the thick strips of leather crossing his chest. Only then did she notice the little studs of silver that lined them. “This is but a small measure of the wealth I possess. And you have been to my home, Enrick, and seen that it is fine and well-protected. Let these things answer your question.”
Her father nodded, looking impressed. She supposed that was because, according to Lavonia, most men gave a simple answer of yes.
“And do you vow you can fulfill her physical needs and get her with child, so that my line is guaranteed to continue?”
To Maven’s surprise, Dane reached down and began to unlace the top of his pants. Surely he was not going to—oh, dear Ares, his cock shot forth, fully erect and…enormous! She’d thought Donnell big last night, but Dane was—Ares above—sizably larger! Impossibly so. The sight nearly stole her breath, and her eyes remained so glued to the immense shaft that she hadn’t a clue how her parents were reacting to this unexpected sight.
“Let this answer that question, Enrick,” he said. “She will be well pleased, and she will bear children.”
Finally, Maven managed to shift her glance higher, to her mother and father. Both looked highly impressed, even more than they had after his last answer.
“Very well, then,” her father said. “I send her with you having no doubts on either count.”
Dane gave another slight nod, then worked to recapture his cock within the leather confinement of his pants. Maven couldn’t help noticing that it was clearly difficult for him to contain the monstrous rod, and her mind whirled with what this meant for her. Lavonia had promised big was good, pleasurable, but how in Ares’ name would she be able to take it inside her? Her stomach skittered nervously at the intimidating vision in her head, until finally she realized she was missing the rest of the ceremony.
“Maven, stand and take Dane’s hands,” her father was saying.
She pushed to her feet, feeling bereft and abandoned. She glanced once, quickly, toward her mother and father, but then turned her eyes on Dane. Even now that she was on her feet, he stood a full head taller than her, and the breadth of his chest and shoulders made her feel like a tiny child in comparison.
When she didn’t move quickly enough to take his large hands, he captured her much smaller ones in a warm, possessive grip.
“I hereby give to you my daughter, Maven of Myrtell, Maven of the House of Enrick. She now belongs to you, Dane of Rawley.”
* * * * *
The next three days a
nd nights were surreal for Maven. During the day, she was toted over the hills flowering with summer blooms and through the lush, green valleys headed northward, carried on a grand throne by twelve men. At night, she was sent into a large tent with lavish amenities—the largest viewing glass she’d ever seen, as well as ancient brass candlesticks, clearly from the Before Times and certainly very expensive. Yet through all of this, no one spoke to her unless entirely necessary. Even the maid who’d been assigned to help her dress each morning exchanged as few words with her as possible.
Lavonia had warned her it would be this way until after the wedding, explaining that until she was Dane’s wife, she was an outsider, and that in order to make her feel more reliant on Dane—more like the possession to him that she was—his staff would likely be instructed not to befriend her just yet. It seemed insane that she should be carried about as if she were a high-ranking person of respect, yet at the same time treated with near-disdain by all she came into contact with.
As for her husband-to-be, she’d seen little of him. He’d drawn her wordlessly by the hand from the great hall right after the Giving Ceremony, through a crowd of spectators who’d gathered to see her off, and into the huge caravan that had accompanied him here—likely in a show of power, she later decided. He’d led her to the fine chair she’d occupied for three days now, then disappeared until they’d stopped for lunch that day.
She’d been shown to a table set just for the two of them and waited as he approached on a particularly fine-looking stallion—just one of the astonishing number of horses she’d noticed in the caravan. They painted Dane as a very wealthy man, even more than she’d known, given the scarcity and value of such animals. Until now, she’d never known anyone to own them other than her father.
When he’d sat down across from her, she’d been keenly aware of their knees touching underneath. “I trust the ride has been pleasant enough,” he’d said casually, as if they’d known each other for years.
She’d nodded, trying to appear disinterested in him. “Fine.” Then she’d fiddled with the food she’d been given for lunch, inspecting the bread before she ate it, just to make sure there were no maggots.
“Lunch isn’t to your liking?” he asked, sounding only slightly annoyed.
“It’s fine,” she said again, but made sure to grimace slightly when she bit into the bread.
“Look, my little bride,” he’d said, his voice going deeper than she’d heard it before, “your father warned me you’d likely not be fond of this union, but being surly won’t make it go away.”
She’d raised her eyes to his for the first time—and Ares, they were the darkest brown she’d ever seen, and so engulfing, almost hypnotic. The very sight of him, his strong and undeniably handsome face so close to hers, made her pull back slightly, then force out words she determined he should hear. “I’ve heard the stories about you, and if you think I shall simply bend to your will, you are sadly mistaken.”
It completely unnerved her when he responded by letting his full mouth quirk into a small smile. “Come now, do I seem so very terrible?”
Something about the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke made her stomach churn and her pussy tense. She steeled herself, trying to fight it off, trying to be the strong woman she knew she could be. “You cannot make me like you, so you need not even try.”
His smile faded and her blood ran cold. “I’ll promise you this. You may not like me, Maven, but you will crave me.”
Heat infused her face as her chest tightened. “I think not,” she said staunchly.
At that, he’d only laughed—a deep, hearty laugh, as if she’d just said something hysterically funny—then got up and walked away.
Since then, she’d seen him only in passing, and he’d not even joined her for meals. Not that she cared—eating alone was much more pleasant. But her skin crawled whenever she began to wonder just how much she had angered him—and what he might intend to do about it once they were wed.
Now, she towered on her throne once more and from the shouts of those in the caravan, the fortress that had just come into view was their destination, Dane’s home.
Dear Ares, help me survive this.
They were here. And now it would begin.
Not only had the last three days been surreal, they had been a reprieve. But now the reprieve was over and nothing could save her. Nothing except maybe her strength.
* * * * *
Dane rode high on the back of his favorite mount when his fortress came into view. Cheers went up from the caravan, and he, too, was glad to be back.
His virgin bride-to-be, however, reacted not at all. He rode slightly behind her and his eyes had been drawn to her for the past few hours. Likely just because of the dress she wore, though—the leather had been dyed a lovely hue the color of artichoke. As Enrick had warned, the girl was beautiful but headstrong, and beautiful women were in ample supply, so given her resistant will, his only interest in her now was that of conquering her.
Had the girl been cordial, or even merely accepting of their impending marriage, it would have been enough to appease him for now. It would have kept his hopes for an amiable union in place. As it was, he found her insubordination irritating, and he meant to bring about a change in her attitude. He’d meant what he’d said—before this was over, she’d crave him. In fact, he’d decided, she would crave him sooner rather than later. She would crave him on her wedding night—he’d see to that.
Once her impertinence gave way to passion, perhaps they could have that happy marriage he’d hoped for. But now that he’d met her and gotten a taste of her dismissive tone and her determination not to attempt any sort of agreeable connection, he honestly didn’t expect the sort of change in her that would give them a peaceful matrimony. At best, he thought now, they might end up getting on well in bed, but likely no place else. And if her impertinence lasted, if she continued to resist him in even that way…well, she’d soon be brought to heel, one way or another.
Now that she’d challenged him, now that she’d insulted the man who was to be her husband, he burned to make her beg, burned to make her want him. And as he rode along behind her, watching her virginal blonde braid swish back and forth in time with the steps of the men who carried her, he vowed he would see it happen, no matter what lengths he must go to.
Chapter Seven
After returning to the fortress, Dane checked in with the guards who were responsible for keeping things in order while he was away. After determining all was well, he retired to his chambers for a brief rest.
As he lay on the fur-covered bed, eyes shut, body tired, he became aware that his cock still throbbed with desire. He’d gotten the reaction he’d hoped for when he’d revealed the shaft during the Giving Ceremony—he’d intended for Enrick and his wife, not to mention his betrothed, to understand exactly the kind of power he wielded, both in battle and in the marriage bed. He’d wanted Enrick to understand that giving his daughter meant truly giving her up, handing her over to Dane in every way. And he’d wanted Maven to know she was his as well, and to realize she had no choice but to submit to this marriage.
He thought Enrick had gotten his intended message far better than his soon-to-be wife had, but she would get it soon enough.
Beneath her impudent expression, her breasts were round and likely creamy—her nipples had jutted through the silk dresses he’d seen her wear, and even the leather ones too. The two promising mounds struck him as larger and more mature than one could usually expect to find on a girl who’d just reached bride’s age. Her waist was slender, her hips pleasantly curved, her legs long and as silky as her best apparel.
It dawned on him that her pussy was likely just as silken and bare too. He’d ordered from a trader a supply of the ointment rich women used for hair removal, but he suspected she’d had the hair removed for the first time in preparation for the wedding. Without warning, he found himself fantasizing about touching her there, sinking his fingers into her slick, warm cun
t and making her sigh with pleasure.
He did want her—he wouldn’t deny that. But he didn’t like her, and still assumed that even after he conquered her sexually, sensual pleasures would remain the only thing amiable between them.
Ares, but his cock remained hungry and unruly, and thinking of his virgin bride only increased his appetite.
All things considered, he’d have been completely within his rights to call on the twins, or Calla of the beautiful lips made for sucking, to relieve him once the Giving Ceremony ended. In fact, he wasn’t certain why he hadn’t. Yes, he’d intended to save this frustrating mega-erection for deflowering his bride, but after her reaction to him, why bother?
In fact, given that the wedding would not happen until tomorrow night, why not summon Calla to his room right now and let her suck him into oblivion? He sat up in bed and swung his feet over the side to the floor, intending to ring for a maid to summon the eager blonde nymph.
But he stopped.
For some reason, thoughts of Maven returned. An image of her lovely face—along with the idea that she would be even lovelier if he ever saw her smile. Another image followed—of her pussy, bare and smooth, just for him.
Letting out a sigh, he pushed to his feet and exited his chamber, treading down the corridor toward the room where he’d instructed the girl be placed for now. Despite his good sense, he realized he wanted to give her another chance. He didn’t offer second chances to many, in any facet of life, but this, he remembered, was his marriage, something he wished to have succeed. It only made sense to try again to form a relationship with Enrick’s daughter.
He didn’t bother knocking when he reached her door, simply pushed it open and strode inside. She flinched at his entry, yanking a white cloth from her cleavage as her face turned a lovely shade of pink. Clearly, he’d caught her freshening up after the journey, and though it conflicted with his intent, he couldn’t be sorry to have caught her unawares and leave her a bit off balance.
Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One) Page 7