Wild Kingdom

by Deanna Ashford

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Deanna Ashford

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Copyright

  About the Book

  ‘Sarin was infuriated by his own weakness, knowing he could not fight her forever and fearing that one day soon his resolve would give way. Uselessly, he pulled at the chain that held his wrists together, knowing full well his bonds were far stronger than his own self-willed determination.

  ‘Come to my bedchamber, slave,’ he heard Danara say.’

  Salacious excesses abound as war rages in the mythical kingdom of Kabra. Prince Tarn is struggling to drive out the invading army while his bethrothed – the beautiful Rianna – has fled the fighting with the mysterious Baroness Crissana.

  But the baroness is a fearsome and depraved woman, and once they’re out of the danger zone she takes Rianna prisoner. Her plan is to present her as a plaything to her warlord half-brother, Ragnor. In order to rescue his sweetheart, Prince Tarn needs to join forces with his old enemy, Sarin, whose capacity for perverse delights knows no bounds.

  About the Author

  Deanna Ashford is the pseudonym of an author of historical, romantic and erotic fiction.

  She is the author of Barbarian Prize, Doctor’s Orders, Templar Prize and Wild Kingdom, all available from Black Lace.

  By the same author

  Savage Surrender

  Doctor’s Orders

  Barbarian Prize

  The Templar Prize

  Wild Kingdom

  Deanna Ashford

  Chapter One

  THE GREY SWIRLING mist was like a living entity, swallowing up the forest and the path ahead. Lady Rianna of Harn shivered, feeling as though she and her armed escort had strayed into some strange netherworld, where nothing existed but endless gloom. All she could hear were the muffled chink of armour, the rhythmic noise of the horses’ hoof-beats and an occasional strange, unidentifiable screeching from the forest that set her nerves on edge. The fog was so dense she could barely see the mounted man-at-arms in front of her, let alone the thick banner of trees which lined the narrow road.

  The chill dampness invaded Rianna’s weary limbs, numbing her fingers as she clutched on to her palfrey’s reins. They had been on the road for three days now and the journey had been long and hard. She was unused to riding so far and so fast in such inclement weather. She was close to exhaustion and dusk was approaching: it was imperative that they reach a safe place to spend the night.

  Captain Leon, and his small troop of well-armed soldiers, had been charged by her betrothed, Prince Tarn of Kabra, to escort her to the safe refuge of her father’s kingdom of Harn. With Tarn’s army increasing in size by the day, the final assault to drive the Percheron invaders from Kabra would soon be underway. This forest, which snaked along the borders between Kabra and Harn, was a haven for vagabonds and bandits. Captain Leon did not trouble to hide his concern as he constantly scanned the trees, which were still almost hidden by the drifting fog, looking for the slightest sign of anyone who might be about to attack.

  ‘It’s not far now, my lady,’ Captain Leon said, glancing over at Rianna. ‘The castle of Dane is close by.’

  As Leon spoke there was an unholy yell and a number of savage-looking creatures, dressed in outlandish garments and brandishing swords, leaped from the trees. One lunged towards Rianna’s palfrey. Startled, she gave a sharp scream and her mount began shying nervously. The horse surged forwards as Leon hit it hard across the rump with the flat of his sword.

  ‘Go!’ Leon shouted. ‘Ride for the castle.’

  Leon and his men were fighting for their lives. Rianna heard the resounding clang of metal against metal, punctuated by hoarse shouts and the loud cry of a wounded man. Yet she had no chance to even look back as her mount galloped wildly along the path and everything behind her was swallowed up by the mist. Filled with fear and anguish she struggled to control her horse, her heart beating out of control. She did not know how far it was to the sanctuary of the castle. The hood of her cloak fell from her head and tendrils of her red-gold hair escaped from their pins and whipped against her face as she prayed that Leon and his men would survive.

  The ominous thudding sound of hooves approaching behind her made Rianna dig her heels into her mare’s flanks, urge it into an even raster gallop. Then she saw the walls of the castle loom out of the fog just ahead. The gates were open but there were no men-at-arms on guard nor any sign of life at all. She galloped into the deserted bailey.

  She pulled agitatedly at the reins, her horse’s hooves sliding on the damp flagstones as she whirled around to face her pursuer. To her relief it was one of Leon’s men. He jumped from his horse and ran towards the gates, shouting loudly for someone to help him as he attempted to push one of the heavy oak doors shut.

  The soldier, who Captain Leon had sent ahead to announce their arrival and have the place properly prepared for Rianna, ran from the stables and was followed by a grubby, poorly dressed servant who wearily rubbed his eyes as if he’d just woken up. They put their shoulders to the oak gate, heaving one side into place but leaving the other partly open; they were ready to slam it shut if the bandits reached the castle before Captain Leon and his men.

  Rianna’s heart was still pounding as she clung to the reins of her weary mount and watched the gate as more servants appeared brandishing an assortment of weapons. She heard the drumming sound of horses approaching, then Leon appeared, holding aloft his bloodied sword, followed by a number of his men-at-arms. Rianna counted them as they entered the bailey, relieved to find that they were all safe. Leon rode straight over to Rianna and stopped his mount a few feet from hers. Foam flecked the horse’s mouth and steam rose from its flanks.

  ‘As soon as they realised what they were facing, the bandits retreated in disarray, dragging their wounded with them,’ Leon told Rianna, as the gates were slammed shut and barred by a heavy wooden beam almost the length of two grown men. ‘They were a ragged, poorly armed band, who would never dare attack this castle,’ he added reassuringly.

  ‘I was concerned for you all,’ Rianna said breathlessly, as she glanced around the bailey. The fortress was old and unimpressive: little more than a tall stone tower, surrounded by thick outer walls, and built, like many others, to protect the borders of Kabra. It was permeated by a very visible air of neglect. Chickens foraged amid the piles of rubbish heaped against the outer walls and, judging by the foul odour, excrement from the midden had not been cleared for many a long month. In the height of summer this place would be swarming with flies and disease, thought Rianna. For the first time on this journey, she was thankful that it was winter; it was so cold that every breath she expelled was visible in the chill air. Her horse snorted and lowered its head as she struggled to recover from her fright. She watched the soldiers dismount. They were still exhilarated from the brief battle and talked cheerfully among themselves as they led their horses to the stables.

  ‘My lady,’ Captain Leon said worriedly, ‘we must get you inside. It is cold and damp, if you remain here you’ll be chilled to the bone.’

  Rianna pushed back the stray strands of hair that had fallen across her face. Her ivory skin looked even paler in contrast to her still-flushed cheeks, and there were dark violet smudges of weariness under her large green eyes. Yet her dishevelled state only served to enhance her fragile beauty.

  �
�These last three days have not been an experience I would like to repeat often,’ she confessed. They had been forced to take a tortuous route in order to avoid groups of enemy soldiers, as the invading army of Percheron still retained control of large parts of Kabra despite Prince Tarn’s determined efforts to drive them from his land. ‘I will be glad of a hot bath and a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed,’ she continued, her voice trembling with tiredness.

  Rianna always rode astride, and as she tried to dismount her movements were hampered by the weight of her velvet cloak, which was now saturated by the heavy moisture in the air. She almost fell into Captain Leon’s waiting arms and his strong hands closed protectively around her waist. ‘I fear I pressed you too hard,’ he said softly, his handsome features etched with concern.

  ‘Prince Tarn ordered you to make haste and escort me to Harn with expediency, did he not?’

  ‘He did.’ Leon smiled tenderly at her, his hazel eyes filled with far more than just loyalty and concern. ‘And the sooner I deliver you to your father, the sooner I can return to fight by his side.’

  ‘And may the gods protect you all,’ Rianna said, leaning against Leon’s firm chest for a moment, comforted by his strength and the hardness of his muscular form.

  Most soldiers stank of leather, dirt and sweat, but she had noticed that Leon was fanatical about cleanliness and the odour of lemon verbena always scented his clothing.

  As his warm breath brushed her cheek a familiar lust flooded Rianna’s veins. She and her lover, Tarn, had barely spent a private moment together for weeks and she craved the loving caresses of a man’s hands and the joy of a hard male body in her bed at night.

  Rianna pulled away from Leon. He was charming and very attractive but no real substitute for Tarn – the man she loved and wanted to be with for the rest of her life. ‘We should make our way inside.’ She glanced around the gradually darkening bailey. ‘I trust that the inside of the keep is an improvement on this!’ she added.

  ‘Sir Olaf suggested his castle would provide a comfortable refuge on our journey east,’ Leon commented. ‘His staff have clearly grown slack and slovenly since his departure.’ Keeping a firm hold on her arm, he escorted Rianna up the slippery stone steps and into the castle.

  The great hall was dimly lit by smoking torches that gave off an acrid smell. It was sparsely furnished and the rushes were almost ankle deep on the floor. One layer had been laid upon the other and, judging by the musty, greasy odour of rotting food, they’d not been replaced for some time. Close to the large soot-stained fireplace two scrawny hounds scrabbled and snarled over pieces of meat.

  A stooping, grey-haired man shuffled forwards and bowed low before her. ‘I am the steward, Bayliss. Welcome, Lady Rianna,’ he said in a quavering voice. ‘A chamber has been prepared for you. The maidservants are young and unused to attending a noble lady, but they are all I could provide at such short notice.’

  ‘I am certain they will be more than able; my needs tonight are simple.’ Despite her disappointment at the state of the place, Rianna felt rather sorry for the old man. He looked ancient, and well past working age. If he were her servant he would have been assigned far lighter tasks than caring for this castle. She turned to glance at Leon. ‘I’ll see you on the morrow, Captain.’

  ‘On the morrow, my lady,’ he agreed with a warm smile. ‘If you have need of me, you have but to call,’ he added, then strode off, glancing back at her again for a long penetrating moment before he left the great hall.

  ‘My lady, your chamber is this way,’ the steward said, shuffling forwards to slowly ascend the broad stone staircase. Rianna followed him, moving stiffly, her damp skirts clinging to her legs.

  When Rianna reached her bedchamber she was pleasantly surprised to find the room spacious and spotlessly clean, with a welcoming fire blazing in the hearth. The bed, with its fresh linen sheets, looked comfortable, despite the fact that the red velvet curtains were worn and faded. What pleased Rianna most was the large wooden tub, placed close to the fire, filled almost to the brim with steaming water.

  A servant entered the chamber, carrying Rianna’s small travelling chest. He then left, along with the steward, while the two young maidservants, waiting to attend Rianna, just stood there staring at her nervously, not daring to say a word. They were cleaner than the other servants Rianna had seen, with spotless white aprons covering their simple woollen gowns. Judging by their red, work-roughened hands, they were more used to heavy household tasks than attending to a lady’s needs.

  Rianna smiled, sensing their nervousness. ‘Your names?’ she asked.

  ‘Hiller, my lady,’ the taller dark-haired one said, curtseying clumsily.

  ‘Agnes, my lady,’ added the younger and prettier of the two.

  ‘Hiller, you unpack my chest,’ Rianna ordered. ‘I shall need a nightgown and my rose-scented soap,’ she added, having noticed the bar of coarse lye soap that had been left beside the tub. ‘I’ll bathe and then retire,’ she added, longing to be rid of her damp clothing and luxuriate in the hot water.

  She went to unfasten her cloak, but her fingers were too stiff and cold to undo the heavy clasp. ‘Let me,’ Agnes said, rushing forwards.

  The maidservant lifted the sodden cloak away from Rianna and draped it out to dry across a chair near the fire. Then she unlaced the back of Rianna’s plum, woollen dress. As it fell in a pool at Rianna’s feet, Agnes uttered a faint gasp of surprise.

  ‘Have you not seen a woman in breeches before?’ Rianna asked with a soft laugh. She wore supple formfitting leather breeches beneath her long skirts. Usually she wore men’s clothing when riding, not caring if it shocked those who saw her. Last night they’d slept out in the open and she’d put on her dress as well in a vain effort to keep warm.

  ‘I have not,’ Agnes replied. She seemed unable to keep from staring curiously at the garment which clung very tightly to Rianna’s long, shapely legs.

  ‘Help me off with my boots,’ Rianna said, leaning back against a chair while lifting her left foot.

  Agnes eased off one boot, then the other. Rianna stepped on to the rug of wolf-skin pelts, which partially covered the cold stone floor. The thick fur felt warm and tickled her bare feet as Agnes awkwardly helped Rianna unfasten her breeches and peel them off. Rianna was left wearing only a very brief silk shift – one far more revealing than the heavy linen shifts most noble ladies wore. Feeling more comfortable devoid of her damp clothing, she moved closer to the fire to allow the heat to start warming her stiff limbs. As the maids fussed around the room, unpacking her garments and gathering up linen towels left warming by the fire, Rianna stared pensively into the flickering flames, thinking of Tarn and praying that he would remain safe.

  ‘Should I take down your hair?’ Agnes asked, touching the thick red-gold coils that had not escaped from their pins.

  ‘Leave it.’ Rianna repressed a shiver as Agnes’s callused fingers brushed the nape of her neck and a tingle of desire slid slowly down her spine. They reminded her too much of the hot purpose of Tarn’s sword-roughened hands when they’d last made love. ‘I’ll manage it myself. You may both leave now.’

  ‘Do you wish for something to eat? The cook has prepared a light repast,’ Hiller said. ‘After such a long journey, my lady, you –’

  ‘No,’ Rianna interjected impatiently. ‘Just leave.’

  Agnes and Hiller seemed to be relieved that their duties were over as they hurried off, pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind them. Once she was alone, Rianna removed her shift to revel in the feeling of nakedness as the flickering flames cast dark inviting shadows over her pale skin. Gently she cupped her full breasts, running her thumbs over the soft tips of her nipples, imagining it was her lover’s hands caressing her. She teased the tiny peaks until they hardened and felt an answering tug in the pit of her groin.

  Rianna did not handle enforced celibacy with ease. Lately she’d resorted to pleasuring herself. She climaxed easily enough but she was alway
s left feeling partially unfulfilled. Soon she would be with Tarn again, she thought, as she picked up her precious bar of scented soap and stepped over the rim of the tub into the steaming water. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. She sat down, her back pressed against the smooth wooden side, her knees bent and slightly apart.

  A faint sheen of perspiration formed on her brow as the heat seeped slowly into her muscles, easing her weary limbs. The water lapped comfortingly against the narrow valley between her thighs and cradled the undersides of her full breasts. This tub in front of the fire was a far cry from the elaborate bathing facilities of her former husband’s palace in Percheron, but in Rianna’s estimation it was infinitely preferable. She had been forced by her father into a marriage of convenience with Sarin, the ruler of Percheron, in order to prevent him invading Harn as he had Kabra. But that episode in her life was now over. Sarin, the man she’d come to loathe and despise, was part of her past and Tarn was her present and future. Yet still, even now, memories of Sarin and his erotic sexual excesses invaded her dreams at night.

  Tonight she would dream only of Tarn. She would close her eyes and see every inch of his tall muscular body and imagine that she could feel his magnificent cock sliding deep inside her. Tarn was even stronger and braver now than when they’d first met; he had been toughened by the time he’d spent as Lord Sarin’s prisoner and slave. Tarn had suffered at Sarin’s hands but now he was free and Sarin was the slave. Unknown to the people of Percheron, who believed their ruler dead, Sarin was a captive in Freygard, the land of Rianna’s mother, Kitara. In Freygard women ruled, while men were consigned to being mere chattels and slaves. Rianna felt no pity for Sarin’s plight, only relief that he would never be free to hurt her or Tarn again.

  Rianna picked up the muslin cloth, which had been draped over the side of the tub, and covered it with her rose-scented soap. Her thoughts still centred on Tarn, she rubbed the cloth over her arms and breasts, down over the swell of her stomach and between her legs. She pressed the cloth against her sex, and the dull ache of longing increased into a restless fire. The red-gold hairs of her pubis tickled her fingertips as she discarded the cloth and gently caressed the thick bush of hair. In Percheron she had been forced to have all her intimate hair denuded, but thankfully it had grown back thicker and silkier than ever.