Just as Leon came, Niska rolled off him. His cock jerked wildly as a white stream of semen pumped from its head, spattering his stomach and upper thighs. Niska smiled and began to lap greedily at his leavings like a cat hungrily devouring cream.
Rianna was aroused and yet sickened by the sight as she crouched behind the curtain trying desperately to ignore the hot fire in her groin and the sticky trail of her own desire that glued her legs together.
‘I adore you,’ Leon gasped, pulling Niska to him, cradling her lovingly in his arms.
‘And I you,’ Niska replied, her voice sounding just a little shaky as she pressed her face to his chest.
‘Does something ail you?’ he asked worriedly. ‘You sound upset.’
‘Nothing ails me,’ she whispered, lifting her head to reveal unshed tears sparkling in her pale eyes. ‘I am just a little concerned. There are things I must tell you, Leon. Things about me you may not like.’ She sighed, one single tear sliding down her cheek. ‘I have no wish for your opinion of me to change . . .’ her voice faltered again. ‘Or lose your love.’
‘I’ll always love you, no matter what,’ he said with so much depth of feeling that it made Rianna feel even more uneasy. ‘Nothing you can tell me would ever make me change my opinion of you Niska, or prevent me from loving you.’
‘You promise?’ Niska asked in a childlike voice that made Rianna want to slap her face. She was a good actress, even Rianna had to admit that. She was playing with Leon’s affections, drawing him in like a fish on a line.
‘I promise.’ Leon kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Now what is it you wish to tell me, my love?’
She nestled closer to him. ‘First I must speak of my life in Vestfold. I know I’ve always avoided speaking of it before.’
‘I sense it was not a happy time in your life,’ he said with understanding. ‘I hoped that one day you might be able to bring yourself to speak of it, when the time was right.’
‘I told you that my father was a warrior, a great warlord, and the Lawspeaker of Vestfold.’ She sighed again, appearing uneasy, as if fearing Leon’s reaction to her next words. ‘What I did not tell you was that my mother was his thrall – his slave.’ She paused, waiting for Leon to comment. When he did not speak she continued, ‘She was not always a slave. She was travelling in a caravan with her father, a wealthy fabric merchant, when they were attacked by bandits. Most of her companions were slaughtered, but because she was young and beautiful the bandits spared her, and sold her to a northern trader. She caught my father’s eye and he took her for himself.’
‘Your mother could not help her fate,’ Leon said with feeling.
‘When his wife died, she became his new wife in all but name. I was raised in the longhouse along with my half-brothers Sven, Harald and Ragnor. Sven and Harald hated me, despised the fact that my mother was a slave, but Ragnor was my friend. He was only sixteen when my father died, and he did not have the power to stop his older brothers from presenting me as a gift to Thorolof, a rival warlord, in an effort to bring peace to a warring land. Thorolof was a cruel brute, an evil monster . . .’ She choked on her words, and her distress appeared genuine even to Rianna.
‘My love,’ Leon said, troubled by her pain.
‘I cannot speak of my life with Thorolof,’ she admitted. ‘It is best forgotten. All you need to know is that I escaped and fled south.’
‘How did you reach Percheron?’ Leon asked.
‘Percheron.’ Niska sniffed and rubbed her hand across her eyes. ‘I came upon a small group of silver merchants travelling south. One had just lost his wife to a fever. I was barely past childhood myself, but he still employed me to care for his two young offspring. He wanted me to stay with him when we reached Percheron, but by then he was casting lecherous eyes upon me, and I had no wish to warm his bed, so I sought employment elsewhere.’ She picked up a goblet of wine and sipped it contemplatively while Leon waited patiently for her to continue.
Rianna was becoming stiff crouched on her hands and knees, so she sat down and also waited, convinced that, regardless of whether all she had heard so far was a lie, from now on Niska would certainly not be telling the truth.
‘I gained employment as a maid in the house of a minor nobleman – a scholar who was often called upon to advise Lord Sarin.’ Niska smiled as though these memories were far happier ones. ‘Mellos was a good man, who had lost his entire family to the plague. He taught me to read, educated me, and began to look upon me as his daughter. Eventually he took me with him to court, and Lord Sarin laid eyes upon me for the first time.’
‘You were at Lord Sarin’s court?’ Leon sounded surprised.
‘Yes.’ Niska admitted. ‘And before you ask it, I will tell you that the Lady Rianna and I know each other well.’
‘Why did you not mention it?’ he asked in confusion. ‘Lady Rianna never admitted to me that she’d even heard of Baroness Crissana, let alone knew her.’
‘She had no reason to. The truth be, she would not have known we were one and the same. She had no idea that I had wed the baron.’ Niska gave a bitter laugh. ‘She was most probably under the impression I was dead, or had been sold in the slave market of Aguilar.’
Rianna tensed, waiting for the twisted lies that were about to follow. She wanted to burst in and tell Leon not to believe a word Niska said. Yet she was forced to remain hidden and say nothing. She might well put Leon’s life in danger as well as her own if she carried out such a foolhardy act.
‘Lord Sarin made it very clear to my benefactor that he was attracted to me, and Mellos, wanting to gain his sovereign’s approval, presented me to him as a gift. I was forced to enter his seraglio. Sarin was a charmingly compelling man. I soon fell in love with him. He was so taken with me he promised that he would marry me and make me queen, despite the fact that he expected to choose a princess or a lady of royal blood at the very least. Then, in order to prevent the forces of Percheron invading Harn, the Protector offered Sarin the hand of his daughter, Rianna, in marriage. It is not unusual for the ruler of Percheron to take more than one wife, so Sarin agreed. But when Lady Rianna arrived she made it clear that she was not prepared to share Sarin. She embroiled him in her seductive spell, and just to please her vanity, Sarin set me aside. I was foolish and loved him enough to believe that one day he would see her for what she really was and return to my side. Mark my words, Leon, Rianna is a manipulative creature, and not the sweet innocent lady she pretends to be.’
Leon made an exclamation of disbelief, which Niska ignored. Rianna shook with anger, certain that Niska’s attempt to destroy her reputation was far from at an end.
‘Rianna appeared happy to become Queen of Percheron. She eagerly embraced the sexually promiscuous ways of Sarin’s court, while showing no concern for the fate of the man she now professes to love. Tarn was incarcerated in the dungeons and she . . .’ Niska looked straight at Leon to give extra emphasis to her words. ‘You must believe me, Leon. She took an integral part in all Sarin’s hedonistic games. In order to ensure the purity of his line, Sarin did not allow any other man to couple with her, but he watched her being pleasured, in any number of ways, by his male and female slaves. Rianna had a constant need for satisfaction and, when he did not send for her, she gained her pleasure with other members of his seraglio. She was in a position of power, she had everything she wanted, yet she still loathed the sight of me, perhaps fearing that eventually Sarin might tire of her and turn to me again. She had me punished for the slightest offence, watching with glee as I was beaten and abused. Then she hatched a plot to be rid of me completely. She planted evidence, making it appear I was embroiled in the subversive activities of Sarin’s enemies, and planned to help them overthrow him completely.’
‘I cannot believe Lady Rianna would do such a thing,’ Leon faltered. ‘It does not seem possible.’
‘I was lucky to escape with my life. Fortunately, because of our previous association, Sarin could not bring himself to order my executio
n. He planned to auction me in the public slave market, until the baron pleaded for me to be given to him.’ She shuddered. ‘I should have been grateful that he saved me from such humiliation – female slaves are sold naked and can be inspected by even the most casual of buyers. Unfortunately, the baron was a loathsome creature, riddled with disease.’
‘My poor love.’ Leon held her close. ‘You were fortunate that the old man died so soon after your marriage.’
‘I was,’ Niska replied, glancing straight at the curtain behind which Rianna was hiding, almost as if she knew she was listening. ‘Just remember that Rianna is skilled. She weaves her spell, and entraps men in her web of deception. Look how she has deceived Prince Tarn!’
‘She loves him, I’m certain of that,’ Leon insisted. ‘And he adores her. Did she not help him escape from Percheron?’
‘Only because Sarin discovered that she betrayed him and had not been the virgin she professed to be when they wed. Not only had she copulated with Tarn during her journey to Percheron, she had most likely slept with any number of men before that.’
‘Evil bitch,’ Rianna muttered to herself, clenching her hands as she fought the urge to reveal herself and to hell with the consequences.
‘Rianna was forced to flee, so she arranged for Tarn to go with her – exchanged one prince for another. She took her revenge on Sarin by escaping with his mortal enemy. Knowing that Sarin would set off in pursuit of them, she persuaded Tarn to help her lead him into Freygard. It was not bandits that slew Lord Sarin, it was Rianna’s kin. Her mother Kitara is from Freygard, she is a cousin of the ruler, Queen Danara.’
‘It is still so difficult to believe this of such a noble lady,’ Leon admitted with a troubled frown.
‘She is very clever.’ Niska began to caress Leon, playing idly with his nipples, running her fingers through his pubic hair. ‘I was afraid to tell you this, because I knew you would not want to believe me. Rianna devours men, even those who care for her. It is like a sickness. She cannot help it, Leon, it is in her blood. All the women of Freygard are the same. They are raised to despise men, to enslave them and abuse them. She uses them for her own ends, then casts them aside. Sarin was captivated by her aura of sweet innocence, and soon fell under her spell, but she destroyed him, just as she will eventually destroy Prince Tarn.’
Leon shook his head, still unwilling to believe Niska, and Rianna blessed him for it. She prayed that soon he would come to see Niska as she truly was.
‘Niska, I don’t know . . .’ he mumbled uneasily. ‘I should speak to her perhaps.’
‘Best you do not. Her lies are too convincing,’ Niska replied. She gently trailed her fingers over his cock, smiling as it twitched in response.
‘I saw her, the other day in one of the castle corridors, with Prince Tarn,’ Leon admitted almost reluctantly. ‘He couldn’t keep his hands off her, and she was rutting with him like a bitch in heat.’
‘No man could resist her seductive ways,’ Niska replied. ‘Have you never coveted her yourself?’
‘In my daydreams,’ he muttered. ‘She’s beautiful, what man would not?’
Rianna shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. How easily Niska was managing to manipulate this man.
‘A beauty she uses to her advantage,’ Niska whispered seductively. ‘Now you must consider the future, Leon. Prince Tarn’s fate and the fate of Kabra may well lie in your hands.’
‘I do not understand.’ He groaned as Niska curved her hands round his cock.
‘You will, Leon, all too soon,’ she promised, sliding down his body to fasten her lips on his gradually burgeoning shaft.
Sarin threw a little more of the meagre supply of dry twigs he’d gathered on to the small fire. He didn’t feel at all comfortable alone in the depths of this huge forest now that night had fallen. Zene should have been back ages ago, and he feared some ill had befallen her. They needed food for themselves as well as the horses, so she had gone to a small isolated community they had come upon by chance a few hours ago. It was only a small cluster of cottages in a clearing by a lake, but it should at least have some of the supplies they needed. He had wanted to go with her, but the suspicions of the occupants would have been aroused if Zene were seen to be travelling with just one unchained slave as her companion.
The trees grew thickly around the clearing, separated by clumps of almost impenetrable undergrowth. The place had a strange unsettling aura. As darkness had fallen the musty odour of rotting vegetation and its sweet sickly undertone had grown stronger, overpowering the clean scent of the tall pine trees. Sarin likened it to the smell of death and he wondered if this was some ancient burial ground. There were a number of small, smoothly shaped stones sticking out of the grass close to the edges of the clearing. He regretted the decision to camp here and feared the place might be cursed.
Somewhere in the distance Sarin heard the chilling howl of a wolf, but closer and far more troubling were the soft snuffling noises, and the sound of vegetation being pushed aside. His horse whinnied, putting back its ears as it shifted nervously, pulling against its tether. Sarin peered anxiously into the darkness, one hand tightly clutching the leather-bound hilt of his sword, always on the lookout for predatory eyes gleaming redly in the surrounding blackness.
Fortunately Zene had at last deemed it reasonably safe to light a fire – it was the first time they had chanced doing so on their journey north. So far the weather had been easy to contend with and winter appeared to be retreating fast. There had been only one light fall of snow on the night they had left, but it had melted in the weak morning sunshine, leaving no visible trail for their pursuers to follow. Since then the days had been cold but bright.
Sarin tensed as he heard a louder sound, made by a much larger animal – Zene’s mount, he hoped. Sarin had always been brave, but the many months he had spent as Danara’s prisoner had somehow sapped his strength and he occasionally felt fear, terror even. He hated and despised this unwanted weakness, and the fearful apparitions of doom that sometimes invaded his thoughts.
Gathering himself together, he rose to his feet, his sword at the ready. Then, to his infinite relief, Zene rode into the clearing, carrying a large leather bag across the front of her saddle. ‘You’ve got the provisions?’ Sarin asked, trying to hide the fact that he’d been afraid.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed rather curtly as she dismounted and tossed the bag down by the fire. She began to unsaddle her horse, impatiently fumbling with the fastenings as if she expected Sarin to step forwards and help her. Zene was having a difficult time adjusting to the fact that Sarin no longer considered himself a slave. As she heaved the leather saddle from her mount, and placed it close to the fire to act as a pillow, Sarin opened the bag and inspected the contents: a couple of fresh loaves; a few fabric-wrapped parcels, perhaps meat or cheese; some fruit, which had been preserved to survive the winter months; a flagon of beer or wine; feed for the horses and two tightly rolled, brightly coloured blankets. The blankets would make life more comfortable. He’d spent the last couple of nights lying on the blanket that was placed beneath his stallion’s saddle, with only his cloak to cover himself. The horse blanket was grubby and covered in hairs. He constantly felt itchy now, as if insects were crawling over his skin.
‘You did well.’ He straightened and looked at Zene as she removed the horse’s bridle and hobbled its legs together, tethering it next to Sarin’s black stallion.
She glanced over at the fire, which was now spitting loudly, as globs of fat from the rabbit roasting on a stick, dripped into the flames. It was a small, scrawny creature, barely big enough for a meal for two, but it was all the game Sarin had managed to find.
‘That smells good.’ She smiled appreciatively, her head tilted, her hazel eyes oddly uncertain as she looked at him, still unsure quite how to treat Sarin.
‘At least our stomachs will be full tonight,’ Sarin commented, taking a fresh loaf from the bag and putting it on a flat stone by the fire, ready
to cut up when the rabbit was cooked.
‘The villagers were generous: they refused payment for the supplies.’ Zene smiled, still seeming uneasy as she stared at the tall, muscular, dark-haired man, who could be so stubborn and self-willed when he chose to.
Male slaves were not allowed facial hair of any kind, so during her life Zene had only seen clean-shaven men. Sarin now had a growth of dark stubble on his cheeks and chin, which made him look even more overtly masculine.
Idly he scratched at the rough bristles. ‘It is a pity we couldn’t make camp closer to the lake. It’s cold enough to freeze the bollocks off a bull, but I’d still have chanced bathing. I long to wash the sweat and grime from my body.’
‘We’re no longer short of fresh water,’ Zene replied, unrolling one of the new blankets and laying it out by her saddle. ‘Not far from here there is a spring. We can refill the water skins in the morning. Use some to wash if you so wish,’ she added, sitting down on the blanket and idly running her fingers through her tangled copper curls.
Sarin picked up a half-empty water skin and walked a few paces away from the fire. As he slipped off his doublet he noticed that Zene was watching him out of the corner of her eye, while pretending to be intent on rummaging through her saddlebag. She produced a small bone comb and began tending to her long hair as Sarin filled his cupped hand with water and splashed it over his chest. He rubbed some under his arms, wishing he had soap and a cloth. He slopped even more water under his arms, hoping it would be enough to cleanse the odour of perspiration from the dark tuft of hair in his armpits.
Sarin knew full well that Zene was still watching him as he turned his back to her and eased down his breeches to wash his cock. The flickering firelight bathed his olive skin in a golden glow, the dim light making him appear leaner, his muscles even more pronounced. Pulling his breeches up, but not bothering to fasten them securely, he turned and caught Zene staring dreamily at him. She winced as if her comb had caught a knot, and looked away, hiding her embarrassment, while Sarin wet his dark hair, smoothing it away from the lean contours of his face.
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