The Caveman's Reluctant Bride (Historical Erotica)

by Vivian Leigh

  The Caveman’s Reluctant Bride

  By

  Vivian Leigh

  Copyright 2013 Vivian Leigh

  All rights reserved.

  ***

  Thorg crouched at the edge of the forest, the leopard pelt around his shoulders helping to hide him from the deer that grazed 50 paces away. He moved with grace and precision, and from where Chira stood with her chest pressed against the bole of a needle leaf tree, she could barely tell he was moving. Tall prairie grasses swayed around him, the breeze bending them toward him as it carried his scent away from the deer.

  One of the deer raised a head and looked in Thorg’s direction. A modest rack of antlers, perhaps six points in all, swung as the deer turned, but Thorg was already motionless. Sinews stood out on his arm as he clenched his spear. The deer sniffed once, twice, then lowered its head to graze again.

  Thorg slipped back into motion, his spear rising smoothly as he closed the distance to 20 paces. He took a half pace forward, getting his momentum into the throw, but in the process he managed to stumble.

  The stag jerked up, caught sight of Thorg, and bolted. Thorg tried to adjust his aim and spear one of the deer that was slower to respond, but he was falling as he threw. The spear whistled through the space the doe vacated as she leaped away.

  Thorg landed flat on his face. The deer bounded across the far side of the meadow, their white tails flashing, taunting, as they disappeared into the far tree line.

  “Flames take you all,” Thorg cursed. He dragged himself up from the dirt and trotted over to where his spear stuck in the rich, black earth.

  Chira burst out laughing, unable to stay hidden any longer.

  “Who’s there?” Thorg asked, crouching.

  Chira stepped out from behind the tree and waved. “It’s just me, Master Hunter.” She tried, but didn’t quite succeed, to keep the giggles out of her voice.

  Thorg’s face flushed crimson. He had a firm, square jaw, and a short beard, already thick. “I had him, Chira. Did you see that stag? He had a rack of antlers as wide as my arms.”

  “Do all men estimate size like you, Thorg?”

  If his face had been crimson before, now it was the color of the setting sun. Chira giggled again. “I’m sorry, Thorg. It was a fine stag, and you did a magnificent job of stalking it. But what happened there at the end?”

  “I tripped.” He scuffed at the dirt with a bare foot. “I was so close.”

  Chira walked beside him and they headed for the trees at the far side of the meadow. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck next time.”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. He really was a fine hunter, even if stalking deer in a wide open meadow was a little beyond his abilities.

  “So Thorg, I was talking to my mother.” His head lifted at that. “And she said she was talking to your mother.” His chest puffed out a bit. “And they think we might be a good match.”

  He shrugged, as if it were perfectly ordinary that his future bride should mention matters to him directly. “That might be... nice.”

  Chira rolled her eyes. Boys. “Well, don’t act excited or anything.” She gave him a shove, just trying to unbalance him a little, but instead sending him sprawling into the dirt again.

  He looked up at her like a wounded puppy. “You are a cruel woman, Chira Stoneblade. Perhaps I don’t want to be your husband after all.”

  “Every woman should be so lucky as to win the heart of a hunter as fine as yourself, Thorg.” Chira stuck out her tongue. She winked at him, then turned and ran, darting among the needle leaf trees before he could get back to his feet.

  He chased her for a while, calling her name and apologizing, but she didn’t slow. It was good for him to do some chasing. She slowed, waiting for him to catch her, but the sounds of pursuit were gone. Chira shook her head. A little more effort on his part wouldn’t break her heart. A girl liked to be wooed.

  She headed back to the village her family shared with Thorg’s. The noises of the forest echoed around her: chirping redbirds, the scratching of tree mice and even the occasional snorting of feral bacon. If Thorg followed, he did it without disturbing the sounds of the forest. Judging by his hunting, that wouldn’t be possible. Chira paused at the edge of a stream and scooped a handful of water. Sunfish darted along beneath her, their golden scales flashing in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees.

  It was a good day, and bantering with Thorg had lifted her spirits. Her mother could have chosen a much worse match for her, that was true enough. He wasn’t the biggest or the strongest of her suitors, but he was by far the most handsome. A flush of heat spread through her. A man like Thorg would keep her bed nice and warm when winter came. And if she’d learned nothing else about men in the last few years, he’d be happy to warm it a time or three before winter came, too.

  Chira grinned and stood up. She smoothed the deerskin skirt against her thighs. Thinking of Thorg like that was going to get her into trouble sooner than later. And it was going to be such delicious trouble. She practically skipped back to the village.

  ***

  “We cannot remain here, Korl, not with the numbers we have.” Shamus, chief of the village, leaned against a spear. Flames crackled before him, casting his face in ghastly light. “Our numbers are too many and the game too few.”

  An angry murmur spread through the crowd. Shamus’s younger brother stood a few paces behind him. He clenched his hand on the butt of his club and glared at the loudest pocket of dissent. Sango was a hard man, harder than his elder brother, and Chira had not been sad to learn that her mother had plotted to wed her to Thorg, even if half the girls in the village swooned when Sango approached.

  Chira turned to her mother. “Are we unsafe here?”

  “Shh.” Chira’s mother shot her a looked that brooked no argument.

  The village had moved every year for as long as Chira could remember, though the elders spoke of the time when they had remained in one place for a generation.

  “Then what would you have us do, oh Shamus?” Korl met the chief’s gaze, not once looking away. It sent a thrill of pride through Chira. Her father was not a warrior equal to Shamus, but Shamus saw in him what Chira and her mother had known for years. Her father had a lion’s cunning, and it demanded the same wary respect.

  “The village must divide.”

  Chira’s father’s eyes narrowed. “The last division nearly destroyed both halves. Why should we risk such a thing again so soon?”

  “The food! We might, if we’re lucky, survive a winter here, but what happens next year when we move downriver and the herds are thinned? Flames forbid another time of dryness come over us.” Shamus ground his spear into the dirt. “Better we should divide now. Every second family should cross the hills now, taking their share of supplies, that they may establish camp after a season’s walking.”

  The village leaders argued back and forth while the rest of the village watched and listened. In the end it would be Shamus’s decision, but he would test which way the wind blew before making any pronouncements.

  Chira squeezed her sister’s hand. To cross the hills and walk for a season would mean that half the village would never see the other half. Sure, a messenger or two would return after a few years, but those that did would be greeted with suspicion, not welcome. She couldn’t imagine losing half her friends. And what if Thorg were sent away?

  “Then let it be done with a third of us.” Chira’s father’s voice was low, but it carried a frustration that Chira recognized. “Each family can draw stones, and those that draw the black will take all their belongings, and a share of meat, an
d leave. It will leave us stronger here, while requiring less mouths to feed while traveling.”

  Silence spread through the rest of the village. They recognized the strength of the words, and the wisdom of the one that had spoken them.

  Shamus leaned forward, head nodding. “Let it be so.” He clapped his hands once, signaling the end of the meeting. “Stones shall be drawn after the sun rises, and the new tribe shall be marching before it sets on the third day.”

  The village’s silence erupted into chatter. Excitement and fear mixed freely. Children asked questions of their parents. The parents asked questions of each other. The young men chattered like birds, each boasting of his willingness to lead the new village.

  Chira searched the crowd, stopping only when she found Thorg. He sat across the fire from her, and his eyes met hers. They smoldered hotter than the coals that separated her from him. In the daylight he acted like a boy, but in the darkness it was easy to see him as the man he was becoming.

  “No, child,” Chira’s mother whispered, setting a hand on her Chira’s arm. “If the stones are not drawn in your favor, you will not see him again.”

  That made Chira’s heart skip a beat. She yearned for the life she would spend with Thorg, and now there was a chance he’d be taken away from her? Or her from him? It wasn’t fair. She rose and watched as Thorg wandered toward her. The rest of the villagers were like stick figures dancing in the smoke. Her eyes, her heart, her soul were only for Thorg.

  “Chira.” Her mother’s voice.

  “I will not let him take advantage of me, Mother.”

  Her mother snorted. “See that you don’t.”

  She wasn’t going to make any promises about not taking advantage of him, though.

  Thorg stopped a pace away. His eyes raked over her. “Chira.”

  When he said her name, every hair on her arm stood up and paid attention. “Thorg.”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  Chira licked her lips, glanced off into the darkness. The other villagers were dispersing, some returning to their huts, others sloping off into the darkness in pairs. Some of the older warriors, the ones that didn’t yet have families, were going off in groups to do the sun knew only what.

  “Sure.” She nodded toward the tree that dominated the center of the village. “Do you think your family will draw black stones?”

  “I know it. Only a fool would think are any accidents when Shamus draws the stones. He means to see his enemies sent off, and his allies to remain.”

  Chira stopped at the upturned roots of the village tree and found a place to sit where the bark had been rubbed smooth. “So who else will he send then?”

  Thorg sat beside her. “Grangar and his brother. The Greenreeds.”

  “What about my father?” Chira asked. She rested her hand between them, palm upturned. “Surely he is a threat to take Shamus’ seat as village chief.”

  “I doubt it.” Thorg sighed. “My father says that your grandfather was the wisest chief the village had seen in four generations. Until your father, that is. Shamus means for Korl to take his place in a few years’ time.”

  Chira’s heart sank. Thorg slid his hand over hers and clasped hers. He was so warm. So strong. Her heart soared.

  “Thorg...” She meant to warn him, but the words died on her lips. She burned for him, and if he was to be sent away, what harm could come from bedding him just once?

  His head turned toward hers. “Chira...”

  Their lips met and it was like lightning striking on the prairie. Fear and worry and sadness melted against his tongue. Seconds stretched into glorious hours. Chira wasn’t sure how she ended up on top of him, but when their lips broke apart her legs were wrapped around him and he was on his back in the shadows. Her body blazed, from her core all the way to her fingertips and her toes.

  She didn’t just want Thorg. She needed Thorg. Needed him like she needed to breathe. She leaned forward, desperate for another kiss. His hands closed on her back, and he pulled her down, pressing her tight against him.

  Her fingers cradled his jaw, felt the roughness of his beard. Her lips pressed against his, and her tongue warred with silky softness within his mouth. Chira broke away again, gasping.

  “Are you okay?” Thorg asked.

  “I just...” She sucked in a breath. “Needed air.”

  “Oh.” A wicked smile crossed his face, barely visible in the glow of the distant village fire. His hands found her rump, slid up under the animal skin that kept her woman parts covered.

  Chira’s eyes went wide as he touched her there, but then she was on him again, greedy for more kisses. His tongue and his fingers probed her, finding her secret places. Chira wriggled against him, sliding lower. She felt him then. The real him. It was deliciously hard, magnificently thick, and she wanted it within her.

  She broke the connection at their lips, thinking to invite him inside, but he was already ahead of her. His manhood pressed against her, and a moment of worry took her.

  He pressed harder, coating himself with her slickness. She didn’t care. She wanted him so much. She wanted him then and forever, and if he was going to be leaving her, she meant to enjoy every moment she had to spend with him. She pressed herself back against him, felt his thickness push against her, part her and finally slip inside.

  Chira gasped.

  It didn’t feel as good as she hoped, not by a thousand paces. Flames in the sky, but it hurt. Thorg didn’t notice, or didn’t care, only pushed himself inside further, filling her. Chira bit her lip against the unexpected pain. It was supposed to be better, wasn’t it?

  Thorg thrust in and out, with that the pain started to recede. In moments Chira was ecstatic she hadn’t made him stop. A bubbling, boiling pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced washed through her, not just replacing the pain, but building into a wonderful sensation she could barely comprehend.

  She rode him, not really sure what she was doing. Thorg’s hands wrapped around her, and then they were turning. Chira gasped as he rolled on top of her, pinning her to the loamy earth. But then he really started to work it.

  He drove in and out of her. His muscles rippled in the moonlight. His breath blew hot on her ear. Chira bucked against him, savoring him, savoring their connection.

  Something within her swelled, filling her. And it wasn’t just Thorg. She gasped with him, her heart pounding like she’d run for hours. Thorg gasped, and his manhood flexed.

  Something within Chira opened. A flood molten passion gushed through her, carrying up and out of the forest, high into the clouds above. She floated along, feeling Thorg inside her, but caring about nothing so much as the wave that bore her into the heavens.

  When she finally landed, she was still beneath Thorg, and he was still sprawled across her.

  He leaned back, sliding himself out of her, and sat back on his heels. “Wow, Chira.”

  A wetness spread between her legs. It was hers and Thorg’s and she loved it. “Thank you,” she said.

  Thorg laughed. “I think it’s usually the man that says that.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow. Energy vibrated through her, and she felt like she could get up and run for hours. “And what would you know about what men usually say?”

  Thorg’s eyebrows rose, and confusion left him with an expression that was silly and handsome, all at once.

  “How many girls have you lain with, huh?”

  He blushed. “Just one now.”

  Chira couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, it was wonderful, Thorg.” She held up a hand. “Help me up.”

  He lifted her as easily as a child. “I should probably go back to my hut.”

  “If you think you’re running off and leaving me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Thorg paused, his earlier certainty now completely gone. Funny how bedding a man could addle his mind so thoroughly.

  “Oh, fine,” Chira said. “Go rest.”

  She let him walk her to her parents’ hut,
then waited outside and watched as he sloped off into the darkness.

  ***

  Chira stood with her younger siblings. Her brother, three years her junior, was just hitting the stage that he became interested in the girls of the village. Her sister was a few years from that age, still content to sit and play with stones.

  The whole village gathered before them, a collection of men, women, children and dogs. Furs and hides from every animal on the prairie covered the tribe, gazelles and deer, lions and tusk noses. Shamus stood at the heart of the gathering a bag of river stones held high in his left hand. Sango stood a few paces back, club at his side. Chira’s father stood beside Shamus, thick arms crossed over his chest.

  “People of the tribe, today we decide our destiny.” Shamus shook the bag of stones. “Any who would argue with my decisions may step forth now and speak their mind.”

  No one moved but Sango, and him only to slap his club against his palm. The villagers would grumble and complain, but Chira’s father’s suggestion of leaving two out of three villagers behind had proven wise. No one would want to fight when outnumbered two to one. And no one wanted to be the first to have their brains dashed against the end of Sango’s club.

  Shamus pointed to Chira’s father. “Korl, I draw for you first. If I draw a white stone, you and your family shall remain here. If I draw the black, you will have three days to pack and start your march. Do you agree?”

  “Aye.” Korl’s voice was as deep as the bellow of an elephant.

  Shamus reached into the bag and came up with a clenched fist. He held it out and uncurled his fingers. A single white stone gleamed in his palm.

  The leaders of the other families moved forward by turns, each smiling or clenching their jaws, depending on the stones revealed. Thorg and his father strode forward. Each had a club looped over their hips, and Chira hoped things wouldn’t turn violent if Shamus drew black stones. Hope swelled in her chest. Maybe Shamus would draw white, and Thorg would remain with her.

  Shamus looked Thorg’s father in the eye, and a cruel smile played over his lips. He reached into the bag, never breaking eye contact, and came up with a stone in his fist. His fingers opened and revealed a lump of darkness.