Her Barbarian Master

by Maggie Carpenter

  "Already?" Bastian exclaimed rising to his feet. "Quickly everyone, make room at the tables. They will be thirsty and hungry from their journey. I shall deliver this news to Killian myself."

  Time was up. If Godwin didn't have the information by now it was likely he wasn't going to get it, and as the tribe set to work to prepare for their visitors, he headed off to the small room at the top of the stairs.

  "Father, how did you know?" Killian asked as Bastian approached.

  "Know what?"

  "Godwin just knocked."

  "I didn't know. The Alamans are almost here. I now have the power of their swords behind me. When I heard the news I decided Godwin's time was up."

  Pushing open the door, he and Killian entered the room. The only light came from a tiny window, but it was enough to illuminate the faces of the two men. Trebor was greatly distressed, and Bastian knew Godwin had pried the information out of his son.

  "What have you to say?" Bastian demanded.

  "I must speak with you alone," Godwin replied as Trebor dropped his head in his hands.

  It was a sign of defeat, and ushering Godwin out the door, Bastian instructed Killian to remain on guard, then led Godwin down the hall to a room that overlooked the front of the compound through a badly damaged wall.

  "This fortress has seen many battles," Godwin remarked as he entered, "yet it still stands. Trebor urged me not to come here, but I'd heard it was a place worth our fight. When we rode up and it came into view I had to agree."

  "Trebor didn't want you to fight for this compound?"

  "He wanted no harm to come you or the Bathus, but I told him this castle offered much more than we have, and the villagers here craft excellent tools and weapons. I was right. I wanted something better for my people. We have been seeking a better place for many years."

  "It won't be here," Bastian exclaimed. "The Alaman tribe is approaching. We will be uniting as a single tribe. You have no hope of defeating us, but enough of this talk. Who is the traitor? Who gave Trebor the information about this place, and if he didn't want to come here, why did he have such knowledge? Why did he want it?"

  "Before I speak, a warning, and a request."

  "I make no promises."

  "We are both leaders, we have fought many battles," Godwin said soberly. "We have lost friends, we have pillaged and killed friends of others. It is our way, and I suspect you have learned, as I have, that sometimes there are things better left unknown."

  Bastian narrowed his eyes.

  "That is the warning?"

  "That is the warning."

  "And the request?"

  "If you decide you want the burden of knowing, you will not share it, though I suspect once you know, you won't."

  "A traitor is a traitor! What is it about this wretch that has you so determined to keep him secret?"

  "You will know when I tell you the name, assuming you have decided you want to know it, but I repeat my warning. You may not. I will tell you this much. It might change things, important things."

  Rarely did Bastian turn his eyes from an enemy, but he did not fear an attack from the Phelan leader, and stepping towards the blown out wall, he gazed at the grounds below him and the village beyond.

  When he had led his people across valleys and rivers to a fortress he'd only heard about, it had been a huge risk. It was rumored to be a damaged, but magnificent place, sitting empty and waiting for a tribe brave enough to make the journey. Rumors were just that, rumors, but Bastian had been a man of vision, and when the Alamans had settled in a lush valley across the mountain from the mythical fortress, they had assured him the rumors were true, and it would be worth the perilous trip.

  It had been an arduous journey, but when they'd seen the huge castle, the women had wept and the men had cheered. In the years they had been there, they had forged a relationship with the villagers, protected them from wandering marauders, and grown even closer to their distant relatives across the mountain. With the union of Killian and Soraya, his flourishing community would double in size and power.

  Would learning the name of the one who betrayed them put all that at risk?

  "I think the question is," Godwin said quietly, breaking into Bastian's deep pondering, "can you live with not knowing?"

  A grim smile crossed Bastian's face. He'd been right about the Phelans. They weren't backward, they just looked strange with their hair and beards and odd clothing.

  "You're right, Godwin. That is the question, and the answer is, I cannot."

  "You will keep it secret?"

  "I will. As one leader to another, you have my word."

  Godwin stepped forward, and taking a breath and looking Bastian in the eye, he spoke the name of the person who had betrayed him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With the Alaman tribe descending the mountain, and the leader of the Phelans and his captured son inside the castle, all worry about a second attack had evaporated, and the fortress was buzzing with preparations for the approaching visitors. Hermione was in charge of setting fresh food and drink on the dining room tables and making sure the empty rooms were made ready for sleeping. Marian had the younger women and men cleaning up the mess from the battle, while she spent time with those who had been wounded.

  The female members of the Bathus were proficient and organized, and at such times the men would follow their direction, carrying whatever needed carrying, bringing produce from the garden, while others left on a quick hunt for fresh meat, and though the tribe was aware Godwin and Trebor were in the fortress, no-one was aware of the drama unfolding.

  Standing in shocked silence, Bastian was trying to come to grips with the name he'd just been given. It was impossible to believe, but so impossible Godwin had to be telling the truth.

  "You can understand why Trebor saw only one answer," Godwin muttered.

  "I can, and though it's inexcusable, this is difficult," Bastian said slowly, "but as Trebor saw only one answer, I now find myself in the same situation. I too, have only one answer. Things must move along, and you and Trebor must leave immediately, but you must do so under a promise of the Gods' wrath. Should my son ever fall into your hands, he will remain safe and returned to his tribe."

  "Under the promise of the Gods' wrath, so it shall be," Godwin agreed.

  The oath was the most revered and feared of all promises. It was believed if such a promise was broken, regardless of the circumstances, the Gods would rain tumult, death and destruction upon the head of the guilty party. The vow was rarely asked for and rarely granted, but the two men making the pledge were fathers protecting their sons.

  They headed back into the hallway, and as they approached the small room, Bastian saw his son's inquisitive face. As much as Bastian wanted to share the information with Killian he could not. It was a burden Bastian knew he would have to carry alone, and take to his grave.

  "Release Trebor, and escort him and Godwin to the gate," Bastian ordered. "No harm must come to them. They and their tribe are leaving."

  "Yes, father."

  Opening the door, Killian ordered Trebor out of the room, and Bastian watched his son lead the small group towards the stairs. As they disappeared from sight, he turned and made his way to his private quarters. He needed the drink of the North. It was far stronger than the fermented berry juice. It burned his throat and chest as it traveled to his stomach, but it soothed his soul and brought calm to his head. He only drank it in the most dire of times. It could only be found in a community a long journey away. He and a few of his men would travel there once a year, and while there was much to be found once they arrived, the most treasured was the spicy drink.

  Entering his room he closed the door, bolted the latch, and moved to the secret place in which it was kept. Sliding the heavy wooden chest away from the wall, he pulled back the brick, reached inside, and wrapped his thick fingers around the neck of the bottle. Carefully removing it from the compartment, he carried it across to the window, sat on the ledge, and
gazed down at the front of the compound. Godwin and Trebor had reached the gate, and as Bastian brought the bottle to his lips and took in a mouthful, the enemy leader and his son walked out and marched down the lane.

  The fiery drink set flame to his throat, but Bastian took a second swig, something he rarely did, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He knew he had to carry on as if nothing untoward had happened, and once his son and Soraya were united he would put the entire mess behind him. The most important thing was the joining of the Bathus and the Alamans.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  A little while later, standing at a window in his room, Serenity in front of him leaning back against his chest, they stared at the visitors as they neared the bottom of the mountain. He hadn't been sure how many would come, and he was grateful it was only a fighting force and the important members of the clan. He wasn't up to a huge crowd descending on the castle. The smallish group made sense. They had assumed they were coming to fight, and they wouldn't want their younger members in harm's way. Once things were settled, the other Alamans who wanted to attend would make the trek and join them for the annual celebrations.

  "I thought there would be more," Serenity remarked, parroting his thoughts. "If the Phelans hadn't left, would we have still beaten them?"

  "Don't let the limited numbers fool you. There is no better fighter than the Alaman barbarian. They are quick, so quick you don't see the sword come at you until you are passing through death's door."

  "Who's that woman in the crimson tunic?"

  Killian hesitated.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "She looks different from the rest. Everyone seems to have light curly hair, but hers looks almost black, and I can see from here how beautiful she is."

  Killian couldn't deny it. Soraya had long dark thick hair that carried a remarkable sheen, and she wasn't tall with a large frame like most barbarian females. She was slight of build, much like Serenity, and had a feminine grace in her movements.

  "She looks different because she is. She's a half-breed. Her father, Dolan, the leader of the Alamans, was once with a peasant, and Soraya was their daughter."

  "What happened to her? Soraya's mother I mean."

  "She died from illness."

  "Killian? Is something wrong."

  Killian frowned. How had she sensed his distress? Was he not speaking in a normal tone of voice?

  "There is," she murmured, turning to face him. "I can tell. What is it? Can I help?"

  How could he tell her Soraya was there to become his wife? Just the thought was making him ache.

  "I, uh, am going to miss you," he said softly.

  It was the painful truth. Not all of the truth, but at least it wasn't a lie.

  "Miss me?"

  "The Phelans will be out of the village very soon. You and Layla must go home, your families will be very worried, and I will be busy with our visitors."

  "But I can come right back," she said hastily, then studying him, she knew there was something he wasn't telling her. "Killian, please tell me what's wrong?"

  "It's father. He wouldn't tell me what he knows about the traitor," he replied, once again telling the truth, but not giving her the whole story. "He was adamant. He cannot tell anyone."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm sure he has a very good reason. I find it disturbing, but there is something else I find more disturbing."

  "What is it? Killian, you look so worried."

  "Once you leave here, you cannot come back," he managed. "Father doesn't want you in the castle while the Alamans are visiting."

  "How long will they be here?"

  "Not long."

  "Then it's not so bad, and perhaps you can sneak away and visit me."

  He was staring into her bright blue eyes, and the afternoon sun was washing her hair in its golden glow. She looked so innocent, so sweet, and so incredibly beautiful. It wasn't fair, none of it was fair, and Killian grabbed her face between his hands.

  "I have yet to say these words, but I must," he abruptly exclaimed. "I love you, Serenity. No matter what happens in the coming days, no matter what you hear, I swear under the wrath of the Gods that I love you."

  His face was set in a grim expression, and his eyes were darkening.

  "Killian, my darling Killian, I feel the same," she whispered, "but why does this make you angry?"

  "Because I—"

  Unable to tell her, he lowered his lips on hers in a desperate fervent kiss, and as he devoured her, his cock stiffened into life. He wanted to own her, he wanted to possess her, he wanted to keep her wrapped in his arms and never let her go. Sweeping her up he carried her to his bed, and laying her down, he ripped off his minimal clothing, quickly pulled the tunic over her head, then stretching out alongside her, he buried his face in her luscious breasts.

  Though Serenity assumed their declaration of love had spurred his sudden passionate attack, there was an urgency about it, but all thought left her as he hungrily sucked in her nipples. His thick finger was rubbing her clit and teasing the entrance to her channel, his powerful body was towering over her, and closing her eyes she let out a long, low, soulful moan.

  "Your body, it's curves, it's softness, is like that of a Goddess," he murmured, moving his lips across her neck, "and though you serve me, and I am your Master, I worship you."

  "I love that you're my Master," she panted. "I want to please you, I want your authority, I want your punishment."

  "I shall always be your Master, nothing will change that," he muttered. "I will allow no other woman to call me Master. Do you believe me?"

  "I do, Master," she murmured, fluttering her eyes open and staring into his.

  He soaked in the perfection of her face, then kissed her again, languidly brushing his lips over hers.

  "Roll over," he said breathlessly as he broke away. "You must arch your back and present your bottom for my hand. I wish to spank you."

  "Have I displeased you?"

  "No, but I don't need a reason to spank you. Being your Master is reason enough."

  His words sent a thrill through her being, and shifting on to her stomach, resting her elbows on the bed, she rose up on her knees and arched her back. She could feel the lewd exposure. He'd see all of her, but she felt no shame.

  "Please will you spank me, Master, and remind me of my place?"

  Kneeling behind her, gazing down at her bottom still pink from the last visit from his hand, he clutched her cheeks and spread them. He heard her gasp, but he didn't relinquish his hold. It would be his only opportunity to study her dark rosebud. His cock was large, it would have taken time and patience to train her, but now it was something about which he could only dream.

  She unexpectedly wriggled, breaking into his decadent thoughts.

  "Is that impatience, or a wriggle of embarrassment?"

  "Impatience, Master, I'm sorry. I want you inside me very badly."

  "I can see your hunger," he murmured, running his fingertip inside glistening seam, "but I will impale you when I'm ready, and your impatient wriggling will only result in stinging smacks."

  Serenity sucked in the air and readied herself. She wanted his hot hand to slap her skin, but she also knew the prickling burn it would leave, and as the first smack landed, she grit her teeth and buried her head in the fur underneath her.

  "Beg for more," he demanded. "After each blow of my hand, beg for more."

  "Please, Master, spank me again?"

  Three hard swats landed in the same spot, and he paused.

  "Please, Master, spank me again?"

  He repeated the flurry on the opposite cheek, and paused again.

  "Please, Master, spank me again, spank me more, and spank me harder?"

  The unexpected addition to her plea sent a surge of need into his cock, and thrusting inside her, he began spanking in earnest, his manhood buried in her tight, wet passage. Her squeals were filling the air, and when her luscious backside began to turn red, he grabbed her hips and starte
d to pump.

  Already at a fevered pitch, after only a short time he could feel his member urging him on to its release. He slowed. He wanted to remember everything. It was the last time he would make love to the woman with whom he longed to spend his life. He soaked in the sight of her punished behind, inhaled her unique feminine scent, and stared down at her golden tresses falling across her back, then carefully withdrawing, he flipped her over so as to gaze at her beautiful breasts.

  "Master?"

  Her voice had been filled with questioning, and taking a long last look, he pushed up her knees and impaled her.

  "I am going to ride you until you come," he said softly. "You need not ask. Explode when you wish."

  As he stroked, he studied her slightly parted luscious mouth, her half-lidded eyes, the red glow across her chest, and her gorgeous breasts as they moved in time with this thrusting. They were pictures he would carry in his heart, and when their climax was upon them, he felt an alarming heat in the back of his throat.

  She was crying out her joy, and though he had not given the water behind his eyes the freedom to cascade down his cheeks since he was a child, they had their own will and he was powerless to stop them. His groans were loud, and as the powerful orgasm shuddered its last spasm, he felt his heart shatter.

  With a stifled sob he slipped flaccid from her depths, and as he collapsed next to her, and felt her nestle into him, he knew their contentment was fleeting. The Alamans would be now entering the fortress. They had to dress, and he had to walk her out to the gate.

  "I know you have to be with your father," she whispered, "and I know I have go home, but please don't make me wait too long before you send for me."

  "It will be a lifetime," he muttered, "but I will think of you every moment."

  "I'll be thinking about you too, and you're right, it will feel like a lifetime until we're together again, even if it's only a day."

  Reluctantly rising from the bed, they pulled on their clothes and headed from the room. Killian's broken heart was aching in his chest, his stomach was churning, and as they moved down the stairs he spotted Soraya walking towards the dining hall. He felt strange, as if he was in a trance, the feeling staying with him as they passed through the great hall and out into the grounds. When they reached the gate, a sick feeling began rolling through his entire body, and unable to look at her, he stared down the lane towards the village.