She fought the hands grabbing her now, and felt the rage inside. She screamed kicked and with a pain the likes of which she’d never known before. Pain she’d never known since and she screeched an anguished cry. No, no, no!
Cushla! Was that Tarken or somebody else? She couldn’t tell! Dread seized her as hands came at her from everywhere, tearing at her clothes, squeezing, bruising her flesh. Her heart pounded in terror as fingers and objects probed her everywhere, painfully, viscously and with complete disregard of her innocence. Their laughter at her crying fusing with her screams--screams she knew were her own, yet seemed oddly disconnected as if coming from someone else…
Cushla…
No one used her name save Lavidis. They called her simpa, a word meaning lowest of lowly dregs, not worthy of the dirt they were permitted to walk upon. Again, she screamed, hating what they did, hating herself for pleading, whimpering for mercy but the pain, the humiliation.
Cushla… She heard it again, no one used her name save Lavidis—and Tarken.
She opened her eyes and looked around.
Tarken was sitting on a chair nearby, watching her.
“Where are we?” she asked after collecting her thoughts, after relaxing into the relief that she was safe and unharmed.
“We had to land on Aracome for mechanical services because the ship was having difficulties. How do you feel?”
“Ah, I—I’m not sure.” She told him in truth as she rubbed her brow. Her head felt groggy and fuzzy and she was slightly dizzy.
Tarken stood up and held out his hand, “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”
Cushla gave him a confused look. “You’re not confining me to the ship?”
“No,” was the only explanation Tarken offered. Taking her hand with his, he helped her stand, steadying her when she teetered. He then helped her to dress.
She let him, still feeling weak and drained from her ordeal. Quietly, she stood in front of him, waiting for his next order and was taken by surprise when he abruptly pulled her into his arms and sighed as he hugged her tightly against his body.
Just as abruptly, he released her and began combing his fingers through her hair. He then straightened and smoothed the garment she wore, as if he was fussing over something he cherished. When he was finished primping her, and then fixated on her face, giving her a tender smile. A smile which she failed to return and his expression seemed to become melancholy.
Cushla was sure she’d missed the part during her turmoil where he’d gone mad. She was probably misreading him— Misreading his concern, or perhaps it was just a wishful hope, but so be it. At least he was letting her out of confinement for some much needed open air in lieu of the stuffy ship.
They disembarked, passing several warehouses lining the docks. At first, Tarken seemed to pay no heed to the hoots and hollers or fixated stares directed toward them as they strolled, but as the attention they were getting continued, his expression became more rigid, and he became watchful, scrutinizing the area around them intensely. He’d even shot a fierce look of warning at some of men who gawked at her as they passed by, causing them to avert their lecherous eyes elsewhere.
She decided to probe him about it. “You look worried, Tarken.”
He gazed down at her briefly before continuing his vigil of their surroundings. “You’re a stunningly beautiful woman, Cushla. With or without the indiscreet behavior of the royals and crew, you command a tremendous amount of attention regardless. It’s my responsibility to assure your safety when we are out in public.”
“Because you care about me?” she returned snidely, expecting a cold indifference and a proclamation of duty to Mecor.
“Because I care…”
Cushla was taken aback by his answer and the gentle tone of voice by which he delivered it. She halted and stared at Tarken. Did he mean what he’d just said, that he cared—about her?
When he too stopped and turned toward her, she’d hoped his expression could be read but he merely gazed at her without revealing emotion.
He did however reach for her hand, molding it within his.
For the first time in her slave’s life, she felt no resistance rising inside of her at the touch from a man. In fact, it warmed her immensely that he was holding her hand.
“Come along, mistress.” Tarken tugged her lightly, and they began walking the path again, quietly and without further exchange of words.
Aracome was one of the more verdant planets in the galaxy and Tarken readily found a pleasant place for them to relax. They entered a flourishing courtyard with towering trees and lush, vivid plants. A small eatery had outside tables where customers could enjoy the fresh air and sunshine while they ate their meals.
It was here, Tarken decided to sit. Signaling a server, he ordered two drinks. Taking one of the seats, he said nothing as Cushla took her place on the ground at his feet. “You’re complying and training well, Cushla,” he said, but when she gazed up at his face he didn’t look pleased. In fact, he seemed disturbed.
She cast her gaze aside and disregarded the thought. It was too much to hope for that he had a heart for her or for anyone. He was a slavemaster and she was a slave.
The drinks arrived, and the server placed both glasses on the table. He gave Cushla brief glance, looking down to where she sat on the ground and then turned his attention to Tarken. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“This is fine, thank you,” Tarken answered.
The server nodded and departed.
“You have a very unusual name, Cushla,” Tarken remarked. He took a sip of his drink. “Does it mean something or did your parents just like the sound of it?”
A forlorn sensation filled her as she answered him, “My father named me. He told me when first he laid eyes on me that his heart skipped a beat and then ran to catch up. My name means ‘beat of my heart’.”
“Appropriate.” Tarken smiled softly.
Again, they both became quiet, Tarken with his own thoughts, and Cushla with hers, though her thoughts were focused mainly on wondering what his might be and why he was suddenly so kind after attempting to punish her. She looked up at Tarken and found him studying her.
Finally, he spoke. “I was concerned about your reaction this afternoon. I have never seen a slave react so violently to being bound. Why did you react as such?”
“You worried about me?”
“I did, yes. What happened on the ship, Cushla?”
“It was nothing.” She disregarded his question with a shrug.
“It was something, Cushla.” Tarken opened his palm to her. “Come up here and sit with me. I want to see your face.”
She refused his hand and stood of her own accord. Taking the seat opposite him at the table, she averted her gaze from him and instead took great interest in watching the butterflies, fluttering about and the birds chirping overhead.
“You seem to have an affinity for the creatures.”
Without looking at the slavemaster, Cushla held out her palm, and as she did a tiny Oraw bird landed in her hand. Smiling, she stroked its tiny back, caressing its fluffy lavender feathers. It danced about, pecking gently at her fingers before flying off again. “They are free,” she finally responded to his remark while watching the bird disappear through the trees. “Free to view the world at its own pace and from its own distance. Free to choose where it travels to, with whom it travels, and where it desires to settle.”
“Free like the Libertas?”
“The Libertas is a fairytale meant to coerce children into behaving.”
“Quite the horror stories from what I hear,” Tarken replied. “Mind your manners or the Libertas will peck your eyes out.”
At first, Cushla bowed her head to hide the smirk that was forming on her lips. Then, she felt unwilling to express submissiveness and raised her gaze to boldly look Tarken directly in the eyes, her smirk remaining visible. “Perhaps there are other body parts the Libertas is capable of snapping off.”
&n
bsp; Tarken chuckled at her comment. “It is said in the legend that he who possesses the Libertas holds its power.”
Cushla’s smirk faded quickly and a deep sadness wrenched through her. “To fetter one, kills its spirit, the beauty in its natural form smothered,” she returned quietly.
“Like you, mistress?” Tarken slid one of the glasses toward her, and took another sip from his own glass, his grin fading as well, his expression strained as if he too felt her pain. “Drink, Cushla. It will help.”
She obeyed and took a small taste. The fruity blend was cool and flavorful. “Help what?”
“The added nutrients will help you feel better.”
“Feel better?” Her subtle laugh was sardonic. “Your high hopes are well misplaced, master.”
“Tell me what happened to you,” Tarken requested of her, his voice gentle and seemingly sincere.
Did he really even care? “It is nothing more than most slaves endure. What doesn’t kill us gives us strength of will, true?”
“To endure such unpleasant things over and over again?”
This time, Cushla laughed loudly, scornfully. “Mere unpleasantness is tolerable, Tarken. Are you that witless about the plights of those you command?”
“Talk to me mistress, so that I might understand.”
At first, she merely stared at him. Picking up her drink, she took a gulp and swallowed hard. Placing the glass on the table her eyes narrowed briefly, anger taking hold but it vanished quickly. Anger clouded judgment and if there was one thing Cushla always strived to retain was her ability to think clearly. “The memories are vague, Tarken.” She forced herself to be far removed from the agonies she’d endured, her mind flying far above what it was trying to pressure into recalling. Her body had a sudden, incredible urge to follow.
“What do you remember now, mistress?”
Cushla merely shrugged and then shook her head. Her gaze wandered the perimeter as an array of emotions stretched through every fiber of her being. No one had ever asked her about her life and what she’d experienced, no one had ever cared. Why Tarken? Why was he so vested in caring?
“Cushla…” There was a tenderness in the way he said her name.
Her eyes snapped up to meet his gaze and she could see the deep concern on his handsome face. Maybe she was just trying to convince herself because she was so truly lonely, that she so badly wanted to be close to someone and willing to let herself toss aside her doubts, but Cushla didn’t thinks so. She believed that Tarken did genuinely care. Something caved inside of her, something which had been hardened and always firmly in place. For the first time since she was a little girl, she felt safe.
Sucking in a breath her body stiffened, bracing against the onslaught of pain that was sure to surface with what she was about to reveal. She shuddered, and then exhaled slowly before speaking.
Tarken waited patiently the entire length of time it took her to begin.
“I suppose he felt I was old enough to bed…”
“A former owner?”
Cushla nodded at his question. Picking up her glass, she took another swallow and then set the glass back onto the table. Releasing her hold on it, she slid both her hands to the edge of the table gripping it tightly. She said nothing for several long moments before continuing, “I guess he decided I was old enough to share with his acquaintances.”
“You were young?” Tarken’s mouth twisted with dismay.
“Too young.” Cushla closed her eyes. “Too small…” She couldn’t continue. Instead, she inhaled sharply and the opened her eyes to look at Tarken, saying nothing further.
“Slave or not, children are to be cherished,” Tarken remarked. He looked past her as if recalling thoughts of his own. “I only wish I had done more to cherish my mine.”
“You have children?” Cushla stared at him in surprise.
“I had a child.”
A child…Did that mean he also had a wife? The thought stirred something inside of her, something unidentifiable, something disturbing. She didn’t want him to have a wife, to hold love for someone else…“Had?” Did he say had? Cushla released her grip on the glass and pressed her palm to her sternum. Her heart was thumping hard inside of her chest. “What do you mean by—had?”
It was Tarken’s turn to gulp, and this time it was he who went silent.
“Tarken?”
The slavemaster gazed down to where his hand rested on the table, Cushla’s palm pressing on top of his. His gaze lifted and it was then she saw the pain rake through them before he managed to chain it down, his body stiffening as he seemed to steel himself, just as she had, against the emotional pain that like her, he refused to feel.
“My child and his mother are dead.” He said nothing more.
Cushla knew it wasn’t her place to probe further. Yet, she was unable to help herself. She had to know. “How did they die?”
At first, she didn’t think he was going to reply, he was silent for so long. Then with a deep breath he began to tell her about the most dark and desperate time of his life. “I was a commander for the military. Training troops was my job. It would take me away from home for six moon cycles at a time, and then I would come home for three and go back out again.”
Cushla lifted a brow. He trained sentinels. That explained a lot.
“We lived on Corida in the Vallis Star region. It was a nice area, plenty of trees, lush grasses, and beautiful lakes. The neighborhood we lived in was affluent.” He stopped speaking for a moment.
Cushla could tell by watching the distant look in his eyes and the subtle smile on his lips that he was reminiscing about a pleasant time in his life. He slowly began again, his chest expanding with his intake of breath, and she couldn’t help but focus on how masculine his chest was, how it felt mashed against her breasts.
“The last time I was on leave, my wife, Sosha was upset with me.”
Pushing her wayward sensual thoughts aside, Cushla looked up, noticing his expression had changed, his frown revealing feelings of dismay.
“She’d asked that I give up the military life and stay home more,” Tarken continued. “She missed me and so did Okli, our son. We had several arguments over that time. The last came the dawning I was to report back. It was Okli’s sixth birthday. Sosha wanted me to stay home and leave the next day. She had planned a celebration and it would’ve been the first time I would’ve been home for his birthday since he was three solars old. Pausing, Tarken closed his eyes. He inhaled slowly through his nostrils his chest filling, then he exhaled harshly. “She told me we might as well not be joined because I was never around.”
Tarken opened his eyes, and Cushla’s heart wrenched at the utter pain she saw in them, a feeling foreign to her as she rarely held sympathy for those who reigned over her. Yet, there it was, her heart filling with unbidden compassion for him. “What happened?”
He peered down to where his hand rested on the table and balled it into a tight fist. Clearing his throat, he then lifted his hand to comb his fingers through his hair. “This is nothing that would interest you, mistress.”
“But it does,” Cushla responded truthfully. “I do wish to know more of you.”
“Do you?” Tarken angled his head, and pursed his lips.
“Yes,” she replied softly.
Tarken leaned back in his chair and took another deep breath. He continued again, his voice becoming more even, less emotional. “I told Sosha it was because of my work that we were able to live in such a safe and secure location, that we could be living on Algaret where it was bleak and barren and crime was the way to make a living. And then I left.” Tarken grimaced, his voice becoming strained, and he seemed unable to tamp the utter grief that crossed his face. “That was the last time I saw my son.” He shook his head, his frown deepening. He stared beyond her, his eyes beginning to glisten.
Cushla wondered if she was about to see this hardened slavemaster shed a tear.
“I didn’t even kiss him goodbye, or wish him happy
birthday.” Tarken swallowed hard. “He had watched us arguing. He stood in the doorway, clutching the toy starflyer I had given him for his birthday and watched us scream at each other. My last memory of him was the broken expression on his face.”
Cushla gulped down the lump in her throat and sat quietly while blinking her eyes as she realized that she too, was fighting back tears of her own.
He seemed to gather his thoughts and then began to convey the rest of his sad tale. “I didn’t commlink her for many dawnings afterwards, nor did she me.”
“Why?” Cushla asked. “Why did you keep your silence?”
“Pride—foolish pride. I felt, at first, that she didn’t appreciate the sacrifices I made to provide for her as I did. As time went on, I began to see her point of view. She missed me, as I always did her, and my son was growing up without a father, or at least with just a part time father. Finally, I tried to commlink her, but there was no answer. I tried acquaintances, neighbors, no one was receiving calls. I finally checked the galactic news reports, and found there had been an epidemic on my planet. Hell…it began in my region. I turned over the training of the troops to my second in command, took emergency leave and headed home.” Tarken took a deep breath and let it out.
Cushla knew of these epidemics, they happened often on some planets.
“It was so eerie when I entered my neighborhood. There were no people about, no traffic, nothing. It was silent and still.” He visibly shuddered. “My house was empty and cold. Nothing was operating, Sosha and Okli were gone. I searched the area information system and read what had happened.” Tarken opened and closed his mouth several times, finally clearing his throat again before going on. “A mutant virus from the MilSci…”
“MilSci?” Cushla asked.
“The Military Science Lab, it was three leagues from where we lived. They had accidently released a virus and the winds carried it over four regions before it could be contained. The effects on the citizens were horrible. Great welts would break out on the skin, and the report said that what happened on the skin also happened inside the body. These welts would fill with puss and rupture causing more welts. It was reported the young and old were affected most greatly by it, and then it would spread to the healthiest of adults.”Grasping his drink Tarken lifted the glass to his lips and gulped down the liquid as if was a strong drink that he needed to settle his nerves.
Slavemaster's Woman, The Page 17