The Golden Barbarian

by Iris Johansen

  Panic raced through Tess as she gasped helplessly for air. She hadn’t expected to hit the ground so hard, and the impact had knocked the breath from her body.

  She could hear Galen saying something, his voice oddly husky above her, but she was too dazed to make out the words. She dimly felt him loosen the straps of the broken carobel and jerk it off her. Then his hands were running down her limbs.

  “Is she hurt?” Sacha’s voice, Sacha’s concerned face, hovered behind Galen.

  “I don’t know,” Galen said hoarsely. “She hasn’t moved.”

  “Not—hurt,” she gasped. “Can’t—breathe.”

  “Thank God,” Sacha breathed. “I told you it was dangerous, imp.”

  Galen shot him a fierce glance. “But you still helped her in this madness, didn’t you? She couldn’t have done it alone.”

  “You underestimate her,” Sacha said. “I think she could have managed without me.” He nodded. “But yes, I gave her my carobel and showed her where to hide in the brush to wait for the riders to pass.”

  “And damn near got her killed,” Galen said harshly. “Why?”

  “She was persuasive.” Sacha shrugged. “And you always knew I detested Hakim.”

  “Not—Sacha’s fault.” Tess struggled to a sitting position in the sand. “I had to—”

  “Kill yourself?” Galen demanded. “Two men died racing in the last carobel.”

  “Had to show … Hakim.” Tess was at last able to draw a deep breath. She was immediately sorry as the stench of perfume nearly overpowered her. Dear heaven, she stank. “Not … an animal.” She stiffened as she saw Hakim riding toward her.

  The old man halted before her and smiled down at her with malicious satisfaction. “You see what happens when women forget their place and try to mimic men? They end up kneeling humbly in the dust.” He turned to Galen and demanded, “You will punish her?”

  “Be assured, you will hear her scream,” Galen said grimly. “There should be time before we meet for the final vote this afternoon.”

  “Good.” The old man turned his horse and rode away toward the tents of El Kabbar.

  Sacha stepped forward. “Galen, I know you’re angry, but you have to admit she had justification, and she wasn’t as self-indulgent as you might bel—”

  “Go find Viane and tell her to heat water for a bath.” Galen wrinkled his nose. “Dear Lord, she stinks.” He turned to Tess and asked coldly, “Can you walk?”

  “Of course.” She struggled to her knees and then to her feet. “I told you I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Then go to the tent and wait for me there.” He turned and took Pavda’s and Selik’s reins and started for the enclosure. “Pavda deserves more care than you do. You could have killed her on that fourth jump.”

  “I knew she could make it. I would never do anything to endanger Pavda.”

  He neither answered nor glanced at her as he stalked toward the enclosure.

  Sacha gave a low whistle. “Be careful, imp. I’ve never seen him like this.”

  Tess was out of the bath, and Viane was wrapping her in a long length of toweling when Galen came into the tent. He carried a short riding whip.

  “Leave us, Viane.”

  Viane gazed in horror at the whip. “Would not a small stick do as well?”

  Galen smiled grimly. “The whip was sent by Hakim as a gesture of goodwill and a reminder of how a woman should be disciplined. Wasn’t it kind of him?”

  Viane hesitated. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to cause trouble, Galen. Couldn’t you—”

  “She meant to cause the furor she did,” Galen said curtly. “Leave us, and tell your servant to start packing. I’ve told Kalim he’s to form an escort and take you back to Zalandan this afternoon.”

  “But truly, Galen, she meant no harm. Could you not forgive her?”

  “No, it’s gone too far. If I don’t punish her, I lose Hakim’s vote for unity.”

  “That vile old man What do you care—?”

  “He’s right, Viane,” Tess said quietly. “I must be punished. It’s the only way. Leave us.”

  Viane gave her a worried glance and reluctantly left the tent.

  “I didn’t expect you to be so understanding,” Galen said without expression. “Was humiliating Hakim in the race worth it?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “I disagree.” He started toward her. “Nothing would be worth what I felt when I saw you—” He broke off as he stopped before her. “I thought you were dead when you fell off Pavda.”

  “I didn’t fall off Pavda,” she said indignantly. “I don’t fall off horses.”

  He went still. “What?”

  “Well, I did, but only because I wanted to fall.” She frowned. “But I didn’t know the ground would jar me so badly. I haven’t taken a fall since I was a child, and I thought the sand would be softer.”

  “Would you care to explain?” Galen asked carefully.

  “I told you, I fell deliberately.” She shrugged. “I didn’t wish to enrage Hakim or any of the other sheikhs by a total victory. That would have disrupted the council and your chance for unity. I thought if I took a fall and broke the carobel, it would be enough to soothe their wounded pride.” She met his gaze fiercely. “But he had to be punished. He had to know a woman could best him.”

  “But you didn’t best him. You gave up your victory just as you had it in your grasp.”

  “It was enough.” She scowled. “No, it wasn’t. I hated lying in the sand with him smirking down at me. Next time I’ll—” She stopped and drew a shaky breath. “But it was enough for now.” She looked at the whip again. “Do you wish me to kneel?”

  “No, just turn around.”

  She turned her back.

  “Now drop the towel.”

  She unwrapped the towel and let it fall to the carpet. She waited, bracing herself for the first blow.

  Then, incredibly, she felt not the lash but a warm brushing in the hollow of her spine.

  She looked over her shoulder to see Galen kneeling on the carpet, his lips moving across the flesh of her lower back. The whip lay on the rug beside him. She felt a wild leap of joy.

  “You’re not going to punish me?” she whispered.

  “I didn’t say I’d punish you, I said I’d make you scream.” His hands cupped her buttocks and began to knead. “And I fully intend to keep my word.”

  His hands encircled her waist, and he pulled her down to her knees.

  “I thought you were angry with me.”

  “I am,” he said thickly. He pushed her down on the carpet, his hands searching, petting, arousing. “Dear God, you frightened me. You deserve to be punished—but not with a whip.”

  She should be fighting him, she realized hazily as hot shivers began to race through her. She had been prepared for a beating, not his lust, and he had caught her off guard.

  He parted her thighs, and three fingers plunged deep and then began a jerky rhythm that brought a cry to her lips, and her body arched upward in a delirium of pleasure.

  He spread her limbs, and his hand left her. He bent closer until his warm breath teased the flesh of her inner thigh. “There are other, more delicate torments.” His tongue flicked out, and shock convulsed her. “You see?”

  His palms slid beneath her buttocks; lifting her, he drew closer. “I’ll have no difficulty making you scream for all to hear.”

  Only a few minutes later his prophecy proved true.

  His mouth …

  She whimpered and screamed and whimpered again as he drew her from valley to peak and would not let her go. He permitted her to descend for not more than a moment before he began again. She was not conscious how long it went on. She was aware only of arousal and release, arousal and release. When he finally lifted his head and moved between her thighs, she was trembling so badly she could do nothing but cling to him.

  His dark eyes glittered fiercely down at her, his chest moved in and out with the harshness of his
breathing. “Never again,” he said hoarsely. “You will never take a risk like that again.” He punctuated each word with a bold thrust. “I—will—not—bear—it.”

  He plunged deep, thrust fast and furiously, and only moments later obtained his own pleasure.

  She felt a tiny stirring of hope through the haze of exhaustion enfolding her. “It was necessary. There was no danger. You know I ride well.”

  He flexed within her. “Even better on me than on Pavda.”

  “Admit I did well.”

  He smiled down at her and gently brushed a lock of hair from her face. “When I wasn’t tempted to stop and beat you, I was very proud.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.” He moved off her and reached over to retrieve the toweling she had dropped at his command. “And now I believe that our purpose has been accomplished, and sufficient time has passed for me to go to the council.”

  The heat rushed to Tess’s cheeks. “You think they heard me?”

  “Without doubt. At one point I was sure your cries would carry to Zalandan.”

  Her flush deepened. “I was … surprised.”

  Galen finished adjusting his clothing. “You won’t won’t be any longer, will you?” He moved toward the entrance of the tent. “Stay here in the tent until the council is over.” He glanced back at her lying on the carpet as he untied the flaps of the tent. “You look entirely too satisfied and are notably lacking in bruises. I’ll give orders that no one is to come to you but Said.”

  “I do have a bruise.” She touched a faint blue mark where his thumb had grasped her hip. She chuckled. “But I suppose that doesn’t count?” She lifted herself on one elbow to look at him. “You believe they’re going to cast their votes for unity, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe. I’m so close.…” His hand closed on the flap of the tent. “Perhaps I’m afraid to hope.”

  She knew she should distance herself from him again, but she could not do it now when he looked so alone. “Then I’ll hope for you.”

  “Will you, kilen?” A brilliant smile lit his face. “Then all will be sure to go as it should. How could fate deem otherwise?”

  She knew the result as soon as he walked into the tent.

  “Unity!” She ran across the tent and threw herself into his arms. “Who reigns?”

  “My humble self.” He swung her in a circle. “But we’re still very far from our goal. A system of laws has to be hammered out, and there’s bound to be an uproar at the first dispute. Now that the union is formed, I have to find a way to hold the alliance together.”

  “You’ll do it. Who else could accomplish so much as you have already? You won’t let all that go.”

  “No.” He pulled her down on the cushions, cradling her in his arms, his face boyish with eagerness. “Dear God, unity.” He rocked her back and forth. “It’s happened, Tess!”

  “Hakim?”

  “Voted with the rest. Unity.”

  “What next?”

  “We go back to Zalandan, and I make plans for how to shape the laws to my satisfaction and not Hakim’s. The sheikhs meet there in a month’s time.”

  “Viane departed with her escort this afternoon. She said to tell you farewell.” She nodded at the cage in the corner. “She left Alexander with me. I didn’t know where we would have to go after the council, and I thought Viane and I could exchange messages.”

  “I don’t care if she left you every bird in her entire aviary. I don’t care about anything.” He gave the bird in its wicker cage only a passing glance as his arms tightened about her. “Unity!”

  She loved him.

  No inner arguments, no self-deception. The knowledge was there before her, stark and inevitable as it had been from the beginning. He was a man worth loving, and she loved him. So simple.

  No, not so simple. She desperately wanted freedom in a land that offered none to women, and this joy she was privileged to share with him might well signal the end for them. Unity meant his need for her was enormously lessened.

  A child. He still wanted a child. She grasped desperately at the hope. A child in his image that she could love …

  “You’re very quiet.” His lips caressed her ear.

  She was no fool. She could find a way to work out their difficulties. She tilted her head to look up at him lovingly. “I believe we should have a celebration.”

  “Indeed?”

  She nodded as she began to unfasten the ribbon that bound his queue. She pulled it free and tossed it on the cushions. “A very special celebration. You promised to teach me the manner in which kadines give pleasure.”

  “Then I must certainly do so.” He laid her back on the cushions of the divan. “You’re right, I believe that would constitute a splendid celebration.”

  She ran her fingers through his dark mane of loosened hair. The expression on his face held both tenderness and sensual savagery. “I thought you’d agree,” she whispered.

  A child …

  Chapter 11

  Several times during the night Tess wakened to the sound of horses’ hooves and the creak of wagon wheels. By dawn the festival encampment was nearly deserted, and the only tents remaining were those of the El Zalan.

  Sacha’s brows lifted quizzically as Tess came out of the tent. “What a springy step, what glowing cheeks. You appear remarkably fit, considering your horrendous ordeal.”

  She smiled serenely. “I recover quickly.”

  “But you must have some aftereffects of your experience.” He brought the back of his hand to his forehead in mock horror. “What screams, what cries of distress.”

  Tess’s cheeks flushed. “You heard?”

  “How could I help it? I was about to come to your rescue when I realized—”

  “What?”

  He grinned. “That I had heard just that kind of scream before and hoped to hear it many times again before I reach my dotage.”

  She quickly changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”

  “Galen sent me to make sure you were ready to go. A messenger just rode in from one of the hill tribes, and he’s talking to him now.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “Trouble?”

  Sacha shrugged. “We’ll have to ask Galen.” He nodded to Galen’s approaching figure. “But he doesn’t look pleased.”

  “No.” On the contrary, Galen’s expression was exceptionally grim. “Tamar?”

  Galen shook his head. “A troop of men wearing Tamrovian colors was sighted heading toward Zalandan.”

  “My father?”

  “Presumably. Who else?”

  “How far away?”

  “Perhaps two days’ journey.”

  She felt an instinctive shiver of fear, and suddenly she was a child again, trembling before the wrath of her father. “Then we must go and meet him.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

  He shook his head. “Not you.” He turned to Sacha. “Will you come with me? Your presence may help, but it will mean publicly aligning yourself against the royal family.”

  “Would I miss a chance of tweaking my dear uncle’s august nose?”

  “I’m not afraid to face him,” Tess lied.

  “Your presence would only complicate things and add fuel to the fire,” Galen said. “You’ll stay here under Yusef’s protection until I send for you. Your father would be foolish to launch an attack on Zalandan with only a token force. It will be a matter of threats, not battle.”

  “Then why hide me here? I can’t—”

  “No,” he said sharply. “I won’t risk you being taken from me.”

  She was bursting with happiness. There was no doubt about the possessiveness of his manner. “Very well, I’ll stay here.”

  Sacha chuckled. “Such meekness. The chastising you gave her must have robbed her of spirit, Galen. Perhaps old Hakim had the right of it.”

  Galen ignored him as he stepped closer and gently brushed the hair back from Tess’s face. “I’ll send
for you as soon as I deem it safe. I’ll prepare a welcome for your father that will illustrate both Zalandan’s military power and wealth.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, dealing with the reigning head of a country is entirely different from confronting the sheikh of one tribe. We’ll come to an agreement.”

  “By paving Axel’s journey back to Tamrovia with gold?” Sacha asked dryly.

  “Without a doubt. It will be worth it.” Galen dropped a kiss on Tess’s forehead. “I’ll leave Yusef a full troop of men for your protection. Promise me you won’t be foolish.”

  “I’m never foolish.” But his expression was grave with concern, and Tess again felt a burst of golden happiness. “I promise.”

  Sacha shook his head mournfully. “She’s just a crushed flower, a ghost of the Tess I knew.”

  “Be silent, Sacha,” Tess said without looking at him. “I’m only being sensible.”

  “Is that what it is? I thought it—”

  “Come along, Sacha.” Galen turned and walked toward the enclosure where Said was saddling the horses.

  Sacha lifted his hand in farewell to Tess. “God watch over you, imp.” His grin disappeared. “And heaven knows we’ll do our part to keep you safe.”

  “It will be difficult for you to return to Tamrovia after this.”

  He shrugged. “No loss. Life at court seldom amused me anyway. They didn’t appreciate either my amazing intellect or keen humor.”

  It was only a few hours later that Kalim rode into the encampment.

  His arrival set off cries of alarm that brought Tess running out of the tent to gaze at him in horror. A rough bloody bandage encircled Kalim’s head, fresh blood stained the shoulder of his white shirt. He appeared barely able to stay in the saddle.

  She saw Yusef, half running beside Kalim’s horse, speaking urgently, but Kalim only shook his head as he walked his horse up to Tess and stopped.

  “Kalim,” she whispered. “Viane?”

  “Leave us,” Kalim ordered Yusef as he dismounted. As he touched ground, his knees buckled and he clung to the saddle.

  Yusef stepped forward. “Kalim, you’re hurt. Let me get you—”