Mated to the Barbarians

by Samantha Madisen

  “No,” Helena replied, her voice icy. “Not at all.”

  They rode in silence after that and every now and again Helena would interrupt the jealous thoughts roiling inside her to glance at the ever larger mouths of the caves ahead. Then she would go back to the bitter, twisted feelings inside herself.

  She played out the scene over and over in her mind, imagining what it looked like when Vorag and Golar pushed into Vala’s body to seed her in the joining cave. Had they been just as passionate making love to her as they had last night? Had they been as ferocious with her, as filled with lust?

  Each question sent a fresh knife of cold jealousy slicing through her insides. By the time they were within a few hundred feet of the caves, she had managed to convince herself that she would die before she gave either of the warriors a shred of love.

  “Perek shafat!”

  Helena looked up at to find the voice that had called out from the distance, the sound echoing along the mountain walls.

  The entire caravan lifted their arms up into the air and answered in unison with a loud cry, “Perek shafat!”

  “It means good travels,” Vala explained, glancing at Helena over her shoulder.

  Helena gave a shrug, uninterested in learning anything about the Grahr language anymore. She watched the two warriors dismount at the head of the line, walk up to the man who had shouted the greeting, and embrace him one at a time.

  The men peered over their shoulders, eager, no doubt, to see their new bride from the valley.

  It was a strange time for Helena to remember that they had pressed the plug into her bottom again that morning and that her furs were almost too short and that the man, this strange man and all of the strange people living like animals in these caves would probably see that.

  She did her best to steel herself against the fresh shame the realization brought surging through her.

  After Vorag and Golar had both greeted the man with the customary bow, Golar turned around and began to walk toward Helena.

  She felt her resolve falter as their eyes met, remembering what they’d shared the previous night. But glancing back at Vala brought back the stinging pain of jealousy, tightening her jaw. By the time Golar was standing in front of the horse offering his hand, Helena was livid.

  Golar furrowed his brow.

  An eagle circling overhead screeched and the wind coming down the mountain picked up.

  “What is the trouble?” Golar asked.

  Vala looked back and scowled, too. “I… Helena, are you alright?”

  “I am fine,” Helena replied, her lips pursed. She took Golar’s outstretched hand and let him help her dismount.

  One of the others who had been with them came and took the reins of the horse and led it away.

  Golar did not move her toward the others, simply stared at her, as if searching for what had caused the change in her mood. “You are troubled by something?” he asked.

  Helena gave her head a terse shake but looked away from Golar. Anger and jealousy burned inside her, tightening her throat and sending tears stinging behind her eyes. She swore she would not give anyone the pleasure of seeing her cry.

  “Helena,” Golar rumbled, stepping closer and taking her by the arm.

  His strong touch was enough to make her look at him. Her lip trembled and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giving in to the tidal wave of sorrow that threatened to wash over her and send her into hysterics.

  “So! This is your new bride!” The voice came from behind Golar. A moment later the man she had seen them both greet stepped out from behind the warrior. He had a lean face and a scraggly grey beard. He looked older than all the others. His furs were a little tattered and his arms and legs were sinewy and thin.

  “Helena, this is our elder, Fareg,” Golar said quietly without taking his eyes off her.

  Helena glanced at Fareg, who was staring at her with inquisitive eyes. She gave him a curt nod before turning to look up toward the mountains again.

  An uncomfortable silence settled on the group that had formed around them.

  Helena realized she must have slighted Fareg in some way by her cold greeting. She could not bring herself to correct the insult by smiling or even looking back.

  “Helena,” Golar growled, “you would do well to greet him properly. He is our elder and to be respected.” His voice grew more ominous as he spoke.

  Helena stiffened at the sound of his voice. She had heard the same tone before and it had always immediately preceded a correction. Her cheeks heated at the thought of once again being thrown over Golar’s knee and spanked in front of everyone. Still, her anger would not ebb no matter how hard she tried. It had hardened into stubbornness and there was little she could do about it. She could not bring herself to look at the elder again.

  Golar waited only a few more moments. Still holding her arm, he walked the two or three steps it took to get to a nearby large boulder. He settled himself down on it, then lowered her over his lap.

  As the cool mountain wind touched her bottom and the flesh between her legs, Helena became profoundly aware of the plug in her back hole as well as the liquid that had begun seeping from between her pussy lips.

  The very thought of being so shamefully disciplined in such a public way by the mighty Golar was causing her body to betray her once again. The way they were positioned, there could be no doubt that all who had gathered around their entourage could see every inch of her most intimate parts.

  Golar’s grip on her arm was not rough or hard. It was the same, even, steady grip to which she had almost grown accustomed. As he pulled up the fur she was wearing, exposing her ass completely, Helena gasped.

  His rough and weathered palm landed on the roundest part of her bottom with a sharp slapping sound that echoed up the faces of the mountains.

  Everything else seemed silent. No one moved or uttered a word. It only served to reinforce the notion that they were staring directly at her, watching as Golar delivered the stinging reprimand.

  Helena winced as his hand fell on her other cheek. She wanted to feel more indifferent about the punishment, wanted to lie there and take whatever he meted out without reacting. But with each hard swat against her rear, her pussy heated and soaked even more thoroughly until an embarrassing trickle of her own moisture was running down the inside of her leg.

  She endured another five stern swats on each of her buttocks as they heated up. By the time the fifth had come she was cringing and biting her tongue, trying not to cry.

  Golar let his hand fall a final time and it remained there, keeping in the heat of his punishment.

  The wind whistled down the mountains again. Somewhere overhead a bird croaked. Everything else was silence as the cave-dwellers stared at her, most likely wondering what would happen next.

  Golar helped her stand up.

  The fur fell down over her burning bottom but barely covered it. Somehow the spanking had caused the plug inside her to feel larger, more uncomfortable. As he led her through the group and toward the caves, Helena was forced to walk on her tiptoes, keeping her ass high up in the air to accommodate the device.

  “My apologies for her behaviour,” Golar said to Fareg the elder as they passed by him. “We will sort this out and return to begin the ceremony.”

  Fareg nodded and smiled.

  Helena noticed there was a woman standing beside him. She looked as old and wiry as he was. She was staring at Helena with evil eyes. “Keresh. Keresh ma bere!” she said, pointing a crooked finger straight at Helena.

  Helena dared to look up at Golar. For a brief moment she saw what she thought was shock in his eyes at whatever words the woman had screeched.

  Fareg quickly quieted the woman, putting a hand on her arm and leading her away. Still, murmurs wandered through the crowd.

  Helena once again felt the overwhelming urge to burst into tears and collapse on the ground. She felt so far away from home, from everything she knew. Why did it have to be like th
is?

  Golar walked quickly and soon Vorag was by her other side. They ushered her into a large cave, one that thankfully she didn’t have to climb to get to.

  Inside there was a small fire burning and stones had been arranged with furs draped over them to form a circle around the makeshift hearth. It almost looked cozy, the way the orange and yellow light flickered across the walls.

  Perhaps there would be some way to get used to this. There would have to be. This was going to be her new home. Her lip trembled at the thought. It was so far from Dunkeep, so far from everything she knew and held dear. How would she ever get used to this new, barbaric way of life?

  “Why did you act that way to Fareg?” Golar said, turning to confront her with a scowl.

  Helena set her jaw, her melancholy hardening into anger again. She didn’t owe this big brute any explanations. She folded her arms over her chest and sniffed but kept staring into his eyes, daring him to punish her again.

  Golar stepped forward, ready to do just that, when Vorag put a hand on his arm, stopping his brother.

  Vorag shook his head, then tilted it toward the mouth of the cave, indicating they should step outside.

  Golar took a moment to think about it, then seemed to agree. “You stay in here. Sit down and do not move,” he ordered.

  As the two warriors moved toward the door, Helena felt some relief that she would at least have some time alone to think about everything that had happened and everything that was still to come. Finally, after holding it in for so long, she let the sadness that had been welling inside her, come out. Sinking to the ground, she began to cry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What is it?” Golar grunted, irritation burning in his eyes.

  Vorag knew exactly why. “I wanted to speak. To have a plan. We should both know what the other means to do.”

  “I mean to have words with Fareg’s wife Bretch as soon as I’m done here!” Golar growled, bristling.

  “She is old. She most likely saw Helena’s disrespect as…”

  “She called her a witch! She said she would bring a curse upon our tribe!” Golar said, his voice getting dangerously close to a roar.

  “Quiet, brother,” Vorag soothed, glancing down the hill where some of the others had already noticed they were speaking and, no doubt, Golar’s filthy mood.

  Golar grunted again, looked over his shoulder, then worked the tension out of his shoulders and neck by twisting them around. “Word has already certainly spread that Bretch isn’t pleased with our new wife.”

  “It most certainly has. Half the tribe must have heard her squawking,” Vorag replied.

  “And what is the sudden change in Helena’s mood? We were just… we had just begun to…”

  “I know, brother. I know,” Vorag answered. “It troubles me, too.” That feeling, the one they had talked about, the strange sensation that twisted his insides into knots and made his throat tight gripped him again.

  “You feel it again?” Golar asked, his forehead furrowing in deep lines.

  Vorag nodded at his brother. “It makes no sense. It is the way, our way. The Grahr share everything.” Then why was it that the thought of sharing her in the joining cave made him so angry?

  A few moments of silence passed between them. The wind picked up, whistling between the mountains and down the hills. Footsteps crunched on the rock behind them and the two of them turned to see Fareg climbing up to the entrance of the cave wearing a weak smile.

  “What is it?” Golar snapped.

  Vorag touched his brother’s arm again to calm him. It would not do to upset Fareg. They were the leaders of the tribe but the elder held great sway over opinion.

  “You must be tired from your journey to be so short with me,” Fareg said quietly. His smile faded as he spoke.

  Golar bowed his head and looked at the ground. “Apologies, Fareg. You are right. We are tired.”

  The elder accepted the apology with a nod. “The men are anxious to begin the joining ceremony,” he explained. “Two goats have been slaughtered and are on the spit. Will you take your bride to the joining cave to be shared?” he asked.

  Vorag stole a glance at his brother and watched the muscles in his jaw tighten. His own hands curled into fists at the mention of the joining cave and the feeling, the angry feeling came again.

  “We…” Golar spoke but couldn’t find the words to finish.

  “We are tired from the journey, Fareg. Though it is not the custom, could we wait until tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Fareg asked in disbelief, eyes narrowing. He shook his head. “That is not our way. The tribe’s bride is always shared on the first night to consummate the union. Why would you defy our tradition?”

  Vorag glanced back at the cave. Something fell into place in his mind. He turned to look at Fareg again. “Elder… could we continue our talk down the hill? Helena is tired and I suspect she wants to sleep a while. Let’s not wake her with our banter.”

  Fareg seemed even more perplexed by this at first, casting them both a curious stare. After a moment he shrugged, turned and began making his way down the hill on wobbly legs.

  “What are you doing?” Golar asked.

  “Shush,” Vorag whispered. “I think I might know why her mood has fouled.”

  “Well? What is it?” Golar grunted impatiently.

  “Let’s deal with Fareg and the other first. I’ll tell you when we come back to the cave.”

  The two moved away from the cave entrance and down after Fareg. The old man turned around to face them once they’d moved a few hundred steps from the cave. “Now what is this all about?” he demanded. “Why are you two acting so strangely?”

  Vorag wished he’d had more time to think, more time to try to pry apart the feelings that had twisted his stomach into knots. Now, with Fareg demanding an explanation, it seemed there was only one thing to do: tell him the truth.

  “Elder Fareg,” Vorag began, “do you trust us as leaders of the Grahr?”

  The question only seemed to confuse Fareg even more. “Of course I do. You were chosen by our people’s will. You rule justly. But what does this have to do with anything?”

  “So you trust our hearts, our instincts?”

  Fareg gave a brusque nod. “Certainly,” he replied.

  Vorag took a deep breath before continuing, hoping the cool mountain air would steel his nerves for the confession he was about to make. “I cannot give Helena to the joining cave,” he said firmly.

  “Nor can I,” Golar added.

  A wave of relief swept over Vorag at his brother’s support.

  Fareg stared at them, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “What?” he whispered.

  “It is as I said. I know it has been the Grahr tradition but I… I cannot stomach the thought of Helena being… taken by the others.”

  Fareg shook his head. He stood silent for what felt like an eternity. “You have lost your minds,” he whispered finally. “Bretch was right. The woman in your cave must be a witch to have cast such a spell on you that you would turn your back on your people!” He pointed a crooked finger at them, his hand shaking.

  “No,” Vorag said. “There is no spell. It is a feeling inside me. The most powerful I have ever felt. Helena is mine.”

  “She is ours,” Golar growled.

  “Ours,” Vorag echoed. “And she will stay as ours alone.”

  Fareg’s eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened into a thin line, and his expression grew menacing. “Then you are no longer fit to lead the Grahr. I will see to it that you are unseated. A new pair will be found, one that will not reject our ancient traditions!”

  “King Sadon will consider that the ultimate insult,” Golar said. “He gave us his sister to protect the pact our people made with him. If we are no longer rulers the Grahr will not be safe. Sadon will raise an army and come to rout us out of these mountains!”

  “Well, then perhaps you should reconsider your decision, Golar?” Fareg asked. Anger flic
kered in his eyes.

  Vorag turned to look at his brother. He felt the indecision tearing away at Golar’s insides and saw it painted across his face. His body shook at the thought that Golar might change his mind about the joining cave.

  “No.”

  The single word uttered by Golar swept another wave of relief through Vorag.

  “No?” Fareg asked.

  “No. I will not give her to the joining cave. She is ours and ours alone.”

  Fareg looked from Golar to Vorag and back to Golar again. The anger in his eyes turned to resentment. “Well, curse you then. Your reign is over; I will see to it myself. Collect your things. You are no longer welcome here.”

  “We are the kings here!” Golar roared.

  Heads turned below them, wide eyes staring up in wonder at what was going on.

  Fareg shook his head. “No. Not anymore.” With that he turned and hobbled down the rest of the hill toward the onlookers below.

  “Well, then? Now what?” Golar growled, still staring at Fareg.

  “Now…” Vorag said quietly. His mind was reeling from what had just happened. Would Fareg really follow through on his promise? If so, what would they do? There was nowhere to go but over the mountains and there was nothing for them over there. Still, it was a better fate than seeing Helena bred by every male at the joining cave. He steeled his nerves and turned to look at his brother. “Come. Let us go and talk to her. Maybe hearing about what we’ve done will lift her spirits.”

  “Or maybe it will only sink them further,” Golar muttered. “What are we doing, brother?” he asked, touching Vorag on the arm.

  Vorag shook his head. “I don’t know, brother. I don’t know. But could you watch as the whole tribe took their turn with her?”

  Golar paused for a moment, as if mulling over the possibility. “No,” he answered.

  “No,” Vorag said. “Neither could I.”

  They climbed up toward the mouth of the cave in a sullen silence. Once they stepped inside, it took a moment for Vorag’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. As soon as they did, panic gripped his heart.