As Baral and Rianna approached the other encampment, it appeared far calmer. The soldiers worked with smooth military precision, packing up their bedrolls and donning their light body armour. A few of the men, however, still lingered around the fire talking and laughing together.
Rianna’s arrival appeared to be of great interest to all the soldiers. They watched curiously as the young woman, destined to be their monarch’s bride, walked into the clearing accompanied by Baral. Rianna blushed self-consciously under their scrutiny. Despite knowing it was not the case, she regarded them as enemies not friends.
Rianna wore a travelling gown of turquoise sarsenet. The colour complimented her red-gold hair, which she wore loose around her shoulders. The shining waves spilled down her back and past her waist, confined only by a satin ribbon which matched her dress. She was tired; there were faint violet shadows beneath her eyes but she had rarely looked more lovely.
Ignoring the soldiers’ admiring, lustful glances, and their lewd whispered asides, Rianna moved over to where Tarn lay. He appeared to still be asleep.
‘Baral, could you check that a wagon is being prepared for the prisoner, just as I instructed.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ As Baral walked away, she knelt down beside Tarn, hoping he was awake. She wanted to be able to converse with him in private.
As she put a cool hand on Tarn’s brow, his eyelids fluttered and then opened. His eyes were the most glorious blue, even more vivid than she remembered. Her memories of the handsome warrior faded into oblivion when she was confronted by the male perfection of Tarn in the flesh.
‘Rianna, you’ve returned.’ Tarn smiled warmly. ‘For a time I feared you were just a wonderful dream.’
‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked, relieved that his fever appeared to have abated.
‘Like a babe,’ Tarn replied, wincing as she touched the wound on his head. ‘It still aches a little.’
‘Not surprising. The blow you took would have killed a lesser mortal.’
Baral had told Rianna what happened to Tarn after she’d departed. Captain Feroc had arrived to find Tarn violently attacking Rorg, while the other soldiers vainly tried to drag him away from their comrade. The blow which felled Tarn had come from the heavy hilt of Captain Feroc’s broadsword.
‘I never saw it coming,’ Tarn confessed with a shaky smile.
‘You are lucky to be alive.’ She placed a small covered basket by his side. ‘I’ve brought you breakfast. Honey cakes, freshly baked and still warm.’
The delicious odour of the cakes made Rianna feel hungry, but she could eat later. Tarn’s needs were more important. Baral had told her that Tarn had been fed only weak gruel and sour ale since they left Harn.
‘They smell delicious.’ He wrinkled his nose in the most endearing manner. ‘I just hope my stomach doesn’t rebel against such luxury after the swill I’ve been forced to eat.’
‘Eat slowly, and you’ll be fine,’ she replied. ‘And be assured that from now on you will be well fed. Chancellor Lesand insists on that.’
‘Fattening me up for the kill?’ Tarn said with a wry grin.
‘You should not jest about such matters.’ She did not bother to hide her concern for him. ‘If there was something I could do . . .’
‘You’ve done enough already, sweet Rianna,’ Tarn said in a voice heavy with meaning. ‘More than enough for any man.’
She blushed. ‘No more than I deemed necessary.’
‘If it were possible I would ask for far more,’ he replied. ‘I long to once again kiss your ruby lips and to experience the tender touch of your hands on my body. I know it is not likely, but I can always live with the hope.’
‘Anything is possible if you want it enough,’ she whispered huskily, inwardly quailing at her boldness.
‘I could not place you in danger. If Lesand were to discover how kind you have been to me, he would never forgive your behaviour.’
‘The Chancellor will not find out.’ She took hold of his hand. ‘From henceforth you must be cautious, Tarn. We need to convince everyone that your head wound is far worse than it is. Seem confused, not knowing who or where you are. Ensure the soldiers see that you are in pain.’
Rianna found Tarn’s full lips impossibly tempting as she recalled his passionate kisses. She was filled with an unquenchable need to throw herself into his arms. Her mind was in turmoil. She desired Tarn, yet she was promised to his enemy, Lord Sarin; and Sarin held the power of life and death over Tarn.
Rianna’s thoughts had been aroused and inflamed. First by witnessing Tarn’s punishment, then by watching Jenna and Mircon together. Her pudenda throbbed as she craved sensual fulfilment, but she was forced to deny the wanting.
‘Is something amiss?’ Tarn said worriedly. ‘You appear troubled.’ He tried to sit up but fell back with a groan of agony.
‘It seems you have no need to pretend to be in pain,’ she said tenderly.
‘There is a pounding in my head. It feels like a dagger twisting deep within my skull,’ he gasped weakly.
‘Only time will heal the damage,’ she told him. ‘Remember, the weaker you appear the longer I can justify caring for you, Tarn.’
‘Then I’ll appear weak for my entire life.’ His eyes darkened with the intensity of his emotion. ‘I could wish nothing more wonderful than to have you always by my side.’
‘Move yourself, barbarian!’ a harsh voice interrupted. The sergeant, who had punished Tarn, marched over to them. ‘Get up,’ he snapped.
Angrily, Rianna jumped to her feet and glared furiously at the sergeant. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she said icily.
He coloured in embarrassment. ‘Forgive me for speaking so boldly, Lady Rianna. The prisoner needs to be moved to the wagon.’
‘Chancellor Lesand has assigned the prisoner to my care,’ she said in a determined voice. ‘He cannot walk, he will have to be carried. The slightest jolt could cause irreparable damage.’
Turning, the sergeant shouted some instructions to his men, then he looked back at Rianna. ‘The wagon is prepared as instructed, my lady. It is sufficiently padded. No further harm will befall the captive, you can be assured of that.’
‘Your men did the damage in the first place,’ she snapped, watching the sergeant shift his feet awkwardly as she glared at him. ‘If my instructions are not carried out to the letter and any harm befalls him, I shall speak to Lord Sarin myself. Do you understand what I’m saying, sergeant?’
‘I do,’ he stuttered, nodding vigorously. ‘I’ll ensure he’s treated with every care.’
‘Be sure he is,’ she said sternly. The sergeant attempted a cautious smile. His teeth were stained and broken; he was quite the most repulsive man Rianna had ever come across. She hated him more than she believed she could hate any man. ‘And give the captive this to wear. It is not fitting for him to be unclothed in my presence.’
She thrust the rolled-up garment she’d so recently acquired from Chancellor Lesand at the sergeant. The loose-legged trousers were made of the finest silk. No other man in the caravan could provide a suitable garment. Lesand was the closest to Tarn’s height but still a head shorter than him.
‘Of course, my lady,’ the sergeant said obsequiously. Frowning, he looked down at the blue silk garment. Prisoners were not usually given such fine attire. ‘We’ll be departing soon. If you’ll excuse me, my lady, the prisoner must be put in the wagon.’
He beckoned to four men, who now held between them a hastily constructed stretcher. They approached and encircled Tarn while one removed the manacles from his ankles. As they lifted him on the stretcher, Tarn grimaced in pain. The sergeant, meanwhile, pursed his lips in disgust, clearly resenting having to be so gentle with the captive.
The men carried Tarn over to a large baggage wagon and loaded him inside.
‘Lady Rianna,’ Baral touched her arm. ‘We should leave. The caravan will be departing soon.’
‘I wish to ensure that my patient is comfortable
first,’ she replied. ‘You return to the other camp. I’ll be with you shortly.’
‘As you wish.’ Baral bowed and departed.
Rianna waited until the soldiers had left the baggage wagon and Tarn was alone. Then she picked up the basket of honey cakes and walked over to the wagon. It was quite high off the ground and without steps it did not prove easy for her to climb inside.
Tarn, now discreetly clad in the silk trousers that barely reached his calves, smiled at her. He was lying on a pile of sacks stuffed with straw, which would help protect him from the jolting of the wagon. His face was pale, and perspiration covered his brow; visible proof that being moved had proved painful to him.
‘Who thought this necessary?’ Rianna asked in irritation as she saw the manacles on Tarn’s wrists and ankles, attached by heavy chains to a ring bolted in the side of the wagon.
‘The soldiers seem to think I might try and escape. They are not wrong,’ Tarn said weakly. ‘Although the way I feel at this moment, I doubt I would get more than a few paces.’
‘You’ve tried escaping before, I hear?’ She sank to her knees beside him and put down the basket of cakes.
‘Twice so far. It is also rumoured that some of my comrades from Kabra may try to launch some kind of rescue attempt. I had hoped those rumours might be true, but the closer we get to Aguilar the less that seems likely.’
‘If only you could escape,’ she said with a sigh.
‘Who knows, maybe the chance will still arise.’ Tarn did not sound as though he thought it likely. ‘Why even talk of such matters when I’m too weak to try?’
‘Then we have to make you stronger.’
He lifted his manacled hand to stroke her pale cheek. ‘You are so beautiful, Rianna.’
Meshing his hands in her hair, Tarn pulled her towards him and captured her lips with his. For a long, wonderful moment she melted in his arms, and gave herself up to the kiss. Entwining her tongue with his, she responded with warmth and passion, losing herself in ecstasy.
Tarn stroked her breasts through the fine sarsenet of her gown, and the simmering heat of desire in her sex burst into a blazing inferno. Rianna was brought back to brutal reality by the heavy weight of Tarn’s chains as they fell across her waist. She forced herself to pull away from him, knowing one of the guards could appear at any moment.
‘I must leave, but I’ll return this evening,’ she said breathlessly.
‘I’ll count the hours until you return,’ he said in a voice husky with unrestrained passion.
By the time the caravan stopped for the night, Rianna was in a state of nervous excitement, all too eager to see Tarn again. During the long hours of travel she and Jenna had talked. Jenna told Rianna about the young men she’d known, her distress at being forced to leave Harn, and her growing affection for Mircon. Rianna spoke about her fears for the future and the life she envisaged in Percheron, but she could not find the courage to say anything about Tarn. The emotions raging within her head were far too complex to put into words.
Out of her limited travelling wardrobe, Rianna chose a deep pink silk gown, heavily embroidered with silver, which had been a gift from Lord Sarin. It fastened at the front with a multitude of tiny silver buttons and was far more loose fitting than her garments made in Harn.
The Chancellor had ordered that henceforth Tarn’s guards should stay close to the main camp. She had to walk less than two hundred paces across an open, flower-filled meadow, so she chose not to bother with an escort.
Rianna found Tarn still chained inside the wagon, resting on his pile of straw-filled sacks. The day had been warm but now the sky had clouded over and it looked likely to rain at any moment. The heavy metal hoops fitted across the wagon had been draped with canvas in order to protect the contents, affording Rianna and Tarn a measure of privacy.
‘Rianna,’ Tarn smiled and dragged himself into a sitting position.
‘I have come to check on your wounds,’ she said, trying to ignore the upsetting clanking of his chains as he moved.
‘I’ve been desperate for you to return,’ he confessed.
Rianna could not bring herself to admit that she felt the same. ‘I trust you were given something palatable to eat?’
‘A delicious stew. Quite the best I’ve ever tasted.’ He pointed at the empty wooden bowl by his side. ‘The first time I’ve eaten meat for weeks.’
‘Good food will give you strength and help you recover.’ Rianna’s hand shook as she knelt down beside him and opened her bag. ‘I’ll examine and then redress your wounds. First let me look at your head.’
Tarn stayed silent, his blue eyes fixed on her face, as she thoughtfully probed his head wound, then examined his chest and shoulder. Tarn didn’t wince or complain as she pulled off the stale bloodstained dressings.
‘The pain in my head has decreased,’ he volunteered as she spread soothing unguent over the now clean sword gash on his chest. The skin appeared healthier and far less inflamed, much to her relief.
‘It’s possible the pain may became worse again at times,’ she said, pausing to smile tenderly at him. ‘What of your back? Does that trouble you?’
‘The skin feels tight and it smarts a little,’ he replied with a twisted ironic smile. ‘But it does not concern me. The whipping was intended to scar my mind not my body.’
‘At least until we reach Aguilar I can ensure you will not have to endure such mistreatment again. After that . . .’ she faltered, busying herself with taking more clean cloths from her bag.
‘Let us not speak of the future, Rianna. I wish to live only for the present.’ The look on Tarn’s face made her tremble. She shivered with pleasure as he took hold of her hand and covered her palm with gentle kisses that set her skin on fire. ‘I should remind you,’ he whispered softly, ‘that there is another wound you have yet to attend to.’
Rianna tried to quell the agitated beating of her heart. ‘Indeed there is,’ she huskily acknowledged.
He let go of her hand and relaxed back on the sacks, his blue eyes still fixed on her flushed face. Struggling to appear calm, Rianna unfastened the cord which held up Tarn’s silk trousers. Cautiously she eased the fabric downwards, trying to keep his phallus and balls modestly covered. But the fine silk clung enticingly to his semi-erect shaft and the musky male scent of him made her knees feel weak with wanting. Faint with desire, Rianna tried to keep her attention on Tarn’s wound. If the blow had been but a fraction to the right, his manhood would have been at risk. She shuddered at the thought as she spread unguent over the long gash. The strong smelling ointment would help him heal faster and it also served to mask the heady, compelling odour of Tarn’s sex.
‘Why so shy?’ Tarn murmured. ‘You were not so coy last night.’
‘Tarn, I . . .’ She tried to smile. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you applied the ointment yourself.’ She placed the pot by his side.
Tarn laughed softly and lifted his hand to touch her face. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over her trembling mouth. ‘I know, my sweet one, I feel the same,’ he said with understanding. ‘Desire is a powerful emotion,’ he finished, the need he felt for her plainly reflected on his face.
“Tis getting dark in here,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I should light the lamp.’
‘Leave it a while.’ He pulled his trousers together and retied the cord. ‘I prefer the darkness, it hides us from prying eyes.’
The chains restraining Tarn clanked noisily as he leant forward to pull her into his arms. ‘Should we be doing this?’ she whispered in concern.
‘No,’ he groaned. ‘Yet I cannot help myself. You’re too tempting to resist.’
Tarn kissed her with anguished longing. Rianna’s heart raced as she clung on to him, overwhelmed by passion. Her arms slid around him. She splayed her hands across his back, feeling the strength and hardness of his muscles. Beneath her fingertips she could just detect the raised weals which still marred the surface of his smooth golden skin.
‘Order me to
stop and I’ll obey,’ he whispered against her hair, as he struggled to unfasten the tiny buttons at the front of her gown. ‘I just want to give you some of the pleasure you gave me.’
Tarn’s musky male warmth enchanted her senses and she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. She shivered with impatience as Tarn’s large hands struggled with the tiny buttons. Twisting them roughly from their confining loops, he opened her gown to well past her waist. He slid one hand in the opening to stroke her burgeoning flesh, then his fingers closed possessively around one naked breast. He caressed the creamy globes, first one then the other, kneading and squeezing them until she whimpered with pleasure.
As he kissed her again, she tasted the sweetness of his breath. His tongue invaded her mouth, stroking and probing the moist interior, making her desire grow to a fiery heat that knew no bounds. Rianna strained against Tarn as his searching fingers pulled and tweaked her nipple, forcing it to swell into a rigid cone. The throbbing bliss caused a responsive pulling in her belly. Unconsciously she moaned and opened her legs.
Pulling the pink silk further apart, Tarn pressed his face to the opening to kiss and lick her breasts. He nuzzled her nipple, closing his lips around the tiny teat. Pulling the nubbin deeper into his mouth, he sucked on it hard. Rianna whimpered and pressed herself even closer to Tarn as the pleasure rippled downwards, like the spreading flames of a fire. Heat filled her belly, increasing the pulsing warmth between her thighs.
She heard the clink of the chains as Tarn moved to slide his hand slowly up her leg. He paused to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Rianna trembled with longing, wanting Tarn to continue and quell the slippery heat in her sex.
He meshed his fingers in her pubic hair and gently stroked the engorged lips of her vulva. Using the pad of his thumb, he traced the line of the crack of her sex. But still to her frustration he did not venture inside.
‘I need your approval,’ he said softly, as if expecting her to deny him entrance to her secret flesh.
Savage Surrender Page 8
