The Barbarian's Bride

by Loki Renard

  Curling up with her lover, Aisling was content. Deeply content, right to the very marrow of her bones. She could not imagine a greater happiness than the one she felt in that moment. She had touched eternity and returned, she had seen the realm of God for one bright, soul-blistering moment. Rikiar had shown her a capacity for pleasure she had not suspected her body capable of.

  He was almost insensate, his eyes lidded, his chest rising and falling as if he were asleep. She did not disturb him. The act of love had drained his energies and left him quite vulnerable—which Aisling rather liked. Rikiar was always strong, always hard, but in that moment he was as soft and gentle as any man ever could be.

  They lay together for a long time, letting the world go by without them. Aisling was the first to recover her energies. As she did, she noticed that her knife was still sitting in Rikiar’s discarded pants. A devilish impulse told her to lean over and snatch it, so she did. Rikiar was dozing quite happily, thoroughly unaware that his mischievous lover had once more regained her favorite toy.

  Creeping about the room, Aisling decided the best place for her prize was inside the closet that hid her dresses.

  She was sliding back into bed when Rikiar’s eyes opened and he fixed her with his amber stare. “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Aisling squeaked.

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “Maybe.”

  Rikiar wrapped a strong arm about her waist and pulled her close. “Tell me what you were doing, Aisling. And tell me the truth.” His rumble passed through her chest and entered her body, a physical warning that made her almost consider giving away her little hiding spot.

  Instead of telling him what she had been up to, Aisling nipped his nose gently. It seemed like a good way to defuse the situation.

  He smiled and palmed her bottom. “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Aisling lied again.

  Rikiar squeezed her bottom, not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to act as further warning. “One last time, princess,” he drawled. “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing… Ow!”

  He slapped her bare bottom hard. “I know exactly what you did,” he informed her. “I saw you take that knife. I saw you hide it in the wardrobe. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a reason for wanting to arm yourself.”

  “No!” Aisling reassured him. “I just like it.”

  “If you want something, you ask for it,” he said, pulling her against his body and spanking her very hard. His palm bounced off one rounded cheek then the other, heating her flesh to an uncomfortable point. “You behaved like a disobedient, dishonest little wretch,” he lectured. “I took that blade off you for your own safety and not an hour later you steal it back.”

  Aisling squealed as Rikiar clamped her close against his hard frame, one arm wrapped about her waist whilst the other belabored her bottom. Each strike of his palm sent her jolting against his hard thigh, trapping her between the heat of his hand and the inescapable barrier of his body. It was a punitive embrace, one which left no room for anything other than standing and taking her punishment.

  “I’m sorry!” She wailed the words plaintively up at him. She was very, very sorry, the sorriest she’d ever been. It wasn’t because of the spanking necessarily; though it was most unpleasant, it was no different from the punishments she’d received before. What was different was the censure in his tone. He seemed genuinely disappointed. That hurt far more than the spanking.

  “What is so important about that little blade that you insist on keeping it at any cost?”

  “I like it!” Aisling wailed. “It’s mine. I wanted to keep it!”

  “And now you have neither the blade, nor a comfortable bottom,” Rikiar said, pausing for a moment to rub her cheeks. She parted her legs a little, let her wet and still cum-soaked pussy ride against his hip as he massaged her hot cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

  He began slapping her again, this time more lightly. “You are trouble, aren’t you, Aisling? A little freedom has gone completely to your head. I send you out for dresses, you come back with a knife. I take it off you, you steal it back. Do you need to be locked up like an animal, hmm? Can you not behave yourself unless there are walls ensuring your obedience?”

  Aisling buried her head in his shoulder, her dark locks mingling with his as she hid in shame. Her bottom was very hot and prickly but her lips were wet and her desire was returning. In spite of the fact she was being disciplined, she very much wanted Rikiar inside her again.

  “I understand that you are curious about many things, Aisling,” he said, smoothing his palm across her bare bottom. “But there are some things that are dangerous to the uninitiated. Weapons, for instance. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Aisling murmured.

  “I intend to allow you freedom,” Rikiar said. “I have no desire to imprison you in a tower or anywhere else. But freedom comes with responsibility. It requires that you make good choices and not follow your first impulses. If you are uncertain about something, Mara or I will help you.”

  Aisling was not sure she liked the idea of freedom, especially if it meant being in trouble. Life was certainly easier when she didn’t have to make decisions.

  “Do you understand, Aisling?” Rikiar’s baritone cut through her thoughts of insecurity.

  “Yes, m’lord,” Aisling replied dutifully.

  He patted her bottom once, twice, then sighed. “You must promise to think more carefully in the future.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” she said yet a third time.

  “I know am running the risk of spoiling you,” he said, running his hand up and down her bare back.

  “Will you teach me to use the dagger so I may have my real one back?” It was a bold suggestion, but Aisling very much wanted her pretty knife.

  “I will have one of my warriors teach you,” Rikiar said. “We are stretched on several fronts at the moment, Aisling. I wish there was more time for you and me.” He took her hand and kissed each one of her fingertips with a yearning and hunger that told her he was indeed completely smitten.

  She felt a rush of something she had never felt before. Power. Her beauty had given her sway over this man who was so much physically and politically stronger than she. He could do with her as he wished, and what he wished was to fill her.

  She moved atop Rikiar, spreading her thighs around his hard bare cock. No words passed between them as he grasped her bare cheeks and pushed up inside her, filling her a second time. Aisling pressed her hips down, grinding against him as he began thrusting deep inside her willing womanhood. Every thrust brought with it a rushing torrent of pleasure.

  “I cannot seem to sate myself with you,” he growled against her lips between searing kisses. “I spend myself and though I have naught to spill, I cannot help the desire to ravage your tender cunt.”

  Aisling squirmed and squeaked every now and then with the sting of his cock. She had been well and truly fucked already, and though she had wanted it, this second round was close to being a punishment. He knew that. She knew he did, for he wrapped his hand around her arm and held it behind her back, thrusting his cock inside her tender quim with quick, hard thrusts of his hips.

  “Are you going to behave yourself?”

  “Yesss…” Aisling squealed.

  “Or am I going to have to ravage you until you are too sore to walk, let alone make mischief? Will I have to whip and fuck you until you are too tired to steal and sneak?”

  “Noooo…” Aisling gasped, her bare, red round bottom bouncing with every powerful thrust.

  “Maybe I have been taking the wrong holes,” Rikiar growled, dipping his fingers between her spread cheeks. His fingertip made contact with the tight bud of her bottom, making it clench along with her pussy. “Maybe I should press my cock inside this hole and teach you a lesson about obedience.”

  “Mnnggh…” Aisling gasped. The touch was not unpleasant, but th
e thought made her blush like the virginal maiden she no longer was.

  The thought seemed similarly potent for Rikiar, for he was soon spending his seed again, filling her up again with the cream of his essence.

  “Will we marry now?” Aisling was still flushed with climax when the question passed her lips. They had made love not once, but twice. It was well and truly done. The thick white fluid coating her puffy lower lips was testament to that, as was the ache between her thighs.

  “We are married in the only sense that matters,” Rikiar said, caressing her body with strong hands.

  “We are married in the way rutting dogs are married,” Aisling replied quite indelicately.

  Rikiar chuckled. “Do you want a grand ceremony, my bride?”

  “A somewhat grand ceremony would be nice to make it official.”

  “What will make it official is the swelling of your belly,” Rikiar grinned.

  “We will definitely be married before that occurs,” Aisling replied. “My offspring will have legitimacy.”

  “All offspring are legitimate,” Rikiar drawled.

  “Not in my father’s estimation, nor in the eyes of those who will judge them.”

  “Such a proper maiden,” Rikiar teased, kissing her nose. “Very well, we will have a grand wedding on the next full moon. In one month’s time you will ride through the streets of Ravenblack not as a prisoner, but as my wife.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I do,” he said, pressing his lips to her hand. “I give you my word.”

  Chapter Five

  “You are glowing,” Mara said almost accusingly. Morning had broken and she was brushing out Aisling’s hair with long, sweeping, suspicious strokes. “He claimed you, did he not?”

  Aisling beamed broadly, but did not confirm Mara’s suspicions. It was much more fun to let the woman speculate.

  Mara smirked in the mirror. “You cannot hide the truth from me. I can see when a maiden has become a woman. It is in your eyes now, you know what it is to be ravaged by a man.”

  “Perhaps you are confusing your own reflection?” Aisling teased gently.

  “I know what it is to be taken,” Mara confirmed. “Berner and I have made love many, many, many times.”

  “But you have not married.”

  “If we were to be married I would live in his household and do his bidding day in, day out. I would become his wife.”

  “I believe that is considered to be the point of marriage.”

  “Yes,” Mara said. “But I like my freedom.”

  “So Berner ravishes you when he pleases and leaves you be the rest of the time?”

  “Quite so,” Mara beamed.

  “Sooner or later there will be consequences to that.”

  “None so far,” Mara replied. “And I thank the goddess for it.”

  Aisling would have given Mara a disappointed look, but it would have been wasted on the woman. Besides, she had matters of greater concern to think about. Making love was very fine indeed, but her plans for the day did not involve making love. They involved learning how to use a blade so Rikiar would not thrash her if he found one on her person.

  “Today I shall meet the blades tutor,” she said, watching Mara braid and pin her hair up and out of the way. “Who is he?”

  “She,” Mara replied, her voice slightly muffled because of the hair pin she held between her lips. “Her name is Helsa. She is one of Rikiar’s best warriors.”

  “A woman warrior?”

  “Not all the women in the world are locked away waiting for princes,” Mara said, teasing. “Some of them take their places on the battlefield.”

  It was a light-hearted jab, but it hit Aisling deep. She knew she was at a disadvantage for having been secluded.

  “Do not look so sad,” Mara said. “You are beautiful and young and Rikiar already loves you more than any other woman in the world. He has his pick, and he has chosen you.”

  Her words did cheer Aisling up a little. What cheered her up more was the arrival of her soon-to-be husband in the bedchamber.

  “Have you made yourself ready, my sword-maiden?” He smiled at her. He was, as usual, wearing a leather vest and leather pants. Aisling laid eyes on the exposed parts of his broad chest and his brawny arms and felt herself swoon.

  “I will always be ready for you, my love.”

  “Oh, by all the…” Mara shook her head. “What a disgustingly pleasant woman you are.”

  Rikiar chuckled. “Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from Aisling’s example. There is nothing wrong with being sweet and submissive.”

  Mara finished pinning Aisling’s hair and stood aside, rolling her eyes as she did.

  “Mara doesn’t want to be submissive,” Aisling said, standing gracefully. “She wants to be taken and used and set aside until such time as she is needed again.”

  “Don’t talk about me as if I am a bottle of mead,” Mara sniffed.

  “It is true,” Aisling replied. “You are Berner’s personal mead.”

  “Well, you are Rikiar’s personal…”

  “Ladies,” Rikiar drawled a warning. “Leave the fighting for the arena.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mara said. “Do enjoy the arena, Princess Aisling.” She dropped into a curtsey absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

  Aisling ignored her misbehaving maidservant, preferring to wrap her hands about Rikiar’s arm as he led her out through the village to the training grounds. They were a large flat expanse of bare earth from which every blade of grass had been stamped out by frequent footfalls. At one end of the roped-off area there were great dummies filled with straw, and targets meant for arrows. Racks of weapons stood at the other end, gleaming steel and dull wood alike.

  “This will be good for you, Aisling,” Rikiar said as they walked. “It will help strengthen you.”

  “You think I am weak?”

  “No. I think you are tender and sweet and adorable, but I also think you are too unaware of danger when it looms close, or when you hold it in your hand. These lessons will help with that.”

  A most striking figure was standing before one of the racks. It was a woman, a very tall woman who wore the same type of vest and pants that Rikiar did. Her arms were not as large as Rikiar’s, but they were almost equally toned. Her waist was slim and strong, her hips filled out her britches in a way that was simultaneously alluring and suggestive of great practical prowess.

  “That is Helsa,” Rikiar said. “She will be your tutor.”

  As they drew closer, Aisling saw that Helsa was beautiful. She had bright red hair and wicked green eyes. Aisling saw in two seconds that Helsa was everything she was not. She was tall and she was strong and she handled a blade as if it were an extension of her own body. In spite of her size, she was graceful.

  “Helsa,” Rikiar said, slapping the woman on the back of her shoulder. “This is Aisling.”

  Helsa turned and looked down at Aisling with mild interest. “Hello, princess.”

  “Helsa will teach you how to handle a blade without cutting your fingers off.”

  Aisling blushed, feeling extremely foolish. Both Rikiar and Helsa were looking at her with a sort of indulgence usually reserved for the village idiot.

  “Do not be shy,” Rikiar said, kissing her cheek. He had misinterpreted her reaction. She was not shy. She was jealous.

  With a few more words to Helsa, words Aisling did not pay any mind to, Rikiar left. He left her with a woman who made Aisling feel so insecure she could barely stand it. Instead of looking at Helsa, Aisling wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the ground.

  “Girl,” Helsa said. “Do not stare at your toes. You will learn nothing that way.”

  Aisling glanced over her shoulder, making sure Rikiar was well and truly gone before speaking her mind. “Let us not play at this charade,” she said quickly. “It is but a waste of my time and yours. I will never be able to wield a blade.”

  Rust-red brows rose at her, and the wide mouth t
hinned into a flat line. “Anyone willing to learn can wield a blade. Are you not willing?”

  Thoroughly aware that she was making a terrible impression on the large warrior woman, Aisling made matters worse with a shrug.

  “Spoiled princesses will not do well in my arena,” Helsa warned. “If I ask you a question, you will respond quickly and politely, understand?”

  Aisling made no real reply. She was paralyzed by jealousy and a most unfamiliar feeling of rebellion. She scowled at Helsa’s toned midsection, wishing she had the bravery to simply turn and walk out of the ring. Unfortunately, she didn’t. Unfortunately she was completely stuck where she stood, unable to obey, unable to properly disobey.

  The warrior gave her a stare that fell somewhere between irritation and curiosity. “Is it your plan to simply stand there sullenly until I go away?”

  “Maybe,” Aisling muttered. “You are wasting your time with me.”

  “The chief gave me an order, and I intend to carry it out whether you like it or not, princess,” Helsa informed her. “The only time you’re wasting is your own.”

  “I have plenty of it to waste,” Aisling said pertly.

  Helsa frowned and cocked her head to the side. “Put your hand out.”

  Unthinking, Aisling put her hand out. She was swiftly rapped over the knuckles by Helsa. She hissed and drew her hand back, which earned her a frown.

  “I did not tell you to move your hand.”

  “You hurt my hand,” Aisling complained.

  “I did. Put your hand out.”

  “You’re going to hit it again.”

  “Whether I am or I am not, is no concern of yours.”

  Aisling very much disagreed with that statement. It was a very pressing concern of hers. She kept her hand tightly clenched underneath her armpit, defying the order.

  “Not so obedient, then,” Helsa observed.

  “I am obedient, just not stupid,” Aisling replied. “And I don’t want your lessons, thank you very much.”