The Barbarian's Bride

by Loki Renard

  Helsa stopped and cupped her hot left cheek with one hand. “I do not care what servants and strays come about the place, you must mind me.” She lifted her hand away and returned it with a hard slap that echoed around the ring—as did Aisling’s plaintive cry. “I have no time for the spoiled or the lazy. When you are with me, you will do as you are told, you will work hard, and you will learn—or else you will feel the consequences.”

  She slapped Aisling again, this time on the other cheek. It went a long way to evening up the burn Aisling was feeling, but also made her anguish double. Rikiar’s spankings were often hard and long, but they felt quite different than Helsa’s. Maybe it was because Rikiar showed her kindness. Maybe it was because they were attracted to one another. All Aisling truly knew was that standing for her spanking and receiving it from a thoroughly merciless warrior woman was much more painful than she liked.

  Tears began to collect in the corners of her eyes and run down her cheeks. It didn’t make any difference. Of course, Helsa didn’t care about tears. If Helsa didn’t care about bleeding her own blood, why would she care for the tears of a princess?

  By the time Aisling was let go, she was feeling very sore and very sorry for herself. She did not want to stay and learn any more lessons. She wanted to go away and hide in a corner and rub her red bottom until it felt better. But Helsa didn’t allow that. Because Helsa was mean. Helsa made Aisling sit right back down on her red and roasted hide and watch the rest of the training.

  “Do you have to be so harsh?” Dalon asked the question in lowered tones. Aisling probably wasn’t meant to hear the question, but her senses were heightened with her emotions.

  “The girl needs it,” Helsa replied. “She’s spoiled and soft.”

  “She’s a princess,” Dalon said. “She’s never known a day’s hardship in her life and you laid into her like she was any village scamp.”

  “I did,” Helsa said. “And I’ll do the same to you next if you don’t stop your arguing.”

  Dalon smirked. “Try it.”

  With that, they began sparring again. Dalon was more than a match for Helsa, so it seemed, and again Aisling was jealous. What must it be like to be able to stop someone from spanking you at your will? She imagined Dalon was never punished, not really. Maybe Dalon even punished Helsa from time to time. Aisling liked that mental image very much. In that moment she would have paid any amount of gold to see the tall woman bent to someone else’s will, her bare bottom bearing the brunt of Aisling’s ire.

  Daydreaming about seeing Helsa spanked soon made most of Aisling’s tears dry. Her bottom still hurt, but imagining that it was Helsa’s that hurt took some of the edge off the discomfort.

  Eventually, she was dismissed. She had touched a blade but once that day and spent most of the lesson nursing a sore bottom. It seemed like a waste of time, but she knew she could not say as much to Rikiar. Rikiar thought Helsa walked on water.

  “There you are,” Rikiar said, drawing her into a close embrace upon her return home. “Did you have a good day?”

  “No,” Aisling mumbled into his chest. “Helsa is horrible.”

  His chuckle rumbled through her. “She does what needs to be done.”

  “And more besides,” Aisling replied.

  “I take it you ran afoul of her once I left?”

  “It is impossible to do anything but run afoul of her,” Aisling said. “She is an ill-tempered, vicious brute of a woman. Somebody should really do something about her.”

  Rikiar lowered his head and kissed her nose. “Forget about the cares of your lessons. This evening we will be dining with guests.”

  “Who?”

  “Helsa and Dalon.”

  “No!” Aisling whined the response. “I have seen much too much of her for one day. I have seen too much of her for one lifetime.”

  “We will dine with Helsa and Dalon,” Rikiar said firmly. “And you will behave as royalty does. Politely.”

  “Then I must bathe,” Aisling said. “For I am covered in common muck.”

  “Have Mara draw you a bath.”

  Mara. There was another woman Aisling had business with. She was tempted to tell Rikiar what Mara had done, but Rikiar was likely to simply take Helsa’s side. If she were very unlucky he might even spank her again, and three spankings in one day was three too many.

  The only nice thing to come of the entire day’s events was the bath. Sinking into a great tub filled with hot water was a great relief to Aisling.

  “Are you not going to speak to me?” Mara smirked the question as she handed Aisling a washcloth.

  “You got me into a great deal of trouble,” Aisling said, momentarily rising from the water to show Mara what had been done. Her bottom was covered in bright red splotches, some of which were fading into light bruises.

  “Hm,” Mara said, examining Aisling’s behind. “She does not seem to have strapped or beaten you. Stop fussing so much.”

  “Stop fussing!” Aisling scowled daggers at Mara and sat back down carefully. “You would be fussing if that great beast of a woman had laid into you as she did to me.” She ran her hands through the warm water, then smiled a little as an idea came to her. “If you think it is of so little consequence, then you will not mind if I volunteer you as my whipping girl.”

  “Whipping girl? Nay!” Mara laughed. “Rikiar would never allow it. Helsa would not either. Here you must take your own whippings as you earn them.” She gave Aisling a very impertinent and triumphant look. “Now, m’lady, would you like me to wash your hair?”

  “No, thank you,” Aisling said through gritted teeth. She was quite annoyed with Mara, who seemed to behave almost as she liked and yet slip away without correction of any kind. Why, Aisling had half a mind to thrash the servant herself.

  “I will leave you to bathe,” Mara said, beating a tactical retreat. “Call out when you wish to be dried.”

  * * *

  “I do not feel well,” Aisling protested as they waited for their guests to arrive.

  “Are you ill, or are you wishing to avoid Helsa’s company?” Rikiar gave her a knowing look. He was very handsome that evening, his long hair tied back behind his head, giving him a rakish appearance. His sensual lips made her yearn for his kiss, but the words that came out of them made her temper rise.

  “Her company makes me ill,” Aisling complained.

  Rikiar stroked her cheek and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You are better than this, Aisling. You who so graciously accepted being kidnapped and sold can certainly endure a dinner with a woman you dislike simply because she disciplined you.”

  Being kidnapped and sold had not felt nearly as personal as being spanked by Helsa. Aisling had been kidnapped and sold simply because she was a princess. It had very little to do with her. But Helsa’s discipline, that had been deeply personal. That had been the result of the woman completely ignoring their natural roles and thrashing her simply because she talked to a friend. It went against all Aisling was and ever had been.

  Unfortunately for Aisling, Rikiar’s insistence compelled her to sit in her seat and force a smile when first Helsa, then Dalon entered the room. They too had washed, though they were still wearing leather tunics and fur boots. Common clothing for common people—common men, no less, Aisling thought sneeringly.

  “Will you not greet our guests?” Rikiar raised a warning brow in her direction.

  “Greetings,” Aisling said dutifully.

  Dalon and Helsa sat at the table. Aisling did not like to meet either of their gazes. She hoped very much that she might be able to avoid the bulk of the conversation by sipping wine. To that end, she began sipping almost immediately.

  “Did Dalon catch you sleeping today?” Rikiar gestured to the scratch on Helsa’s arm.

  “No,” Helsa said. “I received that from your bride.”

  “From Aisling?” Rikiar could not have sounded more surprised if Helsa had told him Aisling had single-handedly defeated an enemy army. “Aisling,
you did not tell me you bested Helsa.”

  “She was no doubt distracted by the thrashing Helsa handed out,” Dalon interjected. “Poor girl had her hide tanned to leather.”

  “That I did hear about,” Rikiar drawled.

  “We do tend to remember our defeats more than our victories,” Helsa said.

  Behind her vessel, Aisling’s face burned with embarrassment. She had held out some small glimmer of hope that the indignities of the day might go unmentioned. Instead it had instantly become the prime topic of conversation. It was most upsetting. Surely Rikiar could have excused her to spare her feelings, or at least changed the subject to something less humiliating.

  For the second time that day, tears pricked at her eyes. But this time they were not of pain, but of pure frustration. She put her head down and focused on the soup they had been served. It was flavored with potato and leek and shame.

  “Aw,” Dalon said, reaching across to muss Aisling’s hair. She obviously realized that the carefully braided locks probably wouldn’t take too much mussing, so it turned into a pat, like one might give a dog. “Don’t take it to heart.”

  The acknowledgment only made Aisling more inclined to tears. It was too late not to take things to heart. Aisling had taken them very much to heart already. It was only with the greatest self-control that she did not begin sobbing into her soup. She stayed very quiet and let the others conduct conversation as they may.

  Unfortunately, they did not seem inclined to converse at all. In fact, after just a few minutes of silence, Rikiar excused himself, took Aisling by the hand and led her out of the dining room to a private antechamber.

  “Aisling,” he said. “It is rude to sulk.”

  “I will not make pleasant conversation with a woman who beat me,” she said, blinking back tears so she could glare at him angrily.

  “You make pleasant conversation with a man who ‘beats’ you,” Rikiar pointed out.

  “That is different. We are intimate.”

  “Oh, so if Helsa were to kiss you…”

  “It’s not about kisses,” Aisling said snappishly. “It’s about relationships. I have none with her. She is…”

  “She is your tutor,” Rikiar intervened. “And she is to be respected.”

  His lecture was doing very little for Aisling’s temper. She did not want to respect Helsa, and she was fast losing respect for Rikiar as he argued on Helsa’s behalf. Of course, any attempt at argument was doomed to fail, so she simply hung her head and stopped talking.

  “Don’t you ignore me, princess.” His heavy hand clapped against her cheek.

  “I’m not!” Aisling put her hands back to cover her much tenderized bottom.

  “I will not have you sullen. If you wish to be sullen…”

  “Rikiar?”

  Aisling looked up to see Helsa standing not far away. She was probably there to watch Aisling be punished. The woman had an insatiable love for cruelty, Aisling told herself.

  “Please,” Helsa said. “Don’t lay into her on our account, or mine. Her day has been very trying.”

  Aisling’s mouth fell open a little. Was Helsa… helping her?

  “I will not have rudeness at my table,” Rikiar said stiffly.

  “She is tired,” Helsa said. “And she is at the very limits of what she knows. You have a princess in your home. A princess knows how to make polite conversation and wear pretty dresses and be charming…”

  “She’s not charming at the moment,” Rikiar interjected.

  “As I was saying,” Helsa introduced a slight edge to her voice. Aisling almost grinned to see the woman telling her chief off. “Aisling has never been trained to accept discipline from anyone other than the man who owns her. She is accustomed to ruling over all the women in her domain.”

  “So she is spoiled.”

  “Yes,” Helsa agreed.

  Aisling frowned as the flow of conversation turned against her favor.

  “But,” Helsa added, “she worked hard today, and she was punished just as hard for any failing. She needs a little time to come to terms with things. She must be allowed her feelings, Rikiar.”

  Rikiar snorted. “Is that what you need? Your feelings?”

  Aisling hesitated, then nodded. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  “I’m not here to gloat, or to instruct you,” Helsa said, addressing her directly for the first time. “In the ring, I am in charge. Here, you are the chief’s bride to be, and a princess.”

  Aisling’s eyes widened slightly as she took the meaning of Helsa’s words in. In the ring, she was at the woman’s mercy. But out of it, she was the one who controlled the situation. The revelation made her beam quite broadly.

  “And you would not take out on me inside the ring that which happens outside it?”

  “Assuming you would not do the same,” Helsa replied.

  That seemed like a fair arrangement. Aisling’s feelings were not entirely soothed, but she did owe Helsa a debt of gratitude for saving her from Rikiar’s palm.

  “Now,” Rikiar sighed. “Can we eat?”

  Everybody agreed that was a very good idea.

  Chapter Six

  Helsa’s words had given Aisling much food for thought. She was a princess. She was the chief’s bride. She was entitled to respect. And somebody had been failing greatly in that area of late. The next day, Aisling addressed the matter with her maidservant. She also took the liberty of providing herself with a leather strap that hung in Rikiar’s wardrobe.

  “I’m a princess. And the chief’s bride,” Aisling said upon Mara’s entrance.

  Mara looked at her dourly. “Have you just realized those things?”

  “It seems to me that you don’t respect my authority.”

  “Do you want me to curtsey for you?” Mara asked the question in a mocking tone. Aisling gripped the leather lash tighter.

  “You got me into trouble yesterday. I should punish you for that.”

  “You got yourself into trouble,” Mara pointed out. “You didn’t have to speak with me while you were having lessons.”

  “You are insolent and insubordinate.”

  “You use big words when you know you’re wrong,” Mara smirked.

  “I am going to beat you.”

  “You can try.”

  Aisling was most insulted by Mara’s refusal to acknowledge her authority. She made sure she had a good grip on the leather, then started toward the uppity servant. Mara took one step back, then seemed to change her mind on further retreat. She stood her ground as Aisling came forward and was nose to nose with her.

  “Bend over so I can beat you.”

  “No.”

  Aisling’s face burned. This seemed so easy for other people. Rikiar and Helsa had no trouble at all imposing their will on other people. “I am your mistress,” she reminded the now broadly smirking Mara.

  “I work for Rikiar. You are just a prisoner.”

  “I am his bride.”

  “Not yet you’re not.”

  Aisling knew she should cut the lash down across Mara’s impudent thigh, but for reasons she couldn’t explain, she could not quite bring herself to do it.

  “You’re lower than me,” Mara continued. “Prisoners come after servants.”

  That did it. Aisling cracked the leather down across Mara’s thigh. It bit home with a satisfying thwack followed by a shriek. That would teach Mara to forget her place. That would… “Ow!”

  Aisling squealed loudly as Mara took hold of her hair and pulled. Before she knew quite what was happening, hands were slapping, fingers were clawing and nails were scratching. It was a fight. Not a disciplined sparring session like Helsa and Dalon had, but a down and dirty catfight, complete with hissing and yowling.

  The princess was not at all sure who was winning, or how a winner might be decided. For every slap she landed against Mara’s thighs and ass, Mara returned the favor—and with all her strength. Around the room they rolled, crashing into furniture, slapping and
scratching for all they were worth while bowls and vases crashed to the floor. Their battle might have gone on all morning if not for a booming order that drowned out their feminine shrieking.

  “Stop!”

  At the word, Aisling and Mara fell apart and lay panting on the floor while Rikiar loomed over the pair of them, his hands on his hips, his eyes gleaming with chiefly fury.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Mara was rude to me,” Aisling explained. “So I tried to beat her, but she attacked me. She said I was a prisoner.”

  “Teller of tales,” Mara muttered.

  “Mara,” Rikiar said in a thunderous growl. “You know better than that. Stand up at once.”

  Mara stood quickly. Aisling was rather jealous of Rikiar’s authority. But perhaps it wasn’t just his authority Mara was responding to. Maybe it was the hundreds of pounds of lean muscle and the dark look in his eye that told her he was not playing, and not amused.

  “I have tolerated your spirits at times, maybe even indulged them. But I will never tolerate you laying hands on Aisling. Lift your skirts and turn around. Touch that stool.”

  From her place on the floor, Aisling saw Mara’s face go completely pale as she obeyed her chief. Rikiar swept up the leather lash and stood over Mara’s bare rear with as stern an expression as Aisling had ever seen on his face.

  “You are a wicked little wench,” he lectured. “Always into one form of trouble or another. If you were not to work here, you would have no means of supporting yourself. So before you tell Aisling she is less than you by merit of being a prisoner, you’d best think of preserving your own situation.”

  He brought the lash down hard against Mara’s pale and quivering cheeks. It cut sharply across her flesh, eliciting a plaintive cry from the recipient. A bright red welt appeared on Mara’s behind, and was soon joined with several more as Rikiar lashed the servant hard and fast.

  Aisling almost felt sorry for Mara. Then she remembered how Mara’s lips had twisted into a sneer when calling her a slave and she didn’t feel quite so bad. Mara was a good servant, but she was rude and disobedient and she got away with far more than she deserved. The thrashing would probably be quite good for her.