Slavemaster's Woman, The (24 page)

She thought he was going to crush every
bone, but having the sense that this was the first time he’d ever
spoken about his plight, she said nothing. Physical pain was
something she had a high tolerance for.

“I was made to put on protective clothing
and breathing apparatus to keep from contracting the virus and then
shown to her room. She seemed so frail in that bed. The welts had
left scarring on her face and arms. They’d managed to reduce the
swelling in her neck but her fever ran unchecked. I went to her and
took her hand. She opened her eyes and gazed at me for a long time.
Then she smiled slightly. I wanted to kiss her so badly, I wanted
to rip off the preventive clothing and hold my wife in my arms. I
sat next to her bed, and she said to me, ‘
I didn’t think you
would come back.’
”

Cushla felt tears gathering in her eyes as
he seemed to be far away from where they sat.

“‘
I’m so sorry Sosha.’
I told her. I
should have stayed home with her and Okli.

She then asked me where Okli was. I didn’t
have the heart to tell her he was dead—so I lied. I told her that
they had him in the children’s annex
.
I couldn’t tell her
our sweet boy was nothing more than ash, so instead I told her what
I should have before this. ‘
I love you with all of my heart,
Sosha. You need to get better, so we can all go home.’
”
Tarken’s eyes glistened as he took another deep breath.

Cushla knew that she’d never seen this kind
of tenderness in any man’s eyes for all of her life…A look of love,
regret and pain. She felt her heart jump with some inexplicable
jolt of feeling—a feeling she was too afraid to explore.

He shook his head as he continued, “She then
told me she had a surprise for me...
‘I’m going to have another
baby,’
she said. She was pregnant with our second child…’
Are
you happy?’
she asked me. ‘
Yes, Sosha, I am very happy.’
I told her. I tried to sound happy but my heart was ripping to
pieces. I told her I was going to resign my commission and get a
position closer to home, so that I could take better care of them.
She smiled at me. Her breathing was very shallow at this point and
she was barely speaking above a whisper.
I love you,
was the
last thing she said to me before she died.”

Cushla released a sob, her insides twisting
as if his tale were her own. She now understood why he rarely
showed emotion, and why he held his anger at bay. He was empty
inside. “As empty as I am,” she murmured.

“Yes. We share a common bond, mistress.”
Tarken seemed to know of what she spoke of.

Gazing up at him, Cushla frowned. She’d been
unaware that she’d spoken loud enough for Tarken to hear her, that
she even spoken the words aloud, but he clearly understood—felt the
same void inside that she did.

“Tell me, Cushla. Tell me of your
plight.”

Glancing downward, Cushla stared at her
hand, now cupped gently between both of his, and she couldn’t help
but feel her own sense of comfort with the warmth of his grasp.
Warmth that seemed to seep into her flesh and settle in her
chest—into her heart. Cushla realized that she’d become vulnerable
to the slavemaster and still, somehow she wasn’t troubled by it.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Just as Tarken, she’d never spoken to anyone
about the horror and the pain she’d endured as a slave child.
Cushla had learned quickly that survival meant pushing the memories
away, burying them, hiding behind tenacity and anger. She snapped
her mouth shut, her lips twisting as anguish pushed to the
surface.

Tarken didn’t push her any further, and
Cushla was thankful.

Instead, he released her hand from his grip,
picked up his glass and took several gulps, emptying it of the
drink. “When I could not rouse you, I became worried.” Setting the
glass on the table, Tarken toyed at the edge of it with his index
finger. He then gazed up at her. “I would think a woman of your
experience would have acclimated to being bound.”

“It’s not just the binding, Tarken.” Cushla
pressed her palms to the table and leaned toward him, her
expression turning serious. “I’m filled with terror when being
bound to a bed.”

“Is that so?” Tarken queried. “Perhaps you
will then explain something that I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps,” Cushla returned, then pursed her
lips. “Perhaps not.”

Tarken released a subdued snigger. “Why
would you goad me into tying you up if you knew what your reaction
might be?”

Cushla just turned her face away and began
studying the crowd milling around the courtyard, sitting at other
tables, going in and out of shops. Why had she done such a thing?
She returned her attention to Tarken. “At first I thought you would
think it was something I wanted you to do and because of that you
wouldn’t do it.”

A grin creased Tarken’s lips. “It hadn’t
even occurred to me to bind you, Cushla until you mentioned it, but
then knowing you as I now do, I realized it was exactly, for
whatever reason, something you didn’t want, and because of that I
saw it as the perfect punishment for your behavior.”

Cushla drew a deep breath through her nose
and exhaled through the same as she turned her head to study the
activity in the market once more. “Knowing you the way I do now, I
think I knew you would do it, and I have to wonder if it was
something I needed you to see, needed you to understand as I had no
other way of explaining something I didn’t want to recall and tried
to forget—something I did forget until now.”

“Suppressed memories,” Tarken commented.
“War ravaged sentinels often experience such a thing.”

“And only able to confront their trauma when
they finally feel safe,” Cushla added, “Assured they won’t be hurt
again.”

“Then you have grown to trust me,
mistress?”

Cushla turned back to Tarken, but avoided
the question. She said nothing for the span of several heartbeats
before once again speaking, “My owners never had full conversations
with me. I was ordered around and treated like a simpleton, but you
tell me things and you listen to me. At first, I thought it was a
way to bring me to heel, but now I’m thinking it’s something that
comes to you naturally.”

“Not so easily,” Tarken admitted. “But I
find that you’re easy to talk to, Cushla,”

She was taken aback by the unexpected
compliment, and she was momentarily unsure of how to reply. Praise
from any master was such a rare thing. “Perhaps I am a better slave
than you realize,” she finally answered. “Trained to readily
listen.”

Tarken angled his head and smiled softly as
he gazed at her. “There’s an ease in your expression when you
listen to me, Cushla. The same natural ease I feel, it seems, when
listening to you.”

Cushla studied him for a moment, sitting
very still, her chest rising and falling in gentle respirations.
“If that be the case, Tarken, then you must understand this.” She
pressed her palms to the table and leaned in. “Listen to me and
listen well….” Pausing, she searched his eyes to be assured he was
truly listening, “I promise to never run from you again—ever—if you
will promise to never bind me thusly, to a bed again.”

“You promise to never run from me, ever?
Tarken paused as he seemed to consider that. “How can I believe
your words when you have run before?”

“Because I give you my word!” Cushla felt
her anger rising. “Then again, I am a slave therefore I am
incapable of telling the truth. Is that correct?”

“I never said you were incapable of telling
the truth,” the slavemaster paused and studied her briefly. “But
you are evasive.”

“I have a right to be,” she stated
firmly.

“You do,” he agreed, and then smiled at
her.

Cushla said nothing, taken aback by the
shift in power he bestowed on her. She did have a right to be—to
feel any way she desired!

“Very well, mistress. I will take you on
your word. I will not bind you and you will not run.”

Satisfied, Cushla relaxed against the
seat.

They sat silently for awhile, each absorbed
in their own thoughts, occasionally exchanging glances that seemed
overflowing with an unspoken understanding that they each had
suffered undo pains in their lives. Every now and then they offered
kindly smiles to each other that seemed more soothing than
sympathetic. There was something else as well. It was respect.

Tarken had offered her respect and in turn
she had developed a respect for him. Could she dare say that the
slavemaster might be a good man? “I’m sorry about your wife and
child.” Cushla finally conveyed, and then gulped down the rest of
her drink.

“Thank you.” was all Tarken said in
reply.

“Tarken?”
“Yes, Cushla?”

“I promised that I would never run from
you.”

“Yes you did, mistress.”

“But I did not promise that I would not run
from the king.”

Tarken’s roar of laughter filled the
air.

Chapter Eighteen

Having no desire to return to the confines
of the ship just yet, Tarken rented a small and secluded lakeside
cabana. He suffered with a rock solid hard-on that was badgering
him for release and was determined to take full advantage of it.
This pretty little wench had snared his libido like no other. In
and of itself that fact concerned him very little. It was the
notion that his attentions went beyond mere lust.

Tarken watched amorously as Cushla straddled
his thighs, and then rose to her knees to hike her dress and lift
it over her head. She smiled at him as she tossed it to the floor,
and it pleased him that she offered herself to him so willingly
after the many eves of combativeness. His gaze dropped and he
stared admiringly at her full rounded breasts, a nice handful. The
temptation to touch them, to lean his head and suck her nipples was
unbearable. But instead of succumbing, Tarken forced his attention
to Cushla's face.

She didn't seem cool or removed. In fact
there was determination in her expression, a carnal charge in her
eyes—an acute awareness, almost calculating.

Under normal circumstances, no matter what
state of mind, if a slave offered, Tarken indulged. Something else
stirred inside of him however. It was awe. Cushla captivated him.
She’d stolen something from him that since the death of his wife
he’d been
completely unwilling to give.

He intended to make love to Cushla.

Interesting, as to how the idea of making
love had renewed itself inside of his heart and head once again.
Tarken knew full well, the dangers of harboring emotions for Cushla
as such. It was a reckless concession, considering he would have to
give her up, but presently all he wanted was to touch her, smell
her, entwine her body with his, give her passion and comfort—to
hold her as if she were his own, even if for only this moment.

Somehow, she’d gotten under his skin. She’d
taken the shell of the man he was and filled him with warmth and
joy. She made him feel whole again. She…she—

She ripped his shirt….Cushla grasped the
collar of Tarken's shirt and ripped from his body. Then, even
before he could react, she grabbed his head and smashed her lips
against his.

Momentarily stupefied, Tarken allowed her
the lead. But it wasn't long before his escalating lust drove him
to take command of her. Just as Cushla had done, Tarken grasped her
head, tipping it back overpowering her kiss with a determination of
his own. He nudged his tongue between her lips, forcing her probing
tongue to retreat, and she moaned. Dropping one hand, Tarken curled
his fingers around the thin, undergarment she wore and tore it from
her hips, exposing that tender cleft of hers. He broke the kiss,
pulling back to admire her face, her body.

“I need you, Master,” Cushla spoke with
urgency, her eyes filled with yearning.

Tarken's breathing became harsher. His
cocked throbbed achingly, and he couldn't remember ever being this
aroused. Reaching between her legs he sought her opening and
slipped a finger inside of her.

He stroked her with a heated
satisfaction.

“Spirits, yes!” Cushla hissed with
gratification, cocking her hips at his penetrating finger. “Take
me, take me hard!”

“Not yet,” he answered, struggling to
maintain his control. It was hot inside of her vagina, her juices
of arousal freely flowing, her sweet, tight sheath convulsing and
tightening around his finger. The feeling of her body entrapping
his fingers blinded Tarken with lust. It intensified doubly when
Cushla reached into his trousers once more and squeezed his
thickened shaft stroking up and down on it.

He nearly threw Cushla onto the bed, craving
to spread her legs and ram inside of her. But there was something
else he wanted from her this time. “Lie down,” he demanded,
restraining his urges, noting the slight quiver in her breath as
she exhaled and how her body subtly trembled.

With her eyes fixed to his, Cushla
obediently lowered to the mattress. “I want you all over me,” she
gasped out breathlessly.

“I will be soon. But first…” Tarken's gaze
wandered the length of her body halting on the treat that awaited
him between her thighs. His mouth watered, his tongue swiping along
his bottom lip as he thought about what she might taste like.
Lowering his head, he flattened his tongue on her swollen mons and
licked the bare flesh there.

Cushla shrieked.

He smiled when she attempted to scramble
away from him, but his hands caught her hips to hold her still. He
nipped at the top of her labial crease.

This drew another shriek from Cushla as her
hips jerked. “Master,” she gasped. “I—no—I—please.”

“Spread your legs, mistress,” Tarken said
his voice low and sensual. “My desire is to give you this
pleasure.” He waited, patiently watching Cushla's face, her
eyes.