The Barbarian (13 page)

Ami decided not to
answer. "Fine," she snapped. "Do as you will. I care not."

After a moment he
nodded. "Good. Now take off the rest of this clothing." His voice had
deepened suspiciously.

She turned her
head against the furs and looked down. Just as she thought from his husky tone,
his staff was already half raised again. So soon. "I thought we were
done," she muttered.

"Done?"
He snorted. "Far from it."

"But I will
be sore."

He knelt on the
bed and began easing the remnants of her bridal gown and shift down her body.
"I told you yesterday, there are other avenues to pleasure. Turn
over."

****

His bride froze.
"No."

She was nude now,
her newly ravished body spread out on his bed, enticing as a siren's song.
Stryker thought with some alarm that he might never get enough of her. With one
hand he touched his hardening cock and was mystified to find it so alert again
already. Why question it though? Tomorrow would be time enough for them both to
recover.

"Turn
over," he said again.

"I
cannot."

"Why? Are you
stuck?" He smiled slowly. She did not. Of course.

"I am
tired," she muttered, barely moving her lips.

The woman was
rigid with fear, but why? "I will not hurt you," he said softly.
"It is only play. I promise you will enjoy it." He watched her
swallow. Her gaze was fixed on the roof beams. "You are my wife now,
Amias. I will always take care of you."

Her eyes were very
bright and he thought he saw a little tear struggling out over her dark lashes.
Aha, she did feel.

At last.

Stryker raised his
hand and stroked a lock of hair from her cheek. "Trust me." Before
she could argue or make some smart remark he placed a finger to her lips. Her
gaze drifted downward and found his face. "I desire you, Lady Amias,"
he said, the words slipping out, reckless. "I never want to cause you
pain. In this bed you will only know pleasure. It is the one place you will not
regret being my wife."

A line of
confusion deepened between her brows.

"In here you
and I..." he took the plunge, "here we will be equals." It was
safe enough to promise her that, he supposed. No one could see what happened in
their bed chamber, unless he invited them in. That was the good thing about
this "privacy" idea. He could let his wife be a partner in bed, as
she could not be in their life together outside that chamber.
 

Her right eyebrow
quirked.

Stryker let his
finger leave her lips and slide over the dainty curve of her chin, then down
her silky throat.

"Only in
bed?" she said. "I suppose 'tis a start."

He cupped her
breast, fondled it, rolled the raspberry nipple under his palm. "So let me
show you more."

"What will
you do to me if I turn over?"

"Wait and
see."

Almost a smile.
Almost. Her long lashes fluttered rapidly and he was close enough to feel the
breeze on his lips. "Tell me," she urged.

He jumped when he
felt her hand slip down his stomach and reach for his steadily rising column.
"I ... er ... I want to..."

With her hand she
stroked him, her thumb running up the thick vein to his bulbous cockhead.

"I want to
finger you," he grunted, pushing his hips toward her, his dick jutting
out, tapping her thigh. "Finger your arse ... while I lick your pussy and
make you come."

She switched the
angle of her hand and rolled onto her side, facing him. "To heaven
again?" she whispered.

"Yesss."
There was a sudden vulnerability in her expression that he'd never seen. He had
cracked her mask, it seemed. Whatever he said to her, something had begun to
melt her ice.

"Will you put
your tongue inside me again? In my quim?"

"Hmmm."

Her hand grew
bolder, her fingers circling the ridge of his cockhead. She used her thumb to
smear the drop of body fluid that appeared in response to her exploration.
"Your finger will not hurt me, in that hole between the cheeks?"

"No, I'll be
careful," he ground out, the craving thudding through his body as her hand
moved up and down again, her fingers wrapped tighter now around his width.

"I suppose
this is too big to fit there," she said.

Her words,
combined with the motion of her hand, caused a tingling that rattled up and
down his spine, from the root of his ramrod to a point in his brain that
summoned the most primitive and base of desires. The things he wanted to do to
her filled his mind, the images drawn like cave paintings of savage couplings.

"One day
you'll be ready for my cock there," he managed. "But that takes
time."

Still pulling on
his cock with one hand, she reached with the other to cup and squeezed his
balls.

"Damn it,
woman, turn over."

The second hand
left his bollocks and slipped further between his legs. "I could put my finger
in you, could I not?"

He tensed up, but
her fingertip sought and found his puckered hole. Stryker could not stop his
prick from expanding again in length and breadth as she manipulated his anus
and simultaneously stroked his shaft quite vigorously. He knew that if she
forced her finger into his arse and found that magic target, he would lose
control and spurt all over her. It was seconds away. Her finger was dry, but
slender. The pain of entry would be slight and quickly exceeded by the
pleasure.

But she, of
course—a novice—had no idea how close he was. Or how close
she
was with her venturing finger. She removed both hands from his
body and sighed.
 
"Very well then. I
will turn over. I suppose I cannot hide it from you forever."

"Hide
what?" What was wrong with her, he wondered. Did she have horns? Wings? A
hunched back? Is that why she was left a spinster into her twenty first year?

His wife slowly
turned over, facing the far wall of the chamber. With trembling hands she swept
her long hair over her shoulder and left her bare back exposed to his gaze.

It was marked in
all directions by red scars like lightening strikes.

She'd been
whipped. Savagely beaten.

Stryker stared.
"Who did this to you?" His throat was dry, his heart's rhythm loud in
his ears, causing him to raise his voice.

"It does not
matter now," she said quietly.

But it did. Oh yes
it did. Someone had touched his wife—his property—in violence. Hurt her. Left
her scarred. It was no wonder she could not trust him enough even to smile at
him.

Whoever did this
would pay. Severely.

Chapter Six

For some foolish
reason she had completely put those scars out of her mind until Stryker asked
her to turn over in bed. Now she knew he surveyed the marks of her uncle's
wrath and Amias could do nothing but lay there, suffering silently.

It certainly
changed his mood. She should have warned him.

"You will
tell me who did this," he repeated sternly, making the bed creak as he sat
up.

She wrapped
herself in one of the furs and she too sat up. "Why?"

"Amias—"

"It was my
uncle. He was my guardian. I needed correction he said."

"When?"

She shrugged.
"Often." It was a surprise to see Stryker so angry about it. Although
she'd fully expected repulsion when he saw the scars, she had not been prepared
for his anger against her uncle.

"Giles Du
Barry," he said slowly, "is a monster who should have his throat
cut."

"'Tis not
unusual for a man to beat a woman in his care."

"
In his care
? Apparently you and I—
he
and I—have differing opinions on the
meaning."

Stunned, she
looked at the big man on the bed beside her. Naked he seemed even larger than
he did when clothed. His cock was no longer standing to attention she noted
with disappointment. "Must we talk of this now? Can we not continue our
play?" It was like stopping a galloping horse, she thought.

He ran a hand down
over his face, as if attempting to smooth away his frown. "Has no medicine
been applied to the scars?"

"Yes, of
course."

"Not enough,
clearly. My apothecary must be consulted tomorrow. First thing."

She nodded,
fearing the lines were too deep to be helped by any medicine.

He looked away
from her, his jaw tense. "That villain will pay."

Ami didn't want
any trouble when her uncle arrived there with the dowry. She laid one hand on
his broad shoulder. It was a hesitant gesture and was not well-practiced at the
art of touching to reassure or comfort, but she knew nothing else to do in that
moment. "I barely feel it now. 'Tis just scars."

Eventually he
turned his head to look at her again. His eyes were warmer than they had ever
been in her presence. She wanted to dive into those blue pools and swim. Naked.
That would soothe her skin, she mused. That would cure her of all scars.

He put his arms
around her waist and drew her closer until she was almost in his lap. Ah, good.
More games.

"Lay down
with me," he said, taking the fur from her and wrapping it around them
both.

Amias packed away
her disappointment and snuggled against his hard body. She supposed they would
have plenty of time to fuck again later. She'd just have to wait.

Tucked together
under the fur it was really very comfortable and when he began to stroke her
arm she grew drowsy.

"Whatever
your uncle did to you, Lady Amias, you can rest assured it will never happen
again. You are safe here with me. No harm will come to you. I will protect you
with my life."

Yet he'd said he
could not love her—that she could not have his heart. Perhaps she was like a
valuable horse and he would care for her in the same way. Amias yawned, for it
had been a busy few days and she'd slept little the night before. Very soon her
eyelids were falling and she could not keep them open.

****

She woke sometime
later, warm and cozy under the furs and in his arms. The candles were all
extinguished and only a thin shard of pale moonlight reached in through a crack
in the shutters. The air outside that bed must be cold. Lifting her head she
exhaled and saw a shimmer of breath, glistening like silver dust, then dying
away.

"You're
awake?" he whispered behind her.

Amias wriggled
around to face him. "Did you sleep?"

"Some."

She curled her leg
high around his hip and his hand slid down to hold her bottom, pulling her
closer. At once she felt his flagpole twitch and lift against her pussy, but he
made no move to enter her. Very gently his lips grazed her forehead and soon
his steady, deep breaths told her he slept again.
 
One hand placed to his chest, she felt the
rise and fall of the muscle he denied her. Ami had not known how much she
wanted it until then.

Suddenly she
stilled. What was that sound?

A distant eerie
howl, high-pitched and wild. Ami lifted her head again from the furs and
listened. There it was. Surely it must be the merciless winter wind that
pummeled the walls and whistled through nooks and crannies.

But it was almost
the sound of a wild animal's cry.

The Beast of the
Moor perhaps, just as he'd told her.

Good thing she was
safe inside, with him. She'd never been the sort of female that thought she
needed a hero. Tonight, however, since it was dark, no one would see, and he
was fast asleep, so she could relent and let herself be grateful for his
strength.

Ami lay down
again, pressing tighter against his body, burying her face in the firm planes
of her barbarian's chest.

****

Clearly she
thought he slept. It felt so good to have her nestled in his arms that he did
not let her know differently. He had never slept the night with a woman before.
She was a still sleeper and quiet. A few times he had to check that she still
breathed.

Outside the bitter
winds howled over the rooftops and buffered the timbers of his manor. Winter
came full force over the moor that night.

As he held the
woman in his arms, he was careful not to touch her back more than necessary.
When he closed his eyes he could still see those scars ripped into the delicate
skin of her back. What monster would do that to a woman? And she'd called
him
a brute?

Perhaps she had
expected similar treatment from him too—from all men. As he had thought before,
she had much to learn about Stryker Bloodaxe.