The Barbarian Prince (10 page)

Again Mirox was right behind her, happy to inform her that almost everyone took their main meals in the common hall. Well, at least she wouldn’t be expected to cook. Thinking of food had made her stomach growl in vicious agony, but the only thing her new ‘master’ had in his alien refrigerator was health food.

"What happened to the plates of chocolate," she grumbled, vaguely remembering the way the chocolate had melted in her mouth. Choosing a handful of oranges the size of peanuts, she looked at Mirox. "Have you ever had a problem with space parasites?"

Mirox looked confused.

"Never mind." Morrigan was too hungry to debate for long. It took awhile to peel the little fruits, but they weren’t so bad. She left the peels messily on the countertop and moved on.

The last door led outside the home. It was locked, though she tried gallantly to open the iron giants. Again, there was Mirox, telling her the doors only opened to voice activation and her voice had yet to be programmed into it.

"That’s not fair," she uttered darkly.

"It is for security, my lady," supplied Mirox, "so that none can enter without being invited."

"So if I set this place on fire, I’d die before they let me out?"

"Yes, my lady, if there wasn’t anyone to open them for you."

"Stop calling me that," she muttered darkly, glaring at her new prison walls in growing abhorrence. "I’m the new maid."

At that Mirox laughed. "I don’t know what it is like on Earth, my lady, but here the servant actually cleans."

He gave a meaningful look at the mess she had been systematically making of his lordship’s rooms as she explored. Lord Ualan’s clothes were all over the floor of the raised platform, crumpled into a pile and tumbling over the stairs. Throwing dirt from a potted plant over the nice, clean marble floor, Morrigan smiled in satisfaction.

"Then I guess his lordship can just go ahead and fire me," she returned, throwing more dirt with a look of mischievous pleasure.

"Why would you wish to be set afire, my lady?" asked the surprised servant, not lifting a hand to stop her tirade.

"Stop that! I am not a lady. I am a slave."

Mirox froze, his face turning pale. Bowing graciously, he turned away from her with as much dignity as he could muster. His movements were stiff and Morrigan wondered what it was she had said to make him in such a hurry to get away from her. He shouted a command at the front doors and rushed out.

"Hey," hollered Morrigan, running after him in chase. She tried to get through the heavy metal doors, but they slammed in her face before she saw anything but the red wall of the outside hallway.

Frowning at the doors, she said to them sarcastically, "Well, I guess now I can deduce I live in an apartment and not a house, ‘cause that weren’t no front yard."

Spinning on her heels, she looked at the home. There was no getting out of this thing unless Ualan let her out. She sure wasn’t scaling the side of the cliff from his room.

Smiling, she inspected her dirty handiwork. If he didn’t want to let her go now, then she would just have to make sure he wanted her out by tomorrow morning. Smiling wider, she bet she could get herself evicted from this nightmare life by that very night.

Laughing like a vixen, Morrigan’s eyes lit with her scheming. "Welcome home, my lord, and welcome to your new living hell."

* * * *

Ualan felt as if he was tossed into the bowels of a torin beast. The large herds of the stupid animals were great for producing meat and fertilizer, but could be used for little else. And they smelled vile.

Today should have been a happy day of relaxation and celebration and, most importantly, the releasing of some very severe sexual tension. Instead, it was spent trying to calm his nerves enough to face his little irritation of a wife. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse….

Ualan sighed, murmuring for his door to open. Stepping into his home, he froze. It had been destroyed.

Yep, unquestionably the bowels of a torin.

Slowly drawing out his sword, his eyes first went to his couch looking for his wife. She wasn’t there and he couldn’t smell her blood in the room. Deliberately, he relaxed and painstakingly placed his sword on a low table by the door. The metal entryway slid shut behind him, silent and smooth.

His home looked like it had been ransacked. The couch cushions were thrown all over the dirt-covered floor. His clothing was wrinkled and trampled, and if he wasn’t mistaken that was the coverlet from his bed bunched up on the nook dining table in the far corner. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he silently muttered every black curse he knew.

It didn’t help.

His lips curled into a snarl, as he darted forward to the plant Morrigan had tipped over. Cursing, he repotted it and set it aright. Not too much damage had been done to it, but he was forced to tear down a few of its broken leaves. It would be at least a year before they grew back.

Just then, he heard his darling housekeeper splashing in the bathroom. Even in his anger at her blatant disregard for his home and his property, his nostrils flared in anticipation. The noise that left his throat when he stalked across the floor sounded more like the beginning roar of a lion than the voice of a man.

Coming into the bathroom, Ualan paused, disappointed. She wasn’t in the hot springs like he had expected, but sat on the stone edge dipping her feet into the bubbling water.

It looked as if she had been there for some time by the way the strands of her hair plastered to her forehead and neck in little trails. Her cheeks were flushed to a slight red. She still wore the outfit of the maid, which he had leisurely, and to his greatest masculine pleasure, dressed her in while she was out.

Kicking her feet in the water, she angled her head as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Ualan put his hands on his hips, his eyebrows raising high on his face in displeasure. Clearing his throat, he startled her on purpose.

Morrigan jumped, spinning around to look at him. She smiled sheepishly, her eyes taking in his hard expression. She would have had to be a fool to miss the anger seeping in his gaze. She trembled and was almost sorry she had destroyed his home. Almost.

"This is a pretty swank pad you got here, caveman," she smiled sweetly. Ualan’s eyes narrowed in warning.

"It was," he growled with meaning. Morrigan took her time stepping out of the tub. She wanted to believe she acted like she wasn’t bothered by him, but in truth her limbs couldn’t work any faster. Her heart stuck in her throat. Man, but he was a fine barbaric specimen.

"So are you rich or what, caveman?" she asked, blinking with her wide innocent eyes.

"Why does this matter?" Ualan grumbled. She had looked at him like that once before. He would not be taken in by it again.

"I want to know what I’ll be leaving behind when I go," Morrigan purred, stepping onto a towel she had placed on the cold marble floor to soak the water from her feet. Carefully, she began placing her feet into his slippers. They were overlarge but warm and made of fur on the top. She pushed a strand of sticky hair from her head and waved her fingers before her face. "Whew, that thing is better than a spa treatment on Quazer."

"You aren’t going anywhere, wife. You’re staying right here where you belong."

"All right, caveman, calm down," she soothed. Her eyes flashed anger, but she held back. "But you don’t know what you are getting yourself into."

"Do you accept my authority?"

"No," Morrigan snorted, hands on hips. "So, how much money do you have? I have a shopping spree in mind. I want to buy every frivolous thing I can get my hands on. Starting with a food simulator."

"I will provide for you. That is what you need to know," he said in distaste over her rudeness. Money was not a woman’s concern.

"Hmm, so that would be no on the money then. Too bad, I need a loan to get me back to Earth if you don’t have access to a bank base. Besides, you’re not much of a catch with no dowry, are you, caveman?" she smirked. She couldn’t resist calling him that. It seemed to irritate him so much. "So, what do you do for a living anyway, oh mighty poor one?"

"Quiet," Ualan ordered with a slice of his hand. He was distracted. It seemed the steam had also moistened the front of her maid’s uniform to her body and her nipples were beginning to bud. If he just reached out and….

"What? You don’t have a job?" she inquired, mocking him. His eyes darted up from her chest to stare at her in warning. "Don’t tell me we live with your parents, ugh. No wonder you don’t want to let me leave. You’re not much of a catch at all."

"Enough," Ualan commanded with a growl. He let her think what she wanted. "You make my head spin, woman."

She shrugged her wide eyes seeming to say, sorry.

He wasn’t fooled.

"Did you tell Mirox you were a slave?" he asked with a frown. She tried to slide past him in his slippers, but he blocked her escape. Thinking better of trying to plow him over, she stepped back.

"Yeah. What of it? I am, aren’t I? You’re keeping me here, forcing me to wear this uniform."

Ualan let loose a long string of Qurilixian curses until he saw her studying him avidly trying to memorize them for herself. He flinched and took a deep breath. He looked as if he wanted to touch her, but he didn’t dare with his shaking fists. He wasn’t sure he would keep them from strangling the very life from her. "Very well, then. If that is your wish, so be it."

Morrigan instantly grew cold. She had expected a fight, not agreement. His eyes were almost sorrowful as he looked at her, but soon his jaw stiffened and he turned away.

"I will inform the Queen of your decision," he said loudly over his shoulder. "Go grab your bags--if you can find them under this mess."

"Wait," demanded Morrigan, growing truly worried. She began to chase after him. Grabbing his large arm, she stopped him. He stiffened, looking at her hand before staring boldly into her eyes. Weakly, she asked, "What did I just do?"

"You declared yourself a slave," he uttered, giving her a long drawn out sigh just to torture her. Morrigan’s gaze was drawn to his lips. "So I go to give you to the Queen. She will be pleased, she needs someone to cook and clean the castle. Though, I must insist you don’t do to her home what you have done to mine. Slaves who perform badly are thrown to the soldiers. It makes for good sport and it keeps the men’s spirits up. Though, they would be most happy to receive you--you being used to such attentions. The other girl they have is getting pretty … how should I put it … worn in?"

Morrigan turned pale. She searched his face. He appeared very serious.

"Is that true? Are you lying to me?"

Ualan cocked his head. "Didn’t Galaxy Brides give you the uploads on our ways? How else are all the men to find a woman if we don’t share the unattached ones?"

"I didn’t get to them all," she uttered, thinking of how she hated cleaning and cooking. She was terrible at it, since she had maid units to pick up after her. She shivered. She would be thrown to the soldiers, she had no doubt, and being repeatedly raped wasn’t her idea of a good time.

"It’s called research, slave. You know, studying up before you take on a new task so you know what you are getting yourself into," he mocked, throwing her words from the night before into her face. The jibe was not lost. She balked. "Now, release my arm. I go to do as you wish. The Queen will want you to start right away."

"Wait! I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to be a slave. Do you have to tell the Queen about it? I take it back."

Ualan’s back was turned to her and he gave a devious smile. He hid it before turning around quizzically. Looking at her in dispassion, he uttered, "You seem to take back your word quite a bit, slave. That will not please the Queen."

"I meant it as an expression, like we use on Earth. I didn’t mean it as a declaration of intent."

"Sorry, I can’t help you," he said, solemnly shaking his head. "You declared it to Mirox and he was duty bound to report it to the royal family. I am sure they already know."

"Ualan," she began in a desperate pull to his sleeve. Her eyes pleaded with him for mercy.

He waited for her to speak.

"Can’t you help me? Isn’t there something you could do?"

"Why should I?" he shrugged a large warrior shoulder. "You have given me nothing but headaches. Look at what you did to my home. I should be so lucky to get rid of you."

Morrigan glanced around, sickened with her actions. This was backfiring. Ualan began to turn from her.

"What if I fix it?" she asked, heartened when he again paused to look at her. His arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest, covering the dragon she found there. "Isn’t there anything you can do to get me out of being a royal slave?"

"You can petition the royal courts, but that could take months," he mused thoughtfully. "With your ignorance of our customs, a pardon might be given."

Months of cooking and cleaning an entire castle! Morrigan recoiled, missing the vast amusement in his blue gaze. I’ll be sent to the soldiers within the hour! I can’t cook. What if I poison the royal family? Oh, no. I’ll be hung for sure.

Ualan watched her face growing paler with each moment. It brought his battered ego much satisfaction to see her distress.

"Ualan," she insisted. Her face scrunched up and he could tell her next confession was causing her great pain. He widened his stance and lifted his jaw, not giving her an inch. "When I said I don’t do clean and that I don’t cook. I wasn’t making that up. I really can’t clean or cook."

His eyebrow rose, doubtful.

"No, really," she insisted. His gaze was studying her so intensely, that she felt as if she was on fire. She didn’t know when it had stared, but his intoxicating man-smell was beginning to get to her. She tried to take a delicate step back, putting distance between them so she could think straight. "I have three maid units and a back up in case one breaks. Every meal I’ve ever had was materialized in a food simulator."

Ualan smirked, he couldn’t help himself.

"I don’t even know what raw meat looks like, unless you count a cow grazing in the field. I’ve never prepared a dish in my life."