The Barbarian Prince (14 page)

Ualan frowned, knowing what she was doing. She was trying to feel him as he felt her. She was trying to build the connection that would join their emotions together as only a wife and husband could. It would allow her to read his feelings, and with enough practice and years, she could read parts of his mind. He wasn’t ready for her to connect, not like this, not with the rift between them. She could not feel his vulnerability to her. If she did, he would be lost. She would know how to manipulate and control him. Ualan had no doubt that this woman of his would do so mercilessly. If she got her way, he would be damned to walk the rest of his long years alone.

"You keep yourself prisoner," he said. "Say you are my wife and you will get your freedom. My home will be your home." He couldn’t keep his kiss from firming against her mouth. "My world, your world." Another kiss. "My bed…." This time he kissed her deeply, searing her, probing her, leaving him unable to finish the words. Morrigan gasped. In his touch there came an electrifying rush of emotions she couldn’t process.

"What…?" Morrigan began to question, pulling back from him both physically and mentally. She blinked several times. The connection broke and the fog lifted.

Ualan knew she couldn’t take the rush of himself he had given her. It was too much too soon.

"I cannot be a wife, Ualan," she said, her eyes honest and sad. "Even if I wanted to stay here, I can’t. I have a home of my own, friends, a job I’m good at. What would you have me do? Stay and be a housewife? I can’t do it, Ualan. My life would be hell and so would yours. Besides, you’re so young and," she almost said handsome but hesitated. His brow rose, knowing the word even though it went unspoken.

"These duties can be learned. In fact, you will start training immediately with Mirox."

"What?!" she hissed, all traces of feelings, save for the most base, were severed between them. "Do you even listen when I talk to you?"

"I listen, Morrigan," he said softly and with a smile that was all devil. "But your words make no sense. You will be a wife to me, make no mistake. Your honor is of utmost concern for it will reflect on mine. So even if you don’t take your vows to me seriously, I do."

Morrigan gasped. Ualan insolently winked at her and strode up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Caveman," she hissed under her breath, making sure the word was too quiet for him to hear.

* * * *

"I understand now, my lady, why you have enslaved yourself," Mirox said with a firm nod as he showed her how to sweep the floor with a broom. She was anything but an enthusiastic student and he caught her eyes rolling and wandering more often than not. He chose to politely ignore her ill humor. "It is a noble thing for you to do. You will make your husband’s name proud."

Morrigan frowned at the man. He didn’t speak to her for days, though she had desperately needed a friend to talk to--anyone who wasn’t a seven foot tall barbarian with the sexiest blue eyes, and the firmest … Argh! She was doing it again.

"It must be hard not being able to have anyone talk to you," continued Mirox, handing the broom over.

"You’re talking to me," she grumbled. Morrigan made quick work of the floor, glaring at the marble the entire time--hating it for being dirty.

Mirox scratched the scar on his nose, not giving her ill humor any mind. Moving to sit on the stairs he pushed out his legs, crossing them at the ankles and watched her work.

"I was granted permission to speak so that I may instruct you," he answered happily. "It is a great honor for me to have been asked."

"Yeah," she mumbled sarcastically under her breath. Teaching her to clean up after her caveman lord--great honor. Instead, she glanced at him and inquired aloud, "So that’s why you have been ignoring me? Because you had to?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Morrigan is fine," she dismissed absently, before angling the broom at him. "All right, this is finished. What next?"

Mirox hid his amusement. Perfection wasn’t one of the lady’s fine points.

"Mop," he commanded. He pointed to the water bucket. Morrigan looked as if she wanted to dump it over his head, but she went and grabbed it and brought it to him without comment. He smiled. She was a stubborn one, never complaining--well grumping, but not complaining. When she set it on the floor, Mirox said, "I must address you according to your rank, my lady."

"My rank?" asked Morrigan, whirling around.

He nodded.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes and probed, "So I have a rank? What? Am I nobility? Do I have a formal title?"

Mirox artfully avoided answering as he plunged into a long explanation of the fine points of mopping. Morrigan was soon distracted as she worked up a sweat, tediously sliding the mop where she had swept moments before.

"This really is hell," she muttered. "If I ever get my hands on Ualan’s Gods…."

"My lady?" called Mirox, not hearing her.

"I think I’m done," she answered wryly in return.

* * * *

If she didn’t know how to clean before, she definitely knew now and she hated it with an even greater passion. She had no idea that dust could collect on so many things. She was almost grateful she couldn’t leave the house, because Mirox called several maids to tend to the laundry and to beat the fur rugs. It just made for one last thing she really didn’t want to do.

"I quit right now," Morrigan said firmly, eyeing the toilet. "I did not spend six months dredging through the Luxes mudlands to clean that. Haven’t you ever heard of a space-port? They clean themselves, you know. It’s why we call it social advancement."

Ualan chuckled, hiding around the corner of the bathroom and listening to his wife and Mirox fight. He had been pleasantly surprised to find his house in such great shape. He had almost expected to see Mirox strung up by his toes over the fire pit and his furniture ripped to shreds.

"My lady," Mirox began.

"No," she uttered darkly. "I’ve done everything else that you have asked me to. I’m tired. You can tell your lord to…."

Ualan smiled as he came around the corner to look at her. Her face flushed red in embarrassment but she quickly caught herself. Even disheveled, she was beautiful.

Mirox bowed instantly, "My lord."

"Mirox," Ualan returned. "Why don’t we let the slave take a break? She is looking rather worn."

"Yes, my lord," Mirox bowed, moving to leave. "I will be back in the morning, my lady."

When they heard the door closing behind the man, Morrigan frowned. "Don’t do me any favors, master."

To Ualan’s surprise, she grabbed the toilet brush and started scrubbing the porcelain bowl with a renewed fury. Hiding his laugh, he shrugged his shoulder and left her to her work. His wife had spirit, he’d give her that.

* * * *

When she came out of the bathroom nearly an hour later, Ualan was sitting on the couch with a book. To his surprise, he saw her eye it with a hunger. Then, seeing him studying her, she blinked and turned her attention away.

"Would you like to see it?" he asked softly, angling it towards her in hopes of a truce. It was not to be.

"I can’t read your accursed language, master," she snarled. "And I have no wish to learn."

Ualan sighed. It seemed ‘master’ was taking the place of ‘caveman’. Her lie was obvious. She had a curiosity that ran deep. He could see it in her eyes as well as feel it in her.

"I know you’re interested, Rigan," he said affectionately. He motioned for her to sit next to him. "Take the book. I’ll teach you to read it."

He might as well have offered to give her the blue plague.

"I don’t want to read your stinking book," she hissed, though her gaze did dip to it again. "I don’t want anything to do with you, master."

At that he grinned. Morrigan gasped at the openly seductive look he gave her stating that he knew the words were an obvious lie. She wanted a lot to do with him.

"Oh," she huffed, turning away to walk back to the bathroom. "You are the most incorrigible…."

The rest of her insult was lost and the chuckling Ualan was secretly glad he didn’t have to hear the brunt of her words.

* * * *

Morrigan should have locked the bathroom door. She knew she should have, but the water of the natural spring was too inviting and by the time she remembered it, it was too late. Ualan was standing in front of her, his eyes narrowed in unabashed interest.

"Don’t even think it," she hissed. Her eyes glared in warning as she sunk deeper into the bath, trying to hide.

"What?" he grinned, his eyes leisurely trying to see into the bubbling water.

"You will be bathing yourself tonight, master."

"No gift then?"

Ualan almost cringed at her heated look. He had expected it but he couldn’t help himself. She was too beautiful when she was angry. Besides, with enough commanding he could wear her down. It worked on the warriors he and his brothers ruled.

Ualan shrugged, turning away from her. Morrigan’s relief was short lived when he began disrobing.

"You’re not getting in here, master. You can wait until I’m done!"

"It is my home, slave," he answered. But he didn’t crawl into the spring. Instead he went to the shower, quickly washing away the day’s work.

Morrigan’s eyes didn’t look away as he showered. Her body sang with liquid fire, remembering all too well what his skin had felt like to her hands. Ualan did not turn to her again. By the time he was finished, she had not moved.

Flicking his hand, he shut off the water and reached for a towel. Holding it before him, but not wrapping it around, he turned to her and winked. Morrigan blushed in mortification. He wiped off his dripping face.

"See that you don’t boil yourself, slave," he said glibly, striding naked and wet from the room.

Morrigan yelled at the top of her lungs the only thing she could think of. "Stop messing up my floors!"

"Spoken like a true wife!"

Morrigan gasped, swearing if she ever got her hands on a knife, she would cut his sorry tongue from his barbarian mouth.

Chapter Ten

Cleaning was bad. But this, this was intolerable.

"I’m not wearing that," Morrigan said, brows raised, hands on her hips. "And you can’t make me."

Morrigan looked at the costume the dance instructor was holding out for her to try on. If the outfits of the Breeding Festival had been bad, these harem garments were simply horrendous. From what she could see, the thing would barely cover her most private of parts--and nothing else. Was that string supposed to go up her…? No way.

Cordele, the dance instructor sent to teach Morrigan the traditional wife’s dance of pleasure, looked in confusion at Mirox.

Mirox sighed. Turning to study his charge carefully, he said, "My lordship instructed that if you did not wish to learn our traditional dances today, that I was to have you re-clean the entire house--starting with the bathroom."

Morrigan balked. Dancing sounded so much better than cleaning again. She would do almost anything to avoid that task. Her muscles were only a little stiff this morning, thanks to the hot spring.

"I didn’t say I wasn’t dancing. I just said that I wasn’t putting that on." Morrigan pointed at the skimpy outfit Cordele held. "I’ll wear what I have on."

The woman lowered her arm with a shrug that said suit yourself.

Cordele flicked her hand over a unit on her wrist. Instantly Qurilixian music sounded in the front hall. She lifted her hand and began to sway them, along with her hips, nodding at Morrigan to do the same. The woman wasn’t allowed to speak, except to issue instructions like a drill sergeant, which made for a long day of lessons.

"I don’t know why he wants me to learn this," Morrigan said at one point to the watching Mirox. She dipped forward, copying Cordele. She had taken off her apron and rolled up her sleeves. She could see why the skimpy outfit would have been more comfortable on her heated flesh, but she was too stubborn to change.

"It is pleasing to a husband to have his wife dance for him," Mirox said as if such a thing were common knowledge. "You are doing very well."

"What if I told you, Mirox, that I don’t really care about pleasing Ualan?" Morrigan laughed when Mirox actually fell off the couch in his amazement.

"My lady," he uttered as he righted himself. Shaking his head at her, as if she were an insolent child, he said, "You should not say such things, even in jest."

Morrigan’s grin widened as she flicked one wrist and then another. Cordele nodded in approval. Cocking her head, she queried, "The other day, why did you say that being a slave was a noble thing for me to do? It doesn’t feel very noble. I mean, I’m a slave."

"You purge your reputation, my lady," answered Mirox. Then, seeming to understand her confusion, he said, "The slave is the lowest rank. We much respect you for choosing it. It shows you have self-discipline and will make your husband proud."

Morrigan didn’t think correcting Mirox would solve any of her issues, so she let the reference to her ‘husband’ slide.

"It is a cleansing time, a selfless time," continued Mirox, absently scratching the scar on his nose.

"How do you mean?" asked Morrigan, leaning to the right and arching her back as her hand circled above her. She then folded her arms about her chest and wiggled her hips. Her journalistic curiosities were piqued.

"Well, you deny yourself bodily pleasures. A slave cannot partake of the common meals, cannot be spoken to, cannot copulate or be given pleasure."

"You mean no sex whatsoever?" asked Morrigan, thinking of the tub.

Mirox wondered at her blush as she turned away and then back again. Cordele stopped the music, shook her head, and made Morrigan try the move again.

When they were again dancing, Mirox said, "To do so would insult the slave’s chosen station and their reason for denial. It is our law. It is considered a great lack of honor to the person giving them pleasure."

"And what happens if you break this law?" asked Morrigan, a plan of blackmail forming in her brain.

"The person will be stripped of title and be made a slave themselves until they have repented and been forgiven. The master becomes the slave."