The Barbarian Prince (16 page)

"My master!" she called louder.

Slowly, he pulled her away from his arousal. Morrigan blinked in confusion. Her hips strained against his strong hands. Their bodies heaved for air as he denied them both.

"I am your husband," Ualan stated darkly. "Say it."

Her lips trembled, tempted. But she shook her head in denial.

"Say it! Say it and end this, Rigan. Tell me I am your husband. Say you are my wife and end this."

"You," Morrigan gulped for breath. Her body hated her before the words even got out. "You are my master and I am your slave."

"Oh, but you are a stubborn woman!"

Ualan growled, tossing her off his lap onto the couch. He was so angry, his body was shaking and his eyes were seeing red. How dare she do that to him without the intent of staying with him? He didn’t understand her.

"Me?" Morrigan screamed. Her face was flushed as she tired to cover herself from view. Her hands were not very effective blockades. Denied passion made her quicker to anger. "You’re the one who can’t take no for an answer. You are not my husband! We are not married! Why can’t you understand that, Ualan? I know your ego is hurt, but it shouldn’t be. I don’t want to be married to anyone. It has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me. I am your husband!" he bellowed, almost in too much of a rage to see her naked skin.

"No, you’re not! You are a lunatic who can’t seem to understand when he’s being dumped. I want to break this off Ualan. I want to go home!"

"This is your home, Rigan. Resign yourself to it!"

"But I don’t love you".

His yellowing eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared.

"What is this?" Ualan asked with deceptive softness to his words as he motioned to the couch. "Tell me you didn’t feel it. Try to deny it."

"That’s just lust, Ualan. Pure lust. That’s all. Don’t confuse it for something it’s not."

Ualan gasped. It was like a slap of cold water to his overheated body. He swallowed, knowing if he heard any more of her words, he would strangle her. Whipping around, he stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Morrigan dropped wearily to her knees. Realizing that her maid outfit was locked up with Ualan in the bathroom, and that she was standing in the front hall shivering and naked, she quickly ran up the stairs to his room. Going to the closet, she began reaching for her bag when she spied Ualan’s large cotton shirts and pants neatly folded on a shelf. Knowing it would cover her better than any nightgown she owned, she slid them over her body. They smelled like him and she groaned.

When she ran back downstairs, tying the drawstring at her waist, Ualan was standing before her. He snarled at her, brushing past her to go to the stairs.

"Ualan?" she began, never knowing why she spoke. Maybe it was the smell of him on the clothes. Or maybe it was the feelings that refused to die in her stomach and chest.

"You wish to remain a slave," he uttered, turning to thunder towards her. Morrigan gulped. Ualan saw the fear in her eyes but could not force himself to back down.

Morrigan ignored the statement, and whispered, "It doesn’t have to be like this."

You make it like this, wife, he thought.

"You will cook for me tomorrow, slave," he said sternly. Morrigan gasped, knowing it was another punishment. "Mirox will tell you what to do."

With that he stormed away from her. His body burned and he knew it would be a long time before he slept. Glancing down at his treacherous member, he growled. If his aggravating wife wasn’t going to relieve him, then he would just have to see to it himself--again.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning when Morrigan awoke from her troubled dreams, Ualan was gone. She was glad for it. But, like he promised, Mirox came to her bright and early to show her how to prepare a traditional Qurilixen dish.

Well, saying he was showing her would have been too generous. The man was sitting in a chair watching her do the showing as he instructed like a culinary sergeant from hell.

"Ah, you might want to add more honey," Mirox said from his chair. He couldn’t help but notice her furious mood as she slammed stuff around.

Morrigan wrinkled her nose, making a face he couldn’t see. As she squirted honey into the bread, she felt she had been kneading for at least an hour. The dark blue dough stuck to her fingers and she grimaced. Now this was slave work. Mirox watched as she poked a face into the bread’s rising surface and then punched it repeatedly with a balled fist.

"This is fine," she grumbled. Her dough hands lifted in the air from the bowl to drop blue clumps on the clean floor. Mirox frowned. Setting forward, he took a towel from the counter and swiped up her newest mess.

Morrigan was hurt. Her body ached, her mind was overtired and she felt as if she was on fire all the time. One thought of her wayward ‘master’ and she would flush and her legs would weaken like a simpering female. And Morrigan Blake was not a simpering female.

She was more than a little upset that he hadn’t finished what he started--again. Every time she remembered begging him for it, she punched the dough with renewed vigor. She had actually begged him!

Make love to me, her head mocked. How pathetic was she?

Become the master, Morrigan silently ridiculed herself further, her mouth moving to unconsciously mouth the words to the countertop. Lucking, Mirox was turned from her. Make him the slave. Then you will make a deal for your freedom. Not bloody likely!

"A little longer, my lady," suggested Mirox, seeing the dough wasn’t thoroughly mixed.

"They should invent a machine to do this," she muttered. Mirox tried not to laugh. Right next to her on the counter was a mixer, but Lord Ualan had been very clear that she was to do everything by scratch and that included mixing the blue dough for the full hour.

Morrigan sighed as she began kneading again, making faces as she absently hit at the dough. This time she knocked sugar into the bowl with her elbow. Mirox frowned as she quickly righted it. After brief consideration, she kneaded the sugar into the dough too. Mirox grimaced.

Morrigan decided she was going to try again to turn the tables on Ualan. She was going to seduce him. Then let him be the slave to her! See how he liked being made to bow constantly at her feet. See how he liked having to cook her meals.

"Maybe we should start over," Mirox suggested, still looking at the dough.

"No, this will be perfectly fine. I’m not doing this for another hour. Besides, I wasn’t sure which spices you were talking about when I basted the…wil..wilddeor?"

"Yes, my lady, wilddeor," Mirox said, growing weary.

"It seems to be smelling fine," she returned, shrugging.

Mirox swallowed. He should have been paying more attention to her--hovering right above her every move.

"I think this is enough mixing. Give me the pan you said to put it in," she ordered.

Mirox handed it to her, not saying a word. His lordship should have informed him his wife knew nothing about cooking before sending him in to help her. Instead, the Prince had only told him to instruct her how to prepare a traditional feast.

Morrigan washed her hands beneath the running water, smiling gratefully when Mirox pumped soap onto her hands for her. He watched her pour the dough without bothering to level it. She then stuck it in the oven without a backwards glance at the meat. Sighing, he went pull open the oven door. The meat was browning nicely, so he shut it again.

"I think you should get a salad ready now," he instructed. His gut pulled as he tried not to think of the disaster her cooking could cause for him. He hoped Ualan would direct his anger where it belonged.

Morrigan looked at the refrigerator and sighed, not feeling like it. Mirox began pulling out the salad ingredients.

He tried to smile, handing her purple cabbage and lettuce before retrieving a knife He motioned for her to cut. She stabbed the cabbage with a knife and brought the tip back up with the skewered vegetable embedded on the end of the blade. She painstakingly pulled the cabbage off and stabbed it again. Mirox took the blade and began nervously chopping with apt fingers.

Morrigan smiled wryly behind his back. Her ploy had worked. The man was taking over making the salad. Slowly, she moved back to his chair to watch him.

"Does this go in the oven, too?" she asked sweetly.

Mirox almost chopped off a finger. Glancing suspiciously around, he said nothing.

It was only after he dumped both the lettuce and cabbage in the bowl and was tossing it together, that he remembered she was supposed to be doing the work.

"Come, chop," Mirox said with a sniff, "just like I did."

Morrigan picked up the knife and, dropping the pretense of not knowing how to use it, she began to slice into a ripe tomato.

"Ah, well done, my lady! You are a very quick learner! You should be proud!"

Morrigan smiled wryly, apathetically throwing the tomato into the bowl. She was picturing Ualan’s face as she sliced. Curling her lips, she growled, "Oh, you have no idea, Mirox, no idea at all."

* * * *

Ualan growled while he threw five knives at an already marred post. The blades hit dead center in a perfect circle with the last one embedding in the center ring. The accomplishment only caused him to growl again as he went to grab the blades. Ripping them from their post with angry jerks, he marched around and did it again. The young warriors, who were neglecting their own practice to watch the outraged Prince, grunted in awe of his skill. None were so bold as to approach him in his dark mood.

"Ach," grumbled Agro, coming to join the spectators. "But can he do it with his eyes closed?"

Ualan turned at him to glare. "Can you with blackened eyes?"

Agro’s eyes were still bruised from Ualan’s attack, though they stared to fade to a purplish yellow. The beefy giant grimaced good-naturedly. He held no grudge.

"I should thank you," called Agro, his Qurilixian accent rising with a soft burr. "My wife has insisted she administer her special medicine. Tell me, would yours do the same?"

Ualan grimaced and swore a black curse upon the man, throwing the knives with even greater passion. They embedded to the hilt. Morrigan would more than likely have his head first. If he closed his eyes he could still hear her begging him to end their torment. She had asked him to take her. But what could he do? He had to refuse them both until she relented her hard-headed ways. He would not let her live with an illusion of leaving him. He would never let her go.

Agro was unconcerned with the curse as he went to retrieve the blades. Stalking past where Ualan stood, he put even greater distance between himself and the post. Throwing, he embedded the knives in a snakelike line.

"Blackened eyes," he announced with great flair. The spectator warriors cheered in approval. Knife throwing was one of their greater entertainments.

When Ualan went to the blades, Agro joined him.

Speaking low so none could here, Agro said, "Tell me, Ualan, do you treat your wife with the same delicacy you have been treating these blades?"

Ualan glanced at him, confused.

Agro took the last blade before Ualan could pull it. Bouncing it in his hand, the giant warrior said conversationally, "If you haven’t noticed, she be a might softer than these fools out here."

He pointed the blade meaningfully at the crowd. Ualan frowned.

"Let me give you a tip, from one surly warrior to another," said Agro, handing the knife hilt to Ualan. Ualan took it. They began to walk. "What is softer on the outside is usually even more soft on the inside."

Ualan sighed, hating to admit that the man’s words made sense. He walked away. Seeing Zoran coming to disperse the men and command them back to practice, he nodded to his brother. Zoran nodded back.

"Hey!" Agro cried to the pleasure of the crowd, before challenging, "What about eyes closed?"

Ualan stopped. Closing his eyes before he spun, he blindly threw the blades before he was even fully around. Four landed in the pattern of a cross on the post, the last landed in between Agro’s feet. Agro jumped slightly back and let loose a hearty laugh. Ualan slowly opened his eyes, knowing the blades had made their target before he even looked. With a quiet nod, he thanked Agro for his council.

Agro smiled slightly back before waving him away with his impish grin. Before Zoran could speak, Agro commanded the watching soldiers gruffly, "Ach now, you pups, back to work."

* * * *

When Ualan emerged from his bathroom, his hair wet and his body wrapped in a towel, it was to the sound of his wife’s laughter. For a moment, his body soared with the noise. It was so light, so feminine and soft. It left him longing to hold her. It left his heart hollow for what he didn’t have with her.

Looking up, he saw the dome curtains were closed, leaving his house dim. It would be approaching the evening hour, though outside the world would be cast with daylight, albeit, the hazier daylight of dusk and dawn. Drawing his hand past the torches as he walked, he absently lit them to cast a soft, romantic glow over the front hall.

Quickly moving to his bedroom to dress, he found he was excited to see Morrigan. Agro’s advice echoed in his head. He would not have thought of a softer control over force. It was such a simple concept. Trust that a man already married would come up with it. Morrigan hadn’t greeted him when he came in the door and he didn’t even know if she realized he was home.

In one fluid motion, he tore the towel from his naked body. Yawning, he scratched his stomach as he went to retrieve his clothes. Choosing a relaxed outfit of dark blue cotton, he tugged the shirt over his head and slid the loose pants over his hips. He tied the drawstring at his waist, not bothering with the Earth custom of underwear. His house clothes were much more casual than the tunics he had been wearing.

His bare feet took the stairs two at a time. As he neared the dining nook, his stomach growled. His meal was already laid out for him on the table.

Mirox was the first to leave the kitchen. Ualan smiled at the man. If the smell was any indication, he had done his job well. His smile faded when he saw the man’s expression. It was pale and drawn. Bowing before him, the servant whispered, "I apologize, my lord."