Barbarian Slave Read online

  Lutrin guffawed at this, and Lucrezia felt reality intrude as if a cold blast of air had just hit her in the face.

  What am I doing?

  She had come here to make Tarl see sense, not to seduce him. This would not change anything. He would still head off at dawn to his doom, only she would be bereft.

  Lucrezia gulped in a lungful of air and twisted out of Tarl’s embrace. She could not look his way, for her body still cried out for him, her mouth still burned from his kisses. It would take so little for her to throw herself back into his arms. She should never have followed him in here. She had just thrust her hand into the fire and scorched herself.

  “Lucrezia …” Tarl began, his voice husky.

  “No … I.” She stepped back, still unable to meet his eye. How could she want this man so much, yet be so angry with him at the same time? “I should go.”

  With that, she fled to the door, pushed past Alpia and Lutrin, and ran.

  Tarl leaned against the wall and heaved in a deep breath. Then he scowled at Lutrin and Alpia. “You two have great timing.”

  Lutrin grimaced. “How were we to know you were about to plow the girl. You should have shut the door, if you wanted privacy.”

  Tarl scowled back. “It wasn’t planned. She came in here to talk to me, we argued and then … things got out of hand.”

  That was an understatement. He was sure the bulge in his breeches was plain to see, although fortunately Alpia and Lutrin pretended not to notice. He felt weak with lust, an overwhelming sensation. Not only that, his senses were reeling, his thoughts scattered.

  Lucrezia had completely disarmed him.

  It was not just lust; he wanted that woman, body and soul.

  The realization of it hit him like a hammer between the eyes. How had he been so blind? A bond had forged between them the day they had first met. She had hated him then, but that had not mattered. She had gotten under his skin from the first, and he had been bitterly disappointed when she did not eventually warm to him. He had let her go, of course, and had tried to move on, to accept she would never be his … but the moment he had pulled her into his arms he realized he had been lying to himself.

  She was all he wanted, all he would ever want.

  “You can go after her, you know?” He looked up to find Alpia watching him. “Since you’re leaving at dawn, the pair of you are running out of time.”

  Tarl suppressed a wince. She was right—by this time tomorrow, he would be riding toward The Valley of the Tors to fight Wurgest. Until a short while earlier he had felt confident about his chances against The Boar. He had beaten Wurgest before; he could do so again.

  But Ruith thought there was some kind of treachery afoot.

  Tarl was relieved to have some forewarning; he would be careful to pay close attention as he rode into that valley. Yet at the same time, he had been unsettled by the look on Lucrezia’s face as she had delivered the seer’s warning. She had looked upon him as if he were doomed.

  Understandably, she did not want to give herself to a man who she believed would die the next day.

  Tarl raked a hand through his hair and shrugged off Alpia’s suggestion. “Later maybe,” he muttered. “When she’s calmer.”

  “Tarl …” Lutrin spoke up. “You can’t go off on your own tomorrow. Let some of us come with you.”

  Tarl shook his head—he had already argued with Galan and Donnel on the same subject at dawn this morning. He did not want to spend today repeating himself. “I need to do this alone.”

  Lutrin shook his head. “No, you don’t. We can hide out of sight, just north of the valley. Wurgest never needs to know.”

  “It’s wise,” Alpia agreed. “Just in case The Boar doesn’t play fair.”

  Tarl sighed. “The answer is still no.” He appreciated their concern, but he would not be moved. “Loxa made the conditions of the fight clear.”

  Alpia shook her head, exasperated. “Well then, that’s even more reason to go after Lucrezia and take her to your furs. You might as well enjoy your last day before Wurgest’s blade parts your head from your shoulders.”

  Lutrin laughed at that, although like Alpia, his gaze was pensive. They were all worrying over Tarl.

  Tarl snorted in frustration and pushed past his friends. He left the armory and walked out into the bright spring sunlight. This fort was sometimes far too small for his liking. Nothing went on that everyone did not know about. Now that Alpia and Lutrin had seen him and Lucrezia together, the news would soon be common knowledge. Even the half-blind crone who lived down by the shore would know about it by this eve.

  Tarl circuited the fort and walked toward the gate that led into the inner yard. There he paused, his gaze traveling down to the village. Lucrezia had likely gone home, back to the hut she shared with Eithni. He could find her easily enough, and finish what they had started.

  He ached to do just that, to bolt the door from the inside and spend the rest of the day and night with her. Eithni could find somewhere else to sleep for once. Yet the memory of her stricken face when she had spoken to him prevented Tarl from following her.

  Why would you cast your life away as if it means nothing?

  He had never had anyone ask him that before. A warrior’s death was an honorable one; he did not see it as a reckless choice. Still, it was not fair to lie with her now, not when he might die tomorrow.

  I will speak to Lucrezia later, he promised himself as he turned and walked through the gateway. I won’t leave with her angry at me.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Come Back Safe

  the savory aroma of mutton stew greeted Lucrezia as she entered the round tower.

  Her belly churned. Usually she was hungry for supper, but not this evening. She had no appetite for food; her stomach felt squeezed into a fist and her nerves had stretched taut. She had considered not joining the others for supper in the fort, and instead eating some bread and cheese by the fire in her hut. However, she did not want to appear a coward, and so she had come.

  Shoulders back, she strode into the dimly lit space and realized she was early. Only half the folk were here. Deri and two other women were finishing making the stew, while children played on the rushes nearby. Galan and Tea were there, seated together upon the raised platform at the end of the feasting hall. They chatted as they enjoyed a cup of wine together. There were no sign of the other warriors yet, Tarl included.

  A mixture of relief and disappointment flowed through Lucrezia. Perhaps Tarl would not join them this evening. She glanced over at his alcove—after his return, he had taken the second largest one next to Galan and Tea’s as Donnel no longer wanted it. Was he inside? Would she see him before his departure at dawn tomorrow?

  Something deep inside her chest twisted. This was a giant mess—and it was all of her own doing. She had gone to him, argued with him, knowing that the attraction between them was like dry tinder ready to catch alight.

  “Lucrezia!”

  Mael called to her. The woman was sitting with some of the smallest children, watching her daughter Ailene make her first attempts at crawling. Eithni was there too, sitting with Talor upon her lap.

  Lucrezia walked over to them and knelt down, forcing a bright smile. “Good evening.”

  “Where have you been all day?” Eithni asked, handing over Talor to Lucrezia. The infant lad gurgled and grinned, his chubby hands reaching for Lucrezia’s hair. She looked down at him, at his shock of dark hair. He had startling blue eyes and beautiful bone structure. She imagined the eye-color belonged to the boy’s mother, although he had Donnel’s face.

  “I went wildberry picking for Deri,” Lucrezia replied. “She wants to make a pie for the noon meal tomorrow.”

  Eithni nodded, although her gaze remained upon Lucrezia’s face. “Something is wrong,” she observed quietly. “You’re very pale this eve.”

  Lucrezia kept the smile plastered on her face, although inside she felt as if she was crumbling. “I’m just tired,” sh
e replied with a shake of her head. “I walked farther than I intended.”

  She was aware then that Deri was observing her, a sympathetic look on her face. With a sinking feeling Lucrezia realized that the woman knew about her and Tarl. She glanced around the hall, at where men and women were now entering and taking their seats upon low benches at the tables. Who else knows?

  She saw Tarl and Donnel enter then. They were talking together in low voices.

  “Here he is.” Eithni rose to her feet and plucked Talor from Lucrezia’s arms. “Here is your da.”

  “Eithni.” Mael put out her hand to stop the young woman. “I don’t think Donnel wants to be bothered with Talor right now.”

  Eithni gave her a bemused look. “Nonsense—he’ll want to see his son.”

  Lucrezia watched her carry the baby across the hall, intercepting the two brothers as they made their way to their usual seats. Donnel and Tarl halted, and Lucrezia saw Tarl look her way.

  They stared at each other for a long drawn out moment. Lucrezia’s throat constricted. Heavens preserve her, the man had a gaze that could melt stone.

  “Evening, Donnel.” Eithni approached with a smile. “Would you like to hold your son?”

  Donnel’s tall body went rigid. He stared at Eithni, all warmth draining from his face. “Not really.”

  Her face fell. “But you haven’t seen him in so long. Look how he has grown.” She held Talor up to him, and the infant kicked his feet, arms stretching toward his father.

  A shadow passed over Donnel’s face, and his gaze shuttered. The flicker of a muscle in his jaw was the only sign of the turmoil within. “I don’t wish to see him right now, healer. Take him away.”

  Eithni stared at him, her delicate skin flushing pink at his rudeness. “My name is Eithni,” she said, the slight tremor in her voice giving her nervousness away. “Why do you never call me by it?”

  Donnel gave her a sour look. “Take him away, Eithni.”

  “And your son’s name is Talor,” she continued doggedly. “It is a fine name. You should use it occasionally.”

  “Eithni,” Tarl interrupted gently, stepping in as Donnel’s face turned thunderous. “The lad has grown indeed, but best you take him back to Mael now.”

  Eithni’s gaze flicked between the two men before her rosebud lips thinned. She then nodded at Tarl, ignoring Donnel completely now, and turned and marched back to where Mael and Lucrezia waited.

  Lucrezia saw that Eithni’s face had turned pinker still when she returned to their side, and her eyes glittered. She was a sensitive girl, almost too much so. She had stood up to Donnel, and yet Lucrezia had sensed the barely contained fear in her.

  “Thank you, Eithni,” Mael murmured with a gentle smile as she took Talor from her. “Don’t worry about Donnel—he’ll warm to the boy in time.”

  “It’s been months now,” Eithni replied between gritted teeth. “It’s as if Talor doesn’t exist.”

  “He reminds him of Luana,” Mael replied, sadness darkening her eyes. “Sometimes I think he blames Talor for her death.”

  “Birthing sickness isn’t the fault of the child,” Eithni answered. “Surely Donnel realizes that.”

  “Aye—but he’s looking for somewhere to place the blame.” Mael gave a melancholy smile and reached down to stroke Talor’s soft black hair. “Bitterness has wormed its way into his heart.” Mael climbed to her feet. “Come … let us take our seats for supper now.”

  Eithni nodded, although her slender frame was still stiff with outrage and offended dignity. Without another word, the healer turned and made her way up to the raised platform. Usually Eithni’s place was at Donnel’s right, but Lucrezia did not fail to notice that she sat as far as possible away from him this evening, at the far end of the table, squeezing in next to Deri.

  Lucrezia was making her way to her usual place when Tarl crossed the hall to intercept her. Dressed in black leather, he looked dangerous this evening—perilously handsome. The smile he gave Lucrezia when he stopped before her made her heart flutter against her ribs.

  “Will you sit up on the chieftain’s seat with me this eve, Lucrezia?” he asked.

  Her breathing hitched in her chest, and her gaze flicked to the long table where Tea poured wine from a ewer, going from person to person. It was where the chief, his kin, and most trusted warriors sat. She had no place there.

  “I …” she began, searching desperately for an excuse. “I don’t think …”

  “Don’t worry,” he replied. “No one will mind. Come on.”

  Unable to refuse him without causing a scene, Lucrezia followed Tarl up to the chieftain’s table. Tea flashed her a welcoming smile, and poured a cup of wine for her while everyone else started to help themselves to earthen bowls of stew. They tore off hunks of bread from large loaves.

  Lucrezia took her seat at the table upon the low bench, squeezing in between Tarl and Donnel. Tarl’s younger brother ignored her. His expression was grim, his gaze hard. His aura warned her off trying to converse with him. She edged away—and felt herself press up against Tarl.

  Heart thumping now, she took a measured sip of wine from her cup in the hope it would quell the butterflies in her stomach. To sit this close to him after what had passed between them earlier in the day was torture.

  “Bread?” Tarl held out the loaf to her, his expression solicitous. He did not seem to be as affected as she was by sitting so close.

  Lucrezia nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and took the loaf, ripping a piece off. The interior of the fort might be smoky and warm, but it felt insufferably hot this evening, and airless as well. Lucrezia took another sip of wine, regretting she had agreed to sit up here with him.

  The rumble of voices echoed through the hall, accompanied by the thump of earthen bowls and wooden cups. However, there was a tension present in the air tonight, an edge to the conversation. They had just started their meal when Galan addressed Tarl.

  “Are you ready for dawn?”

  Tarl nodded.

  Next to Galan, Tea’s mouth compressed. “So you’re intent on doing this … on going alone.”

  Lucrezia felt Tarl’s body stiffen against hers. “Aye—it’s the only way.”

  Next to Lucrezia Donnel muttered a curse under his breath. “I don’t understand … you owe Wurgest nothing.”

  “I agree with Donnel,” Galan rumbled. “I believe Loxa was making empty threats to goad you into battle.”

  “And it worked,” Donnel added, casting Tarl a dark look. “You’re playing straight into his hands.”

  Lucrezia glanced up at Tarl’s face and saw that all his brothers had succeeded in doing was angering him. She had gotten to know Tarl well enough these days to realize how much Galan and Donnel’s good opinion meant to him. As such, he bristled under their criticism of his actions.

  “Leave it,” he growled. “I know what I’m doing.” His attention shifted back to Tea then, and he flashed her a smile. “Just make sure to organize a great victory feast for my return.”

  The chieftain’s wife smiled in response, although the expression was strained. “I’ll have the lads put the boar and venison carcasses on to roast tomorrow morning.”

  The exchange had lowered the tension at the chieftain’s table, and folk now returned to their suppers, conversation resuming. Yet there was still an edge, an undercurrent of unspoken worry. Galan’s gaze remained upon Tarl a long while before he resumed eating.

  Lucrezia was half-way through her bowl of stew when Tarl leaned close to her. “I wanted to speak with you, before tomorrow.”

  Lucrezia glanced at him, meeting his eye properly for the first time since she had taken a seat. The intense look she saw there caused the butterflies, which had momentarily settled, to take flight again. “What of?”

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  Her gaze widened. This was new. Seeing her expression, Tarl gave a wry smile. “Aye—I know it doesn’t happen often, but there are times when I’ll admit that I�
��ve wronged someone.”

  Lucrezia swallowed a piece of bread. “You haven’t wronged me.”

  He shook his head, negating her words. “I have, and I’m sorry for it. You wanted me to set you free after that day we took the wall, and I should have. I forced a life on you that was not of your choosing.”

  It was Lucrezia’s turn to give an ironic smile. “Perhaps, but I have come to love it here. I consider Dun Ringill my home.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

  She smiled. “I’m free here. As long as I contribute to the tribe, I can spend my days as I wish.” Her smile widened. “And I can fight.”

  He grinned at her. “You certainly can.”

  She nodded, suddenly shy. “I like feeling strong … knowing I can defend myself.”

  He watched her a moment, his grin fading. “You’re a magnificent woman, Lucrezia … and before I go I wanted you to know that.”

  Her breathing stilled. “You talk as if you won’t come back.”

  He flashed her that cocky smile she knew so well. “I plan to return from The Valley of the Tors, but just in case I don’t …” The smile faded and his eyes turned serious. “I don’t want to leave things unsaid.” To her surprise, he reached out then and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “You were right, I’m a fool. A cleverer man wouldn’t have let these last months pass without apologizing for being such an ass. If I return, I promise to be the sort of man you deserve. Would you soften toward me then? Could you let me into your heart?”

  Lucrezia stared at him. Her vision swam, and she bit the inside of her cheek to force back the tears which threatened. She could not lose control now, not surrounded by Tarl’s kin. She would never be able to show her face in this hall again. She had never met a man as disarming as this one. One moment he behaved as if he needed no one, and the next he bared his soul. If she had not seen the naked sincerity in his eyes, she would have thought he was mocking her.

  “I could,” she whispered. “Just make sure you come back safe.”