“Whatever you say, babe,” she agreed, still grinning, but in more of a smirk.
“You will also desist in calling me by the name for an infant.”
“It’s just a term of affection, sweetcakes.”
“You will not call me this word either, or pretend to an affection you do not as yet feel.”
Tedra’s humor went south with the stream. “You’re getting on my nerves, warrior. Must I remind you that you never supplied me with your name?”
“It is Challen Ly-San-Ter,” he replied stiffly.
“Well, hurray. And do I have your exalted permission to use it, O master?”
“Get back on the hataar, woman.”
He didn’t shout, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hear it underneath the tone. She returned to the hataar and waited for him to place her on it, having the disgusting feeling that was the proper thing for a Kan-is-Tran woman to do. He’d managed to intimidate her somehow, and she didn’t like that at all. She liked his name, however, even if it was only lacking the “G-E” to have it spell “challenge.” She wondered if that was symbolic. Whatever, she still liked the sound of it. Challen Ly-San-Ter of Sha-Ka’an, barbarian extraordinary.
They were leaving the meadow and entering another wooded area before Tedra got up the nerve to resume conversation—with another gripe. “Couldn’t you at least have brought my clothes along, even if you weren’t going to let me wear them? I know you’ve never seen that kind of material before. Weren’t you even curious about where it came from?”
“You claim a country called Kystran. From that place must it come.”
How boringly logical. “Wouldn’t you like to know where Kystran is, then?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Of what use is a country of women warriors, and men who cannot beat them? Warriors will not draw sword against women, nor raid or deal with men who cannot control them.”
“Beneath your dignity, huh?” she chided. “But I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong impression—Challen. We’ve gone far beyond one sex controlling the other on Kystran. Men and women are equal there, taught the same skills, allowed the same career opportunities. It’s true our men don’t come anywhere close to you in size, and they aren’t sword-wielders, but those in Security like myself use different kinds of weapons, ones that don’t require size and strength to handle. You had a taste of them, but there are others much more dangerous, weapons that can kill a thing so efficiently, no trace is left of it.” She heard him snort, and knew he wasn’t believing her again. “Answer me this, then. You have seen and felt what a phazor can do. Have you ever seen one before, or even heard tales about such things?”
“Such would be needful for men who otherwise cannot protect themselves.”
“A reasonable conclusion, but not the answer to my question. You haven’t heard of such things before because they don’t exist on your world.”
“There are countries far beyond here that have never been dealt with.”
“You have a farden answer for everything, don’t you?” she gritted out. “Then how did I get here from these far-off places, and better yet, why would I come here—alone?”
“As you say, for trade.”
“And as you say, women wouldn’t be trusted with such tasks. Are you now allowing that they would— at least in countries you have no dealings with?”
He wouldn’t answer, changing the subject instead. “What meaning has this farden word you use?”
“It’s used to express mild disgust, which is exactly what I’m feeling right now.” Good thing she wasn’t the feet-stomping type, or there’d be holes in the ground to show for it. She sighed. “All right, let’s stick to things you do know all about—the service I owe you, for instance. I’m beginning to suspect it’s not what I assumed it to be, so why don’t you enlighten me—in detail.”
“There will be many things you will do for me.”
“Such as?”
“This moonrise will you endeavor to work the soreness from my muscles.”
“Ah, poor baby,” she purred with saccharine sweetness. “Did mean old Tedra hurt the big barbarian?”
She was congratulating herself on that dig, which she knew without looking at him he wouldn’t appreciate, when he leaned forward, pressing against her back to reach the harness post in front of her. She watched him tie the reins off there and had the distinct feeling she was in trouble. When his hands were empty, she didn’t know what to expect. A beating came to mind, though she couldn’t imagine how he would manage it on the back of his hataar. But his slipping his hands inside her fur covering and under her arms took her by surprise.
Heat hit her, sucking the breath from her body as those long, masculine fingers moved over and around her breasts, until each sensitive mound was fully imprisoned in a strong hand. That tiny flame that had been fanned earlier now ignited, sending a brushfire of sensation over receptive nerves. Her head fell back onto a hard shoulder, and the pleasurable sound that escaped her throat couldn’t have been stopped had she known it was coming.
The sound did penetrate her mind, however, bringing with it the knowledge that the barbarian was doing it again, casually, unfairly, and no doubt deliberately making her body sing, when he had no intention of playing a duet with her. Her reflex was to stop him and she even made an effort, only to recall her bound wrists. She couldn’t even get her own hands under her covering, much less remove his.
Defenseless. The feeling was so alien, it brought out her fighting instincts. But all he’d left her to fight with was words, and she was afraid that was going to be the norm from now on, rather than the unusual.
“Did I miss something in the translation, warrior? I could have sworn my service was exclusive to place, with no hanky-panky allowed in any other location. Now, I don’t see anything around here that comes even close to resembling a bedchamber. And the last time I looked, this hataar wasn’t a bed. So either cut it out, fella, or you’re in breach of contract.”
“Cleverness is admired in a woman, kerima. ”
“Thank you—I think.”
“But your cleverness is wasted on me. Again I must remind you of the words ‘where I sleep.’ ”
“If that’s your subtle way of telling me you sleep on this riding animal, try again,” she said dryly.
“When time is critical and the distance to travel far, a warrior will indeed sleep on his hataar. This I have done more than once, else would your punishment be delayed.”
Tedra stiffened and tried to pull away from him, but his hands held her firmly in place. This was to be her punishment? Now she knew why he’d been so amused when he told her earlier that she was deserving of punishment for her disrespect, and promised to see to it shortly. The man was diabolical. Who but a barbarian would think to punish a woman by making her want him?
She couldn’t let him get away with it. One or two beatings she could likely handle, but this? Desire was too new to her, and she was finding her reactions to it all involuntary. Such loss of control was unacceptable to a Sec, who must always be on top of any given situation. She wasn’t here as a Sec, but for a woman of pride, the consequences could be just as bad, if not worse.
Gathering every ounce of will she possessed, Tedra concentrated on ignoring the hands that were now gently kneading her breasts. She could feel the warm breeze on her face, the abrasive, shaggy coat of the hataar she straddled on her inner thighs, even the soft fur of her covering wherever it touched her skin, but not the barbarian’s hands. Her powers of concentration worked, and continued to work—until one of those clever hands discovered the wide-open junction of her legs, and then every sensation she had been ignoring slammed into her at once, and the new ones . . .
It was like melting, dissolving in hot flames. The finger that slipped inside her was the torch. Stars above, she’d never known such feeling! It stole he breath, took her out-of-mind. She now pressed back against the barbarian, giving him total access to her willing him not t
o stop. The pleasure was incredible deep inside her, spreading, humming for release. But release wasn’t in the scenario. What began as pleasure slowly but surely became an agony of frustration, of nerve-frazzling turbulence that gave not a moment’s respite. She trembled, she groaned, she squirmed all over that hataar and against her tormentor. Soon she’d be literally crying—and begging.
“Noooo!”
“What think you of Sha-Ka’an discipline, woman of Kystran?” the warrior asked her.
The voice had been calmness itself, grating along already raw nerves. “It . . . stinks!”
“Yet is it effective.”
This wasn’t a question, but a statement. Tedra didn’t care. It took enormous concentration just to hear him through the tumult in her mind. Commenting was even harder.
“Enough, Challen. I—I apologize.”
“That is good, but for what do you apologize?”
“For anything . . . everything . . . whatever you want.”
“You must be specific, woman; thus will you remember what earned you punishment.”
She wasn’t likely to ever forget this, but aloud she said, “I can’t think. I can’t take any more either. Challen, please—”
She cut herself short with a gasp. She still wasn’t ready to beg him to take her, but right about now she could cheerfully kill him—almost. She’d give anything to be able to at least fight him, and there were a number of things she could still do, bound wrists or not. But her honor stayed her hand, forcing her to endure his will even if it killed her. It just might.
The sob came when he brought his thumbs into play, one flicking at the hard kernel her nipple had become, the other against the equally hard nub of oversensitized skin between her legs. But the moment she began crying, the torment stopped. The agony of wanting him persisted, however, her body still screaming with need. Her crying persisted, too, because she knew only time would relieve the state of desire the barbarian had brought her to. He certainly wouldn’t.
He did wrap his thick arms around her, however, as if he meant to offer comfort. Tedra was barely aware of it, enough to wonder what he was up to now. Surely he didn’t regret what he’d just done.
“What is this hanky-panky you spoke of?”
If he was trying to distract her from her tears, he succeeded. “It’s an old Kystran Ancient’s word. It means fooling around, as in hands-on practice, but mutual practice, and mutual satisfaction derived from it. What you did was not that.”
“Nor was it meant to be,” he said simply, then sighed. “You do not take punishment well, kerima. ”
“You wanted me to beg, didn’t you?” she demanded bitterly.
“The sound of it would have been sweet.”
“I hate you,” she said, and then spoiled it by hiccuping.
He laughed. “Can a warrior not tease his woman?”
Was he serious? “I’m not your woman, just yours to order about for one month. And I give you warning, warrior. The very second that month is up, I’m probably going to kill you.”
“Now those are indeed the words of a woman sorely chastised. Truly, you are progressing, to reveal such womanly traits.”
She had to see the man who could spout such idiocy and turned to glance back at him. “I threaten to kill you and you call that womanly?”
He grinned at her, and took the opportunity while she was turned to very tenderly wipe the tears from her cheeks. “It is common for a woman to say such when she is feeling abused and has no other recourse. They are merely words, kerima, and not to be taken seriously.”
“Fine. You just continue thinking like that, babe. When you’re dead, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He gave her a look that said he heard what she’d called him, but was going to ignore it this once. Her second threat he didn’t even acknowledge.
“Punishment has a purpose. Do you learn from it, then your mistakes will not be repeated. It is not meant to hurt you, but I think you feel this is not so; thus I must regret the manner chosen to correct you. Had I known how quickly you could be brought to arousal, I would have refrained from touching you in such a sensitive place.”
He was apologizing? But she didn’t see him offering to make amends by giving her the relief she still needed, so a fat lot of good it did her. He was merely saying it hadn’t been his intention to arouse her to the point of tears, just to the point of regret. Big deal. Arousal was arousal as far as she was concerned. And that he’d forced it on her, without feeling the slightest bit himself ... He really was made of stone. How the farden hell did he do it?
And then she was hit with an incredulous thought that would explain much. “Are you real, Challen? Do you bleed?”
She managed to get a frown out of him. “Explain yourself, woman.”
“I have an android on my ship. He’s beautiful. He’s almost free-thinking, like Martha is. And he’s programmed to do anything I want him to do. But he’s not real. He’s a machine. He could do what you just did if he was so programmed, and not feel anything. You didn’t feel anything when you touched me. You can’t deny it. Your voice was too farden calm. Are you real? Or is this planet more advanced than I first thought?”
“Your tales get more and more fanciful, woman.” He chuckled. “I must remember to tell Tamiron about your ‘unreal’ men.”
Tedra’s brows came together warningly. “Give me a straight answer, barbarian, or I’ll have to find another way to see if your blood runs red instead of black lubricant.”
“I am as real as you are, kerima. Think you a warrior has so little control he cannot see to the proper discipline of his woman? You have seen that it is otherwise.”
“I am not—”
“You are what I say you are. Is that not so?”
This was asked in such a way that she knew it was a reminder that they were still “where he slept,” which translated to “his will was hers.”
Tedra gritted her teeth and turned back to face the front before retorting sourly, “Whatever you say-babe.”
That got her an arm around her waist pulling her back against his chest, and teeth at her ear that nipped gently before she was asked, “Do you wish to rephrase your last response?”
As a matter of fact, she did.
Chapter Twelve
When Tedra saw the encampment through the trees, she knew why the barbarian had left her alone for the last ten minutes of their ride. His “playfulness” had got her to the point of near screaming, which he couldn’t help but notice, and so he’d allowed her a short time to calm down before she was to meet others of his kind.
Those others turned out to be exactly of his kind, a pack of giants, though none quite as big as her giant. They looked like him, too, insomuch as none wore their hair short, nor clothing above the waist, and all wore the tight black zaalskin bracs and arm shields of different lengths, set with Toreno steel, strapped to their forearms. If that wasn’t enough to give them a sameness, their hair ranged in shades from brown to blond, likewise their eyes from brown to amber.
If an enemy raided this country, it sure wouldn’t have much trouble telling who was who, Tedra decided as they drew closer. Of course, she was seeing only eight of their numbers. Surely the whole country wasn’t made up of golden barbarians. She looked, she really did, to see a little fat, a little slouchiness, but these men were obviously all of the warrior cast, in prime shape, and not bad-looking either.
“I ‘m glad to see you aren’t the only gorgeous hunk of manhood around here, Challen,” Tedra remarked, wanting to get back at him a little for all his highhandedness with her. “There are several warriors right here I wouldn’t mind begging protection from—as soon as my service to you is over, that is.”
“When your service is over, you will again be a claimable woman.”
“Not if I get the words out first that request protection. You said that’s all I had to do this morning to avoid my present situation. I’m not likely to forget that, friend.”
He was
silent for a moment, and then she heard, “If I am the only warrior present when your service ends, then you must say the words to me—if I do not say words of my own to you first.”
Could he do that? It really did seem a matter of timing. If he kept her confined . . . she’d have to see the lay of the place first. This was a primitive village of tents, after all, though she supposed that was better than caves. How hard could it be to slip out of one tent and into another? Then just three little words said to another man, maybe even the shodan himself if he was here, and she’d have some rights back and could get on with making this trip worthwhile.
She had some pertinent questions to ask him about this requesting-protection business, but that would have to wait. They were moving into the center of the cluster of tents, and the warriors, who had stopped what they were doing to watch Challen approach, now gathered around, their interest in his “catch” too great to ignore.
Tedra, being that catch, recalled belatedly her near naked state, and a little pink began riding her cheeks.
Challen’s arm tightened around her waist at about the same time. She wondered if he might be regretting her lack of clothing, too. More likely it was just a claim-staking thing, of the male asserting what was his when other males were around. Or did he assume she might be frightened, carted in so ignominiously as she was, not knowing what her reception would be, and was offering a subtle kind of reassurance? No, she had to stop trying to pin kind and thoughtful qualities to his nature. He was a barbarian, after all, a dominant, arbitrary male. So what if he’d been incredibly gentle with her in every instance, even to cutting up her clothes to ensure that her wrists didn’t get scraped by his scratchy rope. Come to think of it, he hadn’t laid a single harsh hand on her even when they’d fought and she’d try to lay him low with every blow. And when he did take hold of her, he was exceedingly careful about it. Was this for her benefit, or just the ingrained habit of an extremely strong man in his dealings with females? She supposed she had a month to find out, one way or the other.
“What kind of meat do you call that, Challen?” The teasing began with a chuckle.