The Barbarian Prince (11 page)

"A woman should know these things, Morrigan," he said seriously. His gaze dipped to the cords working nervously in her neck.

"I know," she breathed, seeing her chance and taking it. "That is what I have been trying to tell you, Ualan. A woman who stays with you should know those things. I don’t. I haven’t the faintest clue. You don’t want me here. You can’t. Can’t you just do whatever it is you need to divorce me and let me go on my way?"

"You seem smart, slave," he murmured, nodding in thought. Lifting his hand, he brushed a piece of hair from her cheek. She jolted in surprise at the contact, her body remembering more than her head cared to about his touch. Her skin stung. He drew back.

"Thank you," she began at the compliment.

"Smart women can learn these things."

Morrigan gasped, her temper flaring, "You rotten--"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he scolded. "I have yet to give you your last option, slave. Be quiet or I will deliver you and your waspish tongue to the Queen straightway. Let her have you and your ill temper."

Morrigan scowled, but bit her tongue. Grumbling, she asked, "What is it?"

"You can be my slave until the royal family will hear you speak," he murmured. His blue eyes steamed with the admission. "You would be allowed to stay here … with me."

Morrigan began to deny him, but then thought better of it. She would have to hear him out.

"What would I have to do?" she asked. Her question and its implications were very clear. Unbidden, her eyes turned up to his bedroom. She shuddered.

"No, little rebel. You will not be permitted there. The bed is for a wife. Are you ready to be a wife?"

Morrigan shook her head furiously. This man wouldn’t take no for an answer.

"Very well." Ualan didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

"Then you would have me where?" Morrigan gulped glancing at the table and then at the couch. Her mind reeled with all the things a big strong man like Ualan could do to her, in all the ways he could bend and lift her.

"Slaves are too low to take to bed. I would not lower myself. Honor forbids it. Unless you agree that you are my wife and I your master husband, then there is nothing I can do … to you."

His meaning was clear in the heat of his gaze as he looked her over. The maid uniform seemed a little too tight and Morrigan’s cheeks instantly flushed.

"So if I agree…?" she asked.

"You will only have to clean my home and cook my meals, unless you choose to serve me in other ways. What was it you suggested, Rigan? Rubbing my feet?"

It was certainly a better offer than the whole castle. Still….

"I told you," she began carefully. "I don’t know how. What happens if I make a mistake? What happens if I … what will you do to me?"

"I will punish you."

"Oh." Maybe a mistake would not be so bad. Better this handsome warrior than the whole Draig guard. "All right, I will do that."

"What?" he prodded, torturing her with his smug look.

"I’ll stay here and clean this up. How hard could this one room be?"

"There is only one problem," Ualan responded, stepping forward.

Morrigan’s mouth opened, sucking in a deep breath. Her head was forced back to look at him. He was so tall, towering over her. The warm scent of him overcame her and she wanted to fall into his deep chest and enfold into his arms. When he spoke, his words were low and sultry, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her senses.

"You haven’t asked me if I wanted a slave," he murmured down to her, giving her spine-tingling chills. "Your list of skills is very lacking. You might be more trouble than you are worth."

"Do you…?" Morrigan breathed, looking at his firm mouth. She began to rise on her toes, but then thought better of it and held back.

"Why would I consider it?" Ualan’s breath fanned hotly over her neck and she shivered in response. "What would be in it for me?"

"What do you want?" Morrigan closed her eyes, waiting for his kisses. Her hands trembled with the effort it took to hold back. Without the mist of the crystal, she had no excuse to feel such a way.

"No," he mused, pulling away. Though he did not hold her up, she felt as if she was going to fall at his departure. "I don’t know that you have anything I want."

Morrigan felt as if he slapped her.

"I will give you a trial, slave, because I do not wish to embarrass my name with your mistakes before the Queen." Stepping away from her, he took up his sword and put it to his waist. "Have my home clean by the time I get back tonight. Then we will speak more on it."

Chapter Eight

"Well," the King asked of his son. They had been waiting anxiously for his return to the hall. Mirox still sat, pale and worried, on the lower seats, where he had been ever since he ran to inform the royal family of Ualan’s wife’s charge. "Did she indenture herself?"

The main hall had steep, arched ceilings with the center dome for light. It was larger than the one in his room. Banners of the family crest lined the walls, one for each color of the family lines--blue-gray for Ualan, purple for his parents, and green, black and red for each of his brothers. Each had the silver symbol of the dragon. Lines of tables reached across the floor for dining. The red stone floor was swept clean and the hall was all but empty.

"She did," Ualan said. He had been incensed the moment he’d found out. For someone who claimed to know nothing about their marriage customs, she appeared to know a lot about avoiding wifely duties. However, that was until he had seen her confusion. His heart had relaxed and he was again able to breathe.

"By all that is sacred," whispered his mother. Mede turned her sorrowful eyes away from her son. Directing her words to Mirox, she commanded, "Mention this to no one, loyal servant, and go."

Mirox bowed, quickly running from the hall.

The Queen turned back to her oldest son. She was satisfied nothing would be said by the servant. She did not wait for Prince Ualan to come forward, but stood and went down to him. Touching his cheek, there was great sorrow in her eyes. "I am sorry, my son. There is nothing I can do for you."

"Mother," he leaned and kissed her cheek. "It is not over yet, and you have raised a warrior. Warriors do not run from a fight."

The King, who did not show so much affection, nodded in agreement and with pride in his son.

"She has agreed to be my slave," Ualan said. "And I am a hard taskmaster."

"What?" the Queen asked. "Why would she try to deny you only to indenture herself to you? Is she mad?"

Ualan smiled, as did the King who seemed to understand his son’s thinking better than his wife did.

"I don’t think she knew she was denying me," Ualan said.

"Then, by all means, bring her forth and let her be pardoned from it, if she will give no protest," said Mede, her color returning. She was relieved that her son wasn’t going to be cursed to a lifetime of loneliness, for he could never find another wife.

"No," he said.

"What, you wish to be alone?" asked his father.

"No, let her be my slave, father," Ualan said. "Do not pardon her yet. This bride of mine has too much spirit. I would see some of it broken before I pardon her. She will learn to obey her husband."

"Well considered," agreed King Llyr. "It would not do for the family to be embarrassed by this woman’s defiance of you. Between you and your brothers, this morning was almost too much. If you hadn’t claimed her like you did, the other houses would besiege our gates and our people might have opened the doors to let them in. For if the future King cannot control his wife…."

Mede frowned and waved away her husband’s words with a grimace. It was well known in the family circle that appearances were deceiving. His Queen as much ruled him as he did her. She warned her son, "Ualan, it is a dangerous thing you play at."

"The best things always are," he answered, kissing her cheek. She rolled her eyes heavenward at his overconfident smirk.

"Just be careful, son. Be sure you don’t break her heart in this quest," said Mede. "Once broken, that organ will not so readily beat again."

Ualan nodded stiffly, not liking the words for the truth they held.

"I go to train," Ualan said, intent on exercising with his brother Zoran. Anything would be better than watching Morrigan as she bent over cleaning his floor. The image brought to mind many sordid ideas.

When they were alone Llyr looked at his wife. Shaking his head, he said, "I fear for the kingdom."

"Our son is a good man," the Queen returned, moving to take his hand. She looked lovingly at him, an expression she saved for these private moments.

"It’s not the future King I’m worried about," he answered, kissing her soundly. After nearly a hundred years of marriage, they were still madly in love.

"Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Morrigan Blake." The Queen smiled, secretly. "Our new Princesses are strong, but I don’t think they are strong enough to resist a Draig."

"No woman who ever lived has been strong enough to resist a Draig." The King grinned. His eyes flashed a daring green as he leaned forward to prove his point.

* * * *

Morrigan’s cleaning was almost as bad as her mess. Righting the cushions and hanging the clothes had been easy enough, but crawling around on the floor to pick up crumbs of dirt was killing her back. Suddenly, she wished she had spent more time watching the maid units, instead of just turning them on as she walked out the door. She really had no idea what those little things did. She just came home and her place was sparkly.

If it killed her, she was never going to make another mess again. And she was buying all her maid units puny husband droids to boss around.

"Urgh," she groaned, crawling on her hands and knees across the floor. She was trying to use her gown to sweep the dirt towards the plant. The hard marble was bruising her knees and palms, but it was the only way she could think of.

The muscles of her arms kinked, her neck ached, and her temples throbbed. This was definitely hell. Standing, she stretched her back. The floor still looked dusty.

"Water," she mused, knowing that it worked for counters. Going to the kitchen, she noticed the countertop was still wet. She figured it would dry on its own. Finding a bowl from the cupboard and filling it with water, she then saw some soap sitting on the edge of the sink. Uncorking the lid, she smelled it. It was nice and lemony. She shrugged and poured the whole bottle into the bowl causing instant suds. What harm could it do? It smelled clean.

When the bowl was full, she looked at it and then at the floor. Perhaps it wasn’t enough. Just to be sure, she filled another bowl of water and carried them out to the front hall. Seeing that the worst trail of dirt was before the stairs, she dumped the first bowl of water with a swoosh. The liquid went everywhere. Then, turning, she dumped the other bowl of water in the other direction.

"There," she sighed, proud. The dust was already lifting off the floor and disappearing in the water. Plus, as a benefit, the room smelled lemony fresh. "We’ll just let that dry and it will be good as new."

Picking up the bowls, with a sense of accomplishment, she didn’t bother to rinse them as she stacked them back in the cupboard. She was finished.

* * * *

"God’s Bones!"

Ualan stepped into the water pooled on his marble floor and slid across the soapy surface, nearly crashing into his couch trying to right himself. Water soaked into his muddy boots and he cursed.

"Rigan!"

Morrigan came running out of the kitchen. Seeing the dirt trail his sliding feet made, she cried out, "Oh, I just finished that! Look what you did!"

The look on her horrified face was priceless. Ualan carefully waded through the watery mess heading for drier ground. He was splattered with mud from head to foot. He and the soldiers had been practicing swordplay with his brother in the lower swamps. It had been great fun.

"Stop!" yelled Morrigan. "You’re getting it dirty!"

Ualan looked around at the puddle. Wryly, he said, "It is hardly clean."

"You, jerk! I spent all day on that floor!"

"All day," he asked, doubtful. It looked as if she had spent nary a minute on it, but to dump water on the marble.

"Ah!" Morrigan held out her hands. "Look and my hands. I have been crawling around on them all day, trying to sweep that dirt with my apron. I swear someone should invent a tool to make it easier."

Ualan tried not to laugh. Her apron was filthy, attesting to her words.

Thinking he didn’t believe her, she lifted her skirt past her bruised knees and uttered, "See my knees are even killing me."

This time he did laugh, though he took full advantage of the view.

"I can’t see," Ualan uttered with a dark, sensual dip to his words. "Lift it higher."

Morrigan paled, dropping the skirt. She was not impressed with him.

"Look what you did," she commanded with a point. "Take off your boots."

Ualan looked at her, his eyes shooting sparks of fire. His anger had completely faded. She was just too earnest. He began to chuckle.

"Oh," she mourned. Her body ached all over and she was lightheaded from lack of food. A handful of grape-oranges were all she’d had to eat in two days. Turning to him, she uttered, "You’re probably going to blame your mess on me, aren’t you, caveman? And look at you. You’re filthy."

"Spoken like a true wife," he murmured with a secretive smile. Her face dropped.

"I am not your wife. I’m your slave, caveman. There is a huge difference."

He stayed quiet.

"Well at least to me there is," she continued. "Here I bet you treat your wives like slaves."

"Only when they deserve it," he muttered. His body was stretched with a good hard day of mock battling. That, and her beautiful face flushed red with anger, put him in a delightful mood. "And usually they are only made to be bed slaves. If you are interested, declare yourself my wife and then we can take turns being the master. I have some rope--"

"Caveman," she muttered, glad when the single word stopped him from finishing the thought. She began stomping away, completely affected by his words and hating herself for it. Her hands flopping as she walked. "I don’t care what you do, I’m taking a shower. And I am not picking up after you so you can just forget it! I don’t care if I have to sleep with a hundred soldiers!"