The Barbarian's Pet Page 6

  Sariah’s sleep was cut short in the middle of the morning by the king slapping her on the bottom. That seemed to be his favorite way to wake her up, which coincidentally was among Sariah’s least favorite ways to be woken up. She took some comfort in the fact that it was a light tingling sting she was left with, and not something more substantial.

  “Rouse yourself, my pet, today we move.”

  Sariah blinked sleep from her eyes. “Where?”

  “Home,” he smiled, promptly disappearing to give orders to other people in need of them.

  Home. What was that supposed to mean? Sariah sat in bed for a few discombobulated moments, then pulled a black silk robe on and went out to discover half the encampment missing. Tents had been taken down, supplies packed, horses and mules loaded. The place that had seemed so permanent last night was being dismantled before her eyes.

  She wandered amid the activity, going largely unnoticed as the men worked. From their conversations, she gathered that King Griffen had decided to return to the seat of his power rather than continue their original mission to root out rogue barbarian tribes. Many of the men seemed to have the notion that their change in direction was prompted by Sariah’s presence. She heard mutterings that it was all about the king’s new whore, as some of the men called her when Griffen was not in earshot.

  The general mood was not low, however; the men seemed eager to return home. They spoke of wives and offspring with a warmth that made tears prick unwept at Sariah’s eyes. She would never experience that feeling again, of coming home after a time away, seeing the home fires burning and knowing that the embrace of her family was not far off.

  Sometimes she had taken the sheep days away to pasture, staying on her own for a week or longer. Every homecoming had been celebrated in some quiet way. Her mother had baked fresh bread, and sometimes woven a new skirt or shawl. Her mother was alone now, her father had died long ago, which was why Sariah had become the guardian of the flock. Others in the little village would probably have taken over that duty, but Sariah felt a pang of guilt at having abandoned her mother, even though she had not been given any choice in the matter whatsoever.

  They would not have known what had happened to her. To their mind, she would simply have failed to return. The sheep may have made their way back eventually, or perhaps been picked off by predators without Sariah’s staff to see them off.

  As the camp was packed down, she felt sadness overwhelming her more and more. By the time Griffen hauled her up to sit astride his mount, her back pressed against his stomach, she was as miserable as she had ever been. The departure from the camp meant the end of any possibility of a return. She was about to be taken further than she would ever be able to walk.

  Griffen’s mood was in sharp contrast to hers. He was jovial and good-humored, making conversation with his lieutenants as he led his band of men out into the open countryside. Her silence seemed to go unnoticed for the first hours of their journey. It did not surprise Sariah that she was being ignored. Did a man pay attention to the mood of the rug beneath his feet? Of course not. Griffen had one arm wrapped around her waist, he was sure of her location, and that was all that mattered.

  As the hours wore on, the riders spread out more. Griffen rode at the very head of the line, his horse almost half a mile ahead of the others. At first, Sariah did not know why he had chosen to move so far from his men, but it soon became apparent that he intended to speak with her. A private moment stolen in a mass migration.

  “The lands become more temperate this way,” Griffen said as they rode, his thick arm still wrapped securely around her waist, his other hand on the reins. The reins seemed more ceremonial than practical, for he put no pressure on the horse’s mouth at all, using his seat and legs to direct the horse. The animal moved as Griffen directed without question or pause.

  That was the kind of obedience he wanted from her. Unthinking, unspoken submission. And what would she get in return for that? He would feed her, make sure she was in good condition, and ultimately, use her for his purposes.

  “You are very quiet,” Griffen observed, his voice rumbling through the back of her chest. “What are you thinking, my pet?”

  “Nothing,” Sariah lied.

  “You know I can feel your thoughts,” Griffen said, a slightly teasing lilt to his voice. “You get stiff and serious when you are lost in yours.”

  “My thoughts are my own,” Sariah said somewhat tersely. “You have no claim over my mind.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Griffen said. “I want to know what you think, Sariah. I want to know how you feel.”

  “Do you?” She looked up over her shoulder. “What would it matter if you knew them?”

  “I can only take your feelings into consideration if I am aware of them, Sariah.”

  She let out a little snort. “You didn’t take my feelings into consideration when you allowed me to be taken captive.”

  “I did not know you then. I know you now. Tell me what has you so heavy, pet.”

  “I miss my home,” she admitted, churlishness giving way to honesty. “I miss my flock and my family. I miss freedom.”

  He was silent for a moment and then his arm wrapped tighter around her waist, and his lips pressed against the back of her neck.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “But let me ask you this, would you have spent the rest of your life with your flock and your family?”

  “Yes,” Sariah said softly. “It was a simple life, but a good one. I chose my own path. I had freedom.”

  “You would have been married eventually,” Griffen rumbled. “You would have left the fields and valleys and taken to a home and hearth. You would have been subject to the authority of your husband.”

  “I could have chosen a husband with a weak will.”

  She felt the rumble of his amusement pass through her again. “A weak-willed man would be broken with you, Sariah. You were not meant for a humble cottage life. You were meant for more.”

  “More? You call being the plaything of a bored king more?”

  “Plaything?” Griffen laughed. “You are my pet, Sariah, not my plaything.”

  “What is the difference?”

  “A pet is treasured and trained and cared for. A plaything is simply used for amusement. You know very well the difference. Is it such an impossible thing for you to imagine that I might care for you?”

  It was impossible. Sariah knew what she was and what she was not. She was a peasant, a captive, a pet. A man like Griffen might be distracted by a woman like her, but he would inevitably take a noble as his queen. His assurances of care were sweet words to make her compliant. She had seen as much with her cousins being courted by men. Men who had said anything and everything under the stars to make a girl willing.

  She said nothing as she was drawn ever deeper into lands she did not recognize. The climate was becoming wetter and more humid, forests growing ever denser. Griffen and his men kept to open ground for the most part, but Sariah could sense the closing in of a world of trees.

  There were not many forests in her lands. Pasture interspersed with low rocky hillocks was what she was used to. The towering trees growing so thickly created dark walls that cut off the horizon and made the world seem smaller.

  It was nearly midafternoon when Griffen called a halt and ordered his men to set up temporary camp.

  “You need to stay in my tent,” he told Sariah as the structure was raised. “The woods are home to predators, and you are not familiar with this kind of terrain. Everything grows differently here. This is no place for a lamb to become lost.”

  Sariah did not answer him. She had barely spoken a word since admitting her longing for her home. The dense forest bordering the camp filled her with a sense of foreboding and an ache for more pleasant plains. She waited for the tent to be finished, and wasted no time in entering once it was safe to do so. Griffen followed her in, a frown on his face.

&nbs
p; “Are you sulking, or sickening for something?” Griffen pressed his hand to her forehead. “You do not have a fever.”

  Homesickness was a kind of illness, Sariah supposed. The bedding was bought in and placed in the usual location. She did not wait for permission to lie down; she simply flopped down on the furs and stared at the tent wall. An audible sigh behind her told her that Griffen was quite mystified by her behavior.

  “Sariah, I am needed to ride out,” he said. “I will return soon, we will have dinner and talk about this mood of yours and what we might do to soothe you.”

  She did not acknowledge him. There were no words that could touch the pain she was feeling, and Griffen’s words only made matters worse. Perhaps she was sulking, perhaps it was more than that. All Sariah knew was that she felt miserable.

  “Pet, you will speak when you are spoken to,” Griffen said. There it was the note of authority that was never far from Griffen’s tone. The man thought he was more than a king. He was the ruler of all creation in his mind, Sariah was sure of it.

  Griffen kneeled next to her, put his hand on her lower back, and Sariah braced herself for what she knew was coming next—a hard swat that landed on both buttocks at once. There was no sympathy in that slap, nor in any of the five that followed.

  “I know you are not happy,” he said. “But not being happy does not give you permission to behave like a sullen brat, do you understand?”

  She should have said yes, perhaps even apologized. Instead, Sariah elected to remain silent and sullen, defying him with her lack of response.

  Griffen was not amused. He began spanking her very firmly, tossing up the thin silk covering and laying slaps on her bare bottom. For her part, Sariah did her best not to respond, and to pretend as if nothing was happening to her rear. It was not an easy thing to pretend, as his hard palm whacked her cheeks over and over with nothing but disciplinary intent.

  “Speak, Sariah,” he growled. “Or I will take the leather of my lash to you and hear your voice raised in cries.”

  Oh, he did not like to be ignored. He’d probably never been ignored in all his life.

  “Sariah,” he repeated. “Do not make me whip you.”

  She gritted her teeth to prevent even the temptation to talk. She felt him move from the bed and then return. Still looking at the tent wall, she shut her eyes, as if that would block out what was about to happen.

  Crack!

  The leather lash snapped through the air and landed across the lower part of her buttocks. Her already warmed bottom quivered, muscles twitching as Griffen began whipping her with a slow, steady rhythm. Each cut of the lash raised a welt and sent a sensation like the buzzing of a thousand hornets rushing through her rear. Just as the pain from one welt peaked, another was sent to join it.

  Sariah clenched her hands in the furs and did her very best to avoid crying out. She had dug her heels in and taken a stand from which she would not be easily moved.

  After two dozen lashes that left Sariah’s rear a cacophony of pink welts and reddened skin, Griffen stilled his hand. “Do you really think you can win a battle of wills with me, pet? I have broken chieftains and warriors.”

  “But not me!” she declared defiantly.

  “Ah, she does speak,” Griffen said, a note of triumph in his tone.

  Sariah turned her head to glare at him. “I do not! I mean, I didn’t…” She clamped her mouth shut again, knowing she had been tricked into giving way to his will.

  “I love the sight of your bottom when it is red and bouncing,” Griffen said. “You bear my marks so beautifully, but I would prefer to spare you unnecessary suffering. Sit up, Sariah.”

  She sat up slowly, choosing to obey him for a moment. The dozen or so burning welts on her bottom had given her some motivation to obey, temporarily at least.

  Griffen drew her sulking and still thoroughly rebellious body into his arms and hugged her. “I must go,” he said. “But we will speak of this later. You are being a very naughty little pet, and that I will not tolerate. While I am gone, use the time to consider your behavior,” he said. “I will expect repentance when I return.”

  With that he left her on the bed, her bottom stinging and hot, her pride somewhat bruised, and her mood not much changed at all. She felt a little less sad, perhaps, but the spanking had given her a fresh spark of rebellion. How dare he force her words from her? How dare he expect to be obeyed in every little way? He might be a king, but he was still only a man.

  Sariah lay back down on her stomach and thought miserable thoughts until a draft got her attention. Her bottom was hot as hellfire, but there was some cooling breeze running through the tent, playing over her punished skin.

  It seemed to be coming from in front of her, not behind. Sariah lifted her head and saw that the rear of the tent had not been pegged down as thoroughly as it had been at the last camp. There was a gap between the wall and the floor layer, through which forest could be seen. Griffen’s tent was at the very edge of the encampment, a poor placement really, given that nobody could see what was happening behind it. Why, someone could slip in through that hole unseen… or slip out.

  A naughty little smile spread across Sariah’s face. Escape. It was open to her.

  With her bottom still burning with the welts Griffen’s whip had left, she did not think twice about taking it. She scrambled forward on her stomach, crawling like a low-bellied lizard until she was out of the tent entirely. Then, without a second moment’s thought, she slipped between the trees, her figure cloaked in that black dress making it easier for her to her blend in with the woods.

  The sounds of the camp quickly receded as she padded on bare feet through soft leaf litter at the base of the trees. In just a few minutes she had put sufficient distance between her and Griffen’s camp that she could not see or hear any sign of them.

  Sariah knew better than to stop then. It would be too easy for Griffen to track her down. She had to put as much distance between him and her as possible.

  It was difficult to know which way was the way home. To know that she would have to wait for the stars to come out, the great map in the sky. She walked as she waited, trying to ignore the little tingle of guilt in her belly. For some reason she could not quite fathom, she felt bad for having run from Griffen. It was more than knowing he would be annoyed at her behavior. That was a given, and he was frequently annoyed by her behavior so it would not be new to him. The bad feeling seemed to swell with every step, a notion that what she was doing wasn’t just naughty but perhaps somehow actually wrong.

  Lost in her thoughts, Sariah did not see the uneven ground trammeled by vines beneath her feet. One foot went under the coil of a vine without her noticing it, and upon the next step she fell, twisting her ankle as she landed in damp leaf litter. She cried out, grasping at her ankle, which throbbed with a pain so intense she felt nauseous.

  “No!” She whined the word to herself. “Oh, no!” Her right ankle was already starting to swell up, and though she could move it a little, meaning that it was not broken, that did not mean she would be able to walk on it easily, certainly not for long distances.

  “Fool!” She lectured herself roundly. “You had but two feet to walk on and now you have injured one.”

  Hot tears began to roll down her cheeks of their own accord as a fervent regret took hold of her. She was lost, alone, and completely vulnerable to any passing beasts. Griffen’s words came floating back to her. The wilds were home to all kinds of voracious animals. Lions, bears, wolves, any such creatures could come across her path.

  A twig cracked nearby. Leaves rustled as something large moved through the trees. Sariah stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck standing to attention as she realized she was not alone. She held her breath as the boughs parted and a rough voice let out a laugh of discovery and triumph.

  She found herself looking at a man with a full beard through which a lecherous grin was easily visible. He was dressed in a lea
ther skirt and little else, his body painted with some red oil that did nothing to hide the stench of his unwashed flesh.

  Sariah’s heart began to pound furiously in her chest as the man approached. She had worried about vicious beasts, but forgotten entirely about the prospect of a true predator.

  Chapter Five

  Griffen returned to the encampment several hours after he had departed. Sariah had been on his mind for most of the ride, her defiance and resulting punishment sitting uneasily with him. Usually when she disobeyed it was by means of testing the boundaries of her situation, but this time there had been a bitterness that had stayed with him. Something was wrong with his pet. He should have taken more time to question her before whipping her disobedient bottom.

  Time was not always a luxury a king had, but Griffen knew well enough that he could not train Sariah if he did not put the time and effort in during these critical days. Making a mistake at this delicate point in the process could forever sour their relationship.

  “Sariah,” he said, striding into his tent. “Let us talk.”

  She did not reply. He walked through each of the partitions, tossing back fabric sheets and walls to confirm what he had suspected from the moment he entered. She wasn’t there. Almost immediately, he felt dark clouds gathering. Her presence had become part of the tapestry of his life and now her absence was palpable. There was an emptiness in the air. She was gone. He knew it in the pit of his stomach.

  Griffen strode out to the camp, where his squire was sitting nearby apparently completely oblivious to their loss.

  “Where is Sariah?”

  Rafe looked up from the sword he was polishing and nodded toward Griffen’s tent.

  “She’s not in there,” Griffen growled.

  “She’s not?” Rafe seemed surprised.

  “She is not,” Griffen said, frowning.

  “Hm,” Rafe said, his expression beginning to mimic Griffen’s. “Could she have…”

  “Run away? Yes, she could have.” Griffen sighed. “Usually being far from home in the middle of the wilds is enough to make someone see sense and stay with the group, but she seems to lack the necessary fear. I thought she had finally seen some sense…”