The Barbarian's Pet (8 page)

“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 leather 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.

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…”

“Women who are prisoners never see sense,” Rafe said. “It’s like a rat in a box. Even if you put food and water in there, they will chew out.”

Griffen quirked a brow at his second in command. Rafe certainly had some odd ideas about life, but they were usually accurate.

“She can’t have gotten too far,” Rafe said. “We’ll find her. She’s probably wandering in circles in the forest. I’ll wager she finds her way back to us before we find her.”

Griffen did not share Rafe’s calmness. Sariah was not like others, who perhaps would simply wander in circles. She was capable, used to navigating by the stars. Given enough time and luck, she could probably find her way back home.

“Bring the hound,” he said. “We will need to follow her scent.”

In minutes, Griffen and Rafe were combing the bush with a wolfhound in tow. The beast had caught Sariah’s scent almost instantly, giving Griffen hope. The trail was not cold. She could still be close. He was also heartened by the knowledge that they were moving much faster than she could, longer legs and more powerful muscles at their disposal. The small hunting pack moved at a trot, barely deviating from what was a near straight line Sariah had taken through the bush.

Griffen planned her punishment as they ran, using the thought of turning her ample rump red as a distraction from the worry he could not shake. That thought kept his nerves steady until the hound stopped in a clearing and bayed at the ground.

A scrap of black silk fabric was lying there, part of Sariah’s dress. Griffen picked it up and felt that it was damp. The moisture came away on his fingers, making his heart sink to the depths of hell as red stained his skin. Blood. Sariah’s blood. She had been taken, and she had been hurt.

“Go back,” he said, giving the order in a cold tone that spoke to a fury like none he had felt before. “Gather every single sword-bearing man and have them follow my trail. Whoever has done this will pay with their lives.”

“Will you take the hound?”

“I will go alone,” Griffen declared. “Take the hound back. I will not have his baying alert the enemy before I am ready.”

“I do not want to leave you,” Rafe said bravely, given he was risking his king’s ire. “You are full of fury and rage, but you could be outnumbered…”

“Rafe, take the dog and go this instant,” Griffen snapped. “There is no time for argument.”

Rafe nodded and obeyed without further question. Griffen did not need a hound to follow the trail from that point. Trampled grass and broken branches and twigs spoke to the struggle Sariah had put up as she had been carried off. Griffen found himself deeply grateful for the fact that she could be a vicious little hellion. It might be the only thing keeping her alive.

Sariah was bleeding. So was the man who had captured her. So was every one of his little band. His first mistake had been in taking hold of her with his knife still in his sheath, thinking that she would not dare draw it and use it against him. His second mistake had been calling for his friends instead of simply letting her be. They had managed to drag her back to their camp, but they had not managed to disarm her.

Hobbled by her injury, Sariah held the small pack of rogue barbarians at bay with the point of the knife sweeping back and forth. There were five of them, a group of outcasts likely, or perhaps a small hunting party. She hadn’t asked, and they hadn’t said anything other than curse words laced with sexual intimidation.

“You can’t hold us off forever, slattern,” one of the men spat. “We will have our fill of you.”

Their threats did not intimidate her. Sariah was quite beyond fear. Her consciousness was poured into the knife. Everything was concentrated at the tip of the blade, the only thing keeping her alive. She was almost unaware of how tired she was, but her arm was beginning to waver as her muscles gave way to stress and fatigue.

The men surrounding her were battle hardened and rough. They could wait her out, and that was what they had elected to do rather than risk another cut from her blade. With every passing moment it became harder to hold the knife up and more difficult to keep watch on all five of her assailants. Every time one moved, her attention was drawn from the others. It was her fear that they would all rush her and she would only be able to repel one of them. Thus far, none of them were prepared to sacrifice themselves on her blade so that the others could ravage her, but the moment would come that they would sense her weakness and grow bold.