Heart of a Warrior by Johanna Lindsey
"Never mind that. Dalden wants Transfer now, and I mean now. I warned you he'd go berserk when he saw all that blood."
"For stars' sake, you know how to stall someone better than anyone else. Let her at least change clothes first," Tedra said, then suggested, "Transfer him to Challen. He can calm him down some, if you can't."
Which made Brittany start to panic. If Dalden's mother was this worried that she was in big trouble, she was likely in some seriously big trouble.
Chapter Fifty‑one
CHANGING CLOTHES WASN'T ENOUGH. BRITTANY WAS still smeared with dried blood, even though there were no wounds left to account for it. She had just enough time to drop into the sunken bath, scrub thoroughly, then drain the water‑leaving a pink pool wasn't a good idea‑and get into a fresh blue chauri. Not enough time to dry her hair completely, but that was a minor point. She wasn't trying to hide the fact that she'd been hurt, which Dalden already knew, just the visible reminder of how bad the injuries had been.
Tedra left Martha's link behind and told her to use her discretion if someone needed Transferring out of there until emotions settled down. At that point, Brittany had no idea who that someone might be, since her own emotions were getting out of hand as well.
By the time Dalden finally walked into their room she had worked herself into a fine state of nervousness. And what kept
repeating in her mind was he was for real, really for real. He wasn't someone playing at being a barbarian, he was a barbarian, and how the hell did you deal with an archaic mentality that, instead of offering comfort over an injury, was going to add punishment to it as well?
He didn't look angry. But she knew him well enough by now to know that he wouldn't look it. Wrapped in his warrior's calm, you had to search for more subtle signs than the obvious, and they were there: a certain stiffness, compressed lips‑no warmth in his golden eyes.
Her problem, and the reason she couldn't shake the dread building in her, was that she didn't know what to expect from him at this point. He'd said he would never cause her physical pain and she believed that, but what about mental? just what was a barbarian's idea of punishment if it wasn't whips and chains? Dumped in some dark, dank hole for a week? A month? Solitary confinement? Her only defense was anger, and she wrapped herself securely in it.
"Remove your clothes."
She blinked, stiffened, narrowed her eyes at him. "No way."
"Remove them," he repeated as he started to cross the room to her. "I need to see that you are whole."
That should have reassured her. He just wanted to see for himself that she was okay. She would have wanted the same visual proof if he'd been the one injured. But this wasn't a normal situation.
"Forget it," she said and started backing away from him. "I'm not putting myself in a vulnerable position like that when you've got punishment on the brain. Do I look like I'm flipping out of my mind?"
She'd just given him a chance to deny it. He didn't take it. The anger wrapped more firmly around her.
"You can stop right there," she told him. "I'm fine, good as new. You will take my word for it. And I've already learned the lesson you think needs reinforcing, so there's no need for reinforcing it. I'll obey all future orders."
"Then obey this one. Remove your clothes!"
That was about as close as Dalden had ever come to actual shouting. Incredibly, it made her want to obey him, which was insane!
She shook her head at him, but dread was swiftly replacing her anger. She continued to back away. "That order has nothing to do with safety, just the opposite. And I'm warning you up front, I won't accept punishment from you. I absolutely refuse to accept it. So don't even think of‑"
She'd run out of room for escaping, had come up against the wall behind her. Not that it mattered when his longer legs had already brought him within inches of her. And it didn't even take him two seconds to pull her away from the wall and peel that stupid chauri to the floor. He then turned her around, once, twice, held her arms out to the sides, and felt her limbs in a clinical manner.
Brittany bristled under the close examination, was too indignant to be embarrassed over it. He should have taken her word for it.
She slammed her palms against his chest. A normal man would have at least been shoved back a little by it, since she put every bit of strength she had into it. Dalden wasn't budged. Her hands now hurt.
"Satisfied?" she growled. "I told you I was fine! Why couldn't you just believe me?"
He dropped to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her. His head rested between her breasts. She was completely confounded by this, too surprised to think for a moment.
"I am sorry for my compulsion to see for myself," he told her with a great deal of feeling. "I am sorry for the pain you suffered," he added with even more feeling. "I am sorry I was not there to prevent it."
"Dalden, stop," she said, wrapping her arms around his head.
He didn't. "I am sorry you could not trust me enough to know that I would not give you an order without there being a good reason.
"Dalden, please, you're killing me with guilt here," she told him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Look, if you must know, when I heard that animal outside the tent, I was hoping it was a normal animal. Our visit to the clearing was unplanned, and I wanted ammunition to discredit the Sha‑Ka'an fantasy. And I was only going to satisfy my curiosity with a quick peek. But it saw me, and ended up proving me wrong), instead."
His grip tightened on her. "I am sorry you had to nearly die before you could accept the truth."
She smiled. He didn't see it. "You and me both."
"And I am sorry that I must now make sure that you never let your curiosity interfere with an order given for your protection again.
She had begun to relax somewhat. Now all her muscles tensed again. He rose to his feet and picked her up to cradle in his arms.
"No!" she cried.
But he was set on his own path, was going to ignore anything she had to say. He didn't want to punish her, he had to, for her own "good." She knew that was where he was coming from, that he really did see this as being for her ultimate benefit, so nothing she said or did was going to stop it from happening.
She should just buck up and take it like a man. How bad could it be, anyway, if it wasn't going to cause her physical pain? But it was the principle of thing, damnit. She was too old to have lessons taught by way of punishment, as if she were a child.
It wasn't a law she broke, for crying out loud. That she could abide‑break it and pay the fine or do the time. But a rule for her own safety should be at her discretion to decide whether to follow it or not. And the one she broke shouldn't even fall into that category. All he'd had to do was tell her that there were maneating beasts in that woods and she would have damn well stayed in the tent.
He carried her to his bed, laid her on it, Joined her there, and simply held her to him. He had to force it, she wasn't exactly laying still‑until she realized that was all he was doing. He was trying to calm her first. He couldn't have missed her rigid stiffness. But there was no way she could get calm under the circumstances.
He must have finally realized that, because he began to kiss her. New alarm bells went off. She didn't think this was to calm her. How could it when his kissing had just the opposite effect? No, she was afraid he was trying to make amends beforehand, to cushion the blow for the punishment that was coming‑as if anything could.
She fought what he was making her feel, desperately fought it. She couldn't let him get away with this. She had a stand to make here. But it was impossible. She'd never once been able to resist his kisses before. What made her think now would be any different?
Within moments she was kissing him back. Despite the grievance she should be feeling, and would soon be feeling, here, now, there was only him, a man she absolutely adored‑when he wasn't being obnoxiously barbaric. And he certainly wasn't at the moment.
Meticulously, he brought every one of her
She told him in countless ways that she was ready, but he was determined to prolong the anticipation, to bring her to such a height of need that she'd probably explode the second he entered her. And then his hands were gone, the heat of his body next to her gone, too. It still took several moments for her to realize he'd actually left the bed.
Coming out of the daze, she sat up, growled, "What the hell was that all about?" But he hadn't just left the bed, he'd already left the room.
Martha was still there, however, and answered cheerfully, "You were just punished."
"How?"
"If you don't know‑"
"I'm not kidding, how?"
"Sha‑Ka'ani women are highly sexual. Warriors, at least those in this country, figured out long ago that the most harmless way to punish one's lifemate, if needed, was to bring her to an extreme state of desire, then leave her that way to reflect on the error of her ways. Being highly sexual themselves, they can't accomplish this without the help of dhaya juice, which temporarily kills their own sex drive."
Brittany began to laugh. So Dalden had been obnoxiously barbaric after all.
"You find sexual frustration funny?" Martha asked curiously.
"No, but it's not exactly something my people are unfamiliar with. In fact, we self‑inflict it on ourselves all the time in the form of dating."
Martha made a snorting sound. "I have your definition of dating and it doesn't include‑"
"Hold on, I meant what goes on when two people are getting to know each other. A few dates can lead to heavy petting, with the guy expecting to score, but the girl still undecided, so they both end the date frustrated. They could avoid the heavy petting, but since that's a learning‑about‑each‑other process, too, they typically don't avoid it."
"Trust a low‑tech human species to do things the hard way."
"I suppose advanced worlds have figured out easier ways?" Brittany retorted.
"Certainly. Computer‑matched compatibility, works like a charm."
"We happen to have computer dating, and I promise you, it doesn't work like a charm."
"Antiquated stuff," Martha scoffed, adding, "and irrelevant to our subject. So the proven effective Kan‑is‑Tran punishment didn't bother you at all, eh? If that's the case, I'd say you've got such an advantage over that boy it isn't funny."
"How do you figure?
"The fact that their idea of Punishment doesn't faze you. The fact that he'll be drowning in guilt and the need to make amends
every time he has to punish you. I'd say that puts you in the driver's seat."
Seeing it that way, Brittany couldn't help grinning, "You gonna tell him?"
"Me? Now, why would I do that? I happen to like pulling the wool over on these guys. It's just so priceless when their culture conflicts with logic they can't dispute. Makes my day, I tell you."
Brittany snorted this time, to which Martha just chuckled. But after a moment, Martha added, "By the way, Dalden didn't take anything to help him get through that. It's standard for a warrior to at least drink the dhaya juice first. He didn't. He was determined that if you had to suffer, he was going to suffer with you. And your body might be conditioned to shrug that kinda stuff off, but his isn't. At the moment, he's in a good deal of discomfort. He continues to impress me, that boy, with the depth of his caring. Has he told you he loves you yet?"
"No."
"He may never say the actual words, but you needn't doubt it now.
Brittany smiled to herself. No, she didn't doubt it at all.
Chapter Fifty‑two
BRITTANY WASN'T SURE HOW TO DEAL WITH JORRAN,
High King of Century III. She'd been briefed more thoroughly on the way to the room where he was waiting, about why he was there and what he had hoped to accomplish. He'd had every intention of more or less kidnapping her and forcing her to become his queen. He'd had every intention of killing Dalden, too, if he could have found him with her.
He'd brought a modern weapon with him this time to do it, since his razor sword hadn't been effective the last time they fought. It was what he'd killed the sa'abo with, without having to get close to it, and it horrified her that he could have killed Dalden just as easily with it.
He hadn't been let inside the castle with that weapon, but he'd agreed to come unarmed into the enemy's camp, so he could speak with Brittany,
She'd been warned that he would probably try to talk her into leaving with him. She'd been warned not to trust anything he had to say, that duplicity was second nature to someone like him, who would say or do anything to accomplish his goals.
Jorran's relatives had already gone home. Martha had done no more than park the Androvia in the middle of their fleet of ships to make them rethink their demands. Considering that all twenty-three ships could fit inside the Androvia's cargo bay, there hadn't been much to think about. The Centurians were a medieval people, and they recognized when they were outclassed and outgunned.
Challen hadn't been all that thrilled with the peaceful outcome of the "invasion." But when the Ly‑San‑Ters had become indebted to Jorran, that had pretty much ended any retaliatory sword practicing.
Dalden also couldn't do as he would have liked, which was to make sure Jorran never bothered them again in a more final way this time. Brittany was learning that warriors here weren't called warriors just because it sounded good. They could defend, exact retribution, and conquer Just like anyone else, only they could do it in a big way if provoked.
She was left alone with him. Well, not really alone, since she had Martha's link with her. It had been Jorran's request, that privacy, and Martha wasn't going to reveal herself unless she had to. Dalden had refused to allow Brittany to get anywhere near Jorran without Martha's presence. He wasn't the least bit happy that she was being allowed to see him at all. It had taken his father to get him to agree to it. And all because of the debt they owed Jorran.
It was Brittany's debt, actually. She was well aware of that. He'd saved her life. There was no getting around the fact that she'd be dead if he hadn't found her. So in an odd way, she could be grateful that he'd tried to kidnap her. How weird.
She waited for him to speak first. He looked nothing like the Jorran she'd met at home. He was wearing clothes from his own country, which included a fur‑trimmed royal cloak, a long fancy tunic, and high boots. He looked now exactly like what he was, a medieval king, and his own clothing suited him much better than a business suit.
He must have been thinking something along the same lines because his first remark to her was, "Their barbaric clothing does not suit you. I would dress you in fine silks befitting a queen."
" I'm old enough to dress myself, thank you."
"I did not mean to insult."
She sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give offense, either. I owe my life to you. I am deeply grateful."
He nodded, expecting no less. "Grateful enough to give that life into my keeping?"
"I've already given my life to another for keeping. You know him well. He is my lifemate."
He waved that aside. "Their barbaric means of joining in marriage are not recognized on my world."
"Nor on mine, but in my heart I recognize it. So it's binding for me."
He seemed surprised to hear that. "You want to stay with him?"
She couldn't imagine why he might have thought otherwise, but perhaps a little explaining was in order. "Jorran, when I said I would help you in my world I lied. I was wholeheartedly against what you were trying to accomplish. I was assisting the Sha‑Ka'ani in stopping you. If you've been thinking otherwise all this time, I'm sorry."
He shrugged indifferently. "None of that matters. I saw in your eyes, on their ship, your real feelings for me."
She
"Only today," he replied with some bitterness. "In their Visitors' Center. We have not such things on my world."
"Then I'd say you have reason to be grateful as well, that you have no lasting scars from what happened. My people would have put you in prison for the rest of your life for what you attempted, if they'd been the ones to stop you. The Sha‑Ka'ani only returned you to your own home with a few deformities they knew you could eventually fix."
"So in your mind that exonerates them?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that in her mind, he was the villain, but she diplomatically bit her tongue. "I'm just glad that no lasting damage was done‑to anyone."
They'd been standing a good ten feet apart. He approached her now. It was all she could do not to try to keep that original distance, he made her that nervous. And as she'd feared, he touched her, though harmlessly, a mere brush of his fingers against her cheek.
"You have a strange way of looking at things," he remarked softly.
"Not strange, just different from how you view things. It doesn't mean I'm right and you're wrong, or vice versa. We just come from vastly different cultures."
Jeez, was she telling him what she should be telling herself? What Martha had tried to make her see all along? The Sha‑Ka'ani weren't really barbarians, they were just different. Their way of doing things was normal for them, worked for them, so it was the right way. To compare them with other cultures, her own in particular, was ludicrous. They were unique. They'd evolve in their own way.
"You would like my culture," he said wistfully. "I would make you a queen. What can your barbarian offer you to equal that?"
There was no hesitation in her answer. "Himself, which is all I need to make me happy‑because I love him deeply, with all my heart. "