Free The Barbarian's Bride by Loki Renard Page A

pleasant woman you are.”
    Rikiar chuckled. “Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from Aisling’s example. There is nothing wrong with being sweet and submissive.”
    Mara finished pinning Aisling’s hair and stood aside, rolling her eyes as she did.
    “Mara doesn’t want to be submissive,” Aisling said, standing gracefully. “She wants to be taken and used and set aside until such time as she is needed again.”
    “Don’t talk about me as if I am a bottle of mead,” Mara sniffed.
    “It is true,” Aisling replied. “You are Berner’s personal mead.”
    “Well, you are Rikiar’s personal…”
    “Ladies,” Rikiar drawled a warning. “Leave the fighting for the arena.”
    “Oh, yes,” Mara said. “Do enjoy the arena, Princess Aisling.” She dropped into a curtsey absolutely dripping with sarcasm.
    Aisling ignored her misbehaving maidservant, preferring to wrap her hands about Rikiar’s arm as he led her out through the village to the training grounds. They were a large flat expanse of bare earth from which every blade of grass had been stamped out by frequent footfalls. At one end of the roped-off area there were great dummies filled with straw, and targets meant for arrows. Racks of weapons stood at the other end, gleaming steel and dull wood alike.
    “This will be good for you, Aisling,” Rikiar said as they walked. “It will help strengthen you.”
    “You think I am weak?”
    “No. I think you are tender and sweet and adorable, but I also think you are too unaware of danger when it looms close, or when you hold it in your hand. These lessons will help with that.”
    A most striking figure was standing before one of the racks. It was a woman, a very tall woman who wore the same type of vest and pants that Rikiar did. Her arms were not as large as Rikiar’s, but they were almost equally toned. Her waist was slim and strong, her hips filled out her britches in a way that was simultaneously alluring and suggestive of great practical prowess.
    “That is Helsa,” Rikiar said. “She will be your tutor.”
    As they drew closer, Aisling saw that Helsa was beautiful. She had bright red hair and wicked green eyes. Aisling saw in two seconds that Helsa was everything she was not. She was tall and she was strong and she handled a blade as if it were an extension of her own body. In spite of her size, she was graceful.
    “Helsa,” Rikiar said, slapping the woman on the back of her shoulder. “This is Aisling.”
    Helsa turned and looked down at Aisling with mild interest. “Hello, princess.”
    “Helsa will teach you how to handle a blade without cutting your fingers off.”
    Aisling blushed, feeling extremely foolish. Both Rikiar and Helsa were looking at her with a sort of indulgence usually reserved for the village idiot.
    “Do not be shy,” Rikiar said, kissing her cheek. He had misinterpreted her reaction. She was not shy. She was jealous.
    With a few more words to Helsa, words Aisling did not pay any mind to, Rikiar left. He left her with a woman who made Aisling feel so insecure she could barely stand it. Instead of looking at Helsa, Aisling wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the ground.
    “Girl,” Helsa said. “Do not stare at your toes. You will learn nothing that way.”
    Aisling glanced over her shoulder, making sure Rikiar was well and truly gone before speaking her mind. “Let us not play at this charade,” she said quickly. “It is but a waste of my time and yours. I will never be able to wield a blade.”
    Rust-red brows rose at her, and the wide mouth thinned into a flat line. “Anyone willing to learn can wield a blade. Are you not willing?”
    Thoroughly aware that she was making a terrible impression on the large warrior woman, Aisling made matters worse with a shrug.
    “Spoiled princesses will not do well in my arena,” Helsa warned. “If I ask you a question, you will respond quickly and politely, understand?”
    Aisling made no real reply. She was