Free The Barbarian's Bride by Loki Renard Page B

paralyzed by jealousy and a most unfamiliar feeling of rebellion. She scowled at Helsa’s toned midsection, wishing she had the bravery to simply turn and walk out of the ring. Unfortunately, she didn’t. Unfortunately she was completely stuck where she stood, unable to obey, unable to properly disobey.
    The warrior gave her a stare that fell somewhere between irritation and curiosity. “Is it your plan to simply stand there sullenly until I go away?”
    “Maybe,” Aisling muttered. “You are wasting your time with me.”
    “The chief gave me an order, and I intend to carry it out whether you like it or not, princess,” Helsa informed her. “The only time you’re wasting is your own.”
    “I have plenty of it to waste,” Aisling said pertly.
    Helsa frowned and cocked her head to the side. “Put your hand out.”
    Unthinking, Aisling put her hand out. She was swiftly rapped over the knuckles by Helsa. She hissed and drew her hand back, which earned her a frown.
    “I did not tell you to move your hand.”
    “You hurt my hand,” Aisling complained.
    “I did. Put your hand out.”
    “You’re going to hit it again.”
    “Whether I am or I am not, is no concern of yours.”
    Aisling very much disagreed with that statement. It was a very pressing concern of hers. She kept her hand tightly clenched underneath her armpit, defying the order.
    “Not so obedient, then,” Helsa observed.
    “I am obedient, just not stupid,” Aisling replied. “And I don’t want your lessons, thank you very much.”
    Helsa leaned down so her wicked green eyes were fixed on Aisling. What she said next annoyed Aisling very much.
    “Who said you had a choice?”
    Aisling was discovering something quite interesting about herself. She had been trained very carefully to obey any order coming from a man. She had not been trained to follow orders from women. She supposed it wasn’t really fair to make such a distinction, but there it was, sitting in her mind.
    “I make my own choices,” Aisling informed the warrior.
    Helsa snorted. “Do you think I will not whip you? Do you think being Rikiar’s intended will save you?”
    Aisling did not care if Helsa did whip her. Something about the woman made Aisling very prickly and very annoyed. Maybe it was her beauty. Maybe it was her evident autonomy. Maybe it was because Helsa was very clearly everything she was not.
    “Pouting little wench,” Helsa said. “I have no time for this. Put your hand out and take your punishment, or leave my ring.”
    “Gladly,” Aisling said, backing away from the warrior woman. She was most happy to leave the ring. The pretty trinket was not at all worth the aggravation. She fervently wished she had listened to Mara and never bought the thing. A nice hat or a dress would have improved her life much more significantly and with less disruption to her normal routine.
    Striding out of the arena felt wonderful, but the wonderful feeling faded the further she went away from the warrior. Triumph turned into uncertainty, which then turned into worry as she slunk through the village, back to Rikiar’s home.
    She was not entirely surprised to be met by Rikiar, but she was indeed surprised at how thunderous he looked. His strong face and tough features were usually tempered by affection when he looked at her, but in that moment he looked quite fearsomely annoyed. His amber eyes flashed warning as she approached.
    “What are you doing?”
    Aisling screwed up her courage as best she could. “I told Helsa I didn’t want her lessons. I don’t. She’s mean.”
    Rikiar snorted. “You march yourself back to that ring and apologize to Helsa, or I will show you what mean is, my girl.”
    “Apologize? For what?”
    “For disrespect,” Rikiar said. “Helsa was teaching you as a favor to me. I told her you were quiet and easy to handle. I told her that you were a sweet girl. You have acted like a spoiled little wretch.”
    “So sorry to have embarrassed you,”