Slavemaster's Woman, The (26 page)

He respected and trusted her almost as much
as she had learned to trust him.

How he’d failed to protect his own wife and
son—this was something he never intended to speak to anyone about,
to convey the tale of his own tragic life, but when he saw the
compassion on Cushla’s lovely face, when she asked him about it and
saw the genuine concern in her expression, The way she touched his
hand to form not only a physical but emotional connection…there it
was. He was ready to spill his guts to this woman. Old memories
surfaced, memories he was ashamed of, memories of the life he’d
hidden deep into the recesses of his memories a long time ago.

For some bizarre reason, he knew he could
confide in her, that he could give his most vulnerable secrets to
her for safekeeping. In telling her, Tarken somehow found comfort,
made peace with it…and she responded to him so genuinely. He
couldn’t help but be warmed by her response, by the tone of her
voice, non-judgmental and compassionate, her consoling voice sweet
to his ears, so entrenching to his heart.

Never before had a female affected him as
such, and Tarken realized he might never experience it again. She
was an amazing woman, his beautiful slave girl, his freebird. To
survive such horrific thing and still remain so strong of will. He
admired her and respected her with an enormity he could’ve never
foreseen.

He winced at the pang in his chest at the
thought of handing Cushla over to the king. The idea of living
without her filled him with great emptiness. Cushla had given
herself to him, heart and soul. He saw it in her gaze upon him,
sensed it in the way her body her responded to his, believed the
words of love she'd spoken to him. One thought and one thought only
assaulted Tarken's head.

Cushla belonged to him, to him alone, and he
was going to keep her.

Chapter Nineteen

They made love again, this time with a fever
yet a tenderness that neither could escape. It came from deep
within, a mating of souls, with a heightened awareness of the
unconditional devotion and desire for each other rising and rushing
through them like a tidal wave, an awakening of two hearts once
lost in numbness.

While the sexual fog and overwhelming
passion cleared from their heads, the low beep of Tarken’s commlink
sharpened in his ears. Blinking several times to focus his vision,
he reached around Cushla, who still rested in slumber against his
chest and grabbed his communicator.

It was a message from the royals that it was
time to return to the ship.

Tarken jerked to awareness.

Beneath him, Cushla's eyes shot open in time
to see him rubbing his forehead as if in distress. She turned to
face him and pressed a hand to his chest. “What is it Tarken?”

Should he tell her he had no intention of
taking her back to the ship? He needed to think on how they would
make their escape. “It’s a lovely dawning outside.” He patted her
thigh. “Enjoy a bath and then we’ll take a walk.” He began to roll
from the bed but stopped briefly to smile down at her. He gave her
lips a tender kiss and then gazed into her crystal eyes, now
sparkling brightly.

Her returned smile was dazzling, and he was
loath to separate his body from hers, but he had plans to make.
First and foremost, how he could escape capture and prosecution by
the king for stealing his goods.

Shifting over her, he sat on the edge of bed
and donned his trousers. He then stood and strolled toward the door
leading to the small terrace attached the cabana. With an ease he
did not truly feel, he leaned against the frame, staring across the
field that separated the cabana from a nearby lake. With one arm
crossed over the other, he became lost in his thoughts, only
vaguely aware of the two men who seemed to be enjoying a stroll
along the banks.

He had enough credits in his account to
manage their living needs for quite a while, and he had skills. He
could take work as a military trainer again or possibly as pilot on
a freighter ship, delivering goods to various ports in the
galaxy…Cushla at his side.
Would she object to such a life?
They would need to take aliases, but identities were easily bought
if one had the right connections, and Tarken had plenty.

Behind him, he vaguely heard the water
running in the shower as his attention became more focused on the
strangers when they stopped and appeared interested in the cabana.
His eyes narrowed. Almost immediately he recognized Ayia, but not
the other, a male, who accompanied her. Still distracted, he heard
Cushla moving about, but was too focused on the pair to pay her any
heed at the moment.

Until that is…he heard Cushla gasp, and the
sound of the cabana’s other door crashing against the wall. His
head whipped around in time to see the door swing and slam
shut.

Cushla was gone from the room.

His head snapped back around and he gazed
down to the courtyard, unbidden anger erupting within him.

The slave girl was sprinting across the
terrain. Wrapped only in her towel, and wet hair dripping down her
back, she was rushing toward Ayia and the others who were waving
her on. Cushla was fleeing, escaping—running as she had vowed not
to..

She was leaving him!

Something deep to the gut shattered inside
of Tarken—betrayal, deceit…

Heartbreak…

Pain, unbelievable pain, and then…rage
blinded him. Reaching toward his waist, Tarken pressed the button
on his belt, and activated the slave band. She arched sharply as if
struck in the back, her arms flaring outward, the towel dropping,
and she screeched, her agonized cry so horribly loud it echoed
through the air.

Glancing downward, he saw that the setting
was on maximum. He looked up again in time to see another female
had joined Ayia and her male companion. He recognized her
immediately.

It was that Shalcar woman who had attempted
to snatch Cushla when they had made port on Wind Drift.

Without conscious thought of the distance,
Tarken jumped from the balcony grasping the ledge and vaulting down
to the ground.

“You’re dead man, slavemaster!” The man’s
voice echoed angrily from across the field.

He and the two women were stalking toward
him, but at the moment Tarken’s concern was only with Cushla, and
he paid no heed to the threat. Instead, he rushed from the Cabana
and sprinted to Cushla’s side before the others could get to her
and watched in horror as her body quaked violently on the ground
where she had crumbled. She was wailing in pain and guilt assailed
him, along with a hefty dose of fret. He never meant to hurt her.
It was his heart that activated the slave band not his
brain—angst-ridden at her betrayal—her promise. He truly believed,
wanted it to be…her proclamation that she loved him.

Dropping to his knees beside her, Tarken
drew Cushla’s pain-racked body into his arms. “Cushla, why? I’m
sorry.” What had he done? “I thought you loved me. I thought…”

That you would stay with me,
he
reflected silently, unable to admit his desire out loud.

She didn’t answer
.
She couldn’t answer, he knew. Cushla was gasping and shrieking with
the stabbing torment that rushed along her nerves.

“Why, Cushla,” Tarken pressed his cheek to
hers, his voice straining with dismay. “Why did you run?”

“My, my—” She gasped and stiffened, gulped
for air.

“I’m here my little one!” The man yelled,
hurriedly spanning the distance of the field to reach them, Ayia
and that other woman rushing with him. “Unhand my daughter you
bastard!”

“Daughter?” Tarken looked up at the man
suddenly befuddled.
Father…Bazil?

Bazil and the women continued to charge
toward him, and he was now close enough for Tarken to discern the
unmistakable fury on the man’s face.

“I should strangle you with my bare hands,
slaver,” Bazil growled as he drew a stunner from his belt.

Stiffening, Tarken was unsure of what the
hell blazers was going on. He reacted instinctively also drawing
his stunner. Through the corner of his eye, he caught movement and
glanced briefly in that direction.

The royal guards, Rube and Scoac leading
were sprinting in his direction. One of the guards drew his
stunner, aimed at Bazil and fired. He missed, and Bazil skidded to
a halt, glanced in their direction briefly, growled and then turned
to charge Tarken.

Unexpected for him, the Shalcar woman
grabbed his arm. She pivoted slightly, stunner in hand, took aim,
and the weapon discharged.

One of the royal guards stumbled over his
own feet and fell.

Tarken slipped his arms beneath Cushla, who
remained, by his hand in a half-conscious stupor. He scooped her up
and tossed her tiny form over his shoulder anchoring her to him
with a firm grasp beneath her naked bottom. She groaned at the
jarring movement. With his firing hand free to protect them, he
lifted his stunner, though at the moment he wasn’t sure which group
of combatants he should be defending them from.

“Drop the girl, slaver!” The Shalcar pointed
her weapon at Tarken, giving him his answer.

Drop Cushla? Was the woman bent in the
brain?
He aimed his weapon at her. It would be an easy shot
since she was just a stone’s throw away from him.

“Get Zaviot!” Scoac shouted. “And grab that
bitch servicing wench. I’ll teach her to betray me!”

Bazil returned a string of cantankerous
sentences as one of the guards fired at him. He fell to his knees
firing a round of his own, taking down the same guard whose stunner
struck him. He then fell face first to the ground.

Three remaining guards surrounded both him
and Ayia.

“Ah shiaka!” Ayia turned to run, but she was
grabbed and restrained.

Reality was dawning on Tarken. It now made
sense as to why the royals had been blatantly flaunting their
presence all over the Adar Rhiannon Galaxy. Cushla’s purchase
appeared to be a ploy to flush out her father. Glancing around
while realizing his vulnerability, he retreated toward the cabana
to take cover, his weapon firing but missing as he ran with
Cushla’s body over his shoulder.

Rube was rushing toward him, stunner
raised.

Tarken halted to a standstill and swung his
firing arm at him taking aim. “Halt royal,” he demanded, and was
surprised when Rube actually heeded.

Stopping in his tracks just a few paces
away, the royal spread open his arms as if surrendering, and
lowered his stunner. “Give the girl to me slavemaster.”

Tarken grumbled. He’d been aware the Shalcar
had also been moving toward him but unable to defend himself and
Cushla against everyone at the same time, he chose to make Rube his
target. Shifting his head, he found himself staring down the cold,
steel end of the woman’s stunner. He pierced the woman with
undaunted eyes, despite observing the weapon was set to kill.

“I think not,” Rube raised his arm, aiming
his weapon at the Shalcar, putting them in a dangerous
three-way.

Tarken’s gaze shifted, toward Rube, then
back to the Shalcar, and beyond her to where Bazil Zaviot lay
motionless on the ground. He was pale but not the telltale mottled
purple color of a dead man, sizzled by a laser weapon. He’d only
been stunned, which answered one of Tarken’s questions.
They
wanted the man alive.

Tarken considered his options on how he
might rescue the man…Cushla’s father, but at the moment there
seemed to be little he could do. As for Cushla, his stomach
bottomed out as he came to the despairing conclusion that he’d
missed the opportunity to escape with her, though he would hand her
over to the Shalcar if it would assure her freedom.

“You’re surrounded, Shalcar,” Scoac snorted,
his weapon pointing toward her.

In kind, two of the guards near Bazil and
Ayia, had also taken aim. The third, threatening Ayia with a
stunner to the side of her head.

“Back off royal or the slavemaster gets it,”
the Shalcar warned.

“You think I give a cagger’s ass about the
slavemaster?” Scoac sneered at her. He motioned the guards with a
wave of his hand, indicating for them to retrieve Cushla. “Grill
his brains for all I care, but the slave belongs to the king.”

With a quick maneuver, the Shalcar woman
shifted, turning her weapon on Rube. “Then how about I make the
royal’s brains part of the cosmos?”

“Interesting predicament, Vialin,” Rube
mumbled low though Tarken heard him. “Now what do you plan on
doing?”

Tarken’s eyes narrowed slightly at the
comment. Other than that, he showed no reaction. His mind, however
was reeling to piece more of this conundrum together. Calling the
woman by name and the manner of his tone made it clear that Rube
knew her.

“Put me down, Tarken,” Cushla rasped out,
apparently recovering. She pressed her palms to the small of
Tarken’s back and attempted to raise herself.

Though he was relieved she was recovering,
he ignored her request. He had other things to think about at the
moment. First and foremost, the stunners aimed at them, Cushla’s
safety, and how he was going to get them out of this convoluted
mess.

Around them, the alarms began to blare, and
the sirens of the port security cycles grew louder as they drew
nearer. Tarken knew it was time to react. “Take my stunner,” Tarken
mumbled low.

“What?” the Shalcar—Vialin, murmured to
him.

Tarken continued whispering, “Take it,
threaten me and use the royal as a shield to get us out of
here.”

Snatching his stunner with her free hand,
she pointed at Tarken.

Well…at least she wasn’t too thick in the
skull to realize his plan.

At the same time, Cushla began to struggle
and Tarken growled when he felt the bite of her teeth piercing the
flesh of his lower back. He arched away from the pain, felt the
moisture of his own blood as Cushla kicked and scratched at him,
and then fell from his shoulders and hit the ground.