Tara Ch. 03

Tara had been rough, and very brusque. She'd reminded Epona a little of her mother, although she'd certainly never been worried that her mother would kill her. That resemblance had been shattered for Epona the second night, though.

The night that Tara had first...touched her.

That had been almost a week ago, Epona realized. She'd gotten...well, perhaps it would be going too far to say that she'd gotten used to it now, but at least it didn't make her want to throw up anymore. She glanced down at herself ruefully. Her body was twined with that of her captor beneath the sleeping fur. It was...strange.

She supposed that it was just the fact that Tara was a woman that made it strange to her, though. Epona knew about slavery, and what a slave would have to expect. No matter which of her captors had claimed her, she knew that she would have been obliged to warm someone's bed – it just hadn't ever occurred to her that she might have to warm the bed of another female. Her brow creased. How unusual was this kind of thing, she wondered? She'd never heard of it before. But then, it wasn't as if she'd had much experience in life, either.

The woman was an enigma. On the one hand, she was tremendously strong, and she seemed to delight in frightening and tormenting Epona sometimes. On the other, Tara could be surprisingly gentle, too, and there had been many moments when she'd been inexplicably tender. Like last night – the sudden, shocking ferociousness of her attack on the man she'd beheaded, and then the great gentleness as she'd run her long fingers through Epona's hair.

Epona didn't understand her at all.

The slave thought back to their time at the inn, to the story that Tara had told her about the little girl in Gael. Whatever Tara said about it, Epona had known she'd been talking about herself. Epona pondered it for a moment, comparing it to her own experience. What if she hadn't had Marcella? What if she'd been alone, and had to take all those beatings herself, and hadn't had anyone to help her? I think I'd be angry, Epona mused. I'd be really angry, and maybe I'd have run away, too. But I'm not strong and brave like Tara. I'd have maybe been a pickpocket, and been hanged for it. All the same, Epona thought that maybe she could understand why Tara was as brutal as she was.

But then, why the tenderness? Did Tara like her, or didn't she? Epona frowned into the darkness. She was pretty sure that the warrior didn't really care what she thought about anything, one way or the other. What Tara wanted, she took. But there were those moments, too, when the brown eyes would soften, and the touch of the callused fingers would gentle, and Epona could almost swear that there was affection in both.

She still wouldn't trust those hands not to snap her neck, though.

A shifting farther away in the tent drew Epona's attention. Although she couldn't see in the darkness, the slave girl could feel Drea's presence. She bit her lip. Drea seemed far more relaxed than Tara, and far less fierce, but Epona still didn't think she liked her much. She wasn't really sure why. Drea was certainly more likeable than the erratic redhead...maybe it was simply that Epona had noticed the gleam of interest in the woman's dark eyes when she looked at her. If Tara hadn't been there, the slave felt certain that Drea would have acted on that interest.

...Which was a ridiculous reason not to like her, Epona admitted to herself. Why despise the woman just for wanting to do what Tara did almost nightly? She sighed and closed her eyes. I guess I've just never known women like them before, and I don't know what to do with them. I'm scared. Her fingers closed convulsively over a handful of Tara's shirt. I wish that Marcella was here.

The warrior beneath her took a sudden, deeper breath. Epona grew very still. Then the arm that was wrapped around her shoulders moved up, and the slave girl felt strong fingers sorting through her curls. "Good morning, beag luch," came the calm voice of her owner.

"Ma'am," Epona whispered.

She felt rather than heard the chuckle that ran through Tara's body at this, rumbling deep in her chest. The older woman's fingers caressed the side of her face. "Did you sleep well?"

Epona never knew how she was supposed to respond to that question. Did Tara actually mean it? She chewed her lip. "Yes'm," she said.

"Good." The warrior sat up, carrying the smaller girl with her. Epona waited until the woman's arms released her before timidly moving back to sit on her heels. She felt Tara's weight shift as she stood up, and heard the shuffling as the woman moved around. "About time for my run," the warrior grunted. "I think I hear some of the camp followers up and around already. You can go and make yourself useful."

"Yes, ma'am." Epona hunted in the darkness for her boots, found them, and pulled them on. The gray light of the predawn filtered in as Tara pulled back the tent flap. The woman paused, and the slave saw her eyes glinting at her in the dim light. Obeying the silent command, Epona got up and slipped out past the woman.

A callused hand swatted her on the backside. "Off with you," Tara said gruffly. "I'll be back in an hour or two." Epona nodded, and watched as her owner headed out of the camp and broke into a graceful run. The morning mists soon swallowed the tall woman. With a quiet sigh, the slave turned and made her way toward the fire at the center of the raiders' camp.

There was only one figure by the fire. It was a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length, black hair and a gentle face. Epona couldn't help smiling as she approached her. She'd met this servant the night before, and she liked her. "Good morning," she said softly.

The woman looked up and returned the smile. "Good morning, little lass," she said kindly. "You're up early."

"Yeah. I guess I am. Tara gets up early a lot, I think." Epona peered down at the pot that sat at the woman's feet. "Can I help you?"

"Of course you can. I think I've about got this porridge ready to go on the fire, but we'll need to make some tea, as well. You can do that." The servant indicated another, smaller pot of water that was already beginning to steam on the hot coals. "Do you remember where we keep the leaves?"

"Yes, ma'am," Epona murmured, moving past the seated woman toward the bundles of foodstuff.

A hand caught her gently by the wrist as she passed. Epona paused and looked down into the woman's face in faint surprise. "It's Bernice," the servant said, with a quiet smile, "not ma'am. There's no need for that, Epona."

A shy smile slowly curved the girl's lips. "Okay," she said softly. "Thank you, Bernice." The woman patted her and turned back to her work. Epona went to the pile of bundles, knelt down, and began to rummage for the tea leaves. In the softening gloom, her smile grew just a little wider.