A Warrior's Right Ch. 02

When Marcyn awoke the next morning the persistent throbbing between her legs had dulled but was quickly reawakened by the feeling of Alren's body pressed up against hers. He had a huge arm slung around her waist and his chest pressed against her back. His face was nestled into the crook of her neck and his hot breath on her skin had her flushing all over again. She also couldn't help but notice that though her husband was still asleep, parts of him were quite awake and his naked spear was jabbing her thigh only inches away from her still intact maidenhood. Marcyn couldn't recall ever being filled with such a rush of emotions so soon after waking.

In an attempt to distract herself her eyes drifted to the center of the war tent where Dallion was curled up on a bed of furs before the fire. He was still naked as she and Alren were. It hadn't even occurred to her the night before that another man besides her husband had seen her utterly bare and her cheeks heated at the memory. Bathing old, sick men at the temple was hardly the same as two young, healthy male bodies.

Marcyn was trying to find something else to distract her when Alren began to murmur something in his sleep. He wrapped his arm tighter around her and pulled her harder against his bare chest. He sighed into her ear and seemed to settle back into sleep. Marcyn's whole body bloomed with heat and she felt another dribble of wetness between her legs. When he tightened his grip though she experienced a far more familiar feeling in her abdomen. She needed to relieve herself. She could probably use some fresh air too considering the way her head was swimming.

Gingerly she wriggled out of his grip. At first he tightened his arms, but when she took his hand and began lifting it away from her he withdrew his arm and rolled over.

Silently, Marcyn slid out of the bed. She snatched her shift off the floor and slid it on, her attention never drifting far from her sleeping husband. He never stirred or made a sound.

Marcyn made it to the flap of fabric that served as the door when a hand wrapped around her arm. She gasped but managed not to scream as Dallion whirled her around. He put a finger to his lips with a meaningful glance toward Alren.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

She stared at him; eyes wide with shock. She hadn't even heard him stir, hadn't heard him stand or walk over to her. He was even wearing his robe again.

She blinked and shook off her surprise, "I need to...to..."

"Piss?"

"Attend to my needs," she said carefully. Dallion nodded and began to walk out of the tent, gently leading her along.

"I will show you the way," he said. He kept his arm entwined with hers as they walked, looking suspiciously around the camp. Day had barely cracked, and the encampment was mostly still asleep, but some young men and old women were wandering about preparing for the day to begin. Two young men passed in front of Dallion and Marcyn. They lugged a metal tub in the direction of the general's tent while three young women in rose-colored robes trailed them. Marcyn knew the color marked them as Sow girls, but she didn't recognize any of them. Another man nearby popped out of his tent and waved one of them inside. She bowed her head and followed him without question. Marcyn watched the scene playout, head cocked curiously.

"Some of the men have a proclivity to share wives," Dallion said quietly, tracking her glance. Marcyn knew she must have looked a little pale and he squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Not to worry. Alren is not the sharing type. Best not to wander alone until you've been here for a while though," he said and patted her hand.

When they arrived at the privy Dallion released her arm and turned his back as she stepped inside. She finished and came back outside to find her attendant had vanished. In the near distance she heard a terse conversation.

"Alren's little plaything wandering around all alone at this hour," a hoarse voice chortled. "No wonder he's so hesitant to be generous. You are a lovely treat, aren't you?

"Alren will be plenty generous with you Resh if you do not let me go," Dallion said in his clear, ringing tone. The threat was clear, but she could hear cruel laughter anyway. Marcyn rounded a corner and found the source of the voices in an alley between two tents. A short, broad man with a sharp face had Dallion with his arms pinned behind his back with one hand. He held his other up to his face, dragging his fingers down his cheek.

"I'll let you alone," the man, Resh, said, leaning in closer, "but not yet."

"What is going on?" Marcyn said though she was sure she knew. Resh turned his attention to her while Dallion tried and failed to wriggle free.

"Just a bit of fun, darling," Resh said, pivoting to face her, "would you care to join?"

"Go back to the tent, Marcyn," Dallion said. Resh's thin brows flicked up high on his long forehead. He looked between her and Dallion.

"Can that bastard get any luckier," he said, curling his lips in disgust, "you're Alren's wife?"

Marcyn nodded. The sun was still barely creeping over the horizon, but the breaking light illuminated a little twinkle in Resh's eyes as he looked over the two of them. "If the two of you ever get bored of that big dullard--"

"Who is getting bored, Resh?" a voice rumbled from behind them. Marcyn nearly jumped out of her skin and she turned to find Alren stepping into the space between the tents. He crossed his big arms over his chest. Resh paled and quickly released Dallion.

"Captain!" Resh said, standing up a little straighter, but not bothering to wipe the sneer from his mouth or the leering twinkle in his eyes.

Alren walked toward him slowly, a glare in his eyes that kept the lecher frozen in place. Dallion strode to Marcyn's side at the mouth of the alley. Alren leaned menacingly over Resh. "These two are under my protection and care, Resh," he said. The early morning chill had steam rising from Alren's nose and mouth. He looked like a beast intimidating a rat.

"It was just a bit of fun," he said carefully. Alren bared his teeth.

"Fun would be breaking your hands for touching my campboy. Or maybe cracking your skull open for thinking about my wife." Marcyn knew she must be turning red. Dallion started to lead her away.

"Wait," Alren said. Dallion paused and looked curiously over his shoulder. Alren was still glowering at the underling. "Apologize," he growled. That commanding tone made Marcyn feel like she needed to lie down.

"Apologies, captain," Resh said with a small bow of his head. Alren narrowed his eyes.

"Not to me," he said between gritted teeth. Resh took a breath through his nose.

"I apologize for my forwardness, madam," he said. Marcyn tipped up her chin.

"You are forgetting someone," she said. Resh wrinkled his nose.

"What?" he said in disgust. Now Dallion was turning pale, but Marcyn squared her shoulders and stepped toward him.

"Apologize to Dallion. You had no right to touch him."

He looked helplessly at Alren as if expecting him to dismiss the demand, but he was watching Marcyn. The man grit his teeth and looked at Dallion who now wore the smallest smile of self-satisfaction, though it was a little uncertain.

"I am sorry," he muttered. It was a half-hearted apology but it was enough to make the campboy grin.

"You are on stables for the rest of the week," Alren said, and took one step closer. "You do not want to know what the punishment will be if I catch you near them again."

"Yes, sir," Resh said and slunk away.

Alren turned back toward Marcyn and Dallion, nodding at them to follow him back to the tent. He took up Dallion's place at her side while the campboy followed a short distance behind them.

"So desperate to escape me already?" Alren said. Marcyn was about to start stuttering a reply or an apology when she looked and saw a small smile on his mouth. He glanced down at her. "I thought we were getting along so well."

"Dallion was kind enough to show me the way to the privy," she said, looking down at the muddy road, "a kindness that was hardly repaid."

"This is a desperate place, Marcyn," he said in a voice that once more shocked her with its gentleness, "best to keep your wits about you." He looked over his shoulder at Dallion, "Thank you for looking after her." Dallion bowed his head.

The camp was finally starting to wake up though it was still early morning there was enough light to move around by. Men in full or half armor emerged from tents. There were horses everywhere with young people tacking them up, men and women both rushing around to prepare the camp.

"I have to go soon," Alren said. He led them back into the tent where Dallion began collecting Alren's armor and layers of clothing, "I will be back after nightfall."

Marcyn felt her heart leap high and sink low, "You are going to battle?" Of course, a warrior had to fight, but somehow she hadn't expected him to be leaving so soon.

"Usually, men are given a short leave after they are married," he said, rolling his shoulders and helping Dallion dress him, "but I was not supposed to be married yet. Ulric still expects me to fight."

Marcyn nodded her understanding, watching carefully at the way Dallion secured all the pieces of Alren's armor in place with quick, practiced fingers. He waved her closer to get a better look. She wasn't sure if she even needed to bother learning if Dallion would always be there. He was adjusting a gorget around his neck, the other side of it still hanging open.

"Go on," Dallion said, "no time to waste."

Marcyn began to strap the other side of the metal neck-protector, her fingers barely brushing Alren's warm skin beneath. She knew he was looking at her, but she didn't dare meet his attention until she was finished. It was hard to keep her breath when she looked up and found his burning stare.

"Dallion," he said in a low tone, his eyes never leaving her. "Breakfast."

The campboy lifted his eyebrows and looked between them before slipping wordlessly out of the tent. Alren continued to dress without his assistance and Marcyn tried to help where she could.

"How do you feel this morning?" he asked her when they were alone. She shrugged one shoulder, kneeling to fix a piece of armor around his shin.

"I am still cold," she admitted.

"That is not what I mean."

She looked up at him again. Her mind drifted back to the night before. To Dallion on his knees before Alren. She thought of what he'd commanded her to do and how it made her feel. She knew her face must have been flushed, but she couldn't look away from him.

"Is it alright if I don't know how I feel yet?"

He watched her for a moment longer and then nodded. He reached down to touch his hand to her cheek, urging her to her feet. "Of course, it is," he said. He brushed a hair from her face, but then paused and took it between her fingers.

"Can you braid hair?" he asked.

Marcyn had to chuckle, "I grew up in a temple with only other women and girls."

He raised a brow, a small smile on his lips, "Is that a yes?" He took a seat on a low stool near the firepit and began to run his fingers through his hair, shaking it out.

"It is," she said, taking up a place behind him. Even on the low stool she could barely see the top of his head, but she could make it work. She used her fingers to section out his hair and went to work weaving it into tight braids.

"Had my hair pulled once in battle," he said, "I think I would rather be stabbed."

She wasn't sure if it was a joke or not, but she let herself chuckle. He sighed at the sensation of her fingers in his hair. His hair was thick and coarse with a slight curl to it. It was dark brown, only a few shades away from black. She was pleased to find it mostly free of tangles. It certainly made her job easier.

"Battle can make men very excited, Marcyn, did you know that?"

Her heart pounded, but she managed to answer. "Yes," she said quietly.

"When I return tonight I'd like for you to help Dallion bathe me. I will be tired, but when the blood rises it can keep a man awake even when his body needs sleep." His words were low and slow, as though he wasn't entirely sure where he was going with what he was saying.

"I understand," she said, though really she didn't. She tripped over a plait and had to restart it, trying not to pull as she loosed it and began again.

"After my bath Dallion will attend to me," he said, "and you will go have supper with the widows and children. Dallion will come fetch you when we're finished."

Marcyn wanted to feel relief, but she was surprised at the pang of disappointment that shot through her. She focused on the braids.

"Is that alright?" he asked after she didn't say anything.

"Of course," she said, tugging a little harder than necessary as she tied one of the braids. "I just thought you would want me here to attend to you."

He felt the braids and, seeing that she was finished, stood and turned to face her. "In time," he said carefully. She nodded. If he noticed the disappointment on her face he had nothing to say about it. "When you are ready," he lifted his hand as though he would touch her again, but then dropped it. She tipped her chin up, ready for his rough fingers and tried to ignore another sting of rejection when he did not reach for her.

"Alren," she began, but she stopped when the tent flap flew open and Dallion strode in. He balanced three wooden bowls of food in his hands, hunks of bread sitting partially submerged in some thick stew.

"Breakfast," he said in a sing-song voice. Alren turned his back on Marcyn to take his bowl of food and she followed behind. She wasn't sure what she'd wanted to say anyway.

***

After breakfast Alren left for battle. Marcyn sat before the fire and finished eating in silence. Dallion hummed to himself as he ate.

"He will be excited tonight," he said through a bite of food, "so I would try to be ready for that if I were you."

Marcyn looked over at him, "That is what he told me, but he wants me to join the widows and children for supper and leave you two alone."

Dallion frowned and twisted a finger in his ear, "I am afraid I am not hearing you right, darling. Say that again?"

Marcyn knew she was blushing and she hated it, so she looked back at the flames. "He wants to wait until I am ready." She tried not to sound bitter. She was relieved, really. She'd intended to be a virgin all her life and she'd found power in that. At the temple healing and prayer were akin to a kind of magic and the priestesses, anointed virgins, were the only bearers of that power. Not that it mattered anymore, she could do no healing here so far from the temple and her sisters.

Dallion giggled, "You seemed plenty ready last night."

Marcyn tried to keep her mind from drifting back to the night before, but just the mention made her stomach feel tight and her core warm. She could almost feel Alren's hands on her wrists, holding her back from the pleasure she'd almost given herself. "Well, I was not," she said a little breathlessly.

He laughed again at the way she blushed and kept her eyes down. "You really do not know yourself, do you? I suppose that's the reason they climbed your tower in the first place, but gods how could you resist the temptation." He gestured at her with his spoon, "You grew into that body and never..." He held up two fingers and curled them lewdly.

"No!" she said. He just shook his head.

"I will be damned. I thought you were just being coy last night."

"I was not," she said, squirming at the way he was looking at her like some kind of experiment. He just put his fist under his chin and grinned at her.

"Good. He doesn't like coy. He likes..." he looked up as if searching for the right word, "enthusiasm."

"Enthusiasm," she repeated. He nodded.

"A little advice to you," he said with a wink.

***

They spent the rest of the day chatting, Marcyn trying not to let him see how nervous she was. What would become of her if Alren was injured in battle? Or killed. She didn't let herself think about it too much but spent a good portion of the afternoon in the corner of the tent praying as she had the night before. Over the course of the day, they tidied up the tent, mended some of Alren's garments and Dallion even took her into the camp to find warmer clothes and shoes.

"As lovely as you look in those drab rags," he'd said at the tent where wives traded and mended garments for each other, "you'd look much prettier not frozen half to death."

Marcyn found Dallion a little strange, but kind and pleasant to chat and spend the day with. She couldn't bring herself to feel jealous of him even if at times she envied his familiarity with her husband. He would have to be her friend going forward and she could certainly imagine worse ones.

The two of them were seated before the fireplace when a horn sounded to announce the warriors returning. The sun hadn't been gone for long, but their chores were finished, and they were sipping hot, spiced wine and teaching each other verses. Marcyn only knew religious epics and Dallion only knew filthy limericks, but they were enjoying themselves, nonetheless.

"I will start fetching water for the bath," Dallion said, rising as the horn sounded again, "you wait here for him."

Marcyn didn't want him to go, but she didn't argue. It wasn't long after he left when Alren strode through the tent flaps. He was covered in muck, some brown mud and some...everything was tinged with red, and the metallic smell of blood filled her nose. The plaits in his hair were mussed, but they'd held and Marcyn felt a small twinge of pride. Despite the chill there was sweat on his brow and he had a shallow scratch across his cheek.

"You are bleeding," she blurted, unsure what else to say. He fixed his stare on her, dragging it from her feet to her face.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, taking a few steps toward her. Despite her new attire being thicker and warmer than her robes it was also far more fashionable. Marcyn always wore supports beneath her robes, but she'd never been fitted with a proper bodice and the one they'd found held her bust high, the loose shift she wore beneath it cut low, so the tops of her breasts were just visible. Her waist was accentuated as well by the bodice and the thick, padded skirt.

"Dallion and I found some proper clothes today," she said and pulled her shawl tighter around herself. His eyes were hooded as he took her in for longer.

"Where is Dallion?" he asked and came closer to her. She felt her breath coming quickly.

"Fetching water for your bath," she squeaked. "Can I help you undress?"

He nodded once and they went to work removing his filthy armor and the layers of clothes beneath. Dallion came in and out with water until the bath was ready. Marcyn couldn't look away as Alren removed his smallest layers and stepped into the bath, sighing to himself as he relaxed into the steam.

Marcyn and Dallion went to work scrubbing him, Marcyn removing the braids from his hair while Dallion washed.

The two men discussed the battle. The tide was shifting in their favor and things in this region might be finished before midsummer, though it was too soon to know for sure. There was a general, Mustav, who'd been giving them much trouble. Their enemy didn't have the numbers, but their minds were sharp. Marcyn listened keenly to their discussion, trying to keep track of the names and events they mentioned.

When Alren was finished with his bath Marcyn was surprised to see him bother dressing. It was Dallion who was meant to bring Marcyn to the widows and children.

"I thought Dallion was taking me," she said, but Alren was striding for the exit.

"I do not want you two wandering alone at night, not after this morning," he explained. Marcyn paused in the middle of the tent. Alren turned back to see her.