Harrow's Wife Ch. 03

Note:

I'm happy to present the third of seven chapters of this fantasy story. Many thanks to those who have read, voted, left comments or sent emails - your support, encouragement and feedback are appreciated. The fourth chapter should be out in a couple of weeks...

The story contains fantasy violence.

*****

"Ana is to the north," Gwen said, trying to filter the irritation out of her voice. "Why are we heading south?"

Gwen needed Harrow. Her daughter Ana needed Harrow. And after the way Gwen had betrayed him - costing him his house and livelihood and making him a fugitive - it was a miracle the mercenary had agreed to help at all. So she didn't want to push her luck with endless nagging and complaints. Her standing in his eyes was tenuous enough already.

But just that morning The Hound's magic-sensing sword had detected a faint glimmer of magic use to the northeast, and far enough away to put it close to Blythe's Pass - the area where Ana was rumoured to have escaped her captors. It had to be her! Was her daughter alone? Injured? Scared? Running for her life, with the Guardsmen in hot pursuit? How much longer could the nineteen year-old survive unaided?

And yet with every aching, painful step in her ill-fitting sandals, Gwen put more distance between her and her baby. She was consumed by the urge to DO something. Having finally secured the means to locate her daughter, it was infuriating to be heading the wrong way.

"Save your strength for walking," Harrow said from ahead of her, his tone gruff.

He'd been terse and uncommunicative for the two days they'd been travelling on foot, refusing to disclose their destination or his reasons for choosing such a vexing path. He was angry at her, that much was obvious. And Gwen couldn't fault him for that - she'd earned his antipathy. But anger was counter-productive, and Ana might be running out of time.

She growled her frustration and focused on putting one blistered foot in front of the other. She had to trust him - she had no other options. Wearing the witch-brand on her right cheek, being hunted by the Guardsmen and having a rich bounty on her head, Gwen needed to avoid all human contact. But with no survival skills and her magic inaccessible, she couldn't survive in the wild on her own. Harrow was all that stood between her and a variety of unpleasant dooms.

If nothing else, at least the weather had been cooperative. An unseasonably warm autumn had made the travelling easier and the nights less chilly - a good thing, too, since Harrow refused to build a fire. Too easy to detect, he said. They were trying to conceal their whereabouts from any pursuers.

They trudged in silence through the woods for several hours before Harrow allowed a rest for a meal of raw tubers, beans and cold, cooked chicken, then it was more hours of walking until the mercenary mercifully brought them to a halt on the bank of a slow-flowing stream.

"We'll camp here for the night," he said, then dropped his pack and weaponry. In addition to his sword and throwing knives he'd taken a crossbow, bolts and a long spear from the Guardsmen he'd dispatched back at his house. The memory of how quickly he'd defeated six men - including the famous Hound - still gave her chills.

"Thank the gods," she said, lowering her small pack to the ground, and leaning The Hound's magical sword against a nearby tree. Her feet throbbed and she was sure they were bloody with open blisters. Her ankles hurt. Her knees ached. Her hips and lower back were screaming at her. Even her shoulders and neck here painful. She wasn't sure her body would survive another day of travel like the previous two.

"Put your feet in the river. It will keep the swelling down." Harrow was undressing, likely with an eye towards washing a day's worth of sweat off him in the stream.

Too tired to question the suggestion, she hobbled over to the riverbank, sat on a rounded rock and gingerly peeled off her sandals, then immersed her feet in the cool stream. There was a moment of searing agony as a dozen open blisters welcomed the fresh water, but slowly the pain faded to a dull throb and she started to feel better, as Harrow had said.

A moment later he waded into the middle of the stream, unashamedly naked and holding a spear. The water came to his upper thighs. Gwen averted her gaze, too exhausted to scold him. From the corner of her eye she could see him position himself, holding the spear with the point just above the surface of the water, staring into the river with great determination.

"Will you at least tell me where we're going?" she asked for the umpteenth time.

He surprised her by answering. "Skeeter Flats."

For a moment she was so shocked she forgot to be sore. "You jest!"

"I'm serious." He thrust the spear into the depths, then cursed and resumed his hunting stance.

"That den of thieves and miscreants? What business have we there?"

"I have a friend who might agree to help us."

"What kind of friend lives in a loathsome place like that?"

"For a heretical witch, you're awfully judgmental."

"Another mercenary, no doubt."

He smiled then, and seeing it made her feel better than she had all day. She'd missed that smile and she'd needed its reassurance. "I suppose she's a mercenary...of a sort."

"She?"

He speared the water again came up empty. "Lucky little bastards," he muttered.

"If we were to invoke the Bond, you'd have all the fish you could want, in an instant."

"That hardly seems sporting." There was the faintest tease in his voice. Maybe the mood between them was beginning to thaw after a two-day deep freeze?

"I'd gladly cook them, too."

"No fire, remember?"

"Magic can bake them without a fire. We'd use intense heat."

He thrust again, unsuccessfully.

"I could keep the bugs away, ward off the night-time chill, keep us dry if it rains. I just need the Bond," she said. Even if the Bond would only last until dawn there would be no end to its usefulness.

"No, thank you."

She stifled an exasperated sigh. She couldn't blame him for being wary of her magic. She'd over-taxed him last time, leaving him weakened. She'd also surreptitiously betrayed his whereabouts to The Hound. If not for his unexpected martial prowess, they both be dead as a result.

She decided she'd never win the argument on its merits, and switched tactics.

"Please, Harrow? These clothes are ill-fitting and unsuited to travel, and the over-sized sandals are shredding my feet. I'm in agony...I can't go another day like this. If I had my magic, I could fashion something more comfortable and practical to wear. I swear to you I'll stick to mundane use only - nothing taxing. You'd barely feel it."

"I've had my fill of magic," he said. He didn't sound angry or bitter, just resolute. That was an improvement, she supposed.

Appealing to reason hadn't worked, nor had a plea for compassion. She was down to her last resort.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to look at him despite his nakedness. "I would be willing to... inflame you... with my mouth... if that would make you more supportive of the idea."

She knew her cheeks were flame-red with shame, but she desperately needed her magic. And just as important, she needed to repair the breach she'd opened in their relationship. She couldn't have him distant and unwilling. She needed his trust - if not his complete trust than at least a functional amount of it.

He met her eyes, one eyebrow raised in surprise, then returned his attention to his spear-fishing.

"A tempting offer. But...it's so very indecent and perverted."

She groaned as her face grew hotter. He was using her own words against her. But he hadn't said 'no'...

"It's no more than what you did for me. It would be gracious for me to...reciprocate."

He was silent as he focused on the fish.

"I think not. You've never done it before, and it would take time to instruct you on the proper technique. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested..." He trailed off in obvious invitation.

Gwen knew he was baiting her and she bit back a scathing retort. There would be time for that later.

"If it would make you agreeable to the Bond, I would be...eager... to receive your instruction," she said through clenched teeth. She was blushing straight down to her blistered feet, for sure!

"I suppose I'd be willing to teach you. Such shameless begging!"

She bit her tongue so hard her eyes watered. "Indeed. How shall we begin?"

"I'm sure you'll want to bathe beforehand. Shall I help you undress?"

"I can manage."

"I insist," he said, slowly wading back to the riverbank and laying the spear on the mossy ground - within easy reach, she noted. Then he was standing in front of her, his nudity on full display. She turned her head away out of habit.

He worked the bottom of the tunic up over her waist, then pulled it up and over her head, leaving her naked. She didn't bother to cover her breasts or the juncture of her thighs - he'd seen all she had to offer many times, and modesty seemed laughable in light of what was soon to come.

Suddenly his one arm slid under her knees and the other around her back, and he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, her body pressed against his firm, hairy chest.

"What do you think you're-"

"Probably better to stay off your feet," he said, and his voice was gentle and not teasing.

She felt touched by his concern and was about to thank him when he threw himself down into the water, still holding her tightly. The stream was deeper than the one near his house and the two of them were briefly submerged in chilly water. She came up spluttering, still in his arms, outraged.

"Harrow! You..." she cast about for a suitably harsh insult. "You...CHILD!"

He laughed and settled back into the water so they were both immersed to the neck. Despite his rough-housing, she realized he was careful to keep her tender feet out of harm's way, and the small part of her that didn't want to strangle him felt a measure of gratitude for that.

The floated for a while, rinsing away the sweat and fatigue of the last two days.

"So who is she?" Gwen asked, feeling both embarrassed and strangely secure in his arms. His skin against hers felt warm in contrast to the cold water. Not an entirely unpleasant sensation, she had to admit.

"She?"

"Your friend. From Skeeter Flats?"

"Lana."

"How do you know her?"

"You could say we've done business in the past."

"An armourer, then? Weapon-smith?"

"We should be there in another couple of days. You'll meet her then."

"How will we move around in the city without being recognized?"

"Leave it to me. I have a plan for that."

She groaned, loud enough for him to hear it.

After a few more minutes he stood and carried her to the bank and lowered her gently into a sitting position. She felt her blush return, knowing what she was expected to do.

"Can I put on my tunic at least? It's chilly out here."

"Dry yourself first," he said, pulling a tightly-rolled cotton blanket from his pack.

She dried and he helped her dress, keeping her damaged feet off the ground. She decided there was no point delaying for longer.

"Fine, then. What would you have me do?"

"Kneel in front of me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If you'd rather not pursue the Bond this evening, I suppose an early bed-time would do us both some good," he said, stepping away and making a show of rummaging through his pack.

"Wait," she muttered, then struggled to a kneeling position. It wasn't comfortable, but the mossy ground was soft on her knees and anything was preferable to being on her feet.

"If you're going to balk at every instruction, I'll likely lose interest before long."

"Duly noted," she said, resigned to whatever humiliations he had in mind.

Perhaps this was his revenge for her betrayal, for the loss of his home? Then let him wreak his vengeance - she could take whatever was coming - and hopefully their partnership would be all the stronger once the scales were balanced.

He stood and stepped in front of her, his cock dangling inches from her face. She turned her head away.

"No, don't turn away. Look at it."

She stifled an exasperated sigh and faced his nudity. Her face was burning with shame.

"Much better. Now smile sweetly and look up at me. This is a joy, not a chore."

She arranged her scowl into something resembling a smile and glared up into his eyes. She expected to see a self-satisfied smirk, but his expression was sober and his eyes were gentle. Somehow, that look wiped away some of her resentment. She tried again to make her smile more convincing.

"Very pretty," he said, and despite herself the words pleased her. "Now we'll start with a little kissing. Begin in this area," he traced an oval under his navel and between his hip bones. "Slow kisses, so I can feel the heat from your lips. And keep looking up at me - try to maintain eye contact."

She thought to protest, or make a sarcastic comment, or issue a loud, put-upon sigh, but in the end she decided instead to just get on with it. It was going to happen in any case, and the sooner it was started, the sooner it would finish. She leaned forward and, for the first time in her life, kissed a man somewhere other than his face - a slow kiss below his navel.

It felt...not as unpleasant as she'd imagined. Fresh from bathing in the river, his scent was mild; a barely-detectable male musk, not at all objectionable. His body hair tickled her nose and felt unfamiliar to her lips. His skin was cool and slightly damp.

"That feels good, Gwen," he said in a low voice that held not a trace of tease.

She kissed him again, a little to the left, and raised her eyes to find him looking down at her appreciatively. She imagined her warm lips against his skin would feel good to him, and she allowed her kisses to linger a little longer. After all, it cost her nothing to make it enjoyable for him this way.

He didn't seem inclined to rush her, and she took her time exploring his abdomen with her lips. It was only when she felt his warm cock nudging her chin that she realized he was mostly erect. The idea that his private parts were touching her face brought a renewed blush to her cheeks. It was absolutely disgusting and indecent.

"Kiss it," he said quietly.

"You expect me to-"

"Mmm. It's a good feeling for a man. Kiss it. Keep your eyes on mine."

She drew back and forced herself to look at his cock, wondering which part might be the safest to kiss. Not the tip - that would be the dirtiest area because of what issued from it. Although...he'd washed it in the river and she couldn't see or smell anything unpleasant at the moment.

She came at it from the side, pressing her lips to the shaft. The skin felt soft under her lips, and warm. She kissed it again, unasked, and it gave a short twitch in response as it continued to lengthen and thicken. She looked up at him on the third kiss and found his eyes closed, savoring her. Somehow it made her feel happy to be bringing him such obvious pleasure. Happy...and a little excited, too.

She continued to kiss, working her way from the base of his cock near his abdomen and out towards the head of it. He was fully erect now, pointing upward, and she was able to kiss the underside of his shaft as well.

"Feels really good. How about licking now instead of kissing? Long, wet strokes." His voice was low and breathy.

She hesitated but didn't protest; licking wasn't much different than kissing, and she'd already sunk so far down into depravity that minor variations hardly mattered anymore. She began to lick as he'd directed; slow, hot caresses with her tongue over his smooth, rigid shaft.

She could hear him breathing hard, quiet groans issuing from deep in his chest. She felt a perverse thrill at the idea that she could command his arousal in this way. Her own breath was coming faster as well.

"Okay...now I'd like you to put the head of my cock into your mouth."

She paused for a moment. It wasn't too different from licking, but surely this bordered on obscenity! To allow him to penetrate her mouth the way he would her nether opening...it was unthinkable.

"Harrow, I..."

"In your mouth...please," he said, transforming his command into a request. Somehow that made it better, put her in a more willing state of mind. She gave a quiet sigh of acceptance, then allowed the tip of his cock to slide between her lips.

"Feels incredible," he said. "Watch your teeth, okay? Just use your lips."

"Uhn," she replied. It made sense her sharp teeth would be painful against such silk-soft skin.

She closed her lips over it and he started a gentle rocking, pushing himself into her mouth an inch or two deep, then pulling back so just the tip was trapped between her lips. The motion was unmistakable in its intent and she went a deeper shade of red. He was having sex with her mouth, and she was allowing it.

More than allowing it...enjoying it. She could feel her heart pounding, the pleasant quiver of arousal in her stomach, the throbbing between her legs. Though dormant for many years, those lusty sensations had become familiar in the few days she'd known this man. For all his faults - and there were many - he was a considerate and skillful lover.

After a few minutes of restrained thrusting into her wet mouth he stepped back, knelt and helped her down onto her back. He loomed over her on his hands and knees, looking down into her eyes.

"That was well done. You have a delicate touch, my dear."

It was spoken as a compliment, and although Gwen couldn't imagine what kind of woman would be flattered by such a remark, she tried to be gracious.

"If there's nothing else, might we get underway, Harrow?"

He slid his fingers between her legs and she felt them glide through her nether lips with ease, slippery with her juices. Although she was shamed by the idea that taking his cock in her mouth had aroused her, it was impossible to get any redder in the face. For whatever reason, Harrow neglected to tease her about it, instead giving her a warm smile and gently filling her with his hard length.

She couldn't deny the pleasure she felt as he entered her - his cock stretched and stroked her inside in ways that made her gasp and moan. He went in deep and took her hard; he'd learned her preferences and enjoyed delighting her this way. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the muscles flex and bulge. There was much to be said for lying under a strong man.

"Soon," he gasped.

She readied her magic, focused it, prepared to force it past the witch-brand that sealed it inside her. The technique was familiar now; she understood her passion and his better than the first time they'd done it, and establishing the Bond had proven easier with each coupling.

She could tell by the change in his breathing that his climax was upon him; her own arousal was nearing its peak as well. She pushed hard, throwing all her power against the resistance of the brand on her cheek. Just enough of it seeped through to form the Bond; she could sense it connect, feel her power awaken as it drew on Harrow's life energy.

She was joined to him again, in body and in an intimate communion of magic.

*

Skeeter Flats was a tiny patch of habitable land surrounded on two sides by a foul-smelling, soggy swamp and on the south side by the wide Skrit river. Given a wide berth by anyone with common sense, morals or good taste, the Flats had nonetheless become a bustling port of trade. Wealth and poverty nudged up against one another in the densely-packed cesspool of vice and violence, encouraging the ugliest forms of opportunism. Many in the Kingdom hoped it would someday be swallowed by the swamp during an especially rainy spring.

Perhaps fortunately, Gwen didn't get to see much of it. She wore Harrow's rain-cloak, the cowl pulled over her head so far that it obscured most of her face and most especially the brand on her right cheek. The cowl prevented her from looking up or even straight ahead - her view was limited to the ground immediately in front of her feet. Her hands were bound in front of her, although the ties was loose and not uncomfortable.