Harrow's Wife Ch. 01

To her surprise, he laughed. "To be honest, there was a moment where I considered it. A hundred crowns is twice what this house is worth."

"So why not give me up?"

He was silent for a few moments as he finished his rabbit. She saw his eyes change, a flicker of pain show in his expression.

"If you were a man, a fugitive, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But this business with witch-hunting...branding women and hunting down scared little girls...it goes against nature for a man do such things."

"We need more men thinking that way."

"Most do, but when you're poor and they pile enough gold under your nose..." he trailed off, then shook his head and pushed himself away from the table. "That was the best dinner I've had in months. We've just about lost the light, so why don't I handle the dishes and you wash up for bed?"

She was pretty sure she knew what 'wash up for bed' implied and she couldn't help a blush at the idea of what was to come. But she'd agreed to perform wifely duties, and those involved the bedroom as surely as the kitchen. She nodded her assent and excused herself from the table.

****

Gwen lay in the now-familiar bed naked under a wool blanket. She'd considered keeping the tunic on - Harrow would still have easy access to the part of her body most concerned - but in the end decided that it would be less embarrassing to abandon all modesty in one go than to have it slowly taken from her a piece at a time. And he'd surely seen her naked at least once before when he'd peeled her out of the filthy prison smock as she lay unconscious with the fever, so she wouldn't be revealing anything for the first time.

It was dark and quiet in the room, but she heard Harrow moving throughout the house and finally saw a dim illumination approaching the bedroom. At last he stood in the doorway holding a flagon in one hand and an oil lamp in the other. He was mercifully still clad in his tunic.

"Drink," he said, passing the warm, metal cup into her hand. He set the lamp on the bed table and sat on the bed next to her. She tensed; her instinct was to draw away but she forced herself to permit the closeness. This was inevitable - best to just endure it. The warm liquid in the cup smelled strongly of alcohol but there was also a faint herbal scent she couldn't identify. She raised it to her lips and sipped. It was mostly awful and she made a sour face.

He chuckled at her reaction. "Best to take it in large gulps and be done with it sooner."

"What's in it?"

"Brandy and rydel leaves."

"Rydel? Never heard of it." Gwen took a mouthful of the vile stuff and swallowed it down.

"It's not local. They use it in the Dry Lands, east of the mountains. I did some work over there a few years back and brought back some seed. Useful stuff, that rydel."

"What does it do?"

"Unburdens your mind. Chases the worries away. Dulls your aches and pains. That sort of thing."

Gwen felt a warmth spreading through her, though whether the brandy or the rydel was more responsible she couldn't tell. She realized she was grinning for some reason.

"Needs sugar, or maybe honey," she said, then giggled unexpectedly before covering her mouth with her hand.

"In the Dry Lands they chew the leaves. Turns their teeth black as pitch. Mixing it with brandy weakens it a bit but keeps your teeth white, at least."

She went to take another gulp but discovered the cup was empty. Had she finished already? She handed it to Harrow, who put it on the bed table next to the lamp.

"For a mercenary, you know a lot of...plant stuff," she said, then laughed again. She felt relaxed. Giddy.

"A bit of a hobby," he said, smiling at her obvious joy.

"I'm naked under this blanket." A part of her thought it an odd thing to confess but there didn't seem any reason to keep it a secret.

"How about you show me?"

She carelessly swept the blanket off, baring her body to him. Her face felt hot but the scar under her right eye had stopped throbbing. Had it healed already? She reached up to feel her cheek but Harrow gently intercepted her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Are we going to...you know?" she asked.

"Do you want to?" he said. His gaze was roaming over her exposed flesh. She didn't mind.

"I think I have to. I said I would."

"I want to," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Okay." She smiled and edged her knees apart. In the back of her mind she knew the coupling would be painful but couldn't bring herself to worry about it. It would be over in a minute and then she could sleep.

Instead of climbing on top of her, he set her hand down and touched her collarbone, then gently rubbed her shoulders. She sighed when his palms stroked over her soft breasts and hard nipples.

"Your hands are warm," she said, her voice a satisfied purr.

"Do you like that?"

"Mmm. Warm hands are really nice."

"You have beautiful breasts, Gwen."

"No one ever touches them." It seemed strange that no one touched them, when it felt so good.

"I like the way they feel."

"Your hands are warm. Keep going."

"Like this?" He began to squeeze them gently, his fingers pinching and rolling her nipples. He wasn't in a rush.

"Feels tingly. I like it."

"I'm going to suck on them."

"Mmm."

He slid off the mattress and knelt on the floor next to the bed, then lowered his head and took her left nipple into his mouth.

"Your mouth is hot. It feels good," she said.

He merely grunted in response, sucking and licking the nipple trapped gently between his teeth. She moaned and stroked his hair.

"Are you going to put it inside me soon?"

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

"I don't know. I think so."

"I should suck your other nipple first."

"Here." She gathered her breast in her right hand and pushed the nipple closer to his seeking mouth. He didn't make her wait, engulfing it and sucking eagerly. She started to squirm her hips and held his head tightly against her breast.

"Can you put it inside now?" she said.

"You want it now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Open your legs wide."

She did as he suggested, spreading her legs as wide as they would comfortably go. He climbed onto the mattress and knelt between her knees, then pulled his tunic up and over his head. He was naked underneath, and his chest was as well-muscled as she'd imagined it. Old battle scars marked his skin - he sure had a lot of them! His cock was already hard and her eyes lingered on it. Instinctively she knew she should fear it and the pain it brought, but somehow only a silly chuckle escaped her lips.

"Is that going to fit?" she asked.

He didn't answer immediately, instead lowering his hand to her sex. She felt his fingers on her most private flesh, gently touching her lips then slowly pushing inside her. His fingers were smooth and slippery - everything down there felt wet and hot. It wasn't usually that way - how had it become so messy?

"Yeah, it's going to fit," he said, then positioned himself over her, one hand on either side of her head.

"Put it inside," she breathed.

"Okay. Nice and slow."

She felt him at the entrance to her sex and raised her hips a little to help. He pushed inside very slowly, stopping a couple of times and backing up only to push forward again. She felt full in a way that was welcome and pleasing.

"How is that?" he asked.

"It feels full...and warm."

"Any pain?"

"No. Feels good." She looked up at him, into his brown eyes. She was puzzled. Normally this was the painful part but Harrow wasn't hurting her.

He began to rock back and forth, sliding his cock most of the way out, then most of the way back in. Smooth, gentle strokes, and each once sent a wonderful tremor through her. She started to raise her hips to meet his thrusts, straining to get him just a little deeper. The sensations were wonderful...but she wanted more.

"You're not deep enough."

He began to thrust with more power, driving his cock into her deepest parts. That felt better - so much better. It was what she'd wanted all this time.

"Good?" he asked, his voice strained with the exertion of his efforts.

"Mmmm. Are we going to do this every night?"

"Is that what you want?"

"It feels...really good." He breath was coming faster as well; the effort of lifting her hips in time with his thrusts was starting to tire her.

Suddenly he pulled his cock out of her and she felt hot liquid splatter on her abdomen below her navel. Surprised at the unexpected loss of his cock she looked down to see millky-white rivulets pooling on her stomach. The head of his penis was slowly dripping his white seed from the tip. The drops felt warm on her skin.

"What happened?" she asked, looking back up into Harrow's eyes only to find them closed, a satisfied smile on his face. Soon he opened them and met her curious gaze.

"I had to stop. We don't want a baby."

"I guess not. I already had a baby." She giggled again, although the thought somehow came with a pang of sadness.

"Stay still. I'll clean you up," he said, climbing off the bed to retrieve a towel. Gwen traced the tip of her index finger through the pools of semen on her stomach. They had a strange consistency. She smiled, then yawned.

"I'm awfully tired. I want to sleep now, Harrow." Her eyes were already half-lidded.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and she drifted off into a contented slumber.

****

The next morning there was a brief moment, as Gwen was transitioning from sleep to consciousness, that everything felt wonderful. She was warm. The bed was soft and the room was quiet. Her muscles were relaxed. She wasn't hungry or thirsty or scared.

It dawned on her then where she was, and she realized with alarm that she was naked and in bed with a man. And the man was also naked. Memory came rushing back like a slap in the face and she recalled with perfect clarity the moments of the previous night. She tried to leap out of bed but found to her horror that she was pinned down by Harrow's heavy arm slung across her waist. He seemed to be asleep. Her right cheek throbbed painfully.

She remembered the rydel leaves and her own wanton behaviour and she moaned quietly in humiliation. Had Harrow tricked her? Drugged her for his own lustful ends? But then she remembered his gentleness, the care he'd taken to make her comfortable. She'd known from the start that she'd end up lying under him - she'd agreed to perform so-called wifely duties. He hadn't taken from her anything she wasn't prepared to give, but he'd done what he could to make it bearable for her. More than bearable - pleasant.

In the end, she had to concede that he'd extended her a kindness, so she lay still and tolerated the contact between them. It wasn't so bad, even without the rydel. He was warm, at least. Having him close to her was warding off the chill of the autumn morning. His hot hand rested against her stomach and she found it somehow reassuring. It had been two decades since she'd lain with a man, and the sensations weren't as bad as she remembered.

She found herself dozing until finally he stirred. As soon as he removed his arm she was out of bed and grabbing for the tunic from the bedside chair. Part of her realized that modesty was a little silly given what had passed between them but old habits clung to life. She muttered something about making the breakfast and quickly fled the room, careful not to inadvertently catch a glimpse of his naked body during her exit.

****

Breakfast was an exercise in avoiding eye contact or any mention of the previous night. She was certain her face was bright red; her scar throbbed as if to emphasize the point.

Can you put it inside now? You're not deep enough! Had she really spoken those shameful words? The more she considered it, she'd have preferred the pain of dry intercourse over the humiliation of her wanton pleading. Those rydel leaves were a curse, not a blessing.

"Was I that bad?" Harrow asked, his voice teasing. She glanced up at him to find him wearing an amused grin. She quickly looked away.

"What? No...that's not...I was thinking of something else entirely," she said, flustered. "And what kind of question is that to ask a woman? You're not in the army anymore."

He laughed. "I was never actually in the army," he said.

"I figured that was where your kind got their start." She was desperately happy for the chance to change the subject and turned back toward him with an expression of great interest.

"Some do. I started with my company when I was fourteen. I couldn't swing a sword or draw a bow. But I could brush down a horse, dig a latrine and fetch water for the camp, and those were good enough reasons to keep me around."

"So you were a mercenary right from the start."

"Yup. I finally earned my stake in the company when I was sixteen. Spent twenty-five years fighting wars for other people. It was a good life. Well, for the most part."

"Why did you quit?"

"Who could resist the lure of chicken farming?" he said with a smile.

"No, really."

He gazed out through the window and began to fidget with his mug. It was a while before he spoke.

"When I started, things were simple. We had our men, they had their men and whoever was standing at the end was the winner. I liked that. It was brutal but simple. Honourable, in a sense."

"So what changed?"

He shook his head slowly. "Used to be we were supplementary fighters - we got hired to swell the ranks of this army or that. We spent lots of time on the battlefield and that was fine. But the business changed over time, and our jobs became all about putting down peasant uprisings and going door to door to find rebels. Quelling civilian unrest - all the stuff that was too dirty for the soldiery. There was no honour to it - just threats, deceit, trickery, bribes. Then we took one small town where the peasants were stirring up trouble..."

He trailed off and didn't continue; just stared out the window to someplace far away, his eyes haunted.

"What happened?"

"Realized it was time to quit. Long past time. I cashed in my stake and never looked back." He put the mug down and stood up. "My thanks for a lovely breakfast. I'll see if I can bring us back another hare for the pot. Think you're up to finishing the mending today?"

She was caught off guard by his abrupt retreat but recovered quickly. "The mending, sure. I might wash out the linens too, if you'll bring water."

He nodded and she walked him to the doorway and watched him pull on his boots and overcoat. As he left the house he gave her bottom a slap, eliciting a surprised yelp. She could hear him chuckling as she slammed the door behind him.

She grumbled to herself as she started the sewing, angry more at herself for allowing herself to get carried away in his bed than at him for his teasing. Naturally he'd be amorous - he was a man and lust was in the nature of men. But for her to lose herself in desire when her focus SHOULD have been on rescuing Ana was even worse. She needed a plan, and she needed to reclaim the power to protect her daughter from The Hound. Lying naked with Harrow wouldn't restore her magic.

A thought struck her so suddenly that she jammed the needle into her index finger, drawing blood and a curse. She sucked on her finger as she considered the implications of the new idea - and the more she thought about it the more it filled her with both hope and dread.

****

She watched as Harrow swallowed the last mouthful of the stew she'd prepared for dinner. She'd finished her tiny portion already - nervousness had robbed her of most of her appetite. She smiled patiently through his heartfelt praise of her cooking skills and sewing accomplishments while at the same time reviewing how she wanted approach the coming conversation.

"I was thinking of last night," she said when he'd run out of compliments. She felt the blush colour her cheeks at the admission. She dared a quick glance up at his face to find a wolfish grin spreading.

"Oh? What kind of thoughts were they?" The tease was thick in his voice.

She cleared her throat. "There's power in the act."

"What act?"

She shot him a withering glance - the bastard knew very well what she was talking about. "Congress. Between a man and a woman. Under the right circumstances, quite a bit of power."

"I see."

"I might be able to harness that power and use it to invoke a Bond, and that would allow me to use magic."

"How can you invoke anything? I thought the brand on your cheek sealed your magic inside you."

"I can access a small bit of it, even through the brand. It might be enough."

"How would this Bond allow you to use your magic?"

She took a deep breath. This was where it would get awkward. "Under the Bond, I wouldn't be drawing from my magic. I'd be...borrowing...from your energy to make the magic happen."

There was a silence and when she looked up at him the smile was gone, replaced by a skeptical expression.

"Just how much would you be borrowing?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I've never done this. I don't think anyone has tried it for a long time. I only heard about it from my grandmother years ago."

"Would I get this energy back?"

"Probably...eventually. Surely they wouldn't call it a 'bond' if it was harmful?"

"How long would I be enspelled?"

"I have no way to know. The effect would be temporary - beyond that I could only guess."

He paused. "And you're asking because you can't do it with me opposed?"

"I would ask in any case. But it's true, I don't have enough power to overcome your resistance and invoke the Bond."

He was quiet for a few minutes, then shook his head. "I don't think so. I'd prefer to keep things as they are. Maybe we can find another way to help your daughter."

"Can I ask why you refuse?"

"You said yourself - you'd do whatever needs doing to save your girl. I respect that, but I'm not keen to let your magic bleed me dry."

"I wouldn't do that!" she said.

"To rescue your baby? Of course you would. Any mother would."

She cast pride aside and rushed to kneel beside his chair. She grasped his hands and looked up into his face.

"Harrow, please. Ana will be helpless against The Hound. I need magic to rescue her but I can't use my own. You've risked so much to help me already - I beg you to go one step further."

"Gwen-"

"I swear on the life of my daughter I will not allow the Bond to harm you. You have my oath. May the gods strike her dead if I lie."

He looked down at her for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally he sighed and nodded.

"Tell me what's involved."

****

As hard as convincing Harrow to participate had been, the invoking itself would be harder. Although she'd never done it before, she figured she would need to apply her magic at the height of their shared passion in order to forge the Bond.

But passion was nowhere in her mind as she lay naked under the wool blanket. Harrow had gone to the stream to wash and she awaited his return with mixed anxiety and dread. There would be no calming rydel leaves tonight - she needed her mind sharp to call forth what little magic she could muster.

More than that - she needed a sharp mind AND a powerful lust, and the latter requirement seemed near-impossible. The indignity of lying underneath a man she'd known only a few days was bad enough. Add to it the humiliation of exposing her own naked body and the agony of the still raw burn on her cheek and she figured it would take a bloody miracle for this idea to work.

Too soon he climbed into bed, taking a position behind her so she was seated between his wide-spread legs. She could feel the warmth of his chest against her back as she allowed herself to lean against him. His arms went around her from behind, hands merely resting on her bare stomach, nothing more. She was relieved he wasn't over-eager and forceful - it made an intolerable situation less unpleasant.