An Excerpt From:
TAKING KARRE
Copyright ©
MICHELLE M. PILLOW, 2009
All Rights Reserved
Marriage. It was never
something Karre had considered. Well, she had
considered a fake engagement once, but that really didn’t count since she
would have gotten off the plane before saying her vows. Here, now, standing in
the main hall of Battlewar Castle, she realized
there was no way out—no matter how often she searched her rope-bound wrists
looking for the portable jump prototype—because right now, in this moment, she
was getting married.
A crescendo of
laughter and cheering resounded over the hall. The boisterous uproar had been
going on for some time, as excitement pumped through the crowd. Women wiggled
and pranced in their tight corset tops and billowing skirts, trying to entice
the men. Some of the gigantic knights wore lightweight tunics, others leather
jerkins like the guards, others light chainmail and pieces of armor, and still others wore no shirt at all. Big
metal goblets had been set before them, next to matching pitchers, on the long
rows of rectangular tables. Muscles bulged, littered with puckered scars and
tattooed designs.
The light came from a
large fireplace on the far side of the room. Like most things in this place,
it was immense and towering. Woven tapestries lined the walls in strips of
material, showcasing coats-of-arms and various symbols.
Karre looked around, studying the artifacts,
wondering how much they’d be worth in trade.
Not now.
Blend in.
Karre turned her attention to the head table, set high above the hall
at the end of the room as a place of honor for the
bridegrooms. Out of all the ceremonies on all the planes, she had never seen
something as simple as the Starian marriage.
Already two of the women had been claimed. Karre
frowned, trying to remember their names—Jayne and Lilith. She hadn’t really
been paying close attention from the moment it became evident they wouldn’t be
able to help her escape. The women had discussed fighting, but nothing came of
it.
An oversized,
ill-tempered man they called Lord Sorin pointed at
Lilith, stating the single word, “Mine,” and, with that, they’d been married.
Next, Lord Ronen, Sorin’s brother pointed at
Jayne. “Mine.” And so, too, was Jayne wed.
In a way, Karre respected it. No
pretense, no lies, just a simple point of the finger, a single uttered
word and it was done. There were no promises of never-ending love, of
happily-ever-after, of enduring whatever.
She looked at Vidar, meeting his guarded gaze. Karre tried to smile at him, but he quickly turned
his eyes away. Her smile fell. It wasn’t like she wanted to be married to him,
she assured herself. Why should she care who chose her? All the men appeared
to be well built and made of muscles. Sir Vidar
wasn’t so special. He just happened to be the first one of them she ran into.
Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to actually honor
vows she didn’t agree to.
Karre watched him carefully, taking in his every movement while trying
to appear as if she didn’t. Vidar looked at her
again and she pointedly ignored him. Two could play his game. She glanced at
Paige before turning to look over her shoulder at the watching crowd. A
grinning redhead in bright green sunk beneath a long table filled with
knights. By the way her man’s head rolled back and his hand slipped under the
table it was clear the woman indiscreetly sucked the guy’s cock. Karre saw a couple of others do the same around
the hall. Oddly enough, no one seemed to notice the bold
behavior.
When no one spoke to
claim Paige or herself, she turned back to the table. Four men remained,
presumably one had already taken Paige—the first in line,
if she wasn’t mistaken by the way he tried too hard not to look
directly at the woman. Each bridegroom wore a different-colored
long tunic, reaching to the knees, over tight brown breeches. Woven belts were
knotted at their waists, the end straps hanging along the right thighs. All
were strong, with proud eyes and humorless
expressions. The first limped when he walked, but by the way he stared at the
other bride, Karre easily assumed he belonged to
Paige. Remaining were Sir Vidar, a brown-blond man
with a pronounced scar on his cheek, and a bearded knight with irritated eyes.
Blend in Karre. Right now you are a bride.
If bold behavior was what these men wanted, then that was
exactly what she would give them.
“Oh, all right, I’ll
start,” Karre announced, drawing attention to herself. Paige seemed almost relieved. She grinned
at the bridegrooms and batted her lashes, doing her best not to look too long
at Vidar as she gave the others equal attention.
“My name is Karre. I like jewels, riches, power,
servants, fine clothes and to be worshiped daily.” She paused and arched a
challenging brow, “I also like to get my way. Any takers?”
The brown-blond
warrior looked horrified by her announcement and recoiled in his seat. He ran
his fingers through his short hair before scratching the scar on his cheek.
“Come on, gentlemen,
don’t be shy,” Karre strode before them, feeling
very much like an auctioneer selling herself. She carried her bound arms like
the situation was an everyday occurrence. “I only bite when I want to.”
Sir Vidar cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. Karre winked at him, unable to help herself as she
witnessed his obvious discomfort.
The angry man snorted
and shook his head in denial. Standing, he said, “I have no wish for a bride.
Excuse me.”
Karre laughed, highly amused by the way he practically ran to get away
from her. Perhaps she’d be the first woman in their history to not be claimed.
She supposed if no one married her, she would be free to leave. Ignoring the
slight ping to her ego, she dropped her arms in front of her. “Here I am in a
room full of warriors and not a one of them is man enough to handle me. I must
say this sets a personal record.”
“I can handle you.”
Sir Vidar stood. “Mine.”
