Unexpected Bride (Warlord Series Book 6) Read online

  Unexpected Bride

  Warlord Series

  By Michelle Howard

  Published by Michelle Howard

  Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Howard

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Unexpected Bride (Warlord Series, #6)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this novel with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please buy an additional copy for each recipient.

  No part of this book may be distributed in any format, in whole or in part without the express written consent of the author.

  Thank you for respecting the author's hard work.

  This is a work of fiction and is not a reflection or representation of any person living or dead. Any similarity is of pure coincidence.

  Chapter 1

  “Saran!”

  Fires burned. Smoke rose in slim clouds of gray. Shouts and screams of pain faded. Chest rising and falling in beat with each breath he took, Saran turned. For a brief moment the sight of the warrior walking toward him shimmered in a blended array of colors. Red, orange and a thin sheen of blue played with his vision.

  Rage continued to tug like a beast on a tightly held leash. Saran inhaled sharply and straightened, the blade in his hand falling to slap against his thigh as he gained control of the loosening grip of Fenal. It was always like this when the battle rage left him. Trembling but with emotions and every sense sharply alert.

  “Have we rousted them all, Casin?” He finally recognized the Warlord who stopped across from him.

  Hesitating, Casin’s gaze took in Saran’s appearance and he could imagine how he appeared to his friend. Blood dripped down his side, soaking his torn leathers, his hair clumped with sweat fell into his eyes, obscuring his vision and his body throbbed from minor scrapes and bruises. The need to fight pulsed but slowed as more and more control returned.

  “Steady, old friend?”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked as he worked to contain the high of battle. Saran nodded. “Steady.”

  “We defeated all save for those who ran like cowards.” Pleasure lit Casin’s black eyes.

  “Victory!” Saran shouted and raised his sword high.

  This was news they needed. The other four warriors and two Warlords with him cheered and repeated the claim with a mighty roar.

  “Victory! Victory!”

  Around him the men and women from the village came out, tears of gratitude in their eyes. Kuran left devastation in his wake and after weeks of chasing, they’d finally managed to beat back a small group of his warriors today.

  Onak, the leader of the village, rushed forward and bowed to Saran. Dirt marred his pristine tan tunic and leggings from where he’d rescued a youngling in the path of a rampaging warrior sent by Kuran. “Thank you, Warlord Saran. Please convey our appreciation to the Overlord.”

  Already striding toward his impatient hapfe, Saran accepted his thanks. The bi-pedal mount tossed its head and snorted as he mounted. Holding the reins, he surveyed the damage once more with a knowledgeable glance. The invading dead would be buried without honor, no prayers said to the Blessed One in hopes they never made it to the Hills.

  His people would recover. This time. Saran’s face tightened. But how much longer before attitudes turned dark at these random acts of violence and sparked a war of uncontrollable portions? Even Saran grew tired of trying to roust the small insurgents. From one day to the next, he or his men fought to hold back the spreading numbers as the former Warlord attempted to dispose Vaan’s place. His brother entrusted Saran to deal with the mutiny in their home country of Kaban but sometimes Saran wondered if his efforts were wasted.

  “Saran?”

  Casin again. Saran knew how lucky he was to have a friend as close as Casin. Since he began overseeing their home country Kaban for his brother, many looked at him differently. As if he was no longer one of them. But not Casin. His friend continued to treat him as the Warlord he’d always been.

  “I am fine, Warlord. Summon the others. We leave shortly. I wish to return home before night falls.”

  “Are you in a hurry because the battle has fatigued you or do you long for the pleasure of a certain female in your bed?” Casin smiled as he teased.

  Talk of who shared his bed occupied too much of his friend’s attention. Though true. His shaft throbbed, the need for a good bedding creating a painful ache. “Best you see to my orders, Casin, and worry less about my needs.”

  Tossing him a reckless grin, Casin bowed before taking off to pass around his orders and to shout for his men to hurry. Saran leaned over the neck of his hapfe surveying the damage once more. No lost lives. They were lucky. Very lucky indeed for Kuran could have done much worst.

  ***

  Melane gathered around the outside stairs as riders pounded into the courtyard. Three Warlords and four warriors returned from the village. There had been no time to figure out what happened earlier when the men rushed away at the sounds of battle not far away.

  None of them had to wonder where to place the blame. Former Warlord Kuran. Over the last few weeks, these small skirmishes had increased in frequency. Everyone grew weary of hearing the horns sound. Nerves and tension grew with each day the Warlord remained loose. Making things worst, there were those who hinted his numbers were expanding. If true, it did not speak well for Kaban.

  Eyeing the large male in the lead of the sweaty warriors, Melane grew jittery. Her palms dampened and excitement sent flutters to her belly. Warlord Saran dismounted, tossing the reins to one of the stable helpers and laughing with the Warlord at his side.

  From a distance, his form attracted the stares of many females present. Some were fellow servants and some were daughters of honorable warriors and Warlords of Kaban, all eager to grab the attention of the stern Warlord heading toward the stairs and the main entrance of Overlord Vaan’s stronghold.

  Melane stood among them, face bland but a knowing warmth centered in her chest. The warmth spread all over when Saran’s dark gaze landed on her. Piercing brown eyes paused and her breath stilled. Rapid thumps pounded as her heart picked up its beat. The crowd noise, conversation and stomping hapfe faded into the background. All her focus narrowed on the Warlord striding in her direction.

  Warlord Saran leaped up the bottom three steps and stopped beside Melane, one step below her. His great height still placed his head above her own, leaving her to tip her head back to meet his stare. Up close the potency of his presence hit her full on. Melane curled her fingers at her side in order to keep from reaching out for him. She craved a brief touch, a slight brush of skin to skin contact but to do so would overstep the boundaries.

  Fierce desire glittered from his dark orbs along with the remnants of Fenal. She shivered. Battle rage often left
him aroused and hungry for bed play. It meant he’d use most of the night expending the energy. The thought should scare her but Melane was never one to fear her Warlord’s pleasure.

  She needed to speak. To say something. But faced with his vibrating energy and the force of his penetrating gaze, words failed Melane. Only a stutter escaped. “W-welcome, Warlord Saran.”

  “My room,” he growled, shifting around her to enter the opened doors behind them.

  There was no need to translate the two word command. Breath rushed out on a long exhale. Melane pressed a hand to her chest.

  “Whoa!” Neera, her friend, fanned her face and watched Warlord Saran’s rear in the fitting leathers.

  Melane elbowed her. “Neera, mind yourself.”

  Neera turned innocent wide blue eyes in her direction. “Truly the Blessed One would have to remove my eyes from my head to stop looking at one as pleasurable as Warlord Saran. He and the Overlord are warriors to admire much.”

  Neera would know as she’d once shared Overlord Vaan’s bed in welcome invitation.

  “Come.” Neera grabbed Melane’s hand and tugged her forward, breaking her from the spell often left in Warlord Saran’s wake. “He will not wish you to tarry.”

  Truth. She didn’t want to upset him by being late. Unfortunately her name was called many times to help and assist with prep. Celebration broke out with news of the small win against Kuran. Melane could have escaped sooner if she mentioned Warlord Saran had need of her but she tried best not to use his interest for favor. Never did she wish to be accused of slacking or avoiding her fair share of duties.

  A Warlord grabbed a servant and tossed her over his shoulder. Shrill screams of pleasure broke out and others laughed as he stormed from the hall with his prize. Not many were as circumspect. As she sped from the kitchen pantry, arms laden, Melane spied several friends with their skirts tossed about their hips as warriors pumped away between their thighs.

  Flushing, she turned her gaze away.

  “I wonder at Warlord Saran’s continued interest in you when you still blush at bed play as easily as a youngling male with his first woman.”

  Mugs and plates wobbled in her hold as she spun to face the sneering voice. The Kabanian Warlord close on her heels was viewed as worthy by many. His attractive features, waist-length black hair paired with eyes in an unusual shade of golden brown assured his invitations never met resistance. Melane had no care for the way his mouth curled down in her presence or the lack of respect when he spoke to females.

  “Warlord Bran.” She bowed respectfully and lowered her gaze but when she tried to walk around him, he sidestepped into her path.

  “Do you still warm his sheets?”

  Her head jerked up on a gasp and his responding laughter had her hands tightening on the stoneware in her grasp. It wasn’t the question which offended. Warriors and Warlords alike always asked a female about her availability before pressing their interest. What crossed the lines of civil etiquette was the fact none dared test Warlord Saran’s claim on Melane because his possessive attention to her was obvious.

  Holding in a rare burst of temper, Melane declared smoothly, “Warlord Saran has not withdrawn his invitation.”

  He grunted and moved slightly to her left, clearing the way. “It is a pity to hear this. I eagerly await my turn.”

  Swallowing her fear and bile, Melane didn’t answer and rushed away. It was the way of Kabanian warriors. Trepidation when faced with a male’s strength was wise. Not all were bad but not all were good. It paid to be smart. She learned this by listening and observing. Never did Melane wish to end up in a position which jeopardized her safety.

  For the rest of the evening, she stayed in the presence of others, fear lending an extra edge to her vigilance. She worked until the crowd seemed lighter. Those who remained drank and recounted tales of glory. Females sat on laps getting fondled and a few others hung about in hopes of being chosen by a Warlord to end the evening.

  Ignoring the festivities winding down and the clean up, Melane parted ways with Neera and hurried up the curved stairs, which lead to the upper levels. Only Warlords and their most trusted warriors received rooms in this part of the holding.

  Two doors away from the room Saran used as his own, Melane forced herself to slow and stop. Familiar warriors inclined their heads toward her as they passed down the hall. Licking her lips, she sought to compose herself in a calm manner. Her own desire made it difficult.

  As she approached the locked door, Melane took a deep breath and relaxed. She knocked twice, pleased her hand did not tremble. Steps thumped in her direction. The latch clicked and the door swung open to reveal Saran wearing only a drying cloth about his hips. Hair fell about his tanned face, released from the tail of earlier. Wet strands clung to powerful shoulders while arms bunched with restrained strength as he grabbed her by the elbow and jerked her forward.

  Melane fell against his broad chest, his arm snagging about her waist as he used his free hand to slam the door behind her.

  “You are late.”

  She pushed her palms against rock-solid muscles to tip her head back and see his face. His fresh scent filled her nostrils and heated her loins. “I came as soon as possible.”

  “And yet I am without release.” Saran’s dark eyes glowered as he muttered the complaint.

  Her hands went to the front fastening of her dress. Appeasing him was no hardship. It was her duty. “I can be ready in but moments, Warlord.”

  He stepped back, arms folding across his chest as he watched. Nerves tripped along her spine but Melane finished and let the blue material slide down her arms, from her hips and into a pile about her ankles. Still he did not move though his gaze dropped to stare at her breasts. In response, her nipples tightened.

  Fighting the instinct to cross her arms over them, Melane toed off her shoes and rolled down her long stockings. Bare, she headed to the massive bed taking up most of the room and covered in brown and white furs. She turned flat on her back and parted her thighs as he’d taught her.

  At this point of the evening, he usually could not wait. Prickles dotted her flesh at his continued delay. What if he sent her away? The very thought caused another shiver. Finally, steps thudded in her direction only to pause at the side of the bed. Melane opened her eyes. “Have I displeased you, Warlord Saran?”

  A hesitation. Very slight and probably unnoticeable by most. But Melane made an art of knowing Saran. Her heart ached and bled for him though she kept her deep caring a secret. It would not do for him to realize the depth of her feelings. She knew this as sure as she knew nothing else. If Warlord Saran sensed a hint of what she felt, he would leave. It was not acceptable Kabanian behavior and he was ever the proper Kabanian.

  “You please me much, Melane.”

  She let out a breath, the rustle of material letting her know he’d dropped the drying cloth. Melane looked toward the ceiling and closed her eyes as the bed dipped with his weight. His body slid over hers, hard muscles a counterpoint to the soft give of her own. Melane’s heart sped up.

  “It will be a long night,” he warned in a whisper against her ear.

  Her fingers clenched. She wanted to caress his face and warm her hands with his touch. It took restraint but she remained still. His toqa rubbed along her upper leg, her thighs flexed in response. “I am willing.”

  The traditional words were no sooner past her lips when his toqa entered her in one smooth glide. Her toque spasmed about the thick intrusion but she didn’t flinch. Melane stayed as still as possible, his grunts from above, as he pumped back and forth, let her know how much pleasure he took from her body. A small smile curved her lips. Her Warlord wanted her. There was no greater reward for a woman than to give a warrior respite.

  After Saran groaned in release, he collapsed atop her and Melane had to fight the very strong need to fold her arms about him. It wasn’t done, she reminded herself. Her odd needs and desires would appall him. How many times did she have this batt
le with herself when their bodies joined?

  “Do you have to return to the lower level?” Warlord Saran pushed up and rolled away as he asked the question.

  The abrupt withdrawal was normal but disappointing nonetheless. If she voiced these strange urgings, it would have others look on her as abnormal. Melane shifted to her side to keep Saran within sight and tugged the loose sheet over her cooling body. “No, I am finished for the evening.”

  He reached beneath the pillow and added a second blade to the one already present. She glimpsed both deadly weapons and shivered. Satisfied with his protection should she have the sudden desire to harm him, he grunted. Another smile graced her lips. As if she’d ever seek to harm him. She liked to think he kept them there to protect her as well if someone attacked while they were together.

  Saran stood on a stretch and yawned. “You will stay until I am without need.”

  Her gaze dropped to his rounded buttocks, the long line of his legs as he walked to the water bowl on a stand and swiped between his legs with a casualness she’d never manage. He picked up a clean, folded white square from beside the bowl and dipped it in the water before returning to the bed. He handed it over and nudged the sheet down to her lower legs, revealing her entire body to his gaze.

  “I would have the pleasure of seeing you while I work.”

  Melane left the covers where he’d moved them, revealing her naked body and used the cloth to clean herself as Warlord Saran returned to a small side table and sat. Tools and the bits he used to create his personal collection of knives cluttered the top. Most nights if he didn’t send her away immediately, she liked to watch him work.

  At times like now, they didn’t speak. She didn’t dare attempt conversation while he concentrated on something which gave him obvious enjoyment. The companionable silence didn’t bother her at all.

  Saran bowed his head, his complete focus on his task. He was a master at the craft. She’d had the pleasure of watching him create the daggers he kept for his own use or gifted to those warriors he counted as friend. All spoke highly as the blades flowed true to their target when thrown. She’d touched the edge of one once and cut her finger. He’d not been pleased that night and voiced his displeasure clearly.