"You. Are. Maddening." It wasn't just the language barrier. He had issues with questions. Her sisters’ husbands were like that. Answering vaguely, or with a grunt, or not at all, as if words were special treasures, not to be handed out willy-nilly and wasted on unimportant things like conversation.
By wash, he meant wash herself. He brought a bowl of water from somewhere and a cloth. A tugging match ensued when he pinched the corner of her blanket in his fingers and tried to take it away. The match was short. He won. The same was happening with the other women in the cave, someone crying piteously about it. It sounded like she was in pain. Every Orki washed, paying no attention to the person beside them. The dark Orki washed, nude, and wiped down right next to her. Her eyes wanted to follow his hands. She had to force them away.
The war beasts went out of the cave and came back shaking themselves. Even the animals washed.
Kate's husband sometimes went a week without a bath.
Everyone washed, everyone had a chance to make waste, and everyone packed up and mounted.
Hair in a loose braid without a tie, a blanket for her modesty, Corrin found herself seated again in the big Orki's lap, this time her legs across his instead of between. Another rider, holding the young girl from the ransacked village in his lap, passed them, her face red and blotchy, swollen on one side as if she'd been hit, still crying.
Putting her hand on the jaw of the male behind her to get his attention, Corrin said. "She's just a girl. Just a child. Your people know that, right? That Orki knows that? Did he hit her?"
He didn't have eyebrows, but the ridges above his eyes lowered to give him a thunderous expression. "Orki no hit women."
"Her face is all swollen. She's a child." Corrin stated the obvious. Who knows what moral laws these beasts had? "What is that rider going to do with her?"
"Not for Corrin. Worry for self." He answered her with finality.
"Then kill me!" The reckless demand burst out, furious. She would not be afraid of death and pain so much that she'd ignore that little girl's trouble. "I can't live with myself knowing she's being tortured, hurt. I won't. You let me help her, or you'll have to kill me, because I will do everything I can to save her. I won't stop. I can't stop."
Even in a good humor, the beast had a frightening visage.
It hardened before her eyes, angry and implacable.
She shivered. He would kill her. Do something awful. There was nothing, no one to stop him. She threw her body away from him. A paw caught her neck, the other caught one hand, then the other. She tried to slip and buck. Her every move, countered by his. A strap went around both her wrists, locking them in her lap. She kicked and scissored her legs. A strap went around her knees, knotted with ease. Tied again, he flipped her, bottom up. Still riding the war beast in the dark of night. Searnon rumbled with irritation, to which he rumbled back. All done with the same calm deftness he used to wake and exit the cave.
Her bottom was uncovered, and his palm came down.
"Corrin no fight. Corrin worry self. Mind self. Eyes on
Urku-ri. Obey her Urku-ri. Corrin is redress. Corrin count now." "That girl is a child!"
He smacked her thigh, right by the crack of her bottom. Her body bowed backward in response. Beneath her, the war beast kept a steady, dizzying pace over the ground.
"Obey. Corrin, count." He said again, with another painful assault to her backside.
"She might be twelve years old, at most. She is a child.
It's wrong. I can't do nothing. I can't!"
More spanks. Sharp, stinging. Bruised from yesterday. Again and again his hand came down, demanding she count, calling her redress, telling her, basically, to mind her own business. No excuses. No explanations. Not a single reassurance. Orki law had no mercy.
He spanked her. Reminded her she was helpless and that he was in charge.
About what felt like fifty spanks in, she gave in, hating herself. Her head over the side of the war beast, who hadn't slowed her pace, she felt dizzy, ill. Her rear, hurt. But it was the feeling of futility, of worthless action, that made her give in. The punishment was nothing. That his will was an unstoppable force of nature, able to force her to do what he wanted, was everything. If she gave in, he would stop. Maybe she could help the girl when they stopped. Get away. This was doing nothing.
"One." She cried out in answer to his demand.
"Good girl," he praised. Slowing long enough to rub his hand over her hurting flesh, acknowledging her defeat, before delivering another swat.
"Two." She counted out.
At twenty it seemed impossible to go on. Saying the number made them sting more, made her more aware of his hand, his body, his voice. A knee against her clavicle. Her breasts, which had felt heavy and swollen from the unbound position. The other leg under her thighs; he stretched her out for her punishment. She would never become accustomed to being naked and exposed for all to see, but the discomfort and emotion had pushed her to a point where she no longer cared about that. Her awareness owned by the sound of his voice and the bite of each spanking. "Good girl,
Corrin. Yes, littlehuumon," he crooned in encouragement. She counted and his hand fell. Again and again.
"Say next. Twenty-One."
