The Chieftain’s Daughter Read Free

once more.
    Ishara stared at him and did not reply either way. She would keep her small victory, even if it killed her.
    He grunted and moved on. “Your name?”
    “Ishara.” She would give him that. Her name would be preferable to being called Slave.
    “Ishara, daughter of the pig Oolani chieftain.”
    She spit at the Manahotchi chief. “My father will always be more a man than you.”
    When she thought he would have her head for sure, all the older man did was wipe the spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. Nothing she did gave her the reaction she wanted.
    Silence filled the small space. She shifted in her place, fidgeting with the furs beneath her. It was most dangerous when the world fell silent, or at least, that is what her father taught her. She rearranged herself where she sat, rubbing at where the iron had begun to cut into the soft skin of her wrists.
    This drew Mechan’s attention back to her. He grabbed a wooden bowl of water and a cloth. “I will unbind you, but if you run, you will be killed, and I’ve not had to kill a woman in many, many years.”
    He stuck a key into the manacle’s lock and the cuffs dropped to the ground, freeing Ishara’s hands. The chief also unbound the binding around her ankles that had begun to wear into her skin. He did not, however, unlock her collar, and the weight of the chains hurt her neck.
    “My father will come for me and our people.”
    Mechan grabbed one of Ishara’s wrists. She jerked back, but couldn’t break his hold. He ignored the struggle and carefully turned her arms over to expose the undersides where thin cuts marred her wrists. Mechan dragged a cloth over them, wiping away the blood. The gentle brush of the rag increased her heart rate. It beat with both fear and fury. How could a man be so dominating and gentle at the same time?
    “That might be so, little one.”
    “That’s all you have to say?”
    “Yes. There is no more to say. He may come, and we will be ready for him.” Mechan dropped one of Ishara’s wrists and held out his hand.
    She placed her left hand in his without thought, watching him with a scrutinizing gaze. “If he finds me and I am not in the same state that I left my tribe, there will not be any mercy.”
    Like some dark creature, Mechan’s gaze flashed over her. “You mean, if you return without your virginity?”
    Heat chased her skin beneath the gold dust. “Yes.”
    Mechan snorted and dropped her arm. “Don’t worry. You may die a virgin for all I care.”
    Stunned, Ishara blinked a few times, and fought the frown tipping the corners of her lips. If he did not release her, and did not use her, she would die in this camp a maiden.
    “You are upset? Should this not make you happy?”
    Ishara recalled the touch of the women in the tent. She yearned to know more about those mysterious feelings. “Does this not defeat my purpose?”
    Again, the chief snorted. “There are many other uses for slaves, little one.”
    “Do not call me that,” Ishara demanded.
    Her focus shifted down to the hands that had held her so gently. His fingers were much thicker than the women’s.
    She wet her dry lips before asking, “Then what will you do with me, if you will not do that?”
    “I don’t know,” Mechan responded without looking at her. “It has been many years since I have had a slave. I usually leave them for my men.”
    Outside of the tent, Ishara heard some of his men laughing, and between their rowdy guffaws, women wept. It angered her. “How could you let men do that to those poor women?”
    “For tonight,” Mechan corrected, “I have plans.” Anger stained his words as he watched her. “I cannot leave this tent without being covered in gold. Your gold.” He grimaced around that fact. “It would be against our tradition, and my people will think me ungrateful. As for those women, your people did it to themselves.”
    She scooted back. “You said that I would be a virgin.”
    Mechan turned and hurried