Journey of the Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  She moved over him and between his legs, pushing his apart with her knees as she

  knelt there at the apex of his thighs. Leaning forward, she braced her hands on his

  chest, her fingertips grazing his hard paps. “Tell me what you want,” she said.

  “You.”

  Lowering her lips to his right nipple, she lightly clamped her teeth around the

  puckered nub. She heard him suck in his breath and felt his hips arch toward her. When

  she ground herself against his straining flesh, he buried his hands in her hair.

  “By the gods, wench,” he said. “You’ve no idea what that does to me.”

  She kissed her way across his chest to his other nipple. He was squirming beneath

  her, his cock hard against her belly. Nibbling as he often did her, she tongued his pap

  until he was groaning.

  “Wench, please!” he begged.

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  Rylee grinned and reached down to wrap her fingers around his cock. She

  continued her fleeting kisses down his chest, over his side, along his hip, across his taut

  belly and through the crisp curls at the junction of his legs. His hands cupped her head,

  tousling her hair and when her warm mouth slid down his shaft, he grunted with the

  sheer pleasure of it.

  “Aye, milady,” he whispered. “Take your man.”

  Over the years they had been lovers, Rylee knew precisely what things her lover

  enjoyed, and she had grown very adept at providing him with the satisfaction he

  craved. She knew the way he liked her tongue to flick over him—to lick, to penetrate, to

  slide. She knew the tighter she clamped her lips around his swollen head and the

  stronger she suckled him, the easier she could drive him to mindless panting. His heels

  were digging into the mattress as he lifted his hips up for her. She could feel the

  quivering of his legs as he strained not to come as she licked him—dragging her tongue

  along the entire length of his shaft then flicking it over his head to taste the seepage.

  “Rylee,” he groaned, his hands tensing in her hair. It was a warning.

  She stopped tormenting his cock and straddled his hips, reaching down to guide

  him into her moistness. He thrust upward and she was impaled upon him, wriggling

  against the rock-hard, velvet cock that stretched her and filled her so completely. She

  ground against him then lifted her sheath until he was almost free of her then slid down

  him once again.

  “Wench!” he gasped, and slapped his hands to her hips, guiding her up and down

  his shaft as he arched his hips up to meet each downward glide.

  He was hard. He was silky. He was hers and his body belonged to her. With each

  push, each thrust, each sweet slide, each lift of her hips from his, desire built within her

  until her upper body was coated with a light sheen of perspiration. Heat was flowing

  between her legs and with every meeting of their genitals she felt the squeeze of her

  womb welcoming him.

  Alsandair felt the throbbing, the pulsing and the grip of her inner muscles just a

  moment before the eruption of her orgasm washed over his cock. He watched her

  throw her head back—her waist-length hair falling to tickle his knees—and he pushed

  hard into her and held.

  “Sandair!” she cried out, and ground against him as the quickening claimed her and

  she oozed sweet liquid around his flesh.

  He held her still with his fingers digging into her hips and within a moment his

  cock was pulsing inside her as her vaginal walls milked him of his seed. He strained

  upward against her softness and felt her thighs clamp around him. The peaks of her

  breasts hardened even more and he longed to draw them into his mouth, to suckle her

  as her sheath was suckling him.

  Spent, Rylee trembled as the last quiver rippled through her and she sat there with

  him deep inside her, her breaths coming in quick, shallow intakes, a light coating of

  sweat glistening on her skin. Her eyes were closed as she reveled in those last few

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  movements of his cock until his hardness began to diminish and the slickness of his

  cum eased him from her.

  Alsandair reached up for her and brought her down to his chest, her cheek against

  his shoulder as he smoothed her hair. “I love you,” he said gently.

  “And I love you,” she answered.

  As the brightness of dawn spread over the seaside town, they fell asleep like that—

  her in his arms and him in her heart.

  * * * * *

  For the next several days Rylee went nowhere without Alsandair at her side.

  Between them, a tiny brown hand clutched theirs and a lilting little voice spoke words

  they didn’t understand. Behind them, Kyle and his brother would walk—interpreting

  the excited phrases Ataa chirped as new clothing and shoes were purchased along with

  more toys than the little boy had ever known existed. The five of them ate meals

  together and went sightseeing with Khalid, making sure they had guards near them at

  all times.

  “Bourguiba had no friends. Al-Shishakli had a few friends but many enemies,”

  Khalid had explained. “I doubt one of his few friends will dare to take exception to his

  death in the desert but we will be careful nonetheless.”

  It had been Khalid’s scimitar that had ended the prince’s life that night and as al-

  Shishakli’s blood had seeped into the greedy sand, a reign of evil the likes of which the

  Midworld had long since feared came to an end. Not a one of either his men or

  Bourguiba’s survived Khalid’s attack, but Kyle’s brother wasn’t taking any chances

  with the lives of his new friends.

  “Samanie Bazi Atfal!” Ataa said, pointing to a group of carved wooden soldiers.

  “You’ve got enough toys,” Kyle said sternly then laughed when Ataa tugged at

  Alsandair’s hand and led him into the shop where the brightly colored toy soldiers

  were displayed.

  “He’s spoiling that boy,” Khalid told Rylee who had shaken her head and let go of

  Ataa’s hand as the child and her lover entered the store.

  “Aye, he is,” Rylee agreed.

  Alsandair had quietly embraced the idea of Ataa joining them. Not once had he

  protested when Rylee had told him her plan to take the little boy with them and to

  claim him as their own. He had simply smiled and taken her into his arms.

  “I think he remembers being a child whose parents rarely had time for him. For him

  to think a child was sold, was about to be given into the hands of a man who would

  defile him, hurts his tender heart,” she explained. “Let him spoil Ataa. Both are

  enjoying the spoiling.”

  Khalid had sighed deeply, but in his eyes was the same tenderness she’d witnessed

  in Alsandair’s and—truth be told—in Kyle’s.

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  On the day Captain Andelton sent word that the Mary Constance was taking on the

  last of its return cargo and would be weighing anchor for home the next day, it was

  with sadness that Rylee and Alsandair bid Khalid goodbye.

  “You will always have a safe haven here,” Khalid assured them. “Do not hesitate to

  return. You are under the protection of the al-Rashid family.”

  Alsandair had thanked the Midworlder still once more
for his help in rescuing

  Rylee and had bid Khalid to come visit them. Rylee and he then left the two brothers to

  say their goodbyes to one another and had gone back to the inn to pack for the trip

  home.

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  Chapter Ten

  Once the Mary Constance was well out to sea, Captain Andelton performed the

  Joining ceremony over Alsandair and his lady since they had had trouble finding a local

  priest who would marry them without the banns being posted, a sufficient amount of

  time having passed and a rather substantial tithe being offered.

  Kyle and Sedric Bonny, the first mate, stood witness—as did the entire ship’s crew.

  As the sun set, the sailors were playing hornpipes and concertinas and dancing jigs in

  celebration of the Joining. Ataa was running about and enjoying all the merriment as he

  tried his hand at following the dance steps. A portion of rum was given to each man

  and Briarly, the ship’s steward, brought out a couple of fruit cakes he had baked for the

  occasion. By the time the festivities ended, Alsandair lay in his bunk with Rylee at his

  side and a content smile on his handsome face.

  * * * * *

  Ataa stood looking up at the small, bare-chested man who was scurrying up the

  rigging like a monkey and would have scrambled up behind him had not Bonny put

  out a staying hand and shook his head to deny the child the pleasure.

  “Uncle!” Ataa complained, his little face turned to one side, his lips thrust out in a

  pout, his eyes beseeching, long lashes batting like a woman’s.

  “No,” Bonny said. “Absolutely not.”

  “Humph,” Ataa snorted. “Bad uncle. Bad, bad uncle!”

  The small boy had many uncles aboard the ship and went around to each with his

  complaint of not being allowed to climb the rigging, but not a one of them would give

  in to his angelic face or his nut-brown bare foot that he stamped. At last he ran off in

  search of the lady who had become his new mother.

  “Fearless,” Kyle commented to the captain.

  “Did you have fear of your own mortality at that age, milord?” Andelton inquired.

  “Probably not,” Kyle replied. “I once tried to charm a cobra with a homemade

  flute.”

  Andelton whistled around the stem of his pipe. “Not the brightest of playtime

  activities I’d think.”

  “Lucky for me someone came by and killed the viper else I would have been

  speared for sure,” Kyle laughed.

  “Were you in Midworld when that happened?” Andelton questioned.

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  Kyle shrugged but didn’t answer. “Do you think he’s all right?” he asked, the point

  of his chin arched toward the man who stood farther down the rail from them.

  The captain of the Mary Constance glanced that way. “He’s a very private man,” he

  replied.

  “He’s too quiet for my taste today,” Kyle admitted.

  Alsandair gave no indication that he was listening to the men discussing him. He

  was leaning against the rail with his elbow on the polished teakwood surface—his

  favorite spot on a ship—his hands clasped together as he stared out at the rolling

  waves. He’d been there for over an hour while he waited for Rylee to finish her

  morning ablutions and join him to break their fast. Andelton and Kyle had already

  eaten, insisting Ataa sit down and join them despite the boy’s eagerness to be running

  about the decks.

  “Pedar!” Ataa had whined, but Alsandair had shaken his head.

  “You must do as your uncles say,” the warrior told the child in a firm voice before

  ruffling his dark curls. “Understand?”

  Ataa agreed he did and had then eaten enough food for four children as Alsandair

  sat with them and had a cup of coffee.

  “Though it doesn’t appear as if he is, he’s keeping an eye on the brattling,” the

  captain observed. “Did you notice?”

  Kyle nodded. “He’s growing very fond of the boy. That surprises me.”

  Andelton took the pipe from his mouth and knocked the ashes out into the sea.

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t strike me as being the fatherly type but I am relieved to know he has the

  makings within him. Rylee has already lost her heart to the little rapscallion.”

  “My men have as well,” Andelton said. “I will miss him.” He tucked his pipe back

  into its leather case then pocketed it. “Did you enjoy your stay in Midworld?”

  “I had more adventure than I was counting on,” Kyle said. “But I was able to see

  friends I had not planned on seeing.”

  “And family?” the captain nudged.

  Kyle cocked a blond brow. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

  “From the moment I met you, I knew you were related to Khalid al-Rashid,”

  Andelton replied. “I once saw his mother when she was visiting him and I assume she

  is your mother as well.”

  “She was,” Kyle said softly. “She passed away two years back.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” He scratched his chin. “Al-Rashid is a man many fear,”

  Andelton said. “He has power even the caliph envies.”

  “Yet he insists on living in that squalid tavern with his men,” Kyle said on a long

  sigh. “I’ve never understood that.”

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  “I heard several men died out in the desert,” the captain remarked. “Such justice is

  mentioned only in passing since those who met their just rewards were men others

  believed as evil as they come.” He turned to look at Alsandair. “Did he deal death to

  one of those men?”

  “To two of them,” Kyle said. “And I think it bothers him that he did so in a manner

  that put a touch of unease even in my brother.”

  “He let his temper rule him,” Andelton said.

  “It was black rage, my friend,” Kyle stated. “As black and as cold as I’ve ever seen

  it. I would not like to be on the receiving end of his sword, believe me.”

  Alsandair didn’t think they knew he could hear every word they said since he was

  downwind of them. Hearing them discuss the men he had killed—and especially

  listening to Kyle recount the fury with which he’d taken the slaver’s life—brought that

  night back to him with clarity. It had been a moment when he had lost all control and

  he didn’t like to think of himself in that way.

  “Ready?”

  He turned to see Rylee coming toward him, a bright smile on her lovely face. He

  straightened up. “Why don’t we bypass the meal and I’ll nibble on you?” he asked as

  she reached his side.

  “Look good enough to eat, do I?” she asked with a giggle as she threaded her arm

  through his.

  “Always,” he replied. “I—”

  “Sail ho!”

  Everyone looked up at the crow’s nest. The sailor perched there was pointing to

  starboard.

  Captain Andelton took a spyglass from one of the men and leveled it in the

  direction the sailor had indicated. He stiffened and whispered, “Black sails.”

  “Pirates?” Kyle asked in a low voice.

  “It’s the Vengeance des Raven,” Andelton said, his shoulders sagging. “I recognize

  the raven carved on her masthead.”

  “One of the Corsair brothers’ vessels,�
� Kyle said softly. “From Wicklaw Cay.”

  “Aye,” the captain said. He turned to give Alsandair a steady look. “Get the lady

  and child below, Commander.”

  Rylee’s hand tightened on Alsandair’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ataa!” Alsandair called out to the boy. “Come with us.” When the child made no

  move to do as he was told, Alsandair shouted, “Now, mister!”

  “Sandy?” Rylee asked.

  “The ship coming at us isn’t friendly,” was all he said. “I want you and Ataa below

  and out of sight.”

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  Rylee knew enough about sea travel to understand the dangers of pirates and with

  the orders being given and the scurrying of the sailors on deck, she knew there was

  danger coming at them. She took Ataa’s hand when he ran up to them and headed for

  the hatchway.

  Garnet Ruck, the Mary Constance’s cabin boy, rushed to them as they stepped off the

  ladder. “This way, milady!” the young man said, motioning with his hand. “We’ve a

  good place for you to hide.”

  “Hide?” Rylee asked.

  “Go,” Alsandair said. “Keep the boy quiet.”

  Exchanging a worried look with her husband, Rylee allowed Ruck to guide her and

  Ataa to safety. When Alsandair turned to go, she called out to him.

  “Be careful, Sandair!”

  Alsandair nodded and hurried to his cabin to retrieve his sword. He shoved a

  dagger into his boot, one into the waistband of his pants and slung the sword over his

  shoulder. Above him, the clamor on the deck was growing louder and the unmistakable

  sound of the ship’s guns being readied shook the ceiling above him. He knew from

  conversations with the captain that the main protection of the Mary Constance was in her

  speed but he doubted she could outrun and outmaneuver a stripped-down ship

  captained by a seasoned pirate.

  “I’ve been lucky in that in the twenty-two years I’ve been plying the seas, I’ve never

  once ran afoul of pirates.”

  Well, Alsandair thought, the good captain’s boast was about to be laid to rest. He

  drew his sword from the scabbard over his back.

  The first shot across the Mary Constance’s bow came as Alsandair came up on deck.

  His hand tightened around his sword as he watched the black pirate vessel closing on

  them.