by Ann Turner
With a gentle breeze blowing eddies of sand over their undulating bodies, Najid made love to Aubrette with an absorbed and experienced sensitiveness. They climaxed together, and Aubrette felt as though every star and planet in the sky was looking down on them and smiling with approval.
Afterwards, they lay with his cloak pulled around them. The closeness of their naked bodies kept them warm as the night quickly drew in. It wasn’t long before Najid fell asleep with his head on her breasts and they lay in each other’s arms, as she relived all the senses she had experienced during their lovemaking. He had been gentle and compelling, and had expertly raised her consciousness to a height never before reached. She was content to remain here forever, safe in his arms and wrapped warm in his cloak. She listened to the insects of the night as they sang and chirruped songs of love to the couple.
Najid eventually awoke and sang a gentle song of love to her, before possessing her once again. Regretfully, they knew they had to leave. The night air was now cold, penetrating the cloak. They needed to get back to the camp before they were missed and search parties were sent out to find the hostage.
Arm in arm, in wonderful silence, they re-entered the camp, not caring if they were seen together – not caring if any of the soldiers watched as they passed by, guessing what had transpired between the religious enemies. They shared a simple meal together, which Najid had created from the pots of food bubbling over the fires. Neither spoke of what had occurred just an hour ago, as words seemed inappropriate and unnecessary. He then made certain that Aubrette was comfortable in her small tent before departing for the night, as he usually did, and was replaced as her guard by another Saracen. The tall, bearded man, who considered her as nothing more than a foreign hostage, stood by the entrance of the tent with his scimitar drawn. He refused to speak or look at her. This was a duty he resented.
She climbed into her bed and pulled the sheets up to her chin, tired and happy. Happy that she would be going back to her own people soon and because of Najid, but sad at the thought that she would never see him again. She could not resist comparing him with Simon. They were like fire and ice; Simon was physical and vehement in his lovemaking, while Najid was concupiscent.
37
After the night on the dune, nothing occurred again between Aubrette and Najid. He became distant towards her and refused to speak to her any more than was necessary. He would stand by the entrance to the tent, staring outwards and ignoring Aubrette. She questioned him on this sudden change of attitude, but he refused to explain.
Aubrette began to think that he had used her for his own pleasure. All those sweet words must have meant nothing and the magical night on the dune must have meant less to him than her. The next morning, Najid did not arrive, and there was a replacement guard. He was cold and unresponsive, acting and behaving as a guard should. There would be no more amicable talk, no more laughing together. Occasionally, when looking out of the tent, watched like a hawk by her new guard, she would see Najid and find herself wishing him well and wanting him to return alive from battles. Even if they did not talk anymore, she wanted to know he was surviving the endless battles with the Christian army.
The Christians were the men she should be wishing well, but the apparent disregard for her safety from King Richard had coloured her image of them. They had been left behind in her consciousness and now she was here, treated benevolently by her captives and briefly loved by one of their kind. Aubrette could not shake the images in her mind of the night they had shared, wrapped in his cloak, naked, both intent in their united desire. Surely that had meant something to him, though if it had not, he concealed his true feelings well.
Eventually Najid came to her, dismissing the guard. Aubrette’s hope lifted; he had come back to her, and whatever had troubled him since that night must have now been resolved.
The hope in her breast soon froze as his face was a mask of sadness. He stood in the centre of the tent, looking at her as though wanting to remember every detail of her face. ‘What will you tell your king when you see him again?’ he asked, coolly.
Aubrette was silent for a few minutes, thinking through her answer. ‘I shall tell him I was not maltreated at all. I shall tell him that you, as my guard, were kind to me and protected me from harm. I shall tell him that Sultan Saladin was civil to me and is not what my king thinks he is.’
‘Our night shall remain our secret, though I shall carry those hours in my heart forever,’ Najid promised, putting his hand over his heart.
She smiled at the recollection of the evening in his arms. ‘So shall I,’ she replied.
He went on to explain his sudden change of behaviour towards her. He had felt that he could truly love her, but they were destined be apart and could never be as one due to their different religions. He had his family and she had hers, and they both knew that that was where they belonged. Her heart sank as Najid spoke. She knew that all he said was true and tears welled up in her eyes.
He sighed heavily. ‘It is time for you to leave. I requested to escort you to where you can return to your camp.’
He paused and stepped forward, reaching out for Aubrette and pulling her close. She could feel the warmth of his body through his tunic, feeling the hardness of his desire pulsating forward. He wanted to have her again, one final time. Instinctively, their lips came together in a final burning kiss.
He pulled away and turned to depart the tent. His voice bitter with sorrow. ‘I shall go and prepare the horses.’
This moment was as impossible for him to manage as she, and he found this powerful emotion more painful than he was prepared to admit. He stopped and turned to face her once more, his resolution crumbling, and they fell into each other’s arms, mouth finding mouth. His hands caressed her face, her throat, her breasts and he pulled her up onto the table, pushing himself between her legs. She responded wantonly, willing him to enter her, wanting him to possess her. Uttering a shout of triumph, he plunged forward, making her cry out aloud in delicious pain.
From the back of the tent, the jagged sound of tearing interrupted the lovers, sharply causing them to stop. They looked round to see the blade of a broadsword perforating the fabric, slashing downwards and splitting the material. A man wearing a tunic and hijab, which masked his face but for his intense blue eyes, burst through the ragged scar.
Instantly, Najid pulled away from Aubrette and pushed her aside. She tumbled ungraciously to the ground as he drew his scimitar and faced the intruder. The scimitar and the broadsword clashed, sending sparks crackling. Aubrette flattened herself against the side of the tent, scrabbling away from the violent engagement in front of her. She stumbled over her own feet, terrified by the sudden attack. Najid shouted to her to remain hidden.
Flashes of the raid that had taken her from the Christians’ camp exploded in her mind. It was occurring again, and again she was terrified of what would happen to her. In the confined space of the tent, the two men were locked face to face, blades flashing, blood flowing, both battling in a fight for Aubrette, a fight for their lives over upturned furniture. Najid was shouting a curse at the man; he was focused and alert to the imminent danger. He raised his scimitar above his head, ululating loudly, preparing for a movement that would bring the blade smashing into the intruder’s skull, shattering it and spilling his brains. It was a fatal mistake.
‘Filthy Saracen scum!’ the man bellowed. Najid’s yell of anger became a scream of pain as the broadsword sliced deep into his stomach, powerfully thrust forward with the instinct of an experienced warrior. Najid was dead before he hit the floor. The victor pulled his bloodied broadsword from the body of the dead man, before pulling the hijab from his face.
It was him! It was Simon!
He looked quickly around for Aubrette. She cowered behind the upturned chair, screaming at the violence and the bloodshed. He saw her and shouted a laugh of success. ‘I’ve saved you!’
he bellowed, triumphantly.
Simon moved speedily over Najid’s body, snatching Aubrette around the waist and pulling her roughly toward him. He then kissed her hard on the lips before throwing her over his shoulder to carry her through the hole in the tent. He ignored her struggles and hysterical screams as she looked back at the body of Najid, left where he had fallen into his own blood. Other Saracens were pushing their way into the tent, responding to the clamorous events. She tried to struggle free again, but Simon’s hold was too tight. He ran to a waiting horse and sprang into the saddle, before charging through the Saracen camp that he had taken by surprise.
It was all too much like before and Aubrette became confused as to who had taken her, or to where she was going. All she knew was that she had to attempt to get down from this horse and escape from whoever had her in his grasp. As she flailed her arms, she felt an intense pain radiating outwards as a blade seared across her arm. This stopped her struggling and she felt herself thrown forward from his shoulder into the saddle. Simon’s expression was a mask of savage exhilaration, and his attention was focused wholly on escape from the enemy camp. His sword lashed out at any man fool enough to attempt to stop him and he spurred his horse until its flanks bled. She began to swoon with the shock of what had occurred and loss of blood from her injured arm and lost consciousness, feeling as if she were falling into a never-ending darkness.
38
Slowly, Aubrette became aware of her surroundings. She felt as if she were floating on a soft cloud. She realised she was in a bed and felt deliciously warm and safe. She could hear voices drifting to her from somewhere far away, and someone commenting that she was waking up. She felt a cool cloth placed on her forehead, infused with a sweet fragrance. Someone lifted her up at her shoulders and put a cup to her lips, encouraging her to drink a little. She did not want to leave this warm haven, but she felt she must open her eyes to see where she was.
The voices exclaimed pleasure as her eyelids slowly parted, and blurred images began to swim in and out of her vision. Gradually, her sight and hearing began to sharpen. At first she did not recognise where she was. This was a solid room, not a tent, and she could hear the crackle of a fire in a hearth.
‘Who are you? Do I know you?’ she asked, her mouth felt dry and her voice rasped.
‘I am your sister, Rowena.’
‘Rowena,’ Aubrette echoed and tried to remember. The name sounded familiar. She repeated her sister’s name several times, her brain attempting to make sense of all that had happened. ‘Najid,’ she said, remembering the name but nothing else.
Rowena frowned. ‘Who is Najid?’ she asked and looked around at Berengaria and Joanna, who had both been helping. They shrugged.
‘Najid, I remember Najid. He will come for me,’ Aubrette said, slowly.
‘No, you are protected by Christians, not Saracens,’ Berengaria corrected.
Aubrette shook her head. ‘Najid will come for me,’ she repeated, attempting to rise from her bed, only to be held down firmly. At first she struggled, but was still too weak for this to be effectual. She refused to believe that she was away from the man she thought could still protect her. Then, as she put her weight on her right arm, she became aware of its weakness. The pain radiated upwards and she began to cry.
‘She is delirious.’ Aubrette heard a voice say, and she was forced to drink a sweet tasting liquid. This time, there was a sleeping draught in the cup and she soon succumbed to the tincture and was asleep once more. The others discussed how they could induce her to forget about this Saracen, whoever he was, and to remember where she was. They had to let her know that she was Christian, like them, and was now safe.
Aubrette opened her eyes again. This time, the face looking down at her was Simon’s. She screamed and cowered in her bed, instantly remembering it was he who had killed Najid in front of her eyes. In her confused state, she feared he would do the same to her. He tried to reason with her, tell her she was back where she belonged, that everyone here loved her including himself, but Aubrette refused to listen and became hysterical.
Joanna hurriedly bustled Simon away, while Rowena attempted to calm her sister – with no luck. Berengaria then took over and slapped her sharply across the face, bringing her back to her senses. She lay still, touching her stinging cheek. The slap had its effect and Aubrette gradually realised where she was and that Najid was dead. She had seen him laying dead in his own blood and she wept for him, much to the consternation of the three women caring for her.
Simon tentatively approached the bed again and she shrank back as he neared her. He held his hands palms outwards in an attempt to assure her he was unarmed and meant no harm to her.
‘You killed him! You killed Najid! I saw you kill him,’ she whispered, maliciously.
He looked confused. ‘That was a Saracen, the enemy, and he was raping you. I had to get you away from him,’ he explained.
She shook her head. ‘I was safe with him,’ she replied, steadily, ‘and you killed him.’
Simon looked cross. ‘They have done something to your brain to make you believe all this. Aubrette, you are back here with Rowena and me. We shall keep you safe now.’
‘Najid loved me and I loved him, too!’
‘You were drugged, you idiot woman! How could you feel love for an animal like that? What did he do to you? How many times did he rape you by claiming to love you? Did you willingly let him assail you, believing his sly words? Did he fool you enough to make you revel in his touch? He knew what he was doing!’
Joanna pulled him away as Aubrette howled and pressed her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear his cold, harsh words. ‘This conversation is going nowhere. Let her rest and recoup, and we can all talk later,’ said Joanna, sharply.
Simon threw his arms up in frustration and turned away, cursing loudly. Rowena stepped up again. She took Aubrette’s hand and placed it on her belly, hard with the growing child inside her. ‘Do you remember that I am with child? I feel so well here. The physicians say all is well with both of us. Aubrette, I am so glad you are back home with us, as you can assist me when my time arrives,’ she said.
Aubrette looked at her sister’s swelling body and ran her hand over her stomach. ‘I can remember something: you are my sister and this is good. I think I am glad to see you, all of you, again. What has happened to me? How did I get here?’ she asked looking around, and was told all that had occurred during her absence.
Much later, Aubrette awoke after a long sleep. Candles had been lit in the room and Rowena sat stitching a garment for her baby by a glowing fire. Aubrette looked at her and remained silent. In her mind, she tumbled over the events that had taken her from an enforced stay at the Saracens camp to now, lying in a comfortable bed. Simon’s words disturbed her. Had Najid really forced himself on her? If he had, then he had disguised his brutal intentions well and fooled her completely. But surely his actions on that night on the dune were not the actions of a rapist. He had been gentle and passionate, and their final coming together had also been mutual. They had found a brief shared love, and had expressed their desires in the most natural and beautiful way she could have imagined.
Aubrette had always known that nothing could have developed between her and Najid. He had told her he had a wife, two daughters and an infant son, whom he loved with all his heart. She imagined his wife standing in the doorway of his home, two young daughters by her side and the son balanced on her hip, their faces obscured by shadows. All four were waiting for the return of the husband, the father they loved. Gradually, however, they would have to realise that he was gone forever and would mourn him. Her heart went out to this family she had never met and would never know. They were simply victims of this Holy War, which was tearing families apart on all sides.
39
King Richard paced up and down his room like a caged lion, his temper shredded at the non-complianc
e of one of his most trusted men. This time, his Angevin anger was directed at his half-brother.
Simon stood alone in the centre of the room, watching the king. Richard turned on him, the veins in his temples bulging and throbbing visibly. His face was purple with rage and a red mist was swimming in front of his eyes.
‘What were my strict instructions?’ he shouted. ‘That woman was to be left there! Her fate was sealed, never to be seen again – whatever my queen said! And what do you do? Go missing, while you spy on this nobody of a woman. You cannot even tell me what occurs in Saladin’s camp because you were so busy watching her!’
‘Sire,’ Simon began.
Richard rushed at him and rammed him hard in the chest, pushing him back. He slammed him against the wall, pinning him down with a forearm across his throat.
‘I cannot risk losing one of my best generals on a whim! You are an idiot, Fitzroy! What makes you think you can flaunt my rule?’
Simon pulled free and gasped as the air travelled back along his windpipe. ‘My pregnant wife was pining for her sister. She could have lost the child and I could not allow that to happen,’ he explained.
Richard swore and turned away, lashing out at a nearby stool by kicking it viciously across the room. He swung back. ‘You do not use the words ‘could not allow’ to a king! Excuses! You have two sons, is that not enough for you? Women have no place here; I shall have them all removed back to Cyprus! It was a mistake bringing them here!’ He rounded back on Simon. ‘Had you been tupping the woman? Pumping her in the quinny at night and wanted her more than your wife? Missed spreading her legs? Is that it?’ he demanded.
A colour rose in Simon’s cheeks. ‘She is my wife’s sister and my sister-in-law, and I care for her as you care for your sister, the Dowager Queen,’ he countered.