Zaynab shivered, but the feeling, she quickly realized, was one of delight, not fear. Neither of them spoke a word as he licked her torso and her abdomen. Poor Gruoch, she thought, amazed. She’ll know only the grunting and sweating of Ian Ferguson, never this wondrous pleasure of just touching. He pushed his tongue into her navel and wiggled it about “Ahhhh!” she sighed, a delicious tingle suffusing her lower body. She stiffened, but only momentarily, as he came near her smooth Venus mont, but his attention seemed more diverted by her shapely thighs. He kissed her slender feet and then, to her surprise, sucked each of her toes in turn before revolving her from her back onto her stomach.
He seated himself upon her buttocks, his big hands with their supple fingers smoothing in lazy movements over her shoulders and back. She was practically purring. Bending, he lapped his tongue easily across her shoulders, and then, as he swung off her again, down the graceful line of her backbone. He kneaded the perfectly matched halves of her posterior, but when his fingers pushed between those halves, she stiffened.
“Do not be frightened,” he said, speaking for the first time. “You are going to learn to take a man’s member in a variety of ways, Zaynab. You’ve never been touched here?” His fingers explored her gently, but did not press within her.
“Nay,” she replied tightly.
The offending digits withdrew themselves, and he continued his slow tasting of her flesh, nibbling at her calves until she could not refrain from giggling. Suddenly his body was atop hers, covering it, and she felt a momentary panic, but he did nothing but nuzzle the nape of her neck and nip gently at it. Then the weight of him was gone and he was turning her over onto her back again.
“Why do ye nae kiss me?” she wondered.
“Kissing is inflammatory, Zaynab. I do not think you are ready for kissing and touching,” he told her.
“Could ye nae just kiss me?” she asked him.
“If I kiss you, I’ll want to touch you, flower,” he warned her.
Her brow furrowed a moment, and then she said, “Very well, my lord, I gie ye my permission. I trust ye, and I believe ye hae the strength to cease should I beg ye to do so.”
“The touching would be different, more passionate,” he said.
“I am ready,” she insisted, and then she pouted adorably. “I want ye to kiss me!”
“Zaynab,” he said sternly to her, “you must accept that I know what is best for you. Yesterday you were fearful of passion. Three little lessons, and suddenly you think you are ready for anything.”
“I am! I want to know more of this passion! It is lovely, my lord. ’Tis nae at all like with Ian, or Gunnar Bloodaxe,” she pleaded.
“The lesson is concluded,” he told her sternly. “It is time for us to sleep.” He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
Zaynab was outraged. He had aroused her once again, more this time than the two times before, and now he would sleep? She wanted to feel his mouth upon hers. Despite her lack of experience with all of this passion, she felt a desperate need to have her lips touching his lips. Raising herself quietly upon an elbow, she swiftly lowered her head down and kissed him firmly. She squealed with surprise as his arms wrapped themselves tightly about her and his azure eyes blazed furiously into her own. Rolling her beneath him, he brought his mouth down hard upon hers, silencing the gasp she barely managed, before breathing became almost impossible between the tightness of his grasp and the pressure of his lips fused hotly to her own.
This wasn’t quite what she had wanted when she asked him to kiss her. She thought his kisses would be sweet and tender. They were instead wild and fierce. She attempted to struggle from his embrace, but even as she flung her head back, his mouth was scorching a blazing trail down her straining throat. Suddenly, she didn’t want to escape him. She moaned low, her hands tangling themselves in his shoulder-length hair. With an instinct she hadn’t known she had, she returned his kisses. She could feel his hands, fingers splayed across her back, almost burning into her skin. She molded her length to his, whispering hungrily into his ear.
“Take me! I am not afraid! Take me!”
He was quickly losing control of the situation. If he did not regain the upper hand, Zaynab would be impossible to train. He wanted her. He wanted her suddenly as he had never wanted any woman, but it would be in his time, and not hers. A Love Slave must give her master immediate and perfect obedience. Releasing her from his embrace, he pulled her across his lap and spanked her bottom hard, several times. “You are disobedient, Zaynab!” he scolded her. “If you belonged to me, I should have you bound between the punishment pillars at my villa and whipped. You will not sleep by my side tonight. Go to the foot of the bed at once, you hot-blooded vixen!”
“Ye kissed me back!” she hissed at him angrily. His hand had hurt her, but she would not cry like some silly child.
“Obey me, Zaynab.” His voice was menacing.
“I will sleep on the floor,” she said furiously.
“You will sleep where I told you! At my feet! There is a punishment room in this house, I am certain. The lash’s tip can be plied so as not to damage your skin. Have you ever been tied between two posts and whipped, Zaynab? The pain of such punishment is exquisitely cruel, I am told. If you defy me a moment longer, I shall request that Donal Righ have you beaten. Twenty lashes, I believe, would be a good beginning. You must be taught to obey. Instant obedience is the hallmark of a well-trained Love Slave. Badly trained Love Slaves do not go forth from my house, Zaynab. Now go to the foot of the bed.”
Had there been a knife at hand in that instant, she would have used it on him. Instead, his threats ringing in her ears, she crept to the foot of the bed. The hard look in his eyes told her that he was not bluffing. He would have her beaten if she did not obey. “I hate ye!” she snarled at him, eyes blazing her frustration.
“Good,” he told her. “I do not want your love, Zaynab. Love the man who will be your master, but do not love me. You will respect me for what I can teach you. Learn your lessons well, and you will be beloved by a powerful man. If that should come to pass, my flower, your life will be perfect. You will remember me with gratitude then. Go to sleep now. You have quickly overcome your initial fears. In the morning we will begin in earnest to train you.”
Within minutes he was snoring lightly, but Zaynab lay at the foot of the bed seething with anger. Afraid? Nay, she was not afraid of him. He had shown her that passion actually existed, that a man need not be cruel to a woman when they made love. For that she was grateful, but he had pricked her pride when he spanked her. She had begun to believe that he liked her. Obviously she was no more than a special commission for Donal Righ. Well, she would show Karim al Malina. She would become the finest Love Slave he had ever schooled, and when she was, she would have her revenge! She would make him fall in love with her! Then she would leave him to go gladly to this caliph in Cordoba. The Passion Master’s heart, if indeed he even had a heart, would be broken! She would never think of him again except to imagine him pining away, knowing that his special skills had made her the caliph’s favorite. Zaynab smiled grimly in the darkness. There was obviously a bit of Sorcha MacDuff in her after all. It was a revenge worthy of a Celt.
When the morning came, Zaynab behaved as if nothing untoward had happened between them the previous night. “Good morning, my lord,” she greeted him sweetly.
He responded in kind. “You should begin to learn a man’s body with your hands today,” he told her. “Let us go to the baths. Erda and I will teach you how to bathe your master.”
“As my lord commands,” she replied.
He looked sharply at her. “You are amazingly amenable.”
“I dinna sleep well at the foot of the bed,” she said. “It gave me the time to think on what ye had told me. I want to succeed wi’ the caliph, my lord. Donal Righ has been kind to me. I would bring honor to his gift. If I behave badly, it would reflect upon him.”
She sounded very reasonable. Still, he was suspi
cious. It was too great a change from her attitude last night. Then he relented. She was intelligent, he knew. She just lacked any experience, and obviously had had no discipline growing up. She was used to being willful, but perhaps his strong actions last night had made her realize that she could not continue to behave mulishly.
They went to the baths, where Erda awaited them. The old woman was an expert bath mistress, and Zaynab an excellent pupil. She mimicked each of Erda’s actions perfectly, scraping away the sweat on Karim al Malina’s body and rinsing him with warm water. Her fingers imitated Erda’s, dipping into the alabaster soap jar, smoothing the creamy substance over his chest, working it into a fragrant foam. Her hands smoothed over his upper body; his long, lean back.
“My bones are all of an ache today, Zaynab,” Erda told her. “Kneel down and wash Karim al Malina’s legs, then his feet, being certain to do each toe separately, my chick.”
When Zaynab had finished this task, he surprised her by turning quickly about. She suddenly found herself facing his manhood. Startled, she looked up at him questioningly.
“Be gentle,” were his only words of instruction, said in a monotone, but his azure eyes were dancing devilishly.
“Aye, my lord,” she answered meekly. “ ’Tis a verra small thing, and shouldna take long,” she finished.
Erda cackled with appreciation at the jibe. Something was going on between these two, although she could not quite decide what it was.
Zaynab soaped Karim al Malina’s manhood and his pouch of life with tender fingers. Gently she smoothed and rubbed him, watching, fascinated, as he grew in breadth and length. It was really quite amazing, but she gave no indication of either admiration or fear. When he was hard, his male member thrusting itself straight forward, Zaynab stood and, reaching for the nearest basin of fresh water, said, “Let me rinse ye, my lord, lest the soap bum ye.”
“Zaynab!” Old Erda’s voice cried out urgently even as the girl splashed the water upon Karim al Malina. “ ’Tis cold …” Erda’s voice faded away. For a long moment there was only the sound of dripping water from the corner fountain and the lapping of the water in the bathing pool.
“Oh dear,” Zaynab said in a small, innocent-sounding voice. The icy dousing had all but sent his magnificent display of manhood into hiding.
Had she done it deliberately? he wondered. Of course she had! It was her revenge for the spanking he had given her.
“My lord, my apologies,” Zaynab said. “I believed the basin filled with warm water. Erda always adds a pitcher of warm water from the pool to the cold water. I thought she had done it.”
“My chick, I told ye to do it,” Erda said, pointing to the full pitcher by the basin. “Ye forgot, I fear.”
“My eyes were blinded by my lord’s exhibition of his manhood. Remember that I am but an innocent maid with little experience.” Then, without another word, she rinsed the rest of his big body, but this time with more tepid water from a separate basin.
Oh, yes! It had been deliberate. She would drive him to the whip yet, he feared, but when he finished with her, she would be the most perfect Love Slave he had ever trained.
With a sweet smile, she led him by the hand down into the bathing pool. “Is it better now, my lord?” she queried him solicitously.
“You’re a vixen,” he told her softly.
“Aye, my lord,” she replied in equally low tones.
“You learn quickly,” he said. “You bathed me well, but for that one mistake. Do not make such a mistake again, Zaynab, or you will indeed feel the sting of my lash. I will not warn you further, my flower.”
“As my lord commands,” she murmured humbly, but he sensed absolutely no humility at all in her modest demeanor.
It was to be war between them, then. He recognized it in that moment. She would be outwardly obedient, but never truly so. What a challenge she presented to him, he thought. His excitement rose. To tame her, yet not to break her spirit. Without that spirit, she would be just another beautiful creature, and she would certainly not survive in the harem of the caliph. She must be strong, but she must also learn when to bend. Was such a thing even possible?
They returned to their chamber and he dressed. “I must go to the docks, to ascertain that I’timad is being loaded properly and on schedule. Have Oma bring you something to eat. Rest, for I shall return by mid-afternoon to resume your lessons.” Then he was gone. Zaynab opened the storage chest to draw out fresh garments, but the chest was empty. “Oma!” she called.
The girl came through the door wearing a foreign-looking garment and carrying another. “Donal Righ has had his woman alter some of his mother’s clothing for us. This garment is called a caftan, and worn by the women of al-Andalus. He says we must get used to Moorish garments. Here is yours. Is it not lovely?”
The caftan was the pale blue of a summer sky. It was made of silk. The neckline was high, yet had a keyhole opening embroidered in silver thread that matched the embroidery on the edges of the long, wide sleeves. Zaynab slipped it over her head, delighted by the softness of the fabric. “It’s verra beautiful,” she said, almost to herself.
“Now let me bring ye some food,” Oma replied briskly.
“Let us eat in the garden,” her mistress suggested, and the servant agreed.
While the two girls ate their meal, Karim al Malina sat in his cabin aboard I’timad and pondered his next move, much to the amusement of Alaeddin ben Omar.
“I have never seen you so perplexed over a woman,” the first mate said with a chuckle. “I will admit these northern girls are different. That little Oma may be a virgin, but she is no fool.”
“They are too independent,” Karim said slowly. “I wonder if such a woman can truly become a good Love Slave. I have never dealt with such a woman before. What if she cannot be properly trained?”
“Does she fight you?” Alaeddin asked curiously.
“Aye, and at the same time nay,” came the answer. “She has overcome her initial fear of passion, but she finds it difficult, nay almost impossible, to be obedient. I am not certain what to do with her, my friend. Were she another girl, I would beat her. I have indeed threatened to do so, but she will not be quelled.”
“What does she want of you?” the first mate asked intuitively.
Karim was startled by the question at first, and then he said, “She wants me to make love to her, and she is not yet ready.”
“Why?” Alaeddin queried. “This is no virgin, Karim, but a girl who has been cruelly treated. Now you have shown her that a man need not be cruel; that a man can give pleasure while being gentle. She is aroused and curious to know more. You cannot treat her as you would a dewy-eyed virgin whom you are training for some rich master. With such a virgin, you would spend weeks gently leading her up to that moment when you would remove the impediment of her virginity for her master, initiating her into the joys of love. This girl does not understand love. She has already been brutally used. She only knows that when a man couples with a woman, it brings her pain, and shame.
“Now you have suggested by your actions that this may not be so. Before you can continue on with her, she needs to have the reassurance that only your full passion can give her. You must erase from her memory the previous cruelties done her if you are to have her full cooperation. I will wager if you make complete and sweet love to her, she will become as obedient as any woman mastered by a loving and skillful cock.” He chuckled again. “Surely the Passion Masters did not teach you to be so rigid in your methods, Karim. You know better than even I that all women are certainly not the same. Each is different in her own way, my friend. Each must be approached differently.”
“Perhaps I am afraid,” Karim told his friend.
“Afraid? You? Never!” came the sure reply.
“I cannot help but remember Leila,” Karim said.
“I remember Leila too,” Alaeddin ben Omar replied. “She was a beautiful girl, but as finely drawn and as high-strung as a Berber chieftain’s brood
mare ready to be mated by a powerful desert stallion. Any sensible man could have seen she was not suitable to be trained as a Love Slave. Any man except that fool, who in his lust purchased her. Then he was not satisfied by her extraordinary beauty. He had to have a Love Slave. He was a friend of your father’s, as I recall, wasn’t he?
“You would have never taken the girl into your charge except that he was. Perhaps you do not recall it clearly, but I do. You did not think her suitable for training at the time, but your father pleaded with you to do this favor for his old friend. So you did, and of course the girl fell in love with you when her only other choice was that aging fool who owned her. It was never your fault, Karim. This girl is not the same. She is sound of mind and strong of heart. Give her a taste of true passion, and she will come to heel, I guarantee it.”
“Perhaps you are right,” the captain said thoughtfully. “Mayhap when the mystery is over for her, and she is reassured, she will settle down, paying heed to her instructions. Her success with the caliph will not only bring honor to Donal Righ, but to me as well. That would please my father.”
Alaeddin ben Omar grinned wickedly. “Then why are you yet here, my captain? Go back to the house and give the stubborn wench the pleasure she craves. I will see to the ship.”
“And what of you, Alaeddin? Will you continue in your seduction of the little Oma? She is a toothsome creature,” Karim remarked.
“She will have taken my lance into her virgin sheath before we sail, my captain,” the first mate bragged. “I mean to be the first with her, and I’ll teach her well, I promise.”
Karim al Malina picked up his cape and drew it about his broad shoulders. “Be gentle with the girl,” he advised. “I do not want her unhappy, lest she distress Zaynab. The two are close, and I want them both content, my friend. Remember, you are a man of vast experience, and I do not remember that you have ever had a virgin. They must be treated in a kindly fashion, not taken harshly.”
The Love Slave Page 11