Oma had brewed mint tea on one of the little braziers. She pressed a small porcelain cup into her mistress’s hands. “Drink. You need your strength, my dear lady. It has been a hard day, and it is not over yet. Naja, we have not eaten since dawn. My lady needs food.”
“I will fetch it for you,” he said eagerly.
“Naja.” Zaynab spoke.
“Yes, lady?”
“I have told you that I will destroy you if you ever betray me, but if you are loyal to me, your rewards will be great and many,” she told him. “You were not, I suspect, born a slave, any more than I was. You are fortunate to have survived your surgery.”
He nodded. “I am a Rumi from the Adriatic coast,” he told her. “I was taken five years ago when I was twelve. My two brothers died of the operation. The slaves said I was the fortunate one to have escaped the jaws of death. My name means deliverance. I came into this household two years ago. I know why you chose me from among the others, but in doing so, lady, you have raised me in rank. One has but to look at you to know that the caliph will love you. Your success is mine as well. I will serve you with loyalty.”
“Any fool can attract a man’s attention,” Zaynab said. “It is the clever woman who keeps it, Naja. Do you understand me?”
He smiled for the first time in her presence. “I will not fail you, lady,” he promised her and hurried off to find them food.
“Can we trust him, I wonder?” Oma said, her amber eyes contemplative. “He’s no Mustafa, is he?”
“He will serve me loyally as long as my interests dinna conflict with those of Lady Zahra,” Zaynab said, switching to their native tongue. “That great lady is the real power here in the harem, nae the caliph, Oma. We must nae allow ourselves to forget it. Lady Zahra hae been wi’ the caliph for many years, and she hae his love, and his trust. If I am fortunate, I will bind him to me for a wee time, and perhaps even bear him a bairn, but the lady Zahra will always be queen in this place. Naja will serve me well, but if called to choose between us, he will side wi’ the lady Zahra. Guard yer tongue around him if ye can.”
“Do ye think the caliph will visit ye tonight, my lady?” Oma wondered aloud. “He be a braw gentleman, I’m thinking.”
“He will come,” Zaynab said with certainty. “I could see the interest in his eyes when he unveiled me earlier. Then, in the baths when I met the lady Zahra, she told me that the caliph is bored and needs a new diversion. She said it to hurt me, of course. To reassure herself that she will always be first in his heart, and I but a passing fancy.”
“ ’Twas cruel, lady,” Oma sympathized.
“ ’Tis nae but the truth, my wee Oma. ’Tis unlikely this mighty man will fall in love wi’ me forever, but if I can gain his favor long enough to hae a bairn of my own, then we shall always be safe here, and nae lonely ever again. To gain those ends I will do what I must.”
Naja returned, bearing a tray. Upon it was a bowl of rice with pieces of capon breast in it. A second bowl held creamy yogurt with freshly peeled green grapes. There was a piece of warm flat bread and a dish of fresh fruit. Carefully he placed his burden upon the brass table where Zaynab and Oma had seated themselves. Taking a silver spoon from his robes, he dipped it first into the rice and chicken dish, tasting it, and then into the yogurt, which he also tasted. Then, nodding with satisfaction, he gave them each a spoon with which to eat from the communal bowls.
“I will taste everything for you, my lady Zaynab,” Naja said. “Poison is a favorite weapon here in the harem. The bread I took myself as it came from the ovens, and the fruit I personally chose, but the kitchen slaves dished up the bowls. We cannot be too trusting, nor can we be too careful. Nonetheless, should someone or something slip beneath our guard, Hasdai ibn Shaprut, the caliph’s favorite physician, has rediscovered a universal cure for all poisons. It is unlikely you would die, but you could be wretchedly uncomfortable and your innards scarred.”
Zaynab swallowed hard. This was not something Karim had dwelled upon during her education. Karim, She had vowed never to say his name again, or even think of him, yet the sun had not even set and her thoughts were turning to him. How wonderful that last month at Escape had been. It was just the two of them. Each day food had appeared as if by magic. The wine decanter had been kept filled. They had talked, and made love, and walked in the hills together. She had wanted it to go on forever. Knowing it could not, she wished for death instead, but that did not come either. The choice, of course, had been hers; but Zaynab knew she was not a silly, weak fool like the Love Slave Leila had been. There was life, and there was death. Living was the harder, stronger choice, and she wanted to live even if she could not have Karim. A strong streak of common sense ran in her veins. No man, not even Karim, was worth her life. She would always love him, but her loyalty would be to this caliph who was to be her master.
Still, Zaynab sighed deeply, remembering. In the end she and Karim had returned to the villa, and the same litter that had brought her along the coast road from Alcazaba Malina returned her to I’timad. They had sailed across the Gulf of Cadiz into the mouth of the Guadalquivir, and up the river to Cordoba. He had not touched her since they had left Escape. Nor would he ever again, Zaynab thought sadly. Then she shook herself impatiently. It was over. She had another new life, and with luck, one day she might find happiness again.
Reaching out, she took a fruit from the bowl and bit into it. The sweet juice trickled down her chin. “What is it?” she asked Naja. “I like it.”
“It is a plum, lady. Do you not have plums in your land?”
“Nay, there are no plums in Alba. We have apples, and some pears, but no other fruits,” she explained.
The meal finished and cleared away, Naja brought them a bowl of scented water with which to wash their hands.
Zaynab stood up. “I must rest now,” she told them, and disappeared into her bedchamber.
“Have you chosen her garments for tonight, in case the caliph should come to her?” Naja asked Oma.
The girl nodded. “She is so beautiful, she needs little adornment, I think. Just a silk caftan, her hair scented and loose about her. I have chosen a caftan the color of her eyes.”
“Perfect,” Naja agreed.
There was a knock upon the door, and the young eunuch hurried to open it. Another eunuch stood outside. Wordlessly, he handed Naja a silken packet, and turning, departed. Naja could scarcely contain himself as he handed it to Oma.
“What is it?” she asked him.
“A gift from the caliph, Oma! It means that our master will certainly come to her tonight. She has already found first favor with him. Such a thing is unheard of! No woman has ever found favor so quickly! She will be the great love of his old age. I sense it!” the eunuch said excitedly.
Open, the packet revealed a large and absolutely flawless round pink pearl.
Naja’s dark eyes met Oma’s meaningfully.
Chapter 10
There was no knock upon the door. It simply opened, and the caliph entered the room. Jumping up, Oma and Naja bowed low.
“Where is the lady Zaynab?” the caliph asked politely.
“She is in her private chamber, my lord,” Oma said softly, her eyes lowered.
The caliph nodded in answer. Opening the door of the bedchamber, he passed through.
She had heard him in the outer room. Now she bowed silently, patiently awaiting his command. He closed the door behind him and stared at her for a long moment Zaynab did not move. Indeed she was barely breathing, for she suddenly realized that she was a little frightened, although her face showed no emotion whatsoever. She was frozen like a statue.
“I thought that I had imagined your astounding beauty,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them, “but you are indeed real, Zaynab. Disrobe for me now. Those tantalizing little glimpses of your body this morning in that fetching costume you wore have made me eager to see all of you.”
His tone was demanding, as if he were struggling to contain his
impatience for her. The look on his face was imperious. He was obviously a man used to immediate obedience. Then, as if to put her at her ease, he smiled a quick smile at her. His teeth were square, even, and white. His hair, without the turban, was indeed a reddish-blond; the eyes beneath the sandy lashes a deep blue.
How strange, she thought. She had assumed before coming here that Moors were all dark-haired, dark-eyed men, yet it seemed they were not. Her fingers reached up to undo the tiny pearl buttons on her caftan. One by one she unfastened them, her eyes never leaving his. The last button slipped its silken loop. The caftan was open to the navel. The caliph’s gaze was mesmerizing, and she still could not breathe.
Before she might shrug the garment from her, he reached out, easily parting the twin halves of the caftan and sliding it over her shoulders. It fell to the floor with a small hiss of silk. Abd-al Rahman stepped back a pace and let his deep blue eyes wander the lush curves of her body. “Where,” he said softly, “in the name of all the seven djinns did Donal Righ ever find a creature as magnificent as you?”
“I was brought to him by a Norseman,” Zaynab replied, amazed that she could actually speak again. “He raided the convent in which I had been placed.”
“You were a Christian nun?” His eyes feasted upon her breasts, and it was all he could do not to bury his face between them.
“Nay, my lord. I was to be, but I had only arrived that same day,” Zaynab explained.
“What cruel, unseeing, unfeeling man could place so beautiful a maiden within a convent’s high walls?” the caliph demanded half-angrily. “You were not meant to be incarcerated, a dry virgin, for the rest of your days. Praise be to Allah that my old friend, Donal Righ, found you!”
Zaynab laughed at his ardent opinion. She could not help herself. He was certainly a passionate man. “I have a twin sister, my lord,” she explained. “We are identical, but she is the elder. Our father died before our birth. We were his only legal offspring. It was decided that Gruoch would wed a neighboring lord’s heir, and that I would be sent to the convent. The decision was made on the day we were born. Neither of us had any say in our fates.”
“Could not a husband be found for you as well?” the caliph wondered. Allah, her hair was incredible. He wanted to feel its softness on his naked body.
“A husband for me would have caused difficulty. He would have wanted half of our father’s land, my lord. The neighboring lord wanted it all for his heir and his kindred. I cannot fault him. Our two families had feuded for years. My sister’s marriage put an end to the waning. There was no other place for me but in a convent,” Zaynab finished.
“Your place is here in my arms,” the caliph said firmly. “You belong to me, and me alone, my beauty!” Reaching out, he drew her to him. Then, taking her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, he kissed her mouth, exploring its texture, its firmness, the special taste of her. His eyes swam with a look of melting lust as he ran the very tip of his tongue across her lips. “Ummmmm, you are delicious,” he declared, “and you are meant for nothing but pure pleasure. ’Tis why Allah created you, Zaynab. Your fate is to pleasure me, and be pleasured in return. I am an excellent lover, as you will shortly learn.” With one hand he began to knead her left breast gently. “I am half in love with you already,” he told her. “You excite my body as it has not been excited in many a year. My heart calls out to yours, Zaynab.” His hand now moved to caress her face, even as his low voice caressed her rebellious spirit “Are you afraid of me, my exquisite one? You need not be, for your sweet surrender to my will guarantees you my favor.”
“I am afraid of your power, my lord,” she admitted, “but I do not think I am afraid of you.”
“You are wise to know the difference,” he replied, smiling. He fastened his hands firmly about her waist and lifted her up onto the bed. Then stepping back, he observed her once more. “Turn for me, Zaynab,” he said.
Slowly she revolved, giving him ample time to view her naked form. She was amazed at how very controlled he was with her.
He ran a hand over her pretty posterior. “You have a bottom like a perfect little peach,” he complimented her. “Has the maidenhead between its halves been plundered yet?” His hand lingered, caressing the silken skin, fondling her.
“The Passion Master felt that was your privilege, my lord,” she told him, “but I have been prepared to receive you.” Zaynab strove with all her might to keep from shuddering. There was something sinister in the fingers now trailing over her flesh.
“Good!” he responded. “Now turn back to me, my lovely,” and when she had, he said, “I know you are trained to give me pleasure far greater than that of a mere concubine, but tonight I would simply have you be a woman. Tonight I will make love to you. You will obey my every command, and together we will find pleasure.” He lifted her down from the bed.
“You will find no woman more obedient or eager to please you than I am, my lord,” Zaynab promised him. She felt foolish at her earlier nervousness. The caliph was no monster. He was really quite nice, and the fact that he was a stranger to her could make no difference. She was not just his personal possession. She was a Love Slave, and she knew her duty.
He quickly disrobed, pulling his caftan off and letting it drop to the floor next to her garment. Then he stepped back, giving her the same vantage point that he had previously had. “You may look at me,” he told her. “A woman should know her master’s body even as he knows hers.”
Her face was grave as she examined him. Her earlier impression had been correct. He was not slender like Karim, but rather stocky. Still, he was not fat, and he was very well muscled. She knew his age to be over fifty. Yet the body before her was not what she would have imagined that of an older man to be. It was attractive and firm. He was fair of skin, but devoid of body hair. His torso was short, his length in his shapely legs. His male parts seemed well formed and of a good size. Zaynab raised her eyes back to his again. “You are most pleasing, my lord,” she complimented him.
“Men’s bodies,” he told her, amused, “have not the exquisite beauty of women’s, my lovely. Still, when put together, they usually fit well.” Reaching out, he drew her back into his arms, moving to fondle her breasts with the eagerness of a young boy with his first maid.
Zaynab closed her eyes a moment. His touch was distinctly different from Karim’s, but the thought, rather than distressing her, sobered her. The fact that she and her Passion Master had fallen in love was unfortunate, but they had both known all along such a love could not end happily. She would not disgrace him by behaving badly with the caliph. She must be a credit to Karim, and it was he who had taught her to give herself over to the pleasure of man’s passion. For all their sakes, she had to do it. She was not some silly virgin with foolish dreams of true love.
She concentrated upon the hands now palpating her flesh. They were firm, a trifle insistent perhaps, yet gentle. His mouth met hers, his deep kiss warm and sensual, sending a thrill down her spine. She could not help but respond, kissing him back. He was a stranger, yet he was able to arouse her, which she had not thought really possible. There were obviously things Karim had not taught her; things she would discover for herself.
She threw her head back, and his lips followed the graceful line of her throat She felt the warm wetness of his tongue succeeding the feathery touches of his kisses. She murmured, satisfied, as his mouth found the swell of her young breasts. He kissed and licked the perfumed skin, the scent of gardenias permeating his senses, heightening his desire for her. His mouth closed over a coral-tipped nipple, sucking hard on it, and her body arced in his possessive embrace. He bit down lightly on the nipple. Zaynab cried out softly, her senses now whirling, caught up in the strengthening erotic loveplay between them.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded, standing straight again. His look was passionate as he stared directly into her gaze. He traced his fingers over her half-open lips, suggestively pushing his forefinger deep into her mouth. She sucked
slowly upon it, her tongue revolving sinuously about the finger, her breasts pressed lightly against his smooth chest.
“You have eyes like aquamarines,” he said softly. “A man would die for such eyes.” Drawing his finger from her mouth, he ran it down the valley between her breasts. Then, hands upon her slim shoulders, he pushed her down upon her knees before him.
She knew what was expected. Taking him within the warm cavity of her mouth, she began to suckle upon him. His sharp intake of breath told her she was pleasing him. His fingers dug into her head, kneading the scalp with growing urgency as he began to burgeon. She fondled his pouch in her hand, cupping it, squeezing it gently. With a single finger of that hand she reached beneath him, seeking for a certain spot, finding it, pressing up upon it. He groaned, then shuddered as a sharp stab of desire slammed into him. Her clever little tongue encircled the ruby head of his manhood, coaxing his desire into full flower.
“Cease!” he groaned, pulling her to her feet again. “You are going to kill me with delight, Zaynab. What a naughty little witch you are, my lovely!” He was swollen with burning lust, but he yet managed to control his need to possess his new toy. He would not take her too quickly the first time. He wanted to test her mettle. If he died, it would be from pleasure.
“Sit,” he said. When she had settled herself upon the edge of the bed, he knelt down. Taking her foot in his hand, he studied it intently. It was small and narrow, each toe beautifully shaped, the nails dainty and round.
Enfolding the little foot in his hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. He ran his tongue along the high arch, then sucked upon each tiny toe. Next he pressed slow, hot kisses from her ankle up her leg to her inner thigh. Her other foot and leg received equal treatment. She shivered with delight beneath his skillful mouth.
“You have love balls?” he asked her, and when she nodded, he said, “Fetch them, my lovely.”
The Love Slave Page 22