Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets

by Camille Anthony

  "Drop to your knees ... yes, right there! Now come to me. No! Do not stand up. On your knees ... on all fours, all the way! Good ... good! Now, over on your back and spread your legs. Let me see how wet you are ... how ready. Oh, very ready, aren't we my thawing Snow! Now beg me to take you. Say: ‘Please take my cunt, master!’ Say it!"

  "Please ... do not make me do this!"

  "What is this ... tears? Come, you know you want me to fuck you—want more than my hand, do you not?"

  "No! Yes! Oh, god! P-please ... t-t-take m-my ... c-c-cunt, master!"

  "You beg so nicely, my cold English beauty, my melting Snow! Let me reward you, like this ... and this. Yes, open wider! Can you feel how deep I am in you...? How hard you have made me? How strong I feel when you melt around me! Feel it ... feel it ... yes! Now ... come for me! Come!"

  "Arghhhhh...!"

  Susan bit her lip as the memories inundated her, overwhelming her resolve. Yes, she would await him, naked on her knees. And when he commanded, she would beg for his penetration for she could no longer live without the lush, melting fullness of his thick, hard maleness buried deep inside her empty, aching sheath.

  "I will come to you when I am done speaking with my son,” the Sultan promised with a final caress, releasing Susan to do his bidding. She nodded reluctantly, torn between obeying and rebellion, her measured steps barely camouflaging her reluctant eagerness.

  Jared, watching her go, thought he had never seen someone so given over to silence, to resignation. His own words of protest, held until she was gone, poured out as he confronted his smiling, smug sire. “What you have done to that girl is criminal!” he declared, voice raised in righteous anger.

  "What I have done to that woman was inevitable,” the Sultan returned in much cooler tones, determined to keep tight control over his errant temper. He despaired of ever having a conversation with this difficult son that did not finally break down into disagreement. He held up a hand to forestall Jared's heated reply. “I will not discuss this matter with you, ogul. It is none of your concern."

  "You once offered her to me—"

  "And you refused her. She is no longer available to you."

  "She is an Englishwoman.—"

  "There are many such in my harem. You do not seem overly concerned for them."

  "This is different. She is the kinswoman to my ... uh, my—” his voice trailed off.

  "Yes, she is kinswoman to your concubine. So this is ... how do you say ... the pot calling the skillet black...? We both know the cousin would have already been in your bed had she not suffered that unfortunate illness of the mind. Stay back, my son, and concentrate on your own woman, the Storm-bringer—"

  "Her name is Merridyth. She prefers Merri with an ‘i'.” As he said that, he recalled her terse explanation, and his lips curled up into an unwilling smile.

  "I have given her to you ... call her whatever you choose! I care not, having but one concern with her at the moment—"

  "I know your concern,” Jared said, “and it is on that subject I would speak with you."

  Selim shook his head. “There must be a punishment meted out, for she maligned me to the women of the harem in such ringing tones, the Black eunuchs by the Carriage Gate heard of it before I did.” True rancor was evident in Selim's angry bellow. “When I finally convinced Tubal to tell me just what this ... big old fart was, I became so enraged I thought my blood would boil!"

  "I know, Great One,” Jared dared to taunt the pacing Ruler, “I'm sure there was not one person residing in Istanbul who did not hear that explosion."

  Selim regarded his bold son in wonderment, truly fascinated at the intrepid spirit he had helped to fashion. “Are you not the least in awe of me?"

  "No. Should I be?” Jared questioned nonchalantly.

  "Yes. Sometimes a fever of anger comes upon me, and even Tubal trembles before my wrath at such times."

  Jared blinked. “Hhm-mm ... I'll keep it in mind,” he promised off-handedly, obviously not meaning a word of it.

  Selim sighed, and ceased trying to intimidate his son. “I do not wish to argue with you, but the woman must be dealt with,” the Sultan insisted. “I would be satisfied with a public whipping,” he offered, enthusiastic in his efforts to find an acceptable compromise. “A light one—say ... ten lashes...?"

  "Out of the question!"

  "A private one then, with a few nobles to pass along the word the deed was done. Five lashes?"

  "Absolutely not! I won't hear of it!"

  Jared did some insisting of his own. “Listen! She was drugged three times, with a drug her system could not tolerate. She was not responsible for anything she did during that time ... let alone anything she said!” Jared ran an agitated hand through his hair, ruffling the wavy locks. “Just this once, I wish you could let it go—after all, you have taken away her relative and friend. That, more than anything else, will eat at her heart like a canker. Please—” he said earnestly, on the verge of begging, “—let it rest there. Otherwise, you will force me to become your enemy. I cannot stand idly by and watch her hurt ... I cannot!"

  Selim stood in silent thought, then nodded. “Very well, ogul,” he decided. “I will withhold my judgment until she has recovered from this illness. I will speak with her then, and determine what is to be done. I will even allow her another chance to fulfill her commitment of a night with you—"

  "I won't have her frightened ... or threatened into my bed,” Jared protested. Can you imagine how it would make me feel, knowing she was with me on sufferance? Forced into intimacy against her will?"

  "Yes. In fact, ogul, I know exactly how that feels. One gets used to it.” The Sultan's words were stark with recalled pain.

  "Then at least grant me the mercy of avoiding that ache,” his son requested.

  Selim mused quietly. “I will not harm the woman,” he reiterated. “I will speak with her. I will examine her motives. It may be I will forgive her this transgression..."

  "For that, I thank you,” Jared sighed.

  "How magnanimous!” the Sultan sneered. “No—” he caught himself, not wanting to spark a fight now, when they had managed to avert an argument. “No thanks are needed ... but leave me now ... I would join my concubine.” A salacious smile widened his full lips. “She becomes impossible to handle when kept waiting ... I end up taking her twice; once to lesson her and again to satisfy her!"

  Jared's own lips tightened, and he bit back the scathing reprimand burning his tongue, determined not to spoil all he had gained by interfering in his father's private concerns. But it took a major effort on his part not to offer further biting commentary; the Lady Susan deserved better. Yet, he dared not jeopardize Merri's reprieve. Angry at himself, yet angrier at the Sultan, Jared spun on his heels and exited his father's chambers without another word.

  Women's quarters, Grand Seraglio

  Merridyth awoke groggy and in a foul mood. It didn't help that Susan was not about to answer her weak, worried calls, or that the sly, lazy servant girl assigned to wait upon them had contrived to absent herself as well. Merri had tried to stand up, but became disoriented and weak upon gaining her feet. She laid back down, cooled her heels and waited as patiently as possible until someone came by to check on her....

  Laihla came that afternoon. She stayed only a short while, then was shooed out by the Mistress of the girls, who hovered over the patient like a mother hen. One would think her own life hung in the balance, Merri thought in disgruntlement, not at all happy about having the Black woman's stay cut short.

  By the second day of her recovery, Merridyth was ready to climb the walls, frightened and worried over Susan and Seana's continued non-appearance. She nearly pounced on Laihla when she returned in the late morning, firing a string of anxious questions, the first being: Where was Susan and Seana?

  Laihla hated having to be the one to do so, but the Mistress had decided Merri would take the news better coming from a friend. So here she was ... delegated to this unple
asant task. “Seana was removed from the harem the same day you become ill,” she said starkly. Even more reluctantly, she told Merri of how Susan had been called to the Sultan's couch, and that she had not been seen since.

  Laihla was privy to no inside information this time, for all her usual sources had mysteriously dried up. And no one was saying what, if anything, they knew about either of the missing women.

  Laihla had heard a half-hearted rumor that Susan had struck the Sultan and been beheaded, but forbore to burden Merri with that grotesque worry, doubting the veracity of that report. The Sultan's practice was to display the heads of those he had executed on the pikes above the Carriage Gate and Susan's head was not one of the gruesome trophies adorning the gate—she knew, having checked for herself.

  Merri impatiently swiped at the moisture obscuring her vision—tears came easily in her weakened state. “He did this as a punishment for me,” she cried, chin wobbling. “My friends are suffering or dead because I could not go through with my agreement. How I wish I not been so rash as to publicly declare my dissatisfaction!"

  "This blame you take upon yourself ... it is your favorite past-time, no?” Laihla asked in disgusted tones, planting her fists on her hips. “Why must every evil thing that befalls us be your fault? Why can it not be the Sultan's fault for falling into an unreasoning fit of temper?"

  Her questions were crisp with displeasure, and had Merri hanging her head in guilt, for what Laihla accused her of was true. No matter how many times she told herself differently, she always ended up blaming herself.

  "I know you are right,” she said to placate her irate friend, “yet I cannot help thinking—in this case—that Susan would not have been summoned if I had not reneged on my agreement with the Sultan.—"

  "If you believe that, then you are a fool!” Laihla exclaimed, throwing up her hands, unable to recall ever having met someone more willingly blind to the reality of all the women's lives—and uses—in the harem. “The Sultan has been salivating over the two of you since you first arrived. And if the prince had not shown such a definite interest in you, it would be you lying in his blankets right now!"

  Merri, who had been sipping a glass of water, choked and sputtered, and Laihla leaped to her feet, energetically thumping her on the back. The invalid waved her away, irritated eyes streaming with tears.

  With an enormous sigh, Laihla sat back on the bed beside her friend, soothing her brow with a gentle hand. “Listen ... Just because no one has seen her since she walked the Golden Way, there is no reason to fret. I am sure Susan is all right.” She smiled, sure her words were reassuring her worried friend. She missed the look of horror that tightened Merri's visage. “Had Selim executed her,” she blithely continued, “her head would be impaled on a pike of the Carriage Gate—it is his favorite position for such things, as he can see the gate spikes from his windows. But it is not there ... her head, I mean. So Susan is alive, though in all likelihood, she has suffered impaling this last month, albeit on a more fleshly pike—"

  Merri's face flared with heat. “Must you always be so graphic?” she asked plaintively, those hated easy tears leaking out again.

  Laihla was instantly sorry. “Look what all you have been through! And I yell at you and tease—” She patted Merridyth's hand. “You must forget my bad behavior,” she implored in apology, her quaint English lilting and child-like, not so, the mind behind the words.

  "Forgive. Forgive your behavior,” Merri interrupted, automatically correcting the other's English in a tired voice. “And there is nothing to forgive. You are simply performing the duty of a friend when you do not allow me to wallow in self-pity."

  "Perhaps,” Laihla conceded, “this is one time you should be allowed to wallow.” Her features were fine-drawn with remembered stress. “You still do not know how close we came to losing you—and through our own faults!"

  "What are you saying, Laihla?” Merri questioned. Surely there was no way her friend could have been remotely responsible for her sudden illness. Unless ... Merri's eyes narrowed in stunned suspicion. “Do you mean to say my illness was not natural?” She drew several deep breaths, trying to remain calm, and cursed the lingering weakness that was proving to be so debilitating.

  Cringing inside, Laihla nevertheless turned to face Merri squarely. “You were not ill ... exactly,” she began, harboring no hope that Merri would be able to understand and forgive what she was about to tell her. “Susan and I drugged your tea."

  "You what...?” Merri's disbelieving yelp was totally involuntary.

  "You must not blame Susan,” Laihla hurried to admit, “for it was my idea. We meant no harm ... truly! You were so frightened about having to go to the Emir, and we simply wanted you to be relaxed—” A questioning look came over Laihla's face. “What is that noise?"

  Merry clamped the muscles of her jaw tight, clenching her teeth, and the noise stopped. “Never mind,” she gritted out. “Just get on with this explanation!"

  Her face falling, the Black woman continued. “As I was saying, we gave you the drug in your tea. It should have made you calm and relaxed, and ... open to suggestion. However, you became increasingly agitated, and Susan—who did not really want to give you anything in the first place—panicked, and came looking for me. While she was gone, the Mistress of the Girls came to your room, and administered a second dose, not knowing you had already received one. She had heard that you intended to refuse the Prince, and was afraid the Sultan would blame her for your decision—"

  "My goodness, this gets more and more unbelievable!” Merri shook her head in fascination. “So I was drugged twice?"

  "Well...” Laihla hesitated, “it turned out to be ... a triple dose."

  "A triple—? No!” Merri put her hands out as if to ward off trouble, “I do not want to hear any more.” She stopped abruptly, blowing out a frustrated gust of air, and squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. As though gathering a measure of calm. “On second thought, I do want to hear the rest. After all, what could be worse?"

  "Uhh-hhm, ah-hh..."

  Merri, listening to Laihla's stuttering evasion, felt a ball of ice shiver in the pit of her stomach. “Please tell me it does not get worse, Laihla!"

  Laihla, who had never panicked in a crisis situation, who lived for adventure and intrigue, could not face the condemnation on her friend's face. She lowered her own, tears falling in a silent, steady stream down her coffee-brown cheeks. “We did not know you were one of those who could not tolerate the drug,” she said, frantic to excuse their actions. “We only saw that you were still acting strangely excited, and so we gave you one more dose. Of course, we did not know the Mistress had also been busy on the same errand."

  "All right,” Merri sighed. “We have gotten to the part where I received three doses of whatever drug you slipped me. Now tell me what else happened!” she commanded, quickly losing all traces of patience.

  Laihla gulped. Nodding resolutely, she finished in a rush of words, “You were really loud. Everything you said was yelled at the top of your voice. You said the Sultan was a ... you called him a ... a powerful bag of wind. A big old fart—"

  All color leeched from Merri's stunned features. “I never!” she whispered in horror. “I would never speak so ... not even in jest.” Her voice shook as she said, “The Sultan would kill someone for mouthing an insult such as that should he catch wind of it—” She paused in mid-sentence, a smile struggling to supplant her frown as she pondered her inadvertent play on words. If she'd thought Laihla would have understood the joke, she would have shared it, but Laihla was not amused. In fact, she was acting very strangely.

  "What now?” Merri's exasperation was reaching monumental heights.

  Laihla had buried her head in her hands, loud sobbing cries pouring out in a torrent of grief. Haltingly, between sobs, she blurted out the last of her dreadful news. “The Sultan has heard of your insults—some horrid serving girl blabbed it to a eunuch, who took it straight to the Kislar Agasi. The Sultan
became very angry. He has vowed to punish you—possibly kill you!” Laihla struggled to keep her voice low, to avoid others in the harem overhearing their conversation.

  "No one has ever seen him so out of control! Even the old man, Tubal, has not been able to soothe him. He seeks revenge, and has ordered he be informed the minute you are recovered. All this while, he has been biding his time,” Laihla peeked at Merri, both her hands unconsciously engaged in a wringing match. “Every one is walking on tip-toe, trying not to re-awaken his temper. The women fear he may have already dispatched Sus—” With a harsh gasp, Laihla clapped her hands over her uncontrollable mouth, her guilty eyes caught by Merri's. “I did not mean to say that!” she cried. “It is only vicious gossip."

  "I do not doubt you are sorry for letting it slip!” Merri concurred grimly. The dark haired English woman threw back her covers, swinging her legs over the side of the sleeping couch. She had to sit there a while, to allow her head to stop its spinning. When she had regained her equilibrium, she pinned Laihla with a challenging glare. “Get me some clothes and help me dress, or get out of my way!” she snapped.

  "What are you doing?” Laihla asked, looking askance at the labored movements of the invalid.

  "I am getting up.” Merri said shortly. “With or without your help. I want to see the Sultan ... now!"

  Chapter Forty-six

  Jason has finally written me regarding your cousin! She has consented to journeying for a visit, and will come as soon as she can complete her obligation to her employers. Of course, I am delighted to know she will give us a chance to explain just what occurrences transpired to keep us from tendering the help she needed. I know nothing we do now will make up for the hardships she must have gone through, however, I cannot bear that she think ill of Randolph. He was many things, your father, but he was never neglectful of family! Jason is not staying on to accompany her, but will travel back later this month. He informs me he will be going on another business trip, and will probably miss cousin Janelle's visit. That boy stays so busy, and is always on the go! You will never know how I have come to depend upon Jason—! He had truly been a God-send, helping me in so many ways during this last winter when I was so ill. Thankfully, I am feeling much better lately! Soon, Jason will be able to take a much-needed and well-deserved rest. I know he will most likely not appreciate that, as he has become accustomed to hard, never-ceasing work on my behalf. We do not pay him half enough.