Enchantress

by Amy Sumida

  The men looked at each other warily. The woman’s hair was starting to rise and twist about her, as if lifted by an unseen hand. Then they felt it as well…wind. Great gusts of air blew in and around the windowless chamber. It whipped at their hair and clothes, growing in power till it was practically pushing them out the door. In the middle of the whirlwind stood Ayla, unmoving and exalting in the power of nature. Her hair whipped about her madly, her arms were raised in glory and her eyes were filled with power. Then she began to laugh.

  The men screamed in terror and ran.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It had been a long day for Rannulf. All he wanted to do now was have a quiet meal with Ayla, then make love to her. He smiled a little at the thought. She always made things better.

  Rannulf walked into their chambers to find Ayla seated on the couch. She had a far-away look to her, her hair was wild and she didn’t even seem to notice that he'd come in. Rannulf walked over and sat down next to her. His presence startled her, confirming his earlier suspicion. He shook his head and smiled at her. She was so strange at times.

  “Do you want to dine here tonight,” he asked her, “or would you prefer to feast in the hall with everyone else.”

  “Here,” she said quickly, too quickly.

  “What is it?” Rannulf moved closer and looked into her eyes carefully.

  “Nothing,” Ayla tried to lie. “All is well, I am just tired.”

  “Tell me,” Rannulf prompted as he brushed her tangled locks back from her face.

  Ayla sighed, she should have known she wouldn't be able to fool him.

  “I think that maybe it was a better idea for me to stay in our chambers,” Ayla laid her head back against the cushions, it was beginning to ache.

  “What happened?” Rannulf growled.

  Ayla looked at him in surprise.

  “It was just a misunderstanding,” she said.

  She couldn’t fault those men for hating her and she'd taken care of the situation on her own. Rannulf didn't need to be involved.

  “Ayla,” her name became a warning on his lips.

  “Rannulf,” she sighed. “You can't expect your men to treasure me as you do. They hate me and with good reason.”

  “What happened?” Rannulf ground out each word, slowly.

  “Some men attacked me in the corridor,” Ayla closed her eyes in regret.

  “What?!” Rannulf jumped up in anger.

  “I’ve handled it, Rannulf,” Ayla grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back down but he wouldn’t budge.

  “What do you mean, you’ve ‘handled it’?” Rannulf’s eyes narrowed.

  “I scared them with a little show of my power and they ran off,” Ayla gave up and let go of him.

  “But you still wish to remain inside from now on?” Rannulf crouched down before her and looked her in the eye.

  “I think it may be for the best,” Ayla sighed.

  “I’ll tell you what's best,” Rannulf grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We're going to the feast and you're going to point out which men tried to harm you today.”

  “I will not,” Ayla tried to plant her heels but all she succeeded in doing was dragging the carpet along with her.

  Rannulf stopped and glowered at her.

  “They all know you're mine,” Rannulf reasoned with her. “Any attack on you is an attack on me. I will not stand for the insolence and I will not allow you to be harmed. Now do you walk with me or do I carry you?”

  Ayla inhaled deeply and nodded. She wouldn't win this argument. He felt that his men had disrespected him as well as her, and he was not a man to be disrespected. She should never have told him.

  They walked through the corridors, down the wide staircase and through another corridor to the dining hall. The room was full of men and the sounds of camaraderie. Rannulf entered and guided Ayla in beside him.

  “Which ones?” He asked in a deadly calm voice.

  Ayla looked around and saw them immediately. The whole group was seated together on the far side of the room. They'd looked up when Rannulf entered and now that they'd seen her, their faces lost all traces of festivity. Ayla briefly considered lying to Rannulf and telling him that the men weren’t there but then she looked up at his face and realized he already knew. He'd seen her look at them.

  “All of them?” Rannulf looked down at her and the fury in his eyes made her cringe. She'd never seen him look so vicious.

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  He would've been impressed with her ability to protect herself if he hadn’t been so enraged. Instead, he walked determinedly across the room, with Ayla trailing along behind him. All conversation ceased as it became evident that Rannulf was in a foul mood. Men leaned away from him as he passed, grateful that they were not the object of his anger.

  By the time he reached Ayla’s attackers, he'd gained the attention of the whole room, especially Bohemund, who watched avidly. The men looked at each other in apprehension till the blonde haired boy stood to confront Rannulf. It was not the wisest move.

  As soon as the man gained his feet, Rannulf sent his fist into the angel’s face and sent him flying back to the floor. The fallen angel’s companions got to their feet in fright, backing away quickly. Rannulf pursued them easily, scooping two of them up at once and bashing their faces together. Blood poured out of broken noses and the remaining men held up their hands in defense.

  “My Lord,” one cried, “we only thought to save you from the witch. She obviously has you under her spell.”

  Rannulf glowered at the man and punched him in the belly, effectively silencing his excuses. The last man stood to the side, quaking in fear. Rannulf hauled him up by the throat so that he dangled in the air. While the man choked, Rannulf looked around the room to stare down all of the men.

  “This woman is mine,” his voice rumbled like thunder as he threw the choking man into his beaten fellows. “Insult her and you insult me, touch her…and you will die.”

  The ominous words hung in the air as Rannulf turned away and took Ayla’s arm. He escorted her to Bohemund’s table and sat down next to his friend casually, as if he had not just threatened the entire room with murder.

  Bohemund looked at Rannulf steadily, then over at Ayla. Deep down, Bohemund knew that he would have done the same thing had Ayla been his. She was a prize worth fighting for, worth killing for. Bohemund gestured to a servant to bring Rannulf and Ayla some food and then poured a glass of ale for Rannulf.

  “That was one of your shortest speeches,” Bohemund said calmly. “But I think that you made your point.”

  Rannulf looked over at Bohemund and began to smile. He accepted the ale, took a swig and began to relax. It had taken all of his control not to kill those men and his back was still tense with his pent-up fury. His friend’s light-hearted banter helped diffuse it.

  Conversations slowly started up again, as the room regained some of its previous cheer. Ayla sat quietly to the side, trying to be as small as possible. She felt as if every pair of eyes in the room were on her. If the men had hated her before, they would truly despise her now.

  “Did I not tell you, he adored you?” John’s whisper startled Ayla.

  She looked up and found the priest seated to her left. He smiled brightly at her.

  “He was upset because his men insulted him,” Ayla whispered back, “not due to any love he feels for me.”

  “He does love you,” John vowed.

  “Yes, he does,” Ayla agreed as she looked sideways at Rannulf. “But that had nothing to do with his performance tonight.”

  “You're upset with him?” John sounded shocked.

  “Disappointed, I guess,” Ayla answered sadly. “If he treats his men this way, how will he treat his child?”

  “He was defending you, Ayla,” John tried to reason with her.

  “He was defending his pride,” Ayla shook her head. “A man who can't see past his pride will never be a good father.”
>
  “You condemn him too quickly, I think,” John said. “A father needs to protect his family as well, which Rannulf just demonstrated he could do.”

  “We don't need his protection,” Ayla said. “We need his love and understanding.”

  “He's a knight, Ayla,” John patted her leg. “He expresses his love differently than others. Maybe you should show him some understanding as well.”

  “Maybe,” Ayla said as she looked over at John. He poured a cup of mint tea and passed it to her. “He has opened his mind to a lot of new things recently. He's been able to let go of a lot of guilt that your religion makes men feel.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” John said. “I don't believe our god would wish anyone to live under the burden of guilt. One should simply try to live as best they can and know that to sin is human but, more importantly, it is forgivable.”

  “Maybe they should make you Pope,” Ayla finally smiled. “Christendom would be better for it.”

  “Bite your tongue, woman,” John said before he began to laugh. “I'd never want that kind of responsibility.”

  “What’s so amusing?” Rannulf leaned over and kissed Ayla’s cheek.

  “The thought of me as the Pope,” John announced gaily. “I don’t know what would be worse, having to speak for God or having to wear that ridiculous hat.”

  Rannulf threw back his head and laughed, relaxing many of the diners who were still eying him apprehensively. Ayla smiled in approval, the old Rannulf would have been offended by the priest’s impious attitude. This new Rannulf had a lighter outlook. Maybe John was right, she should be more understanding of the man.

  The evening improved considerably from that moment on. There was light-hearted banter at the table, thanks especially to John and Tancred, and the food had improved since the reopening of trade routes through the city. The only darkness in the evening was in the looks Bohemund kept casting towards Ayla. She could feel his regard like an asp coiling around her lightly but dangerously. She knew instinctively that the snake was simply biding his time.

  Ayla gathered her courage and looked up into Bohemund’s stare. She tried not to be cowed by him and stared boldly back. His eyes widened in response and the promise she saw in their depths made her wish she'd never looked.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Every conqueror changed the place he conquered and left his stamp upon it but the Normans invaders seemed disinclined to follow the trend. Ayla noticed the lack of alterations as she took her daily walk around the palace grounds. If she ignored the fact that the place was crawling with Europeans, she could believe she was still in Seljuk hands. How odd that the conquerors would not want to change their new home to suit them better.

  Maybe they truly like the Seljuk décor better, she thought. Or maybe they were just too lazy to make the change. Oh well, what did it matter to her? She enjoyed the palace as it was.

  The orchard was especially a favorite of hers and she headed there, seeking the solace it offered her. She loved lying beneath the branches full of ripening fruit and breathing in the sweet smells. She rubbed her hand over her belly and wondered if her child would ever see the orchards of Antioch.

  A wave of dizziness passed over her and she fell to her knees in the soft grass. With a deep breath she rolled over and let the vision overcome her. The smells of the fruit trees still filled her nostrils and she was surprised to see the same orchard in her vision. Through the trees a strong Seljuk warrior walked confidently, coming closer and closer to her. When he got close enough to touch Ayla saw that his eyes burned bright green, just as his father’s did occasionally.

  She inhaled sharply, knowing her son immediately and wanting to touch him. He smiled at her and reached for her as well. Soon she was being held tenderly in the arms of her child who had yet to be born.

  “Someday we will walk through these gardens together,” he said. “But you know in your heart where our home is. Take me home, Mother.”

  Her son faded away as the vision left and she found herself lying on the grass again. Tears streamed down her cheeks and down into the ground to give life to the trees she loved. She didn’t want to leave this place and the man she loved. She couldn’t, even at the request of her son. Nothing could come before Rannulf.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Rannulf would never get used to the numerous corridors of the palace. All the twists and turns gave him a headache. He was always the happiest in a tent in the open world, without stone walls and confusing hallways. It was one of the reasons he followed Bohemund so long, they were always on the move.

  But now they'd stopped and Bohemund wanted to settle in the largest and most complicated pile of stones ever erected. At least he had Ayla, anywhere Ayla was could be home for him now. He smiled as he thought of her.

  “You are pretty when you smile.”

  Rannulf looked over in the direction of the intrusion. It was Kameyla, the Seljuk girl he'd saved. He relaxed and smiled brighter.

  “Thank you, although I’ve never been called pretty before.”

  “Pretty is wrong word?” Kameyla chewed her lip in distress. “I've been practicing your language but I make many mistakes still. I am sorry.”

  “No, its fine,” Rannulf patted her shoulder. “I’m satisfied with being called pretty by a lady.”

  “Thank you,” Kameyla smiled. “I have no want to offend you. You're the only man I have liking of.”

  “Well, I hope you can find more of us to your liking,” Rannulf started to feel a shred of concern over the way the girl was looking at him.

  “No other I want,” she drew close and slipped her hands up Rannulf’s tunic suggestively.

  “Kameyla,” Rannulf grabbed her hands. “I…”

  Before Rannulf could think of something kind to say, Kameyla planted a kiss firmly on Rannulf’s lips. He was so taken unaware that it took him a few moments to react. When he did have a clear head he pushed her gently away, still holding her hands in an attempt to prevent any further touching of his body.

  “I’m sorry, little one,” he said gently. “I didn't mean to make you think I'd want this.”

  “You not want me then?” Kameyla’s dark eyes filled with tears.

  “If I weren't already in love I would,” Rannulf vowed quickly. “You're a lovely girl and I'm flattered by your admiration.”

  “You love another?” Kameyla quieted. “The Sorceress? You love her?”

  “Yes,” Rannulf smiled gently. “There is only Ayla inside me now.”

  Kameyla smiled sadly and nodded.

  “I knew you were the best of men,” she said sweetly. “The Sorceress is lucky. May your love be blessed by the gods.”

  “Thank you,” Rannulf let go of Kameyla’s hands and she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before walking away.

  Ayla finally felt safe enough to roam the palace freely again. The men now seemed to want nothing more than to avoid her. She caught an occasional glare but beyond that, she remained unmolested.

  So she was totally unprepared for Bohemund.

  He met her in a corridor when she was on her way to see John. She tried to walk around him but he stepped in front of her. She looked into his eyes and saw the danger again. It only took her a moment to decide it best to turn around and run.

  Unfortunately, he was prepared for her flight and caught her quickly. Ayla screamed but it was brought short by Bohemund slapping her hard across the face. She calmed instantly and looked back at him serenely. She wouldn't give the monster any pleasure by cowering. She was a Priestess of her people and would conduct herself as such.

  “You've taunted me for too long,” Bohemund ground out. “I can take no more of it.”

  “Taunted you?” Ayla wondered if Bohemund had lost his mind.

  “Don’t play with me, woman,” Bohemund sneered. “Your eyes have promised me the greatest pleasures. Now it’s time to keep your promise.”

  “I belong to Rannulf,” Ayla tried to break free of his grasp b
ut he only tightened his hold. “You were the very one who gave me to him.”

  “You've bewitched him as well,” Bohemund ground out, “the way he attacked those men, I know that kind of fury every time I see him touch you.”

  “Bewitched him as well?” Ayla looked at him aghast. What was the maniac raving about now?

  “Don’t feign ignorance with me, harlot,” Bohemund sneered and pressed his body into hers. Ayla gasped as she felt his manhood rising up against her. “You've cast a spell on me and now I can think of nothing but bedding you.”

  He covered her mouth with his and shoved his tongue through her lips. Ayla pulled back as far as she could and tried desperately not to gag. Bohemund’s hands started to roam over her breasts and hips savagely. He pulled the hem of her entari up and tried to slip his hand into her salvar. Ayla bit his tongue in desperation and Bohemund pulled back in rage and slapped her again. She fell to the floor, gasping as he howled in rage. Bohemund advanced on her but the sound of John’s voice stopped him.

  “What goes on here?” John rushed over to help Ayla up as he looked at Bohemund in reproach.

  “The witch was trying to seduce me,” Bohemund lied smoothly.

  Ayla gasped and looked at John desperately. John looked back and forth between the two and quickly judged the situation correctly. He knew his admonitions would only enrage Bohemund further though, so he decided to be more subtle.

  “Well, I'm here now,” John said as he herded Ayla down the corridor. “I will take the woman in hand and properly chastise her heathen ways.”

  Bohemund nodded sagely and walked away.

  “He attacked me,” Ayla whispered as she let John lead her.

  “Yes,” John acknowledged. “Try not to wander too far alone anymore, my dear. He had a crazed look about him. I think he has seen one too many battlefields.”

  “He accused me of bewitching him,” Ayla said in bewilderment. “I knew he was a threat to me but I had no idea his intentions went in that direction.”