Authors: Bertrice Small
“Ye dinna wish to continue?” Her whole demeanor was one of disappointment.
“We will practice again tonight,” he said calmly.
“Ohh.” She arose from the bed, and dressing quickly, left him.
Karim al Malina chuckled. It had been a long time since he had schooled a maiden. He had truly believed himself in complete control. And indeed he had been, until she evinced pleasure at his homage to her charming breasts and pressed against him. His manhood had in that single instant gone from well behaved to a raging hunger. It had been all he could do in that moment not to take her there and then. She did not realize it, but she would have been willing.
Instead he had continued suckling upon her perfumed flesh almost as a self-discipline for himself. Then he’d dismissed her as her master would one day dismiss her when he had taken his pleasure of her lovely body. It had not been easy. He realized now that he’d been foolish to stop training Love Slaves simply because Leila had killed herself over him. It had unnerved him, true, but he should have taken another maiden to school immediately.
His education with the Passion Masters in Samarkand had been a valuable source of income, permitting him to purchase his freighter,
I’timad
, and sail it where and when he wanted. It allowed him to pay his crew in the periods he chose to remain ashore, so that they would not sail with another vessel. In the years since he purchased his vessel, he’d assembled a band of sailors whose temperaments suited his and each other’s. Without his other source of income, he had had to spend more time at sea in the past few years. Donal Righ had not discussed what he would pay him for training Zaynab, but he knew his father’s old friend would be very generous.
As Zaynab reentered the little garden, Alaeddin ben Omar was just leaving it. She nodded to him, but said nothing. She found her servant upon a marble bench, flushed and breathless. “He seeks to seduce ye,” she said by way of admonishment.
“Aye, he does,” the other girl admitted, “but he’ll nae succeed, my lady Regan, until I wish to be seduced.”
“I have accepted the name of Zaynab,” her mistress told her then. “It is foolish to oppose these Moors, as we are being taken to their al-Andalus to live out our lives. I shall nae call ye Morag again, my good Oma. Dinna think me cowardly for giving in to them.”
“I dinna think ye craven, my lady Zaynab. I think ye verra wise,” Oma told her. “Alaeddin says we shall also hae to learn their language if we are to get on. It is called Romance.”
“I shall request of Karim al Malina that we be taught together,” Zaynab replied, “but we shall speak our own tongue from time to time, lest we forget it. Besides, it is unlikely anyone else will know it, and we may communicate in secret when we need to do so, Oma.”
In early evening the two girls went to the baths, where Erda was awaiting them. “Have ye heard?” she asked them. “Ye’re to set sail in just seven days’ time for al-Andalus. I heard the master speaking with the handsome Moorish captain, Karim al Malina, this afternoon.” She peered at Zaynab closely. “Is he the magnificent lover he is reputed to be, my girl? Ye should certainly know by now.” She chuckled.
“My lord Karim hae nae made love to me, ye nosy old woman,” she told Erda. “There is more to the art of seduction than a man’s member nesting itself within a woman’s secret garden. That is the final outcome. One must begin at the beginning,” she finished loftily.
Oma’s jaw dropped with surprise at Zaynab’s words.
Erda, however, rolled her faded brown eyes. “Listen to the wench,” she said in outraged tones. “Three weeks ago she did not know what a bath was, and now she thinks she’s a houri! Well, ye’ve got a lot to learn, lassie! A wee bit of humility might be a good first lesson.”
“Ohh, Erda,” Zaynab relented, “I dinna mean to offend ye. Will ye forgive me, old woman?
Please?
”
“Well, perhaps I might,” Erda allowed, mollified. Then she said brightly, “Don’t be disappointed, lassie. He’ll make love to ye soon enough.”
Oma burst out laughing at the look on Zaynab’s face, and even Zaynab was unable to withhold her own amusement.
“Yer a dreadful old thing, Erda,” she scolded the bath mistress, who cackled in toothless appreciation.
They bathed and then ate a simple supper with Erda in the women’s quarters. When they returned to the chamber at the top of the house, Oma said, “I hae been told yer to remove yer garments and go to sleep. Erda says those were her orders for ye.”
“Will the lord Karim come tonight?” Zaynab wondered aloud.
“I dinna know that,” Oma replied, helping her mistress off with her clothing and into her bed. “Sleep well, my lady.” The door between their chambers closed.
Zaynab lay quietly. The house seemed very quiet tonight. In the garden below she could hear the soft chirping of the summer insects. If she closed her eyes, she might be back at Ben MacDui. For the first time in weeks there was no sadness in the memory. Her fate had not lain in the land of her birth, she now realized clearly. “Farewell, dear Gruoch,” she whispered to herself. “May yer life be a happy one, my sister.” Then she closed her eyes again and drifted into a light sleep.
* * *
He stood over the bed, upon the dais, looking down upon her. He had seen many beautiful women in his time and in his travels, but this girl was probably the most beautiful of them all. He wondered if all the maidens from Alba were as fair as she was, for he had never before seen a girl from that land.
She had told Donal Righ the story of her life, and Donal Righ, in his turn, had passed it on to him. It was amazing that her mind was whole, he thought. He was not surprised by her fear of men or her inability to feel love. She had never really known any. Now he would teach her all the skills of passion at his command, that she might gain favor with the Caliph of Cordoba. He wondered if Abd-al Rahman would appreciate Zaynab. He was a respected ruler, and a patron of the arts, but now, in his later years, there were rumors that it took more than just a beautiful woman to please him. He knew this was why Donal Righ had besought him to train Zaynab as a Love Slave.
Karim quietly drew off his clothing and lay on his side facing the girl. She stirred restlessly. He ran a single finger from the pulse in the base of her throat down to her sweet cleft. She murmured, and he drew the finger back up her body. Her eyes opened and she recognized him. Leaning over, he began kissing the nipples of her breasts, each in turn. He then began to bathe her with his hot tongue, moving from her breasts to her chest; gently forcing her head back as his tongue swept in long, leisurely strokes up her slender neck and back down again to her breasts.
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.