The Love Slave (52 page)

“You have the Nasi, and Moraima,” Oma said slowly.

“The Nasi and I are friends, and of course I am grateful for that. I must live this life that fate has chosen for me, but you do not have to live it with me, my good Oma.

“I want you to live your own life as Alaeddin ben Omar’s wife and the mother of his children. I would sell my soul for what is being offered to you, but I shall never know love again. The only man I have ever loved cannot love me. Fate has presented you with a golden opportunity, Oma. If you reject it this time, you will regret it all of your days, and I will think you the biggest fool ever born.”

Oma burst into tears. “Ohh, lady, I am so torn! I want to be
that black-bearded ruffian’s wife, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving you all alone! You have no one but me to look after you.”

“I shall have the Nasi give orders to comb the slave markets of al-Andalus for a girl from Alba,” Zaynab said. “She will not be my dear Oma, but she will make her own place in my life. Marry the vizier, Oma. After all, you are not getting any younger either. You are sixteen, and I already had had Moraima when I was your age,” Zaynab teased her friend. “If you wait much longer, the vizier will be forced to find a younger wife to wed.”

“As if anyone would have him, the black-bearded villain,” Oma said, and then she smiled tremulously. “Is it really all right? You will not mind if I marry him, and desert you?”

Zayab hugged her. “You are not deserting me, Oma,” she reassured the girl. “Now, run along, and tell him of your decision. You will make him the happiest of men. I will dower you generously, and the Nasi will see to it that your bride price is also large.”

“You are certain you are content to let Oma go?” Hasdai ibn Shaprut asked Zaynab that night as they lay abed.

“She loves him,” came the quiet reply. “No one should throw away love, my lord, though there are those who would think me foolish for such sentiments. Will you negotiate her bride price for her? I should consider it a great favor, and I will need an imam to attend to the legalities of her freedom and the marriage contract.”

“I will ask the prince to speak to the imam, and I will negotiate her bride price.” He took a lock of Zaynab’s golden hair between his fingers. “Tell me what you did to Ali Hassan. What pleasure was so lethal that it killed him?”

“Ali Hassan killed himself,” Zaynab said impassively. “He boiled his heart in his own lust, my lord. I managed to keep him at bay until the night you found us. Finally I took him to the bed and made him lie upon it. I bound his arms and legs with silken cords. Then I began a sweet torture that between lovers
is a delight, but for Ali Hassan was a death sentence, although I knew it not.”

He reached up, and pulling her head down to his kissed her, and whispered against her lips, “Do to me what you did to Ali Hassan, my adorable little assassin.”

“Are you not afraid of meeting the same end, my lord?” she teased him, but she was a little shocked by his request.

His brown eyes looked directly at her. “I am not afraid,” he said softly.

If he had been another man, Zaynab would have found a way to avoid what he was proposing, but Hasdai was genuinely curious. She arose from the bed, and fetching her little golden basket, brought it back to the bedside. Reaching in, she drew forth two silken cords and bound him. She began by resting lightly upon his thighs and fondling her own breasts. He watched, fascinated, as she put a finger in her mouth, sucked upon it, and then withdrawing it, encircled her nipples.

Then she began his torture, and when he was well roused, and straining against his bonds, Zaynab sat back where he could see her, and teased at her little jewel until she was gasping and weak with pleasure. He struggled against the silken cords, wild with his desire to possess her, and at that point Zaynab lowered herself over his raging member, taking him into her body to slowly pleasure him. When the edge was off his hunger, she released him from his bonds, and rolling her over, he pistoned her again and again until they both found paradise.

Afterward he held her in his arms, saying, “What other little games have you kept from me, my dear? Next time I want to bind you and be the torturer. Would you object?”

“My lord, it is my duty to give you pleasure,” she answered.

“Then so be it,” he said, and promptly fell asleep, perfectly sated with the passion they had shared.

Zaynab lay awake for some time, and finally arose, pulling on a simple white silk caftan. Slipping through the diaphanous curtains, she walked out into the garden. The moon was full tonight, and it silvered the landscape below. She paced slowly, inhaling the fragrance of roses, nicotiana, and her own favorite,
gardenias. The air was warm and the light breeze ruffled her long hair.

She needed to compose herself. Prepare herself for the voyage to al-Andalus; for the long years ahead of her that would be filled with passion while devoid of love. I don’t want to be a Love Slave any longer, she thought silently, daring to let the words she could not voice blossom in her mind. I want to be Karim’s wife, the mother of his children. I would give up everything I possess for that paradise! I would live in a black goat’s-hair tent and eat from a wooden bowl the rest of my life if Allah would but grant me my desire. I hate the life I must live! She paced nervously through the garden.

I must control these mutinous thoughts, Zaynab thought, reminding herself that soon she would see her darling little daughter. Moraima was her life now. She would never again return here, nor see
him
again. It had been horrendous being so close to Karim, neither of them acknowledging the other except in the most formal of terms. It was worse being in the Nasi’s arms, knowing Karim was in the same house. Why had she ever come back to Alcazaba Malina?
Oma
. She had come for Oma.
Or had she?
Suddenly she stopped, stiffening, sensing his presence before he even spoke her name.

“
Zaynab!
” He stood, silhouetted in the moonlight, wearing a caftan as white as hers, his hair pulled back so that she could clearly see his handsome face.

“Forgive me, my lord, I have intruded,” she quickly said, and turned about to go. His hand fell lightly upon her shoulder.

“Do not leave,” he said quietly. “We have had no real chance to speak together, you and I. Are you happy?”

She did not turn about, saying instead, “I am a wealthy woman, albeit a slave. I have a good master in the Nasi, a powerful friend in the caliph, and a child I love, my lord.”

“But are you happy?” he asked her again.

She spun about, saying angrily, “
No!
I am not happy, Karim al Malina. I will never be really happy away from you! There! I have said it aloud to you. Do my words make you happy?”

“I have not been happy since the moment I left you,” he replied.

“Oh, my lord,” she cried furiously, “what good does this do either of us? I cannot have you, nor you me. Find another wife, and sire children upon her for the good of Malina, as your father would have wanted you to do. I will shortly return with my master to al-Andalus. I shall make certain that we never see each other again!”

“
Your master
,” he said sneeringly. “You make him very happy, Zaynab. His cries of pleasure could be heard throughout my garden this night. It pleases me that I trained you so well.”

Her little hand flashed out, making hard contact with his smooth cheek. With equal speed he yanked her into his arms, his mouth descending to cover hers in a deep, burning kiss. His heart leapt at the familiar feeling of her body against his, at her lips softening against his lips in passionate response, but then she drew her head away from his. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her eyes were like sea-washed jewels as she looked at him, anguished.

“
Zaynab
,” he whispered, his own heartache evident.

She pulled completely from his embrace. “You are far crueler to me than Ali Hassan was,” she said low. “How could you, Karim? How could you break my heart again like this?
I will never forgive you!
” Then she ran from him, across the garden, through the diaphanous curtains, back to the chamber she shared with Hasdai ibn Shaprut. Trembling, she pulled her garment off and slipped into the bed again. The man beside her lay quietly, pretending that he yet slept, but he had seen the tableau in the garden and was troubled by it. Now the Love Slave lay by him, struggling to control her sobs. He had to know the truth, but he would not ask her until they were back in al-Andalus.

Oma’s wedding to Alaeddin ben Omar was a quiet one. The vizier had no family but an ancient father. The bridal bath the day before was just between the two friends. Oma did not sit on a golden throne amid a wealth of gifts as Iniga once had, and perhaps it was better they were not reminded of that day. The vizier, his father, Karim, and the Nasi went to the mosque, where the imam, having been informed by the qadi that the
marriage contracts were in order and agreed to by both parties, pronounced that they were man and wife. The four men returned to the palace. After a small traditional repast, Alaeddin ben Omar took his bride home to the fine new house that the prince had given them. His elderly father, Omar ben Tariq, would live with them, that he might enjoy his grandchildren in his remaining years. He had taken immediately to Oma.

“She is pretty enough, and has a sweet nature,” he told his son, “
and
she is broad in the hips. She’ll be a good breeder!”

“When do we return to Cordoba?” Zaynab asked Hasdai that same evening, after the bridal party had gone.

“Are you that anxious to leave?” he asked her thoughtfully.

“We have been gone over four months, my lord. The prince is restored to good health, and is fully capable of administering the government here for the caliph, or so you have said. Oma is settled. I miss my daughter. The Gulf of Cadiz is not an easy sea in autumn,” she concluded.

“So the prince has told me,” he said to her. “We are going to travel overland to Tanja, and sail the short distance across to Jabal-Taraq. We shall then travel to Cadiz, and meet our vessel at the mouth of the Guadalquivir. If you like, we will stop in Seville and see the city, my dear. I promised that to you on our voyage to Malina.”

“I just want to go home,” Zaynab said quietly.

“You cannot travel without a servant,” he said to her.

“I want a slave girl from my own land, Hasdai. We will not find one here in Alcazaba Malina. Besides, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, even after my years in al-Andalus. I need no one to ride in the litter with me. I will be brought my meals, and when I can bathe, I am capable of doing it by myself if I must.”

“Then we can leave tomorrow,” he said. “The Saqalibah can be ready at a moment’s notice, and so can I.”

“I, however, cannot,” she informed him. “My possessions must be packed I will send to Oma tomorrow to come and help me. We can leave the day after, my lord.”

“Give the bride a few days’ respite, my dear,” Hasdai said with a smile. “Although I know Oma will come to your call,
remember she is no longer your servant. Why do we not plan our departure for a week from today. In the meantime I will want our host to ride about Malina with me to reassure his people that everything is all right now. Do you mind being alone? We will leave in the morning and be gone for several days.”

“I am content with my own company,” Zaynab said. “I shall visit the silver market and find something special for Moraima.”

When Oma came to help her a few days later, however, Zaynab was delighted for her company. Together the two women packed the Love Slave’s belongings for her return to al-Andalus. Oma was full of news.

“I have two sweet little serving girls in the harem,” she told Zaynab. “One is from a place called Crete, and the other is a Rumi. They were a gift from my father-in-law. He is such a dear old man, Zaynab. When Alaeddin and I told him about the baby, he was simply delighted. Ohh, it is so wonderful to have a family of my own!”

“
Baby?
” Zaynab laughed. “You did not tell me about a baby.”

Oma chuckled. “Well, you know that once we saw each other, Alaeddin and I couldn’t keep our hands, and our other parts, quiet I knew before you were kidnapped, lady.”

“Yet you would have returned with me to Cordoba,” Zaynab said softly. “Ohh, Oma! No woman ever had a better friend than I have had in you. I will miss you, but I will be content knowing you are so happy.” Then seeing Oma’s tears, she brushed them away, saying, “Tell me about your new home, and how many other servants do you have? Remember to be strict but fair with them. Is the house very big?”

“There is a eunuch who runs the household,” Oma said, “but no eunuch in the harem. I told Alaeddin it was a waste of money to buy one just for me. There is a cook, and people to clean, and we have ten of the new Saqalibah to guard us. The prince gave them to us. He said we can never expect things to be as they once were, so we must be vigilant. The house has beautiful gardens with fountains. It is a lovely place, and I am so happy!” Her pretty face shone, confirming her words. Then
she chuckled. “I cannot help but think how annoyed that horrid Mother Eubh would be to learn of our fates, lady. I’m certain she expected we would end up slaving for some Celtic chieftain in the hüls of Eire. I’m sorry she cannot know of our happiness.”

“Which is certainly far greater than hers, I suspect,” Zaynab answered her friend. “We are the fortunate ones.”

Hasdai and the prince returned late the following day, and ate together before retiring.

“I am informed that your caravan is packed and ready to depart at first light, my lord Nasi,” the prince told him. “You will follow the coastal road connecting Alcazaba Malina with Tanja. The journey should take no more than three days. A vessel will be waiting in Tanja to ferry you across to Jabal-Taraq. Once there, you are again on the soil of al-Andalus proper. I will not save my good-byes for the morning, but rather now tell you of my deep gratitude. Had you not come to Malina, I do not think I should have survived, so deep was my sorrow. I know that the caliph sent you in response to a plea from my council, Hasdai, but once here, you truly felt my pain. You understood, but you did not allow me to wallow in self-pity. You made me remember my duty to my people, as my father would have wanted. For that, for your friendship, for so much more, I am very grateful.”