The Love Slave (15 page)

When the morning came, Zaynab behaved as if nothing untoward had happened between them the previous night. “Good morning, my lord,” she greeted him sweetly.

He responded in kind. “You should begin to learn a man’s body with your hands today,” he told her. “Let us go to the baths. Erda and I will teach you how to bathe your master.”

“As my lord commands,” she replied.

He looked sharply at her. “You are amazingly amenable.”

“I dinna sleep well at the foot of the bed,” she said. “It gave me the time to think on what ye had told me. I want to succeed wi’ the caliph, my lord. Donal Righ has been kind to me. I would bring honor to his gift. If I behave badly, it would reflect upon him.”

She sounded very reasonable. Still, he was suspicious. It was too great a change from her attitude last night. Then he relented. She was intelligent, he knew. She just lacked any experience, and obviously had had no discipline growing up. She was used to being willful, but perhaps his strong actions last night had made her realize that she could not continue to behave mulishly.

They went to the baths, where Erda awaited them. The old woman was an expert bath mistress, and Zaynab an excellent pupil. She mimicked each of Erda’s actions perfectly, scraping
away the sweat on Karim al Malina’s body and rinsing him with warm water. Her fingers imitated Erda’s, dipping into the alabaster soap jar, smoothing the creamy substance over his chest, working it into a fragrant foam. Her hands smoothed over his upper body; his long, lean back.

“My bones are all of an ache today, Zaynab,” Erda told her. “Kneel down and wash Karim al Malina’s legs, then his feet, being certain to do each toe separately, my chick.”

When Zaynab had finished this task, he surprised her by turning quickly about. She suddenly found herself facing his manhood. Startled, she looked up at him questioningly.

“Be gentle,” were his only words of instruction, said in a monotone, but his azure eyes were dancing devilishly.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered meekly. “ ’Tis a verra small thing, and shouldna take long,” she finished.

Erda cackled with appreciation at the jibe. Something was going on between these two, although she could not quite decide what it was.

Zaynab soaped Karim al Malina’s manhood and his pouch of life with tender fingers. Gently she smoothed and rubbed him, watching, fascinated, as he grew in breadth and length. It was really quite amazing, but she gave no indication of either admiration or fear. When he was hard, his male member thrusting itself straight forward, Zaynab stood and, reaching for the nearest basin of fresh water, said, “Let me rinse ye, my lord, lest the soap bum ye.”

“
Zaynab!
” Old Erda’s voice cried out urgently even as the girl splashed the water upon Karim al Malina. “ ’Tis cold …” Erda’s voice faded away. For a long moment there was only the sound of dripping water from the corner fountain and the lapping of the water in the bathing pool.

“Oh dear,” Zaynab said in a small, innocent-sounding voice. The icy dousing had all but sent his magnificent display of manhood into hiding.

Had she done it deliberately? he wondered. Of course she had! It was her revenge for the spanking he had given her.

“My lord, my apologies,” Zaynab said. “I believed the basin
filled with warm water. Erda always adds a pitcher of warm water from the pool to the cold water. I thought she had done it.”

“My chick, I told
ye
to do it,” Erda said, pointing to the full pitcher by the basin. “Ye forgot, I fear.”

“My eyes were blinded by my lord’s exhibition of his manhood. Remember that I am but an innocent maid with little experience.” Then, without another word, she rinsed the rest of his big body, but this time with more tepid water from a separate basin.

Oh, yes! It had been deliberate. She would drive him to the whip yet, he feared, but when he finished with her, she would be the most perfect Love Slave he had ever trained.

With a sweet smile, she led him by the hand down into the bathing pool. “Is it better now, my lord?” she queried him solicitously.

“You’re a vixen,” he told her softly.

“Aye, my lord,” she replied in equally low tones.

“You learn quickly,” he said. “You bathed me well, but for that one mistake. Do not make such a mistake again, Zaynab, or you will indeed feel the sting of my lash. I will not warn you further, my flower.”

“As my lord commands,” she murmured humbly, but he sensed absolutely no humility at all in her modest demeanor.

It was to be war between them, then. He recognized it in that moment. She would be outwardly obedient, but never truly so. What a challenge she presented to him, he thought. His excitement rose. To tame her, yet not to break her spirit. Without that spirit, she would be just another beautiful creature, and she would certainly not survive in the harem of the caliph. She must be strong, but she must also learn when to bend. Was such a thing even possible?

They returned to their chamber and he dressed. “I must go to the docks, to ascertain that
I’timad
is being loaded properly and on schedule. Have Oma bring you something to eat. Rest, for I shall return by mid-afternoon to resume your lessons.” Then he was gone. Zaynab opened the storage chest to draw out fresh garments, but the chest was empty. “Oma!” she called.

The girl came through the door wearing a foreign-looking garment and carrying another. “Donal Righ has had his woman alter some of his mother’s clothing for us. This garment is called a caftan, and worn by the women of al-Andalus. He says we must get used to Moorish garments. Here is yours. Is it not lovely?”

The caftan was the pale blue of a summer sky. It was made of silk. The neckline was high, yet had a keyhole opening embroidered in silver thread that matched the embroidery on the edges of the long, wide sleeves. Zaynab slipped it over her head, delighted by the softness of the fabric. “It’s verra beautiful,” she said, almost to herself.

“Now let me bring ye some food,” Oma replied briskly.

“Let us eat in the garden,” her mistress suggested, and the servant agreed.

While the two girls ate their meal, Karim al Malina sat in his cabin aboard
I’timad
and pondered his next move, much to the amusement of Alaeddin ben Omar.

“I have never seen you so perplexed over a woman,” the first mate said with a chuckle. “I will admit these northern girls are different. That little Oma may be a virgin, but she is no fool.”

“They are too independent,” Karim said slowly. “I wonder if such a woman can truly become a good Love Slave. I have never dealt with such a woman before. What if she cannot be properly trained?”

“Does she fight you?” Alaeddin asked curiously.

“Aye, and at the same time nay,” came the answer. “She has overcome her initial fear of passion, but she finds it difficult, nay almost impossible, to be obedient. I am not certain what to do with her, my friend. Were she another girl, I would beat her. I have indeed threatened to do so, but she will not be quelled.”

“What does she want of you?” the first mate asked intuitively.

Karim was startled by the question at first, and then he said, “She wants me to make love to her, and she is not yet ready.”

“Why?” Alaeddin queried. “This is no virgin, Karim, but a girl who has been cruelly treated. Now you have shown her
that a man need not be cruel; that a man can give pleasure while being gentle. She is aroused and curious to know more. You cannot treat her as you would a dewy-eyed virgin whom you are training for some rich master. With such a virgin, you would spend weeks gently leading her up to that moment when you would remove the impediment of her virginity for her master, initiating her into the joys of love. This girl does not understand love. She has already been brutally used. She only knows that when a man couples with a woman, it brings her pain, and shame.

“Now you have suggested by your actions that this may not be so. Before you can continue on with her, she needs to have the reassurance that only your full passion can give her. You must erase from her memory the previous cruelties done her if you are to have her full cooperation. I will wager if you make complete and sweet love to her, she will become as obedient as any woman mastered by a loving and skillful cock.” He chuckled again. “Surely the Passion Masters did not teach you to be so rigid in your methods, Karim. You know better than even I that all women are certainly not the same. Each is different in her own way, my friend. Each must be approached differently.”

“Perhaps I am afraid,” Karim told his friend.

“
Afraid? You? Never!
” came the sure reply.

“I cannot help but remember Leila,” Karim said.

“I remember Leila too,” Alaeddin ben Omar replied. “She was a beautiful girl, but as finely drawn and as high-strung as a Berber chieftain’s brood mare ready to be mated by a powerful desert stallion. Any sensible man could have seen she was not suitable to be trained as a Love Slave. Any man except that fool, who in his lust purchased her. Then he was not satisfied by her extraordinary beauty. He had to have a Love Slave. He was a friend of your father’s, as I recall, wasn’t he?

“You would have never taken the girl into your charge except that he was. Perhaps you do not recall it clearly, but I do. You did not think her suitable for training at the time, but your father pleaded with you to do this favor for his old friend. So you did, and of course the girl fell in love with you when her
only other choice was that aging fool who owned her. It was never your fault, Karim. This girl is not the same. She is sound of mind and strong of heart. Give her a taste of true passion, and she will come to heel, I guarantee it.”

“Perhaps you are right,” the captain said thoughtfully. “Mayhap when the mystery is over for her, and she is reassured, she will settle down, paying heed to her instructions. Her success with the caliph will not only bring honor to Donal Righ, but to me as well. That would please my father.”

Alaeddin ben Omar grinned wickedly. “Then why are you yet here, my captain? Go back to the house and give the stubborn wench the pleasure she craves. I will see to the ship.”

“And what of you, Alaeddin? Will you continue in your seduction of the little Oma? She is a toothsome creature,” Karim remarked.

“She will have taken my lance into her virgin sheath before we sail, my captain,” the first mate bragged. “I mean to be the first with her, and I’ll teach her well, I promise.”

Karim al Malina picked up his cape and drew it about his broad shoulders. “Be gentle with the girl,” he advised. “I do not want her unhappy, lest she distress Zaynab. The two are close, and I want them both content, my friend. Remember, you are a man of vast experience, and I do not remember that you have ever had a virgin. They must be treated in a kindly fashion, not taken harshly.”

“I will not harm the little wench,” Alaeddin promised. “I will just widen her world as I widen her sweet passage,” he finished with a grin. “I’ll not force her, my captain.”

“Good!” The captain exited his cabin with his mate. “Be certain that all the hides are aboard today, and see each is whole, not damaged. Check them individually. Accept none that are ripped or spoiled. I do not expect I shall be back until sometime tomorrow.”

The first mate nodded. “I wish you joy of your conquest,” he said, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“We shall see,” came the reply. “These girls from Alba seem unpredictable at best, and totally wild at the worst. We
shall see.” Then he went down the gangplank and up the street to the house of Donal Righ, where Regan MacDuff, now called Zaynab, awaited his coming.

Cha
p
ter 5

K
arim al Malina found both girls in Donal Righ’s garden upon his return from the harbor. Oma bowed and discreetly attempted to depart so that her mistress might have privacy, but Karim stopped her, gently taking her arm. As fond as he was of his first mate, he did not want Oma believing that unless she succumbed to Alaeddin’s wiles she would displease everyone.

“Alaeddin ben Omar pays you court, Oma,” he began. “If he should at any time displease you, or frighten you, you have but to tell him to cease. He will. He is no barbarian. You will anger no one by refusing him or his attentions.”

“Thank ye, my lord,” Oma replied, “but I am nae afeared of yer big bear of a mate. He hae a soft heart, for all his bluster.” Then, with a mischievous little smile, she bowed again and went from the garden, leaving the two together.

“ ’Twas kind of ye, Karim al Malina,” Zaynab said quietly, glad that her friend would not be forced into an unpleasant situation.

He chuckled. “At first I feared for the little wench, but now I think I should fear for my old friend, Alaeddin ben Omar.”

Zaynab laughed. “Oma is strong-minded, yet she is also a kind girl. She longs to taste passion, I think. I believe your mate will eventually succeed with her because she wants him to; though perhaps not in his good time, but rather hers.”

“Passion should indeed come in the woman’s time, and not the man’s,” he agreed, his gaze locking onto hers. Then he took her hand in his, raising it up to his lips to first kiss the upturned palm, and next the tender inside of her perfumed wrist. “Last
night you insisted most vehemently that you were ready for a deeper passion than I was willing to share with you. Are you still certain that you desire that passion, or have you changed your mind, my flower?”