by S A Monk
“This is my gift to you so that as you prepare for battle, you will have something pleasant to think upon.” After she directed him to lie down on the bench on his stomach, she picked up a bottle of oil. “Did you know,” she asked as she poured some into her hands and rubbed them together to warm it, “that in some cultures a woman sends her man off to battle bathed and oiled, so that he will be anointed with the strength of love before he faces his enemies?”
The scent of almonds filled his nostrils as her oil slick hands glided over his shoulder blades, kneading and pressing into the muscle with gentle strength, her fingertips finding every tired tendon and sore joint. “I read that in a book I stole from Reynald after one of his raids.” The heels of her hands glided down his spine, from his neck to the small of his back, then up again. “I stole all kinds of wonderful books from wagonloads of plundered goods. One of his slaves taught me to read Arabic and even a little Egyptian hieroglyphics.”
Lucien sighed as she needed a particularly sore spot. “Did he ever find out what you were doing?”
“No.” A short laugh accompanied her response. “He can’t read, and I don’t think he ever even knew they were missing. To him, books were of no value unless they were etched in gold.”
Gabrielle smoothed open palms over the bronze skin of his muscled back. There were still a few small scars, but for the most part all evidence of the cane that had been applied to his upper back in the Damascus prison was gone. “Your injuries are nearly healed. Saladin’s doctors tended you well.” Caressing the scar tissue, she bent down to place kisses on each one. “I think Bathsheba must have done this for David.” She kissed the side of his neck, whispering her love, inhaling the rich scent of almonds. “What think you, Sir Lucien?”
He noticed she liked to call him by his new designation. “I think he would have been a lion in battle if she had.” Half-turning, he grasped the back of her neck and pulled her head down for a fiercely hungry kiss. “And I think you are my little temptress.”
“And, not done with you yet!” Gabrielle laughed as she pulled away from his hands and mouth.
Lucien groaned and shifted as his cock stiffened and lengthened.
Gabrielle poured more almond oil into her hands and moved down the bench to his lower body. Placing her hands on the back of his waist, she traveled to his buttocks and began kneading both cheeks at once. When he groaned yet again and began to push up on his forearms, she pressed him back down and moved to the backs of his thickly muscled thighs. She lingered there but a short while before she moved on to his rock hard calves, suspecting that was not the only thing that was rock hard at the moment. Finally, she massaged his feet, rubbing deeply over his arches with the pads of her thumbs.
When she began the sensual assault back up his legs again, Lucien growled and flipped over. “You’re driving me mad, Gabi!” he announced in a raspy edgy voice.
“But I’m not finished!” she protested, holding up the bottle of oil. “I still need to massage your….”
“No, you don’t, and it is my turn, lady.” The determination in his glittering brown eyes promised full retribution and untold pleasure. He grabbed the slick bottle of oil from her and ripped her towel off in one smooth move. “Now, lie down, on your stomach.”
Gabrielle finally settled onto the padded marble bench, resting her head on her folded arms. There was a thick cotton sheet beneath her, over the cushions, and it smelled deliciously of almonds, with a faint touch of lemon from their bath.
“Four days in the saddle can make the backside stiff and sore,” Lucien said as he poured oil into his hands.
Gabrielle eyed him over her shoulder dubiously.
“Your massage felt wonderful. Now, tell me if I do as well.”
His big hands spanned her upper back, thumb to thumb. He slid them slowly upwards and kneaded the skin between her shoulders and neck first, then eased unhurriedly back down, pressing his thumbs into the muscles on either side of her spine.
Gabrielle closed her eyes and moaned softly, it felt so good. As a reward, he repeated the motion several more times.
“There is another part of the body that might be sore from four days on horseback, especially for someone not used to long hours in the saddle.”
“Ummm.” She was so relaxed, his words barely registered. It wasn’t until he reached that particular body part that she realized what he had meant.
His long fingers and broad palms were slick with oil and curved themselves perfectly to each cheek of her bottom. In dual motion, they kneaded, rubbed, and squeezed. Gabrielle’s initial response was a shocked squeak, then for just a brief moment, fear gripped her. Thankfully, reason quickly overrode it. Lucien was nothing, nothing at all like Reynald, and she had no reason to fear anything he did. Closing her eyes. she relaxed again.
But feelings of relaxation quickly faded into an insidious honey-like warmth that spread to her loins, flooding her woman’s channel with a throbbing wet heat. Little whimpers of arousal erupted from her throat. Unable to wait another moment for the press of his big body, she rolled over onto her back and reached for him, his name forming on her lips in a whispered plea.
Lucien lifted her to her feet with a husky growl, then sat on the edge of the marble bench and pulled her between his thighs. Their positions reversed, he caught her around the waist and opened his mouth over her breast, suckling it with a strong pulling motion that left Gabrielle limpid in his loose embrace.
“Lemons and almonds,” he murmured thickly. “Dear God, Gabi! I want you!”
“Lucien.” Her head dropped back on her shoulders and her wet hair tickled the backs of her knees. Her arms had already risen to his neck and shoulders, seeking something to hang onto as her world began to spin dizzily.
His tongue swirled around the crest of each breast, outlining the peaks with the tip, then licking each one with a broad sweep of his tongue while his hands drifted from her waist to her bottom. In the next instant, he lifted her onto his lap, spreading her legs to rest on his thighs.
She had long ago felt the thick evidence of his desire for her pressing against her belly. How he had endured this long was a mystery to her. Admiring his stamina, she felt him slip one hand between them, take himself in hand, and position the swollen velvety length of him at the entrance to her slickly oiled sheath. Then he lifted his mouth to hers, and buried himself as deeply inside of her as he could.
The thrust of his tongue matched the thrusting motion of his lower body. Gabrielle arched upwards in a cry of ecstasy and squeezed him as tightly as she could. This was where he belonged, she thought desperately as she clung with all her strength to him.
With his hands gripping her hips, then her buttocks, Lucien lifted her and brought her back down onto himself over and over. His hand moved to stroke her petal soft folds, his finger unerringly finding that little spot that would drive her over the edge. Over and over, he pleasured her, kissing her, his tongue plunging into her mouth, filling her, loving her, until she thought she might melt away into a puddle of the oil that slicked their bodies.
Dear God, she loved him so much! He was everything to her. Everything! The desire to never let him go made her clutch him tightly; made her a little crazy. Straining against him, she cried out as her climax rose like a crescendo.
The pleasure was so intense, Gabrielle could barely stand it. Her pelvic muscles squeezed around him like a fist, the pulsations as forceful as any she had ever felt. The power of their joining drained Lucien at last, and she felt the deep shudders that shook his whole body when he finally came. Holding onto him as closely as she could despite the slick surface of his skin, she absorbed every tremor that shook his large frame, wishing it could last forever.
With their hearts pounding in rhythm with one another’s, she laid her head on his shoulder, drained, spent, and wonderfully replete. After a few moments, he swung her up into his arms, grabbed a handful of drying cloths, and headed for her bedroom. When he reached her bed, he set her on her feet, drew the damas
k covering down, and snapped out a sheet to cover the linens on the mattress. Then he reached for her. They fell into each other arms, onto the bed, and simply held one another.
“I wish we could be like this forever.” Gabrielle had promised herself she would not get weepy, and she fought the desperation that threatened to make her so.
“We will be like this forever, Gabi. Have faith. Everything will be all right.”
Lucien lifted himself to stare into her eyes. As he did, he stroked her cheek, then pushed his fingers into her wet tangled hair and kissed her passionately.
When they finally separated their lips from one another’s, Gabrielle reached out to caress his cheek, pushing her fingers into his beard, which had grown a bit longer in the last few weeks. “You need a trim, I think,” she pronounced with a sleepy smile.
“Would you do it?”
“I will, but we must let this oil soak in first, or it will make your trimmed hair stick to you. Of course, we could bathe again.”
“I rather like holding you like this, all glossy and wet. We slip and slide together nicely.”
She laughed. “It makes it hard to get a good grip.”
He stroked her hip, then curled his hand over her small waist. “Ummm, it’s a challenge I enjoy.” His long fingers crept toward her breast, then encompassed it, kneading and squeezing, cupping each perfectly.
“Lucien, I dread tomorrow.” She burrowed into his arms and pressed herself against him. “I will not beg you to stay, though. I know you must go. Just go knowing that I have never been loved like you have loved me, and that I love you more than life itself. You are everything to me. I will pray for you every minute you are gone.”
He captured her face and tipped her head up to look into her eyes. “And you must remember that I have spent my life fighting. I am good at it. I will return to you. I will do everything in my power to do so, Gabi. I promise.”
Before he could see the tears beginning to rise to her eyes, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “Oh, Lucien, go with God.”
Gabrielle trimmed his hair and his beard later as she had promised. They made love several times that night, sleeping little in between, but not caring because it was their last night together, although Gabrielle refused to think it was their last night ever.
Lucien loved her fiercely, tenderly, lingeringly. Each time it was different. Each time it was another sweet memory to cherish and relive in the separation that awaited them. There were no more words of fear or sadness between them, just delight and sometimes teasing laughter. Actually, they laughed a lot. Gabrielle suspected Lucien planned it that way to ease her worries.
When morning came, they loved each other one last time, then got up to bathe and dress. Gabrielle helped him carry his bags and his weapons down the stairs. When they got to the courtyard, she walked with him to the stables and waited as he saddled his Arabian steed. The sun was just peaking over the walls of the palace. She handed him a satchel of bread and dried beef she’d had the servants prepare ahead of time. When he tucked that into one of his saddle bags, she handed him a gourd of fresh water. He hooked it over the pommel of his saddle, then turned to her, ready to go at last.
But not before he took her in his arms and held her tight for a long while. She held him back, stroking his hair.
“Stay safe,” he told her. “Remember I love you and I will come back for you.”
Then he kissed her, capturing her mouth in a hard, silencing kiss that told her as no words could convey how much he loved her.
When they broke apart, she reached beneath the bodice of her gown and pulled out her mother’s necklace. Holding her hair aside, she lifted it over her head. “Take this,” she said, offering it to him. “Wear it for protection, for me.”
He looked ready to argue, but she forestalled him with a shake of her head and he relented. “I will wear it under my shirt, next to my skin. You will be with me.”
It was enough, or at least, she told herself, it was. She let him go, taking ahold of his hand one last time after he swung up onto his horse. He bent down and caught her lips yet again time as she reached up on her toes. It was as sweet as the one before it had been passionate.
“Go with God, my heart,” she repeated blowing him a final kiss as he turned his horse, looked over his mail clad shoulder one final time, then headed to the gates.
The queen came walking across the yard as Gabrielle started toward the palace. “Come break your fast with me, my dear friend,” she offered, extending a hand. “We can give each other comfort this day, and maybe on a few yet to come.”
CHAPTER 21
The small Crusader castle of Sephorie was situated several miles west of the encampment Saladin had established at Cafarsset, below the Sea of Galilee. The Christian army had been mustering at the springs south of Sephorie for weeks. By the end of June, it numbered over 20,000 men, awaiting additional troops from Antioch, as Prince Bohemond had promised.
The castle itself was a perfectly square keep, surrounded by a high defensive wall, not far from a tiny village that was consequently overwhelmed by the massive influx of Christian soldiers.
The king and his barons had come from Acre two days ago, upon hearing that Saladin was sending small sorties across the Jordan River to raid and ravage the region around Nazareth. To the north, Tiberius was also under assault. Saladin, had crossed the Jordan from his position on the Golan bluffs, the day the king had arrived.
Yesterday, at dawn on the first day of July, Lucien and his scouts had reported several reconnaissance units in the area, checking out the strength and position of the Christian force. By late morning, Saladin, himself, had drawn near Sephorie in an attempt to entice King Guy and his army out of their defensive, well-supplied position.
It had been a tense moment, but in the end, King Guy had headed Lucien’s advice to stay put, for the ex-Templar had earlier discovered that the sultan had a partial division ready to cut off any return to the springs at Sephorie should the Christians be foolish enough to venture out to fight.
Then later that morning, word had come that the sultan had launched an all-out attack on the town of Tiberius and the skeleton garrison there.
Lucien and his men had gone in for a look and discovered that the wily sultan had placed a large number of his men and his siege engines along the road into the garrisoned town.
With the lake on one side and the sharply embanked hillside on the other, flight from Tiberius became impossible. The town, the few fighting men still stationed there, and Lady Eschiva, who had refused to leave her home, had no hope of breaking free.
By nightfall, Lucien had returned to Sephorie with the devastating news that the town had fallen, and that the defenders, along with Count Raymond’s brave wife, had retreated to the hilltop castle, where they were continuing to repel the sultan’s army.
It was this dire state of affairs that assembled the barons in the room of Sephorie’s great hall that evening. Lucien sat in the semi-circle around the king, tired and dusty from three heavy days of scouting in and around the enemy lines. He had half a dozen good men to assist him, but it had hardly been enough. Saladin had troops positioned everywhere, even though he and his main army were still on the high ground at Cafarsset.
The Templar Grand Master had spoken not a word to him since he had arrived. Against the king’s wishes, he had sent out his own Templar scouts, of which he had put Brother Conrad in charge. Lucien had trained his friend well, and for the most part, he and his men assisted rather than hindered Lucien’s efforts for the king. Away from the Grand Master, Brother Conrad conversed with him, but in the presence of his brethren, he obeyed the order by de Ridefort to shun all contact with the disavowed ex-Templar.
All the barons and their leading knights were assembled in the hall with the king, Prince Bohemond of Antioch being the exception. The two Grand Masters were also present, along with Brother Conrad, as the newly appointed Templar Intelligence Officer, and all of the
officers from both orders. Also present were the two bishops of Acre and Lydda, Archbishop Heraclius of Jerusalem, having declined the offer to escort the Holy Cross into battle. In all, there must have been three score or more men seated around the king.
Seated between Count Raymond and Lord Ibelin, Lucien listened as the Lord of Tripoli and Tiberius argued against marching to rescue his wife’s holding fifteen miles to the northeast.
“This is clearly what Saladin wants, sire,” Raymond informed his liege lord. “At this time of the year, in the fierce summer heat, the army and our horses will lack sufficient water resources along the way. By the time we reach Tiberius, if we reach it, for we could very well become trapped somewhere from here to there, our men and animals will be too weak with thirst to fight.”
“You would refuse to defend your gallant wife?” Gérard de Ridefort challenged Lord Raymond. “Why even your sons think it foolhardy to leave her to Saladin’s brutal mercies!”
Lucien found it ludicrous that Gérard de Ridefort would want to defend a woman, let alone one he had ordered from Raymond’s own hall two months past. And he knew that Raymond’s sons were reconciled to leaving their mother to defend their home. Their father and he had convinced them that Saladin would not harm her or their families in case of defeat.
“My wife will be fine, de Ridefort, and this is simply a ploy on the sultan’s part to draw us out into the open, then cut us off from vital resources. Did not Sir Lucien report that was exactly what they intended this morning at dawn when half of Saladin’s forces lay hidden, awaiting our move away from here. I tell you, sire, the sultan wants to draw us out and cut us off, probably split our army apart, as well.”
The king sat with his fingers steepled under his chin, listening to the count. Lucien could see that Raymond had his partial agreement already, and that many of the barons agreed with his wise strategy, as well.
Not so de Ridefort or his contingent, of which Reynald de Châtillon, the whoreson, was one. He sat across the half circle from Lucien, next to his equally detestable father-in-law, Armand Chaumont. As of yet, they had had only one confrontation, but Lucien was sure there would be more. Let him bring it on, he thought, wishing to have at the bastard.
