She had no doubt of what she had felt for Lenore in her adolescence. It was very much like what she felt for Ursula and no other word would do except love.
Azrael brushed her fingers along olive skin, tracing the dark hairline. She was in love. This young slave seemed to touch her deep within her soul and Azrael did nothing to stop her advance, eagerly throwing open the doors to her heart as Ursula lightly glided inside.
Despite the political and social ramifications of royalty falling for a slave, Azrael smiled. If half the blue bloods had the quiet grace Ursula showed daily, the kingdom would be a far better place. Ursula always showed such delight at the simple pleasures Azrael had gifted her. She was beautiful, intelligent, good natured and possessed a sensual nature that rivaled her mistress’.
It was unexpected to, say the least, and a healthy quagmire opened up before the dark woman as she considered her options.
With a sigh, Azrael leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Ursula’s forehead. “Sleep well,” she whispered before standing. She left the bedchambers as quietly as she’d entered.
Ursula opened her eyes, remaining still until she was sure she was alone. Turning over, she stared past the doorway and into the dark rooms beyond. “Sleep well, Milady,” she whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
Night still drowsed in the room when Ursula woke. Her training took over and she rose from the blankets, slipping into a robe. Standing at the end of the bed, she chewed her lower lip, frowning. On any other day, she and Midia would go to the army kitchens and prepare for their mistress’ awakening. Now, however, she was uncertain of her duties. Midia was with her family in the slaves’ quarters and Felicia and Vincenza were in Azrael’s bed. Was Ursula required to follow her previous duties?
Pausing thoughtfully for a time, the brunette finally sighed and eased out of her chambers. She had to do something; she doubted she could fall back asleep until she made the attempt.
The darkness was deep, the moon having long since set. Moving by feel rather than sight, Ursula made her way to the entry of her mistress’ quarters. Water trickled, a welcome sound, and she felt a twinge in her abdomen urging her to seek the latrines. As she prepared to step into the Great Hall, Ursula recalled her first day with the army, the soldier who had tried to have his way with her. Swallowing, heart thudding heavily in her chest, she braced herself for a similar occurrence and stepped through the door.
Torches flickered in the hall and Ursula was grateful she didn’t have to navigate across the villa in total darkness. Heartened to know she wouldn’t have to search for flint and steel to light a candle, either, she retraced her original steps into the villa. Two guards stood at the end of the hall closest and she found another pair near the wide columned opening she’d noticed yesterday. Ducking her head, she ignored them as they ignored her.
Her bare feet on the marble were chilled. Shivering, Ursula went down the stairs to the interior garden, seeing the sky coloring as dawn approached. Passing the main entry, Ursula could see four more guards in the atrium as she scurried past, her bladder beginning to complain. Within seconds she was in the latrine, sighing happily as she relieved herself.
Tidying up, Ursula washed in a trough of running water before stepping back into the garden. Felicia had called it a peristyle and the brunette mouthed the unfamiliar word as she swung her head to and fro. The entry to the baths she’d enjoyed the previous night were a little further on. Around the corner several doors lined another corridor back to the great hall.
There had to be kitchens. But where were they? With a resigned sigh, Ursula passed the baths and proceeded to the first doorway, easing the curtain aside. Her luck was true as she smelled food and stepped further inside, glad for the lamps hanging from the ceiling, lighting her way.
This room held many shelves of dishes, cups and serving plates. If the number of items were any indication, Azrael could serve a meal for twice the number of her army. Ursula picked up a plate, running her fingers along the inlaid silver design around the edge. If she’d any doubt of her mistress’ material worth, it was long gone now. The casual display of silver and the size of Azrael’s estate told Ursula she was very wealthy indeed. Hearing noises beyond the next door, Ursula set the plate down and moved further into the workrooms.
The next room held quiet pandemonium. Tables lined the room with several slaves deftly chopping, mixing and molding a variety of foods. Hustling from one to another was a thick waisted fellow wearing a long, gray apron.
“Here now, Tomas. A mite smaller slices. You’re dicing, not cutting! And you! Artinel! The mixture is supposed to be lumpy; it’s not gravy you know!” He continued to harangue and berate, instructing his helpers as he went. Ursula wondered if any of them paid heed. It seemed to her that the slaves did the same things after his passing as they had before with no variation.
“And you are?”
In her bewilderment, Ursula failed to see him approach. She blinked at him.
“Come now, young woman!” he snapped. “You’re presence here is an interruption! We’ve only so much time to prepare for Lady Azrael’s homecoming!”
Amber eyes flickered around the room, finding no one was taking notice of her. Hardly an interruption. “I am Ursula, Milady’s new body slave. I’ve come to retrieve food for our mistress and some tea.”
The man raised eyebrows at her. “You are new,” he agreed. “When our lady is in residence, I have a tray delivered to her quarters.” He looked about absently. “Since you’re here, however, I suppose you can bring it.”
”Thank you.” Ursula was surprised when he flashed her a grin.
“No. Thank you. That’ll be one less set of hands gone when they could be working here.” He busied himself preparing a tray. “Um… Felicia and Vincenza stayed with Milady last night?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ursula agreed, resisting the urge to grimace.
”So food for four,” he muttered. Ducking through another doorway, he returned juggling two large steaming pots. As he wrapped them in heavy towels to keep them hot, he said, “Grab bowls and cups on your way out
Ursula, isn’t it?”
The brunette nodded. “Yes. And you are?”
”I am Orsino, Lady Azrael’s finest chef,” he exclaimed, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest. Either he didn’t hear the snorts of laughter from his workers or he ignored them.
”It’s a pleasure to meet you, Orsino,” Ursula said with a slight nod. “I’ll bring this to Milady’s quarters.”
“Of course! Many thanks!”
Ursula was barely out the door with her burden before the chef was once more urging the others to greater industry. Shaking her head with a slight grin, she scooped up bowls, cups and silver spoons before leaving the kitchens.
By the time Ursula returned to her mistress’ quarters, the sky was turning gray. She expected Azrael to wake soon and hastened to set things right. With barely enough light to see by, the slave entered the quarters across from hers and set the laden tray on a table. Checking the doors between the sitting and sleeping rooms, she made sure the curtains were drawn so as not to awaken Azrael. Her eyes flickered over the three women entwined together on her mistress’ bed but she turned away quickly, not wanting to see more.
Retrieving the cold torches from the sitting room walls, Ursula stepped out into the hall to light them. Placing them in their brackets, she finally took a close look at her surroundings. The room was identical in size to the one that led to her sleeping room. However, the murals on the upper walls were far different. Those that Ursula had seen yesterday were of children playing, one child obviously the depiction of her mistress playing with wooden swords and riding a peacock driven chariot. These here were of the gods, each with something for easy identification - Kemplak stood before the Seven Doors of Hell, preparing to defy reason for love; the ruddy Sif lay wounded on the Altar of Estibul, his blood dripping to feed new life as plants grew from its nourishment. Many others lined the walls and
Ursula turned to look at them, finding each of the pantheon in place.
A noise caught her ear and the brunette stopped her inspection, rushing to the tray of food and preparing it for Azrael. No one came from behind the curtains, however. Ursula assumed her mistress’ morning appetites were just as strong at home as they were abroad. Hearing their cries the previous night had been difficult, but she didn’t want to anger Azrael by not being near when she woke. Resigning herself to a louder version of the same, she finished setting things for breakfast.
Sighing, Ursula wondered what to do now. Despite the uncertainty of her time on campaign, she found herself yearning for the simpler time of just the previous morning, when her behavior was neatly delineated and she knew what was expected of her. The slave consoled herself with the knowledge that her unease would disappear once she knew what to do here in her new home.
Bored, she sighed again and knelt on a thick fur rug, resting against a footstool. The ornate chair it belonged to was the only one of its kind in the room so she assumed it was her mistress’ favorite. She closed her eyes, intent on just a moment’s rest. Slowly, her breathing deepened and she drifted to sleep.
The night had been a long one as Azrael lay abed. This was her first night away from Ursula in three months and her thoughts yammered constantly, not giving her any peace. Every time she began to drift off, another aspect of her situation would burst forth and begin the process anew.
She was in love with a slave.
While it wasn’t unheard of, Azrael wondered how others dealt with this problem, specifically the need to wed and produce heirs. She’d yet to consider that, hoping to appoint her younger cousin’s children to that position. There were some legal precedents in the histories, she was sure. She made note to speak with Brahim on the matter.
But, a slave! It wasn’t as if Ursula had leave to say yay or nay in her placement. She didn’t come to the villa of her free will to be romanced. The brunette had been the spoils of battle, treated as a lesser being according to her position, with no leave to say different.
Azrael couldn’t fathom falling in love with her owner if she was in the same position. If ever enslaved, she knew she’d fight tooth and nail for her freedom. Unless it was Ursula. The thought startled her.
Exasperated, Azrael rolled onto her side, soon becoming sandwiched between Felicia and Vincenza. Hearing stealthy footsteps, she quieted, knowing it was the woman she was pining over. The curtain over the door eased into place, the footsteps receding. Azrael had a sudden urge to follow, wanting nothing more but to see Ursula’s beautiful sleep worn face.
Instead, she remained where she was, mind thrumming.
Another consideration; what of her other body slaves? Azrael couldn’t recall the last time she sold one of her personal slaves. It was different with the survivors of battles; they were either sold into slavery or slaughtered. The killing of innocents wasn’t something she enjoyed. Enslavement allowed many to live and helped pay for costs incurred by the army, nothing more.
Midia had her family. Felicia, it seemed, had young Kinnet from the stables. But Vincenza? She had no one, having spent the last two years waiting for her mistress’ return. Not to mention that Vincenza’s entire training revolved around sexually pleasing her owner. If Azrael set her aside now, what would happen to her?
As the sun rose, the room lightened. She heard movement in the outer rooms and could smell food. Apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice as she felt gentle caresses against her arm. Inhaling deeply, she yawned and returned the favor, her hand sliding along warm curves. She was on her side, flanked by her slaves, Vincenza before and Felicia behind. It was the honeyed blonde that woke her; the black haired beauty was still sleeping in Azrael’s arms.
Her body responding to the touches, skin pebbling beneath Felicia’s touch, Azrael frowned. It wasn’t the same as with Ursula. She found herself watching her dark skin against Vincenza’s paleness with detachment. Felicia, feeling a stiffness in her mistress, mellowed her touch, switching from sexual to comforting in the blink of an eye. Noting the change, Azrael turned to look over her shoulder and gave the slave a welcome smile.
“Good morning, Milady,” Felicia whispered, kissing Azrael’s shoulder.
“Good morning, Felicia. How long have you been awake?”
The blonde continued stroking the dark woman’s skin. “Not long, Milady.”
Their voices served to wake Vincenza who stretched before rolling over to face them. “Good morning, Milady,” she purred, pressing close.
“Vincenza, did you sleep well?” Azrael asked, brushing blue-black hair from the slave’s face.
“Yes, Milady, very well.”
Azrael inhaled again, sniffing the air. “I do believe I smell breakfast.”
Vincenza blinked as their mistress climbed out of bed. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Felicia only to receive a shrug and a shake of the head as they followed her lead. The dark slave knelt to help Azrael into slippers as Felicia held a linen robe for their mistress. Putting on robes, they hastened to keep up as Azrael left the sleeping room without them.
The sitting room was awash with torchlight and full of the aroma of food. Azrael approached the table with a smile, noting a cup with dried tealeaves waiting for water. Gingerly lifting a lid, she inhaled deeply of the meaty stew from her kitchens. “Orsino has outdone himself,” she said conversationally. “I missed his talent while on campaign.”
“And he missed your healthy praise,” Felicia said, smiling as she poured hot water into Azrael’s cup. “We heard all too often about our peasant tastes and your discerning palate during your absence.”
Vincenza set a place for their mistress at the table, ladling stew into a bowl. She frowned when Azrael walked away, black eyes intent on something behind her. Turning, her frown soured.
Settling on the edge of her favorite chair, Azrael tenderly caressed mahogany locks. “Ursula?” she asked, voice low. “Wake, Ursula. It’s time to start the day.”
The slave, still half asleep, stirred and sighed, a smile playing across her lips.
Enchanted, Azrael smiled. Ursula’s very presence seemed to call to Azrael’s soul in a disconcerting yet totally enamoring way. The general’s stomach grumbled and she knew Ursula must be hungry as well. “Ursula, wake up,” she said again, sliding her hand down to gently shake the slave’s shoulder.
Ursula murmured complaint before waking with a jolt. She sat up, amber eyes wide. ”Milady! I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!”
“I’d say you fell asleep,” Azrael said, her grin infectious. Rising she held out her hand and pulled the slave to her feet. “Attend me.”
“Yes, Milady.” Ursula straightened her robe, following the dark woman to the table. Ignoring the poisonous look from Vincenza, she found that all was in readiness for breakfast. At a loss, Ursula saw to Azrael’s seating and knelt beside her.
“Bring Ursula a bowl and help yourselves,” Azrael said to her other slaves.
Vincenza, already filling another bowl, finished her duty and handed it to Felicia rather than the upstart newcomer. The blonde’s lips thinned but she accepted the bowl, transferring it to Ursula with a soft smile.
Azrael ignored the display as well as the flash of anger. The urge to defend Ursula was unsettling. She needed to straighten her thoughts, to talk to someone. But who?
Ursula silently ate at Azrael’s feet. The others sat at the table with their breakfast, but she didn’t mind. Occasionally, Azrael would reach down with a piece of rich dark bread for her to nibble; the extra attention almost made up for the lonely night.
The stew was marvelous. It was no wonder the chef proclaimed his superiority. Orsino’s pride was well deserved. His was the only superiority Ursula was willing to accept, however.
She eyed Vincenza, keeping her expression neutral as the black haired slave flirted with their mistress over breakfast. Highly trained courtesan or not, Vincenza obviously wasn’t any better than her. If s
uch were the case, Ursula knew she’d have seen an auction block during their travels home, not given a room within Azrael’s personal quarters.
Somewhat mollified by her thoughts, Ursula plucked a grape from Azrael’s fingers, sucking the digits before releasing them. Her reward was a smile and a caress as Azrael ran fingers through mahogany hair before returning to her own meal.
Glancing at Felicia, Ursula continued to eat. In the short time they’d had to get acquainted, she discovered a liking for the blonde. Felicia reminded her a bit of Midia, though the strawberry blonde seemed more inclined toward playfulness than duty. Ursula was certain they’d get along fine.
Scraping the bottom of her bowl, the brunette finished the stew and rose, setting the empty dish on the tray. “Would you like anything more, Milady?”
“No, Ursula. Too much of Orsino’s cooking after such a long absence will no doubt have me waddling in no time.” Azrael handed over her bowl and pushed back from the table, waving her slave closer.
Ursula settled on Azrael’s lap, smiling as strong arms surrounded her. Snuggling close, she shivered as warm hands stroked her hair and skin, slipping beneath her robe. She bit back a squeal when Azrael stood, taking the slave’s weight in her arms with ease.
“Vincenza, Felicia, take yourselves away for a bit,” Azrael ordered. “Rest or do chores until midday. We’ve a celebration tonight.”
“Yes, Milady,” the two murmured, one with a bit more alacrity than the other.
Smiling at Ursula, the general headed for her sleeping chambers. “I missed you last night,” she whispered, nuzzling a long neck. “And I need to work off Orsino’s cooking.”
“I’m more than happy to assist, Milady,” Ursula said, giggling.
Chapter Fifteen
At midday, Azrael reluctantly eased out of bed. A relaxed smile perched on Ursula’s lips as she stood behind her mistress and helped the dark woman into a robe. On a lark, she reached around and tied the sash, sensuously rubbing against the strong back.
On Azrael's Wings Page 12
