A barrage of turgid spray spiked her entire body in relentless little bites, networking throughout and pulled at her very core in a beckoning pressure. He seemed to know this. He rubbed her more rapidly, incessantly pushing her to the top of her climb. He splayed the soft tiny folds encasing her most sensitive spot to receive the warm water massage with the precise caress of fingers. At the first tremors, he turned her, put her mouth on her and dined on her powerful climax as she came against his hot mouth.
But he was just a wish. The thought of Jamie MacDunna filled her head and every aching empty place: her heart and body. Aziza tried hard to feel ashamed but she just didn’t have the strength to resist. The notion of her princely laird and the sudden immersion beneath the waterfall deliciously conspired to baptize her with the swiftest most acute, most sustaining ecstasy yet.
Aziza was encased in a shower of heavy falling water, clutching herself as if grasping for a specter lover. Her mouth hungered to taste and to be filled by Jamie's as when he took hers in the woods. Despite the fall of the water against her face, she threw her head back, poised for a kiss while tremors washed through and through her. Sweet as her climax was, it fell short without him. She craved for him to be there. No history or anger or haraam insinuations. Just them. And this way, with their sweet sensual connection, she loved him with a depth she could almost not grasp, it was so vast.
Aziza dove down into the pool carved out by an eternity of cascading water, to swim back to shore. In her little sojourn to the fall, she released her clothing. She peered around for sign of them adrift in the water. Nothing. In her rage against Andrew Gregor, Aziza had somehow managed to drift down river to the valley, naked and would now have to make it back the same way. Though she was better, any healing found by coming to the river was lost.
She treaded over to a bank to rest and think, shrinking in the water for as long as possible to protect her modesty, though she was pretty sure she was alone. The river’s edge was encased at the backside with wild rhododendron. She hit the bank running to take cover in the bushes, catching some formidable scratches on her already bruised backside. Her focus narrowed on something. There hanging off a branch were her clothes, dry as a bone.
Aziza stood to her feet instantly, frightened by the fortune. It could not be a good one. It also meant she was as enchanted as ever. She plucked her clothes from the bush, put them on and fled. She ran through the forest in what had become nightfall. Another day lost in a place she should not have been, to escape a place she hate being.
A place she may have put herself because she couldn’t follow one simple little order.
****
The night was again upon her. Aziza was blindly locked in an anonymous grid of forest shrubbery through which she had to find her way. It would take her forever to get home. At least with the hour came some mercy that the Gregors would most assuredly be smashed on mead and unconscious.
Welted by fairy bites, Aziza was famished. She had not eaten since the morning of the day before and the little magical excursions left her spent. It was difficult to plod forward to realize that even once she made found her way home, there wasn't going to be anything to eat. She did all the cooking for her household and she hadn't been there really in days. Starved and weary, and just about to hole up til the sun, she heard laughter tinkling through the air. Music and laughter.
It was Saturday night.
A relic of Druid tradition, the clan gathered to celebrate the end of the week. Fairies buzzed the campfire mischievously. The only maidens allowed to attend the festivities were of marrying age. Younger girls were allowed to participate in the set up but come the witching hour, it was definitely an affair for the married, the marriage prospects and the strictly invited.
Aziza was never invited to the end-of-the-week. Belonging to the laird afforded her no privileges, no respect. She was regarded as a servant. She could set up like an unspoken-for maiden and that was it. She did so begrudgingly while suffering the whispered remarks and jokes about her strange Egyptian features. In her country, the whispers had been of astonishment for how beautiful she was. Here, the cackles and the giggles, were never words said bravely to her face, but snidely. And though Aziza recognized the distinct presence of envy and therefore knew they did not think she was so ugly, the ridicule pained her deeply. Had she been an English or an Irish girl, she believed over time that the exclusion would have lessened. Perhaps had she arrived to the clan with the laird, she might have been treated differently altogether. Certainly she would not have been beaten or accused of mating with her host. The laird said she was beautiful recalled Aziza wistfully. She had not heard that in such a long time. She had no idea how much she missed hearing it.
Without regard to her appearance or her eligibility to attend, Aziza tracked the sounds of the celebration for there would certainly be food and a way home. She crashed the scene, almost collapsed on the table, her only focus on food. In Egypt, Aziza ate grains and beans, occasionally beef. Here she was forced to eat so much meat which included every grotesque part of the animal that she would never become accustom to. Only after shoveling a few bites of their putrid forever foreign-tasting food, did she see Laird MacDunna bearing down on her, apparently stunned by what he saw. She reflexively turned her head, to hide the blush burning her alive. Acute recollection of the feel of his body beneath hers in the water visited her. She had to get away from him because his desire for her was just the fruit of a magic spell. Though he deserved being tricked after what she endured, she didn’t want his attention if she was going to be his feast on a ceremonial table. As handsome as he was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him under any circumstances. She had to do something. He was reacting more and more to her. He smiled as he leaned into whispered. "You're telling on me, lass."
Last week, a good humored connection with the beautiful Jamie MacDunna on a Saturday night instead of an order to leave would have been tantamount to a crown on her head. Now her laird and any other man for that matter, churned her stomach as badly as its emptiness did. She turned her back on him again.
"Do I bother you, Aziza?"
"Begging your pardon, Laird MacDunna. I just need something to eat."
"I can see that. Shame on those wonderful Gregors for letting it come to this. You may join us,” he said with a wink.
Aziza leaned past him and received the cold stare of Brigid the girl the clan held as the laird’s intended. Jamie MacDunna was wanton inviting his harem girl to stay in front of his date. Aziza was both shamed and jealous. She sighed with dejection. “I don’t think I should intrude.”
“Declining your laird’s invitation? I don’t think it’s ever been done. Should I praise you for your manners or take offense by them?" She took no amusement in his mild jest. His face grew stern, his tone suspicious. He clutched her face, firmly but gently. Still she flinched. It really hurt. Instantly, tears drew lines down her face. She could tell by his expression that he was on to her.
“More clumsiness, lass?” he asked, almost scolding her.
“The Gregors,” a tear escaped down her cheek. “They let me frolic too much.”
“Frolic yourself into a tree, did you? It appears they are permissive with you to the point of exhaustion,” he stared at her unwaveringly. “When was the last time you slept?" he asked.
She could have closed her eyes and given in to sleep in the warmth and security of his large powerful hands. "I can't remember."
He moved next to her at the table and fed her himself. He loaded up a plate of vegetarian fare, the likes of which she had not seen since her own country. She stared at the food, herself a mix of perplexity at its sudden appearance and stirred at his thoughtfulness to know what she would tolerate. Just as she opened her mouth to question him about it, he filled it with a loaded fork. “Don’t ask,” he said lowly. She burst into tears. He pulled her into his shoulder. “What?”
“I’m just tired,” she offered.
“
Bullshit. The truth, lass or I will tan it out of you myself.”
“If you are knowing enough to conjure the kind of food I eat, why don’t know you know what’s going on?”
Jamie was dark. “I eat that kind of food. What’s going on?”
“For a demon you aren’t-“ Aware of all the eyes upon them, Aziza pulled away and fanned her face. “I’m just hungry and exhausted, laird.” She took a loaded fork and fed herself.
“You must be, lass. I could have sworn you just call me a name.” Aziza froze. “There there,” he soothed her, taking the fork back. Maybe she was so worn out, maybe she was about to submit, but she could not help but be touched by his tenderness.
“I can do that,” she said softly.
“So can I,” he looked at her directly.
“You really shouldn’t.”
“Open for me,” he directed and she took another mouthful. Aziza caught the glares of a pack of maidens headed by Brigid herself.
“I can’t do it,” Aziza looked him in the eye. She was talking about so many things but she felt the fight leaving her.
He returned her gaze. “Yes you can,” he said frankly.
“I can’t, please,” she whispered, teetering on the verge of submission.
“I’m right here,” he soothed. He gently plied her chin with this thumb. He filled her mouth.
“You have to stop being tender with me. Please,” she whispered. “I’m already hated. This is not helping.”
Jamie addressed the audience curtly. “Is there something you’re needing here?”
“We wanted to know if we could help, laird,” Brigid responded properly.
“Does it look like I’m not managing?” he snapped. “Enjoy yourselves. I insist.” The girls disbursed but not before Brigid as much as promised her death with a single glance.
Aziza dreaded the moment she ran into any of those girls again. “You shouldn’t have-“ She started to say but he shut her up with a forkful.
“Where have you been tonight exactly? And don’t tell me frolicking.” He reached out and felt the coiling damp tendrils of her ebony hair. “Have you been doing things you're not supposed to?"
Aziza swallowed. "No laird, I have not.” His accusation bit her stomach and robbed her of her precious appetite. A bounty of food like the one before her she would not likely see for a while and she couldn’t even make use of it. “You can believe me when I tell you that I have neither the time nor the inclination to do what I am not supposed to. So if you’re asking me in a roundabout way have I been traipsing in your wretched forbidden woods, I have not.”
Jamie’s eyes danced playfully. “You just said you were frolicking. So are you sure about that?”
Aziza’s nerves were completely raw so she let him have it. “Why don’t just come out and ask me who I’ve been fucking?"
The entire party stopped dead. Jamie yanked her up from the table, sauntering in the woods with her in tow. She felt like a kite behind him. She took air trying to keep up with him. She was going to catch it, she knew it.
"What did I do?”
Jamie did an about face and pulled her into him. “Have you been fucking someone, Aziza? Do you forget who you belong to?”
“It seems you’re the one who had a hard time remembering since I have never even met you until yesterday-“ Aziza stumbled over her own misstep. She had meant to say this morning. She just as much as admitted she had been at the ceremony from the night before.
“Yesterday?” he dared her.
Aziza could hardly speak. “I meant this morning.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“As sure as I am your woman was standing right behind you when you led me into the woods.”
“I don’t take reminders,” he began, closing in on her, their chemistry smoldering.
“No?” Aziza heard herself bellow. “Not from slaves? Not from black slaves?”
“You are awfully bold, mistress even when you try to change the subject.”
“I am not your mistress.”
“Not yet,” he raised his eyebrow.
“You will have to catch me first.”
He gripped her hand tightly. “That was easy enough. Now let remind you that when you are in mixed company you do not talk about your work.”
“My work?” Aziza was genuinely lost. “I run a Scottish household. But I am clear. Bread baking and pig shit, out.”
“You’re getting smarter and smarter. I’m about to blister your sweet ass. I was talking about ‘fucking,’” he said bluntly. “Your life before you came here. Don’t use those words in public.”
“No one told me. Apparently no one told Andrew Gregor-“
He shook her mercilessly. “Have you been fucking Andrew Gregor? Tell me now. How far has it gone?”
“What does it matter, I am a harem girl.”
“I just need to know how slowly he dies.”
“No,” she denied through heavy sobs. “As much as I hate that man, I never did anything with anyone. Anyone ever. He just says that word outside. He and his stupid wife. Always...asking me if I ...” Aziza got hold of herself and pushed him away. “As for before I came here, I lounged on silk for all of a week before I was handed off. And before that I lived in my father and mother’s house and they thought it was a great honor to be chosen. Though I never got a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
“The sultan gave me away before I even met him. So I am not haraam and I am not a whore. And I have never f-”
Before she could say it again, Jamie clamped down on her mouth. “Don’t say it again or I’ll fetch lye to wash out your mouth."
"Why not just use your tongue again?" she said coldly.
Jamie’s voice was stone. "You remember who you're speaking to. And that goes especially in front of others. And you are my woman. Am I clear?"
“Completely clear. Public acts but private words then?” she asked coldly.
He stopped her dead. “Are you ready to explain what exactly you mean by that and all of your other insinuations? Are you ready to have that discussion with me?”
“Nay, I am not,” she said, finding her meekness.
“Then I suggest you stop.”
“I am not ready to discuss anything with you,” she pleaded.
He chuckled and stroked her hair. “Yes you are.” He pulled her close to him.
Aziza felt like she was drunk. He had her tossed between the emotions and the yearning she felt for him so intensely. She danced with unattended to passion. She wanted to lay her proverbial weapons down and give herself to him. Jamie pulled her into him and she relaxed against him as he stroked her back. "Finally,” he said with praise.
“With all do respect, I am not feeling well. I would like to go home, please.”
“I’m taking you home.”
“I am not ready to be in your house yet, please. I would prefer - ”
Jamie pulled her into him firmly but not harshly. He kissed the top of her head. Strand of his long rusted gold hair tickled her face as he leaned over her. “Better start preferring what I prefer. You are not going back to a house where a married man talks about mating around my woman. Not a married man who has been hitting my woman. “I am not understanding why you didn’t tell me the truth about them this morning.”
Aziza closed her eyes. His woman. She couldn’t go through with it no matter how encouraging or reassuring he was. There was no way she was going to let him take her the way his brother had taken his bride. Even with the attraction she felt for him, Aziza wasn’t sure she liked Jamie any better than the Gregors, at least not enough to be his haraam. She wanted real love, not to be exploited by Scottish savages who bite their mates and rut at gatherings. Besides anything he felt for her was strictly due to the magic she cast during the horrific ceremony. The only thing she could do at this point, was run and hide. “I will go get my things,” she said.
“I will walk
you.”
Aziza feared he would say that. She pretended to say to acquiesce, to turn to him to thank him, but she pivoted on her toes and dashed into the shrubs of the black forest, and just as she had said, blended to invisibility between the trees.
***********
As dark as it was, Aziza knew she was heading for the Gregors’ barn. The Gregors were passed out, she was sure. She could slip into the shelter of the barn without detection and hide in the hay covered loft. Even if Jamie came after her, in the pitch black night, he would never find her. No one would until it was light. She could sleep.
Or so she thought.
Just as she was caving to the heavy call of exhaustion, the barn door opened. She fought to stay as perfectly still.
Jamie?
It was not Laird MacDunna, though she was found in the pitch blackness all the same. Before she could defend herself, Andrew Gregor, rose from the dead of drink, was covering her entire body, smothering her mouth with his foul one in some replication of a kiss. He gripped the neckline of her shift and of her undergarments, and with a swift yank, tattering her clothes. The fabric was pulled with such force, it cut into her flesh. Aziza yelped.
If Jamie found her now, he would kill them both. All her denial to him that she hadn’t been out doing what she wasn’t supposed to would be rendered to lies. He would think she ran home to Gregor to do what they were about to do, and that she had been doing that all along. In her country, that would mean death and Jamie already said it would be here as well. Her only asset had been incredible, rare beauty and youth and the rage and anger and abuse that Andrew Gregor and his wife heaped on her were robbing those of her fast. Even if she wanted to submit to Jamie now, she couldn’t. Gregor was about to seal her fate. There was no magic here and hers was evolving to worse and worse luck.
Primal Moon Page 3
