The Love Slave

by Bertrice Small

  They were called to the baths in the late afternoon, and it seemed to Regan that Erda was fussing over her even more than usual. On her knees, the old woman carefully inspected Regan for any sign of superfluous body hair. Struggling to her feet, she peered at the girl, turning her about, then finally gave her a small dish of parsley and mint leaves.

  “Chew them slowly, and carefully,” she instructed Regan. “ ’Twill sweeten yer breath, my chick. Yer teeth are good, and I see no sign of rot. Yer fortunate. Too many have pretty faces but bad teeth.”

  “What is this all about?” Regan demanded of her.

  “Why, child, yer to be presented to Karim al Malina in a little while. The master has ordered that ye be brought to him. He has chosen Karim al Malina to train ye in the erotic arts.”

  Regan felt suddenly cold. These last few days had been so pleasant that for a brief time she had forgotten what was to come. Donal Righ, to be fair, had warned her.

  “Come along, come along,” Erda said, bustling from the baths, the two girls behind her. She brought them to a large rectangular room that was filled with chests. “This is the master’s personal storeroom, my chicks. He has said I may dress ye as I see fit, and I know just what I want for ye. Morag, child, open that chest there.” She pointed.

  Morag lifted the lid of the coffer up and gasped with delight. Within it were a variety of fabrics, each one more beautiful than the other. Erda bent over and drew out first a length of white silk, which she handed to Morag.

  “ ’Tis a tunic,” she explained. “Take off yer garments, both of ye, and then garb yerself, Morag. Don’t be shocked, for it has no sleeves.” She helped the girl pull the garment over her head. It fell in graceful folds to Morag’s ankles, the neckline revealing the girl’s collarbone. Erda opened a small box and drew out several jeweled pins. She looped Morag’s dark braids against the side of her head and affixed them firmly. Then reaching into the chest, she drew forth a length of silver cord, which she tied about the young girl’s slender waist “There!” she said, satisfied. “Ye look the perfect attendant for yer mistress, my chick.”

  Morag couldn’t, it seemed, stop smiling. “Ohh, lady,” she said to Regan, “is it nae lovely?”

  “Aye,” Regan told her, smiling back. “ ’Tis indeed lovely. Ye look verra fair, Morag. ’Tis sorry I am ye canna wed wi’ yer shepherd.”

  “Shepherd, indeed,” Erda sniffed. “She’s fit for better than that, lady. Now let us see what I have for ye.” Reaching into the storage unit again, she drew forth a sheer, glimmering fabric, narrowly pleated. Its color was neither silver nor gold, but a blend of the two, and it was diaphanous. Erda helped Regan into the garment. It had long, flowing sleeves that came to her wrists, and it was open from the round neckline to the ankle. Erda pinned the gown closed with a golden pin upon the girl’s right shoulder. She stood back, eyeing her charge critically, making small noises as she looked. “Ummmmm. Hmmmmm. Aye!” Moving behind Regan, she took her long hair and fastened it back with a small length of jeweled silk. “When the master tells ye,” she instructed Morag, “just pull it here, and her hair will fan out.” Then she fastened a silk band sewn in pearls around Regan’s forehead.

  “Ye can see my nakedness beneath this fabric,” Regan said.

  “Aye,” Erda agreed, “but not quite. The gown is intended to tantalize. It is exactly what the master would want.” She turned to Morag again. “Now, child, when Donal Righ instructs ye, unfasten the pin at the shoulder and help yer mistress out of the gown. Ye must be graceful, not clumsy. The catch is simple. Come here and try it. Aye, that’s it! Yer a quick girl, and will be of great value to yer lady. Now go behind her and draw the gown away from her body. Lady, raise both of yer arms as they are freed of the fabric, and put them behind yer head. It lifts the breasts for better viewing.”

  Regan gritted her teeth, but she obeyed the old lady. This was not Erda’s fault. She was doing what she was instructed to do. This was Donal Righ’s doing, and he would regret it. When they tried to display her like some animal at a fair, she would rebel. Then this Karim al Malina would see that she was not at all suited to being a Love Slave. Donal Righ would have to sell her to some householder, and she could live at least with dignity, even if she was worked to death.

  “Very nice, my chick,” Erda hummed her approval. “Ye’ve a talent for this sort of thing, and ye’ll go far, I warrant. The master will be very pleased with ye this night. Now ye may rest until it is time for ye to redress and be presented. Come, and we’ll go to yer wee chamber. Morag, child, carry yer mistress’s gown.”

  The hum of conversation emanated from the chamber where Donal Righ took his meals, Inside, the fire pit burned merrily, and seated about the table on the dais were three men. The man in the center was Donal Righ. To his left sat the first mate of the I’timad, Alaeddin ben Omar. He was a large bear of a man, with a beard as black as night and eyes to match. Those who were ill-advised enough to believe that his marvelous good nature made him a fool, usually ended up at the business end of his scimitar. He was a loyal friend and a ferocious fighter. On Donal Righ’s right sat the son of his old friend, Habib ibn Malik, who was called Karim.

  The three men had eaten and drunk well. They would discuss business at another time, for the I’timad was a freighter. It brought luxury goods to Eire from al-Andalus and other ports, and carried back raw wool, hides, Celtic metalwork, and jewelry, as well as slaves. Donal Righ had already indicated to his friend’s son that there was another reason for his summoning him this night, his first in port in some weeks. Now the older man sat back, stretched, and spoke.

  “Ye know I owe an obligation to the caliph in Cordoba, Karim. I have long been in his debt. Were it not for his patronage, ye would not bring me the goods that have made me a rich man. I shall never be able to fully repay our great lord Abd-al Rahman, but I would send him a token of my respect and gratitude. For some months I have sought for the perfect gift. Knowing the caliph’s penchant for beautiful females, I decided to see if I could find a woman who might be trained as a Love Slave. A mere slave girl is simply not a good enough offering to show my gratitude to our master. Several days ago, by merest chance, a magnificent creature came into my possession. She is young, a Scot, a nobleman’s daughter.”

  “A virgin who will cry to her God in heaven for death before she accepts the embrace of the infidel,” Karim al Malina said dryly.

  “She is not a virgin,” Donal Righ said, surprising both men. Then he went on to explain Regan’s history. When he had finished, he said, “I want to put her in your care, Karim, son of my old friend. Ye are a Passion Master. It is known that ye trained in the erotic arts at the secret school in Samarkand. Ye can take this girl and mold her into the perfect Love Slave for the caliph. My gratitude will be boundless.”

  Karim al Malina considered, and then he said, “I do not like to refuse ye, Donal Righ, but I cannot help but remember the last girl I trained. The foolish creature fell in love with me and committed suicide rather than go to her true master. It was very embarrassing, and I had to compensate the man double for the loss: No Passion Master has ever had such a thing happen. I obviously did not do my duty properly. I am loath to take another maiden in my charge.”

  “It has been five years since that unfortunate incident, my young friend. The girl was unstable. This girl is not. She is proud and fierce. She will bend, but never break beneath your tutelage. Regan is a strong lass, Karim. She needs ye if she is to succeed in truly attracting Abd-al Rahman. Even sending him a Love Slave is not enough. She must enthrall him, and bear him children.”

  Karim sighed. “I do not know,” he said slowly.

  “Let me show ye the girl,” Donal Righ suggested slyly. “Do not refuse me until ye have seen her and tested her mettle. Abu!” He called to the pygmy. “Fetch the lady Regan and her servant quickly.”

  His two companions laughed at Donal Righ’s eagerness.

  “Ye must be very certain Karim will acquiesce, Donal Righ,
” Alaeddin ben Omar said. “Is the girl that beautiful?”

  “She is as the sun and the moon,” the older man replied.

  “Now ye speak with the tongue of a Moor,” Karim told him, amused. “I promise ye nothing, friend of my father.”

  “Wait and see,” Donal Righ advised him. “Ye are not the man I have always believed ye to be if ye are not ravished by her.”

  Alaeddin ben Omar chuckled deep in his barrel-like chest. The old devil had thrown down a gauntlet Karim al Malina could not fail to pick up. He had pricked the young captain’s pride with a sharp thorn.

  The door to the chamber opened. Abu returned, bringing two women with him. The first mate’s eyes lit up at the sight of Morag. He had thought her a toothsome little creature when he first saw her this afternoon. The other girl kept her face in shadow, obviously instructed to do so. Neither man could at first quite make out her features, but then she raised her head and looked directly at them. Alaeddin ben Omar whistled softly through his teeth in admiration. Donal Righ had not lied. The girl was probably the most beautiful female he had ever beheld. He looked to Karim, but as usual his captain’s face was unreadable.

  Though Regan appeared to be looking at both of the two strangers on the dais, she was in reality staring only at Karim al Malina. She had never seen so handsome a man. His face was an oval, the forehead and the sculpted cheekbones high, but the chin was squared. His nose was long and narrow, but the nostrils flared sensuously. His mouth was also long, but more narrow than full. Unlike his companion, he was clean-shaven. His dark eyebrows were winged, and the eyes beneath them an azure blue. His hair was a deep brown, almost black. It was pulled back from his forehead. She could not tell how long it was.

  “Remove her robe, Morag.” Donal Righ’s voice broke her reverie.

  “No.” Karim al Malina spoke. “Let me do it.” He arose and stepped from the dais to stand in front of Regan. His eyes held hers in thrall as he reached up with a big hand to unfasten the pin holding her garment together. His nails, she noticed, were round, but there was absolutely no expression upon his handsome face to give any indication of his thoughts. He nodded to Morag, who drew the robe from Regan’s body slowly, as she’d been instructed. Just the faintest smile touched the corners of Karim’s mouth. It had been artfully done. He turned to Donal Righ. “Who is this girl?” he asked.

  “Morag is the lady Regan’s servant,” the older man replied.

  “She is skilled,” the captain noted, and then turned his full attention back to Regan. His voice was low when he spoke again. “I see rebellion in those aquamarine eyes, Zaynab,” he said softly. “You will obey me, for if you do not, you will embarrass Donal Righ. Now put your arms behind your head. I wish to view your breasts better.”

  “No,” she replied as softly. “I will force Donal Righ to sell me as a household slave to some Celtic chieftain.”

  “He will sell you to the most infamous brothel keeper in Dublin, who will pay a far better price for you,” Karim told her. “You will have some sailor between your legs before Donal Righ has left the establishment, and you will be dead of overwork and disease within a year. Is that the life you would choose?”

  Both she and Morag looked shocked at his words. “Donal Righ would not do that to me,” Regan protested nervously. “He is kind.”

  “Only because you are of value to him, Zaynab,” he told her. “Now raise your arms and put them behind your head as I have commanded you.”

  For a long moment their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, and then Regan obeyed him, albeit reluctantly. Morag let out an audible sigh of relief, and Karim chuckled. He stepped back a pace and let his eyes sweep in leisurely fashion over Regan’s body. His look was assessing, never lewd. Reaching out with his hands, he molded her breasts, causing a soft flush to rise in her cheeks. Her top teeth caught her lower lip and worried at it as he fondled her, but again there was nothing lascivious in his touch.

  “Do you want me to open my mouth that you may inspect my teeth?” she muttered darkly.

  “Shortly,” he said quietly, “but for now I would like you to turn about. You may lower your arms to your sides. Slowly, Zaynab. Anticipation is an art you must practice, I can see.”

  Regan turned as he had ordered her. “What is it you call me, my lord? Zaynab?”

  “In the tongue of the Moors it means the beautiful one,” he told her. “You must have a Moorish name, and so I shall call you.” His eyes traveled from her pretty shoulders down the delicate line of her backbone to her buttocks, which, he decided, were like the twin halves of a firm young peach. She was tall for a woman, but not too tall, and her length was in her torso, not her legs with their graceful calves. Kneeling, he lifted up a foot. It was slender, and the arch was high. Her bones were small. She was finely made. Donal Righ had not lied. She was like the sun and the moon.

  Karim stood and unfastened the clasp on her hair. The silvery gold tresses spread themselves like a fan across her shoulders, reaching just to the tip of her tailbone. He fingered a lock. It was like the finest silk.

  “You may turn back to face me now,” he said, and when she had, he ordered her to open her mouth.

  Regan was outraged. She thought he had been mocking her when she snapped at him a moment ago. She thought of refusing him, but then saw Morag’s pleading eyes and obeyed.

  He peered in, noting, “Her teeth are all there, and they are free of rot. Her breath is sweet. It’s a good sign.” He took Regan’s chin between his thumb and his forefinger, turning her head this way and that as he peered again, this time at her skin. “The skin is translucent, and healthy,” he said. “The nose is pretty, the mouth tempting, and the eyes a fine color, like a first quality aquamarine.” Releasing Regan, he turned abruptly away from her, rejoining the two men on the dais. “She has definite possibilities, Donal Righ, and as you say, she is strong-willed.”

  “Then ye will take her and train her for me, Karim? I would entrust her to no one else. I know two lords in al-Andalus who have Love Slaves schooled by ye. These girls have brought their masters so much happiness that they prize them above all other women. The girls are called Aiysha and Subh. You educated them about seven years ago.”

  “I remember the maidens involved,” Karim said. “Aiysha was sent to a rich lord in Seville, and Subh went to the king of Granada. I received magnificent gifts from both men in gratitude. It was after those successes that I was sent that poor girl who later killed herself. I have not trained another girl since, Donal Righ.”

  “But ye will train this one, won’t ye, Karim?” the older man said with a sly grin.

  The younger man laughed, resigned. “Aye, old friend of my father, I will school Zaynab for you. When she is ready, I will take her to the caliph’s court myself and present her to Abd-al Rahman for you. Be warned, however, she will not be easy. She has as strong a streak of independence as ever I have seen in anyone, man or woman.”

  “Ye have named her!” he chortled “Zaynab. I like it! It suits ye, Regan MacDuff, and that’s the last time I shall call ye by the name yer mam gave ye. Morag, reclothe yer mistress and take her to the special chamber that has been prepared for her. Erda will show ye, girl.” He turned back to Karim. “This girl is now in yer charge. Ye will stay with me, and Alaeddin too.”

  “Not until tomorrow, Donal Righ,” the captain told him. “I have been at sea for several weeks. I both need and want the company of a skilled courtesan. Alaeddin and I have made other arrangements for tonight, but I will begin Zaynab’s education tomorrow, I promise you, old friend of my father’s. It is agreed then?” He held out his hand and Donal Righ grasped it gratefully.

  “It is agreed Karim al Malina,” he assented “Abu, take the women back to Erda.”

  Regan and Morag were escorted out, and when they had gone, Alaeddin asked Donal Righ, “Would you object if I paid a bit of court to the little one with braids? She sets my heart to racing. How old is she?”

  “Old enough,” Donal Rig
h answered with a chuckle. “Erda says she has her woman’s flow, but be advised that she is a virgin.”

  “I’d like to be her first,” Alaeddin ben Omar admitted.

  “Ye’ll spoil her for other men.” Donal Righ chuckled again, and his companions laughed as well.

  Regan and Morag could hear the men’s laughter as they followed Abu back to the women’s quarters, where old Erda resided When he had left them in her charge and departed Regan exploded with anger.

  “Ye would hae thought I was a mare or a cow for sale,” she fumed, outraged. “I hate that man! He is horrible and awful! He actually dared to look in my mouth! He sniffed at my breath, Morag!”

  “I thought him rather gentle, and nice,” Morag ventured.

  “Nice?” Regan hissed.

  “He wasna cruel, mistress,” the girl said quietly, “and nae once did he look at ye wi’ lecherous eyes.”

  “How could ye tell, lassie? Ye were much too busy flirting wi’ the black-bearded companion of his,” Regan snapped.

  Morag giggled, admitting her guilt. “He’s verra handsome, mistress, and he flirted back wi’ me.”

  “Did he put his hands between yer thighs?” Erda demanded.

  “What?” Regan shrieked, horrified.

  “Did he put his hands between yer legs?” Erda repeated. “Did he investigate yer private parts?”

  “Nay!” she answered, outraged by the very thought.

  “Then why do ye carry on so, my chick?” the old woman wondered. “The man has but looked at ye. ’Tis no crime to admire a beautiful maid.”

  “He felt my breasts!” Regan told her.

  “To test the mettle of yer flesh,” she answered calmly.

  “I am nae someone’s possession,” Regan exclaimed angrily.

  “Aye, my chick, ye are,” Erda said quietly. “When Gunnar Bloodaxe sold ye to Donal Righ, ye became my master’s possession.”

  “But that damned Viking had no authority to sell me to anyone!” Regan protested. “I was sent by my family to the convent of St. Maire.”