“Gently, milady,” he whispered as he sat back on his haunches. He wanted her fully naked beneath him. All that was left between them was her thin wisp of an underpant and the suddenly much too-tight restriction of his pants.
Hooking his fingers at the crotch of her underpant, he ripped them from her in a single move that had her whimpering. The touch of his flesh against her most intimate place sent tremors of need lancing through her belly. She protested him getting to his feet until she realized he was removing his pants, stepping out of them, revealing a pulsing staff from which she could not take her fascinated gaze.
Ardalan started to kneel down between her legs once more, but she moved before he could, sitting up to grasp his rod between her palms. He drew in a quick breath, feeling heat gathering in his loins, pooling in the pit of his belly.
She stroked him and found his flesh hard but smooth, powerful but silky as she slid her fingers down the length of him. His balls seemed to draw her like a magnet and she fingered them, laughing shyly as she discovered the rugged ridges that defined him. As a tiny droplet of juice seeped from his throbbing tip, she caught it with her finger then brought it to her tongue to taste.
“Milady!” he breathed. Seeing her do that was nearly his undoing. He dropped to his knees, stretching out over her, wedged between her open thighs, begging entrance.
“You tasted me,” she said with a little pout. “Why can I not taste you?”
He had to swallow before he could speak. “You can, but not this first time. I am too ripe near to bursting, and I don’t want that to happen. I think…” He paused. “How did you know about…?”
She laced her arms around his neck. “Then pleasure me, Ardalan Tansel Jaleem and don’t think so much,” she ordered him. “Take me from girlhood to womanhood on that hot weapon between your manly thighs.”
Her words were a goad that nearly drove him mad with wanting her. His entire insides ached. He was oozing, slick with his need, but he knew he needed to stretch her, to ready her for his penetration.
“Milady, you must—”
Sitara wanted her first time to be special, but not in the same way her husband wanted it to be. She could see the strained expression on his face as he strove to keep his warrior passions at bay. She did not want him gently easing into her. She wanted him to thrust into her with strength and depth. A little discomfort at the bursting of her maidenhead did not concern her. She wanted to be taken, not coddled, and she knew the only way to make him do as she desired was to take him to a point under which he had little or no control.
Kishnu women had been instructed since childhood on how to pleasure a man. Though she had never seen a naked warrior before that night, she knew what to expect, what would manifest itself to her when the time came. But no amount of lecturing could have prepared her for the glorious sight of her husband’s weighty staff. His was a weapon indeed, and she had every intention of impaling herself upon it.
“Milord,” she whispered in his ear as he stretched out atop her, intending to ease his fingers into her wet core. “I am wet for you and my body yearns to feel you thrusting deep into it.” Her hands roamed his back, dipped to his buttocks and squeezed, delved into the crease to have him squirming as she touched the part of him that sent a tremor all the way through his body. She made it seem as though her hands were all over him.
Ardalan shook his head, trying to block out her words. He was trying to be good. By the gods he was trying to be good! And careful. And gentle. And all the things he knew he should be to an untried girl. But her words were like a prod ramming into his anus and he was writhing on her, his cock stone-hard with a mind of its own.
“Thrust into me, my warrior,” Sitara whispered. She slid her hand over his hip and between them, striving to touch his shaft. As her fingertips grazed it, his groan made her try even harder to reach him. “Bury your shaft inside me as far as it will go. I—”
He had no control over his body. His cock had a mind of its own and before he could stop himself, he was thrusting into her—past that delicate membrane, breaking it—and was seated deep within her.
“Aye, my Prince!” she cried out, slipping her legs up to lock them around his hips. “Brand me your woman!”
Absolute wickedness took hold of Ardalan Jaleem and he lost all sense of anything save the feeding of her body with his own. He rode her, plunging into her moistness like a randy stallion, reveling in her nails dragging down his back, her teeth clamped into the flesh at the juncture of his shoulder. His balls slapped against her. His length slid in and out of her wet sheath, going deeper still as her body stretched to accommodate his.
He could feel the tremors building in her body and knew she was close to coming. He increased the speed of his thrusts until he was grunting with each stroke, his toes digging into the blanket beneath them. As the first little quivers, heated tugs, rippling squeezes started along his cock, he threw back his head and roared like a lion until she slapped her hand over his mouth to quiet him. But he dragged his mouth free and went down to cover her lips with his, breathing in her sweet breath, tasting her, as his own climax came to a shuddering end with the last squirt of his juices deep inside her.
They lay there together for a long time until Sitara whispered to him she needed to relieve herself. He reluctantly moved off her and watched as she dressed quickly then slipped around the tarpaulin. He heard her speaking to one of the soldiers and knew one of his men would be nearby even as she was given privacy for what she needed to do.
Sitara made her way to a secluded niche and looked around to make sure no one saw her. Slipping inside, she hiked her skirt and squatted over it. His fluids oozed from her and she knew she would need to take the appropriate measures come morning to make sure no pregnancy came from their lovemaking. The herbs were all there in Tarik’s arsenal and she would brew the tea that would keep her from conceiving. But even though her head reminded her what must be done, her heart ached for she had no doubt in her soul that Ardalan Jaleem was the man fate had decreed for her.
Chapter Seven
Morning broke over the Plains of Kashshapta with only a light drizzle. Already up and preparing their wounded for transport, the Asarabans were strangely quiet, going about their duties without comment. When the tarpaulin was pushed aside and their prince joined them, each one of them stopped to look at him.
“We’re about ready,” Halim told Ardalan. “Sabir and his men have gone back into the interior of the cave to fetch our mounts.”
Ardalan nodded. “We’ll leave the riderless mounts to the Kishnu,” he said. “They’d only slow us down once we got to the ships.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Halim agreed.
The prince turned to his men. “The maharaja has pledged to leave us be, but if that is not the case and his men attack, take as many of them with you as you can,” he ordered.
Sabir and his troop arrived with the horses. He stood holding the reins of Ardalan’s Rysalian stallion in one hand and the reins of his own mount in the other.
“The Princess Sitara will need a good horse from among those who have been left riderless,” Halim said to one of Sabir’s men. “The others—those who have no warrior to control them—should be set loose now.”
Sabir gave a curt nod and ordered his men to bring up the mounts whose owners had gone on to their reward. “Most of the riderless horses were left on the battlefield the night before last,” he told Halim. “I imagine the Kishnu have already rounded them up.”
“I didn’t see any meandering about,” Halim concurred. “You are probably right.”
Those men whose mounts had been brought to the cave entrance took possession of their horses and stood waiting for their prince’s order to ride out. A bay gelding was brought to Ardalan for his perusal and when he okayed the horse for Sitara’s use, the soldier holding that mount’s reins stayed close by.
It was to the thunder of riderless racing hooves that Sitara joined her new husband and his men. She looked pa
st his broad shoulder to see the horses galloping across the Plains of Kashshapta. Her gaze lifted to the hills and she drew in a quick, silent breath. It looked to her as though even more men were positioned on the hill and that sent chills of fear rippling down her spine. In her concern about the additional troops, all thought of finding Kiyan Tarik and his arsenal of medicaments she needed to make sure she had not conceived went completely out of her head.
“I see the standards of two new arrivals,” Ardalan said softly. “Sitara, do you recognize to whom they belong?”
She came to stand beside him, slipping her hand in his, and narrowing her eyes she took in the many banners that were fluttering listlessly in the light rain. “I see five other than my father’s,” she replied. “There is Ananga, Jyotish, Duhkha and Vasin. The fifth one I do not know. It may be Ravana, but I can’t be sure.”
“The question is why are they here?” Halim asked.
“They are allies of my father,” Sitara said, “along with Girisha, Taraka and Malajit. The last two most likely would not send troops for they are too far away.”
“Rider coming down,” Ardalan said.
From the vast number of troops lining the hills, a lone rider came galloping forward. His white robe swirled around him as the big black upon whom he was mounted ate up the distance between the Kishnu troops and the caves.
“Unarmed as far as I can see,” Halim commented.
“Daggers can be secreted anywhere,” Sabir said with a snort.
As the rider drew closer, Sitara’s hand tightened around Ardalan’s. “That is my father’s personal bodyguard Bhaskar.”
“Can what he says be trusted?” her husband asked.
Sitara’s forehead was creased with concern. “Ordinarily I would say yes, but in a situation like this?” She shook her head. “I don’t know, Ardalan.”
Hearing his name on her lips was a sweet blessing and it warmed the prince. He let go of her hand for the rider was close enough for Ardalan’s men to move in front of him, arrows nocked and aimed at the approaching man should he prove to a danger to their prince.
Bhaskar Mukherjee reined in his stallion, skillfully keeping the feisty animal under control as he tried to sidestep and rear up. He dismounted gracefully and came forward without so much as a trace of fear passing over his darkly ruddy face. He stopped just outside the cave and bowed respectfully to Sitara. “Your Grace is in good health?” he asked.
“I am, Bhaskar,” Sitara answered. She stood close to her husband but dared not reach out to touch him.
The tall man’s steely eyes shifted to Ardalan. “I am here to lead you past our troops and to the coast,” he stated.
“We will be allowed to leave peacefully?” the prince inquired.
The maharaja’s personal bodyguard grinned nastily. “As peacefully as the gods will allow.” He looked up to the heavens. “A bad storm is on the way so I suggest you leave now if you value your safety on the high seas.”
“Mount up,” Ardalan ordered his men. He looked at Halim. “Help Her Highness on her horse, Captain.”
“Aye, Your Grace!” Halim said, and put out his arm indicating Sitara was to precede him.
As Halim threaded his fingers together and bent over so she could put her foot in his hands for him to lift her to her mount, something evil wiggled through Sitara’s mind but she couldn’t quite make out what it was. She felt its darkness lurking there, felt a cold finger dragging down her spine. Sitting upon the big bay, she knew an unease that seemed to be growing within her.
Ardalan took hold of his stallion’s thick black mane and swung himself into the saddle gracefully.
Sitara gasped, knowing that show of command had to have put strain on her husband’s wounds, though he did not so much as blink as he settled into the saddle. He looked every inch the powerful warrior as he gathered up the reins, holding them loosely as he waited for Bhaskar to get back on his horse. Halim moved his mount to Ardalan’s right side, Sabir to his left, with the princess behind them.
Bhaskar vaulted upon his mount and tugged on the reins, turning the big black back the way they had come. He touched his heels into the stallion’s flanks, setting the pace at a slow trot.
Ardalan felt as though something were crawling along his spine. He was tense, worried, afraid more for the life of his wife than his own, and concerned he had badly miscalculated in trusting the Kishnu ruler. Grief for those he had lost reared up to plague him as well, for he was all too aware of the few men he had left under his command.
“How many are we, Halim?” he asked of the man who was keeping pace on his right side.
“Counting the three of us, fifty-two,” Halim replied. “Twenty-nine of those are wounded, including you.”
“We lost twenty more men over these last two nights? Fifty-two against thousands,” Ardalan winced. “Not good odds.”
Sabir was being quiet, keeping his eyes on the troops surrounding them. Twisting in his saddle, he was stunned to see that ring of enemy warriors went all the way around them, some that were paused even on the top of the very caves in which Ardalan’s men had taken refuge. The major felt fear riding with him for the first time in his thirty-six years.
“We should have made our escape at night,” Sabir spoke out.
“We would not have allowed you to do so,” Bhaskar said, looking around at the young major. “You would have been pinned in had you tried.”
Ardalan had known that would be the case for Halim had suggested it while their men were gathering Asaraban dead upon the battlefield.
“My father’s intent is to have you ride through the very midst of his warriors, making it clear who has won,” Sitara told Ardalan.
“And who is leaving with their tails between their legs,” Ardalan said from between clenched teeth.
“That would be my guess,” his wife replied. She was very unsettled, the feeling of impending danger bubbling within her, but still she could not put a finger on what was making her so uneasy.
“Do you believe he will attack us?” Halim asked the princess.
“No,” she answered. “I don’t believe he will, nor will he allow his troops to, yet…”
Ardalan turned in the saddle to look at her. “Yet what, milady?”
“Something isn’t right,” she said.
His lady was surrounded by men, each with his hand upon his weapon. Under their prince’s orders they were to protect his bride at all costs, but should it look as though she would be taken from them, her life was to end quickly and painlessly. Ardalan had no intention of allowing Sitara to suffer for having Joined with him. That her family would treat her like a leper for having lain with him was a given, and should she bear a child from their one night together, that child would be cast out, tormented all his or her days. Such was the way of the Kishnu. To have a child of his begging in the streets was not to be borne.
The prince and his men were less than a quarter of a mile from the mass of warriors stationed along the rim of the hills. They were close enough to make out the designs on the banners of the countries that had come to Kishnu’s aid.
“Do you recognize that last banner, milady?” Ardalan asked.
“It is Ravana’s banner,” Sitara told her husband.
“Ah,” Ardalan said. The closer he and his men came to the waiting warriors, the more the hair on his arms stirred. He felt as though he were looking down the primed barrel of a cannon. He shifted his shoulders against the feel of something perched there, waiting.
“I do not see my father among the men,” Sitara said. “He may be in the palanquin.”
“In the what?” Halim asked.
“See the fancy enclosed litter with the gold braid?” Ardalan asked his senior captain. “That is a palanquin. It is carried by his servants.”
“Men trotted here with that thing on their shoulders?” Sabir asked with disbelief.
“Most likely not, Major,” Sitara spoke up. “The palanquin would have been brought by wagon. My father wou
ld have come upon the howdah.” At Sabir’s frown, she explained it was a canopied seat placed upon the back of an elephant.
“Elephants,” Sabir sneered. “What detestable creatures they are!”
“On the contrary,” Sitara said. “They are very gentle creatures unless you make an enemy of them.”
“Much like the Kishnu,” Bhaskar said, letting them know he was listening to their conversation.
Ardalan was watching the palanquin as they approached the bottom of the hill. He could see a hand holding the edge of the gauzy curtain that surrounded the canopy of the litter. “Is the maharaja expecting me to show my respect for him?” the prince asked Bhaskar.
“Why should he when he has none for you?” the bodyguard asked in a snide tone.
“Remember to whom you speak, Bhaskar!” Sitara called out. “Prince Ardalan is my husband.”
Bhaskar reined in his mount and swiveled in the saddle, his gaze going to Sitara. “Your father does not wish words with the infidel, but if you are of a mind to speak to him, I can escort you to the—”
“Like hell you will,” Ardalan broke in. “My lady stays with me and my men.”
The Kishnu bodyguard arched a brow at Sitara then turned around. He slapped his heels into the sides of his mount and raced up the winding road that led to the top of the hill, leaving the Asarabans behind.
“Well, I don’t much care for that,” Halim commented.
“My father’s men will not attack!” Sitara shouted. “There is much honor in the Maharaja Bhishma Santhanam of Kishnu. He does not go back on his word!”
The men on the hill could not help but hear Sitara’s words. For the moment, the light drizzle had stopped but the sky was still boiling with dark gray clouds and there was a coolness to the air that bespoke the coming storm of which Bhaskar had spoken.
Desert Wind Page 9
