THE TAMING OF JAELLE'N

by Deidre O'Dare

  Tomorrow, he had said. Tomorrow...will it ever come?

  * * * *

  When Jaelle'n awoke, she found herself alone. From the angle of the sunlight shining into the courtyard, she knew she'd slept away half the morning. She stretched and slid off the end of the bed, suddenly realizing chains no longer bound her. The filigreed wristlets were still locked in place on her arms and a matching set graced her ankles, but no chains restrained her to the foot of the bed. The sudden freedom after three long days held prisoner provided her a measure of relief.

  On the small table at the side of the bed, she saw a tray with food and drink--for her? Surely it was, for the food was the normal morning fare given to the womenfolk. She doubted Aguilar would be eating that, and he was nowhere to be seen. She sat on the bed to eat, and remembered his feeding--the brush of his fingers across her lips, the scent of his skin, the sound of his voice as he spoke to her.

  After she ate, she wandered into the bathing room, which she had glimpsed through the doorway the day Madame Tanith brought her here. Somehow she had no urge to test the door to the corridor. She was satisfied merely to explore the suite.

  * * * *

  Although the bathing pool was smaller than the one the women had shared, she had this one to herself. She took her time bathing, then did up her hair, pinning it with the delicate mother-of-pearl combs she found on a shelf in the bathing room. Another shelf held cosmetics and sweet-smelling lotions. She anointed her skin from neck to toes, then applied a subtle hint of color to her lips and around her eyes. The mirror told her the tints enhanced her natural beauty. If only she had a pretty garment to slip on, even the nearly transparent robe.

  She eyed herself in the mirror and decided that even nude, her body was fair. In a sudden fit of daring, she tinted her nipples with the rosy paste she had put on her lips. Then, taking the henna she had used around her eyes, she dipped the delicate brush into the dye and painted a design on her belly, an intertwining pattern that led the eye to the coppery thatch of curls below.

  Now she was as ready as she could be, ready to be admired and adored, to learn more of the fine art of taking and giving pleasures. Her skin tingled as memories of the previous evening replayed in her mind. She still felt as if her entire body were sensitized, awakened to a degree it had never been before. She found herself longing for Aguilar to return, to continue with the training he had begun last night.

  Waiting stretched her patience thin. She was not used to having to wait, to being dependent on the whims of anyone else for the satisfaction of her desires. Throwing herself down on the bed, she closed her eyes and began to run her hands over her body. She recalled the strokes and tickles, the stinging little cuts of the withes. Excitement and arousal blazed through her.

  Writhing on the silk coverlet, she imagined what it would be like when Aguilar came back to her. Would his mouth cover hers--her fingers brushed across her lips, lingering. Would his hands fondle her breasts--she palmed them and rubbed her stiff and tingling nipples. Would he stroke down her sides or up her legs to the empty place that flooded with moisture at the thought of his touch? Would he part her thighs and thrust himself into her like the golden stallion when he mounted the mares in her royal father's paddock? She moaned softly at the thought.

  In the back of her mind, she was appalled at her acquiescence, at her acceptance of this twist in her fate. How could she be so ruled by these new lusty needs and urges, overcome to the point of actually wanting, needing the villain who had made her his property? Yet the fact remained that she was enslaved by her cravings, these strange new urges that had grown and burst forth in the few days since the first time Aguilar's powerful gaze had settled upon her.

  He must have the powers of the Ancients to enthrall her so easily, so completely. That was easier to accept than admitting she had surrendered with so little fight. Back home, in her prior life, she had teased and flirted, shared hasty kisses and been fondled briefly by a few of the bolder young men, but she had never burned, never yearned, never ached for more as she did now. She had hardly even wondered which of the eligible men would become her consort. None of them had stirred any serious interest, much less any aching hunger as did Aguilar.

  Instinct told her she now lay on his regular bed, inhabited his private rooms. But where was he? Why did he leave her alone after boasting that within two fortnights, just one complete cycle of the moon, he could make her a prime pleasure slave? He could not train her by his absence. Or could he? She sucked in a breath and went still as realization came.

  By making her wait, he honed her desire to a razor's edge. He let her imagination and her tendency to dream build the anticipation to a fever of curiosity and urgency. Now, wrath awoke to mingle with her desire. He was toying with her! Tormenting her in a most deliberate and calculating way. Oh, what a rogue! What a cruel and clever master he is!

  For a moment, thoughts of rebellion and resistance boiled within her. Yet was any attempt to subvert his plan not futile? He owned her; she could not forget that. He could grant or deny her anything at a whim. He could starve her, beat her, lock her away in a dark and airless dungeon should he choose to do so. He could also pet and pamper her--as the luxury of these quarters to which she had total access for the nonce well proved. Aye, it was best to surrender gracefully and to accept whatever he chose to do--or not do. For now, at least, she had no other options. And she still wanted to learn the rest of these lessons...every nuance of pleasure.

  Jaelle'n recalled the mares, raising their flowing tails and turning to accept the Golden Stallion. They pranced up to him as eagerly as he came to them, whinnying and snorting, dancing on hooves that hardly touched the ground. Now she understood. Like the marvelous horse, Aguilar was prime among the males of his kind, arrogant and beautiful, taking what he wanted as his birthright. He could have left her to any one of his men--but he had not. In that fact, she took comfort and found solace from the dragging passage of the solitary day.

  She would yet be in Aguilar's bed, in Aguilar's arms...and mayhap fate would work in her favor. She would strive to become so precious to him that he would not sell her to another. Not to some fat eunuch like the auctioneer who would have no real use for her, nor to some cruel, vicious slave-master who would be brutal and bestial, destroying her just because he could.

  A fortnight ago, she would not have dreamed of entertaining such a goal. Then, her one desire had been to find freedom or quick death. Now, neither possibility had the same appeal. Freedom, perhaps, but certainly not death, not soon, not yet.

  Not with so much she still had to feel.

  Chapter 5

  In The Arms Of Aguilar

  * * *

  Darkness had fallen when Jaelle'n awoke. Although she could not recall drifting off to sleep, she recognized that she had. A small lamp flickered on the carved table at the bedside, casting soft golden light over a tray of food, a ewer and a cup. She stretched and sat up, rolled to the side of the bed and let her legs drop until her feet hit the floor.

  To quench her thirst and end the dust-mouth taste with which she had awakened, she poured a cup of fruity drink and sipped it, savoring the sweet cool moisture as each swallow slid down her throat. Never before had she been so aware of every taste, every scent, all the subtle differences in flavors and textures encountered while eating and drinking. She had always enjoyed her food, but in a much more general and indiscriminate way.

  It was as if her senses had slumbered, dull and scarcely aware for the first eighteen years of her life. She had suffered pain, although none of it unbearable. She had felt comfort and mild pleasure in temperatures, textures, and the varied touches of water, wind, sunlight and the rest of nature's variety, but this enhanced awareness and sensitivity was new. She found an acute fascination in exploring the vast variety of sensations, the full scope that each of her senses could experience.

  Stepping through the gate into Aguilar's domain, she had entered a new world, almost become a new person. Slavery w
as still not a state that pleased her, but the change in her status had certainly opened doors that had always been shut tight before. She lifted a stuffed date, holding it close to inhale the delicate sweet aroma before she bit into it. Then she let the morsel roll around in her mouth as she savored the date's sweetness, the tang of citrus and the heady sugary flavor of fig in the filling.

  A bite of cheese flooded her palate with different tastes, a creamy milky smoothness and the trace of some exotic herb that tingled hotly on her tongue although the cheese was cool. The thin bit of bread she took next crunched in her mouth, releasing a floury salty flavor with a hint of garlic and onions. The notion suddenly came to her that the diet of the women in the House of Aguilar was designed to heighten their awareness with a variety of flavors and textures in each meal, while the men, most of whom had to work, received plainer but more substantial fare.

  Why, other than in terms of nutrition, should that be? Did men have no need to refine their senses?

  The soft sound of a door opening did not penetrate her awareness at first. More than the sound, an awareness of another presence snagged her attention. A whiff of sandalwood told her who it must be. She leapt to her feet and whirled to face the doorway as Aguilar approached, stepping into the circle of light cast by the little lamp.

  Under the silent pressure of his gaze, she sank to her knees. "M--m--master, you have returned."

  He smiled. "Aye, so I have. Did Jayla miss me?" His voice held a teasing note, even though his smile faded quickly. "Has she been properly fed today and had enough to drink?"

  "Aye, Master. This humble slave has been well fed. She has even rested, to conserve strength for her lessons, for serving her Master's will."

  "Good. Come, I am tired and dusty and I wish to bathe. My slave may serve me at my bath."

  He turned and strode toward the bathing room, pausing just inside the door to unbuckle his sandals, then to haul his tunic over his head and drop it to the floor. Reaching up, he brought a lamp to life, and from the first one, it seemed the flame jumped on to several others set in high niches in the bathing room's pale marble walls.

  Trailing along behind him, Jaelle'n skidded to a sudden stop. Clothed, he was handsome and fine to look upon. Naked, he was even better. Her gaze absorbed the clean tight curves of his butt, the athletic grace of his legs, and the smooth long muscles of his back, which tapered from wide shoulders to a lean waist--and the fine netting of pale scars that marked the golden expanse of his bared back and shoulders.

  Those scars could come from only one thing--at least one, and probably more, brutal beatings with a vicious narrow-tongued whip!

  She drew in a sharp gasp of breath. Today Aguilar might be a man of wealth and power, but once he had been something less--a prisoner, a slave, a captive or a criminal, whipped for some unguessable transgression or offense. She stood as if rooted, torn with horror, shock and sympathy. A flogging severe enough to leave such scars had to have been cruelly painful. They were old, long healed, but the sight still left her stunned.

  As if he had heard her gasp, Aguilar paused for an instant, mid-stride. Then he went on, moving with smooth economical steps, directly down the stairs leading into the pool. When he stood waist deep in the water, he halted, turning to look back over his shoulder at Jaelle'n.

  "Is the slave Jayla not coming?"

  Jaelle'n snapped out of her stasis. "Aye Master, she comes. To serve you."

  She saw something--perhaps amusement--cross his face as his gaze traced down her body, from her subtly enhanced face to the interlaced design on her belly. A smile sketched his lips for a moment, perhaps a sign of his approval of her unusual adornment. Although she had created the pattern in part to make up for her lack of clothing, the fact he approved vindicated her impulsive act.

  As a sudden thought came, she paused at the head of the steps. Would the design stand immersion in water? She had no idea, for the dye was not commonly used by the Cymryddans, but there was only one way to find out. She stepped into the water and made her way to Aquilar's side. Waist deep on him, the water level came just beneath her breasts, leaving them exposed, the reddened nipples pointing to draw attention, sparkling with a few stray droplets that lit upon them.

  She stopped short when she saw he stood still, almost rigid, with his eyes shut. His lips moved as if he murmured a prayer or incantation. After a moment she was sure the water was turning warmer. Shortly, it was at least as warm as the normal temperature of her body. He's heating the water for his bath. What was he doing and how did he do it? She bit her tongue on the questions that welled up, as her curious mind searched for answers to that which she could not explain. Slave or no, the habit of curiosity, the need for knowledge, was not easily quelled.

  After a few more breaths, he opened his eyes almost as if coming awake, and strode to the edge of the pool. He leaned back negligently against the side. Reaching up behind him, he took a cake of soap from one niche in the wall and a small brush from another. He held them out to her. "Bathe me, slave."

  She moved hesitantly toward him, feeling the little wavelets lap softly on her body. Yet another sensation to add to the growing catalogue she was building. Not that she had never noticed before the feeling of water on her body, but this was not the same. These warm wavelets were stirred first by his motions, heated by his arcane prowess, and most of them had lapped also at his body... There was a curious intimacy in all those facts.

  Jaelle'n took the soap and brush, then hesitated, unsure how to proceed. How had the maidservants begun, the night of her arrival? She sorted through her memories until the correct details emerged. Then she dipped the soap into the water and rubbed a bit of it onto her hand. After setting the cake on the pool's rim, she scrubbed her hands together to make foamy suds, which she then stroked across his shoulders and chest. The brush served to rub it in and spread the bubbles even farther.

  He had an impressive chest, wide and well muscled, the golden skin free of hair. At first this seemed strange, for her father and all of the Cymryddan men bore a pelt of brazen or red in a thick mat on their chests. Aguilar's skin was as bare and as smooth as her own, but there all resemblance ended. His male nipples were small and flat, perched on slight curves of muscle, only a little darker than the clean golden skin of his body. He was completely solid and hard, a wall of warm, living flesh. Jaelle'n scrubbed that wall, working her way down to his waist. Then she paused. Her gaze flicked upward for an instant, long enough to catch the flash of amusement in his eyes.

  Obligingly, he turned to present his back to her. With the scars. She caught her breath, finally reached tentatively to lay her fingertips against his skin. The scars felt rough beneath her fingertips, ropy ridges and deep creases, sickly white against the tawny gold. They both fascinated and repelled her. Up close they made a complex net across his torso, covering the whole of his back from shoulders to hips. She began to stroke the soap across his back with the most gentle of touches.

  "Fear not to scrub," he said, his tone closer to harsh than she had ever heard from him. "The scars have no unusual sensitivity. You will not cause me pain."

  "But they--but how, why?" Her anguished question burst forth before she could censor the words. Then she stopped, aghast, sure he would be angry. "This humble slave is sorry. She should have no curiosity, certainly none to voice in improper questions. She begs her master's pardon." Her shaking hand traced along one of the deepest and longest stripes as she spoke, caught in a fearful fascination.

  He made a sound half between a sigh and a groan. "I take no umbrage at your concern, slave. Indeed, it but reveals a tender, caring heart. But do not grieve over an event that is long past. The flogging that produced those welts is less than a memory, naught but a vague image as from a prior life. Yes, it was painful, but I have passed far beyond that time and station. Perhaps it was deserved. I did not make a docile and obedient slave."

  Aguilar a slave? The idea seemed strange, so alien to the commanding presence of the man
before her that she could hardly give it credence. If there was ever an epitome of a free masterful person, surely it was Aquilar. Using the brush, she began to scrub his back, still trying to come to terms with the varied and strange aspects her master gradually revealed.

  She moved her attention down over his strong buttocks and muscled thighs, watching dreamily as the swirling water carried away the soap. She reveled in the sensations of his skin, both the smooth unblemished parts and that with the scars. She marveled at the vivid feeling of the muscles close beneath the surface, shifting subtly as she washed him. The heat and energy emanating from his body amazed her, electrified her nerves and stirred a gnawing hunger deep inside her. How could she feed upon that power, take a part of it into herself?

  He truly was magnificent, just as she had recognized the first time her gaze had fallen upon him. A man among men, a rare and perfect male. She rubbed lazily up and down the backs of his thighs, while the thought of pressing her lips to the small dimple high on his right buttock taunted her. She was on the verge of acting on that impulsive notion when he moved.

  In a sudden smooth twist, he lifted himself to sit on the edge of the pool facing her. Jaelle'n found herself face-to-face with the most masculine part of him, which was definitely not somnolent. His golden shaft rose from the thatch of dark hair at his groin, pulsing in rhythm with the beat of his heart. Her gaze flickered from it to his face and back again. That extension of him seemed almost a separate entity, as if it had a life of its own.

  Before she realized he was aware of her scrutiny, he spoke, drawing her gaze back to his face. "Jayla may touch," he said with a slight smile. "My short sword will not hurt her nor will she harm it."

  When she did not respond, he reached to catch her wrist. He took the soap from her and laid it aside, then drew her hand to him, placed her palm against his shaft and curled her fingers around it. A tiny shiver of excitement passed over her at that intimate connection. The throb of him tickled her hand, sizzled up her arm and flashed through all her nerves.