The Devil's Concubine

by Jaide Fox

  Talin would know that, too. He would have no reason to form up his army and prepare for a war.

  Tiring of standing after a while, she moved to the chair to rest, studying the parchment.

  Talin had suggested she ‘entertain’ herself by trying to design a pattern for the shutters. She supposed it was perverse, but she was reluctant even to try.

  She was bored though, and it seemed better to focus her mind on something pleasant than to dwell on her fears. After a few minutes, she rearranged the chair, smoothed the parchment and then simply stared at it for a while, trying to conjure an image in her mind that she could try to draw. Slowly, the image of her rooftop garden began to form. She sketched the arbor that shaded the sitting area where she and her ladies often sat. When she’d finished, she studied the attempt, decided she was reasonably satisfied with it and began trying to add in smaller details.

  She grew cramped, huddled over the page she was sketching on, but once she’d begun to see the image in her mind transformed onto the paper, she didn’t want to stop. She drew the miniature fruit trees in huge pots that grew alongside the arbor retreat, the flowering vine that grew all over the arbor, dripping clusters of flowers. And when she had drawn everything that she could recall, she began to sketch herself and her ladies sitting among the cushions.

  Try though she might, she couldn’t capture their faces. Even her mind defied her there, for when she concentrated as hard as she could, she still couldn’t quite visualize their features. She could remember the way they smiled and laughed. She could remember the times when her ladies squabbled among themselves about one thing or another, but she couldn’t remember the shape of their faces, or their features. She couldn’t remember how tall any of them were, or more than the general shape of their figures.

  Had she forgotten so much already? Or had she never really looked at them at all? Or was it just that she was not talented or skilled enough?

  Disappointed and far more depressed than when she’d started, she wadded the paper up impatiently and rose from the chair.

  She had ink on her hands and forearms. She’d dripped ink on the gown she was wearing, as well, and when she lifted it, she saw the ink had soaked through into her skin.

  She was as untidy as child!

  She had ruined the night gown, she realized guiltily. She would have felt badly about it if it had been her own, but it wasn’t. It belonged to someone else and as poor as she thought it was, it might well be the best that they had.

  Perhaps it wasn’t dried yet, though?

  Moving to the washstand, she lifted the fabric away from her skin and dipped it into the basin. The dark stain spread, but she saw that some darkened the water, too. Taking the soap from the stand, she rubbed that into the ink and began scrubbing it.

  The door opened behind her and she turned guiltily to see who it was.

  Talin strode into the room, wearing nothing more than a narrow strip of linen wrapped haphazardly around his waste and dripping water.

  Aliya stared at him, feeling her jaw go slack. It wasn’t nearly as great a shock to see him the next thing to naked as it had been when he’d stripped to nothing, but she found she was far from immune.

  Remembering the night before, she felt blood flush her cheeks with embarrassment. Averting her gaze, she struggled to focus on the task she’d set herself.

  She was so busy ignoring him that it wasn’t until the rattling of paper stopped that it dawned on her that he was looking at her attempt to draw.

  Whirling abruptly, she saw that she was right. He’d straightened the sheet she’d wadded into a ball and was studying it, his face drawn into a frown, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was supposed to be.

  Embarrassment over her lack of talent superseded all other considerations. Before she’d even had time to think it over, she raced across the room to snatch it from his hands.

  He heard her coming. Obviously, he also realized her intent. Even as she skidded to a halt and reached for the parchment, he snatched it off the table and held it out of her reach. “I was looking at it.”

  Aliya glared at him. “If I had wanted you to see it I would have shown it to you.”

  “If you had wanted it at all, you would not have tried to destroy it.”

  She made another grab for the paper, sprawling against him when he merely held it higher. She was so intent on getting her hands on it, in fact, that she’d wallowed all over him, grabbing the arm that held the sketch and putting every ounce of her weight on it to drag it down, before it dawned on her abruptly that he’d gone perfectly still.

  When his stillness finally penetrated her focus on the sketch, she stopped abruptly. Before she could retreat, however, his free arm snaked around her waist.

  Her heart flip flopped in her chest, making her feel breathless and more uncomfortably aware of her body plastered against his hard chest and belly.

  “This is very good. Why would you want to destroy it?” he asked after a prolonged moment of silence.

  She glared at him for the reminder. “It is very terrible. A child could do better,” she snapped, shamed at the crude attempt and angry with him for seeing she had no more talent than that.

  “If you meant to throw it away, you will not mind that I have it.”

  That comment effectively silenced her. She did mind, but it dawned upon her finally that she couldn’t best him and take it away from him. The only think she could do to try to save face was to pretend indifference--something rather difficult considering she’d been bouncing all over him trying to take it back.

  “Fine!” she retorted ungraciously. “Amuse yourself at my expense if that is the sort of thing you find entertaining!”

  She shoved at his arm to free herself. Almost reluctantly, he released her, and she stalked back to the basin. Once there, she simply stared at the ink stained water in the bowl for several moments. As embarrassed and upset as she was about the drawing, she was shaken more by her awareness of him and the tingly feeling running all over her skin. Right up until the moment that she’d realized he had stopped trying to evade her, she’d been intent on retrieving the parchment and nothing else. In the next moment, her senses sharpened, focusing entirely on Talin so that her awareness of everything else vanished. The clean scent of freshly scrubbed body filled her senses first and then the dampness that still lingered on his skin, the sharp contrast of warmth and coolness emanating from his partially dry flesh, and the silken feel of his skin over taut muscles.

  She hadn’t even been able to span the circumference of his upper arm when she’d grasped it with both hands trying to tug his arm lower so that she could reach the parchment--or budge it with all her weight hanging upon it--and the muscle had felt as hard as the stone walls of the tower.

  She had liked the way he’d felt against her body, she realized in dismay.

  Her body seemed almost to sizzle even now, prickling as it sometimes did in the winter time when the heat of the hearth seemed to charge her hair and woolen garments with some strange energy.

  She felt--expectant, oddly agitated.

  Her womanhood felt hot and uncomfortably moist and as prickly aware as the rest of her, perhaps more so. For several moments, she fought back the nervous feeling assailing her, willing her breathing and rapid heartbeat to return to normal.

  After a moment, she focused determinedly on rinsing the soap and ink from the gown, her ears pricked for any sound that might tell of his approach. She felt a little let down when he didn’t and finally nerved herself to glance in his direction.

  He was frowning, she saw, but she didn’t think it was anger--nor concentration for that matter, although he was busy, she saw with relief, securing his breechcloth. For several moments, she was captured by that act, watching the play of muscles in his arms, trying hard to keep her curious gaze from examining the bulge in his breechcloth too keenly.

  If she had not been so preoccupied with examining his body, she might have noticed sooner that he had
both hands occupied. As it was, he’d finished and reached for another article of clothing before she realized he’d laid the parchment he’d stolen from her on the bed.

  She averted her gaze. Lifting the hand cloth from the rung that held it, she brushed absently at the damp spot she’d made, trying to watch him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye.

  He’d picked up a pair of trousers. Surprised, she forgot she was trying to be sly and flicked a gaze at his face as he thrust one foot into the breeches he held up.

  He was focused, she saw, on what he was doing.

  If she had stopped to consider, she would have realized that the chance of snatching the parchment before he could react was slim at best. She acted on impulse, however, and the moment she burst into movement, his sharp, hawk-like gaze zeroed in on her.

  Releasing his grip on the trouser, he caught her even as she tried to dart past and snatch the drawing. Before she could even inhale a startled gasp, she found herself lying flat of her back on the bed with Talin planted firmly on top of her. Too stunned to think, much less to fight, she gaped up at him, blinking as she sucked in a harsh, startled breath.

  A slow smile began to curve his finely etched lips. Something gleamed in his eyes that was equal parts amusement and … something else that seemed directly related to that serpent in his breechcloth, for it … grew. And seemed to seek the heated crevice between her thighs as he prodded the top of her mound. “There was no need to assault me,” he murmured. “If you are ready you need only say so.”

  Aliya felt her jaw sag. Discovering her mouth was bone dry, she licked her lips. His eyes slid half closed. He followed the movement of her tongue, his gaze watchful. “Ready?” she managed to ask weakly.

  Almost reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from her mouth and met her eyes. “To join.”

  Aliya blinked again as if she’d never heard the word before. “Join what?” she asked in confusion.

  A husky chuckle escaped him. He dropped his head, nipping at the tender skin of her neck. A rash of goose bumps pebbled her skin, spreading like wildfire down her chest and arms. She felt her nipples pucker into hard little knots and shifted uncomfortably, fearful that he would feel the rigid points.

  He must have, for he began to wind a trail downwards with his lips. “Our bodies,” he murmured, “in the mating dance. I am striving for patience, but I confess it is a struggle.”

  Aliya sucked in a breath and held it as he nuzzled the space between her breasts and began to climb toward one engorged peak.

  A sense, almost of smugness, filled her when she realized his intent, for he had her wrists pinned to the bed on either side of his head. He could not hold her and use his hands, and this time she was fully clothed.

  A jolt of stunned surprise went through her when he covered the tip with his mouth and suckled it. Even through the fabric the heat of his mouth and the teasing stroke of the tip of his tongue sent a rush of exquisite sensation through her, sucking the air from her lungs. “How … how would we do that?” she said in a gasping voice, struggling to find something to distract him--to distract her own mind from the chaotic feelings surging through her.

  The question had the effect of making him lift his head to look at her, but she realized it had been a mistake when he shifted, arching his hips against her. The long, hard ridge of flesh that dug into her mound sent a stunning jolt of heat through her. Almost as if in answer to some primal call of the flesh, she felt the muscles in her belly clench.

  Enlightenment dawned like a cold douche of water. “Oh! No! I couldn’t,” she babbled. “It’s … uh … it wouldn’t fit. Would it?” It looked and felt impossibly huge and hard. She knew, of course, that women had babies and babies were bigger, but before the gods! Women died screaming, too.

  His lips curled into a smile. “We can see.”

  “I’m not ready to see,” she hissed, tensing all over and struggling to free herself.

  He tilted his head curiously. “No? When will you be ready?”

  Never! “I have to say?” she demanded, appalled at the idea.

  “I could just guess.”

  That was even worse. She cast around her mind a little wildly for something she could say that would stave him off for a while. The only thing that came to mind was not something she wanted to discuss with him--or any man. “I--uh--I--uh …. It is not a good time … now.”

  His brows rose questioningly and she felt a blush rising until it felt like her face was on fire.

  “It’s my woman’s time,” she blurted baldly.

  He looked surprised for a moment, but only a moment. Then he began to look suspicious. “Liar,” he murmured.

  “Almost,” she amended, without any idea whatsoever whether it was near her time or not.

  After studying her for several moments, he shrugged and slipped off of her, tugging her up as he stood. “I will let it go … for now.”

  Aliya was so relieved she felt almost faint. Nodding jerkily, she stepped away from him. As she did, her gaze flickered to her drawing.

  Almost casually, he reached past her, grasped the piece of parchment and carefully rolled it into a tube. While she watched him, he took the roll, pulled the waist of his breechcloth away from his stomach and tucked the tube inside.

  Aliya watched the entire proceedings with a mixture of dawning outrage and dismay.

  When she looked up at him, she saw that Talin’s eyes were dancing with merriment.

  The devil! He hadn’t believed for one moment that she couldn’t contain herself! He’d known all along she was after that drawing, she thought indignantly.

  Chapter Nine

  Talin sprawled negligently on his throne, his left arm propped on one armrest, and his right leg hooked over the one on the opposite side as he studied the sketch he held in his hand thoughtfully. After a time, he dropped the parchment onto his lap and began to drum his fingers on the armrest beneath his hand, his gaze slowly scanning the great hall where most of his men were gathered.

  They were a rowdy lot. Having spent most of the day bashing heads and pounding away at one another with swords, they were in great spirits, and pretty well into their cups if it came to that.

  Spying his master carpenter near the rear of the hall, Talin waited until the man glanced his way and crooked an imperious finger at him.

  Startled, Silo glanced to first one side and then the other. When he looked at his king questioningly, Talin crooked a finger at him again.

  Certain he must be mistaken, he nevertheless crossed the room quickly and knelt before the throne, wondering if Talin had discovered something about the shutters and doors he didn’t care for. “Sire?”

  “I do not believe I know your name. Do I?”

  The carpenter sent him a startled glance. “Silo, Sire.”

  “Are you merely a carpenter? Or are you also skilled in cabinet making?”

  Silo glanced at his king uneasily. “I can do both, sire, but most folks think I’m best at designing cabinets and the like.”

  Talin nodded. Lifting the goblet he held in the hand he’d draped on his knee, he took a long draught, then tossed the vessel over his shoulder. “Tell me what you make of this,” he said, lifting the parchment and holding it out.

  Uneasy, particularly since he could see the king was a bit the worse for drink, Silo took the parchment, straightened the curling edges and stared at the black lines crisscrossing the page. Mayhap he’d had a bit too much to drink himself, for he could make nothing of it. Deciding he must have it upside down, he turned it around and studied it again.

  Talin leaned forward to peer at the parchment. An expression of displeasure creased his features. Snatching it from Silo’s hands, he righted the sketch and handed it back. “This way,” he snapped irritably. “She is very talented,” he added challengingly. “Only see how well she has captured it with nothing more than a pen and ink.”

  Silo stared at the line drawing, feeling sweat begin to pop from his pores when he found he couldn�
��t tell much about the picture at all. Was it a design, he wondered uneasily? It didn’t look like a cabinet. There seemed to be figures of women arranged over it. A carving?

  Mayhap the drink had affected his vision, he decided, moving the parchment in and out of his focus until the lines didn’t look quite so blurry. “It’s quite nice, Sire,” he said after a few moments of fumbling around in search of anything at all to say.

  “But what do you make of it?”

  Silo stared at his king unhappily. “It’s a very good design. Very good,” he responded somewhat hopefully, wishing he hadn’t noticed the king motioning for him, or that he could somehow make an escape now.

  Still drumming his fingers on the armrest impatiently, Talin lifted his other hand and began to stroke his lower lip thoughtfully. “I recognize this place,” he said, as if he’d just come to a decision.

  “You do?” Silo asked doubtfully.

  “She was sitting there when first I saw her. What do you think that means?”

  Silo’s jaw dropped. For several moments his mind was perfectly blank. Suddenly, it dawned upon him that Talin must be talking about his princess. “Princess Aliya?” he asked carefully.

  Talin glared at him. “Whom did you think I was talking about man? How much have you had to drink?” he added suspiciously.

  “A pint,” Silo responded weakly. “Mayhap two.”

  “Well, you can not hold your drink man!” Dragging his leg off of the armrest, he planted it on the floor and leaned forward. “This here is posts. There are several upright and then others sort of crisscrossing the top and there was a plant growing over it, a vine of some sort, pillows and such beneath to sit upon.”

  Silo scratched his chin, thinking frantically. Abruptly, a thought came to him. “An arbor?”

  “Yes! That is the word I was looking for--an arbor, and benches below. There were many plants in pots sitting around.”

  “A garden?”

  Talin thought that over. “Not the likes of which I have seen before. The dirt was all in pots. It was on a rooftop.”