Bianca

by Small Bertrice

  Her mouth suckled upon his throbbing cock as he had long ago taught her to do. Her tongue licked the great length of him until he thought he might burst with his need to possess her. His fingers explored between her nether lips, brushing against the moist flesh, finding and playing with the sensitive gem of her womanhood until she cried out with the pleasure he gave her. They had learned to prolong the culmination of their union because both Amir and Azura had quickly discovered that enough was never enough for either of them. Their passion for each other seemed to grow greater with the passing of time rather than fade with familiarity.

  Now on this night before his departure she lay beneath him gasping with delight as he pushed slowly into her tight sheath. “Oh yes, my love!” Azura cried, encouraging him onward. “Yes!” She wrapped herself about him tightly. He filled her, and she struggled to implant every bit of this memory deep in her consciousness for those months ahead when she would be without him.

  “I want to go deeper,” he growled softly in her ear. “Unlock your limbs and let me guide us, beloved.”

  She complied, and when she had, he gently pushed her legs as far back over her shoulders as he could, then drove himself into her eager body. Azura gasped as he began a fierce rhythm, moving himself deeper and harder with each ferocious thrust of his loins. She was quickly overwhelmed with her need, and cried out with pleasure, but he did not cease moving faster and faster and faster upon her. A second wave began to arise within her. He sensed it, and slowed himself to a stop, the better to prolong their passion. Azura felt his lust pulsing strongly and tightened her sheath about him.

  “Witch!” he groaned as he once again began to pump himself within her.

  They had never before attained quite the perfection they did this night. Azura screamed softly as his juices exploded, flooding her with his loving tribute. She didn’t know whether she was conscious or unconscious. She soared. She flew. He groaned and shuddered in her arms, burying his face in her perfumed hair as her legs fell to the mattress weakly and she wept with the joy that they had just shared. He kissed the tears from her cheeks.

  Chapter 17

  W hen he had caught his breath once more, he wrapped her in his arms and slept. There were no words necessary between them now. She awoke several hours later and returned to her own bedchamber, but she did not sleep again, arising even before Agata, hurrying to the baths and then dressing herself quickly so she might be able to see him depart. When she returned to her chamber to dress, both Nadim and Agata were awaiting her with her garments. They had chosen one of her favorite colors. Peach.

  On the portico of the little palace Prince Amir bade his three wives farewell. Maysun demanded that Krikor make certain his master was kept warm on the sea voyage. Shahdi advised him to be cautious dealing with his father and the Knights Hospitaliers. Azura, however, kissed him tenderly as she gazed into his eyes and said, “Come back to me safely, my dearest lord. Each day we are parted will be like a hundred years for me.”

  “Each night I am without you will seem like a thousand years,” he murmured in return. “I love you, beloved. Remember that you have my heart in your keeping.” He kissed her gently. Then he turned abruptly and, with Krikor at his heels, departed.

  Standing together, the three women watched as the two men descended to the beach, where a small boat stood ready to take them out to the anchored vessel in their cove. They saw Amir reach the ship with Krikor and go aboard. They heard the drum of the slave master who kept time for the galley slaves start to beat, and saw the oars of the prince’s transport begin their rhythmic movement as it pulled away and out of the little harbor. Then, as if some silent signal had been given, Prince Amir’s three wives began to weep, but just as suddenly broke into laughter at their common behavior.

  “What a fine trio we are.” Maysun said with a chuckle. “If we were the sultan’s wives we would have to contend with his always being away conquering some place or other.”

  “That is why it is better to have a merchant for a husband, and not a sultan,” Shahdi added.

  “Some merchants travel all the time,” Azura said. “I’m glad Amir does not, but I will miss him. He told me he will be gone for several months.”

  “We will survive,” Maysun said in practical tones. “We did when he was living in Florence for those few years.”

  “Just where is this island of Rhodes?” Shahdi asked. Both she and Maysun had little formal education.

  Azura, however, did have education, and she asked Ali Farid to find them a map so she might show her companions where their husband was now going.

  * * *

  T he prince’s ship moved quickly from the Black Sea into the Bosphorus, then into the little Sea of Marmara, reaching Bursa in just a few days’ time. Captain Mahmud was awaiting Prince Amir. The sultan’s treasury had delivered the forty-five thousand pieces of gold. It was counted out before Amir by a treasury official in a small dockside shed, and then the bags were loaded upon his vessel for transport to Rhodes.

  They set sail immediately, passing through the Dardanelles and into the Aegean Sea, keeping within sight of the coast at all times. They sailed past the islands of Lesbos, Khios, Samos, and Kos. Amir was surprised that his ship traveled without an escort, but Captain Mahmud said that it was thought an armed escort would have drawn unwanted attention to the ship. It was believed that a ship belonging to Prince Amir’s merchant fleet coming out of Istanbul would not attract much attention. After all, it was the ships returning from the east that carried the richest goods, not those headed east. Of course, a sharper eye might have noticed the ship riding low with its heavy cargo, but they were not troubled with pirates, for which Amir was grateful.

  Shaped like the head of some ancient Spartan spear, the island came into their view at last. It was mountainous terrain, the heights covered in pine and cypress forests.

  The lowlands had enough flat land, where vineyards, orchards, and groves of olives were grown. The island’s coast was rocky and difficult, but the harbor at Rhodes, its main city, was deep and navigable.

  Over the centuries the island had been occupied and claimed by many cultures. Byzantium claimed it after the First Crusade, but its tenure came to an end almost two hundred years ago, when the Knights Hospitaliers claimed it for themselves, building a more modern city in the European style and surrounding it with strong walls. No one had been able to breach those walls, not even Prince Amir’s grandfather Mehmet the Conqueror. This was the sanctuary the sultan’s brother, Prince Jem, had chosen. Their ship anchored in the harbor.

  “I will go ashore, and formally announce your arrival to the Grand Master of the order,” Captain Mahmud said. “Do you speak French, Highness?”

  Amir nodded. “I can communicate with the Grand Master in several languages,” he replied. “Say I would like to come ashore today after our time at sea. He will assume I have a delicate constitution.”

  Captain Mahmud chuckled. “They are ferocious fighters and fierce sailors, this particular band of knights,” he remarked. “Yes, better to let them think you weak, Highness. ’Tis a clever ploy.”

  “See if they will allow you to speak with my father, and tell him I am here. He will understand why, and be annoyed,” Amir told the Janissary.

  “When did you last see your father, Highness, if I may be so bold?” the captain asked.

  Amir snorted. “I have not seen him since I was ten,” he replied almost bitterly.

  “I last saw my father when I was six and the sultan’s forces came from the sea to attack my village. They killed him and those who opposed them, carrying off the women and children. I was chosen to be sent to the Prince’s School to be educated and eventually become part of the Janissary corps,” Captain Mahmud responded. “A father sires you, but life shapes your character, and kismet brings you your good fortune.”

  “I cannot disagree,” Amir said. The Janissary captain’s story was not an unusual one. Many of the children taken, educated, and trained became val
ued civil servants for the sultan’s government. Though many were nothing more than simple soldiers, others used their education to advance themselves, gaining both wealth and rank.

  Captain Mahmud went ashore, returning a few hours later. The Grand Master, he said, looked forward to welcoming Prince Amir, who was invited to stay at the great stone castle that was the headquarters of the order. “I saw your father, Highness,” the captain reported. “He was surprised that you were here but will be happy to receive you.”

  Amir chuckled. “Yes, I will wager he is indeed surprised that I am here. Well, let us go. Krikor! Is my finery suitable enough to impress?” the prince asked his servant.

  “You will bring honor to your uncle, my lord,” Krikor answered his master. He had dressed his master this morning in white and gold.

  They were rowed ashore, where a small honor guard of horsemen met them, escorting them to the castle. There Prince Amir met the man who was temporarily serving as Grand Master of the Hospitaliers, Henri-François Plessis D’Aubusson. The two men greeted each other cordially.

  “We are most honored to receive the sultan’s nephew into our midst,” the Grand Master said, bowing. He was a man of medium height with dun-colored hair and eyes. He wore a bright crimson tabard emblazoned with a white cross as an outer garment.

  “My master, Sultan Bayezit, is grateful for the generosity you have shown towards his brother, Prince Jem. My uncle wishes there to be only peace between them. The stipend is being off-loaded from my ship now. When you are ready Captain Mahmud will count the coins before you so you may see there is a full measure as promised.”

  The Grand Master was impressed. This young prince had great elegance and his manners were without fault. He was curious, however, and could not refrain from gaining an answer to something that he found odd. “Why are your eyes blue?” he said, and was then slightly amused to see Prince Amir’s dignity shaken before he recovered himself.

  “My mother had blue eyes,” he answered the Grand Master. “She was English.”

  “Ah, of course,” the Grand Master replied. “You will take a meal with me, I hope, Highness. But now you will want to see your father. I will take you to him myself. When you return home to Istanbul you will be able to tell Sultan Bayezit that his brother is being housed as befits his position.”

  Amir could not help but laugh aloud. Then he said to his startled companion, “My uncle has a forgiving nature where his brother is concerned, my lord. But eventually I suspect my father’s behavior will try the sultan’s patience beyond its limits. This sultan values loyalty above all else. Continued defiance on my father’s part is foolish. We both know he cannot hope to prevail. Nor would Christendom protect Prince Jem did they not think to gain an advantage over the sultan by doing so. There is no advantage to be had, for while he loves his brother, Sultan Bayezit loves his realm more, which he should. The sultan is the father over all his people, my lord. A good father will not betray his children, although the child may betray the father.”

  The Grand Master nodded. Prince Amir had spoken candidly. “I will remember your words, Highness,” he told the younger man. Then he brought him without further discussion to the vast apartments where Prince Jem had installed his miniature Oriental court. “I do not intrude upon your father unless invited,” he said quietly.

  Amir nodded and as the Grand Master turned to depart, the prince said to the two enormous black slaves guarding the doors, “I am your master’s son. Open the doors for me.” Then he passed through them when they did.

  A black eunuch hurried forward as he entered the antechamber. “Prince Amir,” he said. “Your father is awaiting you. Come this way.”

  Amir followed the eunuch and was led into a beautiful presence chamber, where his father sat ensconced upon a velvet-cushioned gilt throne. Beneath Amir’s feet was a magnificent wool carpet of reds and blues. Footed bronze lamps burning scented oils lit the chamber. Seated upon multicolored silk cushions around the throne were half a dozen richly dressed and lightly veiled women.

  Amir smiled, amused. “’Tis most impressive, Father,” he said, greeting the man who had sired him—a man he barely knew but by reputation and had not seen in years.

  “You look like your mother,” Prince Jem acknowledged. “You may come closer.”

  Amir moved forward. He looked at this man and decided he would not like him. He wished he could be anywhere other than the castle of the Grand Master of Rhodes. He wanted to be home at the Moonlight Serai. Home with Azura. How long before he would see her again? He would not be able to reason with his father. His father wanted to be sultan yet had not the strength nor the resources to gain that office. He had believed that because Mehmet favored him he would easily gain the throne. I am wasting my time here, Amir thought, and was irritated, but he would spend the next month trying to bring Prince Jem back into the sultan’s good graces. Time lost that could be spent with Azura. Beloved! he called out to her with his longing heart.

  And Azura as she walked in the early autumn garden placed her hand on her belly. The winds had already begun to blow from the northwest as the days grew shorter. She was with child at long last. She wanted to tell Amir, wanted to share her happiness with him. Maysun had advised against it, however, and Shahdi had agreed. Both of Amir’s first two wives were overjoyed that Azura was to bear a child. This babe would be raised by them too, and their empty hearts would soon be filled.

  “There is no way we can be certain a message sent to Prince Amir would reach him,” Maysun told Azura. “No one outside of our home must know you are with child, Azura. It is just too dangerous, given our belief that the kadin Besma plots against our husband. If the child you carry is a son, the danger increases for all of us, but we all agreed it was worth the risk. We will cross that bridge when we must and not before. And there is always the possibility that you will birth a daughter. A daughter will not cause any distress among the sultan’s harem. An Ottoman princess is an asset.”

  “So I have been told on several occasions,” Azura said with a small smile. “But I cannot help but wish Amir knew of our good fortune.”

  “We cannot take the chance.” Shahdi echoed Maysun’s caution.

  Amir’s family did, however, receive two messages from him over the next few months. The first came to tell them that he had arrived safely. The second in deepest midwinter arrived filled with his frustration at attempting to deal with his strong-willed father, who refused to accept the reality of his situation. The message also contained the promise to return home soon. He would come back, he wrote, in the spring.

  In his absence, Azura’s companions took excellent care of the expectant mother. They catered to her odd appetites. She longed for sugared violets. They found them. They rubbed her feet and legs, which were prone to cramping on the damp winter days. And they sat together sewing tiny garments for the expected child. Even Shahdi had softened in her attitude towards Azura. She embroidered the infant’s gowns with a creative, skilled hand.

  The one appetite, however, they could not compensate, was Azura’s need for Amir. It seemed some nights she desired him more than she ever had when he lay in her arms. It surprised her just how great her lustful needs for him were even as she lay awake staring at her big belly. Some nights she would bite into her pillows to keep from screaming. Azura had no idea if this was normal. She couldn’t ask Maysun or Shahdi, since neither had ever had a child. It was not something that she and her mother had ever discussed, as that would not have been seemly; and Agata certainly had no knowledge of such things. So she kept her longings to herself, and prayed for her husband to hurry home before she dissolved into flames with her need for him.

  He was coming even as she hoped for it. The stipend was long since delivered. His months with his father had proved fruitless, even as everyone had known they would. Amir bade Prince Jem and the Grand Master farewell, sailing from the island of Rhodes on an early March morning. Reaching Istanbul, he went immediately to the palace to report to the
sultan, who was even now preparing to send out his armies on campaign.

  Bayezit was impatient with the preparations, and had little time for Amir, already knowing he could not have possibly succeeded. He had sent his nephew on this fool’s errand at the nagging of his kadin Besma, who saw plots against her son everywhere. Now irritated for having given in to her, and silently shamed that he had wasted Amir’s time, he greeted the prince shortly. “Is the news good?” he demanded.

  Amir bowed. “The news is what you expected, Uncle. Your brother cannot be swayed from his course. He will probably die trying to unthrone you.”

  “Stubborn fool,” the sultan muttered. “He is well treated?”

  “He has set himself up lavishly in a wing of the Grand Master’s castle. He practices warfare with the knights daily to keep his skills honed. I believe they plan to move him to France or Italy eventually, Uncle,” Amir said. “He refuses to believe their concern for him is actually for themselves. He believes what they believe. That he is a weapon to be used against you eventually.”

  “What would you do if you were in my position?” Bayezit asked his nephew.

  “Allah forbid I should ever be in your position, Uncle!” Amir said wholeheartedly. “But were I? You have said yourself that the empire is a bride that cannot be shared between two husbands. And a wild dog that cannot be tamed must be killed. There is no other way around it. I’m sorry.”

  “He is your father,” Bayezit said quietly.

  “You have been more father to me than Jem ibn Mehmet,” Amir said honestly. “He may have sired me, but the few memories I have of him all involved my mother weeping her broken heart out. Never once do I recall him throwing a ball to me, or showing me how to use a scimitar. You and my grandfather were the men who influenced my life, Uncle. Prince Jem is a stranger to me, and even more so now that I have spent so many of the last weeks with him. Do not break your heart over him, for he is not worth your patience or kindness, Uncle.”