“It would only be gracious to allow you the opportunity,” he acknowledged.
Leila laughed. She rose against him and urged him to his back, straddling him as she sat atop him. She smiled at him as she reached down to caress him, then moved with exquisite slowness. She managed three strokes before Fergus closed his eyes and moaned, the sound seeming to come from the depths of his soul.
Then he seized her waist, urging her to move more quickly. She leaned over him, liking how his strength rubbed against her, and caught his face in her hands. She captured his mouth beneath her own and kissed him, showing the same enthusiasm as he in their recent kisses. Fergus growled with pleasure, and Leila felt her own passion rising again. She felt the beat of his heart against her own and the heat emanating from his skin. She kissed him as if she might never have another chance to do as much, nearly devouring him as he drove her to the height of pleasure again.
They cried out in unison as Leila found her release. She realized that she was shaking in the wake of the tumult they had summoned.
Fergus exhaled unsteadily and held her close, his heart thundering beneath her cheek and his fingers threaded into her hair. Leila felt treasured and cherished, and could scarce draw a breath that all seemed to come aright so soon.
“Welcome home, Fergus,” she whispered, and he chuckled.
“Aye, this is home,” he said with satisfaction. He kissed her temple, then stood, lifting her into his arms as he abandoned the bed. “And now, that bath seems a most welcome notion.”
“I fear it has cooled,” Leila said.
Fergus held her against his chest, and stepped over the lip of the tub with ease. “It is perfect,” he said, then lowered himself and Leila into the water. She ended up seated in his lap, the water around their shoulders. A little of it did slosh over the side of the tub, but Fergus did not seem to care. He smiled down into her eyes as he claimed the cloth and the soap, then kissed her once again before they set to washing each other.
Leila was thrilled that unlike the night before, her husband did not turn away once he had had his satisfaction. Indeed, Fergus gave her his undivided attention and she could desire naught more.
* * *
“And now the tale,” Fergus invited, when they were nestled together in the great bed. He was clean and tired and warm. His wife was curled beside him and his belly was full. He had not known such contentment in a long time.
“Where were we?” Leila asked.
He pressed a kiss to Leila’s temple. “Shahzenan had looked out of his window to see the queen enter the garden with her ladies to take their pleasure. The queen had clapped her hands and they had cast off their veils.” He gave her a look. “And he was astonished...”
Leila smiled, evidently pleased that he remembered her tale so clearly. “And he was astonished to see that half of the attendants were men in disguise.”
Fergus feigned shock. “She had not hidden men in her harem?”
“She had!” Leila said, laughing at him merrily. “Shahzenan was even more shaken to see how the queen and her ladies took their pleasure in the garden. ‘At least I am not alone in being so betrayed,’ he said to himself, and wondered if he should tell his brother.”
“Of course, he should,” Fergus said without hesitation. “A man should know when he has been deceived.” Was this the point of her tale? To make him aware that Isobel had deceived him? If so, the lesson was learned already, but still, he would listen.
Leila nodded. “That night, after the two kings had dined and shared tales of the hunt, Shahriar again asked for the reason for Shahzenan’s sadness. This time, Shahzenan confided in him, and the brothers commiserated over the faithlessness of Shahzenan’s queen. ‘Gladly, I am not so unfortunate,’ declared Shahriar. ‘And you can take hope in the good conduct of my queen.’ Shahzenan frowned instead of agreeing. His brother asked for an explanation and Shahzenan told him what he had seen that day. In truth, he was relieved to have the opportunity, for he did not wish to have secrets between them. Shahriar did not believe the tale and insisted that Shahzenan had misinterpreted what he had seen. He defended his wife most vigorously and Shahzenan offered to show him the truth. They resolved upon a plan to prove the queen’s guilt or innocence: the next day, they would ride out with the hunting party but return to the palace in disguise and see what the queen did in the garden.”
“Do you mean to teach me that all women are faithless, Leila?”
“Only that trust can be misplaced,” she said, casting a glance at him.
Fergus smiled, liking that she tried to warn him. “And what did they see?”
“And so, the two brothers followed their scheme. They rode out with the hunting party, but then turned back and entered the city alone together and in disguise. They returned to the wing of the palace built for Shahzenan and went to the same window. No sooner had they arrived then the queen appeared in the garden with her ladies. As the day before, they were twenty in all. As the day before, the queen clapped and all cast off their veils. As the day before, half of the party were revealed to be men in disguise. The queen laughed and beckoned to one man, just as she had the day before, and took her pleasure in the garden while her husband was away.”
“Did he execute her, as his brother had killed his own wife?” Did she expect him to avenge himself upon Isobel with such violence?
“He did,” Leila agreed. “He called for the guards and he condemned his wife for her faithlessness. He confronted them all in the garden, so they had no time to hide their deeds. The guards killed the ladies and the men, but the king himself executed his queen with his own sword. He grieved her loss as much as her betrayal, for he had loved her completely, never guessing her treachery.”
Fergus nodded understanding of that. “He felt like a fool.”
“I would wager that he did. In fact, Shahriar did not sleep after his brother returned to his kingdom. He strove to derive a scheme for his own satisfaction and one sleepless night, he did just that. His vizier was summoned the following morning and informed that Shahriar would never be betrayed by a wife again. He had resolved to marry a virgin each day, savor her that night, and have her executed with the dawn. The vizier noted that this would turn the people against him but the king was adamant that his will would be done. Shahriar married the first virgin that very day, but any hope that he might recant his plan was lost when she was executed at his command the following dawn.”
“Surely this did not continue,” Fergus said, wondering at the import of this story.
“Surely, it did, though the vizier found it troubling indeed. That man was even more troubled when there were no more virgins to be found in the city, for the king had married and killed each and every one. The vizier was at a loss as to what to do, but the eldest of his own daughters suggested a solution. Her name was Scheherazade and she was both lovely and clever. Though he had two daughters, Scheherazade was the light of his life, so he was appalled when she offered to wed the king next. The vizier argued with his beloved daughter, for he knew that he should be the one compelled to order her execution. She was adamant, though, and in frustration, he cried ‘Your folly will take you to your ruin! I fear that your fate will be like that of the donkey, who did not appreciate what it had.’ Scheherazade asked what had happened to the donkey, so her father, the vizier, told her the tale.”
Fergus smiled and settled back to listen.
“Once, there was a merchant who had the gift of understanding the language of all creatures. The sole caveat was that he was forbidden to reveal to others what he had heard. The price for him doing as much was his own death.” Leila took a breath. “And so it was that one day, he was in his own stables, where he had a donkey and an ox. He heard the ox say to the donkey ‘I wish I had your good fortune! All that is ever required of you is to carry our master on short journeys and not every day. If he stayed at home, you would have a life of leisure. I, on the other hand, must labor hard, each and every day. I am harnessed to the pl
ow at dawn, beaten while I work all day, return here only when darkness falls, am fed dry beans and left to sleep in dirty straw.’”
“Did the donkey give him advice?”
“Indeed, he did. The donkey chided his companion and gave him advice. ‘You are used thus because you allow it to be so. You have horns! Nature has given you the means to gain respect, but you do not use them. The master has need of you to till the fields. It is only reasonable that you demand the respect you deserve. When they give you beans, do not eat them. I predict your situation will change with speed if you take my advice.’ The ox thought upon this and thanked the donkey for his counsel. The pair then fell silent and the merchant retired to his bed.”
“I will wager that matters were different the next day,” Fergus said.
“Indeed!” Leila agreed. “The ox was difficult all the day long, as the plowman complained to the merchant. The ox even charged the plowman once, then refused to eat the beans he was given. The plowman told the merchant all of this, and was much vexed with the creature. The merchant, though, saw that the ox followed the advice he had been given by the donkey. He advised the plowman to leave the ox in his stall the following day and give him better fare, for the beast might be ill. He suggested that the plowman hitch the donkey to the plow instead.”
Fergus laughed.
“And so the donkey was tethered to the plow and compelled to work hard all the day long. He was beaten when he slowed down. He finally returned to the stable when it was dark and he was exhausted. He was also furious that he had been so treated. The ox, meanwhile, had rested all the day long and was much pleased with the situation. That night, he thanked the donkey for his suggestions.”
“Did the merchant hear their conversation?” Fergus asked.
“He did. You are right. I omitted to say that he had gone to the stable, specifically to hear their exchange. He heard the ox thank the donkey. The donkey then asked the ox what he intended to do the following day, and the ox said he would continue to do as the donkey had instructed. ‘I would advise you otherwise,’ the donkey said. ‘For this night, I heard the master say that if the ox was ill, he was of no use. He advised the plowman to send you to the butcher if you were not hale in the morning.’ The ox was much gratified to hear of this plan and vowed that he would be both robust and cooperative in the morning, as if he had healed completely from whatever ailed him.”
“Clever donkey,” Fergus said.
“Not so clever as that, for his day of labor had left him half-dead from exhaustion.”
“For he did not appreciate his own good fortune,” Fergus said, pulling her a little closer. “Whereas I do.”
Leila’s smile was brilliant. “The merchant reasoned that both ox and donkey had learned their lessons, and all continued as it should have done. The vizier, upon concluding his tale, said again that his daughter was like the donkey and failed to see the advantages of her life.”
“And so Shahriar was vexed?”
“Nay, nay. Scheherazade was unswayed by her father’s tale. In fact, she even appealed to the king himself that he should take her as his wife—and once Shahriar saw her beauty and grace, he had to possess her. The king reminded the vizier that if he married Scheherazade, she would be killed in the morning, and vowed that if the vizier failed in this duty, he would be killed himself. The vizier wept, but Scheherazade married the king with a smile.”
Leila paused.
“And?” Fergus invited.
“And they married, and they retired to the king’s chambers, and Shahriar possessed his new wife with great pleasure. Yet when he would have slept, Scheherazade asked if she could see her sister one last time before she died. The king could not deny her such a request, and so, the younger daughter of the vizier, Dinarzade, was summoned to the king’s chambers. When she arrived and the sisters embraced, Dinarzade asked Scheherazade to tell a story. ‘For you tell stories better than anyone I ever have known, and this will be my very last chance to enjoy your talent.’ Scheherazade appealed to the king, who was intrigued, then with his permission, she began.”
Fergus could have listened to Leila all night long. This Scheherazade was not the sole one with a talent for telling stories.
“Once, she said, there was a rich merchant who undertook a long journey across the desert to another city. He packed some dates and water for his trip, and reached his destination without incident. He concluded his business, then made similar preparations for his return. On the third day of his ride toward home, he stopped to eat and refresh himself. He ate his allotment of dates, and flung the stones into the desert. He had a sip of water, then he washed himself and knelt to pray. He was not yet done his prayers when an enormous djinn appeared before him. The djinn had a flowing white beard, rage in his eyes, and he brandished a sword. ‘Rise up!’ he roared. ‘For I must take your life in exchange for that of my son.’”
“His son?”
“The merchant was as mystified as you, Fergus. He protested that he had killed no one, but the djinn insisted otherwise. He said that he did not know the djinn’s son so could not have killed him. The djinn asked if he had thrown date stones into the desert, and the merchant had to admit that he had. ‘One of those stones hit my son in the eye and he died of it,’ the djinn charged. ‘Stand up that I may kill you in exchange.’ The merchant begged forgiveness and pleaded for mercy. He offered to do whatever the djinn wished in exchange, but the djinn would accept nothing less than his death. The djinn raised his blade and the merchant closed his eyes.”
Leila fell silent and Fergus touched her hand. “But what happened?”
“Ah, Scheherazade saw that the sky was turning pink so she ceased her tale. Her sister begged her to continue, but she indicated the rising sun and said that the time had come for her to be executed. ‘But he cannot have died, alone in the desert with a djinn,’ Dinarzade protested. Scheherazade agreed that would have been unjust and smiled a little. ‘Indeed, the story is a marvel of his cleverness,’ she said, casting down her gaze in acceptance of her fate. ‘I regret that there is no time to tell you of it.’ Dinarzade then appealed to the king, imploring him to let Scheherazade live another night that they might hear the end of the tale. Shahriar was similarly intrigued, so he agreed.”
“And so she had a reprieve. How clever,” Fergus said.
“The vizier had been awake all the night long, fearful of his daughter’s fate. To his relief, the king never gave the order for Scheherazade’s execution, but conducted his business that day as was customary. The couple retired that night to the king’s chambers again, and after their intimacy, Scheherazade again asked to enjoy her sister’s company one last time. Dinarzade did not have to ask for more of the story, for Shahriar himself demanded that Scheherazade finish the tale of the merchant and the djinn as soon as Dinarzade was seated. And so she continued, that the djinn had lifted his blade to execute the merchant when the merchant cried out.”
Leila bit her lip and ceased her tale again.
Fergus smiled down at her. “Is this your ploy?” he asked. “To enchant me with a tale each night?”
“You came back from Dunnisbrae,” she said.
“Surely, you did not fear otherwise?” He saw in her eyes, though, that she had doubted his return. He touched his lips to her brow, knowing he must ensure that she never had such fears again. “And yet you leave another tale unfinished. You cannot expect me to have you executed at dawn?” he asked, his tone teasing.
Leila laughed. “I should hope not,” she said with a smile. “For then you would not know how the merchant escaped the djinn’s wrath.” Her eyes sparkled, then she rolled over, cuddled against him and fell asleep.
Fergus grinned, knowing full well that Leila’s concerns were unfounded. He was not like the donkey, for he appreciated the blessings that had come to his hand. He had the better part of a year to convince Leila that he was the best husband for her. He pulled up the covers and settled down to sleep, certain they had made a very go
od start.
Friday, April 29, 1188
Feast Day of Saint Hugh of Cluny
9
Fergus dreamed of a storm of uncommon ferocity. Dark clouds tumbled across the night sky toward Killairic, lightning bolts erupting from their bellies as the wind rose to a tempest. He cried out a warning, but his words were snatched away, just as the pennant at the summit of Killairic’s tower was ripped free.
The cloud descended with fury upon the keep, the rain hammering upon its roof. The moat was flooded by the onslaught and he saw both children and animals swept away. The mill was deluged and the nets containing the eels were broken. Buildings and roofs collapsed, and stores of grain were claimed by the river that was consuming the keep. All the wealth of Killairic was flowing down to the firth and there was nothing Fergus could do to stop it. It seemed that he alone was left to stand fast against the storm.
Horses shrieked as lightning struck the high tower and the roof burst into flame even as the sound of the thunder made the ground shake beneath his feet. He saw the glow of the fire descending into the tower, doubtless igniting the stairs and the floors as it journeyed to the heart of the keep.
He heard the screams of those trapped within the keep, caught between fire and water, but he could only watch the destruction of all his father had built. He raced through the village, seizing one child or another, each one torn from his grasp. He tried to dam the flow of the water, but the raging stream leaped every barrier he created. He tried to reach those in the keep, but water kept him from them.
Where was Leila?
Where was his father?
Where was the reliquary he had vowed to defend?
It was a horrific nightmare and Fergus knew in his heart that this was the threat he had dreaded since Jerusalem. The complete loss of his home and his legacy, his wife and his family, never mind his own inability to save any of it, was his worst fear come true. He felt powerless and was infuriated by his own failure to defend what mattered most to him.
The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance Page 19
