He chuckled. “It is thanking you for the attention. Now, rub your finger over it—tease it.”
Again she followed his instruction, resisting the compulsion to massage more vigorously. Her patience was rewarded by a spasm of heat that began at the point of flesh and spread upward—and inward. She felt all her interior muscles squeeze and was suddenly aware these were the very muscles that would squeeze against his cock once it was inside her. Oh, how Leandre wanted to know what that would feel like. “Duncan, I—”
He interrupted, his voice now husky. “Now take the bud between your thumb and forefinger and squeeze it.”
She obeyed.
This time the strength of the spasm lifted her bottom from the bed and caused her limbs to stiffen. “O-ooh!” she gasped, pulling her hand away in surprise. Duncan pulled it back.
“Again my love. Do not stop until…” He did not finish his sentence, but he did not have to. As Leandre squeezed and pinched the throbbing point her body bucked and trembled, and she heard inarticulate sounds issue forth from her own throat.
She stopped, panting. “Why…why did no one tell me? The castle women…” She trailed off, enjoying a belated shudder that coursed through her even though she no longer touched the point.
“Are probably under some foolish notion that such pleasure is sinful,” Duncan finished. “Do not ever believe it. It helps a woman remain a maiden as long as she wishes, and a faithful wife when her husband is not with her. But, my love,” he said, taking her hand again, “we are not quite finished with the lesson.”
Again, he placed the point of Leandre’s finger along the slick cleft of flesh, now more swollen that ever. “Push it inside a little bit.”
“Oh, yes!” Leandre had longed to have something inside her from the first time those muscles had clenched. She eagerly pushed her finger into the beginning of the opening.
“Slide it in and out,” he instructed, and she readily complied. The muscles spasmed and she felt a sudden urge to have something deeper within her, but the finger met a soft barrier.
“Do you feel your maidenhead?”
She nodded, having heard the word before and vaguely aware it was something that marked a virgin. “It is in the way.”
Duncan laughed, removing her hand. “Indeed it is.”
To Leandre’s surprise, his own larger finger slid into the slickness and rubbed against the obstacle. While she shuddered, he asked, “You wish to feel something deeper within you, do you not?”
“Oh, yes.” The movement of his finger was driving her mad.
“And I wish to be within you as well. That is why I will have to breach this wall tonight.”
“With your cock?” she managed to gasp.
“Yes, that is generally how it is done.” His tone was sardonic. “And it will hurt a bit, Leandre. But I promise I will be swift and it will not hurt for long, or ever again. Once the gate has been opened, your husband can come all the way inside as he was meant to do.”
“Then put your cock in me now, Duncan,” she said boldly. “I want you to come all the way into my…” She realized she did not know the word.
“Your cunt,” he supplied. “Yes, I will do that soon enough. But I have only yet showed you how a woman can pleasure herself. I am not quite done demonstrating how a man can pleasure a woman.”
So saying, he lifted her up against the pillows and spread her thighs with strong hands. Grinning wickedly, he parted her curls and winked. “Excuse me, my sweet. I shall be rather too busy to speak for the next few minutes.”
As his mouth closed over her throbbing clit, Leandre had one last coherent thought. I think I am going to like being married.
* * * * *
Leandre was pulled from her fond musings as a sudden movement and soft swishing sound behind her caused all heads to turn. The monkey, still sitting on her shoulder, made an indignant squawk and scampered away as an expectant hush fell over the crowd. She turned to see what had captured their attention. The curtains behind her were being drawn back.
When Leandre saw what they revealed, she gasped.
Chapter Two
The Tigers
They were the most beautiful creatures Leandre had ever beheld. She had seen paintings of course, and likenesses on everything from tapestries to pottery since coming to this land. But nothing had prepared her for their sheer magnificence.
Her near-nakedness forgotten, she stared openmouthed. The curving curtain—Leandre had erroneously supposed it hid a wall—had been drawn back to reveal an enclosure of iron filigree. Behind it was an enormous open area, partially within the walls of the palace, but also encompassing an expanse of the garden beyond. An enormous tiger stood on the marble floor no more than ten feet from Leandre. Behind him, another lay stretched at the foot of a short stair leading to a cushioned bed, partially obscured by a potted palm.
“You are beautiful,” breathed Leandre. Both animals seemed to stare directly into her eyes. The larger cat closest to her moved his head slightly, as if acknowledging the compliment. She felt no hostility in his steady gaze, only curiosity. A voice behind her reminded Leandre she was not alone with the tigers. She turned to see that Sukumar had left his dais and stood at the opposite end of the platform where she herself had been told to stand.
“Please, my guests, you are in for a special treat. Akhilesh and Hiranmayi have something to show you.” Sukumar gestured grandly in the direction of the reclining tiger and the crowd moved in unison, faces shifting and some guests rising to their toes to see what he indicated. A collective gasp arose, and Leandre followed their gazes and saw what had arrested their interest.
Two fuzzy creatures, hardly larger than housecats, tumbled from behind the greenery. Leandre fell to her knees in delight and wonder. “Oh, the darlings!” She stretched her arms out in the direction of the cubs who, sensing the reaction of the crowd, had frozen and turned to stare in apprehension.
A thunderous roar shook the chamber. The tiger in the front—had Sukumar called him Akhilesh?—moved to stand between his offspring and the people who stared too intently. The two cubs scampered behind the reclining tiger and peered over a flank.
Sukumar laughed. “Do not concern yourself, Akhilesh. My guests mean you no harm.” This assurance did not seem to soothe the great beast, which began to pace in front of the bars as the watchers drew slightly back. Leandre had not moved—the tiger’s golden eyes did not seem to be focused on her, but on those behind her.
But another set of eyes was indeed watching her. It seemed that Sukumar had finally deigned to look at his latest acquisition. And from the expression in his dark eyes, he was less than pleased.
Leandre felt a chill and an involuntary tightening of her jaw. No doubt Sukumar was used to women fawning—or cringing—under his regard. She met his gaze evenly. My father was a king, she reminded herself. My husband…
Another deafening roar sounded, this time much closer, and Leandre jumped. While she had been busy looking at Sukumar, the tiger had come to the bars and now stood only inches away. He roared again and she could feel the heat of his breath.
“Do not fret, he is not harming me.” Leandre spoke without thinking. For some reason she could not explain, she believed that Akhilesh’s cry of displeasure had not been directed at her, but at Sukumar. She looked back at the rajah, whose eyes had narrowed most unpleasantly. She had spoken in Gaelic—he could not have understood—but perhaps he had discerned her meaning.
Sukumar whirled and shouted something and a group of his lackeys scurried forward as he stepped down from the platform and away from Leandre. He strode off briskly, saying something to one of the underlings, who ran off as if on an errand. Leandre felt a frisson of fear. Sukumar had spoken too quickly for her to understand, but she was sure she had heard the name “Phanishwar” in the rajah’s instructions. If he was indeed sending for the man who had brought her here, she doubted it was to thank him for his gift.
Bhavesh gaped in surprise. “I do not be
lieve it,” he said, almost in a whisper.
“Yes, it is most astonishing. She stared directly at Sukumar with no shame. I suspect his highness will not be too happy about that.”
Bhavesh had forgotten about the elderly man—he still could not remember his name—who now seemed like a buzzing insect. The old man had misunderstood. It was not the woman’s boldness that had surprised him, but what she had said to the tigers.
Bhavesh was probably the only person in the palace who understood the words. When his father was alive, he had done some business with the raiders from the north. Trading with such barbarous people had been dangerous, and had ultimately been his undoing. But after one trip to the northern villages where the invaders had become more or less settled, he had returned with a slave.
According to Bhavesh’s father, the man was from a place called “Eriu,” and was not of the race of the marauders, although he looked much the same to the eyes of the people of the Sundarban. The man called himself Donal, and his irrepressible good humor, even in the face of slavery, had made him a favorite with the village children.
“He does not speak our tongue,” Bhavesh’s father told him, “and it will annoy your mother if he does not understand her orders. You had better teach him what you can.”
He had done as his father bade and Donal had returned the favor. By the time Bhavesh was approaching manhood, the two often spoke in what had felt like their own secret language.
“So the same invaders that tried to destroy us went all the way to Eriu?” Bhavesh always had difficulty trying to imagine the impossible distance to Donal’s homeland.
Donal had laughed. “I do not think so. I was passed from hand to hand, you see.” When Bhavesh had shaken his head, the man had continued. “I was born a slave in the service of a monastery, where I was treated well enough. Then the Dhub-galls came on a ship and took us all away.”
“What were they like?”
Donal shuddered exaggeratedly. Over the years he told the story many times, and with each telling the marauders became taller, more fearsome and greater in number. But the gist remained the same. Donal and the other slaves had been taken away from the monks, who had not put up much resistance, and taken on ships to the land of the Dhub-galls, where they had lived and worked for a time before being acquired by a trader who sold them off piecemeal in various settlements as he traveled south.
Donal had been among the last in the party when the trader was attacked in a mountain pass by Huns. All but the slaves had been killed, and Donal had found himself in the hands of his fourth master. Then his fifth, sixth and seventh, as he was passed among the mostly nomadic Huns, until he finally came to be traded to Bhavesh’s father.
“On the luckiest day of my life,” Donal had usually added. It seemed strange to Bhavesh that a slave could find anything good about being sold, and as a boy he had said so. Donal had only shrugged. “I know no other life.”
This woman, who had skin the same color as Donal’s and spoke the same tongue, although differently accented, was also a slave. But Bhavesh would have wagered his family’s honor that she had not been born such. Even Donal, who was treated more like a family member, had lowered his eyes when Bhavesh’s mother became impatient with him.
This woman had stared directly into a rajah’s eyes, almost a challenge. She had held one of the shy wild monkeys on her shoulder, spoken to a tiger and, he would swear, been understood. And now, she was looking at Bhavesh.
There was a tug at his sleeve and he again focused on the elderly man who was, if nothing else, a font of information.
“Look, Sukumar has summoned that fat man who brought the foreign woman. What do you think he will do with her?”
Following Gupta’s gaze—was his name Gupta?—Bhavesh saw that Sukumar had returned to his cushioned dais, where a gaudily robed man of enormous girth was pleading or cajoling. Bhavesh recognized Phanishwar, a trader of slaves and anything else that could turn a profit. “That toad,” he said aloud, his revulsion for the oily creature making him forget to be discreet.
His companion chuckled. “Oh, so you have met him? You are right—he does look like a toad. Let’s move closer. I want to see what is going on.”
“You go ahead. You can tell me what you overhear.” Bhavesh was interested in the conversation as well, but he could feel the woman’s golden eyes on him and was reluctant to move farther away from her.
“Of course—it will be less obvious that way. You can count on Gupta for a full report.” The old gossip winked and made his way closer to the dais. Bhavesh watched him for a moment then returned his attention to the woman.
As he had been sure he would find her, she still regarded him. I must speak with her. Is she from Eriu? How did she come to be here? Bhavesh could think of no way to approach her without risking Sukumar’s wrath.
She lifted her chin a little, as if she knew what he was thinking. Afraid to walk over here? her gaze seemed to ask.
Well, why not? Bhavesh looked around to see who watched. Most of the court’s attention seemed to be either on the tiger cubs or the conversation between the now wildly gesturing Phanishwar and the rajah.
I may be noticed, but I must speak to her. Bhavesh moved toward the woman, whose eyebrows raised slightly, as if surprised at his boldness. Just wait until she hears the tongue of Eriu come from my lips.
Chapter Three
The Rajah
Leandre knew she was now the primary topic of discussion in the court. And all I did was look at him. She should probably be worried about the consequences of her rashness, but at the moment all she could think about was the tall man approaching from across the crowded room.
He is perfect. Leandre had fantasized all her life about the man who would sweep her from her feet. In her imaginings, this was precisely what he looked like. Dark, tall, dangerous but contained. And those eyes—she didn’t know people in India could have eyes any color but brown or black. These were green, and they almost glowed in his dark face. Leandre wet her lips involuntarily and knew he had seen her do it. Her breath quickened.
She heard the tigers behind her and felt as if she was being pulled in two directions. She was drawn to them and itched to touch them, especially the babies. But Leandre could no more have pulled her gaze away from those green eyes than she could have flown across the room.
As he drew closer, she felt the pulse in her neck. And a familiar tingle between her legs. It felt wonderful. She had not lain with a man since her husband, and theirs had been a lusty marriage. Her muscles tightened on emptiness as they had often squeezed his cock, and Leandre imagined what it would be like to again feel a hard shaft sliding into her. Oh, it had been such a long time! She wanted to close her eyes, throw back her head and sigh aloud, but too many people watched.
He came to a stop in front of her, his gaze never wavering. Would he not speak? Perhaps he would use a dialect Leandre did not understand, but she still wanted to hear his voice. Would it be deep and velvety or as keen as his gaze?
“You obviously have something to say.” She was surprised to hear her own voice—she had not meant to speak aloud. “Why do you not go ahead and say it?”
His slow smile showed he had caught the intent, if not the meaning, of her words. But before he could reply—she was sure he was just about to—two men pushed past him and reached up to the platform to take Leandre’s arms. She just had time to see a frown crease his brow and his mouth open as if to protest when she was propelled from her perch and pulled across the room in the direction of Sukumar.
Leandre did not even have time to struggle against her captors when she came to an abrupt halt in front of the couch where Sukumar lounged. Phanishwar stood to one side, his face sweaty. The woman who had spoken so disdainfully to her, Poornima, sat on a cushioned chair behind the chaise. Her expression was gloating.
Phanishwar smiled expansively, but when he turned toward Leandre his eyes were hard. “Ah, my most exotic flower. I am sure you are pleased to be honore
d by our most noble host’s attentions.” This was not a question. He was reminding her to mind her manners. It made her angry.
Phanishwar had constantly told Leandre how lucky she was to have come into his possession. Any other master would have used her to satisfy his own sexual needs—or perversions as the case may be. He was saving her for a higher purpose. A great honor.
It had not taken Leandre long to realize Phanishwar’s reasons for not dragging her to his bed had nothing to do with prudence. He simply preferred a different brand of partner—one who was too young and weak to protest. Oh, and with a cock. The boys who had been in his possession during Leandre’s tenure said he shaved his entire body, hid his own member between his legs and spoke in a girlish voice during their visits. They were supposed to pretend he was a young virgin.
Pathetic.
He had not lied, however, about having a specific purpose in mind for Leandre.
Leandre had told herself she would not do anything to worsen her already tenuous position, but looking at the greed in Phanishwar’s beady eyes—like currants stuffed into the dough of his bloated face—made her blood rise.
“He may be your host, but he is my master,” she said with sudden fluency, surprising both herself and the listeners. “And he will be my master whether or not I am pleased about it, I expect.” It seemed that anger easily knocked away the last bonds of unfamiliarity with Leandre’s most newly acquired language.
“You are not pleased to be in my possession?” Sukumar voice was dangerously low.
She met his eyes and shivered. His look was almost deadly enough to cool her anger and remind her how precarious her position. Almost.
“I am not pleased to be any man’s possession. I am the daughter of a…a,” she searched for the Sanskrit word for king, “of a great leader. And my husband—”
“Your husband is dead,” broke in Sukumar. “Or so Phanishwar tells me.”
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