by Amy Sumida
“I agree nephew,” Bohemund declared. “Bring out the women!”
At his order, three young Armenian girls swirled out into the room and began to dance. The men hooted and howled in approval and Ayla raised an eyebrow at the priest. The priest shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was all harmless.
Ayla listened to the music, the drums awakened something in her spirit and she found herself caught up in their beauty. She swayed a little to the beat and watched the women in fascination. She remembered dancing with her tribe and how she loved the sound of the bells she’d wear on her ankles and in her hair. The Armenians danced differently but it was still beautiful.
The delicious food disappeared quickly as the dancers increased everyone’s appetites. Soon the men were completely absorbed by the sight of the women. Almost as if they knew the thoughts they were instilling, the Armenian girls gestured to others who quickly joined them. The room was too large for the three of them to entertain everyone. Soon the chamber was filled with swishing fabric and the sound of women’s laughter.
“Witch,” Bohemund’s voice broke into Ayla’s musings, “dance for us.”
She looked at the Christian with contempt, then went back to eating as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Rannulf,” Bohemund scolded, “Teach your slave some manners before I must.”
“Dance,” growled Rannulf. “I can't allow you to disrespect him again.”
Ayla took a calming breath and lifted her chin proudly. She stood slowly, looked down on the men disdainfully. She understood the male ego but Rannulf was beginning to try her patience.
“Oh ho,” cried Bohemund, “but she does have a scornful look, even when she does your bidding. Well, Sorceress, now you will entertain us and we will see how proud you are when you finish.”
Ayla’s brow furrowed in confusion. These men were so coarse, that they thought dancing was demeaning. Did they not know the story of Salome? Their own teaching showed the power a woman held when she danced.
Ayla untied her belt and shrugged out of her kaftan, dropping them on the floor carelessly. Rannulf inhaled sharply as the thin, green, silk entari was revealed beneath. It was open to the waist and an occasional glimpse of perfect breasts could be seen through the sheer white gomlek underneath. Ayla began to smile slightly as she turned toward the musicians. She nodded her head to them and they began to play a Turkish rhythm.
She walked slowly to the middle of the floor and as she walked she let her silk veil fall down from her head and over her shoulders. She grasped the ends of it and held her arms up so the veil draped behind her. The Armenian girls fell back into the shadows to watch, all of the palace servants revered the enchantress and to watch her dance would be the greatest honor.
A hush fell over the men as Ayla began to roll her hips to the drumbeats. They moved slowly like ocean waves, then suddenly sharp to match the cracks of the drum. The combination was fascinating, thrilling, and mesmerizing. The silk swirled around her and mingled with her incredibly long hair till they seemed to be joined. When she moved her hips, the fabric clung suggestively to her curves and entranced everyone in the room. Her body flowed in ways that made men dream of having it beneath them. Her naked toes peered out and occasionally a golden thigh was glimpsed through the sheerness of her salvar.
Ayla twisted and turned, circling the room in abandon. She hadn’t been this free in years. She gloried in the dance and her enjoyment made her irresistible. She felt the power coursing through her veins and swished her hair in an arc as she let one end of the veil go. She twisted it to the front and held it up to her face so that only her eyes were revealed, then undulated her body against the thin veil. The silk clung to her curves like a lover, refusing to let go until the very last second. She moved forward against the veil until she stood directly before Rannulf.
Rannulf was entranced, as were the rest of the audience. He sat in stunned amazement, feeling his arousal growing so hard it was painful. He'd never seen a woman move like that. She could not be a virgin, her movements revealed an intimate knowledge that any harlot would envy. Maybe Bohemund had been right, but amazingly, he didn’t care.
When Ayla stood before him, Rannulf thought he’d die from pleasure. She pulled the veil slowly up and over her body as she swirled and moved her hips for him alone. She caught his gaze and in her eyes was a promise of unearthly delights. He knew then that he’d never desire another woman as long as he lived.
Ayla poured her soul out through her eyes and felt the response in Rannulf. He couldn't have looked away if Christ himself had walked through the door. She rejoiced in her power and almost laughed out loud. Instead, she smiled suggestively at him and swirled the veil about his shoulders as she fell into a kneeling position before him. She threw her head back swiftly, lifting up her breasts and extending her arms behind her to help push her up as the last beat of the drum was struck.
Rannulf’s heart was beating almost as fast as Ayla’s. He held the veil up to his nose and inhaled her sweet scent. She completely filled him; head, soul, and heart, it was all consumed by Ayla. When she knelt before him on the last drumbeat, like an offering, he knew that every man in the room envied him.
Ayla’s chest heaved from her exertions and when she finally raised her head up, strands of her hair clung to her forehead. She looked at him, still in that seductive pose and her eyes wove a spell around him that would never be broken. He jumped to his feet and towered over her.
She looked up his thickly muscled legs, knowing she'd won but unsure of what victory would bring. When her dark gaze finally met his eyes, she saw that they were green; deep, desire-green, and she knew tonight she would learn what it was to be a woman, to bee his woman.
He held his hand out to her and she slowly lifted one arm to put her hand in his. He smiled exultantly and pulled her to her feet, dragging her body along his. The silk of her entari clung to her body in places and his gaze traveled over her lustily. He lifted her suddenly in his arms and a great cry of encouragement came from the gathering. Her arms went immediately around his neck and Rannulf knew happiness like he’d never known before. He kissed her possessively, proudly displaying his ownership. She was his and he wanted everyone to know it. Finally, Rannulf broke the kiss and quickly carried her from the room, oblivious to the malicious look Bohemund sent after them.
The large, double doors closed behind Rannulf and Ayla but they barely noticed. They were completely caught up in each other. Rannulf had never known such need, he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the woman in his arms. He felt her heart beating and the warmth of her skin through her thin garments. Her smell was intoxicating, like honeyed roses, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
Rannulf released his hold on Ayla to let her warm, damp body slide down his own. When her feet hit the floor, he pulled her against him and kissed her with all the desire she'd created. She clung to him, not knowing what else to do, and kissed him back. When Rannulf felt her heated response, he groaned and slid his hands over her curves. He quickly pulled his tunic off and then his breeches and Ayla finally allowed herself to look her fill at his body.
Rannulf started towards her but Ayla held a hand out to stop him. His brow furrowed as he wondered if she would change her mind and refuse him. But Ayla didn’t speak a word. Her hands gripped the edges of her entari and lifted it slowly, tantalizingly, over her head. Rannulf almost dropped to his knees to beg for mercy, as he watched the damp material cling to her skin.
Ayla stood before him in her sheer gomlek and salvar, the white silk was almost completely transparent and her beauty was proudly displayed for him. He groaned and rushed to her, to pull her body against his. The feel of the silk between them was almost his undoing. Rannulf’s hands roamed over her, trying to feel all of her at once. Finally, he stopped touching her long enough to pull her undergarments off and carry her to the bed.
Rannulf let his gaze wander over Ayla’s luscious figure. He loved her large breasts and full hips, her waist
was so little in comparison and he followed the curve of it with his hand, reveling in the smooth magnificence of her skin. She looked up at him with a strange mix of fear, trust, and surrender, and he suddenly felt like he'd been given the most precious gift.
He leaned down and kissed her lingeringly. His mouth covered hers and he slipped his tongue between her lips to caress her, gently at first, then more demandingly. Rannulf felt her begin to tremble beneath him and smiled. He drew back and stroked her cheek, her hair, her neck. His hand went to her nape and massaged her neck a little, while he kissed her forehead.
“You've nothing to fear with me,” he whispered. “I will be the one to protect you, not bring you harm.”
“You threatened to cut out my tongue,” she raised an eyebrow at him and grinned slyly. He chuckled as he shook his head.
“Will you never let that be?” he growled. “I have better plans for your tongue.”
He dipped his head to hers once more and licked her lips apart, so he could show her just how wonderful his plans were.
Ayla sighed in pleasure but she wanted more. She spread her fingers through his hair, sliding them down to his nape and then pulled him closer. She felt him groan, deep inside his chest. Between them his desire rose up hard against her and she wondered what it would feel like. She reached down and stroked the sensitive flesh and Rannulf broke the kiss in surprise. His breathing came faster and he looked down at her with flames in his eyes.
“You are a witch,” he said as she stroked him gently.
He reached down and covered her hand with his, increasing the pressure and the rhythm. She smiled at this encouragement and soon caught the pace. He bent over and took one rosy nipple into his mouth, licking it to tautness. Ayla moaned throatily and pulled him closer with her free hand. He looked up at her desire-filled face and smiled before moving to the next breast.
His hand moved down her belly and parted her legs, then the flesh between. She was already slick and his finger slid in easily. Her back arched in shock as the pleasure coursed through her. She let go of him suddenly and started to push at his shoulders in fright. He smiled down at her reassuringly.
“If you insist, little sorceress,” he said as he lowered his body along hers until he rested between her legs. She gasped in shock and tried to push herself up but he grasped her firmly around the hips and refused to let her. “Trust me, Ayla.”
He lowered his lips to her womanhood and gently licked her. Her legs clenched and as he continued his ministrations, they began to shake with the power of the feelings within her. He lifted up a little and she whimpered in disappointment but he quickly replaced his mouth with his hands, rubbing her, and then sliding his finger inside her tightness. She gasped and gripped him about the shoulders. He only smiled again and lowered his lips back down.
Ayla didn’t understand the exquisite sensations that Rannulf was causing. Streams of pleasure seemed to flow out from her center as his finger filled her in the most delicious way. She bucked her hips against his face, wanting so much more but not knowing how to ask for it. Rannulf finally rose up and poised above her, the tip of him resting at her entrance.
“Are you ready for me, Ayla?” He asked her gently.
She nodded, not knowing what he meant but not caring either. He drove into her smooth, wet center and she cried out as he broke through her maidenhead. He looked down at her in shock. She was a virgin! An uncontrollable possessive delight filled him.
“I’m sorry, my love. If I'd known you were a maiden, I would have gone slower,” Rannulf gentled his pace. “It will get better soon, I promise.”
Sure enough, the pain disappeared quickly and the pleasure started anew. This time it was greater, more intense than before. She prayed that it would never stop and yearned for the end of it, all at once. Her legs began to shake again and she wrapped them around his waist as he began to quicken the rhythm. Her arms crept around his back and she clawed into him as the pleasure washed over her, then lifted her on its crest. She screamed out in completion and her legs fell back to the bed.
“It’s not over yet,” he announced and rolled them over so she straddled him.
He grabbed her hips and moved them against him till she picked up the technique. She felt a new, amazing sensation creep over her as she rubbed against him, and instinctively she leaned into him and rocked with the skill of a dancer. Her breasts hung in his face and he caught one nipple lightly with his teeth before sucking hungrily on it. She was consumed again and she felt her head drop back. Her hair flowed all around them, caressing him as passionately as she did. Rannulf was overcome with delight, it was more wonderful than any pleasure he'd ever experienced and he couldn’t hold on much longer. He felt her legs clench with her second orgasm and gripped her hips hard against him to join her. He cried out with her, then held her spent body against him after she collapsed on his chest.
Ayla was in a daze. She had never imagined being with a man would be like that. Her limbs were languorously weak and she used all the strength she had to lift her head and look down at him. He was watching her with a look of amazement and she was secretly glad she wasn't the only one surprised by their coupling. She tried to roll off him but he stopped her by encircling her with his strong arms.
“Stay awhile,” he whispered. “I don’t want to feel the separation yet.” She smiled and nestled against his broad chest, listening to his heart beat. “I love you, Ayla,” was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.
Bohemund looked over at John, after Rannulf had carried Ayla away. The priest’s eyes were wide with shock over Ayla’s behavior but he quickly recovered and met Bohemund’s stare.
“Looks like Rannulf is fully recovered,” Bohemund commented.
“And it appears that I need not worry about Ayla’s treatment,” John agreed with a hint of a smile.
“I must admit the witch is beguiling,” Bohemund had a strange look about him. “If I hadn’t already gifted her to Rannulf, I might have been the one carrying her out of here tonight.”
“Is that regret I hear, m’lord?” John was surprised at the man’s attraction for the one woman he seemed to hate.
“I regret nothing I do,” Bohemund vowed and tossed back the rest of his tea. “Is there no wine in this place?”
“Muslims are forbidden to drink alcohol,” John explained, “although there might be wine stored for visitors. He called to one of the servant girls and asked her to go and check. She returned momentarily with an earthen jug.
“My Lord?” She questioned Bohemund before she poured the wine.
He nodded his approval as he looked her over. Her long hair was tied back in a long braid, in the Seljuk style. He wondered why the witch wore hers down and if this girl’s would be as beautiful when it was released from its restraint. The girl looked up at him and he saw her eyes were dark, though not as enticing as Ayla’s. She backed away and lowered her head demurely, looking at the carpet.
“Wait,” he said, stopping her.
“My Lord?” She asked again, lifting her eyes to his chest but not his face.
“Your name?”
“I am Neyla.”
Bohemund licked his lips and brought the chalice to his mouth to sip the red wine she had brought. Neyla… close enough, he thought. She would do for now. He put his cup down and motioned to her to come closer. She knelt before him nervously. He took the jar of wine from her and grabbed her hand to pull her to her feet. With one swift movement he threw her over his shoulder, to the delight of the rest of the men.
Neyla went limp, knowing it best to surrender and hopefully gain the conqueror’s favor. Bohemund grinned broadly, sensing the girl’s compliance and lifted the jug of wine in salute to the crowd.
“I bid you all a good night, as I am sure to have one” he cried as he turned and left.
The men laughed and began to search for women of their own.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ayla opened her eyes to a wide expanse of chest r
ising and falling slowly, under her cheek. She was startled a moment until she remembered the previous night. Then she smiled as she thought of the passion she'd shared with Rannulf. He had been insatiable, making love to her over and over until neither of them could move. They'd finally collapsed and fallen asleep, tangled in each other’s arms.
Her small stirrings awakened Rannulf and he opened his eyes to find his incredible prize, still in his embrace. He hadn’t dreamed their intimacy, she really was there. She looked stunning in the morning’s light, staring up at him with those large, dark eyes. She smiled shyly and his breath caught in his throat. How could this woman possibly be his?
“Are you in any discomfort this morning?” He asked gently as he shifted up on an elbow.
Her hair was tangled around them and he delicately pushed it off of him and over her shoulder.
“I’m a little tender,” she blushed prettily, “in some places.”
“It’s to be expected,” Rannulf said as he roamed his hands down the curve of her side. He couldn’t stop touching her, what a distraction this woman would be. “I wouldn’t have taken you so vigorously if I had known about your innocence.”
“Why did you think I was not a maiden?” She looked at him in confusion.
He frowned a little and cleared his throat.
“Your dance,” he finally said. “You moved as a woman who knows the touch of a man, the touch of pleasure.”
“We are taught to dance thus from childhood. The movements are ancient and instinctive.” She looked up at him through her lush lashes. “It's meant to be a show of a woman’s power and a celebration of her sensuality. In my culture you don't need to be loved to feel love. I feel it in the pulse of the earth, the kiss of the winds, and the beat of the drums.” She smiled slowly and he was lost. “But now I can understand it better.”
Ayla laughed as she realized the effect her words had on him. He smiled roguishly and pulled her closer. Rannulf nuzzled his face into her neck and began to lick and bite his way down to her breasts.
