Enchantress

by Amy Sumida

  “Again?” She teased him.

  “Unless you are in too much pain,” he looked up at her in question.

  “The pain will be worth the pleasure,” she said and pulled him back as she laughed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “My Lord,” Arnaud entered Bohemund’s chambers cautiously. Bohemund was asleep, with the beautiful Seljuk slave across his chest. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at Arnaud.

  “What is it?” He questioned as he pushed the girl’s hair off his face.

  “Lord Raymond’s Provencal’s are dying.” Arnaud said soberly.

  “What?” Bohemund sat up, awakening the girl, who grabbed some covers quickly and slid to the side of the bed.

  “Many of them have broken out in a rash and are burning with fever,” Arnaud continued. “What do we do, m’lord?”

  Bohemund looked at Neyla cringing next to him on the bed and narrowed his eyes. She retreated even further under his glare.

  “It’s the witch,” Bohemund accused as he threw himself from the bed without regard for his nudity. Neyla turned away to start getting dressed but Bohemund stopped her. “Did I tell you to get dressed?”

  “No, m’lord,” Neyla looked over her shoulder as she dropped the entari.

  “Remain in that bed till I return,” Bohemund said as he pulled on his tunic and breeches.

  He followed Arnaud out the door while Neyla climbed back into the bed. Down the long corridors they stomped until they reached Ayla and Rannulf’s chambers. Bohemund threw the door open without knocking and found Rannulf and Ayla wrapped up in a heated embrace. Bohemund’s blood burned, watching the woman he now knew he desired, in his best friend’s arms.

  Rannulf looked up sharply at the intrusion and pulled Ayla to his chest as he rolled, so her back faced the door. He pulled the covers all the way to her neck and glared at Bohemund. Ayla buried her face into Rannulf’s massive chest and tried very hard to become invisible.

  “Are we under attack?” Rannulf asked as he stroked Ayla’s back reassuringly.

  “Yes,” Bohemund said, “from her!” He pointed an accusing finger at Ayla and she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder.

  “Ayla has been in this bed,” Rannulf vowed, “with me, since last night. So when exactly do you claim she attacked you?”

  “It’s the curse,” Bohemund explained as he stalked further into the room. “Raymond’s men have fallen ill with fever and rash. It’s her curse, she’s worked more of her evil upon us.”

  “I’ve cursed you only once, my lord,” Ayla looked back at Rannulf and spoke only to him. “And that was at Yaghi-Siyan’s order. It was a horrible wasting disease not a fever. What he has just described is a disease that unclean men suffer from. They must wash themselves and scrub the living quarters with boiling water.”

  “There,” Rannulf said looking up at Bohemund. “You have it straight from her mouth. It's no curse. Now please leave us be, Bohemund. I have serious matters to attend to.”

  He smiled then looked back down at Ayla and Bohemund thought he was going to kill his friend, right there in the woman’s arms.

  “You trust her?” Bohemund raged. “She tells you she didn’t do it and that’s it? You believe every word that demon-witch speaks?”

  “Bohemund,” Rannulf sighed, still stroking Ayla through the covers. “You know as well as I, that her words are true. Unsanitary living conditions breed disease. Fever accompanied by rash has been seen before. Have the servants do what she suggests and I’ll wager the infection will cease.”

  Bohemund took a deep breath and thought through Rannulf’s words. They did make sense but he couldn’t seem to let go of his anger. He stared hard at the woman’s back. Her long, silky hair was spread across the bed and he wanted more than anything to touch it, to bury his face in it.

  “You may be right,” Bohemund finally agreed. “But be sure you watch your slave closely, Rannulf. If she dares another strike at us, I will not hesitate to strike back.”

  “I will watch her,” Rannulf vowed happily.

  Bohemund glared once more at the woman then strode from the room and down the hall to sate his sudden attack of lust on Neyla.

  Chapter Thirty

  “You promised me the city,” Bohemund raged at the men before him.

  “You gave us no other choice,” Godfrey admonished him.

  “Regardless,” Bohemund countered. “You gave your word. You are knights, what of your honor?”

  “The city should belong to God,” Raymond spoke as piously as ever. “I say we let the Pope take charge of it.”

  “That’s funny,” Bohemund said. “I don’t see the Pope? When is he due to arrive?”

  The men looked at each other in shocked indignation. Rannulf sighed and heaved himself to his feet.

  “My lords,” Rannulf began and they all looked to him expectantly. Everyone knew who should have been leading them. “I suggest that we write to Pope Urban II and offer him this great city in the name of God, who we have won it for. Let the decision be his.”

  Bohemund raised an eyebrow at him but Rannulf gave an almost imperceptible nod to reassure him.

  “If he does not want the city, then I recommend that you all honor your vow to Bohemund. As Knights of the Cross, God comes first but our honor is a very close second.”

  The men murmured and nodded appreciatively as they puffed their chests out proudly. Bohemund raised his head and the corner of his mouth as he perceived Rannulf’s plan, his friend was truly clever. The Pope’s response could take months and even if he did desire the city, he would have to appoint someone to govern in his stead. The most logical choice would be Bohemund, especially if it was Bohemund who sent the missive.

  “Your suggestion sounds wise,” Godfrey agreed. “We will let the Pope decide. Raymond?” He looked over at the other knight.

  “Yes,” Raymond said. “I can find no fault in it.”

  “I will send a petition at once,” Bohemund announced.

  “One moment,” Godfrey said, suddenly suspicious. “I want to see this letter before it is sent.”

  “Of course, my lords,” Bohemund beamed. “You will all see it and then we will hand it directly to the messenger.”

  The men visibly relaxed and then slowly exited the room. Finally, only Rannulf and Tancred remained.

  “You have saved me again,” Bohemund slapped Rannulf on the shoulder as he poured himself a drink. “My thanks.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Rannulf replied. “I have all that I require.”

  “So, I’ve heard,” Tancred teased. “How is the lovely sorceress?”

  “Even lovelier than you would think,” Rannulf’s grin was brilliant.

  Bohemund took a deep swallow of the wine in his chalice and then thumped it back on the table beside him. Tancred looked at his Uncle in surprise then thought he guessed the reason for Bohemund’s displeasure.

  “Is the little Seljuk not to your liking, Uncle?” Tancred smiled over at him.

  “She is sufficient,” Bohemund ground out. “At least I don’t have to worry about her cutting off my manhood while I sleep.”

  Tancred gasped and Rannulf frowned.

  “Out with it then,” Rannulf said gruffly to Bohemund.

  “Neyla, the Seljuk, Tancred speaks of,” Bohemund started, “has been telling me some of the palace gossip. It seems that you are not the first to try and tame the witch. Yaghi-Siyan was overheard offering the girl marriage, which she refused, threatening to cut off his cock while he slept, should he ever touch her with it. I’d be careful if I was you, my friend.”

  “I'm not surprised Ayla refused him,” Rannulf laughed as he thought of the Vizier hastily retracting his offer of marriage, “and I applaud her efforts, since they obviously worked. Ayla was a virgin, just as I assured you she would be.”

  “Are you sure she did not trick you with her sorcery?” Bohemund sneered.

  “Why do you always scorn her so?” Rannulf asked
quietly. “She saved my life, Bohemund. Does that count for nothing?”

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” Bohemund sighed. The woman was turning him against his best man. “I’ve been feeling unwell as of late.”

  “Of course,” Rannulf said and smiled. “War takes its toll on us all. At least we can rest easy now, knowing that Yaghi-Siyan is dead.”

  “There is that,” Bohemund grinned as well.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “I've need of the hammam, the baths, my lord,” Ayla announced as Rannulf entered the room. He gave her a puzzled look and she explained. “I need to cleanse my body of all impurities, especially in light of the recent deaths.”

  Fifteen men had succumbed to the fever already and supplies were once again getting low, so the survivors were starving.

  “Do you want me to order you a bath?” Rannulf was confused by her choice of words.

  “No, m’lord,” Ayla giggled. “I’d like you to take me to it.”

  “Take you to it?” Rannulf asked, still confused.

  “The baths, Rannulf,” she said. He grinned broadly and walked over to pull her near. “I haven’t been able to attend them for quite awhile.”

  “Say it again,” he said as he nuzzled her neck.

  “What? That I haven’t been to the baths?” She laughed and pushed him away.

  “No, say my name,” he stroked her cheek tenderly. How did he fall so completely in love with her in such a short time? “I want to hear you say my name again. Your tongue makes everything sweeter.”

  He covered her lips with his kiss, to prove his point.

  Ayla felt him lift her up against his chest and went weak with desire. Every time he touched her, her body came to life. Her skin tingled and her legs refused to hold her. She didn’t care about his heathen ways, or the way he enslaved her, when she was consumed by his heat. He finally lifted his head to look down into her flushed face.

  “Speak your word of power, Goddess,” he whispered. “I want to hear it again.”

  “Rannulf,” she said slowly.

  “Again,” he begged.

  “Rannulf,” she said with a voice gone suddenly husky.

  He pulled her up into his arms and headed for the bed.

  “Again,” he said as he let her slide down his chest and then pulled her entari over her head.

  “Rannulf,” she caressed his face as he knelt before her to undo her salvar.

  “Again,” he kissed her stomach and pushed the silk pants slowly down her thick thighs.

  “Rannulf,” his name became a scream of pleasure as he laved her with his tongue.

  She pulled his head against her and tangled her fingers in his hair. He lifted her up in a swift movement and laid her on the large bed.

  “Again,” he said as he quickly divested himself of his clothes.

  She reached for him as he climbed into bed.

  “Rannulf, please,” she said, pulling him down to her.

  “Anything, Ayla,” he whispered into her ear. His hand caressed her breast, teasing the nipple with one finger. “What do you want?”

  “You,” she cried. “I want you inside me, now!”

  Her words inflamed him beyond all control and he drove into her, before even making sure she was ready. Thankfully, she was and he slid easily into her tight sheath. She groaned beneath him in delight and he pulled her legs up, over his shoulders to drive into her even deeper. Her head shook from side to side as she was overwhelmed with pleasure.

  He'd never reached such heights before, had never known it was possible to feel that way. He looked down at the passionate woman writhing beneath him and thanked her Pagan gods for creating her. He didn’t care that he blasphemed. She was the most wonderful woman he'd ever known and it wouldn’t do to be ungrateful.

  Ayla lowered her legs and wrapped them high about his waist. Her nails raked down Rannulf’s back. then gripped his buttocks to pull him deeper inside her. Rannulf moaned as chills went down his spine. He drove into her wildly, giving up his control and pouring his soul into her. She came as violently as him, gripping him about the shoulders and screaming her pleasure for all to hear.

  Rannulf rolled to the side, pulling her with him, and held her against his chest. Every time they made love he was reassured of her power, their coupling could only be described as magical. She sighed and nestled closer to him, to listen to his heartbeat begin to slow.

  “If I'd known the power of your name,” she said teasingly. “I would have invoked it much sooner.”

  He laughed and kissed her forehead.

  “I think we could both use a bath now,” he observed.

  “Sweet Goddess,” she exclaimed. “I'd completely forgotten about the baths.”

  “Where do I have to take you to bathe, exactly?”

  “It’s inside the palace,” she explained. “You may bathe there as well, though not with me.”

  “I won’t take you, unless I get to bathe with you,” he vowed.

  “It's not permitted,” Ayla pushed out of his embrace and began to get dressed.

  “I permit it,” Rannulf smiled at her.

  “You can not,” Ayla shook her head at him and started to fetch her basket of bathing necessities.

  “Don't tell me what I can or can’t do when it concerns you,” he stood up and pulled on his breeches. “Who will stop me?”

  “You will scare all the other women there,” Ayla sighed.

  “Good, then they will leave and we will be alone.” Rannulf grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Twenty minutes later they entered the hammam. It was toward the rear of the palace, closest to Mt. Silpius. They were greeted in the entrance by the Master of the hammam, who tried to usher Ayla to the women’s section without Rannulf. Rannulf simply followed behind. The man noticed his presence, right before they reached the doorway, and turned around in shock.

  “No, no, m’lord,” he said. “You, over there.” He pointed to an entry on the opposite end of the room.

  “I bathe with her,” Rannulf said quietly, as he pulled his sword from his sheath.

  “Rannulf!” Ayla admonished him as the man cringed back in terror. “That's unnecessary. You are frightening the poor man.”

  “That was the point,” he said dryly.

  She turned and explained to the man in Turkish that the barbarian was her new master and would not let her out of his sight. She also told him how Rannulf was the favorite knight, of the conquering Count Bohemund and a man would do well to please him.

  The little man nodded and looked at the imposing knight. Rannulf was twice his height alone. The man had no wish to incur this warrior’s wrath. It might be the wisest course to allow his disrespect.

  “Let me clear the hammam for your pleasure, my lord,” he bowed to Rannulf and clapped his hands, to call some serving girls to him.

  He quickly ordered them to go in and clear the women’s’ section of the hammam. Rannulf pulled Ayla to his chest and held her possessively as they waited for the women to file out.

  “I thought you bathed everyday,” Rannulf mused as they waited.

  “I do,” Ayla laughed a little at his misunderstanding. “This is a deeper cleansing and if I could I would do it everyday as some other women do. You will see for yourself soon enough.”

  Finally, all the women had been cleared out. The little man bowed once more and ushered them in.

  “If you have any coin, now would be a good time to show your appreciation,” Ayla whispered to him.

  Rannulf raised his eyebrow at her then smiled. He pulled out a pouch and emptied a few coins into his hand. As he passed the man he gave them to him.

  “My thanks,” Rannulf said as he followed Ayla inside.

  The little man beamed in pleasure, he'd not been expecting the barbarian to understand the necessity of a gratuity.

  “This way,” Ayla’s voice drifted to him as they were suddenly enveloped in steam.

  R
annulf gawked around him, at one of the most beautiful rooms he'd ever seen. The vaulted ceilings soared up to a domed roof that was intricately carved for ventilation. The light came in softly and made beautiful patterns on the tiled floor. The room itself was made from white marble with columns connected by arches and colorful mosaics all over the walls. In the center was a huge, circular, stone slab.

  Ayla walked to the middle of the room and opened the metal basket she carried. Out of it she pulled a thick mat which she placed on the floor. She put her basket down on the mat and emptied it. Rannulf walked over to inspect her items. There were little wooden clogs on high platforms, several cloths, a beautiful bowl, soap, a little jewelry box, a woven hand-mitt, a mirror, and a couple more boxes of things he didn’t recognize.

  “What’s all this?” Rannulf asked her with amusement. Was all this really necessary just to take a bath? These people were very strange.

  “These are bathing requirements,” Ayla smiled. “You'll see.” She pulled her entari over her head and his smile grew wider at the sight of her lush figure. “Disrobe and put your clothing on the mat.”

  Rannulf happily followed her instructions and soon they both stood there nude. Ayla took his hand and led him to the stone platform. She climbed up on the slab and pulled his hand encouragingly. Rannulf followed her up and was surprised to find that the stone was wonderfully warm. Ayla lay out on her stomach and he followed her example.

  “How is it, that the stone is so warm?” He asked as he reached out and stroked her back. He could get use to this hammam thing.

  “A furnace channels the heat underneath,” she sighed as he stroked her hair back.

  “Amazing,” he laid his cheek against the stone to look over at his lovely captive.

  “Excuse us, milady” a little voice came from behind them and Rannulf looked up, startled.

  Ayla placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.