Enchantress

by Amy Sumida

  “They will massage our bodies,” she smiled at him. “Are you shy, m’lord?”

  Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he smiled back.

  “Please begin,” she said to the girls.

  “You said you didn’t want me to scare the women,” he whispered to her. “What will happen when I roll over and expose my magnificence? They will never be satisfied with another man. I will ruin their lives.”

  Ayla giggled and shoved him hard in rebuke.

  “I think I'll endeavor to hold back my screams when you pleasure me,” she said. “You're getting too boastful.”

  He pulled her against him, shocking the girls who were unloading bottles of oil.

  “Never hold back your response to me,” he growled. “Our love is not complete without your cries of joy.”

  His kissed her deeply, uncaring of their witnesses, until the girls began to giggle. Ayla pulled back and smiled at him.

  “Let the girls rub the tension from you,” Ayla tried to hide the desire in her voice and Rannulf was happy that he was lying on his stomach. If he had been face-up, the girls would really be laughing. “You may begin,” Ayla motioned to the waiting girls.

  Shortly, the servants began their ministrations and Rannulf’s tired muscles melted under their experienced hands. He groaned and thought that he must surely be committing a horrible sin' nothing so wonderful could be good.

  Ayla sighed next to him and he looked over to see her masseuse gently urge her onto her back. The girl massaged Ayla’s shoulders and arms then her delicate fingers drifted over Ayla’s breasts, kneading gently. Rannulf felt desire coarse through his manhood, was this what women did together in private? Then the girl moved her hands down Ayla’s belly and over her upper thighs and he almost spilled his seed like a boy.

  Ayla looked over at her lover and smiled, recognizing the passion in his green eyes. She reached out and caressed his cheek. Her fingertips drifted down his face to stroke his lips and he nipped at one, pulling it into his mouth to suck on. Then he released it to kiss the tip.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For bringing me to this paradise that I will surely burn in Hell for enjoying” he grinned at her.

  “I don't believe in your Hell,” she whispered back to him. “Why must you Christians torture yourself, denying all the pleasant things in the world?” He frowned a little at her blasphemy but she continued. “Does your God not love you?”

  “Of course he does,” Rannulf held her hand to his lips, “and you as well, my little Heathen.”

  “Then why would he deny you the pleasure of enjoying his bounty?” Ayla’s reasoning was confusing him.

  “Sin was created by Satan, to lure the faithful away from God,” he vowed, looking straight into the face of his own temptation.

  “What does God leave you to enjoy then?” She questioned as the graceful fingers kept up their tantalizing movements over her slick skin.

  “As far as women go,” he cleared his throat. “There is enjoyment in the marriage bed and the children that union will produce.”

  Damn but he sounded like Raymond! When did he become so holy?

  “How could I have forgotten our marriage, m’lord?” She taunted him, finally shooing the girls away and turning onto her side.

  The girls bowed and exited the chamber quietly. Rannulf’s frown grew worse.

  “I can not marry you,” he announced and Ayla felt her heart drop inside her chest, then the damn fragile thing broke into a thousand pieces.

  She pulled her hand sharply away from him and sat up.

  “Why is that?” She asked through clenched teeth.

  “You are a Pagan, Ayla,” he tried to reason with her.

  He could never marry a heathen Seljuk. Could he? The church would probably excommunicate him, so what would that leave them? Joining himself to her in some barbarian ceremony? Ridiculous.

  “And as a Pagan,” she turned back to look at him and he was surprised to see her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I'm unworthy of marriage to your great self?”

  “No, sweetheart,” he tried to soothe her with words as he sat up and came around the platform to stand before her. “You've been given to me, you’re mine.” He reached for her face but she pulled back. “I can't marry my captive. Ayla, you’re Seljuk, my people would never allow it.”

  “So you stole my innocence, without thought of a future with me?” Her eyes were now full of anger. “You'll enjoy me for awhile then cast me aside when you leave?”

  “Ayla,” Rannulf whispered and pulled her forcibly into his arms. “I’m not leaving and I will never let you go. You're mine, now and always. I love you, you know that.”

  Ayla relaxed in his embrace and Rannulf sighed in relief. She tilted her face up to him and he kissed her thoroughly, melting all her anxieties away. She knew she should resist him more, argue for her rights as a woman, but she didn’t want to fight with him. She already knew her time with him was limited. She'd have to leave someday and his words only confirmed the prediction. Maybe once she did. he would change his mind about marrying a Seljuk. She scooted off the platform and pulled his hand again.

  “Come along,” she called. “It’s time for the warm room.”

  “The warm room,” he laughed, grateful she was letting the subject drop. “What was this, if not the warm room?”

  “This is the hot room,” she looked at him like he was daft.

  “Oh, I see,” he said. He didn’t.

  Ayla gathered their things and began to carry it all but Rannulf scooped everything up in the mat and waited for her to lead the way. Ayla raised an eyebrow at him then walked through a doorway and down a corridor to the “warm room”.

  The room was just as magnificent as the last except, instead of a slab of stone in the center, there was a large fountain. All along the walls, basins of water jutted out and marble benches were sporadically placed.

  Ayla took their things from him and deposited them on a bench. She pulled out the wooden platform shoes and daintily stepped into them. Then she picked up a lovely copper bowl, her soap and the hand-mitt. Without another word, she walked over to the nearest basin. Ayla dipped the bowl into the water then lifted it over her head to pour its contents over her body.

  Rannulf felt his excitement return as she scooped another bowlful and wet her hair. She rubbed the mitt in the soap and scrubbed it all over her body, till she was covered in lather. She scooped more water and rinsed herself.

  “Come here, Rannulf,” she said quietly and he walked to her in a daze. “I have no nalin for your feet, so you’ll have to stand in the soapy water. But the barber will scrape your feet clean when he comes to cut your hair.”

  “What's this, you speak of now?” He looked down at his feet in concern.

  “Don’t worry, fearless warrior,” she teased. “It will not hurt.”

  She scooped water from the basin and poured it over him. He closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of the warm water. Heated water, he should have known. She scrubbed him with her soapy mitt and he relaxed and enjoyed her ministrations.

  “What is this?” He grabbed her hand as it glided over his chest.

  “It is a bath mitt made from woven silk,” she explained. “It’s good for releasing impurities.” She poured more water over him, then started to lather herself once more.

  “Once was not enough?” He watched her in wonder.

  “Not here, it isn’t,” she laughed. “It is an Islamic custom of cleanliness that I've grown to enjoy. Several washings are needed to clean one’s self properly.”

  “I see,” he said as he took the mitt from her, but he didn’t.

  He began to scrub her body but soon the mitt slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. He ran his fingers over her soapy skin and massaged her as he had seen the young girl do. Ayla’s eyes opened wide in surprise as she felt his intimate touch. He continued till he had rubbed every inch of her then pulled he
r soapy body up against his, delighting in the slick feeling. He kissed her urgently, his need rising up against her and she lowered one soapy hand to stroke his shaft. He groaned and pulled her harder against him.

  She gripped him about the shoulders with her free hand, continuing to slide the other over him expertly. Rannulf finally grabbed her wrist to still her movements, knowing he would never control himself if she continued. She looked up at him and smiled saucily, knowing exactly what kind of havoc she was playing on him. He had to stop her or he’d take her right there on the wet floor. So he picked up the forgotten bowl, scooped up the water and then poured it over her body. He emptied another bowlful over himself as she rubbed the water from her face.

  She was so strikingly beautiful wet. Rannulf pulled her to him but she stopped him and bent down to pick up the bath mitt. She silently rubbed it over him again and then she dropped it, just as he had, and began to run her bare hands over his flesh. Rannulf inhaled sharply as her slick movements excited him. When she reached down and stroked her soapy fingers over his hard shaft, he thought he would surely die from pleasure. Too soon, the water was being poured over him and she was once more leading him through a doorway and down a corridor.

  “Now it’s time for the cool room,” she whispered and he was relieved to see a length of cubicles filled with long couches.

  She led him into one and closed the carved door behind them. Gently, she pushed him down onto the thick cushions and then straddled his hips. His heart beat faster as she lowered her face to his and kissed him thoroughly.

  Rannulf stroked her back then grasped her bottom. With his other hand he stroked her womanhood, rubbing her till she cried out for him. He poised himself for her and she slid down his length, sighing. Rannulf leaned back against the wall to watch her kneel on the couch and lift herself up and down on him. He groaned and grabbed her hips with both hands to lift her faster. Finally, Ayla threw her head back and screamed out.

  Rannulf pulled her against his chest and stood up. He turned her over and laid her torso down on the couch so that she knelt on the floor. Then he spread he legs apart and positioned himself between them. Ayla was just coming out of her daze of pleasure, when Rannulf drove into her and sent her back. She pushed up a little on her forearms and he used the opportunity to grip one breast possessively as he used his other hand to hold onto her hips.

  He pounded into her mercilessly, till he sensed his oncoming orgasm and then reached between her legs to bring her with him. Their shouts of pleasure mingled together before he collapsed over her. Quickly, he rolled to the side and pulled her up onto the couch with him.

  “I thought you said you weren't going to scream out your pleasure anymore?” He teased her.

  “And I thought you said I was to never hold back from you,” she snuggled closer.

  He chuckled and pushed her wet hair off her back. Then a soft knock interrupted them.

  “A moment, please,” Ayla called as she got up and handed Rannulf a cloth to wrap about his waist.

  She wrapped one about her waist as well, leaving her breasts bare, and opened the door to let in one of the young girls. The girl carried in a tray with two glasses, a carafe, and a plate of pastries.

  “Some refreshments?” The girl placed the tray down on a low table next to the couch.

  “Thank you,” Ayla smiled and the girl bowed quickly and left.

  Ayla poured them each a glass of lemonade then handed one to Rannulf. He drank it without question and she smiled at his trust.

  “It tastes like lemons,” he said, looking at her in surprise.

  “Yes, it’s lemonade,” she laughed. “Very refreshing after the bath.”

  “You are very refreshing, after the bath,” he said as he pulled her into his arms again

  “Have you not had your fill of me?” Ayla gasped as she felt his response to her nearness.

  “Never,” he vowed.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The next five months passed by in a blur for Rannulf. He had never been so happy in all of his life. Ayla became his whole world. She had more wisdom than any man he knew and he loved to spend hours just talking with her over cups of strong Turkish coffee. They debated constantly about religion and the role of women in society, two things Ayla felt very strongly about. Then they’d end most of their debates in bed, which Rannulf felt very strongly about.

  But as they languished in their desire for each other, the city’s supplies diminished and the men began to starve again. Thanks to Ayla’s instructions, most men had been saved from the outbreak of disease but they'd survived only to become a burden on the dwindling food supply. Some of the lesser knights and foot soldiers became restless and threatened to move on to Jerusalem, without their bickering leaders.

  Then they received a response from the Pope. Bohemund and the other leaders gathered in his chambers to read the missive together. Bohemund scanned it first and then handed it to Godfrey. Bohemund’s smile grew while Godfrey began to frown.

  “The city is mine,” Bohemund announced.

  Rannulf sighed in relief, knowing his position with Ayla was now secure.

  “I’ll be leaving for Jerusalem in the morning,” Godfrey tossed the letter on a table and strode out of the room.

  “I, as well,” Raymond vowed.

  The rest of the men nodded and Bohemund was relieved. He’d no longer have to fight for his Principality.

  “Tancred?” Bohemund looked at his nephew.

  “I’ll stay if it pleases you, Uncle,” Tancred smiled at him.

  “Of course,” Bohemund smiled and looked over at Rannulf. “Now we can start bringing in more supplies.”

  “Bohemund,” Rannulf sat up and stared at his friend in shock. “Explain.”

  “Well, I had to have a plan in case the Pope decided he wanted my city,” Bohemund smiled a little. “I couldn’t have them all staying on and hindering my control.”

  “So you starved us all?” Rannulf couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “You never starved,” Bohemund countered. “Why are you complaining? It was a simple, tactical move.”

  “My men starved,” Rannulf shouted as he stood up to confront Bohemund. “Your men starved. Have you no conscience?”

  “No,” Bohemund said simply. “I can't afford one. You must make sacrifices to win, you know that, Rannulf.” Rannulf turned away from him in disappointment. “Don’t look away from me like I’m refuse!” Bohemund grabbed Rannulf’s tunic and turned him back. “You would not be here, in this palace, sleeping every night between Ayla’s golden thighs, if it were not for me! You should be thankful I've enough courage to be merciless.”

  Rannulf pushed away from Bohemund and stared at him hard.

  “You would not be here, my lord,” Rannulf raised an accusing finger at his friend, “if I did not back you, if I did not slick the way with my diplomacy and my sword. Don't defend yourself to me, I know you too well.”

  Bohemund frowned and took a deep breath.

  “Forgive me,” Bohemund held out his hand to Rannulf.

  Rannulf’s expression lightened, then completely cleared as he clasped the proffered hand warmly.

  “Always, my friend,” he said sincerely.

  Tancred watched with a slight frown. Rannulf was always blind when it came to Bohemund. It had to do a little with their boyhood. Bohemund had been the one to recognize Rannulf’s talent early on and had helped elevate him to knighthood. Rannulf owed him a lot. It was a shame that Rannulf couldn’t see how much more he'd given Bohemund in return.

  Tancred sighed, he loved his Uncle but he respected and admired Rannulf.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Rannulf found Ayla on the balcony when he returned. She had a carpet spread out on its tiled floor and was sitting on it, with a book in her lap. Rannulf smiled as he recognized the formulary her father had given her.

  “So, what’s today’s lesson?” He asked as he sat down.

  “Do you really want t
o know, Christian?” Ayla smiled and looked up from the page.

  “As long as you're not about to summon demons,” Rannulf chucked her under the chin.

  “I don’t believe in demons,” Ayla said serenely. “Spirits, yes; demons, no.”

  “Truly?”

  Rannulf was fascinated but it made sense, she'd previously mentioned she didn't believe in Hell either. How much easier life would be, if he didn’t have to worry about the fires of damnation.

  “There are spirits who are mean by their very nature and gods as well,” Ayla explained. “They can do horrible things and make you think they are from your Christian Hell. But then, all one must do is consider it rationally and you will realize that this is impossible.”

  “What do you mean?” Rannulf smiled; evidently today’s topic would be religion.

  “How can demons roam the Earth when they're supposed to be resigned to Hell?” Ayla looked at him expectantly.

  “Hmmm,” Rannulf had never thought of that. “But Satan is allowed to roam the Earth; maybe God allows him demons as well.”

  “So the world is a battlefield for good and evil?” Ayla cocked her head. “What a very warrior-like religion you have.”

  “A battlefield?” Rannulf loved her mind but sometimes he had problems following her thoughts.

  “If Satan is allowed on Earth with his demons but not in Heaven and God and his angels roam the world as well but don't enter Hell, then here is where they will fight and according to your holy book, our souls are the prize.”

  “Yes,” Rannulf smiled. “I guess that’s a fair deduction.”

  “But your book speaks of a final battle,” Ayla went on. “That will be when Lucifer will truly wage war. So what is happening now? Small skirmishes?”

  Rannulf laughed exuberantly. Ayla had such a unique way of putting things. He knew he should be offended but somehow he wasn't. She didn’t try to attack his beliefs, she was just curious and wanted to understand them.

  “I guess you could say that Satan is a spy behind enemy lines,” Rannulf tried her way of looking at things. “He skulks about, trying to make us turn traitor.”