by Amy Sumida
Two hundred miles away, Rannulf and his soldiers fought off a vicious Seljuk attack. He looked up suddenly, toward the east and over the Euphrates. He heard her! Ayla was somewhere in pain, she needed him! He didn’t know how he knew but every muscle in his body clenched in response. It was the closest he had felt to her in all those months of searching. He parried a brutal blow and looked around him at his fallen comrades. He was going to die. Ayla needed him and he was going to die. Rannulf roared in fury, just as he was knocked from his horse.
Chapter Forty-Nine
When Rannulf came to, it was with extreme effort. He opened his eyes to see a group of darkly dressed people, wrapped from head to foot. They spoke in Turkish and Rannulf squinted as he tried to make out the words. Why hadn’t he learned the language? Because Ayla already spoke French, he told himself. He groaned and turned his head to the side. The noise attracted the strangers’ attention and a couple of women came over to inspect him. He looked beyond their approaching figures and saw that they were on the edge of the Euphrates. A hazy memory pulled at his mind, of a mother and child in a church.
“Beyza al-Fanari,” he said as the women bent over him.
They gasped and stood up, chattering amongst themselves and pointing at the pendant that hung about his neck. He'd never removed it, from the moment Ayla had put it on. The five pointed star glowed brightly from behind the stag’s head. The women gestured for their men to come near. Soon he was being carried to a cart and a woman climbed in with him.
“Beyza al-Fanari,” the woman said as she stripped off his tunic to clean his wounds. “We take you,” she spoke in halting French.
“Thank you,” he whispered before he passed out.
Chapter Fifty
“He's beautiful,” Faruk exclaimed as he held his grandson high for all to see. Ayla had finally been able to scream for help and Durukan had come and carried her back into her father’s yurt, just in time for the baby’s arrival. The little boy squirmed but suffered his grandfather’s attentions quietly, surveying the people around him with a wizened air.
“Bring him back to me,” Ayla reached for her son, smiling.
Her father returned the babe to his mother as their people cheered in joy. Someday the boy would be their next holy man.
Ayla looked down at the miracle in her arms and smiled. He was perfect. He had a patch of thick, midnight hair already, and dark, golden skin, but his most beautiful feature, the one that Ayla treasured the most, was his bright, emerald-green eyes. They stared up at her so serenely and with such wisdom that she could barely believe he was just a babe.
“What will you call him, daughter?” Faruk looked over her shoulder into the baby’s face.
“Akara Faruk Auvray,” she said quietly and her father’s eyes spilled over with tears.
Durukan’s smile lost a little of it’s brilliance upon hearing the French surname but he tried hard to understand and be happy for Ayla. This man that had mistreated her had lost her, it didn't matter that she acknowledged the child as his.
“We will call him Akara,” Faruk shouted, “Akara Faruk!”
Cheering was heard even outside the large tent as the people began the day long celebration of the birth. Drumbeats were soon sounding and the women trilled in excitement.
Akara looked about him curiously but remained undisturbed by the noise. He reached up and touched his mother’s face with the palm of his hand, almost in reassurance and surprisingly, much like his father used to. Ayla stared down into those green orbs and was pulled deeper into their depths until she saw Rannulf, riding a dark horse and swathed like a tribesman. He was coming for her!
Ayla gasped and her heart started to beat faster. Was that vision hers or had Akara given it to her? The child suddenly smiled knowingly and Ayla had only seen one other smile as beautiful. Tears began to flow down her cheeks and Akara dutifully reached up and brushed them away.
Chapter Fifty-One
“Warrior,” Beyza al-Fanari greeted Rannulf as he entered her yurt. “I knew we would meet again.”
“Thank you, Lady,” he said as he sat down on the thick carpet.
She poured him a cup of coffee from the pot on the low table before her and then handed it to him.
“I'm much relieved to return the debt,” she said with a smile. “You remember Esma?”
She waved her hand at the little girl next to him and he smiled at her.
“Yes,” he said, “of course. How are you, Esma?”
“Oh, she doesn’t speak your language very well yet,” Beyza waved a hand in dismissal and repeated Rannulf’s words to the girl in Turkish.
The girl smiled and said something back.
“She thanks you for your concern and for her life, which is well.” Beyza smiled in approval at her daughter. “You've come for the woman then?”
Rannulf stared at her in shock.
“Ayla,” he said. “How did you know?”
“She crossed this way many months ago,” Beyza explained. “I knew her from Antioch and I knew she would be followed. A woman like that rarely runs and is not pursued.”
Beyza beamed at him and he laughed heartily. He felt an overwhelming sense of hope at the mention of Ayla.
“Do you know where I can find her?” Rannulf leaned forward. “I've searched for six months and found nothing but wind and blood.
“Ah yes, the Seljuks had you,” Beyza said. “I’m sorry you lost so many. You were the only survivor.”
“I’m sorry too,” Rannulf shook his head. “I lead those men to their deaths.”
“Each man is responsible for his own fate,” Beyza said. “They filled their purpose by protecting you.” Rannulf nodded and tried to accept this wisdom. The woman spoke a lot like Ayla. “It was all part of a greater design,” she continued, “leading you here, so I in turn, could lead you to your lady.”
Rannulf caught his breath.
“You know where she is?” He prayed to God that this woman could lead him to Ayla and hoped that God was still listening to his prayers.
“Yes, I do,” Beyza said, apparently God hadn’t forsaken him yet. “I will give you my fastest horse and dress you as one of our people, so none shall assault you. Ayla’s tribe is currently occupying an open plain, just six hours ride south of here.” Rannulf jumped to his feet but she pulled him back down. “Patience, rash knight. The horse and supplies are being prepared as we speak. Soon you shall see your woman again.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ayla pulled the dark veil about her shoulders and over the sleeping child in her arms. She carried him up to the pool to bathe him and collect their daily jug of water. The earthenware jug had a long strap of leather attached to it, so she was able to sling it over her shoulder. It made carrying Akara much easier.
When she got to the water, she laid down the jug and then the baby. Akara looked up at her happily, from the soft grass. She crooned to him and knelt beside him to undress him for his bath. He loved the water, unlike the other babies in the tribe, and never cried during his baths.
Akara gurgled and shook his arms excitedly, all through the washing. Ayla laughed at the happy baby, he was her biggest source of joy now. She finished bathing him, dried him, and began to dress him.
“Well, what has you so excited this morning?” She stroked her son’s thick black hair and he giggled mischievously.
There was a sudden commotion behind them and Ayla looked over her shoulder in alarm. The tribe was gathering around an unknown tribesman on a black horse. She finished dressing Akara quickly before getting to her feet and joining the tribe.
By the time she pushed through the crowd, her heart was beating fast. She knew who she’d find, her son had already warned her of his approach. What would she do when she saw him? He betrayed her, he hurt her…and he came after her. But now there were others to think about, there was Akara and Durukan. How could she betray the love that Durukan had given her so freely?
The tribe parted for her and she fou
nd her father next to the horseman, holding the reins, as the rider dismounted. Faruk turned to her and smiled.
“There are some things that can't be outrun, Daughter,” Faruk said as he handed the horse to one of the boys.
Rannulf pulled off the black turban and face-shield to reveal himself. He looked at Ayla like a man who had found paradise but was unsure whether the gates would open for him. He stepped before her and reached out to touch her face.
Her skin had gotten darker, more golden, and she dressed as her people did. Her hair was braided neatly and a scarf was wrapped around her crown, over this was a long veil that draped across her shoulders and down her back. Her kaftan was made of cotton instead of silk and had only colored thread for embroidery instead of gold. It was simple clothing but she'd never been more beautiful to him.
Ayla let Rannulf stroke her cheek a moment, before remembering the way he'd treated her and the reason she'd left him. She pushed his hand away and his face crumpled. He dropped to his knees before her, as her tribe watched in shock, and took her hand.
“Forgive me, Ayla,” he pleaded.
Akara decided then that he'd waited long enough to meet his father and he let out a loud cry, startling everyone. Rannulf quickly reached up and pulled back the cloth that had been covering his son’s face, a pair of eyes identical to his own stared out at him.
Rannulf pulled mother and child into his arms, his face pressed into her breast, right next to the child’s. He kissed the baby adoringly, overwhelmed by a feeling completely unknown to him. It was more than love; it was pride, amazement, devotion, and an overwhelming gratitude.
Ayla looked at the father of her son, with a mix of happiness and confusion. What could she do under such a beautiful assault? She wanted to hate him. She wanted to yell and scream at him. She wanted to hold him close to her forever.
“Ayla?” Durukan’s voice came from behind her and Ayla’s heart fell.
Now she would have to choose. She'd have to decide between the man who'd betrayed her but crossed dangerous territory to find her and the man of her people who would never betray her but revere and love her till the day she died. Ayla looked over her shoulder at Durukan, then back at Rannulf.
“Why are you here, Rannulf?” Ayla asked slowly.
Rannulf looked at the tribesman with suspicion then back at Ayla. He got to his feet again and inhaled deeply.
“I’ve searched for you for months, Ayla,” he said wearily. “I’ve lost every man that accompanied me. I barely survived myself. I’ve left all I’ve ever known to cross Seljuk territory just to find you and you ask me why I’ve come?”
“Yes,” Ayla said simply and covered Akara again.
“I’ve come because I was wrong,” Rannulf paid no attention to the curious eyes watching them, all he cared about was Ayla and his child. “I should have trusted you, I should have trusted in our love. I’m sorry, Ayla, more sorry than I can ever express. Please come back to me. Without you I’m not alive.”
Ayla’s throat had gone dry. Akara was restless in her arms and the day suddenly seemed too hot. She loved him too, her heart was rejoicing at his declaration, but her pride couldn't just take him back with a few tender words.
“And what of your other woman?” Ayla tried to hold her head as proudly as she could but it was difficult.
“My what?” Rannulf felt like the world just spun around him for a second. “What is this?”
“I saw you with a Seljuk girl at Antioch,” Ayla’s voice betrayed her hurt. “You were kissing in the corridor. You couldn’t even wait to get her into a chamber.”
Suddenly the scene came back to him and Rannulf remembered Kameyla. He couldn’t help the laugh that sprung from his chest. Ayla was jealous and that could mean only one thing… she still loved him!
“You laugh at my accusation?” Ayla was incredulous.
“I laugh in relief at your misunderstanding,” Rannulf reached for her again but Ayla quickly backed up a step. “I saved Kameyla from rape at the hands of one of my men. Then, unbeknownst to me, she developed a fondness for me. She caught me in the corridor that day and threw herself at me.”
“Then why were you holding her hands?” Ayla could not accept his explanation so easily.
“To try and prevent her from touching me again,” Rannulf shook his head. “Did you not see me break the kiss and push her away?”
“No,” Ayla said slowly. “I had no desire to witness your affection for another.”
“Ayla,” Rannulf sighed in exasperation. “I've wanted no other than you since the first day I saw you standing on the walls of Antioch. I love you and no other. Can you not hear the truth in my words, Enchantress?”
Ayla frowned and tried to remember that horrible day more clearly. It did seem odd that Rannulf had held the girl’s hands between them as they kissed. Whenever he kissed her he would wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. Could it all have been a misunderstanding? Why would he come all this way for her if he didn’t love her and had another woman already?
“I’m not going back with you, Rannulf.” Ayla didn’t know what else to say in light of this new information.
“Then we’ll stay here,” Rannulf’s heart filled with hope, maybe she didn’t completely hate him. “I don’t care where I am, as long as it’s with you.”
“Things have become complicated,” Ayla said gently.
Durukan stepped forward and put an arm on Ayla’s shoulder, hearing a perfect opportunity to stake his own claim. She looked up at him with a mixture of acceptance and annoyance.
“Who is this man?” Rannulf’s voice grew cold.
“Come inside,” she said softly to Rannulf and gently took Durukan’s hand from her shoulder. “He risked much to come for me,” she said softly to Durukan. “I need to speak with him.”
Durukan nodded curtly and felt his heart sink inside him. Ayla turned away and lead Rannulf into her yurt. The tribe had given her a separate yurt from her father’s, now that she had a child of her own.
Rannulf followed her into the, circular tent. It was cool inside and quite large for something that could easily be moved. The floor was lined with thick carpets and when Ayla slipped her slippers off, he followed suit and removed his boots. The carpet was plush against his tired feet.
The back of the tent was sectioned off with a large, cloth hanging covered in intricate embroidery. The front of the tent had a low table, a wooden chest, a brass brazier with a coffee pot warming on it, several cushions and a pile of furs. The light streaming in through the smoke vent was enough to see by but later the beautiful brass lamps that hung from the ceiling beams would be lit. Little brass bells hung from strips of cloth, here and there, and jingled gently in the breeze. Rannulf felt immediately at home, more than he'd ever felt anywhere.
Ayla put Akara down on the pile of furs and Rannulf went immediately over to inspect the child. He sat down beside him and unwrapped the outer swaddling. When the child’s hand shot out and gripped his finger, Rannulf gasped in surprise.
“He’s strong,” Rannulf said then frowned. “Is it a he?”
“Yes,” Ayla shook her head, “it is a he. His name is Akara Faruk…Auvray.” Rannulf looked up at Ayla with surprise and gratitude, when he heard his surname.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You're his father,” Ayla said simply, “I would never deny that. I couldn’t possibly, he has your eyes.”
“So I noticed,” Rannulf grinned. “But it was not necessary for you to acknowledge it here. So you have my thanks not only for his name but for him, for giving life to our child. Thank you, Ayla.”
“I had no choice in the matter,” Ayla said gruffly and looked away from Rannulf’s incredible face.
“You’re telling me,” Rannulf’s voice was very close and when she looked back, she saw that he now stood next to her, “that you had no way to rid yourself of the child? I know of Norman women who can do it. I don't believe you're less learned than they.”
<
br /> “There are ways,” Ayla admitted. “But what kind of woman would I be if I rejected the gift of life?”
“Marry me, Ayla,” Rannulf pleaded, “and be my woman.” Ayla sighed heavily and looked Rannulf straight in the eye.
“I have and will always be your woman, Christian,” Rannulf inhaled sharply in surprised joy but her next words stopped him short. “But you were never completely my man.”
“I am yours,” Rannulf gripped her hand earnestly. “From the moment I saw your face, my heart has beat for no one but you.”
“Why should I believe that?” Ayla shook her head. “You would never have thought such horrible things about me if you loved me completely.”
“I don’t have a good excuse for that, Ayla,” Rannulf admitted. “Bohemund has been my friend since childhood and it's become habit to defend him. Even though, I treated you horribly and I will never forgive myself. I hurt the one person that I love more than any other and I suffer every day for it. Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly and his face crumpled. “It's not just about you and me anymore.”
“Who is he, Ayla?” Rannulf asked grimly. “Who is the man that touched you so possessively?”
“His name is Durukan,” she sighed. “We grew up together but he left to train with another tribe when I was a girl.”
“And now he’s come home and has fallen in love with the woman,” Rannulf finished flatly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “He loves me very much. He would never hurt me or hold another before me. He would be a good father to Akara…”
“I’ll be damned if I let another man raise my son,” Rannulf boomed and grabbed her upper arm.
