by Amy Sumida
“Yes, Ayla,” Rannulf laughed now too.
“Just another holy tradition the Christians stole,” Ayla shrugged her shoulders and Rannulf frowned, wondering if there was any truth in his old beliefs at all.
“So, a wedding really takes that long?” Rannulf sighed.
“There is much to be done,” Ayla said seriously. “The tribe needs to celebrate properly. Other tribes must be invited to attend, there will be games and great feasting. I will have to go through many days of preparation with the other women, including a henna ritual.”
“All that, just to get married?” Rannulf laughed.
“Trust me, my love,” Ayla rolled over on top of him. “By the end of the ceremonies, you will feel well and truly bound.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
The next morning the ceremonies began. Rannulf couldn’t wait another day to bind himself to Ayla. Missives were sent out to the neighboring tribes and the preparations started. The guests would begin arriving the following week and there needed to be enough food to welcome them.
The tribe began to accept Rannulf as one of their own. They'd never expected Ayla to marry, most women were married by the age of fifteen, and so Ayla’s impending nuptials were a blessing to them. It would ensure that she brought more magical children to the tribe and that was something everyone celebrated.
The fact that Rannulf was a Christian Infidel was overlooked since he'd converted to the old ways and was embracing the tribe’s beliefs and customs as his own. His acceptance of their ways made him even more precious to them and he was granted a great amount of respect. That he'd been the one to win their sorceress was no small feat either and the men looked on him with admiration. Even Durukan seemed to accept Ayla’s decision although with obvious disappointment.
Rannulf was surprised to find the wedding ceremonies enjoyable. Most of his days were spent with the other men, celebrating with food and drink and going through the occasional ritual but he also had time to spend with Ayla and Akara. It was those moments he treasured most. He already felt like they were a family, the bond between them had been solidly forged.
By the time the other tribes started to arrive, Rannulf had learned a smattering of Turkish and numerous customs. The visiting tribes brought lavish gifts for him and Ayla, her importance warranting a higher tribute. A large yurt was brought and set up by one tribe, the Turkish felt covering it, a creamy white. Numerous animal pelts were brought as well, to add to the felt when winter came.
Ayla’s face had lit with excitement when she saw the new dwelling. She'd only recently been given her own yurt but it was an old, used one and the new one was much larger and finer. They would live in Ayla’s old yurt until after the wedding celebrations, the entering of the marriage yurt being one of the many customs.
Still, Ayla was thrilled to see her new home and she fussed over it. Rannulf laughed and shook his head as he watched Ayla’s endeavors inside the new tent. All the wedding presents had been put in the yurt for storage. There were piles of costly silk carpets, boxes of jewelry, hand embroidered wall hangings, fine weapons, carved furniture, metal work, food stuffs and yards of beautiful material. Ayla bustled about, arranging carpets and wall hangings, moving furniture and admiring jewelry, while Akara slept on a pile of pelts.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Rannulf said and Ayla gave up trying to reach a high beam, holding out the corner of the wall hanging to him instead.
“Here, make yourself useful,” she laughed. Rannulf took the fabric and hung it on the beam she was trying to reach.
“I think you should take a break,” he said as he pulled her against him. He spared a quick glance for Akara but his son was fast asleep on the furs.
“Yes,” Ayla agreed with a twinkle in her eyes. “I could use a rest, would you like to take a nap with me?”
“The break I had in mind involved a bed but not in the way you’re implying.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the pile of silk carpets.
Rannulf laid Ayla out on the carpets and pulled the veil from her hair. He wrapped her braid around his hand, slowly bringing her face closer to his, until her lips were pressed against his. He held her there, kissing her passionately as he opened her kaftan.
Ayla felt the robe fall open and Rannulf lift her body to remove it completely. Then her entari and her underclothes quickly followed. Rannulf was dressed as a tribesman now and she rather enjoyed the way the clothes came easily off his body as well. Soon, he was covering her, his skin warming her own.
Ayla ran her hands over his magnificent body, delighting in the feel of his strength. His muscles flexed under her roaming hands and Rannulf groaned with pleasure. He leaned down and kissed her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as he did. She held him to her but he quickly escaped her grasp.
He licked his way down to her breasts and gently bit the tips of her nipples. He rubbed his face against their silkiness, then licked his way down her belly to her soft triangle of dark hair. She cried out as his tongue split her and began to pleasure her. The ecstasy washed over her and lifted her up till she cried out.
Some time later, Ayla drifted back down to reality to find Rannulf poised above her but before he could enter her, she rose up and pushed him over. He rolled in surprise, bringing her with him and she smiled down at him before kissing him passionately. When she finally lifted her head and looked at him again, her eyes were filled with mischief.
“What are you up to, woman?” Rannulf wasn’t sure he liked the way she was looking at him.
“Are you afraid?” Ayla lowered herself down his body.
When she reached his manhood, she gripped it gently, then more firmly at the sound of his sharp intake of breath. She licked him, then took him fully into her mouth.
Rannulf’s world was spinning and at its center was Ayla. She let his moans of pleasure guide her movements and soon he had to stop her. He pulled her up his chest and she straddled his hips, smiling at him seductively. She guided him into her, sliding down his length with a sigh of completion.
Ayla threw her head back, her long braid whipping his legs. The pleasure was so intense, he could barely stand her slow, undulations. He gripped her hips and began to thrust up into her, quickening the pace. She held onto his biceps for balance and let him lead them over the edge of ecstasy.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“What is that?” Rannulf looked warily at the carcass before him.
“It’s a goat,” Ayla laughed, “for Oghlak Tartish, a game of horsemanship.”
“You show your horse skills with a dead goat?” Rannulf had seen many strange things lately but he couldn’t quite accept playing with a dead animal.
“Oghlak Tartish,” Ayla began to explain, “means ‘contest for the goat’. The goat skin is filled with sand and sewn shut. A large circle is drawn and the men on horseback try to get the goat into the circle.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Rannulf eyed the circle being outlined with sand in a clear area.
“Yes,” Ayla agreed. “But every man is playing for himself and it becomes difficult to try to hold onto the goat when you’re also trying to lead your horse. They usually try to grip the goat with their thighs as they use their hands to maneuver.”
“So, what are the rules?” Rannulf looked around and saw men preparing for the contest; they called insults to each other in fun.
“Rules?” Ayla looked surprised. “There are no rules except the circle. The game is a conditioning for war and an exhibition of the tribes’ greatest horsemen.”
“Can I compete?” Rannulf smiled at Ayla and she laughed.
“If you like,” Ayla pointed at the stallion she'd stolen from Antioch. “Use Burak, he’s a good mount.”
Rannulf grinned and kissed her on the cheek before heading toward the horse. Ayla watched him with a smirk, her warrior would be humbled today and he wouldn’t take it well. Rannulf had a competitive nature and he hated to lose. Maybe the lesson would be good for him.
> An hour later, Ayla watched Rannulf with surprise. He'd done well, considering he'd never played Oghlak Tartish before. She laughed a little when she saw his expression though. He may have done well but he still wasn’t winning, which seemed to amount to failure for the knight. He chased after the slick tribesmen in frustration, never realizing that he was managing to impress the Turks.
Ayla smiled in pride as he finally managed to grab onto the elusive goat and start speeding off in the direction of the circle. He made it ten feet before he was hit from the side but amazingly, he held firm to the goat and kept riding. The men in pursuit laughed as they chased him, forming temporary alliances that he knew nothing about. The Turks had learned early on the concept of “my enemy’s enemy” and temporary alliances were commonplace in the game. As soon as they divested Rannulf of the goat, they would be broken, of course, but until then, he was being trapped by a cunning group of men.
The men finally boxed him in and one distracted him while another stole the goat and rode off with it. Rannulf was now forgotten as the men pursued the new rider. Ayla giggled as she watched Rannulf’s face light with comprehension. Quickly, he resumed the game.
“He's doing well,” Yelda, one of Ayla’s friends from childhood, came up behind her.
“Yes,” Ayla smiled. “I admit I'm shocked by it.”
“You and the rest of the tribes,” Yelda laughed. “He will be well received now.”
“I think he will,” Ayla nodded. “I'm glad he decided to compete.”
“Where is Akara?” Yelda looked around.
“There,” Ayla pointed to the far side of camp, “with his grandfather.”
Faruk held the child proudly. His grandson was healthy and strong, a beautiful addition to the tribe. With this wedding, Faruk’s happiness would be complete and he said a quick prayer of thanks to Tanri for the good fortune. He finally had his little girl home and now miracle upon miracles, she was taking a husband and had already gifted him with a grandchild. Granted, she had changed the order of things and had the baby before her marriage vows but then Ayla always did things in her own way.
Akara gurgled and drew Faruk’s attention back to him. Faruk smiled down at the baby and let Akara grip his finger with a tiny fist. Suddenly, a man next to them tripped. The torch he'd been carrying flew from his hand, straight toward Faruk and Akara. Faruk cringed and bent his back to protect the baby but a tremendous gust of wind blew past them, catching the torch and sending it flying away.
Faruk opened his eyes to find the child laughing up at him, one little hand extended toward the torch. A shiver coursed through Faruk as he looked down at the torch and the prone man, lying next to it. The tribesman got up and picked up the torch, looking at Faruk in amazement.
“Your powers have grown, Great One,” the man bowed to Faruk. “My apologies for the damage I might have caused.”
“It was not I, who summoned the Wind God,” Faruk replied in a shaky voice then looked back at Akara.
The tribesman walked forward to peer at the babe in shock and the surrounding crowd drew in as well. Akara simply folded his arm back to his chest and fell asleep. Evidently, summoning the wind could take a lot out of a babe. The people started mumbling excitedly and some ran off to spread the miraculous news. The Enchantress’s son would be the greatest power the tribes had ever known.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Ayla wrapped the blankets around Akara as she settled him into the new crib that had been given to him earlier that day… given to him, not Ayla. News had spread fast about the babe’s talents and tributes had begun to arrive. In addition to the carved wooden crib inlaid with bone and mother-of-pearl, were baskets full of baby clothes, sweets, and jewelry. Ayla was completely overwhelmed.
“What is all of this?” Rannulf entered the yurt and looked around in confusion. “I thought all the wedding gifts had arrived already.”
“They have,” Ayla turned to look at him with dismay.
“What is it, Ayla?” Rannulf quickly crossed the distance between them and took her hand.
“These gifts are for Akara,” Ayla said quietly.
“And that's bad?” Rannulf, relaxed a little. How bad could presents be?
“There's nothing bad,” Ayla reassured him. “It seems that our son will be very powerful.”
“Powerful?” Rannulf frowned. “Like you, you mean?”
“More than I, more than both I and my father combined,” Ayla looked at the sleeping baby with concern. “Something happened today.” She indicated that Rannulf should sit down next to her at the low table. “Father was holding him when a torch bearer tripped, sending his torch flying toward them.”
“What?!” Rannulf looked back at Akara in fright.
“They're both unharmed,” Ayla laid a hand on Rannulf’s. “Akara summoned the Wind God, who blew the torch away from them.”
“He did what?” Rannulf couldn’t keep track of all the Gods.
“He protected them,” Ayla sighed. “Father vows that he had nothing to do with it. He said he barely had time to shield Akara, much less summon the wind. Our son did it, alone. Now the people are in awe of him.”
“Could it not have been a coincidence?” Rannulf was trying hard to figure this out. “Maybe the wind just happened to pick up when the torch fell.”
“No, my love,” Ayla shook her head. “Father knows magic when he sees it and so do the people of our tribes. There were many witnesses and all swear the wind came from nowhere and Akara’s hand was lifted in summoning.”
“He’s a baby,” Rannulf scoffed. “How's it possible?”
“I don’t know,” Ayla shook her head. “I learned the summoning at an early age but I was taught how to do it and even now it takes time for me. I could never do it with just a wave of my hand. We're talking about powers that even my father lacks after all his years of study. Yet I must admit I'm not completely surprised.”
“You knew,” Rannulf said slowly.
“I suspected.” Ayla admitted. “He showed me a vision once, at least I believe it was his vision, of you coming for us. I believe the gods have chosen him.”
“Then why do you look so worried?” Rannulf reached across the table and stroked Ayla’s cheek.
“Having too much power can be a lonely path,” Ayla smiled sadly. “My people revere us for our gifts but they also fear us a little. Maybe it will be easier for him as a man but there’s also a chance that he will never find a love like ours.”
“These are concerns for the future,” Rannulf pulled her into his lap. “It's useless to concern yourself with them now. Instead, rejoice that our son will have an extraordinary life and has great potential.”
“You're right,” Ayla smiled finally. “Let us talk about something else. How did you like your first Oghlak Tartish?”
Rannulf laid his forehead against hers and groaned loudly.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The sound of feminine laughter filled the tent and crept out into the night. All around Ayla the women bustled about, preparing the henna that they would use to paint the traditional designs on her arms and legs. The sweet scent of incense drifted in the air, mixing with the herbal scent of the henna.
“You're truly blessed,” one of the women from a neighboring tribe said. “To have such a magical child and soon to be wed to a magnificent man.”
The women giggled and Ayla laughed with them. The tribeswomen had been gossiping about Ayla’s intended ever since he proved his horsemanship in the game the previous day. More than one young girl was hit by a little twinge of jealousy.
“Yes,” Yelda agreed. “She's blessed both by man and child but look how long she had to wait for them. I could not have been so patient to learn a man’s touch.” Another fit of laughter filled the room.
“Rannulf was worth the wait,” Ayla vowed.
“Not fair,” cried Yelda. “We can't tease you as is our right as married women. You already know what awaits you.”
Ayla laughed and l
aid back on the pillows so the women could begin applying the thick paste to her skin.
“Go ahead and tease me then, Yelda,” Ayla said. “I will forget Rannulf’s touch for awhile.”
“After seeing the way that man rides a horse, I can't imagine being able to forget his riding of me,” one of the other women sighed.
More laughter ensued and then the women really began to get bawdy.
Ayla loved the quick and sexy banter that flew about the tent. The easy camaraderie between the tribeswomen was something she treasured and had missed at Antioch.
She would be separated from Rannulf tonight in preparation for their wedding tomorrow and she'd been dreading the lonely night ahead but now it looked like she'd been worried for naught. The women would keep her well entertained and then she and Akara would spend their last night alone in their bed.
Rannulf walked toward the empty tent and empty bed that awaited him. It was only one night, he kept telling himself. He could sleep without her for one night. He was a grown man, a seasoned warrior. He'd faced countless enemies on the battlefield without fear but the thought of climbing into that bed without Ayla was disheartening, to say the least.
He passed by their old tent and heard the women laughing boisterously. Somewhere within, Ayla was lying half-naked being applied with henna. His blood heated with the mental images he immediately began conjuring.
He groaned and with great effort, maintained a steady pace toward Faruk’s yurt. Once there, he quickly hurried inside before he changed his mind and headed back to Ayla’s tent. He went straight to the pallet of furs and blankets and undressed before crawling in. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was of how Ayla would look writhing beneath him tomorrow night, covered in her ancient designs and looking up at him in desire.
