A Memory of Love (23 page)

“Fortunate girl!” Nilak exclaimed to Rhonwyn. “You have pleased her with your good manners. If you continue to do so, she says, you will gain her favor. The caliph's second and third wives have never, even on their first nights with him, had her favor.”

“The caliph has three wives?” Rhonwyn was both surprised and shocked.

“He is allowed four under the law of Islam,” Nilak answered her. “And as many concubines as please him. The only stipulation is that under Islamic law all his wives must be treated equally. If you delight him, you could easily become his wife, Noor. And with
her
favor, who knows what heights you might attain within this house? Your future at this moment is most golden, my child. Do not forget me in your greatness.”

“I have no stature here,” Rhonwyn said in practical tones, “nor do I wish any, as you well know. I do not go to the caliph to delight him, but rather to plead for my release, Nilak.”

“Do not be foolish, my child. I have told you there is no way back to your world from Cinnebar. Make the most of the opportunity offered you in this time and this place,” Nilak said.

“What does Noor say?” the caliph's wife asked.

“She frets she will not be able to please him,” Nilak lied with facile grace. What else could she say? she thought. “I am attempting to reassure her that she is a delight to the eye and will indeed please our lord and master, the caliph.”

The lady Alia smiled warmly. “How can she not?” she said with generous spirit. “Have her go and rest now, Nilak.”

“We are dismissed,” Nilak told Rhonwyn. “Arise, Noor, and bow again to the mistress of the harem who has favored you.”

Obedient to her mentor, Rhonwyn stood and bowed to the lady Alia. How pretty she is, she thought. How can she bear sharing her husband with all these women? I should not want to share Edward with another.
Edward.
He had wanted a kiss from her before she went off to her sword practice with Sir Fulk, and she had refused him. How she wished now she had not.

They brought Rhonwyn a tray upon which was a warm flat bread, several slices of chicken breast, an apricot, and a dish of something creamy and white that Nilak said was called yogurt and made from milk. Rhonwyn was hungry and ate it all. An old woman came, and following Nilak's instructions, Rhonwyn opened her mouth for the servant who vigorously cleaned her teeth and mouth in a way she had never experienced, using a minted ground pumice, a rough cloth, a small brush, and minted water.

“Your breath should be fragrant,” Nilak said.

Rhonwyn slept. When she awakened she was made to pee and was then bathed swiftly with rose water. Her mouth was once again rinsed, and she was dressed in a loose cream-colored silk kaftan beneath which a narrow filigreed gold chain with a single jewel had been affixed low on her hips. Her feet were bare. Her golden gilt hair was loose and flowing.

“Baba Haroun will bring you to the caliph,” Nilak said.

“Will I see you again?” Rhonwyn asked.

“If you do not destroy your chances with your foolishness,” Nilak responded, “you will see me come the morrow. I know what you secretly think, Noor. A final time I warn you to put all thoughts of escape from your mind. This is your life now. Better to be at the top of the harem than at the bottom. I know. I never had your chance, but if I had, my child, if I had …” She put her arms about Rhonwyn and gave her a quick hug. “I think your aunt the abbess would advise you even as I do, Noor. Ah, here is Baba Haroun to escort you. Go with him now, and remember to bow to the caliph as I have told you. I wish you joy, my child. He is said to be a magnificent lover.”

It would make no difference, Rhonwyn thought, as she followed the chief eunuch through the women's quarters and down a softly lit and scented corridor. If I could feel nothing with my beloved Edward, what can I feel with this stranger who says that I am his slave now and subject to his whims? If I cannot convince him to send me back to the crusaders' encampment outside of Carthage, then I am doomed.

The eunuch stopped before a set of double doors overlaid with gold leaf. He nodded to the two guards on either side of the entry, and they flung open the doors. Rhonwyn and Baba Haroun passed through, and the doors closed behind them.

The caliph stood awaiting them. Following Nilak's instructions, Rhonwyn fell to her knees and then flattened herself to the floor before the caliph, her forehead touching his bare foot. She found such a position degrading, but if she was to gain his cooperation, she must not antagonize Rashid al Ahmet.

“Prettily done, Noor,” he said mockingly, “and not without a great cost to your pride, I am certain. Arise.”

Baba Haroun helped her to her feet, and then to her surprise he quickly drew the kaftan off of her and as quickly withdrew from the chamber, leaving them alone.

It was useless to attempt to cover herself, Rhonwyn realized. She stood quietly, her eyes unfocused, struggling to conceal her shame.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he said to her, surprised when she obeyed him. Had they drugged her into obedience? No. Her milky skin was faintly flushed, and she was deliberately avoiding his gaze. He smiled slightly and allowed himself a leisurely examination of his new possession. She was the most perfect woman he had ever seen in all his life. Her breasts were like little ripe peaches. Her limbs were nicely rounded but slender. He particularly liked her feet. They were small and slim with a high arch. Her narrow waistline flowed into shapely hips. He walked slowly about her, admiring her graceful long back and buttocks a bit plumper than he anticipated.

Standing behind her, he was unable to resist reaching around her to cup those sweet little breasts in the palms of his hands. They were surprisingly weighty for such dainty fruits. He buried his face in her hair, sniffing, then said, “What has happened to that delightful fragrance that earlier perfumed your locks, my exquisite Noor?”

“The scent is taken from the oil of a flower you do not have here in Cinnebar, my lord caliph,” Rhonwyn answered. His hands were warm on her flesh and very disturbing, but if that was the worst of it, she would bear it for the sake of her ultimate goal.

His thumbs stroked idly across her nipples. “What is the flower? You shall have it, my beauty.”

“It is called heather, my lord caliph. It will not thrive here in your climate,” she replied. She wanted to pull away, but if she did, she would offend him, and then what would become of her?

“The plant may not grow here, my beauty, but we can import the oil for you. I shall give orders tomorrow that it be done.” He released her breasts from his gentle grip and walked back around to face her once again. His eyes went to the chain that hung low on her rounded hips. From it hung a fat pear-shaped pearl that just touched the tip of the rose slash dividing her nether lips atop her plump mons. It was like a marker showing him the way to paradise. He wondered who had thought of such a clever touch.

“You may lower your arms now, Noor,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord caliph,” she replied.

“How mannerly you are, my beauty. From our first meeting this morning I would have suspected a tiny bit more resistance from you, and yet here you are, as meek as a lamb in one of my flocks. Now why is that, I wonder? Surely you have not so quickly reconciled yourself to your fate, Noor?” He cocked a dark eyebrow quizzically.

She was finally forced to focus her eyes upon him, for she could hardly plead her case without doing so. She swallowed hard, realizing he was clothed only in a bit of white silk cloth wrapped about his loins. He was almost as fair as she was, but for his hands and face, which were bronze with the sun. His body was devoid of hair, smooth and muscled yet slender, as she had earlier noted. He was by far the handsomest man she had ever seen. Nothing at all like her Edward, who, while attractive, could not match the perfect beauty of this man.

“Well?”
he demanded.

“I cannot give you pleasure, my lord caliph!” Rhonwyn burst out.

“You mean you will resist my passion,” he said.

Nervously she shook her head in the negative. “Nay, I mean, yes, I will, but it does not matter if I do or I don't. I cannot give you pleasure. I loved my husband, and he loved me, yet I was incapable of giving him anything more than my body. It was a terrible burden for us both. I am sorry, my lord, but now that you know, will you not send me back, and poor Sir Fulk with me?”

“No,” he said. “I will not. There is not a woman in this world incapable of giving and receiving pleasure, Noor. With some it just takes longer or a different overture. I am sorry that you and your former lord could not find that happiness together, but I promise you that you will find it with me. Tonight perhaps, or tomorrow, but eventually, I promise you, my beautiful Noor.”

“No!”
she cried. What was he saying to her? The man was mad, surely! He could not possibly want her now. Not after she had told him the truth of how she was incapable of passion.

Seeing the panic beginning to rise in her eyes, Rashid al Ahmet reached out and pulled Rhonwyn against him. “Do not be afraid, my beauty,” he crooned at her, his hand stroking her head gently.

“You do not understand!” she half sobbed.

“But I do, my exquisite beauty, I do,” he said softly. “You have never been drowned in a surfeit of bodily pleasure, nor have you ever been overcome with the delights of burning lust. I will open these worlds to you, Noor. I will not allow someone as beautiful as you to live in ignorance of pure hot passion and the delights that satisfying it can bring you. You are mine now, Noor, and I will never let you go.” He tipped her face up and kissed her hard.

His words confused her, and worse, they frightened her. Why would he not believe her? Then his lips covered hers, demanding what she could not give him, and Rhonwyn, to her horror, began to weep.

Rashid al Ahmet picked up the sobbing girl and brought her to his bed, gently laying her down. Then he held her in his arms as she gave vent to her sorrow. He said nothing, for he knew that nothing he said would comfort her. She was slowly and reluctantly coming to the realization that he, and not some Christian knight, was her fate. If she had indeed loved this man despite their inability to pleasure each other, then it would be a hard acceptance, but the caliph believed this girl was strong and would sooner than later succumb to her fate.

Edward!
she cried within her mind.
Edward!
She could not believe that he was gone. That that life was over and done with forever. She could accept what the caliph was offering her or she could die. Dying, however, would not return her to Edward except perhaps in spirit. And what of him? Would he accept her loss easily? Their marriage, after all, had begun in political expediency. She did not doubt that he had grown fond of her as she had of him, but she was now gone from him. When he returned to England, to Haven, he would eventually have to remarry if he was to have heirs. He would probably choose his cousin Katherine this time. Katherine de Beaulie was the kind of girl Edward should have had as a wife in the first place. She knew how to be a good chatelaine, and she was probably not frightened of passion and would quickly give Edward the heirs he needed. Yes. Perhaps it was better this way. She sighed deeply, her tears ceasing.

“It has been a long time since a woman felt free enough with me to weep against my chest,” Rashid al Ahmet said quietly.

“Being a foreigner, I probably do not have their fear and respect of you, my lord caliph,” Rhonwyn replied low. She hid her face from him. “I always look awful on the rare occasions I weep. I do not weep often. I think I have cried three times in all my life.”

“I think you beautiful,” he said, kissing her wet face.

Rhonwyn smiled in spite of herself.

“Ah,” he said, “you are recovering from your anguish.”

“My heart aches, my lord caliph,” she admitted. Why was it she could talk to this man as she never had talked to any other?

“Of course it does. You have lost much, my beautiful Noor. It is almost like a death, isn't it?”

She nodded. “Aye, it is.”

“Why are you afraid of passion?” he asked her gently.

“I am afraid of nothing!” she insisted.

“You are afraid of passion,” he said. “Why? Tell me who you are and what land creates such beautiful women.” He sat up now and drew her to his side.

“I am Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn—Rhonwyn, daughter of Llywelyn. My father is the prince of all the Welsh. My mother was his lover. I have a younger brother. When our mother died in childbirth my father took us to one of his castles to be raised. Unfortunately, he did not think to put us where there were women. I was raised among men, and thus copied their behavior.”

“They taught you to fight,” the caliph said.

“Aye, but only because I begged them to teach me. I loved them and wanted to be like them. Then one day my father appeared after many years and said I was to be wed as part of a treaty between him and the English king. He was horrified to find his daughter was more a lad than a lass. I was sent to my aunt, the abbess of a small abbey. For six months I was instructed in women's things, and then I was taken to England to be wed to Edward de beaulie, the lord of Haven Castle. When my lord decided to come on crusade, I said I would accompany him.”

“And could not resist the call to arms, so you thus ended up my captive,” the caliph said. “But where was your husband, Noor, that he allowed you into such danger?”

“He was ill with fever and a running of the bowels,” she replied. “He was getting better and knew I suffered from a lack of exercise. When I said I would practice my swordplay with Sir Fulk, he agreed. During the battle I was captured and poor Sir Fulk followed after me. Had he not, he might be free.”

“I shall not sell your knight off, for it would be a poor reward for his dutiful and faithful behavior toward his master's wife. I will set him the task of teaching my son Mohammed how your crusaders fight. It could prove useful to the lad one day. Does my decision please you, Noor?”

“Yes, my lord, and thank you,” Rhonwyn said, daring to look up into his handsome face.