A Memory of Love (30 page)

“Rhonwyn should have waited meekly for my return,” Edward said.

“If you had wanted Rhonwyn to await your return, then you should have forbidden her to accompany you, Edward. I think it pleased your vanity to have her with you as the lady Eleanor was with Prince Edward. It was my sister, I know, who first expressed enthusiasm for the crusade, and not you. Rhonwyn, ap Gruffydd's daughter, made the king's son look favorably upon you, and Edward Plantagenet will be England's king far sooner than later, we all know,” Glynn said with devastating veracity.

“Am I to be condemned then by
you
, a mere singer of ballads, a Welsh outlaw's bastard get, for considering the future of my family?” Edward de Beaulie demanded.
He would not be made to feel guilty!

Glynn smiled scornfully. “When I find my sister, I shall tell her the kind of man she is wed to, although I already suspect Rhonwyn knew, for even I could see you were not a well-matched pair. Had you been, perhaps you might have mourned my sister's loss instead of hurrying to make a match with your cousin Katherine.”

“Your sister was a coldhearted bitch,” Edward declared heatedly. “She would scarcely allow me my husbandly rights. Why do you think there were no children? My seed is strong. I have fathered my share of bastards, Glynn, but Rhonwyn would not let me near her. At least Katherine is eager for children and will give me legitimate heirs.”

“How convenient that my sister should suddenly disappear then,” Glynn said. “Or did you arrange her mysterious
disappearance
?”

“Do you think me so without honor, then?” Edward demanded.

“Yes,”
Glynn ap Llywelyn said deprecatingly. Then he smiled a silent challenge at his brother-in-law.

Edward de Beaulie's hand went to where his sword would have been in battle. His eyes flashed irately at the younger man.

“My lord,” Oth's voice broke in amid the tension. “Glynn has not the skill to fight you. He is angry beyond reason, as you well may understand. You are the man in this matter.”

“Get from my sight,” Edward said to Glynn. “I do not want to see you ever again!”

“I am not afraid to fight you!” Glynn declared passionately.

“Come, lad,” Oth said softly. “He will certainly kill you, and then who will there be to find our Rhonwyn?”

“I place a Welsh curse upon you, Edward de Beaulie,” the boy said. “May you have only daughters!” Then he turned and left the courtyard.

Edward laughed mockingly. “Would that his sister had shown me such passion,” he said to Oth. “Take him home before he gets himself killed. Perhaps ap Gruffydd can do something with his son. He is no longer my responsibility, nor do I want him.”

Oth nodded silently, and then followed after his young master. While he had managed to keep Glynn from getting himself killed, he was in total agreement with the lad. The Welshman had always thought de Beaulie coldhearted, but now he was certain of it. Still, what could they do now? If the Englishman was telling the truth, and there really was no reason to think he wasn't, then where had Rhonwyn gotten to? Thinking about it hurt his brain, and when they reached their inn he gladly followed Nada to her chambers, as was her custom in the afternoon heat.

She rubbed his head, taking the ache away, and he pleasured her into temporary repletion, saying afterward, “I want to buy you a gift, Nada. What would you like, remembering I am a poor man?”

She laughed her husky laugh. “A gold bangle will not harm your finances, Oth, but you must remember I wear only gold ornaments that come from the caliphate of Cinnebar. Their goldsmiths are truly without equal. Later this afternoon when it is cooler, we shall shop together at the only merchant in all of Acre who carries jewelry from Cinnebar. He will charge you little, as it is for me.”

“
Cinnebar?
I have never heard of such a place. Where is it?” Oth leaned over and kissed the fat nipple on her big breast.

“It is a tiny kingdom, fairly isolated, in the mountains to the west and south of Carthage,” Nada told him. “They have famous gold mines and other wealth, but it is small and so difficult to reach that no conqueror will bother with it.” She reached out to encourage his manhood to action again. “They were once a Christian state, but then converted to Islam. Their rulers were allowed to take the most rare of titles,
caliph,
which means defender of the faith. Oh, that's nice,” she purred as her lover sheathed himself inside her once again. “I shall truly miss you, Oth,” she told him.

He used her fiercely and roughly, as she liked, exhausting her into sleep at last. Oth then lay by his mistress's side, considering what she had told him. Was it possible, just possible, that the lady Rhonwyn had somehow ended up in Cinnebar? Edward de beaulie claimed to have sought for her for several days, but he had gone only into the foothills of the mountains. Oth knew from the talk he had heard in Acre that a fair woman, virgin or not, was most highly prized here in the slave markets by the Arab lords, whose own women were dark haired, dark eyed, and darker skinned. What if the men who had captured her had taken her to Cinnebar and sold her as a slave?

When Nada finally awoke and they dressed he asked her if such a thing was possible.

“Of course” was the firm answer. “Even if she was not the most beautiful girl in the world, her hair, her eyes, and her skin would make her most valuable. You say she is beautiful? Then her captors would have treated her gently in order to gain the highest price for her. Most likely Cinnebar is where they would have taken her. Any longer trip, and your mistress might very well have died, not being used to the climate. Her captors would have known that and would have wanted to turn their profit as quickly as possible lest she sicken on them.”

“How can we get to Cinnebar?” Oth asked Nada.

She smiled broadly at him. “How fortunate you are that I took you for my lover,” she said. “Gold jewelry from Cinnebar is for the wealthy, not a mere innkeeper. Fortunately the shopkeeper I am taking you to meet is my cousin. His sister is married to a merchant of Cinnebar. Melek is a resourceful woman, and she will help you. The first thing we must do is find a caravan going to Cinnebar. If not from here, then from Carthage, or Alexandria, or Damascus. You will probably not be able to travel directly, for caravans to Cinnebar are rare.”

“We could travel by sea to Carthage, could we not?” Oth said.

“Yes,” Nada said thoughtfully. “We will speak with my cousin the merchant about it. He will know, and perhaps you can act as his agent. He would pay your passage then, so your pretty young master would have only two passages to concern him.” She looked at him longingly. “Oh, I am indeed going to miss you, Oth. It will be a long while, if ever, before I find another lover like you!” She patted his rump affectionately, and then said, “Let us go now. I want my gold bangle so I may always remember you, my little Welshman.” Then with a chuckle she was off, and Oth dutifully followed behind her.

There would be time enough this evening to tell Glynn about this most interesting bit of news, and they might as well begin looking in Cinnebar as anywhere else. It seemed most logical. He would miss Nada, too, Oth thought. She had indeed proved a lusty fuck, but it was her good heart and easy laughter that had delighted him as well. Still, they would surely have a few more hot afternoons before he and his companions departed.
If God was kind,
Oth considered with a grin.

“Y
ou came to me practically a virgin, and now you are probably the most wanton creature I have ever known,” Rashid al Ahmet teased his beautiful second wife. “Ah, yes, you witch!”

She knelt before him, her hands and her mouth entertaining the various aspects of his manhood. One hand gripped him, keeping him steady within her mouth while her tongue encircled him, tantalizing him expertly, even as the fingers of her other hand bedeviled his pendulous jewels, stroking them, tickling them lightly as he grew harder and harder in the warm cave beyond her succulent lips.

He kneaded her gilt-colored head as she continued to arouse him, but finally he said in a thick voice,
“Enough, witch!”

Rhonwyn looked up at him with a wicked smile. Then swinging her lithe body about, she knelt upon all fours, elevating her milky white bottom to him. “Does it please my lord to play the stallion with his willing mare?” she taunted him. Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder at him seductively. She was burning for his passion.

“Yes!”
he growled, kneeling behind her and thrusting easily into her hot, wet love channel, pushing deep, withdrawing, and thrusting again. “I cannot get enough of you, my exquisite Noor. It pleases me that you now feel the same way.”

She whimpered her open pleasure as his fingers dug into her hips, steadying her against his onslaught. His lance probed her deeply, sending ripples of shivers down her spine. Until the caliph she had never even dreamed of such pleasure, and the thought struck her as it always did when Rashid made such passionate love to her: that she wished she might have shared this loveliness with Edward de Beaulie. Her head spun, and she half sobbed, “Oh, Allah, 'tis wonderful, my lord! Do not cease!
Do not cease!
” She reached the apex of her delight, shuddering violently as it shattered over her, receded, and left her weak. Her body collapsed onto the carpet. But withdrawing, he turned her onto her back and pushed his manhood into her again.

“Not yet,”
he ordered her. “I am not ready, my fair Noor, and you are too quick to grasp your pleasure, just as a greedy child with a sweet. I must teach you more self-control.” His dark eyes mocked her as he moved slowly, deliberately, upon her, arousing her once again to heights to which she did not think she could return so soon. And when he was satisfied at last, his love juices burst, flooding her channel, leaving them both but halfconscious as the pleasure drained slowly away. He rolled onto his back, drawing her onto his chest within his embrace. “Ah, Noor, my love, you are magnificent.”

His words comforted her as she fell into an exhausted sleep, not even knowing when he arose and carried her to her own bed, drawing a light coverlet over her beautiful body. The caliph of Cinnebar smiled softly upon his beautiful second wife. His life, it seemed, had become so perfect since she had entered it over a year ago. At first she had been but a beautiful possession, but then he realized he had fallen in love with her.

He was a fortunate man, Rashid al Ahmet thought to himself. Two beautiful wives. Both loving and compatible with one another. Could Paradise be any better than this? Although he still occasionally took his pleasure with one of the concubines in his harem, it was but a momentary diversion. It was Noor whom he loved with a young man's passion, and now he wanted children by her.

He was more than well aware of the methods used within his household to prevent conception. He even approved. The two wives he had executed had given him three children between them. His younger son, Omar, and his two little daughters. Mohammed, his heir who was fourteen, was now allowed sterile harem damsels for his pleasure. Rashid al Ahmet knew the dangers of too many sons and but one kingdom to inherit. His younger brothers had always been difficult to control even before their father died. Kasim had, quite fortunately, died of a fever at age fifteen, and his own exquisite Noor had slain Abdallah in battle. Now he wanted a child from this wife he called his warrior woman. He would speak with Alia and with Baba Haroun, for it was just possible they would know how he might be certain of fathering only a daughter on Noor, not a son to perhaps one day challenge Mohammed and even Omar. He smiled down on Noor, and then left her sleeping peacefully in her own bed.

His first wife was sympathetic to his desires, but his chief eunuch was fiercely against it.

“Your life is peaceful and perfect right now, my lord. You have a son who is just about a man. You have a second son who should, Allah forfend anything happen to the first, be there to succeed. There is no certain way to guarantee the lady Noor would bear you a daughter. Think, my lord, think! Lady Noor is a fierce woman despite the passion you have for one another. She has killed without regret. She could kill again if the matter involved her own son. Do not put her in that position, or yourself, or Lady Alia, my lord,” Baba Haroun said seriously.

“I must think on it,” Rashid al Ahmet replied. “I do long for a daughter as beautiful as she is.”

“Does she wish for a child, my lord?” the chief eunuch asked.

“She has not said so,” the caliph answered.

“Then let well enough alone, my lord,” Baba Haroun pleaded.

The caliph turned to Alia. “What are your thoughts on this, my honored first wife? You are remarkably silent in this matter.”

“As always, Rashid, I want what will make you happy,” Alia told him. “Mohammed is fourteen now, and little Omar almost six. If Noor gave you a son, I cannot see any danger to my son. By the time this child was grown Mohammed would have fathered his own sons, and Omar, too. Besides, I do not see that kind of ambition in Noor. And she might indeed give you a daughter, not a son. But if she has expressed no wish for a child, you would be wise not to force the issue for now.”