Desire's Sirocco (6 page)

The pleasure of his touch was lessened as the meaning of his words sank into her consciousness. No doubt the Master would not allow Dagan to be with her after the training was finished and the thought of not being able to see the handsome warrior, speak with him, cast a pall over the delight she was feeling. Despite the delicious sensations invading her body, her thoughts were dark and brooding.

“Turn over.”

She obeyed automatically, her mind no longer as thrilled with his touch as her body. Even as his fingers roamed her breasts, the thought of the time when she would no longer have him near her brought misery to her heart.

“Stop thinking and just enjoy, Wench,” he commanded.

“How are you able to do that?’ she asked, staring into the darkness.

“What?” he inquired.

“You seem able to read my thoughts.”

“A talent I have never used before now. It was something I was taught by the Master Who Has Passed,” he replied.

“He was the Master before the one who is now?”

“Aye. He has passed from this realm to the next, Wench,” Dagan explained.

“Will the Grand Master want me to bear him children?” she asked.

“Does that concern you?”

“Not especially,” she answered. “Will he?”

“He will need a son to carry on after he decides to leave this realm so, aye, he will give you a child when the time comes.”

Jameela thought of having a child of her own and sighed. If it were Dagan’s son she was going to bear, she knew it would be a wonderful experience but with the Master, it would be obligation.

“It is best not to speculate how things will be with you and he before you have had a chance to get to know him, Wench,” Dagan advised.

She shrugged and closed her eyes as his fingers worked the muscles of her ribcage then smoothed over her belly. She smiled as he grazed the top of her public hair, wondering if he would touch her where she ached to have him.

“Stop thinking such prurient thoughts,” he chuckled.

“Can you not pleasure me as he did?” she boldly asked, holding her breath for his reply.

He was silent a moment then she felt his fingers caressing her upper thighs. “I could but I should also tell you what would happen to a Trainer who dared do such a thing to the Master’s Consort. I’ll let you decide, then, if it would be worth the risk.”

“Risk?” she echoed, opening her eyes and looking down at his dark outline.

“Should the Master find out a Trainer has stepped over the bounds of doing what I am doing at this moment—massaging you in a most chaste manner—it is well within his rights to have the Trainer punished.”

Jameela reached down to grasp his hands. “Punished how?” she asked.

“He would be executed,” Dagan replied, “and his death would not be an easy one, I can assure you.”

Fearful of anything happening to Dagan, Jameela pushed his hands away. “Then don’t tempt me, warrior,” she said. “Leave me.” She drew her legs up and moved so that she was no longer in contact with him.

“No one would need know,” he said huskily and placed his hand on her leg.

“I will not take that chance!” she said, jerking her leg from his reach.

“Do you fear for my safety, Wench?”

“You need ask?” she countered, tears in her voice. “Go away and don’t touch me again!”

“But you want me to touch you, don’t you?” he asked.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” she snapped and pulled on the covers, flinging them over her nakedness.

Dagan climbed off the cot. He stood there staring down at her for what seemed an unnaturally long time then she heard him sigh. “I want nothing more than to lie beside you and taste the delight between those luscious thighs of yours but if you do not want me to…”

“I don’t!” she hissed.

“So be it,” he said. “I will leave you to wonder what it would have been like.”

She flung herself over on the cot and glared at him through the darkness. “If you have no care for your life, I do, Dagan Kiel. Through no fault of mine will I ever allow harm to befall you!”

“Even if I am willing to take the chance?” he queried.

“Go away!” she commanded.

She saw him raise his hands in surrender then turn away. The door to her cell opened and he slipped through the opening as quietly as he had entered. When he was gone, she threw herself down and wailed as though her heart would break.

* * * * *

Dagan stood outside her cell and listened to the heartbreaking sobs coming from behind the heavy oak door. He laid his forehead on the panel and ran his fingers along the wood as though he were stroking Jameela’s silken flesh. His soul ached with the need to hold her, to be with her. Only the thought that she held his safety more important than her physical pleasure gave him any comfort at all.

All his life he had known great sadness, the terrible burden of the destiny that had claimed him. His loneliness had grown with each passing year and had now festered to a suppurating wound that leeched poison into his heart. He was as alone at Lalssu Keep as a man could be.

Clenching his fists, he lightly pummeled the door, frustration and disappointment prickling his soul like cockleburs. With one last sigh, he pushed away from the portal and started down the corridor.

Chapter Three

Jameela dressed slowly the next morning. She had awakened earlier than was usual but had lain there long past the peel of the first bells as they began chiming the new day. Listlessly, she had thrown aside the covers and without hurry completed her morning toilet. She felt numb inside, immune to the slight chill that always made her dress hurriedly each day. As though she was walking underwater she moved about the cell, making the bed, doing what needed to be done before she could leave the small room.

Even as she stood outside her door and waited for Brother Qutaybah to escort her to the training room, she was lost in a world that seemed to hold only bleakness for her. There was no longer any expectant joy in being turned over to Dagan for the daily training, in being allowed to see his wondrously handsome face and hear his seductive voice. Now, she only feared she would be the cause of something terrible happening to him and that she could not stand.

Boot heels thudding purposefully down the corridor toward her signaled the arrival of the odious man Jameela had grown to detest. His strident, sarcastic voice never failed to grate upon her nerves.

“At least you are dressed appropriately and on time for once,” Brother Qutaybah snarled as he came to stand in front of her.

Not once had the Master’s chancellor had to wait for her. Not once had she been dressed inappropriately. She had behaved as was expected, kept her thoughts to herself and never had she spoken back to the hateful man. But this morning was different; she was different and the implied insults struck her harder than usual and she lifted her head to glare into Brother Qutaybah’s ugly face.

Brother Qutaybah arched a thin brow, his upper lip twitched and he looked down his long, beaklike nose. “You wish to make a comment, woman?”

“You will call me ‘milady’,” Jameela said, stressing the title, “for I am the Master’s Consort and as such, you will afford me the respect that is my due.”

The Brother’s mouth dropped open and he sputtered, his beady eyes blinking rapidly. “You…you…”

“Come along, Brother Qutaybah,” she said, cutting him off. “I do not wish to be late for my session.” That said she headed down the corridor. It was a moment or two before she felt him brush past her, his wobbling walk almost comical as he took the lead, glancing back at her with vengeance stamped upon his cadaverous face before turning his back on her.

The training room was empty when the Master’s chancellor ushered her inside. Normally bright with sunlight, the room was cast in shadows for rain lashed the row of tiny windows that overlooked the sea. A flash of lightning lit the windowpanes and a moment later thunder boomed overhead.

“Sit,” Brother Qutaybah ordered, pointing a rigid finger at the stool upon which Jameela sat each day.

Ignoring the command, Jameela moved to the windows to look out upon the wildly tossing waves. Bad weather had always seemed to invigorate her and she liked to watch the play of lightning stitching across the heavens.

“You may leave now, Brother Qutaybah,” she said over her shoulder.

The Master’s chancellor was quivering with outrage. His mouth opened and closed but he seemed unable to voice the words upon which he was choking. When Jameela turned and gave him an inquiring look, he snapped his jaws closed, his teeth clicking together loudly. With a sniff, he spun around and slammed the door behind him as he left.

Jameela giggled. For the first time she did not fear the hideous man and knew a moment of victory she savored as she turned back to the window. The savage display of nature beyond the panes thrilled her and she gloried in watching the spectacle. When the door opened behind her, she did not turn, expecting Dagan to join her at the windows for he, too, enjoyed the fiery display of a good sea storm.

“It is unwise to stand by a window during a storm, milady,” a strange voice warned.

Jameela turned around, shocked to see a woman standing in the doorway. This was the first female she had seen at Lalssu Keep. “Who are you?” she asked, taking in the beauty of the stranger.

“I am called Astrid,” the woman replied. “I am here to continue your training.”

Despair drove a sharp spike through Jameela’s heart and she put up a hand to clutch at her throat. “Where is Dagan?”

Astrid cocked her head to one side. “I do not know the name,” she said.

“He wasn’t your trainer?” Jameela asked; one part of her thankful if such was the case.

The beautiful woman’s head cocked in the opposite direction—the movement reminding Jameela of a pet dog she had had as a child.

“No, I belong to the Master,” Astrid replied. “It was he who trained me, as you say.”

Despite the fact that she would rather be with Dagan than the one who had taken her maidenhead, Jameela knew a brief moment of jealousy that she would be sharing the Master with this lovely vision.

And vision the woman was with long blonde hair to her waist, the thick tresses falling in waves to a slender waist Jameela knew she could span with her two hands. Looking at those velvet blue eyes framed with long, spiky lashes, pouting coral lips, high cheekbones, a swanlike neck and a shapely figure made Jameela feel almost masculine in comparison. Even the woman’s voice was pretty with a lilting accent that spoke of the highlands.

“I have been assigned to teach you the art of self-pleasure,” Astrid informed her.

Jameela blinked. “But what about Dagan?” she asked, alarm building in her chest.

“A male can not teach a female how to pleasure herself,” Astrid replied. “I will be your trainer for this session.”

Somewhat relieved that the woman would not be her trainer permanently, Jameela let out a long breath. “I did not know such a thing was possible,” she said.

“The Master is often away for prolonged periods of time,” Astrid explained in her soft voice. “When he is gone, he does not wish for you to grow overripe with passion.”

“I doubt that will happen,” Jameela said under her breath.

“Beg pardon?”

“Nothing,” Jameela said. She glanced at the stool. “Do I need to sit or can you lecture me while I watch the storm?”

Astrid frowned but even the frown looked attractive on her beautiful face. “I would prefer you move away from the window, milady,” she replied. “It is dangerous when the heavens are in such turmoil.”

Sighing, Jameela abandoned her position at the windows and walked to the loathsome stool she had grown to hate. Seating herself, she crossed her arms and looked up at Astrid.

Astrid shook her head. “You will need to disrobe, milady.”

Jameela flinched. “Why?” she countered.

“You can not experience the intensity of what I will teach you through the constriction of your clothing. You must disrobe.”

A heated blush tinted Jameela’s cheeks. “I’ve no desire to stand naked before you,” she stated. “I would not feel comfortable doing so.”

Astrid’s lovely head cocked from one side to the other as she contemplated Jameela’s statement. Her pretty features tensed for a moment then relaxed as though she was receiving a message only she could hear. She nodded slightly then turned her attention to the door.

The portal opened and Jameela was relieved to see Dagan entering the room. His hair was wet; the dark locks glistened as they clung to the collar of his black shirt. His clothing was not wet so Jameela assumed he had either come fresh from his morning bath or had been out in the turbulent weather. “I am happy to see you, milord,” she said, standing.

Dagan glanced at her then looked to Astrid. “I will attend this session, Wench. Be about your instructions.”

Jameela drew in a harsh breath. “No!” she gasped.

The black-clad warrior turned his attention to Jameela. “You object to me being here?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Shaking her head, Jameela held out her hand. “No, milord, but as nice as Astrid appears to be, she is a stranger to me and I am…” Her face turned redder. “I would not feel…I would…I don’t…”