Beloved (16 page)

“No! No!” she sobbed, the tears beginning to come, and then suddenly she became aware that his manhood, which just moments ago had seemed like a red-hot poker, was suddenly the source of the most marvelous sweetness; yet the ache was increasing. She no longer seemed able to fight him off. His shaft moved back and forth within her, and the world about her seemed to pulse and spin with a myriad of sensations. Zenobia had never imagined that anything could be as magnificent as this joining of bodies. She was as lost within him as he was in her. The pleasure built higher until the ache dissolved without warning, and she was falling, falling into a warm and welcoming blackness.

She clung to him, lost within her private world, and the prince was ravished by her response to his passion. Tenderly he gathered her into his arms, so that when once more she became herself, she would feel cherished—for indeed she was. Pressing soft little kisses upon her face, he murmured reassuringly to her, “I love you, my darling! My adorable wife, I love you so!” He said the words over and over until she finally opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Oh, my Hawk, I love you too! I want to please you, but will it always hurt like that?”

“Never again,” he promised her. “It was only because you were a virgin, Zenobia. I cannot understand Tamar not telling you.”

“Tamar has had only sons,” Zenobia replied, “and perhaps she did not wish to frighten me.”

“Then why not your Bab?”

“It was not Bab’s place to tell me those things,” she said primly.

Odenathus sighed with exasperation. “Then I suppose it must be my place to school you, my flower.”

“Yes, my lord,” came the demure reply.

He looked sharply at her, then laughed, for her eyes were mischievous. “Do you laugh at me, my wife?” he demanded in a teasingly threatening tone.

“Yes, my lord.” Her look was melting.

He could feel his desire rising once more, and wondered if he dare take her again. It had been a hard breach of her maidenhead, and he had not a doubt that she was sore.

“I want you again, my Hawk.” She punctuated her remark by turning her head to gently bite at his forearm.

A shiver ran through him as he realized that his bride was a passionate woman. Reaching out, he rubbed her nipple until it stood tall, a tough little soldier upon the rise of her delicious flesh. She pulled his head down, kissing his mouth, whispering against his lips, “Take me now, my darling! I burn!”

Mounting her, he slipped into her sweet sheath, feeling her wince slightly. Slowly he moved within her, pushing deep, then pulling himself completely out, only to plunge once again into her burning body. He felt her nails rake his back, and heard her cry, “No! I want the sweetness, my Hawk! Do not deny me the sweetness!”

He laughed as he sat straddling her. “Do not be in a hurry, my flower. There is much pleasure to be gained by taking time to enjoy each other,” and then he commenced a tantalizingly slow movement that would drive her to the brink of madness.

Zenobia found herself helpless before the delicious sensations that began to assail her. There had been pain the first time, but then it had been good, and she had liked it. Now, though here had been a moment’s discomfort when he had begun again, it was different, yet still good. She didn’t believe it could be any better, but each moment brought new delights until she was spinning away, lost in time and not caring. All she could think was that she had been a fool to fear him. Above her the prince groaned
with his own pleasure, falling across her breasts, but Zenobia was totally unaware.

Both fell into a deep sleep, but with the resilience of a healthy young animal Zenobia awoke after a few hours. It was the middle of the night, black and so very still. The lamps still burned, for neither she nor the prince had thought to snuff them out. A slight wind came through the portico and the lamps flickered, casting odd, red-gold shadows against the wall. She lay on her back, quietly observing the room in which she had become a woman. It was, she realized, a woman’s room; it was her room, the room in which she would share tender, sweet intimacies with Hawk; the room in which she would birth her children; the room in which as an old woman, she would probably breathe her last.

It was a simple place, she thought as her eyes slowly swept the chamber; but then he had said that it had not been decorated because he thought she might enjoy planning the decor of their home. Here was something new and challenging.

“Are you awake?” His voice tore at the stillness.

“Yes.”

“What are you pondering, my flower?”

An honest reply sprang to her lips only to be swallowed back. He would hardly think it complimentary that on their wedding night she was thinking of how to decorate their home. “I was thinking of you, Hawk,” she said.

“What were you thinking?”

“That I love you,” she replied.

He raised himself up on his elbow, and looked down into her face, smiling. “We will be friends as well as lovers, as well as husband and wife. Oh, Zenobia, I am so glad that I have you! I have been so alone since my father died. Neither my mother nor Deliciae can be a friend to me, for they do not understand my feelings for Palmyra; but you understand, my flower, don’t you? This is a great city, and we shall make it greater so that our son will be an even greater lord than his father and grandfather!”

“How can we be great as long as the Romans rule us?” she demanded.

“Soon Antonius Porcius will retire,” he explained to her, “and he has told me that the emperor will send no one to take his place. The Romans trust us, Zenobia. I will shortly rule the city in my own right as the princes of Palmyra did before me.”

“How can you rule in your own right when the Romans still garrison troops within our city?” Zenobia demanded.

“My wedding gift from the emperor is command of those troops, my beautiful wife!”

She sat up, startled. “You are to command Roman troops?”

“I am. Now what do you think, my flower?”

“I wonder why, after years of occupation, the Romans suddenly decided to let you rule without a Roman governor. I wonder why you have been put in charge of
their
troops.”

“Because the Romans know that they can trust me, Zenobia.”

“And once you have total control will you overthrow them?” Her gray eyes shone with pride.

“No, Zenobia. I need Rome’s soldiers for Palmyra. The world is no longer what it once was. We are surrounded by dangers not even dreamed of in my grandfather’s time. I need an army to protect this city.”

“Why Romans?!”

“Rome is the central power in the world. If I use her troops then I do not have to force my own people into the military service. Rome’s troops cost me nothing. The tribute we pay to the empire comes from the caravans; and not from my people.”

“I cannot believe that you have bent your neck to their yoke,” she cried. “Tell me you have been but jesting with me, my Hawk.”

“Zenobia, you are yet a child, and do not understand these matters,” he said gently. “When you see how the government is run, the monies involved, then you will understand why it is necessary for us to cooperate with Rome. Come now, my flower, why are we discussing such weighty matters in the midst of our wedding night.” He leaned over and kissed her mouth.

She pulled back, her gray eyes serious. “You once promised to share your responsibilities with me, Hawk. Have you now changed your mind?”

“I do not make promises I do not intend to keep, my flower. There is, however, a time for everything, and this is not the time to be discussing my government.”

“When
is
the right time?” she demanded angrily. “Must I make an appointment with you, as do your ministers? Shall I tell your secretary in the morning that the Princess of Palmyra wishes an appointment with the Prince of Palmyra so she may discuss the government with him?”

“By the gods!” he exclaimed. “We are having our first fight, Zenobia!” He reached out a hand, and stroked her shoulder. How beautiful she was with her midnight-black hair swirling about her shoulders.

“You must take the good with the bad,” she muttered, not easily placated, and shocked by the revelation that she
was
quarreling with him.

“I will share everything with you, my darling,” he promised, “but we are just married; this is our honeymoon; and I do not want to speak of politics or finances with you at this moment. What bride would choose these things over love in her marriage bed?”

Her resistance began to melt, and he reached out and drew her into his arms. “Oh, Hawk,” she murmured. “I have so much to learn that I am impatient.”

“It is as I have said, my flower. You are yet a child in many ways, but I will teach you.” He nibbled at the corners of her mouth, and delicious little tingles of excitement ran through her. The prince smiled down at her, and then his lips took full possession of hers. There was no gentleness this time, only a fierce and burning demand that Zenobia found impossible not to answer. She returned his kisses passionately until her mouth was bruised and aching, but to his surprise she did not yield herself entirely. His hands moved to caress her marvelous breasts; his lips moved from her lips downward along a trail of soft, perfumed flesh that quivered beneath his touch.

She knew what to expect this time, or at least she thought she did, but the warm and softly breathing mouth that murmured love words into her ear, the mouth that moved teasingly along the straining muscle on the side of her neck to bury itself in the tender hollow of her shoulder shook her to the quick. He stayed but a moment in that sweet nook only to move onward to cover the swelling tops of her breasts with quick kisses before beginning his assault upon her nipples, which stood at attention eagerly awaiting him.

“Zenobia,” he murmured, then his tongue began a slow, teasingly sweet encirclement of a nipple. Round and round it moved, sending waves of heat through her veins until she wanted to scream, for the pleasure left her weak and breathless. It occurred to her suddenly that he was diverting her from the discussion she had been trying to conduct with him. Her first reaction to this thought was outrage that he held her opinion so lightly; but then, as his mouth closed over a nipple and he began to suckle upon her sensitive breast, all coherent thought vanished. She gave herself up to the delights of his lovemaking.

“Oh, my Hawk,” she whispered, afraid to break the lovely spell that seemed to surround them, “I love you!”

Slowly he raised his head so he might look upon her beautiful face, and for a moment Zenobia thought she would drown in the dark, dark liquid pool of his eyes. His voice had an intensity that gave her the eerie feeling that he had divined her very thoughts. “And I love you, my exquisite bride. I will share all with you, my love. We have an eternity of sharing before us.”

Marcus Britainus looked up from his inventory sheets. “Yes, Severus, what is it?”

“The Princess of Palmyra is here, sir.”

“Here?”
His heart leapt within his chest. Then he realized that she probably did not remember him.

“She wishes to purchase furniture and see our fabrics and accessories, sir.”

“Help her then, Severus.” He lowered his head again to the scrolls.

“Marcus Britainus!” Severus’s voice was severe. “You cannot avoid Princess Zenobia. If you continue to shun her, this fascination will increase until no other woman can match the woman you have created in your imagination. This is the ruler of Palmyra’s wife. You
must
greet her.”

“How old must I get before you will realize that I am no longer a green boy?” Marcus grumbled.

“There is something of the boy in every man, Marcus Britainus,” came the quiet reply.

Marcus left his office and stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts.
She is here!
Had she sought him out?
Fool!
His practical nature reared its head. Why in the name of all the gods would she remember him? She hated blue-eyed Romans. Besides, from all he could gather, her marriage to Odenathus was a love match. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he straightened the folds of his toga pura and entered the atrium of his warehouse with a firm step.

Zenobia rose from the bench upon which she had been seated, and watched him come toward her.
The blue-eyed Roman!
Of course! She vaguely remembered that he had introduced himself at their brief first meeting. Merchants were supposed to be old men, she thought irritably, but this was certainly no old man. He topped her by at least eight inches, and Zenobia knew few men
to whom she must look up. It gave her a vaguely uncomfortable sensation, made her feel at a disadvantage with him. Around her, her maidens giggled and made rather pointed and suggestive remarks about the handsome merchant. Zenobia felt her cheeks flushing slightly. Newly awakened to sensuality, she could not help but look upon Marcus Alexander with a woman’s eye, and somehow, she thought, that must be disloyal to her Hawk.

Reaching her, he knelt and paid her homage. “Highness.”

“Rise, Marcus Alexander Britainus,” she said, and before she realized it the words were out. “Why are you so tall? Are you a giant?”