Desire's Sirocco (12 page)

The clank of a key fitting into the lock of her door brought hope to Jameela’s heart and she looked up hopefully as the portal swung open. Seeing who entered her chamber made her eyes go wide and stopped the breath in her throat.

“We are here,” the portliest of four women said, “to make you ready for your Joining, Milady.”

Having seen only Astrid…the woman sent to aid in her training…Jameela was shocked to see other females. Dagan had told her it was not allowed for the Brothers’ women to converse amongst themselves so they were kept apart. Seeing these four standing there staring down at her elevated Jameela’s fears.

“We are to be your Ladies-in-Waiting,” the shorter of the quartet whispered shyly. “It is an honor unlike any we ever hoped to attain at Lalssu.”

“An honor no other wife of a Grand Master has ever known,” the tallest of the four added.

“It can only be wondered why you deserve such treatment,” the ugliest of the women hissed.

“Best to keep a civil, respectful tone in your voice, you old crow,” the portly woman snapped, turning to give the ugly woman an arch look, “else you will be back to Semiol’s bed!”

The ugly woman grimaced. “I would rather slit my wrists and be done with it than return to the Horse Trainer’s stinking bed.”

“Then remember to whom it is you have been assigned,” the portly one reminded her.

“But I can not help but wonder…” the ugly woman began.

“’Tis not your responsibility to question the Grand Master’s design,” the overweight woman said before reaching out a hand to Jameela. “Here, let me help you, milady.”

Jameela reluctantly took the wide hand thrust at her and was amazed at how easily she was drawn to her feet.

“I am Brincia,” the portly one introduced herself. “The tall one is Amanda and the short one is Lucy. That one is Marlin.”

The ugly one gritted her teeth and spoke around the constriction. “Marilynn,” she corrected. “Not Marlin.”

“Whatever,” Brincia said with a roll of her huge eyes.

“Have you news of Lord Dagan?” Jameela asked, her hand still held in Brincia’s strong grip.

Brincia frowned. “The Master Trainer?” She shook her head. “No, milady.”

“Why do you ask?” Marilynn inquired with narrowed eyes. “What is he to you? Have the two of you…”

Brincia snatched her hand from Jameela’s and backhanded the ugly woman. “Keep a civil tongue! Did I not tell you already?”

Jameela watched Marilynn stagger away, a claw-like hand pressed to the fiery imprint Brincia’s broad hand had raised upon her thin face. Her deep gray eyes were wide, her mouth a perfect “o” as she stared at Brincia.

“You’ll not be long with us, I can tell you, if you don’t watch that evil mouth of yours!” Brincia stated then turned her back on the injured woman. “Now, milady, we should see to your bath.”

Jameela shook her head. “I must have audience with the Grand Master,” she said. “I can not go through with this until I know Lord Dagan’s fate.”

Brincia frowned. “His fate?” She looked to Amanda. “Have you heard something I haven’t?”

Amanda shrugged. “Had something happened to him, I am sure Verial would have told me.”

“Who is Verial?” Jameela asked.

“The Lord High Executioner,” Amanda said then bit her lip. “Although…”

Jameela pounced on the tall woman’s last word. “Although?” she repeated.

A scowl rippled across Amanda’s long face. “I know he has someone in his dungeon but he didn’t say who.”

Jameela whimpered. “Lord Dagan was arrested this morn and Brother Qutaybah said he was being whipped.” Tears gathered in her eyes.

“Nay,” Lucy stated emphatically. “Had someone been whipped, I would have known of it for it is my man who assists Verial and he was not called to ready the punishment yard this day.”

Hope widened Jameela’s tearful gaze. “Are you sure? Could they not have punished him in the dungeon?”

“Never,” Bincia said. “All punishments are carried out with the presence of the entire Conclave and my man, who is a steward in the Grand Master’s quarters, would have told me of such a gathering.”

“We would know of such things happening even if the Ladies of Lalssu Keep are kept ignorant of the business of the Conclave,” Lucy commented.

“Ladies such as yourself,” Marilynn jeered. “The Brothers believe what a woman doesn’t know won’t cause them any problems.”

Lucy clarified. “Problems for the Brothers, not the women.”

“Our men are commoners in the employ of the Conclave so we have no such stringent rules applied to us as you Ladies do to you,” Brincia said with a smile. “We are made privy to all the goings on here and we are allowed to socialize as time permits.”

“You will be one who has more rules than all the others,” Mailynn added, her mouth twisted in ill-disguised mirth.

Jameela wrung her hands. “You think, then, you would have heard if Lord Dagan had been hurt?”

“One of us would have,” Lucy replied for the others.

“Then why would Brother Qutaybah…” Jameela began but Brincia cut her off.

“Brother Qutaybah is an evil, vengeful man,” the portly woman said. “He hates everyone save himself and the Grand Master.” She lowered her voice. “I have heard it whispered that Brother Qutaybah is enamored of the Master and that he much envies the relationship Lord Dagan has with the Master.”

“Thus,” Lucy said, “he would much envy…if not hate…your relationship with the Grand Master for as the Master’s wife, you will be of great importance to Lalssu Keep.”

“Especially so when you conceive the Heir,” Amanda sighed wistfully.

Brincia grinned. “Aye, that is true.” She placed a gentle hand on Jameela’s arm. “Have no fear of Brother Qutaybah. A whisper in the Grand Master’s ear that he is annoying you will go a long way in curbing that old bastard’s tongue! I’ve heard the Master has little regard for Brother Qutaybah.”

Jameela drew in a deep breath. “As long as Lord Dagan is kept safe, I can abide even Brother Qutaybah’s wickedness.” She hung her head. “Even though I may never see Dagan again.”

The three friendly women looked at one another and it was Lucy who took Jameela’s hands in hers. “Milady, if you have affection for Lord Dagan, you would be wise not to show it to the Master.”

“For Lord Dagan’s sake,” Brincia said.

Jameela nodded listlessly. “I understand and I thank you for your words of warning.”

Brincia clapped her hands softly. “Then let us ready you for your Joining for the night is getting no younger, Milady Jameela.”

Jameela allowed the women to undress her and while Marilynn was ordered to fetch the copper bathing tub and the many pails of hot water, the other three women set about manicuring their charge’s hands and feet, trimming her hair, plucking her eyebrows and shaving the hair from her legs and underarms.

“Such is the way of the Conclave,” Brincia explained for Jameela had never heard of such things. “Elegant ladies are so pampered.”

“I am no elegant lady,” Jameela said. “I was but a shepherd’s daughter when Lord Dagan bought me for the Master.”

“All the Ladies of the Conclave began life as commoners,” Brincia said. “I know of none who were of the gentry before coming here.”

“That may be because all who come as mates to the Brothers are orphans or such with no kin to care about them,” Amanda sighed.

“To care if they disappear behind the walls of Lalssu Keep never to be seen again, you mean,” Marilynn snarled.

“Pay no attention to her,” Lucy whispered to Jameela as she helped her charge into the steaming tub of water. “She was banished from her village because she’s so ugly.”

Jameela glanced at Marilynn and found that one glaring back at her. A slight tug of pity for the woman’s gangly limbs and pinched features passed over the younger woman’s mind. She tentatively smiled at the unattractive woman but Marilynn did not respond in kind.

“Will there be other women at my Joining?” Jameela asked to take her mind from Marilynn’s hateful stare.

“Oh, no, Milady,” Brincia replied. “Women are not allowed behind the Sanctuary doors. Only the Grand Master’s Lady is permitted and only this one time.”

“But I will have you ladies to converse with?” Jameela asked, her loneliness apparent in her soft words.

“Although we had a hard time conceiving of it, but such will be allowed, Milady,” Brincia answered. “It is almost as though the Master wishes for you to be as happy here as it is possible to make you.”

Jameela lowered her face into her hands and began to sob. Shocked, the other women stepped back from the tub, alarmed at such a reaction. It was Lucy who finally knelt down beside the tub and asked how they had upset her.

“’Tis not you,” Jameela sobbed.

“’Tis Lord Dagan,” Brincia said gently and also knelt. She reached out to lift Jameela’s head and turned the young woman’s face toward her. “Milady, you must forget him.”

“I can not!” Jameela cried, her lips trembling. “I love him with all my heart!”

Brincia released a long breath. “Then if you love him, tuck that love into a tiny place within your heart and there keep it safe.”

“As you will keep him safe,” Amanda put in.

“Once you have become the Grand Master’s wife, a slip of the tongue could well place the Master Trainer’s neck in a noose and I know that is not what you want.”

“Nay, it is not,” Jameela whined.

“Then go to your Joining knowing in order to keep Lord Dagan safe, you must never allow your feelings for him to show,” Lucy advised.

“Especially not to your new husband,” Brincia added.

Chapter Eight

“She comes to the Joining. All rise!” an unseen voice called out.

The sound of men coming to their feet echoed around her and Jameela flinched. She was shaking in her slippers and the weight of a hundred or more eyes leveling toward her made her heart skip a beat.

“Follow me,” Brother Qutaybah whispered.

Jameela barely saw the beauty of the Sanctuary as she walked behind Brother Qutaybah. The thousands of candles that lit the vast room, gilding the dark blue marble walls, lent a dreamlike quality to the event. The myriad golden candelabras, copper urns filled with fragrant flowers, lush tapestry panels flowing down the walls would have awed her had she not been in such a lethargic frame of mind. She walked as though she were on the way to her execution and not to the Joining that would make her the most influential woman in the Northern Kingdom.

Vaguely, she heard the faint strains of music that accompanied her walk down the long aisle that led to the soaring altar. There was a mystical undertone woven through the melodic strains but the beauty of the music had no more effect on her than did the elegant surroundings. She kept her head high but her hands upon the bouquet of lavender and yellow roses clutched to her waist were trembling. Her eyes were moist, her mouth dry, and her heart pounding fiercely beneath the satin of her white Joining gown.

Heads turned as she passed but she did not hear the sighs of the Brothers who had no woman of their own and the murmurs of approval of those who did. She paid no heed to the men but kept her eyes locked on the high altar and the semicircle of males standing there.

“There will be the Lord High Abbot, dressed entirely in red,” Brincia had instructed. “He will pronounce the Joining vows. With him will be two blue-clad Brothers who will serve as Acolytes and a third, robed in yellow, who will place the Joining band upon your arm. The fifth man there will be the Grand Master and you will recognize him right off for he will be adorned in a white wedding robe with gilt trim.”

Jameela frowned for she could see but four males standing at the altar. She could make out the red, blue and gold robes but she saw no white robe among those gathered. Her heart lurched as her fear grew.

Brother Qutaybah nodded pleasantly to the Brothers he passed on the way to the altar. His back was ramrod straight, his silver-shot burgundy robe swaying upon his bony frame. In his hand, he carried the staff of his office, the golden sphere gleaming in the candlelight. With each step, the thump of the staff upon the scarlet carpet runner sounded like a death knell to Jameela’s sensitive ears.

It was not until they were only a few feet from the altar that Jameela noticed the man sitting in a chair off to one side. While those gathered were on their feet, this man sat with his head bowed, his hands clasped in his lap. With a start, Jameela realized the robe he wore was pristine white, edged with golden thread, as was her gown.

The chair! She thought, taking in the conveyance. It was a rolling chair! Once before she had seen such a contraption. A pitiful wretch…crippled from birth…had sat in the public square of Sahar Colony for many years, begging for alms until one morn he had been found slumped in the chair, dead for many hours before anyone noticed.

Crippled, Jameela thought and her gentle heart ached for the man. She stared at his bent head, taking in the gleam of his dark hair beneath the circlet of Grand Master, and remembered the times he had been bodily lifted from her after the bouts of lovemaking. A small groan of pity escaped her throat. Though he could not walk, he had performed his duty admirably well.