On Azrael's Wings (9 page)

Tugging at the matching copper collar about her throat, Ursula said, “Will it make a difference? We’ll return and I’ll sleep on the pallet again.”

Midia tsked at the petulant tone, coming forward to rearrange a lock of mahogany hair. “Our mistress wants a willing participant in her bed, not a lump.”

“Willing participant?” Ursula blurted, expression incredulous. “We’re slaves, Midia.”

“Aye, we are. But you’ve yet to show our mistress that you want her as much as she wants you.” Readjusting the belt, she said, “Lady Azrael does not rape.”

Ursula blinked as the blonde turned away. Was that all that stopped things? Her passive response? The brunette recalled the previous night and wondered what would have happened had she given in to her desire. Shivering, she felt heat in her belly.

“Ursula? It’s time to go.”

Nodding, the brunette followed Midia to the entrance.

“Remember what I told you?” the blonde asked.

“Yes. Pick from random plates and ewers. And no onions.”

Midia laughed. “Very good. It will be overwhelming at first but remember - because of our mistress, you outrank every slave there.”

Azrael was listening to Idonatra reminisce about a battle years past when she spied movement at her tent. Her indulgent smile faded as she saw Ursula. Leaving her officers, her appreciative eyes traveled over the slave’s figure as she approached.

Swallowing, Ursula recognized the fire in her mistress’ dark eyes and felt a surge of arousal.

“You look magnificent,” Azrael said, circling.

“Thank you, Milady,” Ursula whispered, feeling over warm.

“Midia, you did a fine job.”

“Thank you, Milady, but I did little. Ursula is a rare beauty.”

“Aye. That she is.” Stopping in front of the slave, Azrael tilted her head, looking into amber eyes. “A rare beauty indeed.”

“Lord Azrael, are we ready then?”

The general chucked Ursula’s chin and released her. “Yes, we are.” She turned and walked to her horse, Midia urging the brunette to follow. “The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can beg our leave.”

“No offense, Lord,” Razzu said with a grin. “But I can’t imagine you begging for anything.”

Appreciative chuckles sounded as Azrael slid into her saddle. “None taken, Razzu. You’d be surprised what a beautiful woman in my bed would hear.”

Atol saluted. “Methinks a beautiful woman in any of our beds would hear much the same.”

“Speak for yourself, little man,” Tenango said, ducking a swat from him.

“The same can be said for beautiful men,” Idonatra told her, all but Tenango agreeing.

Ursula took her mistress’ hand, wondering how she was to ride in a gown. Her concern was baseless as she was pulled up and seated sideways in Azrael’s lap. Heart thumping, the brunette felt a whisper of lips on her ear and she leaned closer with a sigh.

Smiling, Azrael urged her steed forward, followed by her captains.

The magistrate, a portly man who was half as round as he was tall, put together a surprisingly decent dinner. The large hall was festooned with flowing tapestries and silks, the floor littered with flower petals. Playing in one corner was a trio of musicians, their sitar, pipe and drum providing background ambiance for the diners. Several long, low tables were sprinkled about with masses of soft cushions decadently available for lounging. Servants wandered the room with trays of ale and wine and interesting tidbits while a vast display of food was constantly being refreshed along one wall.

Azrael's captains were scattered about the table, apparently having a well enough time if their smiles were any indication. Razzu, ever the horticulturalist, had cornered the master farmer of the region into a long discussion of hybrid wheat that would have bored anyone else in the room. Nearby, Atol was sweet-talking a merchant’s daughter, ignoring the glares from her father as he flirted.

Tenango and Suma had gravitated together and Azrael wondered yet again if there was something between them. She resolved to speak with Razzu about any wagering being done on the matter, wondering what odds would be in her favor. A guffaw distracted the general and she turned to see Idonatra joking with one of the town council about his favorite topic after fighting - the preparation of food.

Aside from occasional fawning by the magistrate and his lackeys, Azrael was having a good time. She was certain that had much to do with her slave. Ursula, despite having no training for this type of function, comported herself with natural grace and elegance as she served her mistress. Even now, Azrael’s eyes followed her as she approached with another helping of food.

Lounging just in reach of the table, Azrael snagged the last of the olives from her plate. Using her tongue to seek out the pits, she noted appreciative leers from some of the other guests. Surprised, she realized a hint of jealousy burned in her heart at their expressions. With a rueful smile, the general spit out the pits, knowing it was the raging lust in her blood speaking.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ursula’s return. As the slave knelt down between Azrael and the table, the dark woman couldn’t help but slide her palm along Ursula’s thigh and side, the silk causing her skin to tingle. The ever-present flush bloomed and Azrael smiled, knowing her power over the brunette despite being ignored.

“Milady,” Ursula said, offering the plate. “I’ve brought you something called shrimp. It is a delicacy.”

“Hmmm,” Azrael said, caressing the slave’s bared shoulder. “Very delicate.”

Ursula’s gasped at the contact, gooseflesh pebbling her skin. She’d spent much of her time since their arrival thinking on what Midia had said. Tamping down a trickle of fear at her planned presumption, the slave selected a piece of shrimp and dipped it in sauce before offering it. “May I?”

A slow grin crossed Azrael’s lips. Nodding, she leaned forward and took the morsel, teeth brushing the edge of Ursula’s fingers as she bit. The meat was salty from the oils used to prepare it and the sauce shocked her tongue with tart spice. Chewing thoughtfully, her hand drifted down Ursula’s shoulder, following her feminine curve to rest at her waist. “Very nice,” she said, thumb lazily circling.

“More, Milady?” the slave asked, trying to control her suddenly erratic breathing.

“Much more.”

Ursula bit at her upper lip with a shy smile before scooping up another piece.

“My dear Lord Azrael.”

Not removing her eyes from Ursula, the general accepted another piece of shrimp, tongue darting out to caress a finger. “What is it, Torvan?” she asked the magistrate, tone bored.

The pudgy man cleared his throat but gamely continued. “Now that you’ve crushed the uprising, what are your plans?”

“Plans?” Azrael asked, reaching out to smother a shrimp in sauce before dangling it before her slave. “My plans are to collect my garrisoned men and return home.” She watched in complete fascination as Ursula’s full lips surrounded the meat, sucking gently on her fingers before biting the shrimp.

“Would you say all areas of unrest have been quelled?” Torvan asked, oblivious to the seduction before him. “Theara was the fourth village to be… cleansed…”

Annoyed, the general turned a cold stare on the chubby man. “Have you heard of others?”

”No, no!” the magistrate insisted with raised hands. “My concern is for Provey. While your visits are always welcome, I have no wish to see you and your men in an… ah… official capacity.”

Azrael studied him for long moments, eyes unfathomable as she searched for anything untoward. “All reports of traitors and seditionists have been investigated. I see no cause for concern.”

Torvan relaxed, his sigh almost imperceptible. “Good. That is very good,” he insisted with a toothy smile. “Rumors run rampant with an army camped outside our walls. I’ll be most happy to pass your news along.”

Not one for court intrigue, Azrael nevertheless felt the magistrate was trying to say something. Her dalliance with Ursula forgotten, the general picked up her wine and leaned back, focusing on the man. “What rumors do you hear these days in this far corner of the kingdom?”

“Oh, you know how people can be,” Torvan said, waving dismissively, his actions serving to underline the true importance of his next words. “They say there were no rebels, that someone near the throne wanted you away from court.” Laughing, the magistrate shook his head. “Silly, isn’t it?”

Azrael noted the sweat on his forehead and the shaky hand as he raised his cup to his lips. The man was scared. He was either feeding her false information to distract her or was very worried his words were true and she’d take offense. She laughed with him, drinking from her cup, mind racing.

Why would he lie? Fishing for word that he and kith or kin were suspected traitors? She wouldn’t be here drinking with him if that were the case. Azrael’s brutal reputation had traveled far after seven years of command. Surely he knew that any report of treasonous activity in Provey would result in a siege rather than a state dinner.

The other side of the coin was that he was speaking true. Again, why? To warn Azrael of rumors in the capitol? His loyalties were beyond her knowledge and suspect. Who near Shonal would go to the trouble of falsifying rebellious reports to remove her from court? Rarely there to begin with, she preferred to spend her time on her property. She was hardly a threat.

Puzzled, Azrael realized it would be some time before she could make sense of the conversation needing more information. Glancing at the magistrate, she was pleased he had turned to the person on his other side, no doubt relieved his words had been heeded and he still had a tongue.

Her eyes wandered the room, searching for shadows and attackers. Instead, Azrael saw dancers and laughter, tapestries and wandering servants, mahogany hair and amber eyes. She watched Ursula fill her cup, felt a warm hand on hers.

“Milady, would you like more?” the brunette asked, holding up the plate of shrimp.

There were months to go before Azrael could gather all the information she’d need. Until then… “Yes, Ursula, much more.”

By the time it was appropriate to leave, the sun had set. Torches lit the courtyard when Azrael and her officers sauntered out of the hall. Atol and Razzu had elected to stay, one for feminine conquest and the other to hear more about a new strain of flower. The rest of them mounted their horses, Ursula once more seated across her mistress’ saddle.

Azrael had worn a light cloak for the expected evening coolness. She wrapped it about both of them, caressing the silk of Ursula’s dress as they rode through town.

Her earlier flirtations obviously acceptable, Ursula pondered her next move. The unseen hand stroked her legs and torso, staying maddingly away from where she wanted it. A firm massage crossed her belly and drifted up until fingers rested below her bosom, going no further. Ursula’s breasts ached for contact.

As they neared the east gate, Azrael’s thoughts worried her conversation with the magistrate, her caresses absent minded. It was with some amazement, therefore, when she felt a trembling hand on hers, guiding her to a delicious breast. The portly man and his rumors disappeared in a puff as she focused on the slave in her arms.

Cupping the rounded flesh, Azrael noted a hesitant expression on Ursula who kept her eyes downcast. As she considered making things easier for the slave, the hand on hers squeezed, forcing her to do the same. To reward the bold behavior, Azrael repeated the action without prompting, thumb slowly rubbing a swollen nipple.

Unable to stop herself, Ursula arched her shoulders back, a sigh escaping her lips. The sensation was much better than she’d hoped, the slow burn in her lower abdomen flashing into flame. She gasped as her mistress pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, Ursula’s grip on the dark hand clutching in surprised desire.

The riders were ushered through the gate with little preamble. As the captains turned off the road for camp, Azrael stayed.

“Lord?” Suma asked, turning his steed, his comrades stopping with him.

“Go ahead,” Azrael ordered. “I’ll return later.”

Idonatra moved his horse closer. “Will you be safe?”

Azrael raised an eyebrow, hearing Tenango’s snicker as the large man remembered who he was speaking to and shook his head.

“Sleep well, Lord,” he said with a salute.

Suma remained behind a hair longer before obeying.

Once they were well on their way to camp, Azrael returned her attention to the woman in her arms. She teased the breast she still held, reveling in the welcome gasp.

“Shall we find some place quiet?”

A chill whisked through Ursula’s body at the flashing black eyes. Licking her lips, she nodded, her hand tracing up her mistress’ arm beneath the cloak.

Azrael kicked her horse to a trot and they sped down the road.

Chapter Nine

Azrael took them away from Provey a good two miles before leaving the road. Slowing her mount, she let him pick his way up a rise and into a meadow. A three-quarter moon lit the cloudless sky, illuminating their way.

Finding a likely spot, Azrael leaned back, the well-trained warhorse sensing her change of balance and stopping. With ease, the general picked Ursula up, swung her leg over the saddle and slid down the side of the animal with her cargo. Neatly setting the slave on her feet, Azrael led the horse to a stand of bushes where she draped his reins.

Ursula shivered, whether from the sudden chill now she wasn’t sharing her mistress’ cloak or a trickle of fearful desire, she didn’t know. She rubbed her upper arms as the general stalked forward.

Azrael watched the brunette as she drew near, unhooking her cloak from about her shoulders. Ursula was very desirable, the silk clinging to her supple form, a coppery reflection of moonlight sparkling from jewelry at wrist and throat. The slave was also nervous if her stance was any indication and Azrael wondered if they’d come here for nothing. Still, the bold if fearful maneuver on her horse was promising. It had been a week since Ursula’s capture; surely she was close to breaking.

Swallowing against the flutter in her stomach, Ursula gave the barest of flinches when her mistress removed the cloak with a flourish and laid it out on the ground beside them. Eyes lowered, she chanted her mantra, Midia’s words washing along the craggy shore of her insecurity - ‘willing participant.’