The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian (15 page)

Finally Beau arose, still holding his bride, and carried her into their bedroom. He lay her down upon the bed, and Marguerite reached up to draw him down to her. He came willingly, his hands molding themselves down her torso, filling themselves with her hips, caressing her legs. He took each foot in its turn and kissed it ardently. Sliding up over the silk sheets, he took each garter of rosettes in his teeth and drew it off. Next came her stockings, which he tossed aside carelessly.
"Je t'aime, ma coeur,"
he said softly.
"Je t'adore!"

He moved his big body again, this time so he might lower his dark head to her beautiful little breasts. His hot tongue began to encircle a nipple. Around, and around, and around yet again until she began to whimper. He then took the entire nipple into his mouth, sucking hard on it, sending a sharp burst of sensation through her that enveloped her whole body. He now turned his attentions to the other nipple, and soon Marguerite was moaning as the pulses of rapture raced through her. He only ceased the wonderful torture when she began to tremble against him.

He next began a detailed exploration of her body with his tongue. The warm, silken flesh moving slowly, carefully down her torso, tasting her, sending her pulses racing as a wave of heat swept over her. The wicked tongue didn't miss an inch of skin as he slid over her petite body. He turned her over and began to tongue her shoulders, her back, her deliciously rounded buttocks, still showing a faint flush from her earlier spanking. He even licked the soles of her narrow feet, his tongue pushing between each toe suggestively.

"Mon Dieu
, Beau, stop! You are killing me!" Marguerite cried.

He turned her back again, his eyes burning with his hunger for her. "Then, my darling Madame d'Aubert, we shall die together," Beau declared, and he lowered his head to touch her in the most sensitive place she possessed.

"Ohh, yes!"
Marguerite half sobbed, her body seeming to burst into flame as his relentless tongue drove her, as his mouth tasted her.

Beau felt as if he would burst with his ferocious desire for her. The sweetness of her filled his nostrils as his tongue savored her honeyed musk. His head was spinning, but he could no longer control himself. Pulling himself up, he drove deep into her burning sheath. With a wild cry, Marguerite wrapped herself about him, pushing her hips up at him to meet his frantic rhythm. Her soft little sobs told him that she was near her release. He ceased his motion, lying quietly atop her, his love lance throbbing within her burning body.

"No!"
Marguerite cried. "Do not do this to me! I am so near, and it is so wonderful!"

"You are in too much of a hurry," he admonished her, kissing her forehead. "Pleasure between a husband and a wife should be relished, slowly,
ma chère
Marguerite."

"I hate you!" she sobbed.

"No. You want me every bit as much as I want you, but I would not have it over too soon. Patience is not a bad thing, and this is our wedding night. I want you to always remember it." Then he drove back into her, his rock-hard love lance pushing deep, forcing her down into the mattress with each fierce stroke.

She had been clutching at him in her passion, but now she began to rake his back with her nails, half crying with her pleasure.

"Petite
bitch," he growled, and then he kissed her savagely, drawing her tongue into his mouth, sucking upon it relentlessly and without cessation.

I am dying, Marguerite thought, but she didn't care. Suddenly her love juices were crowning the head of his hot, hard cock. And in the same instant he released his own boiling tribute into her, crying aloud as together they shuddered with their mutual release. They fell apart, half-conscious with release and weak with their shared relief. Still he managed to draw her back against his chest, his big hand stroking her dark hair gently.

"Perhaps," he whispered to her, "we have made a child."

"Ohh, I hope so," she murmured back. "I never thought I should love again, Beau. I resigned myself to a life of shame. While I admire and love my aunt, I am not really like her at all. But then, as in the children's fairy tales, you came and you rescued me."

"How could I not, Marguerite? I loved you from the first."

"Your cousin will be very angry," she said, daring finally to broach the uncomfortable subject. "He will say terrible things to you, Beau. I do not want you to regret what we have done. It would break my heart."

"There is nothing César can say to me,
chérie
, that he has not already said. We have saved ourselves a great deal of difficulty by marrying quietly this afternoon. We sail for Louisiana in a few days, Marguerite, and we shall never see my cousin again. You will love my home, and New Orleans, while not Paris, is still a most delightful city to visit. We will grow old together, Marguerite, surrounded by our children and our grandchildren. Is that not the way it is supposed to be, Madame d'Aubert?" Then his lips met hers, and Marguerite melted into his tender embrace. The nightmare of Charles's death and all that it had entailed was over. Thanks be to
le bon Dieu
, she had awakened not just to a happily-every-after, but to a love such as she had never expected to know. How many women could say that, she wondered. And then laying her head back on her husband's broad chest, she answered him, "It is exactly the way it should be, Beau."

King Louis XVIII was sprawled in a comfortable tapestried chair in Renée de Thierry's private salon, his stockinged feet turned to the fire as he toasted his toes. "This is the only place where I am truly comfortable," he said, smiling up at his hostess, who placed an elegant Venetian goblet of excellent wine in his hand.

"I am pleased to hear you say so, Your Majesty," Renée replied. "You honor my house when you come to visit me."

"Come and sit next to me while César and I have our little chess game," the king invited her, turning from the hearth to the game table.

"I will," Renée answered him, "but first I have a little surprise for you, Your Majesty." She went to the door of the salon, opened it, and said, "You may come in now,
mes enfants."
Then turning back to the king, she began, "Your majesty, may I present my niece, the widow of Lord Charles Abbott, and now the bride of Monsieur Beaufort d'Aubert, of Louisiana."

Marguerite curtsied, her pale yellow skirts billowing about her like a daffodil. "I am honored, Your Majesty," she said softly.

The king kissed her hand, and raised her up so they might speak. "Your parents were the Comte and Comtesse de Thierry, were they not? You look just like your
maman, ma chère
. Do you remember them at all? Such a terrible wicked thing, the Terror!"

"I was only three months old when they were killed, Your Majesty," Marguerite answered him. "It was my Tante Renée who saved me."

"It was a brave act," the king agreed, "and one that should be rewarded, even now." He turned briefly to Renée. "I am bestowing your family's title upon you,
chérie
. You will be known henceforth as Renée, Comtesse de Thierry. That should cause a few eyebrows to waggle," he chuckled, then he turned back to Marguerite. "Your first husband was English?"

"I lived at St. Anne's, near the cathedral, until I was six," Marguerite explained. "Then I was sent to school in England. The Duke and Duchess of Sedgwick were my guardians. I met my husband during my first season."

"Sedgwick? Ah, but of course! He and his friends rescued several people from Madame la Guillotine," the king recalled. "Now tell me how you met this fine young
Americain?"

"The duke introduced us," Marguerite said wickedly.

"When were you married?" the king inquired.

"Sunday, at St. Anne's, and naturally in a civil ceremony as well," Marguerite responded.

"You have given them your blessing, of course, César," the king said.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," the duke said through gritted teeth, a forced smile upon his lips.

"Do you play chess, Madame d'Aubert?" the king wondered.

"I do, Your Majesty," Marguerite said with a smile.

"César, give your cousin's wife your seat. She will play a game with me while you watch," the king commanded.

The Duc de Caraville arose and seated Marguerite politely. "Come and stand by your wife," he said to his cousin. "I am going to help myself to some of Renée's fine wine." He walked across the room to the sideboard, where the decanters and goblets were laid out.

"Let me pour," Renée said to him.

"Bitch!
How you managed this I do not know," he snarled softly at her. "You have made an enemy of me, Renée."

"Do not be a fool, César. You know that they are right for each other. I will not accept your anger, especially as I have something very special for you later."

"But I've
had
her. Those two damned princes too!"

"They will say nothing. They know I have the power to have them sent home to Persia, and they would do anything to avoid ending up in the shah's court. Marguerite wasn't in my house long enough for anyone to remember her, César. Be fair,
mon ami."

"Why should I?" he demanded petulantly.

"Because, César, I know your secrets, and I also know that you do not want all of Paris to know them," Renée told him.

"What secrets?" he probed.

"Rome and, of course, the
difficulties
in Florence," she answered.

He sighed. "I suppose you have it in writing, and well attested," he grumbled. "Damn you, Renée, you are far cleverer than I ever imagined."

"That is because you see women only in terms of pleasure, César,
mon brave
. I did not survive the revolution because I was stupid."

He laughed and raised his goblet to her.
"Pax
, Renée, Comtesse de Thierry," he said. "I will forgive you, and I will forgive them as well. When do they sail for Louisiana?"

"In a week," she told him.

He shrugged. "So be it. Now, what is this little surprise?"

"I have a new girl," she began. "From Nantes. Her name is Michelle. She is sixteen, and you will be her first gentleman, but for her previous master. She is blond and has nice big breasts."

"She is amenable?" he asked.

"Very
amenable," Renée assured him.

"Then let us hope his majesty makes an early night of it, Renée, but no matter when he goes back to the palace, I want my consolation prize."

"And you shall have it,
mon brave,"
she promised him. "Have you ever not had a good time at Chez Renée?"

And thinking back on it, the Duc de Caraville had to admit he hadn't. He smiled down at his hostess. "You are quite wicked,
chérie."

And Renée, Comtesse de Thierry, smiled back. "I am," she agreed. "I certainly am."

Zuleika and the
Barbarian

by Bertrice Small

Copyright © Bertrice Small 2015
Kindle Edition
Published by Butterfly Kisses Press
Originally published in
I Love Rogues
, copyright © 2003

PROLOGUE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Many centuries ago, there existed an ancient kingdom known as Dariyabar, which sat on the edge of the southern desert in the center of the road known as Silk. Its sultan was a good man with three strong sons, and a beautiful daughter who was called Zuleika.

My name is Fatimah. I am a storyteller by trade, and I sit just within the gates of fabled Baghdad telling my stories. Hear now, gentle listener, the tale of the princess Zuleika, and the barbarian, and of how together, although at the time he did not realize it, they save Dariyabar from the evils that threatened to engulf and destroy it.

Even the girl known as Sheherizade does not know this narrative, but I swear by all the gods known and unknown that it is true.

"You would give me to the barbarian for his harem?" said Zuleika, Princess of Dariyabar, disbelieving.

"It is the practical solution to our problem," her cousin, Haroun, said. "Your father, the sultan, agrees." He was a man of medium height with a too beautiful face, dark blue eyes, and curly black hair.

"I thought you loved me! It has been planned since our shared childhood that we marry," Zuleika responded.

"But it is no longer necessary that I marry you, dear Zuleika," he told her. "Your brothers are all dead. I am the only male heir your father has. Even without you I shall be the next sultan of Dariyabar."

"I never realized what a snake you are, Haroun," the princess replied, her voice suddenly cold. The Gods! What a fool she had been!

"You see, cousin," he continued, "I have the throne, and I shall be able to keep my favorite, Golnar, which I could not have done if I had married you. I need a more complaisant wife. I have chosen the vizier's daughter, Bahira. She is a pretty little thing, and will do precisely what she is told. You have never done what you are told, Zuleika, unless, of course, it pleased you to do so. I cannot have a wife who would attempt to rule Dariyabar through me. I need a wife who will be loyal, and never criticize. Bahira will suit me admirably."

"Have you told her
that
yet, Haroun?" Zuleika asked him dryly. Bahira was her best friend. They were like sisters. Haroun was very mistaken if he thought Bahira a meek little ewe sheep who would follow her lord and master without question. She must find a way to protect her friend!

"The time is not right yet for me to announce my choice of a wife. Not until you are safely ensconced within the camp of the barbarian, Amir Khan. I suspect he will be quite pleased to have the sultan's daughter for his new plaything, cousin." Haroun smiled broadly.

"But not as his wife?" Zuleika probed.

"This is not a negotiation we are having with Amir Khan," Haroun said. "You are a
gift
. One does not put conditions on a gift."

"You are a fool, Haroun, if you believe that by giving Amir Khan the sultan of Dariyabar's daughter he will pack up his armies and go away. Do you think he has been besieging us for three years so he might be given the gift of a woman?"

"They say that Amir Khan is an intelligent man. Surely by now he has come to realize he cannot take the city. Without the city, the rest of Dariyabar is useless to him. We make a great public presentation to the khan of the princess Zuleika, Sultan Ibrahim's only surviving child. A peace between us is inevitable under such a circumstance. We give him the means of saving face. He can depart without embarrassment, or shame. After all, cousin, no one has ever successfully besieged Dariyabar."

Zuleika swept her cousin a low bow. "I bow, Haroun, to your clever plan," she told him. Then she turned and left him in the sultan's gardens, knowing as she went that he wore a smug smile upon his too-handsome features. He was a fool! And she would make certain that he did not follow her father as ruler of Dariyabar. But she must work quickly for Haroun, she now realized, was a ruthless man. As soon as he had gotten rid of her, and made Bahira his wife, her father's very life was in jeopardy.

The sultan was a beloved ruler who had brought Dariyabar great prosperity by encouraging a ship-building industry that built merchant vessels that traversed the known world buying and selling luxury goods of every kind. They traded in ivory, gold, silk, and slaves, among other things. Their ships carried fine oils, wines, olives and grains. There was no one in Dariyabar who did not have a home, or food in his mouth each day, or warm clothing and shoes in the rainy season. Children were schooled to their abilities so they might be of use to Dariyabar one day, no matter the circumstances of their birth, or their parents' path in life.

But the sultan had married his only wife late in life because of this deep devotion to his homeland. It had been ten years before his sultana had borne children. But she had then birthed four in the next eight years. Sultan Ibrahim was now in his eighth decade of life. He had watched proudly as his three sons, Cyrus, Asad, and Jahi, had each in their turn sallied forth from Dariyabar at the head of their troops to defend their homeland. But each in his turn was slain, and returned upon their shields. Now he was left to mourn with his surviving child, for the sultana had died giving birth to that last babe, his daughter, Zuleika. The sultan drew his wool shawl about his narrow shoulders, and sighed.

His only male heir was his much younger half-brother's son, Haroun. Sultan Ibrahim had raised this nephew almost from birth for both his half-brother and his wife had disappeared from the palace one night, and were never again seen. It was a great mystery. Sultan Ibrahim had always planned for Haroun to wed his daughter, Zuleika, but now Haroun said that was impossible. Zuleika must be given to Amir Khan as a peace offering. Surely his nephew had Dariyabar's best interests at heart. Hearing a footfall, the old man looked up to see his daughter entering the garden courtyard.

Zuleika went to her father and knelt before him, taking his hands in hers and pressing them to her heart. "Good day, my father," she said sweetly to him.

"Get up, my daughter, and come and sit with me," the sultan said in his reedy voice. "Haroun has spoke with you, I can tell, for your eyes are stormy no matter that your mouth smiles at me."

Zuleika laughed, rose gracefully, and sat by her sire's side. "Haroun is not fit to rule Dariyabar, father," she began. "You know in your heart that his only interest in our land is the riches it can bring him. He will ultimately drive the people to misery." She sighed. "I will do what you desire of me, father. However, for my sake, as well as for the prestige of Dariyabar, I beg you that I go to Amir Khan as his wife, not his concubine. I am your daughter, and the daughter of a princess. I am not some slave girl!"

"Haroun says you are a gift, and we cannot attach conditions of any kind to a gift," the sultan said in a voice that indicated his confusion over the matter.

Zuleika realized then and there that it was useless to argue the matter further with her father. Haroun had convinced him of what he must do, and being a male it was his word that would prevail over hers despite the fact her father loved her. Her facile mind was already forming a plan of action. "It will be as you wish, my father," she told him meekly. "But would you permit me a boon?"

"I will give you whatever you desire, my daughter," the sultan said, eager to please Zuleika under these circumstances. He had to trust his heir's judgment in this matter, and yet he was not certain he was really doing the right thing.

"Other than my servant, Rafa, I would take one person with me when I leave Dariyabar, father."

"You may have whomever you desire, my daughter," the sultan promised her. "You have my word on it. Who would you take?"

"I am not certain yet," Zuleika lied smoothly. "I shall tell you on the day that I leave." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You have not yet told Haroun about Kansbar, have you?"

"No," her father said.

"Do not," Zuleika implored the old man. "Until we can be certain that Haroun's motives are pure, we must not put Kansbar into his hands. Promise me that, father! Swear on my mother's memory!"

"I pledge you silence on Jamila's memory," the sultan vowed to his daughter. "I know you are right in this, Zuleika."

"Thank you, father," the girl said, then arose, and kissing his cheek again she left him with his memories and his thoughts. Hurrying to her own quarters she entered, saying to her servant as she did, "I am betrayed, Rafa. I am to be given to Amir Khan as a peace offering!" Her eyes met those of her best friend, Bahira. "And Haroun has decided to take you for his wife because you are meek and mild."

"Me?"
Bahira looked astounded. She was a plump, pretty girl with dark auburn hair and blue eyes. "I never thought he even noticed me, but I should not marry Haroun if he were the last man on earth!"

"And your father approves of this perfidy?" Rafa demanded, outraged. "My poor master! He is old, and confused. Prince Haroun takes shameful advantage of him."

"Father takes his word over mine only because he is a man," Zuleika said, almost bitterly.

"What are you going to do?" Bahira asked.

"First you must tell me if you are certain that you will not have Haroun?" Zuleika replied. "Think carefully, Bahira. If my plan fails, then you could be the sultana of Dariyabar."

"And if your plan succeeds?" Bahira wanted to know.

"I will be the sultana," Zuleika said with a smile.

"And Haroun?" Rafa asked, her black eyes curious.

"He will not be the sultan," was all Zuleika would say.

"I will take my chances with you," Bahira told her friend.

"Good! I have asked my father for Rafa and one other person to go with me to the barbarian's encampment. He swore I might have anyone I desired. Haroun will not approach your father until after I am gone. I intend asking the sultan for you, Bahira. He has given his word, and will not take it back no matter Haroun's protests. That way I can keep you safe from my cousin." She reached out and took her friend's hand, and the hand of her servant. "Will you both trust me to bring us safely back to Dariyabar? I will, you know."

They both squeezed her hand in response.

"Good," Zuleika told them. "Now let us go and see what Kansbar will show me, provided he is in a mood to cooperate."

Without being asked, Rafa scurried across the room to a tall ebony wood cabinet. Opening it, she drew out a concave vessel, and bringing it to her mistress set it upon a low table. It was a bowl, wide, round, and almost flat in design. It was oddly plain, having no decoration upon it at all, neither carving nor bas-relief. It was dull in color, appearing to be made from some base metal. Rafa and Bahira sat about the low table on red silk cushions. Zuleika knelt before the bowl.

"Great Kansbar, guardian of Dariyabar, and supreme genie of the golden bowl, come forth, I beg you, and speak with me," she said.

The bowl filled with clear crystal water.

"Please, Kansbar, we are in danger, and need you," Zuleika pleaded politely.

The dull bowl suddenly shone itself a bright and shining gold.

"We are at your mercy, and await your august presence," Zuleika murmured.

Suddenly a face appeared on the smooth surface of the water. It was a male face, ageless, and his head was topped by a cloth-of-gold turban in the front of which was set a large pigeon's-blood ruby. Black eyes looked out upon the trio, curious, and perhaps just a trifle irritated at being disturbed. "It must be great danger, my princess, that you are so deferential to me," the genie said. "What has happened, and how may I serve you?" His voice was deep, and like thunder.

"I am to be given to the khan as a gift," Zuleika said. "My cousin, Haroun, has betrayed us. I fear when I am gone he will see my father dead so he may rule Dariyabar."

"He is the male heir," Kansbar said.

"You would serve him?"

"I did not say that, my princess. I said he was the male heir," the genie responded. "I know your cousin's worth even as I know yours Now, how may I serve you today?"

"Show me Amir Khan," Zuleika said.

"It is done," Kansbar said as he disappeared from the surface of the water, which grew dark again.

And then the liquid grew quite light, and there before them was a man. He was taller than any man Zuleika had ever seen. His body was perfect, and in absolute proportion. He was well-muscled, with quite graceful hands and feet. His head was shaven, and from his smooth skull fell a single swath of black hair, dressed with narrow gold bands. His face was beardless. He had high cheekbones, a long straight nose with flaring nostrils, a generous mouth, and dark brown eyes that mirrored his intelligence.

"The Gods!" Bahira breathed aloud. "He is gorgeous, Zuleika! I should far rather have
him
between my legs than Haroun the Handsome."

"He is mine," Zuleika said, quietly admiring the curve of his buttocks as he turned. He was dressed only in a loincloth.

Suddenly Kansbar's face reappeared upon the surface of the water. "Have you seen enough, my princess?" he demanded.

"Yes," she answered him. Then she turned to Rafa and Bahira. "Leave me," she said. "I need to speak with Kansbar alone." When they had withdrawn, Zuleika said to the genie, "I would meet Amir Khan privately when none are about. No one must know that I do this. And I would be clothed in moonbeams when we meet."

The genie smiled sardonically. "Do you mean to seduce him, my princess?" he mocked her gently.

"If I must, but I think not," she replied. "Haroun would send me as a gift, a concubine. It is an insulting gesture to us both. If I must take this man, then it must be as his wife. This is why I need to speak with him, Kansbar."

"Look at me, my princess," the genie said, and after their eyes had met for a long minute he continued, "I see what it is you will say to him, and he should see reason, my princess, for he is not a foolish man."

"How can you be certain?" she asked.

"I do not spend all my time in this bowl," Kansbar said sharply. "While I am bound to serve Dariyabar, I need only come when I am called.
Tonight!
You will go to him tonight, for there is no time to waste, my princess. At the midnight hour I will send a gentle fog across the city and the khan's encampment. All will sleep but for you and Amir Khan alone. You will find his command tent in the very center of his camp. The moon will clothe you and light your way. No one will challenge either your coming or your going. My spell will only hold to the dawn, however."