The medieval world of the Reconquista is harsh and brutal. You adapt, you flee, or you die. In that world of passion people take what pleasures they can when they can.
The northern knight, Leonese from his livery, crashed his mace into the hareem guard's sword. The shock of the impact left the guard's hand and arm numb. He fell to one knee at the foot of the two short, wide steps that led down from the portico into the inner courtyard. His weapon dropped from temporarily useless fingers. Behind the knight he could see the flames that were starting to run rampant but had yet to really reach this inner sanctum. The Leonese knight advanced, stepping down and onto the guard's sword, triumph in his eyes visible through the slit in his helm. Then his own fingers slackened and he dropped his mace as a lute crashed into the back of his helmet.
Zuleika had snuck up on the scene on pale, bare feet, wielding her erstwhile musical instrument with nonetheless fiery determination. Her thick, wavy midnight hair and snowy white silk shawl fluttered behind her as she struck the overhead blow with all the strength of her lush body. The knight stumbled and the guard of the hareem managed to grab his sword while swinging his small hand-shield to also crash into the Christian northerner's helmet, further staggering him.
He reared back to strike the killing blow against the knight with his sword when a cry from Zuleika brought him up short. It was maybe half fear, half indignation, the cry. The guard looked up and saw another knight had rushed in and grabbed her by the arm. This one from his accoutrements was clearly a noble. His face was obscured by a Visigoth-style helmet, perhaps passed down, or perhaps merely made to resemble such. The faceguard was crafted to resemble a mask, leaving just his dark eyes and stern mouth to be seen behind an implacable visage.
"I don't suppose you're willing to be taken prisoner. This stronghold has fallen. You will not win this day."
The guard growled and went to rush the infidel but got no farther before the Leonese knight's recovered mace crashed into his head and he dropped. The noble with the masked face shook his head. "That's what I...ah!"
Zuleika had jerked in his grip, trying to stamp at his feet and claw at whatever of his face she could get.
"You've got a leopardess Don Iago," said the Leonese knight. "Her master being dead you're best off slitting her throat too."
That gave Zuleika pause. al-Malik dead? She stopped struggling as her thoughts whirled like a desert wind, absorbing this change to her world along with all the rest and trying to see beyond it to what might be next. Her eyes tracked first to the Leonese knight, now relaxed of posture but still wary, who was regarding the other, perhaps his superior.
Then they tracked to the northern infidel noble, who she was shocked to find was already studying her eyes. Not the beauty of her face, or womanly charms, but her eyes, clearly appraising her and her reactions. Scrutinizing with his own dark gaze to see what lay beneath the surface. She was completely unused to such regard; most men either disregarded her or saw her sharp beauty and nothing else, a bauble, if an exquisitely crafted one. This was altogether different, and unnerving.
"She was his wife. A wife, at least, I suppose." She drew herself up, eyes, practically shooting sparks. She had decided...convinced herself?...she didn't like the way this one was looking at her.
"Wives." The Leonese scoffed. "Heathens. Still, if you could have a handful that looked like her...though, preferably with less spirit than that. I'd rather not get stabbed mid-entry, and this one looks like she wouldn't even hesitate." The way the Leonese looked at least matched her expectations, especially of the barbaric Christian northerners.
The other was clearly not done yet, however. He was, apparently, in charge, so what happened next would be his purview. And his eyes were still watching her with that intense gaze. Zuleika did her noble best to ignore it. "Maybe. Still, a wife of the former lord of this place could be useful when dealing with the local courtiers. Either way, we don't need to give them any greater excuse for hostility by slaying a bunch of women in their quarters. We mean to hold this place. Round them up; keep the women of substance separate from any slave-girls. Slaves are spoils."
The Leonese nodded, the promise of spoils as intended putting him in a very agreeable mood. "As you say, Don Iago. Of course, the place we hold might not actually be this one. Even if the main structures survive, this place might end up gutted. There must be a hundred fires burning."
"A hundred fires or no, this place and its people are now ours."
The two groups of women arrayed in front of Iago were, largely, supremely uncomfortable. It was hardly surprising. Most had spent their entire lives sequestered. Large groups of others, let alone men, were completely beyond their experience. And, of course, in the post-battle furor, few of Iago's men looked especially comforting.
Iago included; though currently unhelmeted, his face was smeared in sweat, grime, and soot from the fires. His armor and clothing showed all the wear and tear he endured in the taking of the town. Still, this was a business he wanted taken care of immediately. Washing off could wait.
"This is all of them?"
"Yes, Don Iago. A couple tried to run, or fight, but here they are."
"Have we found quarters for the wives?"
"The father of the young one," Vistruario nodded at the girl, who couldn't have been much older than fifteen, "he says he'll take her back. Probably already has another groom lined up, seemed the type. The leopardess..."
Zuleika crossed her arms, managing a withering look. The sight made Iago smile and interject "Careful my Leonese friend. I believe she plots to find another lute as we speak."
Vistruario actually looked chagrined when faced with the scathing look, but she soon transferred it to Iago instead, which made him chuckle instead. "Looks like I may not be the subject of her musical talents next time."
"Well, before we find out, has she quarters or no?"
"Of a sort. Makeshift, but everything is right now. Most of us are best staying in the tents until tomorrow. We've got one of the outlying buildings at the back set aside, though, and won't be much to partition off a section."
"The barracks building."
"It was, yes, Don."
Zuleika looked aghast, the other women scandalized, not helped in the least by the soldiers grinning and nudging each other.
"It's the only one that didn't go up while we were busy with The Thing." The Thing. After the resistance the Almohads had put up, Iago's forces had broken through in a fury. Once the victory was secure, and truth be told slightly before, the call for Havok had gone out. Havok....the free-for-all cry of loot and pillage and sack. It was never easy to pull men back from. "But at any rate, we've emptied the building out. None of ours are going to be using it, certainly. We can get some levies or militia to move in what she needs. Have sergeants and nothing less as guards, but use the rest of the building for supplies and storing mass pillage. Button it up, all the privacy she'd need."
Zuleika still looked very unsure, but Iago nodded, trusting the words and judgment of his Leonese lieutenant. "Get it done. You, personally. She is to be considered a princess, and treatment of any lesser caliber will be answered for as an insult to my honor as well as her royal person."
"As you say, Don Iago." He nodded towards the four remaining women. "And them?"
All were dressed alike in fine clothing, all wearing rich ornamentation. They huddled somewhat, fear and confusion writ plain on them. Two were clearly moorish. One, whose beauty made her stand out even in that group, had different, more eastern features. The last appeared of a more northerly cast, but whether a native of Hispania or from further afield was impossible to say.
Iago scratched at an itch on his cheek. "All concubines?"
"Yes."
Iago nodded. "Spoils, like I said. Figure a price for each and offer them as alternatives to other treasure for the high-born among us."
"You are our commander, Don Iago. On you falls first choice."
Iago's eyes flicked over them briefly, then shifted to Zuleika, then back to Vistruario. "I'll stick to treasure. I pass first choice on to you, Vistruario."
Vistruario blinked in surprise, then nodded, then bowed. "You are very generous, Don Iago."
"It is nothing. Now, I'm off to inspect the wounded. Remember, none other is to manage the princess's accommodation."
"I remember, Don."
Iago turned and walked away. He was unaware of Zuleika's eyes following him.
Having attended to the myriad tedious chores which followed the rush of conquest (or, more specifically, reconquest), Vistruario had changed into a simple if well-made tunic. He didn't much go for ostentation. He was only the second generation in his family to be of the knightly class and like most Leonese the elevation had been earned in blood and battle. In fact, that was almost universal in all the kingdoms of Christian Hispania: Galicia and Leon (recently united), Castile, Portugal, Navarre, and Aragon. His armor was meticulously laid out in the corner of his large campaign tent, and his weapons likewise. He had let his manservant tend to the after-battle maintenance of his armor, but he had tended to his weapons himself. He always did. Now, though, the tasks that discipline demanded complete, it was time to ease himself of the day's tensions and enjoy the fruits of the spoils.
The sun going down, the tent was lit by two oil lamps, throwing a flickering yellow light and soft shadows over everything. In addition to his weapons and armor, the tent contained a large chest, a cot, and a small folding table with a chair in front of it. These were all scrunched on one side of the tent now, to make room for the greater portion of the spoils he had been able to claim. Most notably, this included some suits of chainmail armor, several swords, an ironbound chest containing a great deal of silver and gold dinars, and a thick pile of silks and carpets upon which now sat the slave-girl he had claimed for himself. Vistruario crossed his arms as he contemplated her.
He had been rather surprised Iago hadn't taken her; she was entrancing, even in comparison to the others, and Iago had always had an eye for women of dark hair and eyes. And she was that, her shining, dark, curling tresses falling in ringlets just below her shoulders, her eyes, now downcast, a dark brown made even darker by long thick lashes. Her skin was olive, and her features likely marked her as an Anatolian Greek. When Iago had deferred taking any of the concubines from the now-dead lord, Vistruario hadn't hesitated to take up his claim.
"Do you speak Leonese, girl?"
She glanced up at him from under her lashes, but blankly, and made no reply. Not going to be that easy. His Mozarabic was poor, but he figured it was his best chance. "Understand you this tongue?"
"Oh! Yes, sidi. I understand." With that barrier broken, she permitted herself quick looks at him, undoubtedly making her own evaluations. Vistruario vaguely wondered what they were, but it didn't worry him overmuch. He knew where he stood.
"Good, good. A common tongue at least will we have." So to speak, he added in his head. Already he was intently formulating how this evening was going to go. "What name are you?"
She looked a little surprised at the question. "Irene. Irene Makropoulitzous." So Anatolian Greek. Or maybe Cypriot.
"Pretty name. Beautiful girl."
"Thank you, sidi."
"Is nothing. Truth I speak. You are follow of Mohammed?"
She thought for a moment, then caught his meaning. "NO, sidi, I remain Christian."
"How long have you..." he waved his hand vaguely at her, "in this place?" His eyes raked over the whole of her. Though technically well covered in a loose top and pantaloons from neck to wrists to ankles, the pale, silky material was diaphanous enough that even in this light her form was subtly visible. It was scandalous, and it fired him.
She again seemed surprised by the question. She bit her lip, a gesture he immediately took a liking to on her. Her eyes were now steadily on him, clearly trying to figure out what he wanted to hear versus what answer she could believably get away with giving him. He wasn't interested in that game. "Truth. I speak truth, you speak truth. No punish."
She tilted her head slightly on her graceful neck, almost but not quite a doubting look. "Two years, sidi. I was a kitchen girl in Tunis, but then..." she paused; he knew the missing words were 'but then someone noticed my looks'. "I was sold, twice, untouched, before...before I found myself here."
Vistruario pursed his lips; had she sounded petulant when she said the word untouched? "Well, now you are no sell by greedy merchant, buy for fat petty-king. You are win in war and claim by Christian warrior." There was a gleam in her eyes at that. Vistruario smiled, knowing he had said the right thing.
"As you say sidi. I am at your service." The gleam was still in her eyes, and there was honey in her voice as she said the words.
He folded his arms. "Then come here. Serve me."
She slid to her feet in one graceful motion. Slowly she swayed towards him and pressed herself against his side, looking up at him. Vistruario was tall, powerfully built, with sandy hair and light eyes. He was a man who depended on the force he could deliver with his body, who used a mace so he could crush the armor and bodies of his opponents. She was a swan pressed against a bull.
"How would sidi like to be served?" Coyness now seasoned the honey as her eyes gleamed up at him. He slid an arm around her waist and chuckled. She smiled in return.
"Often." With that, he pulled her against him and leaned down, kissing her brusquely.
"Oh, sidi," she murmured when he finally broke away and began to nibble at her neck, his large hands roving across her form. Her hands began to explore him in turn, moving up and down the hard, strong torso. "So different from what I have known."
"You is serve true man now." He pushed her back, then down to her knees while taking her hand and pressing it against his turgid cock. "This need serve too."
"Of course, sidi, oh, of course." She reached under his tunic and pulled at his smallclothes, again biting her lip as she freed his thick, meaty member. The sight of that made him twitch in her hand. Oh yes, he was now dearly fond of that expression on her features.
She began to stroke him, soft hand looking obscenely miniscule around the girth of his hard cock. "Mmm, you hand is good, Irene."
"My poor warrior, has no one served his mighty weapon in a while?" His cock did indeed resemble a weapon, a fleshy club. She shot him a look of satisfaction, then leaned in and cupped his balls with her other hand before kissing the bulbous, dark red head of his prick. That cause him to groan and grab the back of her head with a large hand, entangling the fingers in her curls. It *had* been a while, the whole of his time campaigning to the south, and with the rush of combat and thrill of victory, he was already at a fever pitch.
"Is very long while, little Irene. You warrior is very bad need you serve."
With that she took the head of his cock in her mouth, lips flowing over its hard smoothness, tongue swirling as her hand rapidly began stroking the shaft. The powerful muscles of his body tensed; her eager mouth and hands were pulling him to the brink in no time at all. The rush of impending ecstasy closed quicker than a charging warhorse, an ambush eagerly embraced. His cock swelled, his balls in her left hand pulled up, his jaw clenched. "AH, yes, ah yes, is so good, you do so good..."
His seed burst out forcefully against the back of her throat. She pulled back a bit....just a bit, she wanted to keep him in her mouth and at any rate his hand in her hair held her firm...and began to swallow him as the thick hot fluid shot from his pulsating prick. He let loose a long, low bellow as he emptied his balls of their full load. She took stream after stream in her mouth, only a little dribbling from her lips. When his cock finally stopped and shrank a little in her mouth, she pulled her mouth off and licked her lips, to catch as much as she could, then wiped her hand across her chin while looking up at Vis. He looked down at her hazily, his skin flushed, panting, sweat on his wide brow.
As soon as his eyes focused, she asked in a voice once again all coyness and honey, "Have I well served you, sidi?"
His cock lurched, its shrinking reversed. "No."
He reached down and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her up then pushing her back before finally throwing her back onto the pile of silks and carpets. "No yet."
She landed amid them, well cushioned, her face surprised at his sudden burst. He had endured hardship, deprivation, had toiled and fought and killed. Through all he had survived and excelled, and now he was a victor, an intoxication greater than any from wine. Now he had claimed his spoils; where once he had given now had come the time for him to take take take...
He quickly stripped off his tunic, all his remaining clothing till his hard built form was naked to her eyes. His cock was again at full hardness. She took in the sight, no hint of displeasure on her face. Then he approached her, and she did not pull back. She reached to embrace. But he instead grabbed her blouse in clenched fists. "Is you have more clothes here?"
"N-no, sidi. There was no time...the fire..."
He hesitated a second, then shrugged and ripped her blouse apart to her navel, exposing her smallish though well-formed breasts capped with dark brown nipples. "I get for you tomorrow."
Irene blinked up at him, mouth open, a bevy of passions and emotions crossing her face. Before she could react, however, Vistruario moved over her, kissing and licking at her, her chest, her breasts. She moaned at that, then moaned again louder when his mouth finally latched on to a nipple, which quickly expanded in his mouth. He backed away, grinned, rubbing thumb over the hardened nub, then took the other in his mouth.
Irene's breath was now coming out panted. She moved her arms to wrap around him but he grabbed them instead, holding them in a strong grip over her head while his mouth continued to run rampant across her breasts and nipples. She began to squirm. He shifted, leaving a trail of kisses back up to her neck, and his cock made contact with her lower belly. The feel of it caused her to moan again and undulate her hips. As if it had been a trigger, he let go of her arms, quickly undid the knot at the waist of her pants, then grabbed and jerked them down and off.
That done, he nudged himself between her legs which she spread obligingly, revealing her eager cunt nestled within the dark damp curls. "Oh yes sidi," she breathed. "Oh, take me. Take my bower of bliss for your own!"
Vistruario nestled the head of his cock against the heat of her entrance and grunted. It really had been much too long. "I am no interest in take of bower." He thrust part of the way inside, and she hissed at the stretching of her around his thickness. "I am going fuck you pussy. Am going fuck you much." He pulled back and thrust again, burying more of himself inside her, this time eliciting a squeal in response to the pleasure/pain. He pulled back and thrust again, and again, getting a bit more on each stroke. He was greatly enjoying her enthusiasm, the squeeze of her tightness, the warmth of her. He began to thrust faster, now moving the whole length of himself inside her.
"Oh! Oh, sidi, oh my warrior, oh yes!" Irene hooked a leg around his leg, her other around his waist, arms thrown above her head and back arched thrusting out her breasts. Vistruario took advantage and grabbed them in his large hands, squeezing and pinching and mauling them. Then he took his hands from them and bore down, slamming into her with longer and harder strokes.
"Oooooooh! Mmmmmmmmmm!" she moaned, clutching him in her arms. The continued encouragement drove him harder, was driving him out of control. He was pounding his cock into her hot, slippery pussy at an ever faster tempo. "That's the way! That's it!" She writhed excitedly beneath him. Her pussy was contracting tighter around his prickshaft. He thrust fiercely at her, his entire body intent. He could feel the coming release churning inside of him.
The Mediterranean beauty's face was distorted with passion as she whipped her ringlets all over the silks on which she rested. "Oh, sweet, sweet, so sweet..." she panted, her body starting to climax. She squealed as the waves of pleasure hit her, fingers digging into his back, legs pulling him to her. Vistruario responded wildly, prickles of delight streaking up and down the length of his tingling prick as he drilled it deeper and faster into the clinging hotness of her sucking cunt.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" the Leonese roared as his boiling seed suddenly exploded from his cockhead. His climax was among the most forceful he'd ever experienced.
"Oh, yes, sidi!" she responded hysterically. "Cream me good, you big-cocked darling! Fill my hot little hole with it!" His hard prick was drenched in his own bubbling cum as his spurting cock thoroughly coated the warm, velvety walls of her pussy. He continued driving his prickmeat into her until his seemingly incessant spurts finally stopped. He partially collapsed on her, then rolled to the side, laying beside her panting. She rolled to her side, throwing a leg over his.
"Oh, master," she whispered a little later, as they slowly recovered from their exhausting climaxes. "You sure and truly know how to use a woman."
He chuckled deep in his broad chest. "Is good you think is so. I am no done with you yet..."
"Yes, Lord Cienfuegos. The messenger arrived just a bit ago. He will be given due courtesy, then brought in as soon as he is ready." With an inclination of his head in respect, the chamberlain set about the task.
Iago shifted his weight in the large seat set on the dais of the great hall. He thought, for the thousandth time, that the smell of smoke would never go away. He glanced over at Vistruario. He shrugged in return, unsure what the messenger would say. Neither was Iago himself.
Finally, he appeared, and after perfunctory obeisance, delivered the sealed message. Iago examined the wax seal, then cracked it open. He read the document himself once, pondered for a moment. Then he began to read it to the people present. "His royal highness sends his regards for my management of these, his new lands to the south. He instructs I endeavor to increase their bounty and ensure their defense." Iago looked up, eyes scanning everyone present in the room, before looking back down to the document and continuing. "He regrets that with upcoming preparations for further campaigns and the collection of parias from eastern taifas, that he cannot reinforce, nor inquire to his other commanders to send their levies."
Iago heard Vistruario grunt, saw his other knights give each other sidelong glances, the mayor scowl, the Muslim courtiers adopt the blank faces that covered a desire to grin. This put things on a delicate balance. He had little infantry, barely enough cavalry. His enemy had been defeated thoroughly enough that he hadn't worried over counter-attack; with the stronghold and its surrounding town, he knew he could hold long enough for the king to reinforce the position. Except, the king wasn't going to now. The locals were not, yet, rebellious, but were still being obstructive. He could begin the organization of a town militia to generate infantry, but he desperately needed more cavalry, preferably knights. Most of the cavalry he had were lighter jinetes, and while excellent for patrol and raid he wanted more punch to back them up. But, of course, more cavalry would require more funds. So what he truly needed were some of the wealthy courtiers on his side, so that he could tap their wealth without generating outright rebellion. Except that bringing in cavalry is the last thing that would put the locals on his side. So.
"SCRIBE."
"Yes, lord." The man stepped forward, at the ready.
"Make note. We wish to fund the building of a new church here, to honor God for his help in our victory. Send word to the closest dioceses, and to León and Santiago. We will need priests." Out of the corner of his eye he saw his chaplain start in surprise, then nod vigorously. Good; his signature on the document would help. It would have been better if he had talked to the man beforehand and had him bring forth the idea, but too late for that now. "Let it be included in these requests that the priests should have escort here, by whatever men of strong arms and Godly spirits wish to be here for the raising of a new house for the Lord. We are, after all, a border realm."
Knights once again traded glances, more hopeful this time. The mayor didn't know whether to be hopeful or not, but had at least been given pause. The courtiers remained blank of face, their thoughts now harder to gauge. This would at least throw them off balance, especially since they had half feared Iago would decree the largest local mosque converted to a Christian church.
And their being off-balance made it the perfect opportunity to play the gambit for bringing at least some of them over to his support. Time to capture the queen.
"I know these aren't the accommodations you were used to, lady, but I assure you they are the best that can be provided." He tried to keep from staring; it was difficult. She was fully accoutered and cosmeticized, though she needed little of either. Currently she was sitting in a highly decorated chair which must have miraculously survived the fire. She was the very image of a Muslim princess.
"I expect most of your prisoners do not receive even this much, so I thank Allah you northern louts managed this." For her part, it took much of her self-control to stay still when he turned that intent scrutiny she had had such trouble getting out of her head on her again. Then he laughed and she started in surprised
. "Well, we all work within our limitations, I suppose. But you are not a prisoner. If you truly wish, we will set you outside the walls with an animal to ride south to the remaining taifas, and from there wherever else you will."
She goggled at that, struck silent for a moment, and he chuckled.
"Oh come now, northern louts we may be but we are not completely uncivilized. You are as a princess among your people, and we pride ourselves on our treatment of high-born ladies. I only regret we do not possess the spare manpower to escort you, alas."
She visibly recovered herself. How dare this infidel speak to her thus? And then it struck her that he was leading her somewhere. Her eyes narrowed. "Such an escort would be the least of courtesy, if you truly believed in such."
"Unfortunately, we as always remain bound by our limitations. You could see if one of your own lords would be willing to do you the courtesy." Unthinkable. A woman sent off to where she wanted? "Or perhaps you could strike some other sort of bargain. As a widow, you have options."
That made her frown. A part of her sensed this was part of where the northerner...Iago, she suddenly recalled...had been going. Her options. But essentially they boiled down to a secondary wife of a noble made just as secondary by the fact that the Christians had come south to conquer. Zuleika had never thought of herself as grasping, but she realized part of how she had salved herself for being shackled to a fat frontier prince was that she was the primary wife of such, the lady of his domain. A loss in status would chafe.
"Yes," she finally said. "I suppose that I do."
"Of course, the tides of time have changed. Unthinkable things might now be possible, even inevitable."
She looked at him sidelong, her eyes still narrowed. "An uncivilized northerner speaking riddles. Next a donkey will recite me poetry."
He came to attention and extended one arm in front of him.
"When the Lion at his pleasure comes
To the watering place to drink, ah see!
See the lesser beasts of Al-Andalus
scatter, like blown leaves in autumn,
Like air-borne seedlings in the spring,
Like grey clouds that part to let the first star
Of God shine down upon the earth."
He laughed at her expression. "More than once have I been termed an ass. Such a thing is hardly enough for me to deny a princess her request."
"I'm not, as you well know."
"Not what?"
"A princess. Anymore, anyway."
"You would be by our standards."
She huffed. "Infidel standards. And what are those worth?"
"They might be worth a lot, to you. To your future, and your options."
An odd sensation prickled at her skin, tingled up the back of her neck. Here it was. Whatever this Iago had been leading her towards. She could sense the momentousness bearing down on them like a coming sandstorm. "Another riddle? And...what does that mean?"
"It means you have the option to remain the lady of this place, this town and its stronghold. To continue to be treated the princess you, by my standards, are."
"What are you talking about?"
Iago smiled. "I am the lord of this place now. I mean to hold it. Marrying a princess of Al-Andalus...it would help, in many ways. Help me, help the people. Those born for privilege have duties to go with those privileges. And as for you, you would keep your status, your place. You would not be a secondary wife of a minor courtier, you would be the one and only wife of the lord of the stronghold. Your children would inherit this place, its land, its authority. That is no mean thing." There, he had said it. The thing he had come to say. He felt the relief of having finally let it out.
She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Then she took note of his face, and realized how serious he really was. Then she looked at him as if he had grown a third head.
"But...but you're..." she began, sputtering. "Are you insane?!" Instant regret, the very second she said it. Something in his face fell, pulled back, stiffened. A haze fell over those eyes of his, those intent eyes. 'No no no why did I say that,' she thought to herself. 'That wasn't what I meant to say!' The eyes that had looked at her, not just at a woman, not at just a woman, but at her, as a person, with respect that he clearly really did have for her and he meant it when her treated her a princess and she realized she had never had any man look at her that way that was why she hadn't recognized it and she didn't know what it all meant but why oh why had she said that!
He, of course, heard none of that, saw none of that. Could only see the shock and confusion, and wonder if that was what revulsion looked like. He set his face, willed himself into the disciplined externals of a lord at court, a commander on the field, steeling himself and walling away the roil of emotions inside he didn't understand and didn't dare now explore.
"I might be. But it would hardly be the first such marriage, the first such alliance. There is plenty of precedence. And there is no need for you to make a rash decision. Mull it over at your leisure." The words were said peremptorily, a stark contrast to the previous jovial tone and the improvised poem. "Send me a messenger with your final decision." He bowed his head and turned on his heel. 'Too sudden, too eager,' he thought to himself. 'Approached it like a besotted boy and ruined...'
"WAIT!"
He turned back. She had shot to her feet, bare as usual, he noted, lovely and pale. Her dusky complexion looked red. "I'm sorry, highness. There is something else I can help you with?"
Her eyes were wide, almost desperate. He was gazing at her still from behind his wall. It wasn't what she wanted. Now that it wasn't there, she knew she wanted that look back in his eyes. She didn't know what that meant, was confused by it all, but she knew she wanted it. And she needed to know more. "You want to marry this place, its people, through me?"
A bit of the look began to creep back into his eyes. "I do."
"And you want heirs."
"All men do. I am no different."
Not quite what she was looking for. "Heirs from me, or simply heirs?"
"Ah." He looked down at the ground, seeming to study the tiles for a moment, before looking back. "Just as marrying you would marry me to this place and its people, heirs of you would tie my line to this place."
"And that's why you want me. Why you want a lady of Al-Andalus."
"No, and yes."
"Another riddle. And what does that one mean?"
"Yes, that is why I want a lady of Al-Andalus. The responsibilities of my position, the duty to my king in this place. It is not why I want you."
The direct, intent, appraising look was back in his eyes, and she noticed it instantly. She could not, however, see her own eyes light up in response, the shades of emotion which crossed her face as he spoke. But he did.
It took her a moment to come to herself. "Oh...so then, why is it me that you want?"
Iago pursed his lips, considering how to answer. "Might I have your permission to speak, ah, familiarly?" She gave him another askance look, but nodded. He smiled.
"That. That exactly. You are thinking, considering. You are clever, and cunning. You evaluate what is before you rather than take things at their surface." His smile widened, and he shook his head. "And you are fierce. Never have I seen such a deadly attack with an instrument of music." They both laughed.
"If Vistruario had not had a sturdy helm and sturdier skull you might have done for him. I've never seen the like. A leopardess, he called you. Do you know aught of housecats, lions, and leopards, princess?"
Her curiosity was now written all over her face. "I don't know what you mean."
"Well, housecats, as most know, male or female will wander from mate to mate, not pairing up at all." She nodded.
"Lions, well, male lions will lead the pride, having his choice of the females. Chase off other males, fight to keep his place of course. But should his watch falter, other males will do their best to slip in time with his females, and should his strength falter, the females will go to the new male that toppled the old." Now she frowned, brow furrowed, thinking through his words, the possible metaphors, and trying to suppress surprise that a man, let alone a northerner, seemed to be speaking of philosophy with her.
"And then there are leopards. Leopards pair up. Male and female, they join together and stay with each other for life, come what may. And more, when one of the pair dies, the other will thereafter stay alone unto their death, never taking another to replace their one true match." He locked eyes with her, the rest of the world fading into insignificance, into this one pure moment between them. "Only a fool, or a tomcat himself, would choose the housecat. A man who thinks much of himself might seek to be the lion, to forever expend his energies thereby and yet be toppled at the last."
Suddenly, Iago moved to Zuleika, going to one knee before her, taking her hand lightly in his. She was paralyzed in surprise, eyes wide, her mouth a perfect 'o'. "Perhaps there are times I think much of myself as well. But as for the rest, I would have the leopardess, and the match that even death does not sunder."
Her heart pounded, and she felt as if she couldn't catch a full breath. It was ridiculous, absurd, but why couldn't she pull her eyes away from his? He still held her hand in his. Why hadn't she pulled that away? Shouldn't she pull it away? Had he used some sort of enchantment upon her? She was familiar with such, her father's lands had held enchanters and astrologers both aplenty, along with poets and philosophers. Her father! What would he say? But even as she asked herself she knew it didn't matter, nothing did. Nothing but this.
"Yes," she said, though it felt as if she were outside herself, incredulously watching and hearing herself say it. "Yes, I will marry you." Scandalous! "I will be your lady, your wife." Outlandish! But no less true for that.
He kissed her hand, "Negocio feito," he said in what must have been his language, though she did not understand the words. There was a pause then, a silent moment as if the universe was aligning around the new reality they had made.
A jolt of...something, something she had never felt before, shot through her. She pulled her hand from his, and he stood. Was it fear? Yes, but more, much more. This was nothing like her first betrothal. That had been, at first, blind hope mixed with disappointment at the distant, border-march location of her husband-to-be. Then more disappointment, and perhaps a touch of dread, once she had arrived and seen the corpulent prince in person during the ceremony. And that had finally all given way to resignation at her lot, and the finding of what consolation as there had been. This, on the other hand, was nothing for which she had any precedent in her own life, regardless of the fact northerners had taken Andalusian ladies to bride before (and, of course, vice-versa).
But more to the point, *he* was nothing for which she had any precedent before. She was at a loss as to the churning emotions inside of her as she looked at him, as he looked at her, eye to eye. They shouldn't be looking at each other that way, should they?
"I hope you will not think me too uncouth if I begin preparations immediately. Delay really does us no good, and anyway I do not mean to short-shrift it in any regard, so it will all take time."
She looked him over again appraisingly. He spoke and acted like a proper, educated noble rather than the rough highland bumpkin she had always pictured the Christian kingdoms in the north produced. By Allah, the man knew poetry! And he bore an aura of easy authority, doubtless from long battlefield command, as opposed to her now-dead husband, who had always seemed more like a spoiled, petulant child when he tried to be authoritative. It confused her, but maybe...maybe she was feeling hope, maybe there was room for hope in this. It was the best of her choices anyway, wasn't it?
She realized he was waiting on her for a response. A man, waiting on her word! Another shot of emotion surged through her. Who *was* this man, and how was he doing this to her? "Oh, ah, yes, that is...that is quite alright, that is, I understand."
He smiled at her. Another jolt. She noticed his straight, ready stance, his lean form, imposing yet relaxed. She hadn't seem him actually fight during the taking of the stronghold but Oh Allah, this man justly could be called a leopard! Her emotions tumbled round and about, guilt now waxing within her at the indecent thought.
"You are gracious as you are wise, princess." He inclined his head as he said it.
"How do you know how to speak like this?" she blurted. She frowned at herself as soon as she said it, cursing herself for sounding churlish in front of him.
He raised his eyebrows at the question. "Like what, majesty?"
"I'm sorry, I just...I've never met a Christian lord before, never talked to one." She looked down, breaking eye contact. "You aren't what I expected. At all."
"What were you expecting, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. More like...like the other one, the one I..."
She stopped, but he finished for her. "The one whose skull you nearly caved? That reminds me, I'm going to have to remember to find an Andalusian merchant, or perhaps a Jewish one, to acquire another lute." He smiled again. "I would love to hear you play."
She sucked in a breath at the familiarity of his tone. But then again, hadn't she just agreed to betrothal? She felt like every word he said caught her off-guard, left her feeling surprised and confused, uncertain how she felt about anything. Allah help her how was he doing this inside her? she thought.
He caught her expression, realized he was started to overreach again. He chastised himself for it, resolved to pull back again, but then she raised her eyes to his again and he felt himself pulled into the dark, liquid pools of them, losing himself to them. Dear Savior, what was this, how was she doing this to him? he thought.
"I'm sorry, princess, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"Zuleika," she said.
"Pardon?"
"You may...you might as well call me Zuleika. If we are betrothed." She felt a surge of satisfaction that she caught him as off-guard as he seemed to always catch her.
"We are, yes. Of course. Thank you, Doña Zuleika. I am gratified by your unstinting magnanimity." His piercing eyes seemed to dance. "It bodes well, I think, for our future together. And as for your question, the courts of Galicia and Leon may lack certain splendors well-known in the south, but we do strive. We reach upwards."
She felt a tightness in her chest as he looked at her. Their future. To be the wife of this man who strives (for in her head, his words applied to him, not those others she still thought of in her head as northern barbarians). Her face heated, and her eyes dropped involuntarily from his down to the ground, but she brought them boldly back up to his.
"I think...I think I should like to see our future together," she said, and as she did so felt certain things inside her click into place like the tumblers of a lock long-sealed. This would not be a marriage of resignation, as her first had been. This man fascinated her, and she wanted him.
For his part, Iago saw something, he knew not what, shift in her eyes, in her stance. He said nothing, did nothing a moment, instinct fighting with sense and decorum within him, the voice saying things were well and he should quit while he was ahead. Of course, had he been one to abide by sense and caution, he wouldn't presently have been lord of this stronghold.
Suddenly he was crushing her in his embrace. The warmth of him engulfed her, the heady scent of him. She wrapped her own arms around him. He laughed, and there was a note of wonder in his voice as he did so. She smiled up at him, eyes bright. He tightened his arms around her and picked her up, spun her as she gave a startled laugh. And then they were kissing. Later, neither would be able to pinpoint the moment it began, who kissed who; it was a delirium, a rampant wave which struck them both and knocked them adrift. Of a height, they came together like two sides of a puzzle, fit neatly against each other as their lips ravenously pressed together. His hands at her waist, hers gripping his back.
A fire that neither had known had been banked in them suddenly ignited, overwhelming them both, burning rampant. His grip tightened on her, and he moved his lips to her neck while pushing her back. A small sound escaped her mouth as she was forced to backpedal. A stool was knocked over, and a tray of embroidery, until finally Zuleika's back thudded against the wall. Immediately she hitched a leg up around his, another sound escaping her lips. He lifted her from the waist with his powerful arms and hands while continuing to lavish her neck with kisses. He was going mad with want, the smell of her jasmine-scented perfume, the salt-sweet taste of her skin.
Another desperate sound escaping her lips, she wrapped both her legs around his waist. The move caught him by surprise, as he was used to Christian women and their full skirts, eliciting a growl as he ground his now painful hardness against her. The unmistakable feel of it, the heat of it even through layers of clothes, made her moan with want. He stopped his wild kisses to look up at her face, locking eyes, both their expressions now fogged in desire. This look in his eyes, still intent and piercing but laced with need of her, made her almost giddy and she fought down a giggle.
She couldn't resist a smirk, however, as she dropped her legs from around him and then pushed on his chest. He backed a step, and she pulled his tabard up and over his head. He helped her then undo his fine linen shirt and pulled that over his head as well. She sucked in her breath as she contemplated his lean, rippling form, here and there scored by various scars. He watched her as she ran her fingers all over his torso, across the well-defined muscles, lightly over the scars, and even his nipples. His body was a figure of maleness that made her heart thud, which she was completely unfamiliar with, and she meant to take all of it in. He remained impassive, leaving her the initiative, another feeling new for her. Her smirk widened into a lascivious grin and she pushed him back another step from the wall.
On impulse, she leaned in to kiss his chest, her lips full and moist. His skin shivered, small goose-bumps appearing. This encouraged her and she delivered plentiful kissed all over his chest and belly, exploring the rugged terrain of him with her mouth. Finally, curious, her hand gripped the bulging hardness of him through his breeches. He hissed in response. This time she couldn't resist a throaty chuckle as it bubbled up from within her. Her hand on him claiming him for her own as he continued to watch her actions, her deft fingers began unlacing the breeches as her mouth played across his taut abdomen.
She was no blushing maiden, and they both knew it, but never had she felt like this. Her wet pink tongue dallied at his navel just as her hand took hold of his bare, rigid manhood. She pulled it free, burning hot and starting to throb from desire. She marveled over it for a moment, its color, its shape, its texture, the mass of it as she held it. Her breath played over it as she leaned in, her deep rich brown eyes flashing a look up at him. The look alone pulled a groan of want from the back of his throat. She smiled to herself and took his hardness in her mouth. He tensed as she rolled her tongue over the head, savoring the provocative taste of him. She reveled in not just the sensual pleasure of it, but also the knowledge of how strong an effect she had on him, how much control over him she was exercising even here, on her knees with him in her mouth.
Removing the head from her mouth, the fiery-eyed Moorish princess began licking the underside of his tumescence. She sought to learn it, to map it, to find its every curve and ridge. To her shock he seemed to swell even bigger, stiffer. At her pause, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up to stand before him again.
He lifted her up again, the power of his form belied by his lean, compact frame. Instinctively her legs circled his waist, and he greatly thrilled thrilled at the novelty of the position and showered a wealth of kisses on her breasts. She shivered at not just those kisses, however, but also the contact of his engorged manhood with the thick curls of her womanhood. He shifted her and gripped tightly on her waist, and his crest was now kissed by the lower lips which were hot and swollen. Her dewy moisture soon coated it.
He eased her down as she relaxed her thighs on his side, and with a mutual groan synchronized by pleasure he broached her sheath. She took utmost pleasure in the feeling of herself stretching to accommodate him. He lifted her as she worked her hips and she took more of him as she came down. Whimpering at the deliciousness of the sensation she rested her chin on his shoulder.
When she did, she caught sight of the large mirror she had been provided out of the corner of her eye. As he shifted his hands to her thighs and ass, she turned her head to watch it. It was as if it was a window to two other people, yet she felt every movement she saw throughout her body. He lifted her and she saw his shaft appear glistening beneath her, and watched and felt as she came down and it seated fully and deeply inside her. Her arms draped over his shoulders, legs tight around him, his grasp of her firm and sure, they settled into a smooth rhythm, his arms and the undulation of her hips allowing her to rise and fall over the full length.
He groaned in abject delight, and the sound and sights and sensation all combined to spur her on to faster and faster pace. He gladly obliged, in desperate want himself. Onward they raced to their own mutual crisis, moving together as if one flesh. Every thrust merely drove him to complete the next, and she quivered and quivered from womb to fingertips as she watched their mirrored frenzy over his shoulder. Finally she could take no more and her limbs tightened powerfully on him as she reached her desperate culmination. She let out a loud cry and melted against him, bathing his cock in her copious moisture. The rapid, wanton contractions, the squeeze of her, drove him beyond endurance and he burst within her, gushing jet after jet of his seed deep inside. The accompanying cry was nearly a prayer so lost was he in the rapture of it. It felt as if all his very essence was emptying into her.
Quickly weakening, he let her down, and they collapsed together on the carpet. Bereft of strength, they lay together entangled. At length, breath and a modicum of energy returned to them, though they were both overcome by heavy languor. She nuzzled into his side, and he wrapped an arm about her.
"Oh, sweet Zuleika, never have I felt such."
She chuckled into him, sliding her leg up his and savoring the feel of skin on skin slicked with sweat. "Allah willing, my lord, we will both feel such many more times to come."