Amongst Silk and Spice (9 page)

Hugo sat in white robes, lent while his own were being tended to. He felt light without the weight of his clothes and mail, wrapped in the silk robes of the Saracens, which were made to alleviate the worst of the heat.

Their host, Marjan, was perfectly hospitable, giving Hugo a room in which to rest with a carved white wall overlooking a courtyard through the small holes, which let in the breeze as well as light. The room itself was cool and Hugo had his own company for a while, with nothing to do but rest.

He lay on the bed as dusk settled and the air cooled. The walls of the house kept this compound very quiet, reminding him of the desert where the relentless quietness was oppressive.

A short time later, a soft knock at the door called his attention and a thin older man waited. "Please to dinner," the man said in broken Latin, but Hugo understood the gist and followed as he seemingly was expected to.

The halls looked very different at night as darkness quickly deepened and Hugo lost track of the halls he was led down, fairly sure he would not find his way back without guidance, but he arrived to join his host at a low table surrounded by cushions. Oil lamps were lit around them.

"I hope you are rested," Marjan said with a smile. Hugo felt comfortable in his presence. They'd spent some time that afternoon discussing the state of European affairs. Marjan had surprised Hugo with his knowledge, which included some intimate information about both the English and French kings. Throughout, Hugo kept thinking that Eloise would probably enjoy the discussion and he'd wondered where she was, feeling uncomfortable that she was out of his reach, but Marjan had assured him that she was being cared for by the women. "The women will be joining us tonight," Marjan said as if reading his mind. "She is very beautiful."

Hugo frowned slightly, but stopped the reaction from marring his face. As his chosen concubine, she would have been chosen for her beauty, but he didn't want to acknowledge it for some reason. "Yes, she is."

A brass carafe was carried over to the table. "Wine," Marjan said as a servant poured two cups. Hugo longed for a drink, having gone much too long without a good cup. "It is not allowed in our religion, but I find I miss it. The Greeks were not particularly accommodating and if you refused wine, you had to wait for the rain to fall if you wanted something to quench your thirst. I developed a taste for it that I now must indulge sparingly. At times I miss it terribly."

Hugo couldn't imagine denying himself wine; it wasn't far off from denying oneself air. Taking the cool metal cup, he placed it to his lips and drew in the dark red liquid. It was good wine and it coated his throat, bringing his mind back to the green fields of France. He smiled. He'd been a soldier so long his mind's eye traveled back to France rather than his own estate in Somerset. "What do you miss of the Greeks?"

Marjan smiled. "A due respect for their culture, but I cannot miss being beholden to another man. Saying that, I am as beholden to the Sultan as I was to my Greek owner, but the knowledge that one is owned weighs heavier than any task one is required to undertake. It places its scars. You English do not have slaves," he observed.

"We have serfs, but they belong to the land. We do not have personal slaves—squires, but they serve out of position and their own advancement."

"It is better, I think, but it is a convenient way of vanquishing your enemies. Your rules forbid it."

"They do," Hugo affirmed. Enemies had to be treated with due respect—ransomed and humiliated, but treated well. Although the idea of selling off the most arrogant of French lords into slavery had an amusing appeal. He could imagine their disgusted indignation.

Taking another sip of wine, he looked around the enclosed space open to the sky. The stars were above them, as well as the moon, but there were too many lamps to show either clearly.

The doors opened and servants came with trays of food, the spiced food the people in this region preferred. It was harsh on his stomach with its intense flavor and heat, but he was hungry. The bread was lovely—light and oily, completely unlike bread he knew, but it was sweet and tasty, and he didn't mind it, even with a little of the spicy gravy from the meat.

Having his fill, he leaned back on the cushions, sipping his wine. Marjan followed suit, drinking from his wine cup. "Your concubine speaks Persian."

"Some, as I understand."

"Not something you taught her?"

"No, my understanding of languages beyond French is poor."

"Even the native language of your lands?"

"I understand it, but I never speak it."

A servant placed a cup on the table. "Ah, the Egyptian gem," Marjan said with a smile. "Ambrosia if there ever was one. Have you studied the old Greek religion?"

"I know the structure. I'm afraid our studies have always been for warfare more than history," Hugo said, almost hearing Eloise's words on the subject echoing through his mind.

"The climate is harsh, I have heard, in your isles. With more water than you could wish for. You treasure it not?"

"It is abundant. We probably treasure wine more," Hugo smiled.

Marjan chuckled and took a sip from the new cup—the Egyptian gem. Hugo had no idea what it was, but Marjan closed his eyes, savoring the taste. He sighed deeply, making Hugo curious about this concoction as Marjan handed the cup to him and Hugo took it. "It produces a restful sleep."

Hugo smiled, realizing it was some kind of draft that soothes the mind. For a moment, he wondered if Marjan was trying to incapacitate him, but had perceived no aggression from the man throughout this acquaintance. Bringing the cup up, Hugo smelled it. It had a flowery smell, like poppy juice, but something more.

The servant came again, whispering something in Marjan's ear. "The women are on their way," he said. Marjan considered him and Hugo felt the pressure to display his trust, taking a sip of the liquid. It had the sweetness of honey and also something very flowery, but bitterness as well. Belladonna, Hugo identified. Belladonna entered the mind, making the world shift. A slight soothing of the poppies flowed through his blood, making him relax. He took another sip, craving the soothing that so deliciously spread through him.

The stars seemed brighter now, or perhaps some of the lamps had been distinguished. The doors opened and softness came, in the form of sweet scents and soft material. His eyes were immediately drawn to Eloise, who was similarly encased in jewels and flowing material. Not enough of it. Her trim waist was showing and Hugo smiled with the indignity he imagined she was feeling. But it wasn't showing on her face; she was staring at the lights of the lamps, following the other women, two of which joined Marjan, who greeted one of them affectionately. Hugo suspected this was Marjan's wife, although he knew noble Saracen's often had more than one, whom to him at the moment seemed an eminently good idea. Women were marvelous—soft, and beautiful, shining like bright lights in the darkness.

He could see Eloise's slim legs through the material. He'd seen them before, but that challenge in her eyes was completely gone now. Music started and two of the women began to dance, undulating their bronzed bodies, drawing his attention to their captivating hips, suspecting the draft he'd just taken helped the floating feeling that was stealing through him.

Eloise moved with the music, swinging her hips and moving her arms around like she was feeling the very air. She smiled, not the bitter or sarcastic smile he'd seen—this was pure joy and it mesmerized him. He watched as her head shifted on her slim neck, and her arms continued to caress the air, softly moving like she was touching a lover. He felt himself tighten. Her breasts were bejeweled, honoring the true treasure underneath—soft, welcoming flesh. He wanted it so badly, to be welcomed, wanted. It had been so long. Actually, it felt like forever. Maybe he had never truly been wanted.

Her hips swayed from side to side and he couldn't stop watching. They were perfect, with her slim legs parting slightly as she moved, the light shining through and the material showing the curves and skin underneath. His hands itched to touch. Even her calves were calling out to be caressed. He could imagine the soft skin under his fingers, wanting it more than anything else he could remember, imaging those hips riding his.

She finally noticed him and her eyes sent a shock through him, holding him captive. She watched him intently, but her eyes were glassy, curious. They had given this draft to her as well, he realized. He chuckled with the idea of it and the absence of her disapproval.

She continued moving, her hands still stroking over the air around her, and her legs rubbed against each other. A wave of pure heat rushed through him. The movement of her hips had him enthralled; he should tear himself away, but he couldn't think why. This was the best thing he could remember seeing.

Hugo forgot there were other people there. Eloise had all of his attention and her eyes returned to him again and again. She was the most delectable thing and he loved her. He'd never loved anything he realized, but he loved her completely and unequivocally.

The beat of the music and its soaring tones played with his emotions and he needed to touch. She knew his thoughts; he could see it in her eyes, and he drowned in their depths. She was a siren and he accepted his death.

As she moved toward him, he couldn't breathe as she came close enough that her knee touched his. The touch radiated through his leg as he looked up at her standing above him—the most beautiful creature in the world.

His hand reached for hers and she didn't pull away, her slim fingers welcoming his touch. She crouched down next to him, her hand still in his.

"I remember such obsession," a voice said. Hugo tried to think, but he couldn't place it, refusing to be distracted from the compelling vision before him. "I think we must leave our guest to the tender care of his concubine."

There was movement, but Hugo didn't notice. His hand ran up the skin of her leg and he wanted to apologize for their rough calluses, but was unable to stop stroking her skin. Reaching forward, he sought her soft lips and she welcomed him. Hugo felt like he was drowning in a pool of deliciousness. Her lips yielded under his, drawing him deeper into her mouth. Pleasure flooded his mind, wiping away whatever scant thought still held on.

She was warm under his hand as he stroked over her knee, her skin impossibly smooth. He was so hard he wondered if he might burst with want. She sighed as she released his mouth and he stroked his lips down the column of her neck. If ambrosia existed, she was it. Her skin tasted golden and her breast pressed to his chest forced his eyes closed to just note the exquisite feel of her body to his.

His hand ran up her thigh as he found a parting in the sheer material. She was a goddess and she was blessing him. Her moan reverberated through his entire body, letting him know he was pleasing her and he didn't think he'd ever felt so proud. She was life itself.

His other hand found a knot at her back and he pulled the material so fine it almost slid out of his fingers as he touched it. The clothing encasing her gave way, revealing her full breasts, crested with pink buds. He had to taste, leaning down and taking one of the luscious buds in his mouth, he teased it between his tongue and teeth. Her head dropped back and she arched into his mouth as he gently teased the tenderest of flesh. Her arms came around his head and her thighs around his waist, giving all of herself to him.

Leaning her back, she was revealed before him and his hand stroked down her waist to her hip, where he was fairly certain true heaven lay. He needed to be inside her, but there were clothes in the way. Her legs were parted for him, welcoming him, but he couldn't find the ties that kept the bejeweled band around her waist and the material that covered her hips and the entrance he so desperately sought. Frustration tore through him. He had her, his goddess, but he couldn't get access to her.

Finally he found the little tie and pulled the knot until it gave and he removed the belt that kept her from him. All barriers were removed now and she was his. He was hard as steel as he freed himself from his robes. Something in the back of his mind urged him to think, but she undulated her hips in anticipation of him and any forming thought lost its grip.

Positioning himself at her entrance, he pushed inside into the heavenly velvet heat, sliding into place in the tight sheath, until he was completely immersed. Pleasure soaked his mind in every way and he shook deep in every muscle trying to keep himself in this glorious state. Her groan threatened his ability to hold on and he tried desperately to calm himself, or he would last as long as a youth with their first touch.

Leaning down, he sought her lips again as a way to distract himself if nothing else, but its sweetness didn't serve as a good distraction. He tasted salt on her lips, and the underlying taste of her that was so enticing, he didn't know what to do with himself. There was also the sweetness of poppies on her lips. Drawing back, he pushed into her again and her hips rolled with his in perfect unison, drawing out every ounce of possible pleasure. His heart beat so hard, he wondered at it not breaking out of his chest.

If he moved again, this would be all over, but she squirmed under him, pulling his hips to her with warm, demanding hands. Her short breaths told him she was enjoying this just as much as him and he felt her sheath convulse around him. "Hugo, please," she uttered and he was lost, knowing he couldn't control this and pulled back again, pushing in with as much force as he dared. Her deep groan of pleasure only drove him on, pushing in again, trying to ride through the intense tightening of every part of his body.