Rajasthani Moon (17 page)

She returned to full consciousness to find herself pinned between the brothers, invaded front and rear by their urgent cocks. Never had she felt so full, not even when Amir had forced her to ride his evil saddle. The Rajah and his sibling were fatter and longer than the protrusions on that device. They pulsed with blood and sexual energy. They burnt inside her like candles, illumining the space around their conjoined bodies.

Pratan and Amir had found a shared rhythm. They thrust in unison, plunging into her body then drawing back to leave her hungry and empty. At the deepest point, she knew they could feel one another’s hardness. The notion thrilled her.

The dirigible lurched and shuddered, toppling them onto their sides, still joined. Cecily scarcely noticed the alarming movements. She was engrossed in the feel of the men entering her from new angles.

Pratan drew her close, his tongue mimicking the movements of his cock as he kissed her deeply. “Cecily,” he murmured. “Ah, sweet…”

Behind her, Amir rooted between her rear cheeks, triggering waves of shameful bliss. He combed his fingers through her knotted hair and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. Although he was silent, Cecily sensed the tenderness in his touch.

They arched and grunted with Cecily sandwiched between their straining bodies. Under her persistent arousal she felt an odd serenity. She’d climaxed so many times that, despite the pleasure of their intrusion, she doubted she’d come again. She was wrong, however.

Pratan roared and ground his cock into her pussy, flooding her with his seed. Amir’s crisis came an instant afterward, triggered by his sibling’s. The feel of him spurting in her rear hole, while Pratan still jerked and shuddered against her, drove her to the brink and over one last time. As she tumbled into bliss, she felt wonderfully safe. Both of them held her, tight.

* * * *

A brisk wind sang through the dirigible cables. Cecily’s eyes fluttered open. Pratan and Amir had collapsed on either side of her. They appeared to be dozing.

“Hey! Wake up! Damn it, wake up!” She shook the Rajah’s limp body.

“Um…” Amir met her anxious gaze with a typically insouciant grin. “What’s wrong, pet?”

“What the—? Who was steering the airship, Amir, while you were down here rutting in my ass?”

“Autopilot. One of my recent inventions. I set the course, and the ship adjusts its altitude and speed depending on the information it receives from the altimeter, anemometer, and other instruments. Relax, Miss Harrowsmith. We should be at our destination shortly.”

“What? Already?” She turned to Pratan, who was stirring and stretching his lanky body. “I thought you said the trip would take three hours.”

The Rajah pulled out his chronometer. “We’ve been travelling for two and a half so far.”

“That’s not possible…”

“Time flies when your attention is otherwise engaged.” Pratan grinned and tried to rearrange her clothing, which currently bared more than it hid. “I told you we’d take care of you.”

“Pratan and I decided that we should, um, distract you, to help you get past your fear of flying.”

“You told Amir I was scared to fly?” She wheeled on the prince so fiercely that he actually cringed backward into the pillows. “That was supposed to be a private confidence.”

“It was for your own good. I knew we could help you.” He leaned in to nibble her ear. She brushed him away. “Do you really mind? It seems that our intervention was a rousing success.”

“I— Well, as far as you’re concerned, Pratan, I don’t mind—much—but
you
…!”

“Consider it a farewell gift, pet.” The Rajah shook his head. His voice was rueful. “Sarita has made me promise that after the wedding I’ll be faithful. No more fun and games. I figured this might be my last chance to enjoy your considerable charms, Miss Harrowsmith.”

“Hmph!” Would Amir really honour his vow to his new bride? And, if he did, would Cecily mind at all? She surveyed the Rajah’s lithe body. His spent penis still dangled outside his pants. His fancy robe was wrinkled and stained with sex-juice. His hair was tousled. His lips looked as red as ripe strawberries. His hypnotic eyes sparkled with energy and intelligence. A most desirable man, even if he was something of a snake.

He grinned. “Also I decided it would be a true shame to waste all those hours of training…”

“You… You…!” Cecily looked from one brother to the other. Both wore expressions of amusement and affection. “Well…at least it won’t happen again.”

“Probably not,” Pratan agreed, smothering a laugh. “You’re not a virgin any longer.”

With a snort of indignation, Cecily turned her back on the pair and made a valiant effort to comb the tangles from her hair with her fingers.

A high-pitched chime sounded from the control panel.

“Ah, we’ve arrived.” Amir cut the engine and let the craft drift. “Come here, Cecily. Look upon the secret wealth of Rajasthan.”

He beckoned her to the wall, which was easily low enough to allow a clear view of the ground below. A brass handrail ran around the top. A spark of fear flickered through her. It was a very long way down.

Pratan was at her side, his arm around her waist. “Don’t be concerned. Trust me, sweet—I won’t allow you to fall.”

Lacing her fingers with Pratan’s, holding her breath, Cecily approached the rail and peered over the edge.

It was like gazing into the sun.

Undulating fields of brilliant yellow stretched in all directions. At first that was all she could discern—a lemony brightness that glowed with some inner light. She squinted against the glare and realised that the land was actually carpeted with a dense growth of flowers. Given the height from which they observed the ground, the blooms must be immense, a foot or more in diameter. They bore some resemblance to sunflowers, but they grew far more densely, and closer to the earth. Furthermore, they had an odd luminescence, as though they captured the sun’s rays then released that radiance back into the air.

“What…?”

“Oilflowers.” Amir gestured towards the horizon. “We cultivate thousands of acres. One bloom can power an airship like this for several days. Looked at another way, one oilflower provides as much energy as an ounce of viridium. ”

“But how…? Are they natural?”

“Mostly. We found the original species in a few valleys here in the north, twenty years ago. The local villagers had already discovered that the flowers give off light, even at night, and that the oil you get from crushing them could be used to power a lantern or even a plough. They’re incredibly rich in energy. We crossed the original oilflowers with plants that grow well in this climate, and developed techniques for raising them in bulk. My father began the project, but didn’t really have the expertise to figure out how to store and distribute the power. Now, though, we’ve pretty much overcome those obstacles.”

“Are they difficult to grow? I don’t see any farmers or anything down there.”

“At harvest season, these fields will be teeming with people. I’m also working on automatic harvesting machines. But getting the flowers to produce
is
a bit tricky. Also, they’re customised for our environment. I doubt, for instance, that you could grow them in England.”

Cecily surveyed the vast expanse of gleaming yellow. The land fairly pulsed with power. “Amazing! Absolutely incredible. This is worth a fortune. Her Majesty would trade the crown jewels for this much energy.”

She realised that the Rajah and the prince were both staring at her with suspicion. “Calm down! I’m not going to betray you. However, I think this gives you significant bargaining power. A carefully designed licence agreement—limited technology transfer—if you’re willing to share some of this, you can probably name your price.”

“All we want is our independence,” said Pratan. “And actually, we have that already. I’m really not sure what the Empire can offer us.”

“At this point, we don’t need, or want, viridium,” Amir added. “Really, we’d just prefer that your Queen left us alone.”

“What if your neighbours were to invade? Wouldn’t you appreciate military support from the Empire?”

“Our neighbours, for the most part, mind their own business. Furthermore, our technology is more highly developed than theirs.” Amir turned to the control panel. “If you don’t have any more questions, why don’t we return to Jaipur? Sarita will be concerned if we don’t get back before dark.”

The name of the soon-to-be-queen of Rajasthan triggered a brief pang of guilt. On the other hand, Cecily’s recent interactions with Amir had been his idea, not hers. And he’d sworn fidelity to his bride after the wedding.

The engine sprang to life. The airship shuddered as Amir manipulated the rudder to modify the direction of flight. Caught in a cross-current, the ship swung sharply to the left, throwing her off balance and against Pratan. The prince steadied her, taking the opportunity to caress one breast in the process. Cecily realised her fear of flying had vanished completely.

She gazed out at the retreating sea of shimmering yellow. What would she tell the Queen? If she returned empty-handed, she’d be branded as a failure—or possibly even a traitor. In truth, some of her actions over the past weeks had not been in the Empire’s best interests. She should have stolen what information she could and made her way back to England, as soon as she was able. Instead she’d lingered and dallied with men who would most certainly be considered Her Majesty’s enemies, if they were unwilling to share their secrets. The Rajah appeared confident that he could repel any military threat from the surrounding countries, but did he really believe he could oppose the Empire’s war machine?

Pratan took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You don’t have to go back, you know.”

“They know I’m here. It will arouse suspicion if I don’t send some report of my activities and my findings. I can’t simply disappear.”

“Why not? We haven’t replied to that enquiry yet. We could tell them you suffered an unfortunate accident. That you succumbed to one of the awful diseases that afflict our poor, undeveloped country. That you were devoured by wild beasts. A ravening wolf.” He brushed his lips over hers and something inside her began to melt. “A whole pack of them.”

“The Empire will simply send someone else.”

“We’ll deal with that when it happens.” He drew her away from the rail and into an embrace as tight as any of his bonds. “England is a long way from Rajasthan, Cecily. We have plenty of time to consider a strategy for handling your successor.”

I can’t
, she wanted to object.
My career is my life. I’m Cecily Harrowsmith, Her Majesty’s agent. How will I live with myself if I betray my country and my Queen?

Pratan took possession of her mouth, probing deep, the way she loved. Like lizards interrupted while sunning on a wall, all her questions skittered away.

Chapter Seventeen

“Ghirat khandara jeemun jimayun

Soney mai chonch mandayun kagaa

Jad mehara peevji ghar aavey…”

The veiled singer’s voice, crystalline and brimming with emotion, rose into the night sky. Seated with the dignitaries along one side of the elevated pavilion, Cecily watched Amir and Sarita perform the
phera
ceremony. They circled the sacred fire seven times, hands clasped tight, while the song celebrated their love. The orbits complete, they performed
satapadi
, seven steps to the east, towards the sun, symbolising their first journey in their new life together.

Individually and together, they were magnificent. Sarita wore a crimson
ghahgra
with dozens of gem-encrusted pleats, a matching
choli
, and a gold-embroidered sari so diaphanous and light it floated like mist behind her as she moved. Rows of tiny diamonds had been affixed above her eyes, their sparkling arches like a second set of brows, and a teardrop-shaped ruby shone in the centre of her forehead. Gold dripped from her earlobes and draped her breasts. Gold bangles encased her arms from the wrist to the elbow and clasped her dainty ankles. A tiny gold loop set with rubies pierced one nostril. Even from across the spacious wedding platform, Cecily could see the intricate curlicues of henna and turmeric patterning her hands and feet, which were also decorated with gold and jewels.

Meanwhile, her face was luminous with joy. Sarita had finally achieved her heart’s desire. According to custom, Cecily had joined the other palace women in helping the bride to don her jewels and other finery. Under the intricate necklaces adorning her throat, the new queen wore a simple golden collar, bestowed upon her by her Lord and master, symbolising her recommitted devotion.

Amir’s costume was less gaudy, but no less regal. His fitted
sherwani
of cream-coloured silk brocade showed off his broad chest and narrow waist. Gold buttons marched down the front, matching the dangles in his ears. His loose crimson trousers and the
duppatta
slung over his shoulder were the same hue as Sarita’s gown. Sarita was barefoot, but Amir wore red silk slippers with curling toes. A gold and red turban perched on his raven locks, decorated with a pure white ostrich feather so tall it brushed the draped silk that canopied the pavilion.

The Rajah’s expression was more inscrutable than his bride’s. However, his solicitous manner as he assisted Sarita in seating herself suggested that he would bestow upon her the love and the care that she deserved.

They made an exquisite couple. When the white-garbed priest invited the assembly to join in petitioning the gods for the Rajah’s and Rani’s happiness, health and fertility, Cecily joined in the prayer with complete sincerity.

As the chant died away, Amir kissed his bride, and a chorus of cheers rose from the crowd. The pavilion had been set up in the same enormous courtyard where Cecily had witnessed the new moon ceremony what seemed like a lifetime ago. Amir had apparently invited a good fraction of the capital city’s population to witness his nuptials and attend the feasting afterward.

Tables laden with traditional delicacies lined the perimeter of the vast open space. The formalities concluded, Amir’s subjects gladly availed themselves of the Rajah’s beneficence, clustering on woven mats strewn with pillows with their plates piled high. The wedding party and most honoured guests ate upon the raised platform.

Cecily sat cross-legged near one of the pillars that supported the wedding tent, picking at the savoury yogurt curry, spicy
dal mekni
and
ladoos
so sweet they made her teeth hurt. A peculiar and illogical melancholy afflicted her. After all, she had every reason to celebrate. Sarita had achieved justice and legitimacy for herself and her unborn child. Amir was luckier than he realised to have such a clever and capable woman as his spouse. The soothsayers predicted the Rani would give birth to a son and heir. Pratan had been relieved of the burden he’d borne since puberty and was now free to assume his rightful position as his brother’s deputy rather than living as an outcast. Meanwhile, Cecily had, against all odds, accomplished her mission. She now knew the reason Rajasthan was able to defy the Empire. No longer the Rajah’s captive, she could return to England to make her report to the Queen and convince Her Majesty that the Empire should abandon its attempts to make Rajasthan submit once more to its authority.

Why was her mood so dark?

Her eyes sought out Pratan, who sat at the Rajah’s right hand on the opposite side of the pavilion. In his gold-embroidered black
sherwani
and crimson turban, he was almost as resplendent as the groom. Cecily had seen far less of him than she would have liked during the nearly ten days of nuptial festivities that had culminated tonight. Since Amir’s father was deceased, it fell to his brother to play the traditional role usually reserved for the groom’s male parent. As soon as the plan for the wedding was established, Pratan had journeyed to Maharashta to formally seek permission for Sarita’s marriage from her royal father. Given that the woman had been betrothed to Amir as a child and had served as his sexual slave for years, Cecily thought this peculiar, but the prince had assured her it was required for the sake of protocol. He’d been gone almost a week. Then when he’d returned, Amir had tasked him with a whole range of responsibilities relating to the celebration.

He’d spent most nights with her—Cecily was grateful for that at least—but on the eve of the final ceremonies, custom required the bride and groom to be kept apart, each attended by relatives and close friends of their own gender. Cecily had been segregated with Sarita and her women. They’d gossiped long into the night, telling ribald stories and boasting about their men’s virility. Cecily had kept uncharacteristically quiet. She found all the talk of sex made her miss Pratan’s physical presence even more.

He was busy now, occupied in explaining something to Sarita’s father. She watched his animated face, his lively, expressive hands. She recalled the delight those hands could coax from her body. A hollow ache throbbed under her breastbone.
Look at me,
she broadcast, but the prince appeared to be oblivious to her silent plea.

Music rang out through the plaza. The drums beat the infectious rhythm of the Ghoomar dance. Women whirled in time, their full skirts billowing around them in clouds of colour, while turbaned men whistled and clapped their hands. Normally Cecily would have been itching to join them, but tonight her feet felt like lead.

I’ll just return to my room. I can pack my things and be ready to leave early tomorrow.
The Rajah had promised her safe passage as soon as the wedding was out of the way. “Sarita insists that you don’t go until then,” he’d added.

Cecily had been happy to comply. She owed Sarita her life twice over. But now it was time for her to go home. Despite her affection for Sarita and her helpless attraction to Pratan, she didn’t belong here in Rajasthan.

As she gazed at the wedding party, Amir pulled Sarita into a kiss so laced with sensuality that it made even Cecily blush. Her nipples tightened as she briefly imagined herself in the bride’s place. Nobody on the dais seemed to notice. Most, including Pratan, were focused on the dancers.

Enough. Why torture yourself?

As unobtrusively as she could manage, she rose to her feet and descended the steps leading to the courtyard floor. Picking her way among the wildly twirling bodies, she headed for the corridor that led to her quarters. It was more difficult than it should have been, because, despite her best efforts to suppress them, her vision was obscured by tears.

Someone grabbed a handful of her hair, halting her already-slow progress. “Cecily! Where are you going?”

“Ow! That hurts!” she complained, but she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face when she saw the worry in Pratan’s.

“My apologies, lady. I called out to you twice, but you didn’t stop.” He ran his fingers through her heavy locks, turning his rough gesture into a caress. “Why are you leaving? The party is just getting started. Don’t you want to dance?”

“Not tonight. I think I’ve had enough celebration over the last two weeks to last me for a year.”

“The Rajah wants to see you dance.” Pratan grinned under his drooping moustache and Cecily remembered that, despite his finery, he was a lawless bandit—a wild animal. Lust shivered through her.

“I’m sorry to disappoint him. However, I’m tired and I don’t feel like dancing tonight. I thought I’d go to bed early.”

“Without me?” He gripped her hair tight again, pulling her against his silk-covered chest. Her knees grew annoyingly weak.

“You seemed to be occupied. Which is perfectly appropriate, of course, given your responsibilities to your brother…”

“Have I been neglecting you, sweet?” Before she could stop him, his hands were sliding up under her
choli
, massaging the underside of her breasts. He teased her nipples and flames shot through her, liquefying her core. “I’ll have to remedy that…”

“Pratan, wait, we’re in public… Stop!”

He obeyed, somewhat to her regret. “Sorry. You are devilishly difficult to resist.” He released her, leaving her pining for his touch, and took her hand. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

Cecily let him lead her away from the plaza, through the maze of corridors and up multiple flights of stairs, to the aeroplatform on the roof.

“What? What is it, Pratan?” There was no aviation activity at this time of night. She scanned the ranks of parked aerocopters and noted the two dirigibles, their still-inflated gas bags blotting out parts of the star-strewn sky. “Why are we here?”

The prince strode off towards the far corner of the triangular tarmac. He pointed to a shiny, silver-coloured airship unlike any that Cecily had ever seen. About thirty feet long, its tapered cylinder of a body reminded her of an overstuffed cigar. Glass enclosed the upper half of its conical nose. Two pairs of stubby wings emerged from the sides, parallel to the ground, and a fin protruded up from the centreline, reminiscent of a fish.

“This is the
Chameela
. My brother’s latest invention, a gift from him to me on the occasion of his marriage.”

“It’s… It’s amazing—but will it really fly?”

“Like the wind. I’ve already taken several test flights. She can make it to the oilflower fields in Sri Ganganagar—and back—in under an hour.”

“A trip that took nearly six hours by dirigible?”

Pratan nodded. “This is probably the fastest airship in existence—the most advanced in other ways, too. It incorporates Amir’s autopilot capability plus many other innovations.”

Her Majesty would do anything to get hold of this ship,
Cecily thought, old patterns asserting themselves. Well, that wasn’t going to happen, not if Cecily had anything to do with it. The Rajah and his people had earned the right to freedom. But why had Amir given such a fabulous mechanism to his brother?

Pratan answered her unspoken question. “You got Amir thinking, with your talk of politics and alliances. He’s appointed me ambassador-at-large for Rajasthan.”

“You? An ambassador?” Cecily laughed out loud, recalling her first meeting with the rough ex-brigand. “I’m sorry, you’ve never struck me as the diplomatic type. But what does he want you to do?”

“Your Empire rules vast portions of the world at the moment. But power depends at least partly on technology. The balance may be about to shift. The Rajah has instructed me to visit various countries, kingdoms and territories who might be happier in a looser alliance, not under the control of the British Queen.”

“You’d challenge the Empire?”

“The challenge won’t come from our side. However, if Her Majesty should try to enforce her authority using military means, the more countries we can count among our allies, the better.”

That seems only fair. Although I suspect Her Majesty would not agree.

“I’ll be leaving for Madagascar in a few days.” Pratan slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “From there, I’ll go on to Siam and then Cochin. At some point, Amir wants to send me to America. The Yanks are known for being the independent type. I think we might get along with them well.”

“Well, um, what can I say? Bon voyage…” Her cheeriness sounded false even to her own ears. She stared at the sleek airship so he wouldn’t see the gleam of her gathering tears.

“Come with me, Cecily.” Raising her chin, he forced her to look into his eyes. The ferocity she saw there stole her breath. “I know you want to.”

“But… I can’t. The Queen…”

“She doesn’t need you. She’ll find other minions to do her business for her. But
I
need you, Cecily—I need you desperately. If only to teach me how to behave like a gentleman rather than a savage.”

He bent to her trembling lips and gave her what she craved. His arms snaked around her, holding her tight while he devoured her like a ravenous beast. Cecily stopped fighting, stopped thinking, and allowed instinct to take over. Nothing on earth felt as right as kissing this man.