Desire's Sirocco (10 page)

“I am sick to death of hearing your complaints about Jameela!” Dagan shouted. “If you can not keep a civil tongue in your mouth, perhaps I should whittle it out of you!”

Cowering in fear, Brother Qutaybah held his arms crossed over his face, trembling as he stared up wide-eyed at Dagan. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of the Chancellor’s mouth and already a lump was swelling on his jaw from when his face had slammed into the Grand Master’s door.

Flanking the Grand Master’s door were two personal guards who were hard-pressed to keep from laughing at Brother Qutaybah’s plight. Their lips twitched as they cocked an eye toward the Chancellor then resumed their steady gaze. With pikes held at their sides, their spread-leg stance had clicked into military attention at Dagan’s approach.

“At ease,” Dagan mumbled.

The guard on the left shifted position while the guard on the right turned to open the door for Dagan.

Brother Qutaybah scuttled out of the way, fearing Dagan would trample him if he did not. Scraping his scrawny ass on the floor, he flinched when he heard the rip of fabric and knew he’d torn a hole in his robe on the rough stone floor.

Ignoring the man at his feet, Dagan entered the Grand Master’s chamber, his face set in a grimace. He walked to the center of the room and stopped, waiting for the reprimand he knew was coming.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“Why must you always torment that poor man?” the Grand Master snapped.

Dagan shrugged. “Because I detest the little fart.”

The Grand Master winced at the blue language. He adjusted the covers over his legs. “Pray stop doing so, Dagan. The man is a Bishop of the Order and should be respected for his expertise on the Law. Now because you have offended him—not to mention assaulting his person for the second time this week—he will pout the remainder of the day.”

“Not my problem,” Dagan mumbled under his breath.

“If you would like a problem or two to occupy your time, I can give you more than you will be able to bear,” the Grand Master snapped.

Dagan drew in a long breath. “My apologies. I…”

“Have the arrangements been completed for the Joining Ceremony?” the Grand Master interrupted.

A flash of pain traveled across the handsome planes of Dagan’s face. He lowered his head. “Aye, Milord. All is in readiness.”

The Grand Master crossed his arms over his chest and settled more comfortably against the tall oak headboard of his bed. He studied the warrior standing before him for a long, silent moment then cocked his head to one side. “You would prefer I not take her to bride?”

Dagan looked up. “It is not my decision to make. I would not dare to presume…”

“The hell you wouldn’t!” the Grand Master snorted. “You dare more than any man in the Conclave and well you know it!”

Crimson stained Dagan’s high cheekbones. “If I have offended you in any way, you have my most profound apologies. It was not my intent to…”

“Have you developed a fondness for this girl I had you train?” the Grand Master demanded.

Dagan opened his mouth then closed it. His eyes shifted from side to side as though he were seeking a way out of the Grand Master’s chamber or looking for an attack that might well come at any moment.

“I asked you a question!”

The warrior’s eyes lifted to the Grand Master’s. “What is it you want me to say?” he asked then winced at the anger that suffused the other man’s face.

Throwing back the covers, the Grand Master beckoned Dagan to assist him. “I have to go,” he snarled.

Dagan hurried to the bed and bent over to scoop the Grand Master from the bed. He swung around and carried him to the garderobe placing him gently on the stone seat.

“Useless legs,” the Grand Master complained, slamming his fist into his thigh several times before Dagan reached out and gently took the man’s hand.

“At least you can fuck,” Dagan mumbled then snapped his head up to stare wide-eyed into the Grand Master’s face. “I’m sorry, Hagan, I should not have…”

“You can walk, little brother, and I can fuck,” the Grand Master quipped. “Between us, we’re a whole man, wouldn’t you say?”

Staring into a face that was like looking into a mirror, Dagan felt shame wash over him. He hung his head, his grip tightening on his older brother’s hand. “I am deeply ashamed I said such a thing. Please forgive me.”

“For what?” the Grand Master queried. He eased his hand from Dagan’s hold. “You spoke the truth.”

“Aye, but it sounded as though I blame you,” Dagan said. “Our father…”

“Listened to the Conclave and followed their archaic rules,” the Grand Master sneered. “Neither of us had a choice in the matter. I did not ask to be thrown from my horse any more than you asked to have your manhood removed.”

Dagan flinched. He stepped back, turned and walked a few feet away to give his brother privacy.

“You did not answer my question,” the Grand Master said with a grunt.

“Do I need to?” Dagan asked as he went to the window and opened it. “You know me as well as I know you. That is part and parcel of being identical twins.”

“Not so identical when one can walk and the other can’t,” the Grand Master reminded him.

Dagan looked around at him, but made no comment.

The Grand Master looked about, frowning. “Where is the godsdamned paper?”

A smile twitched at Dagan’s lips as he walked over to retrieve the stack of crumpled parchment. He handed to his brother but when the Grand Master reached for it, Dagan pulled it back. “What are your feelings concerning Jameela?” he asked.

Pursing his lips, the Grand Master snorted. “She’s a pretty little thing and we could both do worse for a wife and sister-in-law I imagine.” He raised a thick brown brow. “Remember the one from Creel Point?”

Dagan rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. I couldn’t teach her anything save how to close that yapping mouth around a cock. She seemed to take to that quickly enough.”

“Aye, but that’s all she can do, I’m told. Brother Justin complains weekly to me of how the woman talks and talks and talks yet says nothing of value.”

“Then tell him to keep her mouth filled with his cock and she won’t pester him,” Dagan said in a dry tone. “Isn’t he the one who complained about his first wife who was too timid to speak? There is no satisfying that Brother.”

The Grand Master laughed as he used the parchment. “Rag,” he ordered when he was finished.

Dagan took a fleecy cloth, poured water over it, wrung it out then handed it to his brother.

Wiping his hands on the rag, the Grand Master nodded. “I suppose I have developed a fondness for our Jameela. She will make me an obedient wife.”

Dagan’s smile slipped away. “Aye, she will. I have seen to it.”

“Take me to the chair by the window,” the Grand Master said and his brother scooped him from the stone seat and carried him to the chair. He pointed to the chair opposite. “Sit.”

“Stay,” Dagan sighed as he took his seat. “Roll over. Fetch.”

“Dagan,” the Grand Master drawled in a warning tone.

“Don’t piss on the carpet,” Dagan added.

“Dagan!” The name was a strong admonishment.

“Don’t chew the chair legs.”

The Grand Master threw his head back. “By the Prophet, if you were anyone other than my twin, I’d have you flogged for your impudence.”

Companionable silence settled on the chamber. Dagan made himself comfortable in the overstuffed silken chair and the Grand Master gazed longingly out the window. Both men’s thoughts were on freedom—one to be his own man and the other to be free of his prison walls.

“It has been on mind to tell her before the ceremony,” the Grand Master said.

Dagan frowned. “Tell her what?”

The Grand Master shrugged. “Who you really are and why our father had you castrated.”

“For what purpose, Hagan?” Dagan demanded. “I can see no difference it would make.”

“She loves you,” the Grand Master stated as he stared out the window. “As surely as the sun rises and sets over yon waves.” He looked around. “And you love her just as deeply.”

Dagan plowed a hand through his hair. “So?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter and even if it did, once she weds you…”

“What if it is you she weds?” the Grand Master asked.

Fury washed over Dagan’s face. “Don’t,” he said forcefully, getting to his feet. “This is not a game, Hagan. I…”

“You could take my place at the Joining Ceremony,” the Grand Master interrupted. “Sit in my rolling chair and take her to wife.”

“And do what?” Dagan shouted. “How can I be a husband to her, Milord?”

Frowning at the title Dagan only used when he was upset, the Grand Master waved a hand. “Sit down, Dagan.”

“No!”

“Then pace about like a caged bull if it suits you,” the Grand Master said, “but I think that is the answer to our dilemma.”

“What dilemma?” Dagan queried, squinting dangerously at his brother.

“I have no need for a wife save for ceremonial purposes. I can’t walk beside her in the garden. I can’t ride beside her by the river. I can’t swim with her there.”

“You can, and do, lie with her,” Dagan snarled, his jealousy turning his handsome face ugly.

“Aye, but that is necessary to produce an heir,” the Grand Master reminded him. “Even with you as her husband, I can utilize my right as Grand Master to lie with her when she is having her fertile cycle. The heir would be mine even if we were not legally wed. No one need ever know.”

“I would know!” Dagan hissed. “Think you I would want my wife to be at your beck and call?”

“You are no different than any other of my subjects,” the Grand Master said archly. “Everyone else considers it an honor that I make use of the Jus Primae Noctis rule.”

Dagan stared at his brother. He knew the man as well as he knew himself and he could see the wheels turning in Hagan Kiel’s head. He also remembered the law that stated no man—under penalty of death—could touch the legal wife of the Grand Master and reminded his brother of it.

“Aye, but she is not my legal wife nor will she be. There is no law that states I cannot touch her. I am the Grand Master, not you. As such, I wish you to marry Jameela.”

“No,” Dagan said, shaking his head. “That’s out of the question.”

“It wasn’t a request, Dagan Kiel,” the Grand Master said. “That was an order!”

“Then have me flogged or thrown into the dungeon or hanged for all I care!” Dagan told him. “I won’t do it!”

“Don’t think I won’t, little brother,” the Grand Master warned.

“Then do it!” Dagan challenged.

“Guards!” the Grand Master yelled.

Dagan blinked as the door to the Grand Master’s chamber swung open and the guards marched in. His lips parted as he stared at his brother. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Will you obey my order?” the Grand Master asked.

Dagan shook his head. “No and it is not fair that you ask me.”

“So be it,” the Grand Master agreed. He looked to the guards. “Escort Lord Dagan to the darkest, filthiest, most vermin-infested cell you can find and chain his insolent ass to the wall!” He glanced at the garderobe then cocked his head toward it. “Do we have a cell directly beneath that?”

The guards looked nervously at Dagan then one another before the taller of the two replied there was a cell near the cistern.

“Then put him there.”

“What?” Dagan yelped.

“You are my brother and I love you dearly but I will not allow you to defy me nor will I treat you any differently than I would any Brother who would dare to deny me what I want,” the Grand Master replied. He glared at the tall guard. “Get him out of here until he agrees to do as I have ordered.”

The guards seized Dagan’s arms in steely grips. He was of a mind to break away, but instead he lifted his chin. It was a matter of wills between him and his twin and he would not fight. He would go willingly to his punishment without complaint.

Cocking an amused brow at his brother, the Grand Master smiled. “You’ll stay there until you relent, Dagan, or you’ll grow old and gray in that vile place.”

“As you wish, Milord,” Dagan agreed.

The Grand Master saw Brother Qutaybah grinning from ear to ear as Dagan was ushered from the chamber. When their eyes met, the Chancellor quickly wiped away the smile.

“Where is my Lady-wife at this moment, Qutaybah?”

“In her quarters, Milord. Do you wish for me to bring her to you?”

“No, but I do want her to know that her Trainer has been incarcerated. Let her know he has defied me and as such, I may well have him flogged for his impertinence.”

Brother Qutaybah unconsciously rubbed his hands together as though eager for such retaliation. “Shall I inform Master Executioner Verial, Milord?”

“I hope it will not come to that but if Lord Dagan has not ceded to my order by nine of the clock this evening, I will have him remanded to Verial’s most capable hands.”

Chapter Six