Desire's Sirocco (15 page)

Chapter Nine

The grumbling died down to an occasional hiss as the Grand Master surveyed the Brothers seating below the dais. He made eye contact with each of the Supreme Masters, evaluated their reactions to his statement then shifted his attention to his twin. Dagan was staring back at him with stunned disbelief stamped across his features.

“Do you not see the beauty of such an arrangement, Brother?” the Grand Master asked.

Dagan shook his head, unable to speak.

“Come now,” the Grand Master chided his twin. “You all but run the Conclave as it is. You are my legs, Dagan. Neither of us by himself is whole; together we are more man than any other assembled here!”

Once more there were grumbles but no longer of shock or disgruntlement but rather agreement with heads nodding slowly, glances being exchanged which clearly expressed the concurrence of many of the Brothers.

“Look at it this way,” the Grand Master suggested. “Dagan has no ambition to be Grand Master. Each of you knows this. He is my right hand, my legs, my strength and stamina. It is he who puts the warriors through their paces, who sees to the security of the Conclave. He does what I am not capable of doing.” He cocked a brow. “On the other hand, I can do that of which he is not capable—produce an heir to the Kiel dynasty. I am the brew and our Lady-wife is the vessel.”

Dagan winced and lowered his head. His hands were balled into tight fists in his lap and a muscle worked in his lean cheek.

“I have no love for Lady Jameela but I do hold some affection for her. She has satisfied me on the occasions on which I tested her. I am most pleased with her as my wife.” He shrugged. “As pleased as I will ever be considering I have no desire to be a randy ruler.”

The Brothers chuckled amongst themselves. Such had not always been the case with the ruling family of the Conclave. After all, a ruler much enamored of his sexual prowess had been the start of the Great War in the first place.

“Dagan loves the Lady Jameela and she, him. Despite his deficiencies, she would be most content to be his and his alone but, alas, she belongs to us both and in that regard, we should both have her. Do you not agree?”

“Aye!” came the hearty accord from the Brothers.

All save Dagan, who remained silent.

“Will you gainsay he and I sharing the lovely lady’s favors?”

“Nay!”

“Will there be disrespect for your Grand Master’s Lady-wife should my brother share our bed?”

After a short pause, the Brothers shouted, “Nay!”

“And when there is issue from the Joining,” the Grand Master continued. “Will there be any among you who will question the paternity of the child?”

“Nay!”

“Then,” the Grand Master pronounced, rubbing his hands together. “It is settled.”

All but one Brother stood, eagerly clapping his approval of the suggestion. “Aye!” they yelled in unison.

Dagan lifted his head and met his twin’s gaze. The two men stared at one another for the space of a half-dozen heartbeats then Dagan got to his feet. All around him, the Brothers fell silent, their attention locked on the tall warrior.

“If this is the consensus of the Conclave, I will abide by its decision,” Dagan said quietly.

The Grand Master’s mouth twitched into a hesitant smile for he did not like the stony look on his twin’s face nor did he much care for the hard look in Dagan’s amber eyes. “Good, then it is settled,” he said. “Let us inform our Lady-wife.”

Dagan squared his shoulders. “I must leave that to you, Your Grace,” he stated. “There are problems on the eastern border and my troop and I will be leaving directly after this meeting.”

More grumbling but this time of a worried nature shifted over the hall.

“Prince Sekhem is giving us grief once more?” Hagan asked, his forehead creased in concern.

“I am afraid so, Your Grace,” Dagan replied. “He has stolen many of Lord Fadil’s herd and taken them to the central highlands of Ordo. Unless we get them back before the snow flies, they will end up in the bellies of the Ordonese. I intend to put a stop to these raids once and for all.”

“How long do you propose this mission to last?” the Grand Master inquired.

Dagan hunched one shoulder. “Until the situation is remedied, Grace.”

The Grand Master motioned to his assistant. “Before you go, come to my quarters. I would bid you a proper leave, my brother.”

Dagan bowed in acknowledgement of the command, his clenched right hand over his heart. He stood aside with his fellow Conclave members—their heads bowed—as the Grand Master exited the room, his assistant pushing the rolling chair upon which Hagan Kiel spent the majority of his waking hours.

“This will not be an easy mission, milord Dagan,” Brother Qasim said as he turned to the Master Trainer.

“I fear it will be a very dangerous undertaking,” Brother Alonso put in as he joined them.

“Nevertheless,” Dagan said. “If we continue allowing Sekhem to raid where he will, we will have no meat on the hoof left to the Conclave.”

“You will be careful?” Brother Qasim asked.

“As careful as a warrior can be,” Dagan promised.

* * * * *

Jameela paced back and forth before the elegant settee, oblivious to the beautiful surroundings of her new quarters. She twisted her hands with every circuit of the room, wringing them so tightly, her flesh was rubbed raw in places.

“I told you it would work out, did I not, Wench?” the Grand Master queried his Lady-wife.

“Aye, you did, Your Grace, but I can not help worrying,” Jameela answered.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” her husband cautioned. “My word is law within the Conclave and I have spoken with each Brother individually. None of them has a problem with the arrangement as it stands.”

Jameela stopped her pacing and looked at the man in the rolling chair. “Not a one of them?”

The Grand Master smiled broadly. “Not a one would have dared.” He reached out and patted the settee. “Pray come and sit down, Wench. There is no need for you to worry.”

Chewing on her lower lip, Jameela did as she was commanded, perching primly on the edge of the settee and tucking her legs to the side. “I would not like to be the cause of a problem between you and Lord Dagan,” she said.

“There will be no problem between us,” the Grand Master replied. “The only times there have been wars among siblings within the Conclave, it was over the issue of offspring. In our situation, there will never be a question of who has sired the heir or who is capable of producing one.”

“But what if I can not conceive?” she asked, once more wringing her hands. “What if…?”

“What if the sun does not rise come morning?” the Grand Master countered. “What if the ocean ceases to send waves to the shore? What if Brother Qutaybah grows fat and complaisant and jovial?”

Jameela laughed despite her worry. “I don’t believe any of those things will ever happen, Your Grace.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Especially not the last one you suggested.”

“Then have no fear, you will conceive.” He shrugged. “If you do not, you do not. Should that happen, I will quietly divorce you but you will still belong to Dagan.”

Hearing that, Jameela relaxed though she was still concerned for her lover’s safety.

“He is a prime warrior,” the Grand Master stated. “Have no fear for him, Wench. He will return to us in one piece.”

There was a firm rap on the door and the Grand Master bid entry.

Dagan walked in, his imposing figure dressed for battle. He glanced at Jameela as she came slowly to her feet, but directed his attention to his brother. “The troop is ready to leave for Ordo, Your Grace.”

The Grand Master put his hands on the wheels of his rolling chair and propelled himself forward, shaking his head at both Dagan’s and Jameela’s offer of assistance. When he was close to his brother, he put out his hand and Dagan clasped it firmly.

“Be careful, brother,” the Grand Master bid. “Come back to us quickly and in good health.”

Dagan felt the strong hand of his brother tight around his own. “I will do my best to see that happens, Your Grace.”

“Good,” the Grand Master said on a long breath. “Now, bid our lady a proper farewell ere you go.” He let go of his twin’s hand.

The Master Trainer bowed respectfully then turned to the beautiful woman standing to his left. “Milady, I bid you goodbye until we meet again.”

Jameela raised her chin. “And I bid you godspeed, Lord Dagan, until we are together once more.” She held out her hand and Dagan took it, bringing it briefly to his lips before stepping back.

“Oh, for the love of the gods!” the Grand Master exclaimed. “I’ve seen better fare-thee-wells from peasants on their way to prison!” He bent forward and swatted Dagan on the thigh. “Take her to bed, brother, and make me proud by making her squeal with delight!”

Dagan’s face turned as crimson as Jameela’s and he opened his mouth to protest but the Grand Master raised his voice, making his words a command and not a suggestion. “See to it, Dagan!” he ordered and wheeled himself to the door, yelling for his assistant to open the portal.

The Master Trainer and Jameela stared at the door as it closed. Neither moved nor did they allow their gazes to shift to the other. It was a moment in which both felt keenly lost yet ached to act.

“You will be careful,” Jameela finally asked so quietly her voice was but a breath of sound in the vast room.

“As careful as I have ever been,” Dagan replied.

She went to him, drawing his eyes to hers. Lifting her palm, she placed it gently to his cheek and cocked her head to one side. “I will be worried sick the entire time you are gone.”

He turned his head so his lips were against the center of her palm, his hand up to hers to hold her sweet flesh to his mouth. His kiss was as soft as the caress of a butterfly’s wings before he moved her palm to his chest, placing it over his heart, where he held it firmly.

“Have no fear that I will return to you, milady. I would move mountains to do so.”

“This,” she said, lowering her eyes. “This arrangement is to your agreement, milord?”

It was on the tip of Dagan’s tongue to tell her it was not; that it went against everything in his heart and soul to share her with his brother but he knew he had never had a choice. If he had not agreed to the Demon’s Bargain Hagan had ventured forth, Jameela would have been lost to him forever.

“I have no intention,” he said, clearing his throat of the huskiness that felt as though it were choking him. “Of sharing my brother’s bed.”

“I don’t think he will ask that of you,” Jameela put forth though she wasn’t sure that was true.

“This notion of me holding you while he mates with you is not something I would ever allow,” he said.

“Nor would I like for that to happen.”

“And I will not pleasure you while he watches,” Dagan stated, his chin lifted.

“I am most relieved to hear that although you have watched while he has done the pleasuring, have you not?”

Dagan’s eyes narrowed. “I was commanded to do so but it was not of my choosing, Wench.”

“I won’t…” He stopped then reached out to jerk her into his arms, pressing her firmly to his thundering chest. “I will suffer every moment we are not together,” he said before lowering his head to capture her mouth with his own.

It was a heady kiss, filled with the pent-up frustrations and longings Dagan Kiel had known all his life. Though the dastardly thing done to him by his father had taken away the staff of his manhood, it had not taken the desire. It had not removed the raging craving for the beautiful body of the woman in his arms.

The buckle of his breastplate came away eagerly in Jameela’s hands as she stripped the thick iron protection from his chest. She pressed her lips to his naked chest and felt his fingers threading through her long hair, holding her mouth to his erect nipples as she suckled first one pap and then the other.

“Ah, Jameela,” he sighed, his head falling back as she trailed kisses up his neck and jaw and onto his mouth.

He lowered her to the carpet, his hands roaming over the silken gown that clung to her like a second skin. The material gave way to his questing fingers, tearing, shredding, and coming away as he sought to behold her naked body.

The carpet was soft and Jameela sank into the velvety pile, sighing with the sensual feel of the fibers caressing her naked back and thighs. A faint aroma of cedar filled her nostrils as she lay there, watching Dagan strip the battle clothing from his body. Moistening her upper lip with her tongue, she heard his low growl and shivered. It was the sound of a male animal primed to take his mate.

His hot mouth closed over one turgid nipple, the wetness of his tongue lathing the puckered flesh. His teeth gently worried the tender bud as his tongue flicked in soft, slow jabs at the tip.

“Dagan!” she moaned, burying her hands in the thickness of his dark hair, pressing his head close to her breast. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the exquisite torture. As he suckled her, she felt his hand moving to the core of her passion and when his fingers slipped inside her, she arched her hips up to meet the possessive invasion.