The Love Slave (10 page)

“I suppose old Erda has told ye that I intend to send ye to my friend the Caliph of Cordoba, and don’t deny it. The old woman knows things in this house even before I do. She’s not loath to share her information with any who’ll listen.”

Regan laughed. “I like the old lady. She’s kind, my lord, in a world where few are. Aye, she told me, and then she explained what a caliph was; but what I dinna understand is what a harem is, and why I must be
trained
properly. What is wrong wi’ me?”

“A harem,” he said, “is a place where a Moor keeps all his women—his wives, his daughters, his female relations, his concubines.”

“Wives, daughters, and female relations I comprehend, but I hae nae heard the word
concubine
before. What manner of creature is it, my lord?” Her puzzlement was honest.

“A concubine,” he said, phrasing it carefully, “is a woman who pleases her master both physically and in a variety of other ways, Regan. He may enjoy her music, or dancing, or even discussing matters with her that trouble him. She can
become his friend, and if she gives him children, her value is increased in his sight.”

“I see,” she said softly, now fully understanding.

“The Caliph of Cordoba is a powerful man,” Donal Righ went on. “His household is large. In order to attract his interest,
and
to retain it, Regan, you must be trained to both give and receive pleasure as no other woman can. I would not just send Abd-al Rahman a beautiful woman for his harem, I would send him a Love Slave. To become a Love Slave, you will have to study the erotic arts and the craft of seduction with a man who is a master of those arts.

“There is only one such man to whom I would entrust you. He is the younger son of a friend of mine. He captains a vessel that sails between Eire, al-Andalus, and his own home in the city of al-Malina on the North African coast. He will be arriving in Dublin shortly on his summer visit. I intend that you go with him when he leaves. When he feels you have attained the highest level that a Love Slave can, he will present you to the caliph in my name. Until he comes, I would have you rest and regain yer strength. Ye have not had an easy time of it, Regan MacDuff, but know now that ye are prized and ye are valued above all women,” he concluded with a warm smile that extended all the way to his eyes.

“I dinna know if I can become what ye want me to, my lord,” she said slowly. “I dinna know how to give, or if it is even possible for me to receive this pleasure ye speak of with such certainty. I hae found no pleasure in coupling wi’ a man, yet ye say I must find pleasure in it, and make the man find pleasure as well. I dinna understand how it can be done, Donal Righ. Perhaps ye would be better served to sell me to some Celtic chieftain for a servant. I can work hard, I promise ye, and my Morag too. If I disappoint ye, then it would reflect badly upon ye, and ye hae been good to me.”

Reaching out, Donal Righ gently patted her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “I do not want ye to fret over this, Regan MacDuff,” he told her. “Yer experience with the physical side of passion has been very limited, and of the worst
kind. Yer sister’s husband was obviously not a man who knew how to make love to a woman. His own pleasure was his only concern. A clever man knows that the more the woman enjoys her pleasure, the greater his own will be. He therefore strives to give her that delight. As for Gunnar Bloodaxe, he too sought only to take his own enjoyment, and to ascertain that you did not lie to him. He did not care how you felt. No man has yet touched your heart and spirit. You have no idea how sweet love can be, but trust me, my beauty, you soon will.”

She did not believe him, of course. She knew he but sought to ease her terrible fears. She was surprised by his kindness. She had never received such patient indulgence from anyone. She could only hope it would continue, at least until he realized that she could not be made to enjoy lovemaking. She sighed sadly, for the first time in her life feeling truly heavyhearted. What would become of her? Of little Morag?

Her depression, however, could not sustain itself. She was clean, warm, and better fed than she had ever been in her entire life. She had a real friend in Morag, who would forever be grateful that Regan had saved her from the common slave market. Morag had learned from listening to the other women aboard ship that the slave market in Dublin could lead at best to a household position, and at the worst to one of the waterfront brothels where most women died within a year or two.

Donal Righ kindly allowed them a measure of freedom within his house. He did not lock them away. They strolled in his private garden, a carefully tended enclosure with two neatly raked gravel paths in the shape of a cross, interspersed with small marble benches. There was a wonderful rose of Damascus, its many pink blossoms now in bloom, their heady fragrance filling the air. The old rosebush climbed up the stones and over the wall into the street below. There was a fountain at the center of the cross that bubbled up from a little round stone pool.

The girls walked atop the house’s walls, watching the harbor traffic as the many and varied ships came and went. They saw small coastal freighters, larger freighters of all descriptions,
passenger vessels and fishing boats, and little cockles that bobbed dangerously across the waters of the Liffey. Each day old Erda shepherded them to her domain, and they bathed. Regan had never realized that her skin could be so clean, or so very soft. Sometimes she thought about Gruoch, and wished that her twin sister could know so delicious a luxury, but Gruoch, she sensed, was not thinking of her. Gruoch was lost to her forever.

One day as they walked upon the walls of Donal Righ’s house, looking toward the sea, they saw a large, beautiful ship entering the harbor of Dublin town. It was a graceful vessel, fully two hundred ten feet in length. It was lateen-rigged, and its sail was striped in cloth-of-gold and bright green silk. It swept up the river to the main dock, nestling alongside the wooden pier, its weathered lines binding it fast to the wharf. Both girls were goggle-eyed.

“I hae nae seen anything so beautiful before,” Regan said.

Morag echoed her sentiment. “ ’Tis a braw ship to be sure.”

Old Erda had joined them, and saw the direction in which their interest lay. “ ’Tis
I’timad
, the ship of Karim al Malina, the master’s good friend. We have been told to expect him.”

“What does
I’timad
mean?” Regan asked Erda.

“Reliance,” came the answer. Then she said, “I had best see my baths are ready for the lord. He is a man who likes the baths, a true Moor. He will have been at sea for many weeks now, and be eager for sweet water and fragrant oils. Stay upon the walls, my chicks. You will see Karim al Malina as he comes up the street. More than likely he will be in the company of his first mate and best friend, Alaeddin.” She chuckled. “There’s a right charming devil, that Alaeddin!” Then she hurried off to see to her duties, for Erda took pride in her office.

They sat upon the wall, watching the street below, chattering about nothing in particular, enjoying the early summer’s day. Then the two men, garbed in long white robes, came walking up from the harbor. As they reached Donal Righ’s house, one of them looked up and grinned raffishly at the two girls. Regan
turned away shyly, but Morag grinned back at the black-bearded man with the twinkling dark eyes. Then she giggled as he blew a kiss at her.

“Ohh, he’s a bold one,” she said to Regan. “And a wicked one wi’ the ladies, I can tell.”

“How can ye tell?” Regan asked. “Ye’ve spent all yer life behind the convent walls. What would ye know of men?”

“Mother Una said she thought me more suited to marriage than the convent,” Morag said frankly. “She was going to make a match for me wi’ one of the local shepherd’s sons. I was to hae a silver coin for every three years of my life for a dowry, and linens too. Mother Una said fifteen was a good time for me to wed, but then she grew ill, and Mother Eubh would nae hear of it. She said that the five silver pieces could be better spent, the old bitch!”

“Mother Una spoke to ye of what transpires between a man and a woman?” Regan probed.

“Aye, she said ’twas no mystery, for if God made it so, where was the evil in it?” Morag explained. “She let me roam outside the convent walls on pretty days. I met several young lads who took my eye, but I nae strayed from virtue’s path, though once or twice I will admit to being tempted,” she finished with a chuckle.

Regan was amazed. Morag could be no older than thirteen, and yet she had no fears about being with a man. Of course she was still a virgin. She could not know the degradation and pain involved in experiencing a man’s lust, or the feelings of total helplessness a woman suffered. Regan wondered if she should tell her. Nay. Why frighten the lass? It was unlikely she would ever have to know the humiliation of submitting to a man’s perverted desires. As the servant of a slave of high rank, she would be protected from such debauchery and brutality. She need never know, Regan decided.

They were called to the baths in the late afternoon, and it seemed to Regan that Erda was fussing over her even more than usual. On her knees, the old woman carefully inspected Regan for any sign of superfluous body hair. Struggling to her
feet, she peered at the girl, turning her about, then finally gave her a small dish of parsley and mint leaves.

“Chew them slowly, and carefully,” she instructed Regan. “ ’Twill sweeten yer breath, my chick. Yer teeth are good, and I see no sign of rot. Yer fortunate. Too many have pretty faces but bad teeth.”

“What is this all about?” Regan demanded of her.

“Why, child, yer to be presented to Karim al Malina in a little while. The master has ordered that ye be brought to him. He has chosen Karim al Malina to train ye in the erotic arts.”

Regan felt suddenly cold. These last few days had been so pleasant that for a brief time she had forgotten what was to come. Donal Righ, to be fair, had warned her.

“Come along, come along,” Erda said, bustling from the baths, the two girls behind her. She brought them to a large rectangular room that was filled with chests. “This is the master’s personal storeroom, my chicks. He has said I may dress ye as I see fit, and I know just what I want for ye. Morag, child, open that chest there.” She pointed.

Morag lifted the lid of the coffer up and gasped with delight. Within it were a variety of fabrics, each one more beautiful than the other. Erda bent over and drew out first a length of white silk, which she handed to Morag.

“ ’Tis a tunic,” she explained. “Take off yer garments, both of ye, and then garb yerself, Morag. Don’t be shocked, for it has no sleeves.” She helped the girl pull the garment over her head. It fell in graceful folds to Morag’s ankles, the neckline revealing the girl’s collarbone. Erda opened a small box and drew out several jeweled pins. She looped Morag’s dark braids against the side of her head and affixed them firmly. Then reaching into the chest, she drew forth a length of silver cord, which she tied about the young girl’s slender waist “There!” she said, satisfied. “Ye look the perfect attendant for yer mistress, my chick.”

Morag couldn’t, it seemed, stop smiling. “Ohh, lady,” she said to Regan, “is it nae lovely?”

“Aye,” Regan told her, smiling back. “ ’Tis indeed lovely. Ye look verra fair, Morag. ’Tis sorry I am ye canna wed wi’ yer shepherd.”

“Shepherd, indeed,” Erda sniffed. “She’s fit for better than that, lady. Now let us see what I have for ye.” Reaching into the storage unit again, she drew forth a sheer, glimmering fabric, narrowly pleated. Its color was neither silver nor gold, but a blend of the two, and it was diaphanous. Erda helped Regan into the garment. It had long, flowing sleeves that came to her wrists, and it was open from the round neckline to the ankle. Erda pinned the gown closed with a golden pin upon the girl’s right shoulder. She stood back, eyeing her charge critically, making small noises as she looked. “Ummmmm. Hmmmmm. Aye!” Moving behind Regan, she took her long hair and fastened it back with a small length of jeweled silk. “When the master tells ye,” she instructed Morag, “just pull it here, and her hair will fan out.” Then she fastened a silk band sewn in pearls around Regan’s forehead.

“Ye can see my nakedness beneath this fabric,” Regan said.

“Aye,” Erda agreed, “but not quite. The gown is intended to tantalize. It is exactly what the master would want.” She turned to Morag again. “Now, child, when Donal Righ instructs ye, unfasten the pin at the shoulder and help yer mistress out of the gown. Ye must be graceful, not clumsy. The catch is simple. Come here and try it. Aye, that’s it! Yer a quick girl, and will be of great value to yer lady. Now go behind her and draw the gown away from her body. Lady, raise both of yer arms as they are freed of the fabric, and put them behind yer head. It lifts the breasts for better viewing.”

Regan gritted her teeth, but she obeyed the old lady. This was not Erda’s fault. She was doing what she was instructed to do. This was Donal Righ’s doing, and he would regret it. When they tried to display her like some animal at a fair, she would rebel. Then this Karim al Malina would see that she was not at all suited to being a Love Slave. Donal Righ would have to sell her to some householder, and she could live at least with dignity, even if she was worked to death.

“Very nice, my chick,” Erda hummed her approval. “Ye’ve a talent for this sort of thing, and ye’ll go far, I warrant. The master will be very pleased with ye this night. Now ye may rest until it is time for ye to redress and be presented. Come, and
we’ll go to yer wee chamber. Morag, child, carry yer mistress’s gown.”

The hum of conversation emanated from the chamber where Donal Righ took his meals, Inside, the fire pit burned merrily, and seated about the table on the dais were three men. The man in the center was Donal Righ. To his left sat the first mate of the
I’timad
, Alaeddin ben Omar. He was a large bear of a man, with a beard as black as night and eyes to match. Those who were ill-advised enough to believe that his marvelous good nature made him a fool, usually ended up at the business end of his scimitar. He was a loyal friend and a ferocious fighter. On Donal Righ’s right sat the son of his old friend, Habib ibn Malik, who was called Karim.