Enchantress Page 16

  “Yes,” John said. “You'd better take the opposite direction from now on. Shall I walk you to your chambers?”

  “No,” she took a deep breath. “I’m fine, it’s only a little further and Bohemund’s gone now. Thank you for the valiant rescue.”

  “My pleasure, fair maiden,” John bowed deeply and winked at her before walking away.

  The horror of Bohemund’s attack quickly disappeared in the light of John’s smile and Ayla breathed a sigh of relief. All would be well, she would just keep to her chambers from now on and leave only when Rannulf accompanied her. She'd been confined to the rooms before and had been just fine.

  She was still telling herself how everything would work out for her and Rannulf when she rounded a corner and saw him take the hands of a beautiful Seljuk girl. She pulled back in shock and flattened herself against the wall.

  It couldn’t be! No, there was an explanation and she was just being silly. She poked her head back around the corner to be certain. Rannulf was still holding both of the girl’s hands in his but this time they were locked in a passionate kiss.

  Ayla’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp of horror that threatened to escape. Her lover was false! She'd been doubly betrayed this day, once by Bohemund and now by Rannulf. Bohemund’s attack was minor compared to Rannulf’s falsity. There was no explaining away that kiss, he was playing her for a fool. All this time she'd believed his declarations of love. She'd let him own her and use her, thinking that he at least loved her.

  Well he didn’t love her. He was a wicked Infidel who worshiped one male god and thought that made men superior to all women. He probably thought there was nothing wrong in lying to a Pagan woman to get her to bed him. How he must laugh at her and joke about her to the other men.

  She couldn’t help it, a tear slid down her cheek and more threatened to break free. She ran back down the corridor, not caring where she headed as long as it was away from him.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ayla was still shaking when Rannulf returned to their room, later that evening. He walked in with a cheerful air and went straight to the table where the servants always laid out their supper. When he sat down he finally noticed Ayla, out on the balcony.

  “Come in and eat,” he called to her but she didn’t move or even look at him. Rannulf frowned and got up to walk over to her. “Ayla?” Ayla turned to look at him with a dazed expression. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know what to do, Rannulf,” she said quietly.

  “About what, love?” Rannulf reached out and stroked her hair.

  She searched his face for any sign of betrayal but it was the same face she'd always known, the face of the man she loved. His eyes met hers without any guilt, only an open concern for her. Maybe she'd misinterpreted the kiss after all. She'd tell him about Bohemund’s attack first to try and buy some time to think it over before she attacked him with assumptions.

  “I was attacked in the corridor today.”

  Rannulf inhaled sharply and began to shake with rage.

  “Again?” His voice was deadly calm. “Who would dare? He's a dead man.”

  Ayla took a deep breath before she answered, “Bohemund.”

  “Bohemund?” Rannulf pulled away from her like she had burned him. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true, Rannulf,” Ayla frowned in dismay. “He forced himself on me.”

  “Stop it, Ayla,” Rannulf shook his head and walked back into the room.

  “Stop what?” Ayla felt the beginnings of anger. “Stop telling you the truth? He attacked me, he forced himself on me. Why do you not believe me?”

  “Bohemund is the very one who gave you to me, Ayla,” Rannulf turned narrowed eyes on her. “If he'd wanted you, he would have kept you for himself. In fact, I believe he hates you. He has never spoken a kind word of you to me.”

  “So you don't think him capable?”

  Ayla couldn't believe the pain in her heart. He didn’t trust her. His friend had attacked her and Rannulf took his side immediately. It was all just a sham. Her first assumption had been correct, he had never loved her.

  “He is capable,” Rannulf said quietly, “just not with you.”

  Ayla had never felt so hurt and betrayed in all her life. She walked over to Rannulf calmly and just as calmly slapped his face. His face barely moved but soon a red handprint became visible on his cheek.

  “You go too far,” Rannulf growled and pulled her to him.

  He looked down at her and her cool expression just enraged him further. He took the collar of her entari in his fist and tore it down to its hem. The delicate fabric fell away, slipped down her arms and drifted to the floor. Ayla pulled back from him in shock and Rannulf tightened his grip to tear her salvar from her as well. She shivered from fear, standing before his rage with nothing but her long hair to cover her.

  He picked her up and threw her to the bed, then quickly pulled his tunic off. Ayla wasn’t about to meekly await him, she shot off of the mattress, but Rannulf was too quick. He caught her and tossed her down once more, this time he quickly covered her body with his.

  “Is this what Bohemund tried to do to you?” Rannulf taunted as he grabbed a breast roughly. “Or is this what you wanted him to do?”

  “Get off me, you bastard!” Ayla hissed, refusing to be cowed by him.

  “I knew I wouldn’t keep your interest once you were free to roam about,” he continued. “But I told myself to trust you. I should have listened to my instincts and never trusted a woman. All of you are the same, deceitful harlots that only want a man as long as his cock is hard.”

  Ayla gasped at his harsh, demeaning words and began to thrash against him. He was beginning to look as crazy as Bohemund. Maybe John was right, maybe men went insane after so much bloodshed. She kicked and clawed like a wildcat but Rannulf grabbed both of her hands and held them pinned above her head.

  He pulled down his breeches and entered her roughly. Ayla screamed in rage and pounded against his back with her feet but Rannulf just laughed crudely. His heart was breaking with the cruelty of her betrayal and he wanted to make her hurt as deeply as she'd hurt him. To accuse his best friend of such an act was absurd. If the wench had been smarter she would have found another victim for her hateful accusation. Bohemund had probably rejected her and she'd concocted the story to protect herself from his allegation.

  Rannulf pounded into Ayla viciously and she tossed her head and snarled at him, trying to bite his shoulder. Rannulf used his free hand to hold her down but when he looked in her eyes his heart clenched and he had to look away. He concentrated on his pleasure and soon he came inside her and rolled away in disgust.

  Ayla curled on her side, pulling her hair about her like a cloak, and cried bitter tears of loss. Her world, her love, her trust, had been completely destroyed by his horrible attack. She thought of the babe growing in her belly and hugged her hands protectively over her middle. She knew now that the time had come for her to leave. She couldn’t bring her child into this and he didn’t want to be born here. He'd asked her himself to take him home. She should have listened to her son and left right then but maybe this was what she needed to be able to leave Rannulf.

  Rannulf looked down at Ayla’s crumpled form and felt a horrible twinge of regret. He started to reach out to comfort her but stopped. She'd betrayed him and his love, coldly, and he wouldn't comfort the viper now. He pulled his breeches up and pulled on his tunic then slammed out of the room.

  Chapter Forty

  Two hours later, when Ayla was sure Rannulf would not return, she crept quietly through the chamber to her altar. What she needed was an invisibility spell. Ayla smiled a little at the title, it being impossible to truly make yourself invisible. The spell simply made you unnoticeable, people would walk right by you without a second thought. Later they might realize that they'd seen someone but they would be hard pressed to remember who.

  Ayla walked around her beautiful laboratory and gat
hered the ingredients for the spell. She placed them on an empty space on the table and began to measure out the ingredients into her mortar and pestle. When she had the measurement just right, she started to grind them all to a fine powder. She poured the powder into a special bowl and went to kneel before her altar.

  Holding her hands over the bowl she began to speak the words of power. When she felt the energy flow down her hands into the powder, she picked up the bowl and emptied the contents over her head. She felt light tingles flow all over her and knew the spell had worked.

  Quickly, she folded up her little altar, saying a small prayer of thanks that it had been made for travel. She put her God and Goddess figures into a sturdy box and went to the shelf to get down the book her father had given her. The rest would have to be sacrificed. She had to keep her load as light as possible. She thought of her child again and wondered how far along she was. She hadn’t had her flow for several months but she had always been irregular. It was fall, she could probably expect the baby by early spring. What a perfect time to give birth. She had to concentrate on that now, or the heartache of losing Rannulf would consume her.

  She walked back out into the quiet chamber and packed a bag with her clothes and belongings. She took one more look around her lavish prison and sighed. She'd made many wonderful memories in this room. She thought of the things he'd said to her, how he'd vowed that he loved her as he had never loved before. Why then was it so easy for him to choose another over her? Anger filled her body and she walked out of the room without another glance back.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Rannulf woke up with a horrible headache. He put his hands to his temple and groaned. What had he drunk last night? He could barely remember. Then it all came back to him. Ayla had betrayed him and he'd used her sorely in his anger. Then he'd come down to the main hall and drunk himself into a stupor. He opened his eyes and looked around. Yes verily, he was still in the main feasting chamber.

  He groaned and slowly got to his feet. Trying valiantly to ignore the pounding in his head, Rannulf made his way through the maze of corridors and then upstairs to his chambers. He opened the door, half expecting Ayla to be waiting for him with a dagger in hand.

  Surprisingly, it was dead quiet in the room. His brow wrinkled as he looked around. Where was she? He peered about with a growing sense of unease.

  “Ayla?” He called, but there was no answer. “Ayla!” He ran out onto the balcony and found it empty. “Ayla!”

  He rushed into her laboratory and stopped short. One of the cabinet doors was thrown open and her favorite book, the one her father had given her, was missing from its place on the shelf. His heart stopped as he looked around more carefully. Her little altar was gone and several bottles were missing from the table.

  He rushed back into the main room and threw back the lid to her chest of clothes. All that remained was the beautiful red entari he'd chosen for her to wear their first night together. He picked it up and held it to his face. It still smelled like her. Roaring in anguish, he dropped to his knees and cried into the red silk.

  Ayla felt Rannulf’s cry through her soul. She shivered and stopped a moment to look back over her shoulder toward Antioch. Her lover mourned for her and her heart ached in response. Part of her was happy he suffered and he didn't completely hate her. Another part of her whispered that he was the one who'd betrayed her and could not suffer enough for the hurt he'd caused.

  She leaned down over the neck of her sleek, white stallion and whispered her need for haste to him. His ears perked up and he sped forward as if he understood.

  The wind wiped away all traces of her tears as she sped toward the Euphrates. She would avoid Aleppo as she had heard it was in Infidel hands now. Instead, she'd go straight to the river crossing and on into the lands her tribe inhabited. Soon, she would be back in her father’s arms.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Rannulf ran through the palace like a madman, searching for any sign of Ayla. No one could remember seeing her. The guards were confused, they would have surely recognized the witch and stopped her had she tried to escape. Yet at the same time there was a magnificent white stallion missing from the stables and Ayla was nowhere to be found. How had she managed it and why had she not escaped Yaghi-Siyan in the same manner if she could have?

  Rannulf stalked through the corridors till he came to John’s room. John was the only one who really knew Ayla from before. Maybe he would know where it was that she headed. He knocked violently on the door and it soon opened to reveal the frightened priest.

  “My Lord Rannulf,” John said in shock, then he saw the fear across Rannulf’s features and moved back to let him in. “What is it, m’lord? How can I help?”

  “She’s gone, John,” Rannulf said softly.

  “Who’s gone?” John was so confused. “Ayla? Is Ayla missing?”

  “She’s left me.” Rannulf cried. “I hurt her and she left me.”

  “What have you done?” The priest was frightened for Ayla and the child she carried.

  “I raped her,” his words were a whisper.

  “You what?” John gasped and went to sit on his couch.

  “She betrayed me,” Rannulf tried to justify his actions but his excuse sounded weak even to him.

  “How did that precious woman betray you?” John’s eyes were hard and accusing.

  “She tempted Bohemund and then tried to tell me he'd attacked her.” Rannulf held his chin up high, under the shame of her lust for another.

  “You stupid fool,” the priest rose to his feet to glower at Rannulf. “Bohemund did attack her.”

  “What?” Now Rannulf needed to sit down. He crossed the room to the couch and fell upon it.

  “I heard her screaming and when I found her she was laying on the ground, where she'd fallen after that monster hit her.” John spoke a little softer now.

  “But you didn’t see Bohemund attack her?” Rannulf started to lose the small spark of hope that Ayla had not betrayed him.

  “Stop right there, Sir Rannulf,” John chided him. “Bohemund was bleeding from the mouth and Ayla was flushed and terrified. She told me later that she'd bit his tongue when he forced himself on her. There's no doubt in my mind that he attacked her. Besides, there's the fact that she loves you.”

  “She didn’t betray me?” Rannulf leaned back in misery. “What have I done?”

  “You’ve driven away the greatest love in your life and the mother of your child,” the priest said matter-of-factly.

  “Must you rub it in…the mother of my what?” Rannulf sat up straight and grabbed the priest by the shoulders.

  “She carries your child, you dumb oaf!” The feisty, little man slapped at Rannulf’s hands in annoyance. “She was unsure whether or not she should tell you. She said you would never free her and she didn’t want her child to be born into slavery.”

  “How could she think I would enslave my own child?”

  “Maybe she simply thought you wouldn't allow your slave to keep your child?” The priest raised an eyebrow at Rannulf and he groaned.

  “Who knows what she thought, after last night.” Rannulf sighed. “I’ve made a huge mess of things. Tell me this, priest,” Rannulf looked over at John. “Why didn’t she escape before, if it was so easy for her?”

  “Yaghi-Siyan enslaved her with more than chains,” John said slowly. “He would have hunted her down and killed her whole tribe, including her beloved father, had she left. She stayed for their sake.”

  “And then after that, when it was only I who held her captive?” Rannulf’s face betrayed the fact that he already knew the answer to his question.

  “She stayed for your sake,” John said quietly.

  “Where has she gone, John?” Rannulf gripped John’s arms and pulled him to his feet. “Tell me where her tribe is.”

  “My Lord, you cannot think to go out into her territory,” John cringed under Rannulf’s glare. “Her tribe is nomadic, they're never in the same spot for long
.”

  “They stay in a certain area though, don’t they?” Rannulf shook the priest. “Tell me, John!”

  “They will kill you, m’lord,” John shouted back. “You cannot travel those lands without an army and I don’t think Bohemund will lend you his.”

  “I will go alone if I have to, but I will go,” Rannulf fell to his knees and although he was still almost face to face with the little priest, John was nonetheless touched by his misery. “Please, help me. I can’t live without her.”

  John put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. He liked the knight. Rannulf was a good man and if anyone was a fitting match for Ayla, it was he. John took a deep breath. If Rannulf died from searching for her at least he would not have to live in such desolation.

  “Her tribe inhabits an area across the Euphrates, south of the city of Saruj,” John said and Rannulf jumped to his feet and hugged the priest.

  “Thank you,” Rannulf said whole-heartedly.

  “May God be with you both,” the priest whispered fervently.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Ayla!” Faruk’s eyes watered as he stared in disbelief at his only child. News of the fall of Antioch had traveled quickly to them and he'd given her up for dead.

  “Father!” Ayla leapt off the stallion to launch herself into her father’s arms. He held her tight, her hair catching his tears.

  “I thought I'd lost you,” he wept openly before the tribe that had gathered around, to welcome back their lost priestess.

  “The Infidels let me live because I saved the life of one of their knights,” Ayla said as she let her father lead her through the camp.

  All around her, her people cheered and stroked her lovingly. Ayla smiled wanly at their welcome.