Enchantress Page 5

  “Rannulf,” he cried as he knelt. Rannulf groaned and twisted his head to look up at Bohemund.

  “You have to pull the arrows out,” he said. Bohemund said a quick prayer and gripped the first shaft. By the time he got to the third, he was sweaty and shaking. He looked around him and found to his surprise that the battle had turned again. Kerbogha was truly in retreat.

  “Arnaud,” he shouted for his squire. The man appeared shortly.

  “My lord?” Arnaud was covered in blood but thankfully, it was all Turkish.

  “Fetch a cart for Rannulf.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ayla watched, from her balcony, as the soldiers surrendered the palace to the infidels. Yaghi-Siyan had abandoned her, escaping through a secret passage into the mountains. She knew this day would come but she still shook with fear. Would she live to see the next sunrise? The Infidels would surely want her dead, after all she had inflicted upon them. She just hoped she’d get to see her warrior once more.

  Almost as if she had conjured him, he appeared. She gasped as she saw him rolled into the courtyard on a cart. He looked as he had in her dream, dirty and covered in blood. She gripped the stone wall anxiously and shouted down to the men, disregarding her own safety.

  “Bring him to me and I will save him.”

  The men below looked up in shock, not only was the sorceress herself before them but she was offering to save one of them. One man separated himself from the others and stared at her curiously. His face was etched with concern for his wounded friend and he couldn’t decide whether or not he should trust her.

  “Quickly,” she shouted at him, “or he’ll bleed to death!”

  Bohemund gestured to the men and they lifted Rannulf from the cart and carried him into the palace. She paced the floor, unable to open the locked door and go to them. She felt her imprisonment more in those moments than ever before. Finally she gave up and ran to her laboratory to get the supplies she’d need. She quickly filled her arms and placed the items on her bedside table.

  Soon, she heard a commotion outside her door and then a loud smash as the outer lock was broken. Then he was there. They carried him to her bed and placed his bloody body down on her silk blankets. Before she could approach him, Bohemund grabbed both of her arms roughly.

  “I’ll make a devil’s deal with you, witch,” he growled. “I love that man like a brother. Save him and I shall spare your miserable life but if he dies, you will follow him into the afterworld... slowly.” She nodded her head quickly but he continued to hold her firm.

  “I will save your friend, m’lord,” she vowed. “But you must release me.” He finally let her go and she rushed to Rannulf’s side, pushing through the men. “Get back and let me work.”

  Bohemund nodded to his men and walked over, to stand at the bedside opposite Ayla. He watched as she cut his clothing away with a knife. Two of the arrows had gone clean through one shoulder and one had hit him in the hip, he’d have to be bound on both sides. Ayla started to wash away the blood and Rannulf stirred and opened his eyes. He looked up at her in amazement.

  “So beautiful,” he said and just like her dream, he raised his hand up to stroke her cheek. “What’s your name?” She smiled at him, happy that she could finally tell him.

  “Ayla,” she said gently. He smiled weakly and closed his eyes, once again unconscious.

  Bohemund gaped at them, having seen the entire heated exchange. He'd never seen his friend so taken with a woman, Rannulf wasn't one given to spouting sweet compliments. When he needed a woman, he found one that would do for the night and made no comment about it. For him to look on this woman like that, tell her she was beautiful, was like seeing his horse speak French. Bohemund grinned as the solution on what to do with the sorceress presented itself.

  “Treat him well, witch,” Bohemund said slowly and waited for Ayla to glance up at him. “He's your new master.” Ayla trembled a little at the man’s words but from fear or excitement, she was not sure. Either way, it felt like her fate had just been sealed. She gave Bohemund a curt nod and set to work.

  An hour later, Ayla had managed to bind all of Rannulf’s wounds and stop the bleeding. All the men had left, except Bohemund, who sat at the head of the bed, peering at Ayla’s tools and jars. She went to the table and lit a charcoal for the brazier.

  “I need to be alone with him, my lord,” she said quietly.

  “Forget it, witch,” he growled. “I’m staying.”

  “He’s close to death,” she said gently as she sat down next to Rannulf. “I need to give him strength. The only way to do that is through my magic.” She looked him in the eye, steadily. “I need to be alone to concentrate.”

  “How do I know you’ll not poison him, like you did the others?” He stared her down. She didn’t back away from the accusation in his eyes, merely acknowledged it with a nod.

  “I had no desire to hurt your men then and I still don't,” she finally looked away to put a chunk of Dragon’s Blood resin on the coal. It started to smoke immediately and fill the air with its spicy odor. “You said I would die if he did,” she reasoned. “I've no wish to die.”

  Bohemund scrutinized the woman’s face for any sign of falsity. Damn, but Rannulf was right, she was beautiful. Too bad, she was so evil. Maybe his friend could find something she was good for. Finally satisfied, he stood up and walked out the door.

  Ayla sighed and went to her altar to gather her statue of the Earth Mother, Yer-Sub, and the sacred water. She returned to the bed and climbed up onto the mattress beside Rannulf. She put the statue on the pillow before her and took a sip of the sacred water. When she was centered, she began the chanting. Soon she felt the tingling of great energy traveling through her and she called on the Goddess to help her save the warrior.

  She reached out and spread her hands across his chest. Pain shot from his body to hers and she screamed in agony but she didn’t let go. She allowed the pain to course through her and then released it. Soon, there was nothing but power filling her. She pushed the power into him and Rannulf’s eyes shot open. He grabbed her arms and pulled her up and onto his body.

  Rannulf had been drifting through a painful fog when Ayla’s magic had released him. The power she sent through his body brought him back and made him feel more alive than he ever had. He opened his eyes to see her bent over him, her long, thick hair falling about her like a cloak, her incredible eyes closed in concentration, and her tiny hands soft upon his skin. He couldn’t resist the urge to pull her close. He wanted to see her looking at him again. Ayla. He finally knew her name and he repeated it over and over in his head like a prayer.

  She her eyes shot open in shock and she looked down into his. They changed as she watched, going from turquoise to green, and she gasped as she felt the reason for the change pressing up against her belly. He smiled at her and rolled over so that he loomed above her. Slowly, he traced the lines of her eyebrows, cheeks, and lips. Her heart raced madly in confusion. She hadn’t expected the magic to work so quickly and she especially hadn’t expected this to be the result.

  “I don't even know your name,” she whispered.

  “Rannulf,” he said as he lowered his lips to hers. She pulled back and put a hand between them. He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Is it still ‘not the time’?”

  “You remember?” She asked, amazed that he could still recall the dream she sent him. The magic should have stolen away the memory once it had served its purpose.

  “How could I forget?” He grinned wider, now that he had confirmation that she had indeed sent him the warning. “I must admit, I thought it was just a product of my imagination until your attack the next morning.”

  “I’m sorry I hurt your people,” she looked away in shame.

  Rannulf sighed and pushed back a little. “I’m sorry I hurt your people too,” he said gently.

  “You should rest,” she pushed against his chest. His nearness was doing strange things to her and she
wasn’t sure if she liked it.

  “I feel wonderful,” he said with a wink. “Now can we get back to where we left off in the dream?” He lowered his head again.

  “I’m sorry,” Ayla turned her face away. “I'll not give in to you meekly. I still have my honor.”

  Rannulf frowned and sat up.

  “You let me kiss you in the dream,” he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled gently.

  “It was only a dream,” she sat up as well and pulled her hair out of his grasp. Just then, the door burst open and Bohemund came running in.

  “Tancred informed me that he heard screaming,” Bohemund stopped short when he saw Rannulf sitting up in the bed. “Dear God, she is magic.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Rannulf said as he reached for her hand. Ayla pulled away and got off of the bed. Bohemund frowned when he saw her actions. He walked over to her and pushed her back onto the mattress. She gasped in shock and scurried back against the wall.

  “I told you, witch,” Bohemund said before Rannulf could react. “Rannulf owns you now. If he wishes to touch you, you had better allow it.”

  “Bohemund,” Rannulf said quietly. “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s yours, my friend” Bohemund walked around the bed to grasp Rannulf’s uninjured shoulder affectionately. “You seemed so taken with her in your delirium that I thought you might find a use for her. I did promise her that she could live if she saved you. Your ownership prevents me from dealing with demands for her blood. The matter is settled.”

  “She’s mine?” Rannulf looked happily at Ayla.

  “It’s the least I could do after you saved my life.” Bohemund looked over his friend’s chest, a little of the bandage had come loose and revealed a scabbed over wound. Was he healing already? “Damn, she does fine work.”

  “Yes, she does,” Rannulf agreed. “How are the rest of the men?”

  “We lost a great deal of them,” Bohemund sobered instantly. “But the city is finally, completely ours.”

  “Did you release John?” Ayla shyly asked.

  “John?” Bohemund looked over at her in confusion.

  “Yaghi-Siyan imprisoned John the Oxite when he got word of your approach,” she said. “He’s the Orthodox Patriarch of the city.”

  “Where is he?” Bohemund asked.

  “I would assume that he’s chained below,” she shook her head. “I wasn’t allowed the freedom of the palace or I would have released him myself.”

  “So it’s true then,” Bohemund looked down on her frowning. He really didn't want to feel sympathy for the witch. “You were held prisoner? I suppose that was the reason for the locks outside your door?”

  “They made Yaghi-Siyan feel safer, I imagine,” she said softly as she looked away.

  “But you are Seljuk, are you not?” Bohemund asked skeptically.

  “I am but I’m from a nomadic tribe,” Ayla got up and went to sit on the couch in the corner. “We are not Muslims, we still cling to ways our ancestors.”

  “Witchcraft,” hissed Bohemund as he crossed himself.

  “I don't know this word,” Ayla said slowly. “But if you mean my magic, then yes and that's what just saved your friend’s life.”

  “She’s right, Bohemund,” Rannulf got up and sat on the couch, beside his new captive. “I owe her my life.”

  “Fine,” Bohemund grunted. “That only leaves thousands more for her to make up for.”

  “Leave be,” Rannulf said wearily. “I need some rest. Why don’t you go free the priest?” Bohemund looked from one to the other of them, then nodded curtly and left. Rannulf looked back at Ayla and stroked the hair from her face. “What shall I do with you, little one?”

  “You could release me so I could return to my tribe,” she suggested hopefully.

  “Do you really want me to let you go?” He asked softly as he stroked her cheek. She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Yes?” He asked as he leaned closer.

  “Yes,” she said again as his hand slid down her neck. “Yes,” his lips touched hers, “yes,” he pulled her across his lap and his tongue delved into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered, just like she swore she wouldn’t. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed but as soon as he released her, to lie down beside her, she opened her eyes and recovered. “No.” She pushed herself back and slid across the bed away from him.

  “You said yes,” he grinned and started to crawl after her.

  “That’s not what I was agreeing to,” she said in exasperation. “Stop that,” she pointed at him and he raised an eyebrow.

  “Slaves don't give orders,” he said silkily.

  “I am not a slave,” she got off the bed to stare down on him disdainfully. “Even as a captive, I was revered.”

  “Very well,” he agreed as he sat back on his haunches. “Captives don’t give orders either.”

  Ayla lost her disdainful demeanor and stared at him soberly. This man from her dreams was not her liberator. What had she been thinking to save him? He was an infidel who had laid siege to the city and slaughtered innocents, all in the name of his God. What kind of God would require mass homicide? She had done the unthinkable, she had saved an enemy and betrayed her people. She looked away from his beautiful face in disappointment. She just didn’t know who she was more disappointed in, him or herself.

  “So I have gone from one imprisonment to another,” she said solemnly.

  “I was merely teasing you, Ayla,” Rannulf got up to stand before her. He reached out and turned her face back to his. “don't look so troubled, Enchantress.”.

  “Then you will release me?” She looked up at him skeptically.

  He stared down into those liquid eyes and felt his heart clench. His hand slid down her neck to her shoulder, luxuriating in the silky feel of her.

  “I can not,” he whispered. She pulled back and looked at him accusingly.

  “Barbarian,” she spat.

  “Ayla,” he said her name like a prayer. “Bohemund would never allow it, even if I would.”

  “And if he did,” she asked as her eyes narrowed. “You would let me go?” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He didn’t think it wise to lie to her, the woman looked like she could see straight into his soul.

  “No,” he admitted. “I will never let you go.” The softly spoken vow, held steely determination in it and Ayla felt a chill go down her spine as she stared into his ever-changing eyes, they were a bright turquoise now in his seriousness.

  “Then Bohemund has nothing to do with it,” she backed up more. What had she done? What would become of her now? This man would not even give her the respect Yaghi-Siyan had afforded her. She would be nothing more than property.

  “No,” he said as he gripped her tighter and pulled her back. “Bohemund has nothing to do with us. You're mine now. You saved me, not just once but twice. There must have been a reason. Why did you save me, Ayla?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” she pulled away and let him see the hurt in her eyes.

  “There must be a reason,” he quickly closed the gap between them and pulled her up against his hard chest. She looked up at him mutinously and put her hands between their bodies.

  “I dreamed of you,” she said with an edge in her voice. “My dreams have never before betrayed me.”

  “Before?” He pulled her closer and she felt the quickness of his pulse…or was it hers? “You think they have betrayed you now?”

  “It would seem so,” she pushed harder but his grip never wavered.

  “What did your dreams show you?” He lowered his face to hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

  “You were hurt,” she said softly. Why did he have to feel so good pressed against her? Like he was meant to be there. “You were covered in blood and I didn’t want you to die.”

  “Why did you care if I died?” He pressed her.

  “I don’t know
,” she looked away from him. “It was just a dream.”

  “Tell me, Ayla,” he kissed her cheek and pressed his face to hers. “Tell me why,” he whispered in her ear. She felt a shiver go down her spine and closed her eyes to block him out, but it only made it worse. She could feel his hands caressing her arms and back. He had a light growth of stubble and it tickled her face. His smell was rich and spicy, he seemed to surround and invade her. “Ayla,” he whispered again. Sweet Goddess, she loved the way he spoke her name. “Tell me you want me.” He was kissing her again.

  “Yes,” she sighed. It felt so good to be held by him, to be encircled in his strength. Then his lips were covering hers and she was completely lost. Her hands slid up his chest slowly, enjoying the feel of his skin over those firm muscles. He groaned and pulled her closer, exploring her back and the curve of her bottom through the thin silk of her entari. Finally, he broke the kiss to look down at her in wonder.

  “It’s even better than the dream,” he smiled at her and stroked the hair back from her face. She looked up at him, still dazed by the kiss. “I guess that settles it,” he laughed softly.

  “Settles what?” She was so confused by all these new feelings.

  “You don’t want me to release you.” He had finally found the right words to break through the haze of desire she was feeling. She frowned and slipped out of his grasp.

  “Lust has nothing to do with freedom,” she was wary again. “You think that because I enjoyed your kiss, I will enjoy your enslavement of me?” He started toward her and she quickly put the bed and its large platform, between them. “No more, Christian. I will not be seduced. Let me be.”

  “Very well,” Rannulf said quietly as he turned and headed for the door. “I’ll leave you alone…for now.” Ayla held her breath till she heard the door close. Then she looked down at the bed and noticed the discarded statue of the Goddess. She walked over and picked it up reverently.