On Azrael's Wings Page 5

  “Where were you before?” Ursula asked, adding in a rush, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “On a farm. My master’s son was a friend of Milady’s. When his father died, he had no use for me and asked if she did.” Midia, deep in memory as she stitched a burst seam, had a rueful grin on her face. “Our poor mistress…I cried for three days, nonstop. The master’s son had sold me, but kept my husband and child. Petracal was only five.” She shook her head. “As soon as Milady induced me to speak on the matter, she turned around and retraced our steps, demanding to purchase both Jastus and my son!”

  Ursula stared, sewing forgotten as her mind boggled at such uncharacteristic compassion evinced by a slave owner. Especially one who had done such heinous things as Ursula witnessed in Theara. Finally, she said, “And you’ve been her body servant ever since?”

  “Mmm hmm,” Midia nodded.

  The brunette thought for long moments, sewing by rote. “Your husband,” she said. “He knows what your… um… duties are as Milady’s body servant?”

  Midia raised a blonde eyebrow as she regarded the heavily blushing woman. “Aye, he knows. He’s not happy with it - especially in the beginning!” She rolled her eyes at a memory. “But like it or no, we owe Lady Azrael a tremendous debt. Our family is together because of her.”

  Ducking her head, Ursula apologized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  ”Turnabout’s fair play,” Midia said. “I’ve told you my tale. What of you? How did you end up the only slave in little Theara?”

  Tables turned, Ursula found it difficult to speak as she stared at the passing countryside. She saw how easily such an innocent question could press someone into depression or anger.

  “You don’t have to answer, Ursula,” Midia said softly. “Sometimes it’s simpler for those of us who’ve never been free - we’ve not lost what you had.”

  “No,” Ursula insisted, taking a deep breath and looking at the blonde. “It’s a fair question. I’m fortunate to not have the horrific memories of those women.” She jerked her chin, indicating the villagers ahead. “I lived in another village a day’s travel east of Theara. We had a large family - eight children in all. A few years ago, blight took our crops. Da had to borrow seed to see us through another year.”

  Ursula’s gaze returned to a passing meadow. “The next year held heavy drought. There was no way Da could repay his debts and our neighbors could ill afford the loss. Three of my sisters and I were given to farmers he’d borrowed heavily from.”

  ”This farmer, your master… It was his mother you stayed with?”

  “Aye.” The brunette paused, deep in thought. ”She was a nice enough woman if stubborn. Quick with both tongue and a needle - she taught me more of needlework than I ever knew existed!”

  Midia chuckled. “Then I’m fortunate to have you. As you see, Milady has great difficulty keeping her clothing in one piece,” she said, patting the sack of repairs.

  Tension relieved, Ursula smiled in response. “I can embroider and knit, as well.”

  “Beautiful! Worth your weight in gold.”

  Laughing, the pair continued mending in companionable silence. The meadow gave way to a forest, which in turn became cleared fields. Little was seen at the occasional homestead, the farmers wisely remaining away from the army marching past.

  “At formation, Lady Azrael said we were returning home,” Ursula ventured. “What’s it like?”

  “Sunny and warm,” Midia said. With a mock shiver, she continued, “Not as cold during the winter as it is here. Milady’s villa sits on a slight rise and the land is hers as far as the eye can see.”

  Ursula wondered aloud why a soldier, a general no less, would need so much property.

  “She farms, of course; acres of different types of wheat, groves of fruit trees. Why, Lady Azrael has an entire grove dedicated to several strains of pears alone.”

  Frowning, the brunette finished the shirtsleeve she was working on. “If she farms, why does she lead an army as well? Wouldn’t she prefer the peace to bloodshed?”

  Midia shrugged. “Aye, I think she does. She seems happiest when we’re home. But, she leads well and has obligations to the King. I doubt he’d allow her to retire without a fight.”

  Ursula blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her that their mistress might be just as enslaved as they were, chained to her liege as effectively as if iron circled her wrists and throat. The thought was disconcerting and she shied away from it, changing the subject. “Do you stay in Lady Azrael’s quarters? Or with your family?”

  “With my family. There are occasional nights that I’m called upon to remain with Milady, but not often.” Midia stretched, easing cramped fingers and glancing about their surroundings. “There are two other body slaves besides us, Felicia and Vincenza.”

  Following her lead, Ursula paused in her work. “Do they have families as well?”

  “No. They’re both young, though a bit older than you,” Midia said after carefully eyeing the brunette.

  “But...” Ursula frowned in thought, trying to reconcile the woman who would turn back to purchase a slave’s family with the one who would separate the very same family for a year or more at a time. “Why are you here then? Why didn’t she take one of the others so that you might remain with your husband and son?”

  Midia leaned forward and took Ursula’s hand. “It’s not as it seems,” she said. “Plainly put, it is my turn to accompany Milady on campaign. She alternates between the lot of us so that none suffer prolonged hardship.” The blonde smiled and winked, patting the olive skin beneath hers. “Besides, Petracal is fifteen. He needs his father now more than a nursemaid mother.”

  Further discussion was delayed as a halt was called. Midia briskly began packing up their repair work as the column ground to a stop, keeping the completed tasks separate from those items remaining. Orders were yelled from the front of the line and the soldiers fell out of formation.

  “Come along,” Midia said, rising to her feet. “We must see if Milady has need of us during the midday meal.”

  Late that afternoon the army made camp with the speed of long familiarity. Only the officers’ quarters and mess tent were erected; the main body of soldiers would sleep under the night sky. After all was settled, guard posts scheduled and manned, and a hearty stew served for supper, the men took to their blankets. Tomorrow and many days following would see more of the same. Exhausting as it was, the knowledge of returning home kept spirits high.

  The sun was a fiery orb hanging just above the horizon when Azrael arrived at her tent. Her perimeter check had gone well, all the soldiers relaxed and alert. Ducking inside, she found food and wine waiting at the table. Her slaves were laying sheets on the bed, both dropping to their knees when they saw her.

  “Ursula, attend me,” the general ordered, taking off her sword belt. “Carry on, Midia.”

  Obediently, the brunette went to her mistress and began helping her out of her leather armor. Ursula piled it to one side for the moment, looking up at Azrael. “We brought food, Milady. Are you hungry?”

  “Very,” the general agreed, sitting at the table. As the slave poured a mug of wine, Azrael asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, Milady. While you were out.” Seeing her mistress was taken care of, Ursula collected the armor and laid it out in one corner. While there had been no battles that day, it had gotten sunny and warm through the afternoon. The armor was damp and needed to dry.

  Azrael tucked into the stew as if starved, the day’s ride whetting her appetite. In no time she was wiping the bottom of her bowl with a piece of bread. Finished, she drained her mug and reached for her saddlebags, retrieving a scroll and quill.

  Ursula refilled the mug from an ewer, collecting the empty bowl. “Would you like more, Milady?”

  “No,” Azrael said with a wave of her hand, her attention on the scroll as she prepared to make an entry for the day.

  Preparing to take the bowl to the kitche
n, Midia intercepted the brunette with a shake of her head.

  “You are to attend her,” the blonde whispered, taking the bowl. “Stay with her.”

  Nodding, Ursula watched her go. She turned to gaze at the general who was engrossed in writing. Uncertain of what to do next, Ursula settled nearby on her knees, awaiting a command.

  Azrael finished the day’s report, pleased it was short and sweet. She blew on the ink until it was dry and then rolled the parchment into a scroll, putting it away. Yawning, she sat back, mug in hand, dark eyes regarding her slave.

  Ursula, head bowed, was well aware of her mistress’ attention. She felt it as an almost palpable thing, surrounding her, filling her, seeming to vibrate the very air she breathed. The brunette wondered it Azrael would hold her again, touch her, maybe kiss her once more.

  “Attend me.”

  A shiver of anticipation flickered through Ursula as she rose. She found Azrael’s mug half empty and refilled it. As soon as she set the ewer down, callused hands found her waist and she was pulled onto the general’s lap.

  Azrael took satisfaction that the brunette didn’t stiffen at the sudden familiarity. Her hand caressed an olive toned thigh, pushing up beneath Ursula’s dress to gain further access. She watched the slave’s amber eyes close, saw the gentle rise and fall of her breathing increase, noted when full lips opened in a quiet sigh. “Ursula.”

  The brunette dragged her eyes open. “Yes, Milady?” she asked, the husky sound of her voice surprising her.

  “How is your jaw?” Azrael asked.

  “Much better, Milady.”

  “Good.”

  Her mistress’ deep burr caused Ursula’s heart to flip flop in her chest. When Azrael kissed her, she was a bit more prepared, responding to the gentle demands with tentative grace.

  Ursula’s lips moved with hers and Azrael sank into the kiss. As at the river, she teased her way inside, keeping her touch light. With thorough care, she explored the brunette’s mouth, finding it hot and sweet like warm honey.

  Her jaw still a little sore, Ursula nevertheless forgot her pain. Azrael’s questing tongue played with hers in languid movements that set her body on fire. The brunette was finding it difficult to breathe under the onslaught, unsure of exactly what she was feeling. She only knew she didn’t want it to stop.

  Azrael backed out of the kiss, amused at her slave’s attempt to prolong it. It was too soon, however, and she pulled away, her stern expression reminding Ursula of who and what she was.

  A flicker of fear crossed the brunette’s eyes, wondering if she’d be punished for her forward behavior. Her face was flushed and it seemed her very skin was singing. Ursula swallowed as dark fingers traced her lips.

  “Very nice,” Azrael complimented, a smile creeping across her face at the brunette’s blush. “I can’t wait to taste all of you.”

  Startled at the innuendo, Ursula felt her temperature rise. She wasn’t certain whether it was embarrassment or arousal and it left her in a soft state of confusion.

  Grinning, Azrael gave her thigh a gentle pinch and pushed the slave off her lap. “Go to bed, Ursula. We march at first light.”

  “Yes, Milady.” Disappointed, the brunette went to the pallet and lay on her side. She touched her lips with a hint of wonder.

  “Midia,” the general said to the returning slave.

  “Yes, Milady.”

  Ursula closed her eyes, hearing the two women obviously kissing and wondered why she wasn’t yet required in the general’s bed.

  Chapter Six

  The next four days were the same for Ursula - up before dawn, pack the general’s belongings, travel for hours in the wounded wagon and set up camp at night. While Midia prepared Lady Azrael’s bed, the brunette was required to attend their mistress, taking care of armor and food, and lounging in her lap while being kissed senseless. Every night the kisses grew longer, the caresses strayed further, causing Ursula difficulty breathing from the rampant arousal that coursed through her.

  And every night, Midia would share the general’s bed.

  Listening in the dark, Ursula’s imagination ran unchecked to the music of their activities. What did Midia do to cause that low growl, the one that rumbled in the brunette’s ears and shot straight to her loins? Where was Midia being touched when her moan was interrupted by a gasp of pleasure? What was it like to feel that dark skin? Was it soft to the touch or hard like the calluses of Azrael’s hands? Was Midia even allowed to touch, to respond naturally? Or were there constraints due to her position as a slave?

  Invariably, Ursula’s questions went unanswered as the women groaned their climaxes. When they drifted off to sleep, she lay awake for hours, her body humming with a need she couldn’t define and dare not ease. The one time she had tried, hand lingering along the inside of her thigh when she thought all were asleep, her mistress ordered her to stop, a sultry voice piercing the dark. “Only I shall have that pleasure, Ursula,” she’d said.

  Frustrated and tired, Ursula now rode with Midia. The mending completed long ago, the two kept busy polishing brass and leather, ensuring their mistress cut a dashing figure in her armor. There was one soldier left with them, the other two having been pronounced fit enough to return to their cohorts. Other than the occasional request for water, he left the women be, not wishing to incite his general’s wrath.

  Around them the countryside changed. There were fewer farmsteads and more towns, the land leveling from mountainous terrain. Traffic increased though the road wasn’t yet wide enough to allow anyone to pass easily. The army had priority, forcing local travelers and merchants to pull aside and allow Azrael’s men to pass. Ursula eyed the wayfarers, amazed at the fine clothing of the merchants wearing material and colors she’d never imagined.

  Well before the midday meal, commands were called and the column ground to a halt. Curious, Ursula looked up from the boot she polished, craning her neck to see what was going on. She was startled to see the walls of a city, having been so busy with her task and some rather bawdy thoughts that she hadn’t noticed their approach.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  Midia cast a knowledgeable eye at the walls. “I believe we’ve arrived at Provey,” she said, beginning to gather the items they’d been cleaning. “Now we’ll wait for a bit until Lady Azrael has met with the magistrate and arranged billeting for her army.”

  “What then?” the brunette said, looking at her friend.

  “Tomorrow will be spent at the auctioneer’s block and then a state dinner in the evening, no doubt.” Finished putting things away, Midia dusted her hands. “Our mistress is very important. The magistrate will do whatever possible to curry favor.”

  Ursula blinked. “Important?” she asked.

  “She’s fourth in line for the throne.”

  Azrael heaved a sigh as the officious magistrate finally trundled off with his retinue. Her captains echoed the sentiment, Razzu going so far as to wipe imaginary sweat from his brow, receiving a grin and wink from Tenango.

  “Your orders, Lord?” Suma asked.

  The general turned her mount to look over her officers and army. “Set up camp there,” she said, pointing at a small rise. “I don’t want to be too close to the walls or road. Full camp. Set up the tents. We’ll be here two or three days; no need for the men to be without shelter.”

  Leaning forward eagerly, Razzu asked, “And what of leave? The men could stand some amusement, I’m sure, and we won’t need three hundred to keep our perimeter.”

  “Very true,” Azrael said. She paused long to consider, more to tease the officers than any thought to the contrary. “All right, see to your cohorts,” she finally said, smiling at the gust of sighs as the captains released their collective breath. “I don’t want more than twenty from each cohort away at a time.”

  “Aye, Lord.”

  “You’ll all be required to attend the state dinner tomorrow night,” Azrael added. Over the groans she continued, “If I have to suffer the di
plomatic functions, so shall you. At the very least I’ll be afforded some decent conversation.”

  The five grumbled reluctant agreement, once happy faces downcast at the thought of a boring formal dinner.

  “Suma, as you’re in charge of the prisoners, see the auctioneer this afternoon. I’d like to set up bidding for tomorrow and get them off our hands.”

  “Yes, Lord Azrael.”

  “Idonatra,” the general said, turning to the tall man. “I want you to go into the city and find merchants willing to take these goods. Atol will help you with negotiations - he’s our best haggler. Tenango and Razzu, you’ll oversee the camp and perimeter.” Seeing everyone understood their tasks, Azrael said, “Let’s get these men camped.”

  “Aye, Lord.”

  Rather than meet with the many political bootlickers housed in Provey, Azrael spent the afternoon sparring with the arms master. The sun was low when she headed for her tent, sweaty and relaxed from the martial exercise. It was quieter than usual and she assumed at least a sixth of her men were drinking and whoring inside the walls, no doubt complaining that bonuses wouldn’t be paid until the prisoners and goods were sold.

  And that silly state dinner! Azrael kicked a stone with evident displeasure. Gods be damned! Why was it that every time she visited some boorish province she was forced to endure the political scrapping of the locals? She wasn’t even a direct heir to the throne, merely a cousin. The chances of Azrael coming to rule were astronomical.

  Sighing she shook her head. Soon she would be home to enjoy several months of peace. Until then she’d act as befitted her station - a successful Lord and general.

  “My Lord!”

  Azrael turned to see Suma striding forward. “What news have you?”

  The blond pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to her. “Our bidding is tomorrow morning. The proprietor, Rawley, says to have the slaves there at first light.”

  Azrael looked over the document. “Fifteen percent? Rather steep, isn’t it?”

  Shrugging, Suma said, “Perhaps, but he’s one of the best in Provey. We’ll still turn a good profit.”