The messenger arrived just a bit ago. He will be given due courtesy, then brought in as soon as he is ready." With an inclination of his head in respect, the chamberlain set about the task.

Iago shifted his weight in the large seat set on the dais of the great hall. He thought, for the thousandth time, that the smell of smoke would never go away. He glanced over at Vistruario. He shrugged in return, unsure what the messenger would say. Neither was Iago himself.

Finally, he appeared, and after perfunctory obeisance, delivered the sealed message. Iago examined the wax seal, then cracked it open. He read the document himself once, pondered for a moment. Then he began to read it to the people present. "His royal highness sends his regards for my management of these, his new lands to the south. He instructs I endeavor to increase their bounty and ensure their defense." Iago looked up, eyes scanning everyone present in the room, before looking back down to the document and continuing. "He regrets that with upcoming preparations for further campaigns and the collection of parias from eastern taifas, that he cannot reinforce, nor inquire to his other commanders to send their levies."

Iago heard Vistruario grunt, saw his other knights give each other sidelong glances, the mayor scowl, the Muslim courtiers adopt the blank faces that covered a desire to grin. This put things on a delicate balance. He had little infantry, barely enough cavalry. His enemy had been defeated thoroughly enough that he hadn't worried over counter-attack; with the stronghold and its surrounding town, he knew he could hold long enough for the king to reinforce the position. Except, the king wasn't going to now. The locals were not, yet, rebellious, but were still being obstructive. He could begin the organization of a town militia to generate infantry, but he desperately needed more cavalry, preferably knights. Most of the cavalry he had were lighter jinetes, and while excellent for patrol and raid he wanted more punch to back them up. But, of course, more cavalry would require more funds. So what he truly needed were some of the wealthy courtiers on his side, so that he could tap their wealth without generating outright rebellion. Except that bringing in cavalry is the last thing that would put the locals on his side. So.

"SCRIBE."

"Yes, lord." The man stepped forward, at the ready.

"Make note. We wish to fund the building of a new church here, to honor God for his help in our victory. Send word to the closest dioceses, and to León and Santiago. We will need priests." Out of the corner of his eye he saw his chaplain start in surprise, then nod vigorously. Good; his signature on the document would help. It would have been better if he had talked to the man beforehand and had him bring forth the idea, but too late for that now. "Let it be included in these requests that the priests should have escort here, by whatever men of strong arms and Godly spirits wish to be here for the raising of a new house for the Lord. We are, after all, a border realm."

Knights once again traded glances, more hopeful this time. The mayor didn't know whether to be hopeful or not, but had at least been given pause. The courtiers remained blank of face, their thoughts now harder to gauge. This would at least throw them off balance, especially since they had half feared Iago would decree the largest local mosque converted to a Christian church.

And their being off-balance made it the perfect opportunity to play the gambit for bringing at least some of them over to his support. Time to capture the queen.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

"I know these aren't the accommodations you were used to, lady, but I assure you they are the best that can be provided." He tried to keep from staring; it was difficult. She was fully accoutered and cosmeticized, though she needed little of either. Currently she was sitting in a highly decorated chair which must have miraculously survived the fire. She was the very image of a Muslim princess.

"I expect most of your prisoners do not receive even this much, so I thank Allah you northern louts managed this." For her part, it took much of her self-control to stay still when he turned that intent scrutiny she had had such trouble getting out of her head on her again. Then he laughed and she started in surprised

. "Well, we all work within our limitations, I suppose. But you are not a prisoner. If you truly wish, we will set you outside the walls with an animal to ride south to the remaining taifas, and from there wherever else you will."

She goggled at that, struck silent for a moment, and he chuckled.

"Oh come now, northern louts we may be but we are not completely uncivilized. You are as a princess among your people, and we pride ourselves on our treatment of high-born ladies. I only regret we do not possess the spare manpower to escort you, alas."

She visibly recovered herself. How dare this infidel speak to her thus? And then it struck her that he was leading her somewhere. Her eyes narrowed. "Such an escort would be the least of courtesy, if you truly believed in such."

"Unfortunately, we as always remain bound by our limitations. You could see if one of your own lords would be willing to do you the courtesy." Unthinkable. A woman sent off to where she wanted? "Or perhaps you could strike some other sort of bargain. As a widow, you have options."

That made her frown. A part of her sensed this was part of where the northerner...Iago, she suddenly recalled...had been going. Her options. But essentially they boiled down to a secondary wife of a noble made just as secondary by the fact that the Christians had come south to conquer. Zuleika had never thought of herself as grasping, but she realized part of how she had salved herself for being shackled to a fat frontier prince was that she was the primary wife of such, the lady of his domain. A loss in status would chafe.

"Yes," she finally said. "I suppose that I do."

"Of course, the tides of time have changed. Unthinkable things might now be possible, even inevitable."

She looked at him sidelong, her eyes still narrowed. "An uncivilized northerner speaking riddles. Next a donkey will recite me poetry."

He came to attention and extended one arm in front of him.

"When the Lion at his pleasure comes

To the watering place to drink, ah see!

See the lesser beasts of Al-Andalus

scatter, like blown leaves in autumn,

Like air-borne seedlings in the spring,

Like grey clouds that part to let the first star

Of God shine down upon the earth."

He laughed at her expression. "More than once have I been termed an ass. Such a thing is hardly enough for me to deny a princess her request."

"I'm not, as you well know."

"Not what?"

"A princess. Anymore, anyway."

"You would be by our standards."

She huffed. "Infidel standards. And what are those worth?"

"They might be worth a lot, to you. To your future, and your options."

An odd sensation prickled at her skin, tingled up the back of her neck. Here it was. Whatever this Iago had been leading her towards. She could sense the momentousness bearing down on them like a coming sandstorm. "Another riddle? And...what does that mean?"

"It means you have the option to remain the lady of this place, this town and its stronghold. To continue to be treated the princess you, by my standards, are."

"What are you talking about?"

Iago smiled. "I am the lord of this place now. I mean to hold it. Marrying a princess of Al-Andalus...it would help, in many ways. Help me, help the people. Those born for privilege have duties to go with those privileges. And as for you, you would keep your status, your place. You would not be a secondary wife of a minor courtier, you would be the one and only wife of the lord of the stronghold. Your children would inherit this place, its land, its authority. That is no mean thing." There, he had said it. The thing he had come to say. He felt the relief of having finally let it out.

She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Then she took note of his face, and realized how serious he really was. Then she looked at him as if he had grown a third head.

"But...but you're..." she began, sputtering. "Are you insane?!" Instant regret, the very second she said it. Something in his face fell, pulled back, stiffened. A haze fell over those eyes of his, those intent eyes. 'No no no why did I say that,' she thought to herself. 'That wasn't what I meant to say!' The eyes that had looked at her, not just at a woman, not at just a woman, but at her, as a person, with respect that he clearly really did have for her and he meant it when her treated her a princess and she realized she had never had any man look at her that way that was why she hadn't recognized it and she didn't know what it all meant but why oh why had she said that!

He, of course, heard none of that, saw none of that. Could only see the shock and confusion, and wonder if that was what revulsion looked like. He set his face, willed himself into the disciplined externals of a lord at court, a commander on the field, steeling himself and walling away the roil of emotions inside he didn't understand and didn't dare now explore.

"I might be. But it would hardly be the first such marriage, the first such alliance. There is plenty of precedence. And there is no need for you to make a rash decision. Mull it over at your leisure." The words were said peremptorily, a stark contrast to the previous jovial tone and the improvised poem. "Send me a messenger with your final decision." He bowed his head and turned on his heel. 'Too sudden, too eager,' he thought to himself. 'Approached it like a besotted boy and ruined...'

"WAIT!"

He turned back. She had shot to her feet, bare as usual, he noted, lovely and pale. Her dusky complexion looked red. "I'm sorry, highness. There is something else I can help you with?"

Her eyes were wide, almost desperate. He was gazing at her still from behind his wall. It wasn't what she wanted. Now that it wasn't there, she knew she wanted that look back in his eyes. She didn't know what that meant, was confused by it all, but she knew she wanted it. And she needed to know more. "You want to marry this place, its people, through me?"

A bit of the look began to creep back into his eyes. "I do."

"And you want heirs."

"All men do. I am no different."

Not quite what she was looking for. "Heirs from me, or simply heirs?"

"Ah." He looked down at the ground, seeming to study the tiles for a moment, before looking back. "Just as marrying you would marry me to this place and its people, heirs of you would tie my line to this place."

"And that's why you want me. Why you want a lady of Al-Andalus."

"No, and yes."

"Another riddle. And what does that one mean?"

"Yes, that is why I want a lady of Al-Andalus. The responsibilities of my position, the duty to my king in this place. It is not why I want you."

The direct, intent, appraising look was back in his eyes, and she noticed it instantly. She could not, however, see her own eyes light up in response, the shades of emotion which crossed her face as he spoke. But he did.

It took her a moment to come to herself. "Oh...so then, why is it me that you want?"

Iago pursed his lips, considering how to answer. "Might I have your permission to speak, ah, familiarly?" She gave him another askance look, but nodded. He smiled.

"That. That exactly. You are thinking, considering. You are clever, and cunning. You evaluate what is before you rather than take things at their surface." His smile widened, and he shook his head. "And you are fierce. Never have I seen such a deadly attack with an instrument of music." They both laughed.

"If Vistruario had not had a sturdy helm and sturdier skull you might have done for him. I've never seen the like. A leopardess, he called you. Do you know aught of housecats, lions, and leopards, princess?"

Her curiosity was now written all over her face. "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, housecats, as most know, male or female will wander from mate to mate, not pairing up at all." She nodded.

"Lions, well, male lions will lead the pride, having his choice of the females. Chase off other males, fight to keep his place of course. But should his watch falter, other males will do their best to slip in time with his females, and should his strength falter, the females will go to the new male that toppled the old." Now she frowned, brow furrowed, thinking through his words, the possible metaphors, and trying to suppress surprise that a man, let alone a northerner, seemed to be speaking of philosophy with her.

"And then there are leopards. Leopards pair up. Male and female, they join together and stay with each other for life, come what may. And more, when one of the pair dies, the other will thereafter stay alone unto their death, never taking another to replace their one true match." He locked eyes with her, the rest of the world fading into insignificance, into this one pure moment between them. "Only a fool, or a tomcat himself, would choose the housecat. A man who thinks much of himself might seek to be the lion, to forever expend his energies thereby and yet be toppled at the last."

Suddenly, Iago moved to Zuleika, going to one knee before her, taking her hand lightly in his. She was paralyzed in surprise, eyes wide, her mouth a perfect 'o'. "Perhaps there are times I think much of myself as well. But as for the rest, I would have the leopardess, and the match that even death does not sunder."

Her heart pounded, and she felt as if she couldn't catch a full breath. It was ridiculous, absurd, but why couldn't she pull her eyes away from his? He still held her hand in his. Why hadn't she pulled that away? Shouldn't she pull it away? Had he used some sort of enchantment upon her? She was familiar with such, her father's lands had held enchanters and astrologers both aplenty, along with poets and philosophers. Her father! What would he say? But even as she asked herself she knew it didn't matter, nothing did. Nothing but this.

"Yes," she said, though it felt as if she were outside herself, incredulously watching and hearing herself say it. "Yes, I will marry you." Scandalous! "I will be your lady, your wife." Outlandish! But no less true for that.

He kissed her hand, "Negocio feito," he said in what must have been his language, though she did not understand the words. There was a pause then, a silent moment as if the universe was aligning around the new reality they had made.

A jolt of...something, something she had never felt before, shot through her. She pulled her hand from his, and he stood. Was it fear? Yes, but more, much more. This was nothing like her first betrothal. That had been, at first, blind hope mixed with disappointment at the distant, border-march location of her husband-to-be. Then more disappointment, and perhaps a touch of dread, once she had arrived and seen the corpulent prince in person during the ceremony. And that had finally all given way to resignation at her lot, and the finding of what consolation as there had been. This, on the other hand, was nothing for which she had any precedent in her own life, regardless of the fact northerners had taken Andalusian ladies to bride before (and, of course, vice-versa).

But more to the point, he was nothing for which she had any precedent before. She was at a loss as to the churning emotions inside of her as she looked at him, as he looked at her, eye to eye. They shouldn't be looking at each other that way, should they?

"I hope you will not think me too uncouth if I begin preparations immediately. Delay really does us no good, and anyway I do not mean to short-shrift it in any regard, so it will all take time."

She looked him over again appraisingly. He spoke and acted like a proper, educated noble rather than the rough highland bumpkin she had always pictured the Christian kingdoms in the north produced. By Allah, the man knew poetry! And he bore an aura of easy authority, doubtless from long battlefield command, as opposed to her now-dead husband, who had always seemed more like a spoiled, petulant child when he tried to be authoritative. It confused her, but maybe...maybe she was feeling hope, maybe there was room for hope in this. It was the best of her choices anyway, wasn't it?

She realized he was waiting on her for a response. A man, waiting on her word! Another shot of emotion surged through her. Who was this man, and how was he doing this to her? "Oh, ah, yes, that is...that is quite alright, that is, I understand."

He smiled at her. Another jolt. She noticed his straight, ready stance, his lean form, imposing yet relaxed. She hadn't seem him actually fight during the taking of the stronghold but Oh Allah, this man justly could be called a leopard! Her emotions tumbled round and about, guilt now waxing within her at the indecent thought.

"You are gracious as you are wise, princess." He inclined his head as he said it.

"How do you know how to speak like this?" she blurted. She frowned at herself as soon as she said it, cursing herself for sounding churlish in front of him.

He raised his eyebrows at the question. "Like what, majesty?"

"I'm sorry, I just...I've never met a Christian lord before, never talked to one." She looked down, breaking eye contact. "You aren't what I expected. At all."

"What were you expecting, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"Oh, I don't know. More like...like the other one, the one I..."

She stopped, but he finished for her. "The one whose skull you nearly caved? That reminds me, I'm going to have to remember to find an Andalusian merchant, or perhaps a Jewish one, to acquire another lute." He smiled again. "I would love to hear you play."

She sucked in a breath at the familiarity of his tone. But then again, hadn't she just agreed to betrothal? She felt like every word he said caught her off-guard, left her feeling surprised and confused, uncertain how she felt about anything. Allah help her how was he doing this inside her? she thought.

He caught her expression, realized he was started to overreach again. He chastised himself for it, resolved to pull back again, but then she raised her eyes to his again and he felt himself pulled into the dark, liquid pools of them, losing himself to them. Dear Savior, what was this, how was she doing this to him? he thought.

"I'm sorry, princess, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Zuleika," she said.

"Pardon?"

"You may...you might as well call me Zuleika. If we are betrothed." She felt a surge of satisfaction that she caught him as off-guard as he seemed to always catch her.

"We are, yes. Of course. Thank you, Doña Zuleika. I am gratified by your unstinting magnanimity." His piercing eyes seemed to dance. "It bodes well, I think, for our future together. And as for your question, the courts of Galicia and Leon may lack certain splendors well-known in the south, but we do strive. We reach upwards."

She felt a tightness in her chest as he looked at her. Their future. To be the wife of this man who strives (for in her head, his words applied to him, not those others she still thought of in her head as northern barbarians). Her face heated, and her eyes dropped involuntarily from his down to the ground, but she brought them boldly back up to his.

"I think...I think I should like to see our future together," she said, and as she did so felt certain things inside her click into place like the tumblers of a lock long-sealed. This would not be a marriage of resignation, as her first had been. This man fascinated her, and she wanted him.

For his part, Iago saw something, he knew not what, shift in her eyes, in her stance. He said nothing, did nothing a moment, instinct fighting with sense and decorum within him, the voice saying things were well and he should quit while he was ahead. Of course, had he been one to abide by sense and caution, he wouldn't presently have been lord of this stronghold.

Suddenly he was crushing her in his embrace. The warmth of him engulfed her, the heady scent of him. She wrapped her own arms around him. He laughed, and there was a note of wonder in his voice as he did so. She smiled up at him, eyes bright. He tightened his arms around her and picked her up, spun her as she gave a startled laugh. And then they were kissing. Later, neither would be able to pinpoint the moment it began, who kissed who; it was a delirium, a rampant wave which struck them both and knocked them adrift. Of a height, they came together like two sides of a puzzle, fit neatly against each other as their lips ravenously pressed together. His hands at her waist, hers gripping his back.

A fire that neither had known had been banked in them suddenly ignited, overwhelming them both, burning rampant. His grip tightened on her, and he moved his lips to her neck while pushing her back. A small sound escaped her mouth as she was forced to backpedal. A stool was knocked over, and a tray of embroidery, until finally Zuleika's back thudded against the wall. Immediately she hitched a leg up around his, another sound escaping her lips. He lifted her from the waist with his powerful arms and hands while continuing to lavish her neck with kisses. He was going mad with want, the smell of her jasmine-scented perfume, the salt-sweet taste of her skin.

Another desperate sound escaping her lips, she wrapped both her legs around his waist. The move caught him by surprise, as he was used to Christian women and their full skirts, eliciting a growl as he ground his now painful hardness against her. The unmistakable feel of it, the heat of it even through layers of clothes, made her moan with want. He stopped his wild kisses to look up at her face, locking eyes, both their expressions now fogged in desire. This look in his eyes, still intent and piercing but laced with need of her, made her almost giddy and she fought down a giggle.

She couldn't resist a smirk, however, as she dropped her legs from around him and then pushed on his chest. He backed a step, and she pulled his tabard up and over his head. He helped her then undo his fine linen shirt and pulled that over his head as well. She sucked in her breath as she contemplated his lean, rippling form, here and there scored by various scars. He watched her as she ran her fingers all over his torso, across the well-defined muscles, lightly over the scars, and even his nipples. His body was a figure of maleness that made her heart thud, which she was completely unfamiliar with, and she meant to take all of it in. He remained impassive, leaving her the initiative, another feeling new for her. Her smirk widened into a lascivious grin and she pushed him back another step from the wall.

On impulse, she leaned in to kiss his chest, her lips full and moist. His skin shivered, small goose-bumps appearing. This encouraged her and she delivered plentiful kissed all over his chest and belly, exploring the rugged terrain of him with her mouth. Finally, curious, her hand gripped the bulging hardness of him through his breeches. He hissed in response. This time she couldn't resist a throaty chuckle as it bubbled up from within her. Her hand on him claiming him for her own as he continued to watch her actions, her deft fingers began unlacing the breeches as her mouth played across his taut abdomen.

She was no blushing maiden, and they both knew it, but never had she felt like this. Her wet pink tongue dallied at his navel just as her hand took hold of his bare, rigid manhood. She pulled it free, burning hot and starting to throb from desire. She marveled over it for a moment, its color, its shape, its texture, the mass of it as she held it. Her breath played over it as she leaned in, her deep rich brown eyes flashing a look up at him. The look alone pulled a groan of want from the back of his throat. She smiled to herself and took his hardness in her mouth. He tensed as she rolled her tongue over the head, savoring the provocative taste of him. She reveled in not just the sensual pleasure of it, but also the knowledge of how strong an effect she had on him, how much control over him she was exercising even here, on her knees with him in her mouth.

Removing the head from her mouth, the fiery-eyed Moorish princess began licking the underside of his tumescence. She sought to learn it, to map it, to find its every curve and ridge. To her shock he seemed to swell even bigger, stiffer. At her pause, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up to stand before him again.

He lifted her up again, the power of his form belied by his lean, compact frame. Instinctively her legs circled his waist, and he greatly thrilled thrilled at the novelty of the position and showered a wealth of kisses on her breasts. She shivered at not just those kisses, however, but also the contact of his engorged manhood with the thick curls of her womanhood. He shifted her and gripped tightly on her waist, and his crest was now kissed by the lower lips which were hot and swollen. Her dewy moisture soon coated it.

He eased her down as she relaxed her thighs on his side, and with a mutual groan synchronized by pleasure he broached her sheath. She took utmost pleasure in the feeling of herself stretching to accommodate him. He lifted her as she worked her hips and she took more of him as she came down. Whimpering at the deliciousness of the sensation she rested her chin on his shoulder.

When she did, she caught sight of the large mirror she had been provided out of the corner of her eye. As he shifted his hands to her thighs and ass, she turned her head to watch it. It was as if it was a window to two other people, yet she felt every movement she saw throughout her body. He lifted her and she saw his shaft appear glistening beneath her, and watched and felt as she came down and it seated fully and deeply inside her. Her arms draped over his shoulders, legs tight around him, his grasp of her firm and sure, they settled into a smooth rhythm, his arms and the undulation of her hips allowing her to rise and fall over the full length.

He groaned in abject delight, and the sound and sights and sensation all combined to spur her on to faster and faster pace. He gladly obliged, in desperate want himself. Onward they raced to their own mutual crisis, moving together as if one flesh. Every thrust merely drove him to complete the next, and she quivered and quivered from womb to fingertips as she watched their mirrored frenzy over his shoulder. Finally she could take no more and her limbs tightened powerfully on him as she reached her desperate culmination. She let out a loud cry and melted against him, bathing his cock in her copious moisture. The rapid, wanton contractions, the squeeze of her, drove him beyond endurance and he burst within her, gushing jet after jet of his seed deep inside. The accompanying cry was nearly a prayer so lost was he in the rapture of it. It felt as if all his very essence was emptying into her.

Quickly weakening, he let her down, and they collapsed together on the carpet. Bereft of strength, they lay together entangled. At length, breath and a modicum of energy returned to them, though they were both overcome by heavy languor. She nuzzled into his side, and he wrapped an arm about her.

"Oh, sweet Zuleika, never have I felt such."

She chuckled into him, sliding her leg up his and savoring the feel of skin on skin slicked with sweat. "Allah willing, my lord, we will both feel such many more times to come."

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