The Circassian (closed)

Katirah had heard the Comte and his aide but the rapid French was too much for her to understand. The Comte seemed angry about something. She looked from the Comte to the other man. Henri? is that was he was called?

"Sir, I would like to go to the market. There are herbs I should like to purchase before we leave. I also would enjoy the exercise of a walk. I ask your permission. Sir." Katirah expected to be allowed to go with an escort. That had been what the Comte said the day before. That seemed like months ago. "Unless the Comte has more need of me?" She gave him a coy smile.
 
Marcel looked at Katirah a moment. He considered her request a moment before nodding. "Yes you may go, Henri will go along with a handful of guards." He saw her about to protest and held his hand up. "Your other option is to give Samara a list and she will go in your stead."

He gave Henri a look, a silent communication between long standing friends, and comrades in arms. Henri nodded, and said, "I shall return after dressing."

Henri left, and Marcel looked at Katirah, "Yes, I have need for you. Be back by lunch."
 
Katirah sighed. A handful of guards? She had thought one escort would be sufficient. "Thank you, Sir." She did want some exercise, and not the sort she was getting in bed. She wanted to see the sky and stretch her legs. "Samara will stay here."

She looked at the Comte. She could not read his face, though she was sure he could read hers when she asked if he had a need for her. Perhaps he only wanted her company, or the entertainment of music or a tale. His face was unreadable. Perhaps he would take her again. She squeezed her hands together to keep from shivering at the thought.

Katirah stood feeling more and more awkward while she waited for Henri to return. "I shall need some coins to make my purchases. I will not need much," She hurried to explain. "I do not go to buy trifles. I have need of some herbs."
 
Marcel nodded at Katirah. "I had foreseen the need for supplies and there is more than adequate funds to allow you to purchase what you need." Marcel caught the tension in Katirah's hands, her knuckles white from her clench.

A gentle touch as he dragged a finger across the back of her hand, "What is it Katirah? I will not bite."
 
"I...I was afraid I had overstepped my bounds by asked for money." Which was not what caused her nervousness at all. She looked him in the eye when he touched her. Had he meant to send a frisson through her? She must beware. The fact that the man gave her pleasure in bed did not mean that he loved her. The fact that she had enjoyed their congress more than with any other man also did not mean that she loved him. Love was not for slaves. It only caused heartache. Or worse. She controlled her speech to keep it matter of fact. "Sir has requested that he has need of me later. If The Comte would let me know in what capacity, I will ensure I am prepared to receive him. I will have luncheon ready, or whatever instrument will please the Comte." Or await him naked in bed.
 
Marcel smiled at Katirah and said softly, "Yes, lunch. That is what I have in mind."

His smile was a clear indicator that lunch wasn't all on his mind.

His hand wrapped around her elbow and he pulled her gently to the side. His eyes went from playful to serious. His voice low, and firm, "It is mine to provide for you. One day perhaps I will anticipate your needs, and you mine. For now, you must ask and I will tell. Does that make sense?"
 
Katirah's cheeks colored at the way the Comte said 'lunch.' It was more than clear to her what the Comte had in mind for their noonday repast. She could feel her heart fluttering in anticipation.

When he pulled her close she thought he might kiss her right there. He was a constant surprise. But he only spoke. "Yes, Sir. Perfect sense. The Comte is wise as he is generous." She gave him a coy smile. "Is there anything I may get for the Comte when I go to the market?"
 
That coy smile flashed across her face again, the one that sparked two instant, opposite reactions. The desire to slap it off her face, and the need to absolutely fuck it off of her.

Maybe both at the same time.

His body reacted almost instantly to that thought and it surprised him. For a second his mind wandered, following the urge and a theme sparked in his mind. Focusing his eyes on hers, "Scarves," he said. "Bring me a dozen or so silk scarves."
 
((ooh, Marcel, you give me shivers.))

Katirah watched the expressions flit across the Comte's face. She simply did not understand Western men. Or perhaps it was only the Comte. Most men had simple minds and simple needs, at least where she was concerned. "Play for me, Katirah." "Sing for me." "Tell me a story." and on rare occasions, "Go to my chamber and await me there." "Go the the son of the Vizier and and see that he considers himself a man by the morning." Simple things. The Comte was complex and she always felt off balance. As soon as she thought she had her bearings, he would steer in a different direction.

"A dozen silk scarves. Yes, sir." She returned his gaze keeping her face neutral. Then she nearly asked him if he had a color preference, but something about the look in his eyes told her he didn't care about the color. She felt her nipples go hard and heat well up between her legs. It frightened her that the thought of the Comte and scarves made her react so. She glanced at the door wondering what was keeping the Comte's man, Henri. She was looking forward to spending some time with him and asking him about the Comte.
 
Marcel noticed the rise of her breasts as her breath caught at his order to purchase scarves. Part of his mind smiled wickedly, though he was careful to keep his face neutral. All the while is cock hardened in his trousers.

Leaning forward Marcel's lips brushed her ear lobe as he whispered, "Your herbs are to keep you from becoming with child?"

Again her breath caught, the tip of her nipple brushing against his chest as she nodded, apparently unable to trust her voice.

"Good," he breathed, "Make sure to get enough for a year."
 
Katirah kept her eyes downcast not trusting herself to look at the Comte, not wanting to giver herself away. It seemed she was transparent to him while he was more of an enigma than ever. She was looking forward to spending time with the Comte's man, Henri. Perhaps she could learn more about this man who set her heart to beating with a look.

She closed her eyes as the Comte whispered in her ear. It sent goose flesh down one side of her body. Her nipples practically ached, they were so hard. She wanted to kiss the Comte and press her body against his.

Finally she found her voice. "A year. Yes, my Comte." She looked up at him. Her breast pressed against his chest. Her lips were within kissing distance. "And scarves."
 
Marcel took in an exaggerated breath, his chest rising until it brush against Katirah's hardened nipple. "Yes, scarves." Rolling his hips forward, his cock brushed against her hip as he whispered so softly, "Especially the scarves."

Her scent coyly rose and tantalized his nostrils, quickening his heart beat. He was about to run his hand across the flat plain that was her stomach when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Henri was returning, two men in tow, all dressed in mail, swords at their sides, shields afixed to their arms. "It appears you escort is ready," Marcel said.
 
"Oui." Katirah breathed out. Her lips formed the shape of a kiss when she spoke the word. She held the Comte's eyes for a moment before she leaned ever so slightly against him. She felt the change in him and heard the jingle of mail. She stepped away from the Comte and gave him an enigmatic smiled before pulling draping her veil over her head and pulling it across her face.

Katirah turned to Henri, "I am ready to go--" She wasn't sure how she should address the man. She thought she might us 'monsieur' but decided to fall back on the Turkish generic term of respect for men, it sounded more exotic. Monsieur might be above or below Henri's actual station and therefore it would be either an insult or sound too obsequious. "Effendi."
 
They stepped out into the constant crush of people in the streets of Tbilisi, two guards proceeding Katirah and Henri, two behind them. Much like his liege, Henri was not particularly a fan of Tbilisi, too dry, too smelly, too foreign; and much like his master, knew his choice about being here at the moment was nill.

"Which market?" he asked, as Katirah responded, the leading guards changed their direction heading to a neighborhood outside the general traders quarter.
 
Katirah looked up at Henri. "I need to visit an herbalist and a silk merchant."

She felt strange walking in the center of all these large men. She was surprised the Comte had not hired a howdah for her. But she wanted to walk. She missed the Pasha's gardens. If she did nothing but sit and play music she would become fat. Being in the center of these soldiers should make her feel safe and yet, she felt more vulnerable. Katirah was not sure why this would be so. She felt that the people on the street were looking at them. At her. She was a slave, an armed escort seemed rather extravagant.

"Effendi, you have been the Comte's man for a long time, I think." She spoke to Henri looking at him sideways. The orange in her veil brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. Now that she ahd begun talking she was not sure what she had wanted to ask. There was so much she did not know about the Comte or his country. Or his language. Mostly she wanted to know more about the Comte.

"Would you tell me more about the Comte, Effendi? I wish to be pleasing to him in all ways. Do you know anything of his...tastes?" She asked in her bad French. If Henri was offended by her questions or felt them inappropriate, she would plead her misunderstanding of the language.
 
Henri glanced at the woman beside him and chuckled. "The Comte is a tough man to sum up in one conversation, no matter its length, Katirah." They walked a long a moment or two before he went on, "He has only slept with one other woman than you, that I know of. There was a rumor that he was sleeping with one of the ladies in court, but she and he both deny it."

"The rumor did hold the Baron off a year on forcing Marcel to marry again."

He noticed her eyes widen slightly, so he continued, "His first wife was young, as was he. She died from plaque a handful of years after their marriage, which begot one child, who serves in the court of another Comte at the other end of France."

Henri stopped suddenly and looked at her. "If you truly wish to win his heart, you must be strong enough to be weak."
 
"The Comte is currently married then? I thought he was without a woman..." Katirah frowned. "It is also the habit of the Pashas to foster sons from other courts. Sometimes they are little more than hostages to ensure peace between their lands, sometimes it is to encourage the young men to learn of other people and so keep the lands at peace. Men in the east keep as many wives and concubines as they can afford to."

She frowned again. "The Comte does not..." The only word she knew in French was a coarse one, she tried another word that she thought would get her point across, "bed a woman like one without wide experience." She held her veil closer to her face, she could feel a blush bloom in her cheeks.

When Henri spoke again, Katirah was confused. She must not have understood him. "I am a slave and meant for the Baron. Love is only a song I sing." She shook her head and looked away. "I think I understand, but...how can one be strong to be weak? I am a woman and a slave. I am already weak." But as she said the words, Katirah realized what Henri meant. At least she thought she did. There were ways that a person without power could manipulate things. A nasty word, but true. But...if she cared for the Comte, she did not want to manipulate him at all. "I find you men of the west very confusing." She said with a sigh. She still did not understand exactly what Henri was implying.
 
Henri laughed as he said, "Good, because women are universally confusing." Henri stopped and turned to Katirah, "The Comte is with out a woman. His wife died almost a decade ago, and he has chosen to not remarry."

A wry smile crossed his face as he muttered, "It doesn't surprise me that the Comte pleasures a woman well, his quite fastidious in almost everything he does, paying great attention to each detail."

They turned and began walking again, "If it is you that he comes to care about, he will demand much of you, but he will give much too."
 
Katirah smiled behind her veil as she looked at the man with hair like sunbeams. "'Tis part of being a woman to be mysterious, to confound men. Men should be forthright and transparent." She said with confidence as if her words made it so."

"A decade." She tried the word. "Ten years? With no woman? Except perhaps that one he denied? It is not healthy for a man to be so long without a woman."

Katirah blushed thinking of all the details that the Comte paid attention to that morning and the night before. "What more can the Comte demand? He owns me. He may have use of me however he wishes whenever he wishes. What more could he demand?" Although the implications of the silk scarves and what Henri said gave her pause. "Is the Comte a man who enjoys inflicting pain?" She said in a very quiet voice.

Katirah was not a trained sex slave. But she had learned the basics and the women of the harem talk freely. She learned much more from them, albeit only only their stories. She knew there were people who received sexual thrills from binding their partners and whipping them. There were pashas and sultans notirious for their torturous ways. She could feel her heart fluttering. The Comte had done nothing to show her he meant to do her any harm.
 
Henri looked at Katirah, and then watched the road they traveled as he thought of his answer to her questions. Finally he responded, "As to what he wants from you, I would think he wants whatever you are holding back from him.

With a widening smile, Henri quipped, "As to the inflicting pain, if you mean in bed, I would not know. Fortunately he has never demanded that service of me."
 
"Holding back? I have freely given him my body." Katirah paused. "I find the Comte very...attractive." She confided. "I have not been in the company of very many men in my life. I find the Comte particularly...complex." It was hard for her to find the words in her own language to describe how she felt about the Comte, let alone in French.

Katirah laughed like the sound of windchimes. "Effendi, you are a very funny man." She put her hand on his arm. "You have also been helpful, I hope. You have given me much to think about." She gave him a genuine smile before pulling her veil back over her face.

They turned onto a wide street hung with canopies. Stands with goods for sale lined the street. "I need to find a seller of herbs." It was difficult for her to see surrounded as she was with the guards.
 
Henri looked the street over in dismay; there was absolutely no way to secure the street completely. After a second he talked to the guards, sending two to the next intersection, and keeping two trailing them slightly.

Henri turned to Katirah and said, "The Comte has had many women over the years offer themselves to him, and he consistently said no. As attractive as it is, your body is secondary to what ever he wants from you."
 
((Are we having anything exciting happen while Katirah is shopping? Either way is fine with me.))

"Do you really think someone will try to harm me? Or...steal me? I think the Comte has gone to an extreme. The guards bring more attention to me." Katirah looked around the marketplace and saw nothing that hinted of danger.

"You have given me much to think on, Effendi." Katirah bowed her head a little. "I thank you. I have spent my life with men wanting me for my body, or my talents. I do not know what it is like to be wanted...for some other reason." She shook her head. "I will either wait and see or my curiosity will get the better of me and I shall ask the Comte."

She pointed. "The Seller of Herbs is there, I think."
 
Henri looked in the direction that Katirah had pointed and his heart sank. The vendor she wanted was tucked into a nook very near an alley. From a security point of view, she couldn't have picked a worse spot. People flowed away from the alley, avoiding it entirely.

"Okay, but wait a minute," he said.

Henri pointed at the alley, and gave instructions to the trailing guards to stand on each side of the alley. The guards that had been proceeding Henri and Katirah worked their way back, one staying up the street, the other going down the street a short distance before taking up a defensive position.

Satisfied with the position of the guards, Henri said, "Okay, let's go."
 
Katirah hid her smile behind her veil. This was beyond silly as far as she was concerned. A wife of the Pasha would not be guarded so well. Of course, a wife of the Pasha would never be permitted to leave the harem. She thought if Henri had his way, she would not be permitted to leave her rooms until they were ready to depart with the caravan.

Once Henri permitted it, Katirah began walking toward the herb shop. "Thank you, Effendi." Her hips swayed almost as if she were dancing. Somehow she was able to make the shapeless caftan she was wearing hint at the curves beneath.

Katirah walked into the shop and stood for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light after the harsh sunlight from outside. She inhaled the scents of the place, cinnamon and cloves, cumin and coriander. She moved to the counter and recited the herbs she needed and the quantity. The man looked at her, "That is a rather large amount. You do know how much to use do you not?"

"Yes," she said not looking in his eyes. "I am about to go on a long journey. "I do not know when I will have access to these herbs again." She looked up and smiled a little through her veil. The shopkeeper turned and pulled some tins off the shelf. He began measuring out the first herb.
 
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