Desert Cat

by Christine

How can I tell you the story of my life? My name was Christine MacDuncan, but I am now known as the Desert Cat in my husband's language, because of my green eyes, an eye color only seen in cats in my husband's land. I tease him that it's really because he likes the feel of my claws in his back when he makes love to me, but he would never admit it. How I came to be the third wife of Ahmad Ibn Fadhlan is a long story, but for the birthday of my heart's desire, I will tell the tale of my past.

The things in my past seem like only memories of unpleasant dreams, but they did really happen. I was born the youngest and only daughter of thirteen children. While I was the daughter of a powerful lord, I was only the child of a Viking captive who caught my father's eye, and she was a mere child when she died giving birth to me. I was placed in the care of my brothers' wives and while my sisters-in-law did nothing to hurt me, they were so concerned with the inheritances of their sons that they ignored me. I ran wild as a child; I was rarely disciplined, and I did not learn the ways of a lady, nor was I prepared to be the proper wife of a Pictish lord as should have been my fate. My father was rarely at home; he was often involved in skirmishes in a long-running war for power in my homeland of Caledonia, which you may know better as Scotland.

My childhood was spent playing with the children of servants in my father's house, and at a very young age I found myself drawn to the horses my father raised. These were not the huge workhorses of the farm, nor the small highland ponies that ran free in many parts of Caledonia, but fiery little war horses, bred from Arabian stock that had been brought to Britain soon after the Romans left. I spent hours with these animals, childishly braiding their manes and tails in intricate patterns. I had no fear of them, even when they stepped on my feet, or nipped at me. I rode them with no saddle, astride them as no lady would ever ride. I would find the herds when at pasture, leap on the back of one of them and ride all around my father's lands, guiding the horse with the pressure of my legs. No one noticed me, as I was not important to anyone.

I had flaming red hair, long as the tails of my horse companions, and I was covered with freckles from my time in the sun. At thirteen, I was a slender girl, with breasts only beginning to fill out, but it was at that time in my life that the adults suddenly realized I existed. One day, when my father was actually at home, he realized his daughter was going to be old enough to be married, and that she was not at all prepared to be the wife of even a lowly farmer, much less a lord. My life turned into hell from that day. A tutor was hired for me, and I was not allowed to go outside at all. I was taught to speak properly, to behave as a lady, and to understand what my duties, as the wife of a lord would be. I tried to rebel, but when I bemoaned my fate in my father's presence he struck me so hard across the face that I was flung to the floor like a rag-doll. My lip was cut badly; I still bear the scar of that blow. I decided that I would be better off in any home but this one, so the idea of a marriage didn't sound as bad.

For two years, I was badgered into behaving correctly as would befit my station. I still would sneak out from time to time to ride the horses, but I only went at night, hoping I wouldn't get caught. One night, when I was fifteen years old, I slipped out, but my luck changed that night. I stumbled across a raiding party of warriors, and while I tried to escape them, they quickly pulled me from my horse, and tied me up. I could not understand their language, but I guessed from their clothing that they were Vikings. I had heard horror stories about what these vicious warriors did to prisoners, especially women. Whispered stories of murder and rape had filled my dreams with nightmares more than once. I waited dumbly for my fate, hoping they would kill me quickly. I could see no means of escape, and I tried to tell them that my father would pay handsomely for my return, but I could see that they did not understand my words.

One man finally came over to me and roughly pulled me to my feet. His callused hand stroked my face, and then slowly slid over my breasts. I was terrified at what he planned to do, and when he ripped my clothing away from my body, I knew that I would never be the wife of anyone. I closed my eyes, fearing his next action, when a harsh voice sounded out of the darkness. I opened my eyes and witnessed an angry argument that would decide my fate. The newcomer apparently won, for a rough blanket was wrapped around my nakedness, and I was forced into a foul-smelling tent, and left alone. I cried myself into a troubled sleep that only lasted for a few hours. Before dawn, I was dragged from the tent, untied only long enough to be dressed and fed, then tied again, and carried away with them.

I was taken to what was apparently a seaport for these invaders, and stood by, still tied, while another argument about my fate ensued. This one was in French, some broken English and whatever language the Vikings spoke. I understood enough of the conversation to understand that I was to be traded to the Frenchman. He looked me over carefully, and asked me if the Vikings had left me a virgin. I nodded, not knowing what to say. He went back to the Viking leader, handed over a bag of coins, then led me to a ship, and left me in a cold tiny room.

I spent an eternity in that rocking ship. The first few days I was violently ill, but eventually grew accustomed to the rolling motion. My captor was named Renauld, and while he didn't treat me badly, he mostly ignored me. I spent my days braiding my long hair in the intricate patterns I used on the horses at my father's home. I asked Renauld where he was taking me, but he only said that I would fulfill another portion of a debt he owed. We rarely spoke, as my French was not very good, and his English was even worse. I knew he couldn't possibly know the Old Language of my people. So I braided and unbraided my hair, and stared out of the small window, and wondered what my fate would be.

Chapter two

We eventually arrived at an exotic seaport, where the heat was so intense I felt as if my skin was burned even, in the shade. Renauld booked overland passage for us, and in only a few days, I found myself mounted on a camel, and traveling with Bedouins. I quickly learned a good reason for the long flowing robes of these people; my face and arms were badly sunburned on the first day of our trek. Renauld saw my blistered skin, cursed and said that I would never be acceptable to the Sheik. I was still not sure what he was talking about, but the Bedouin women took me in, treated my burns with soothing ointments; thereafter I found myself traveling in a covered litter on the top of a camel. The women pampered me every night, combing my hair, applying ointments to my skin and chattering to me as if I could understand them. I often said rude things, always with a smile on my face, knowing they couldn't understand me. I really didn't want to insult them, but I desperately needed to say some words in my own language, or at least English, and I was filled with bitterness and hate, although I tried desperately to hide it.

I admired the Bedouins' beautiful, pampered horses, delicate fine-boned creatures that looked as if they could fly. I entertained the thought of stealing one of them and escaping, but I was never left alone. I had so much to learn, for I knew that I would never return from this place to my homeland. I became friends with a young woman named Serata, about my age, and we learned to communicate, mostly through a sign language, but she taught me many words in her language and I taught her to braid her hair.

After several weeks' travel, we arrived at what appeared to be a large estate. Our group set up camp on the outskirts of the walled palace. There was a festive mood to the encampment, and of course, I had no idea what it was all about. I tried to ask Renauld, but he only said, "If I am lucky, you will be acceptable to the Sheik, and I will be closer to repaying the debt I owe him." I asked him again and again, and he finally said, "If he finds you acceptable, at the very least, you will be his concubine. Perhaps you will be privileged enough to become one of his wives." A concubine? ONE of his WIVES? Who was this mysterious man who apparently would be my master starting tomorrow?

Fear gripped me as I finally began to realize my fate. I would be one of dozens of women, perhaps called upon for favors when the mood of the Sheik demanded me. I went to bed in horror at the thought of what my life would now become. I slept fitfully that night, disturbed by dreams of a future I could not begin to comprehend. The gentle hands of Serata awakened me. She led me to a tent, where several women stripped me of my clothing and washed me and anointed me with exquisite perfumes. Serata then indicated that I should braid my hair, and she actually helped me, trying to speed me along. I was then dressed in a green silken garment, precisely the color of my eyes, covered from head to foot in sheer fabric that did not hide my nakedness at all. Serata smiled at me and told me with her eyes that I should not be afraid.

Finally, I was mounted on an elaborately decorated gray stallion. He was spirited, but well trained, and I could feel his power against my legs. I wondered if I could possibly escape my fate on him, but his bridle was held tightly by a groom, and I was led into the enclosure of the Sheik. A crowd of people came out to greet our party. An older man talked to Renauld, and I wondered if he was the Sheik. Then I noticed the young man under the awning. He was difficult to see, but I felt his eyes on me. At that precise instant, the groom who held my mount's bridle dropped his hand. I didn't even think, but hiked up my clothing, swung my leg over the back of the horse, and will him to turn and run. He obeyed me, and I felt the wind lift the long headdress from my head, leaving my braided hair exposed. The horse flew over the ground and I felt as free as the wind. I didn't even think of the consequences of my actions.

I finally glanced over my shoulder, and realized that there were several horsemen in pursuit. I kicked the stallion in the ribs, urging him to greater speed, but he was weighted down by the elaborate decorations he wore. I slowed him further by mistakenly directing him into soft sand. By the time I got him back on track, I could hear the hoof beats of my pursuers. I kicked the stallion again, but he had nothing else to give. I felt strong arms grip me, and I was pulled from the back of the galloping horse. I swung my arms and legs violently to try to escape, but the man who gripped me was too strong for me. When I managed to scratch his neck, he halted his horse and let me fall to the ground. In seconds, hands grasped me and I was unceremoniously dragged back to the palace. Renauld came to me after a few hours of confinement in a small room by myself. He told me that the Sheik had agreed to take me as his wife, even with my uncouth behavior, and that we would be wed tomorrow. In the morning, the Sheik's other wives would prepare me to marry him. "Wait," I screamed as he left, "I don't even know who he is!" Renauld turned to me and said, "You would have met him today if you hadn't tried to escape."

I was taken to a small but comfortable bedroom. A young girl came to me with clothing to sleep in, and I gratefully took off the dusty robes I was wearing. I fell into the bed, exhausted, but of course sleep would not come. After an hour of tossing and turning, I heard a noise at the door. I sat up and saw in the pale moonlight a man dressed in white robes. "I did not mean to startle you," he said, "but I wanted to talk to you before tomorrow." "You speak English?" I stammered. He replied, "Yes, along with many other languages." "Who are you?" I asked. He laughed, but gently, "You women are all alike. I am Ahmad Ibn Fadhlan, and I wish for you to become my wife." "You are the Sheik?" I whispered. "Yes. And if my other wives approve of you tomorrow, then you will become my third wife." "How can you have so many wives?" I asked. "Always with the questions! Are women never satisfied with a simple answer? It is the way of my people that a man takes many wives, if he can support them and their children. I desire for you to be my wife, but I also wish for my other wives to be happy with my choice. If you please them, then we will be married. They will meet you in the morning." He turned and left, and I heard the sound of the lock as is turned to imprison me.

Chapter 3

The sound of the door opening awakened me. Two women dressed in the robes of the desert people entered my room. One spoke. "Christine?" I replied, "Yes, you know my name?" She smiled. "We spoke to Renauld. He brought each of us here to become the wives of Ahmad. My name is Deena, and this Johanna. She doesn't speak your language as well as I." "I understand you have to approve of me before he will marry me," I said, sullenly. I could see her smile in the candlelight as she looked to the other woman. "He truly wants us to approve of you, because he wants us to get along with each other. We will have to spend time together and he understands that. But he is a demanding husband, and he will require your attention when it is your day to spend with him." "I don't even know what he looks like." I moaned. Deena said something to Johanna, who was obviously only days away from the birth of the child she carried. They both laughed, then Deena said, "Christine, we both have been through experiences similar to yours. Taken from our homes, our families. But we are both very happy here, and if you will let go of your fear and reservations, Ahmad will make you happy too. I asked, "You are not jealous of each other?" Deena smiled, "Oh, Christine, you will see he is enough to keep many women happy. Please do not fight him because of your fear of his lifestyle. He will let you do almost anything you want! He really does want you to be happy." "Will he let me ride his horses, whenever I want?" I asked petulantly. "After the demonstration you gave today? I expect as long as he believes you will not run away, you will be allowed to ride, if that is what you desire. Unless you are carrying his child, like Johanna." Deena gently nudged Johanna with her elbow. I watched the two of them, teasing and laughing together, more like sisters than rivals.

"I do not have a life to return to, so there is really no reason not to marry the Sheik," I said, my voice cracking with emotion. Deena pulled me into her arms, "Christine, you will not regret it. I promise you." She continued by explaining a little about the wedding ceremony. The two of them directed servants who bathed me and anointed me with oils and perfumes, some even more exotic than those of the Bedouins. Deena said, "Christine, Ahmad sees something in you that caught him. He does not marry every woman who arrives here. You will see that he is an excellent husband, and you will quickly adjust to the idea of sharing him. No tears, now, those green eyes of yours will ensnare him like nothing else, but not if they are swollen shut." They both hugged me, then left as I was escorted to marry a husband whose face I had never seen.

I endured the ceremony without understanding it, although I recognized certain things Deena described. I barely glimpsed his face, but I was intrigued by his deeply browed, dark brown eyes. He watched me throughout the ceremony, as if he was afraid I would try to run again, but I knew that my fate had been decided, months ago, the night I was captured by the Vikings. After the ceremony I was led to his bedchamber. The robes I was wearing were stripped from me, and simple cloth was twisted across my waist. I waited for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes. Finally a door opened and he entered. I stood close to the window, huddled against the wall, trying to hide my nakedness from him. He walked across the room until he stood behind me. "My desert cat, do not hide the beauty of your body from me." His hands touched my shoulders, and I reluctantly turned to face him. I didn't look at his face as I turned, but his hand pushed my chin up, and he whispered, "Look at me…"

"Your eyes, they are the color of emeralds. Like a cat. You are a cat, see what you did to me yesterday?" He pulled his robe aside to reveal a deep gash in the flesh of his neck. I gasped, "That was you? I… I am sorry. I was frightened and I saw a chance to escape..." "Your fire is part of what makes you attractive, my wife." He took me into his arms and kissed me, his warm full lips pressed against mine. I felt an internal pull from my loins that I had never felt before. He pulled away from me and slipped his robes off his shoulders. I remember the shhhuushh noise they made as they billowed around his feet. I had never seen a naked man, and although the physical act had been explained to me and I had seen the horses mate at my father's estate, when I saw him exposed I feared our future encounter. I must have been staring, for he began laughing. "My desert cat, are you appalled by the small size of my manhood? You stare so at me..." I drew my eyes back to his face. "No, my lord, it not how small but how large it is…" His head tilted back and he howled with laughter. I blushed, ashamed at my naivete.

My head was lowered to my chest. I felt him come near me. "Cat, do not be embarrassed. You are so beautiful, your hair is a color I have never seen before, your skin is as white as the desert sand, but you are dappled like the gray horse you tried to steal. And your eyes… there is no one with eyes like yours." His hand slipped under my chin and pulled it up. I kept my eyes closed until he said. "Look at me." I opened my eyes and saw those deep brown eyes peering into mine. "I will try to make this a very special night for you. It will hurt a bit, but I think the pleasure will be more intense than the pain. Come on," he said he took my hand and gently led me to the bed. He stopped at the edge of the bed and took me in his arms and kissed me again. His hands slipped to the cloth draped around my waist, slowly loosened it and dropped it. Then he pushed me until I fell back on the bed cushions. His lips slowly met mine again and again, then his tongue gently slipped into my mouth. I felt a thrill rush through my body with every touch. He slowly ran his tongue down my neck, tracing a line to my breast. I gasped when he touched my hardened nipple, not realizing the future pleasure I would feel. His hand gently felt across my body, lingering as his fingers slipped through the soft hair where my legs stopped.

His hand slowly slipped between my legs, and he nudged my thighs apart, gently pulling my leg. Then his hand touched my body in a way no one had ever done before. He whispered, "I believe that your body is desirous of my attentions, my wildcat." His finger touched me in a place that sent shivers through my body. I gasped at the feeling. I heard his throaty whisper in my ear, "Yes, that feels good, doesn't it?" He kissed me again, then his tongue slid down the length of my body, and found that pleasure point. His tongue and lips played with my body until I was almost screaming from the feel of it. He moved again, his face once again next to mine. "Don't stop," I whispered. He replied, "Little wildcat, I have only just begun."

He took my hands in his and brought them slowly to his lips, then moved them to his manhood. "Touch me, Cat, like I touched you." My trembling hands caressed him, and he moaned with pleasure. "It feels so soft!" I exclaimed. His guffaw of laughter startled me. "Cat," he said as he continued to laugh, "a man in this position wants to hear how hard he is, not how soft. Ah, you make me laugh!" I blushed, feeling the heat of my embarrassment again. His hand slid across my face. "Cat, your words please me. I am not laughing at you." I leaned over his taunt muscular body, my hair cascading down onto his brown skin and hiding my reddened face. "I only meant the skin was soft," and I flicked my tongue over his manhood. His head arched back and his sudden intake of breath told me he liked what I was doing. I continued exploring his body, caressing him, his soft moans teaching me what pleased him. His hands finally pulled me up until my face was again level with his. He exclaimed, "You are driving me mad with desire!"

His lips found mine as he pushed me back into the bed. My back arched as his hand once again slipped between my legs. His gentle touch aroused me again until I was crying out; he straddled me, then pushed my legs apart with his knees as he held himself up over me. "Cat, this is the part that will hurt a little, and I am truly sorry, but I think the pleasure will outweigh the pain. You are ready to try?" I gulped a little and nodded, he pushed and I felt him slowly entering my body. He thrust his hips against mine and I gasped at the pain as my body engulfed him. His eyes were watching mine, and his caring look told me how he hated that he had hurt me. He slowly began thrust in and out of me, and the pain was soon forgotten, overwhelmed by intense pleasure that made me tremble. My hips rose to meet him, as his strong body pumped faster and faster. My arms and legs wrapped around him and my fingernails dug into his skin as I tried to meet every thrust of his body with one of my own. The feeling that had welled up in me earlier grew more and more intense, until I felt a shudder rush through my body, and I cried out in ecstasy. He pushed himself into me several more times, then with deep moan of pleasure, he fell across my body, still inside me, but all the energy spent.

Our breathing steadied, and he finally pulled himself out of me, and rolled over on his back. I sat up on one elbow and studied his body for a moment. "It doesn't look nearly as frightening to me now." I announced. He opened his eyes and looked at me. He smiled and shook his head, then said, "You say the strangest things. Here, lie down next to me." I obeyed him, and placed my head on his broad chest, and draped my leg over his. I was filled with a contentment I had never felt. I felt his hand stroking my hair. He mumbled some words in his language, then asked me, "Cat, do you still want to run from me?" I sat up in the bed, and swung my leg over his body until I was sitting on him. I kissed him and said, "No one could drag me away from you now, my husband."

The day after our wedding night, Ahmad gave me a silvery white mare, and told me to ride when and wherever I wanted. Some Wednesdays, the day that Ahmad is mine, he will ride with me to a special place that only we know, and we make love in the ancient ruins of a past desert people. I still make him laugh, especially when we are alone. Since I became the third wife of Ahmad, I have born my husband two beautiful red-haired daughters, one with my green eyes, and one with blue eyes the color of a Caledonian spring sky. Ahmad teasingly asked me why his other wives bore him many sons, and I have daughters. I replied, "Silly husband. If all men only have sons, who will the sons marry?" He laughed with me as we often did, and said, " I knew you would have the answer!"

Ahmad has taken two more wives since I married him. The five of us are like sisters. Our backgrounds are wildly different, but we share our love for Ahmad and the knowledge that God or Fate has brought us together (or perhaps it was only Renauld). We share everything, and our conversations must sound incredible. We have taught each other our native languages, and speak to each other in a mix of them all. Our children all speak a language that only they understand, a mixture of all they have heard. We are a huge happy family, each of his wives passionate about our time with our husband, and content with each other's company for the rest of the week.

Ahmad rarely visits our common meeting area; he claims the sound of so many languages at once gives him a headache, but we all know that he really understands our need to be together as a family. He spends a great deal of time with his children, just not all at once! My daughters love their papa, and greet him with hugs, kisses, artwork and squeals of delight. He smiles and laughs at their antics, endures their sticky or grubby little hands, and makes them feel like little princesses. I could not ask for a more happy, fulfilling life.