“Sidroc wanted to be gone from Byzantium. He is angry, isn’t he?’
Ianthe grinned. “A mite piqued to be so inconvenienced.”
“I can imagine.”
“Not to worry, my dear. I think the man has strong feelings for you.”
“Like hate, mayhap.”
“He said to give you a message. He promises to deliver you back to your little girl.”
She groaned.
“Also,” Ianthe said with a note of mischief in her voice, “he said there is unfinished business betwixt you.”
Oh gods, she thought. Now I will owe him even more nights of passion.
Imad entered the dining tent then and clapped his hands for attention. “Come, ladies, time for more pleasure lessons.”
As they walked sedately through the chain of tents, their faces demurely covered lest they run into an unwary male—gods forbid!—one of the concubines asked the eunuch, “What do we learn next, Teacher Imad?”
“Today we henna our flower buds.”
“Flower buds?” Ianthe mouthed to Drifa.
“Nipples.”
Chapter Twenty
My hero! ...
The horses were released, and the tent city went into a frenzy of yelling and running, giving Sidroc and Finn the opportunity to approach the harem section. The others stood guard at various points, including Ivar, who was determined to blood his battle-axe this night. Sidroc planned the same. Hopefully his weapon would have royal Arab blood on it.
Finn made an owl cry three times. Stopped. Then hooted again. This was the signal he’d practiced that was intended to show Ianthe and Drifa where the men were waiting for them. What they hadn’t taken into account was the noise and whether their signal could be heard over the panicked voices and screams inside and outside the tent.
Just when he heard a female voice say, “Sidroc?” an Arab guardsman approached them from behind.
Sidroc motioned with his head for Finn to release the women by cutting the tent fabric with a sharp blade, while he raised his broadsword high overhead in two hands. Within seconds, despite the dodging miscreant and two failed attempts, his third wide arc nigh severed the man’s neck. Blood spurted everywhere, including onto Sidroc’s body, but he had no time to worry about that because others soon followed.
He scarce noticed as Finn led the two women—nay three women, for gods’ sake!—by him, but he did hear a cry of distress from Drifa, followed by a warning of “Be careful, dearling.”
Dearling?
No matter! He now faced two other men with those ancient curved sickle swords called khopeshs in hand, shouting Arab obscenities at him. He dropped his broadsword and used his short sword in one hand and lance in the other to fight. It was a particular technique he had perfected where he distracted the enemy with a swing of the lance toward their knees and then lunged with the sword.
Finn was back and Ivar was with him. The three of them worked well together, raising the death throes from five more and raising the sword dew on three others who managed to run away when he paused to ask Finn, in that brief moment of respite, if the women were safe.
“Yea, except for Marizke, who ran back inside the tent. Apparently she prefers the devil she knows to the ones she does not.”
“Meaning us?”
“Precisely. In any case, we have to get out of here, too,” Finn said.
They were all breathing heavily, but the berserk lust was still in Sidroc. Fighting was what he was trained to do, and he did it well. It was not easy for him to walk away from a fight.
“You and Ivar go first. I’ll meet you in a few hours at that oasis where we rested last night.”
“Nay! I’m not leaving without you,” Finn insisted.