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Rafa lounged in splendor among the silks and baubles of the Glen Rannoch's great cabin, whiling away the hours at the end of her golden chain until the Captain saw fit to return to her. She regarded the globe on its stand near the bed. Each nation cut from a different gemstone and cunningly fit together, borders rendered in sparkling silver filigree. The precise, painstaking Arabic script that labeled each feature marked the object as one plundered from among her own people. In this, the two of them shared something in common.

The lioness's captor certainly had expensive tastes. Of course, he hadn't paid for any of it. The Captain had seized a hundred ships in his time, looted a dozen ports. And, two months prior, he'd even ransomed an Emperor.

She smiled at the thought; at how upset her father must have been when he realized that her return hadn't been part of the agreement.

Footsteps on the creaking wooden stairs. She looked up sharply, briefly alarmed at the prospect of it being anyone but the Captain, and guiltily entertained at the the thought of what he'd do to anyone else who looked upon her in her nudity. But there he was, dressed to command.

The dark coyote took his time in the portal, gazing over his gathered opulence with satisfaction, eyes lingering long upon its golden centerpiece and her softly swishing tail.

"Which is your greatest treasure, my love?"

He paused. Wagged one slender finger. "It is uncharacteristic of you, Rafa, to set such a clumsy snare." His roguish grin sprang forth. Oh, Allah, that smile!

"But I do not wish to ensnare you, sayyid... I know your answer already. I only wish to hear you say it."

He doffed his hat and made a show of considering her question. "I suppose it would have to be..."

She batted her eyelashes prettily.

"My blade."

Her tail dropped flat against the cushions.

"No, wait-"

It rose again, tentatively.

"My ship. Yes, that must be my answer."

"Allah favors you," she observed, "For you are over there, and I am bound by this chain and collar."

"And why should I fear you, Ya Amor?" He unbuttoned his blouse, shrugged out of it, walked casually to well within her reach. "Was it not my rapier that cut its way to where you waited for me?" He crawled forward over her supine form. "Isn't it my ship that carried the two of us here and now keeps you safe from your ever-searching father?" The hard bulge in his breeches brushed her inner thigh.

"It's 'Ya Amar,'" she corrected, though seriously distracted. "And, since your excuses have pleased me, I will perhaps allow you to live another day."

He laughed. "Ya Amar," he repeated carefully. She nodded. "Ya Amar," he said again to cement it in his memory. He spoke the words with love as he gazed down at her. The hollow of her neck under its collar. Her perfect shoulders. The fullness of her breasts, and the soft contours of her cream-and-honey-colored abdomen. "But I think that today you're more like the rising sun. What is the word for that?"

She opened her mouth to answer, then shook her head and smiled. "It doesn't matter. No one says this."

He cocked his head. "What if I want to say it?"

She put one golden finger to his lips. "No one says this," she repeated. "And," she arched her back slightly, emphasizing the barely-noticeable swell of her belly, "I will be like the moon soon enough, I think."

He considered her logic and nodded soberly as she again settled flat. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. Gently, he reached forward to stroke her face. His fingers started behind her ear, trailed down her jaw and neck, passed delicately over her collarbone. They avoided her breast entirely, preferring to trace along her side and across the soft plane of her stomach to where her body lay warm and parted for him.

"What's this?" he asked in mock consternation. "I thought I'd left my gold safely locked up in my cabin, but now I return to find that it's become molten in my absence."

She smiled at his words, but couldn't suppress a sigh of longing. "The sands in the glass flow slowly, sayyid. I've-" she broke off and shivered at his touch, "-had nothing to do but anticipate your return."

He glanced to the place where her chain was firmly anchored to the wall of his cabin and shrugged. "As you'd have it. But enough of this 'sayyid' business. Christian women do not call their husbands 'master.'"

Rafa executed a perfect languid shrug, knowing how he enjoyed watching her feline body move in such ways. "I cannot speak for them, of course. But I might suggest that they try it before deciding they don't like it." She arched her back, angling her silken heat up toward his fingers. "Enough about them, anyway. We're not to Britain yet. And until we are, won't you let me call you master while you push deep into me? Won't you fill me up with your seed... sayyid?"

"You are blessed with a gift for my language," he mused as he fumbled with his belt. It was true. She'd studied it in the courts of the Sultan, of course, alongside Spanish and French, but they'd hardly been able to communicate when he'd plucked her from her father's flagship.

"I have a gifted teacher," she offered. "One who has made me ever more eager to become better acquainted with his tongue. And I'll need it, after all, if I'm to be a Christian."

He paused. "Then you're decided?"

"It was never a decision. Your God must be my God. And, besides, I'm relieved that my sons won't spend their lives trying to murder each other."

He grimaced. "I suppose you've had enough of that, yes. I assure you that our pups will love each other. As brothers ought. You have my word."

"It's not your word I want, sayyid. It's your-"

"Yes, yes, I know." He slipped out of his breeches. "Yes. I'll drive deep, and fill you to your heart's content. But if you wish to call me master, it is only right that you should yield yourself to me completely." His fingertips trailed down to just beneath her tail.

Her eyes widened as she understood the implication. "It is haram," she said reflexively.

He shook his head and pressed gently. "Only makrooh. I made a point to find out."

"Even so, sayyid- it's just not something cats do!"

He barked a laugh. "No, I should expect not. Thankfully, as you've likely noticed, I'm no cat. And this is something every dog expects from his mate."

She knew that he wouldn't have missed the way her abdomen had flexed at his words. "But... sayyid... even so, it's not something that virtuous women do, either."

He nodded patiently. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I see one."

That smile, again! She wanted to argue but realized that she was out of breath.

He straightened his back and looked down on her. "On your belly, Rafa."

She wondered if the command in his voice were intentional or if it came to him naturally. Either way, golden chain links clattered and she found herself on her stomach almost before she realized that she was complying. Her lower back flexed of its own accord and raised her parted sex for his ease of access.

His large, warm hands settled onto her hips and pulled her slightly back toward him. She closed her eyes and whispered "As you will, sayyid." Then she bit her lip, as nervous as she was thrilled.

She jumped in surprise when his hardness pressed against her wet entrance, but his hands held her firmly in place. Had he changed his mind?

No. His tip slid over her opening and he continued the slow thrust, pressing his shaft up between her slippery lower lips until it slid up her belly and caught at last in her navel. She moaned, unsure of what was he was doing but pleased by his hard length against her body and his abdomen pressed against the base of her tail.

He drew all the way back, almost until he might slip into her, then paused and pushed forward again at the last moment. This time his shaft glided between her puffy outer lips almost without resistance.

She realized what he was doing at the exact same moment that he again lodged in her belly button, and for both reasons she released another moan. She found herself grinding back onto him, pressing her needy heat against the hardness of the base of his shaft.

He growled his approval. "You've been more sensitive lately, haven't you?"

She shivered and nodded. "More every day. And-" she broke off and mewled as he began his slow backward motion, inches of hardness gliding over her entrance. "Oh! My teats, as well."

He briefly considered advising her to use another word for them, then smiled and decided to let it be. Another slow push forward, coating himself in her arousal. "Not much longer, now, until I'm ready. Are you ready?"

Rafa grew tense beneath him at the very idea, then forced herself to relax. "Truly, I do not know." She tried to look back at him over her shoulder, an attempt at a brave smile on her face. "But I know that it's not in me to deny you. If this is what my husband needs, it's what he'll have." She raised her tail to emphasize the point, revealing the dusky pink ring of muscle below it.

He slipped a hand down to where their bodies were pressed flush and rubbed at her folds with his thumb until it was slick. "I want it." He pressed his thumb to her tight pucker and paused. "But I think_you're_ the one in need of it."

She gasped as he bore down on her with his thumb and her body stretched to admit the digit. "Oh! Oh, sayyid! I've never..." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "How can something haram feel so wonderful?"

He laughed. "I told you! It's not forbidden."

"No," she sighed as she pressed against him, seeking to take it deeper into herself. "No, of course not. It couldn't be."

He pressed deeper and was rewarded with another soft sigh from her before he withdrew his thumb. "Now tell me. What do you want?"

She breathed in and out a few times, still having trouble coming to terms with the idea. "I... want to give this to you, sayyid. Enter me there."

He smirked. "Enter you where?"

She huffed indignantly. "In my... my sharij." She whispered the word as though afraid of being overheard.

"Sharij," he repeated with a soft smile.

"What is the English?"

He laughed. "It doesn't matter. I like sharij."

She smiled and looked back at him. "Mmm. Hopefully you like mine." Her voice was as warm as her entrance against his shaft and he swelled against her in response to her words.

He exhaled sharply. "No more of this. I'll have you now."

She nodded eagerly and let her head droop as he repositioned himself, again biting her lip in preparation. "Take me, husband." And then, almost growling the taboo words, "Take my sharij!"

His pulse pounded in his temples as he moved to do exactly that.

She hissed when he made contact, already frustrated by the pressure of his tip. "Now, sayyid!"

"Now," he growled in agreement. His hands tightened their grip on her hips and dragged her back onto his rigid shaft.

She sucked in a breath and bit down on her lip. For a terrible moment the pressures seemed to hang in balance, until all at once the borrowed slickness of her sex allowed him to slip forward the final tiny amount needed and her resistance gave way completely.

"OH!" she cried out in astonished delight as his swollen head pierced her virgin behind. "Oh! Oh, sayyid! I... I-! OH!"

He paused to let her adjust but found his own jaw clenched in concentration. She was so hot and tight around him, and the sound of her response so arousing, that it was all he could maintain his self control.

"What's wrong?" she asked, unsure how to interpret his suddenly-frozen posture. "Am I not pleasing to you, sayyid?"

The ring of her muscles around him fluttered and he released a low groan. "You're most pleasing. Perhaps too pleasing. I only thought you might need a moment."

Another flutter. "Yes. Oh, na'am, yes. I need many more moments just like this one. But with more of you in me."

"You're ready for more?"

She rose to her elbows and knees and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his as she dropped her voice to a husky whisper. "Claim me, sayyid. Claim my sharij for your pleasure."

He kept his eyes locked to hers as he pulled gently at her hips and pushed forward with his own. Almost instantly she gasped and her head dropped between her forearms. But even before he could ask if she was all right she was pushing back onto him. He did his best to hold position, savoring the feel of her smoothness being forced back over his rigid glans and down his shaft.

He tightened his grip on her and let his shoulder muscles do the work until again he found himself sliding deeper. She released the air in her lungs in a long, slow hiss as inch after inch of her_sharij_ distended around his hardness.

Eventually pulling ceased to yield progress as he came up against new resistance within her. Her satisfied sigh became a pant of surprise when he didn't let up. "S-surely that's all of you, sayyid?"

Without a word he dug his nails deeper into her abdomen and ground forward with his hips. She mewled as the pressure built, then released a deep moan as the resistance gave way within her and he sank forward until the hard ring of her muscles was caught up against the first swelling of his pre-knot.

"Now," he growled. "Now I have claimed you, Rafa."

Her body quivered at his voice, her muscles rippling around his length, and he watched the tip of her tail sway in perfect synchronicity with the tremors.

"I love you," she told him in her sweetest voice.

He made no response, but closed his eyes and drank in the sensation of her wrapped so tightly around him.

"Sayyid?"

He opened his eyes. "Yes?"

She gently wiggled her rear against him and again he watched the tip of her tail dance before his eyes. "Love me," she all but purred.

With difficulty he fought down the tremor that began in him at those words. Her body fought at first as he sought to withdraw, her supple muscles clinging to his every inch, and they gasped in unison when he finally began to pull back.

Only an inch or so, and he couldn't resist the urge to push back in and hold there for a moment longer. "Love me," she repeated in a whisper. "Please, sayyid. Make love to me."

He nodded uselessly and shut his eyes again as he willed himself to pull away from the golden perfection of her hindquarters. With tremendous effort he pulled back, mostly out of her. For a moment he worried that he might pop out, but even as the thought occurred to him she ground backward and took an inch back into herself. He grinned and met her push halfway, joyfully sinking himself into her again. Then again, and again.

The only thing better than the sensation of sliding back and forth within her was the feel of her, trembling and taut, around his full length when he bottomed out. Her sounds and body language made it clear that taking so much of him was a challenge - and equally clear that she had every intention of rising to it.

Together they fell into a languid rhythm, he pulling back until she couldn't help but follow, then reversing and pushing forward with his hips until they met hers and he ground back into her depths and each took a moment to pant or sigh as they felt moved.

Rafa seemed willing to spend the entire night in such a way, but the Captain felt a shift in the hardness within him and broke the rhythm by pulling back before he'd fully sunk home.

"What is it?" she panted beneath him. "What's wrong?"

"I don't have long," he squeezed out through clenched jaw.

The bared fangs in her smile were audible as she growled, "Then let us put our time to good use." She did something tricky with her knees and suddenly he found himself falling forward onto her back, which arched under him in unmistakeable invitation. "Rut into me like I'm chained to your bed!" she hissed, just in case he hadn't understood her the first time.

He growled his approval and ground down into her. He'd landed on his elbows, and now pressed his body onto hers even as she strained to angle her hips to maximize his pleasure.

"Yes!" she moaned beneath him. "Yes! Harder!"

His hands found hers in the silken sheets and he put the full weight of his body into his next downward stroke. Her breath rushed out in a soft oof when he bottomed out within her. Her fingers intertwined with his as she struggled to draw breath, only to have it knocked out of her again when he wasted no time in crashing back down.

He took a moment to shift position, then slammed forward and ground as deep into her as he could. Before she'd had some forward play, but now, locked in position under him, there was no escape. She groaned out the breath she'd just caught from deep within herself as yet more of her sharij yielded to his irresistible advance.

He snarled and lost himself in the steady pounding, barely noticing as her gasps and moans descending into a broken string of half-understood Arabic. 'Fi 'aemaq alshsharj alssakhina' she kept saying, and 'Aistikhdam li bila rahma!'

Her tone was clear even if her words were not. His heavy balls slapped forward against her soaked sex with each thrust, eliciting tiny cries between every few words, further breaking up the delirious phrases that he wouldn't have understood anyway.

"Oh!" she suddenly cried out, apparently broken out of her trance by what had seemed, to him, an infinitesimal shift in angle. "Oh, right there, sayyid! Right there! Make a Christian woman of me! Make me a Christian, right-"

Her voice cut out as the scales of his self-control tipped beyond recovery and his teeth clamped down on her neck. He went rigid, his furious motion instantly stilled, and bore down on her with all his might, far beyond any concerns as to what she might be able to bear.

She sucked in a breath when she realized what was happening, then released it in a long, tense squeal as his hardness began to swell alarmingly within her, leaving her taut body no choice but to comply.

He felt her startle beneath him as the first thick bolt of super-heated coyote cum blasted forward, and the way her fingers tightened amongst his as it was followed by more and more. She groaned as his rapid swelling stretched her sharij yet further to accommodate him. Her whole being became focused on the sensation of his shaft throbbing within her as it forced spurt after spurt of heat into her depths. So taut was she around him, and so tensely were they locked together, that she could clearly feel each fresh pulse within her as never before. She felt herself expanding even further internally as her body took more and more of the stuff, waves of pleasure washing up her spine at the sensations of heat and expansion.

Rafa went limp, her forehead dropping forward against the sheets. Her half-lidded eyes focused on the sight of his heavy balls drawing inexorably up into his body, glimpsed upside-down through the tiny gap between her compressed breasts, and she felt every ounce of his virility as it was forced forward into a part of her never meant to receive it.

She moaned at the sensations as the fluid pressure within her grew, peaked, and equalized; grew, peaked, and equalized; and grew, peaked and equalized again as each new space within her resisted and was finally overwhelmed by the Captain's heavy load.

The lioness fell out of time and space, cradled by warm currents of pleasure, until, dimly, she recognized the feeling of his knot swelling against the base of her tail and was brought back by the question of whether she was more disappointed or relieved.

"The next time." She whispered the promise to herself dreamily, in her husband's language, and did her best to hold position while he growled out the last of his climax behind her.

If he heard, he gave no indication except to crush her even harder against him. His knot felt wonderful against her tight ring but stood no chance of pushing through. Then he sighed with satisfaction and relaxed forward, the coldness of his belt buckle pressing uncomfortably into her flank.

She smiled and decided to put up with it for the sake of his pleasure. It was the least she could do; she was stunned by the feelings born of his eruption into her rear end. Her sex still pulsed and almost ached for attention, but a sensation of deep satisfaction was spreading through her, from the root of her spine, up through her belly, and into her perpetually-sore-these-days-breasts. "Shukran, sayyid. You were right. I was the one who needed that."

"Most welcome." He almost breathed the words. "We'll... ah. We'll..."

A small tremor passed through him and she felt yet more of his heat draining into her. She smiled and kept up the pressure. "We'll what?"

He paused a long moment, then shook his head. "I forget."

She wiggled her rear against him. "We'll do it again soon, I hope?"

"Oh," he said, furrowing his brow and nodding. "Most certainly. Very soon indeed."

"Good. Then, I take it that I've earned the right to call you master?"

He chuckled. "You earn it every day. But, especially once we reach Rosyth, it's probably better to keep it to 'sayyid.' That shouldn't upset anyone at dinner parties."

Her ears perked at this. "Women are allowed to attend?"

He considered the question. "If anything, it's almost more for them than for their husbands. Hold on." He pulled slowly free of her, gritting his teeth at the intensity of the sensation.

Rafa was surprised when he came loose and there was no attendant tide of fluid. Her sharij was a riot of conflicting sensations. Tentatively, she reached back and touched a fingertip to her pucker, surprised to find that her muscles had slammed tightly closed. It seemed that, at least for a little while, she would be unable to relieve the pressure within herself.

She rolled carefully onto her back and looked up at him. "I never thought there might be a way to feel even more full of you than I already was," she purred. "Though I suppose that I'm more full of you every day."

"Ya Amar," he agreed, getting it right this time. "I can see you waxing." He moved forward over her and kissed her deeply. "By the way, the-"

"Aistaeadd lilmawt!" bellowed a voice from the portal. Rafa went rigid at the words and the startled Captain leapt out of bed just in time to avoid the heavy blade of the turbaned lion. "Prepare to die!"

The Captain drew his own blade - never without - and raised it to meet the next slash of his attacker. Rafa watched her husband as he thrusted and parried, dancing around the cabin, holding his pants up with one hand while his rapier fended off the lion in the other, sure that each new clash would be the end of him until somehow he managed to fumble the buckle closed and put his left arm out for balance and the fight began in earnest.

She knew it would be a contest between the lion's brawn against the coyote's daring and agility. They darted to and fro for several intense seconds, each slash as likely as not to sever silk or deeply score priceless artwork, neither seeming to gain any advantage.

But lions can be graceful and cunning as well as powerful. In a blur of motion, the Captain was knocked to the floor and his weapon escaped his grasp, skittering across the persian carpet.

The lion's chest swelled with victory, but only for a moment. He tried to bring his kilij down onto the coyote, but it was stuck deep in the wood of the ceiling.

"As the Almighty wills it! We fight man to man." He released the hilt and flexed his mighty claws, new rows of sharply-tipped blades emerging from his fingertips.

In a blur of motion the Captain produced a pistol from out of nowhere and leveled it at the lion's chest. His eyes were twin pools of ice. "Don't be absurd."

Rafa breathed a sigh of relief. As she turned to spare herself the sight of the assassin's death, something about his turban caught her eye. "Malak?!" she exclaimed.

"Na'am, Rafa. It is I."

"I take it the two of you know each other?" asked the coyote, one eyebrow raised sardonically.

"He is my brother," she explained, and only now remembered to cover herself. "A Prince of the realm."

"I am not worthy of the title," said the dejected lion. "Hasan is hot on my trail and will soon have my head."

"Another of your brothers, I take it?"

She nodded to the coyote.

The lion continued. "I had thought that I might at least avenge your honor, sister. But it seems that it was not Allah's will." He turned back to the coyote and prepared to spring forward to his sure death. "La Ilaha Illa-!"

"No!" cried Rafa. "My honor is untarnished! He has made me his Christian wife!"

The lion froze. Stood upright again. "Can this be so?"

She nodded vigorously. "I carry his puppies in my belly. We are headed to Scotland, where I will be a Duchess."

"But the chain?" asked Malak. "The collar?"

"Oh," she said, as though she'd forgotten them. "I picked this out. The key is here. See?" She withdrew it from under a silken cushion.

Malak turned to the Captain, who shrugged.

"She was quite insistent."

"Ah." The lion stroked his chin. "That does make sense. My wives are the same way."

Rafa sat up, delighted. "How are they? Qadirah and Zahra? And Fikriyah?"

"Pregnant, of course," answered the lion distractedly, continuing to ponder the situation, until he realized what she'd meant. "Ah- They are safe. In Damascus, until I send a ship." He turned to the coyote. "Then, it is settled."

The Captain looked puzzled. "What is?"

Malak pulled his sword from the ceiling and offered it to the coyote. "I shall renounce my claim and become a pirate. Will you have my service?"

He looked to his wife, then back to the lion. "Most assuredly. We are already brothers by marriage. Let us be brothers in arms, as well." He took the sword, then handed it back. "But if you'll excuse us for a moment, I had some business to conclude with my wife."

"Ah." The lion frowned. "Forgive me. When I interrupted, I thought..." His eyes met his sister's. "Forgive me. I will keep guard at the door."

"Yes. Actually, I'm reluctant to ask, but how many of my men did you have to cut down to get in here?"

The lion grinned triumphantly. "Not a one."

Rafa spoke up excitedly, "Malak trained with the hashishin. Such a thing is possible for them." The lion's proud nod confirmed this.

"Ah. Well. Good man. Dismissed." The Captain watched as the lion secured his blade in the sash around his waist and silently scaled the stairs. Then he turned to his wife and scowled. "You're trouble, all right."

She gave him a nervous smile. "Not more than I'm worth, I hope?"

He broke into laughter and tackled her on the bed until they lay facing each other side by side. "You're worth any amount of trouble," he told her, and pulled her close. "Any amount of gold. Any amount of silver."

"More than your blade?" she prompted. "More than your ship?"

He grinned. "Still sore about that, are we?"

"Yes. Sore is what I am. And..." she pulled his hand to the wetness between her thighs. "And this, too. Sore with need."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, yes. As I was trying to tell you before we were interrupted, the imam who cleared up the sharij confusion for me had some interesting opinions on the topic of... well, I forget the term he used for it. But weren't you just saying that you'd like to become better acquainted with my tongue?"

He pressed at her thigh until she raised it for him and moved down her body until she took his meaning, then looked to her for approval.

She stared for a long moment, her mind caught in a tangled web of tradition, religion, and passion. Then she smiled and began to purr. "Na'am. Teach me, sayyid. I would indeed know more of your tongue."