Bedazzled (16 page)
There was no time to protest, or even feel shy. India swallowed hard, not daring to look at Caynan Reis’s handsome face, for she knew instinctively that he would be silently taunting her, and she would want to smack his face. She had already learned that attacks on the dey would not be tolerated. She was amazed that her back was free of soreness after the five strokes he had meted out to her yesterday.
“The first thing you must do,” the eunuch began, and then he went on to instruct India in the proper method of bathing a man.
“Wield the scraper yourself, Baba Hassan,” the dey instructed the eunuch. “I am loath to allow a pointed object in her hand quite yet. ”
India rinsed Caynan Reis using a silver basin after he had been scraped free of sweat and dirt.
“Very good,” the eunuch approved. “Now, continue on as I have instructed you, and when the master is soaking in the heated pool, wash yourself, for it is the only time you will have to do so each day. Then bring our lord to the masseuse, and I will give you your new clothes.” Baba Hassan hurried off leaving India alone with the dey.
Caynan Reis sat down upon a marble bench, nodding at India to begin the ablutions. First she washed his dark hair, and when she had rinsed it thoroughly, she toweled it free of water. Then, kneeling, she washed his feet, and lower legs. He stood, and India washed his upper legs, his chest, his belly, hurrying behind him to wash his back, shoulders, buttock, and the back of his legs. Then she rinsed him thoroughly. He had the most beautiful body, she thought, wondering as she did if it were proper for a woman to see a man naked and admire his form. He seemed to be in perfect proportion, lean and hard.
“I am finished, my lord,” she said softly.
“I think not,” he told her. “You have not yet washed my manhood, India. Remember you are now my body slave, and it is your duty to bathe
all
of me. My manhood is an important part of me.”
all
of me. My manhood is an important part of me.”
“Could you not bathe it yourself?” she ventured. My God! He couldn’t really want her to wash him
there!
there!
“Take your cloth. kneel down, and do your duty, India,” he said in a not-to-be-argued-with voice.
India gritted her teeth.
I am not going to allow him to bully me,
she thought, kneeling down before him. God!
It
was staring her in the face. Were they all so big? And what was that hanging beneath and behind it? She dipped the cloth into the alabaster jar of thick soap.
I am not going to allow him to bully me,
she thought, kneeling down before him. God!
It
was staring her in the face. Were they all so big? And what was that hanging beneath and behind it? She dipped the cloth into the alabaster jar of thick soap.
“Be gentle,” he warned her. “It is tender, and needs a delicate touch. You do not want to injure so fine an instrument as this.”
“I’m certain there are better in the world,” she retorted, the words out of her mouth before she realized it.
To her relief he laughed. “Possibly,” he agreed, “but you must trust me, my little virgin, when I tell you my manhood is a weapon to be reckoned with, and I have had no complaints from my women.”
India washed him, and rinsed the potent flesh with warm water. “Your women would not dare complain, my lord. They might be banished from the comfortable idleness of your harem if they did. Now, I believe you are ready for the bathing pool.” Turning away from him, she let the dey make his own way into the warm, perfumed water, quickly washing herself while he relaxed. When she had finished, he beckoned her.
“Join me,” he said, his look daring her.
India glided down the steps into the water, sighing softly at the luxury of it, and positioning herself opposite him. She said nothing.
“You have the lushest mouth,” he told her. “Have you ever been kissed?”
She nodded in the affirmative. His eyes were so blue.
“By your lover, the English milord?”
“He was not my lover, my lord. We were to marry.”
“Who else kissed you in an amorous manner?” he demanded.
“No one, my lord. I am not some lightskirt,” India replied.
He moved quickly through the water, standing before her, and his lips lightly brushed hers. “Did your milord ever touch you?”
“Once,” she whispered. It was really most disconcerting standing here in the warm pool, her body just touching his. “He touched my breasts once.” The admission colored her cheeks.
“Like this?” He cupped one of her breasts, his fingers lightly brushing her nipples.
India’s eyes closed briefly. “Aye.”
“And you liked it,” he said softly.
“Please, my lord,” India said. Then, pushing him away, for his nearness was most distressing, she exited the pool. “The masseuse awaits, my lord. Please come, and let me dry you.”
“In the end,” he told her, “you will yield to me, India, but I will be patient with you, for I believe you are a prize worth having.” Then he left the bathing room, and she followed slowly, confused.
Baba Hassan was awaiting her. “I have the garment you are to wear in your capacity as the dey’s body servant.” He handed her a pair of while silk pantaloons with wide bands of gold and silver embroidery at the ankles and about the hips. The pantaloons rode low on her body, baring her navel. The eunuch now stood before her, a small pot and a brush in his hands. Dipping the brush into the pot, he painted each of her nipples carmine red. When he had finished, he said, “You are ready, girl. Go now, and help your master dress for the day.”
“Surely there is another garment for me to wear,” she gasped, looking down at her bright red nipples.
“This is the costume of a female body slave,” the eunuch answered. Then his brown forehead wrinkled. “What am I thinking!” he cried out, and drew from a pocket a beautiful narrow gold collar bejeweled with all manner of gems: diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, sapphires. He fastened it carefully about her throat. “It is not too tight?”
Wordlessly India shook her head, shocked.
“Then go and attend the dey, girl. When he is dressed, and you have escorted him back into his apartment, I shall show you the way to the kitchens. Now go, and stand by your master until the masseuse is finished with her duties.”
Caynan Reis was lying upon a pad that had been set on the masseuse’s marble bench. He was on his stomach, his head turned to one side, a small sturdily built woman of indeterminate age massaging his buttocks with strong fingers. He opened his eyes and looked lazily at her. “Remain where I can see you,” he said, closing his eyes again.
India stood stock-still, her mind awhirl. She could scarcely believe what had happened to her. She was an English noblewoman, not some slave and yet at this moment in time she was a slave girl. She was not the first woman in her family to find herself in such a position. Her grandmother, her great-grandmother, Great-aunt Valentina, even her stepfather’s mother had all at one time in their existences been enslaved as she was now enslaved; but they had escaped their captivity, and India intended that she would escape, too. There was only one difference between India and her female relations. The others had not been virgins at the time of their captivity. They had all been married or widowed.
India’s golden eyes strayed to the dey’s long form. The masseuse was now busily kneading his right leg. It was a shapely leg, she thought, nicely formed, the thigh well muscled, the calf prettily rounded. The foot at the end of the leg below the narrow ankle was lengthy and slender. The masseuse’s hands worked the dey’s big foot, her thick thumbs pressing up and down the arch, massaging the ball of the foot, pulling each toe slowly and carefully. India watched, fascinated, her eyes following the masseuse’s every move, unaware that Caynan Reis was watching her through the slits in his dark-blue eyes.
When the masseuse had finally finished her task, she spoke softly to the dey, and, bowing, withdrew.
“Help me up,” he said to India, and when she had aided him to roll over and sit, he casually put his long legs over the table, and stood. “My clothing for the day is in the cedar cabinet there,” he told her. “From now on it will be your duty to see that fresh clothing is there for me every morning and every evening. Baba Hassan will tell you my schedule, and if the clothes I need will be for an ordinary day or for an occasion. You cannot sleep as late as you did in the morning, India. In future you must be up long before I am to make your preparations. Do you understand?”
“I am not a fool, my lord. I understand quite well,” she replied sharply.
He caught her by the wrist, saying in a hard voice, “If there had been anyone else in the room now when you spoke to me as you did, I should have had to have you beaten again, India. When you address me your voice must be dulcet and amenable, as befits a dutiful female slave. You offended me greatly last night, but I was not unkind. I realized you were frightened finding yourself in what must seem difficult circumstances to an English duke’s daughter. You are being given a second chance as my body slave, but I will tolerate neither disobedience nor a sharp tongue from you. If you displease me further, I will give you to my guards to tame.”
India opened her mouth to berate him, but remembering her cousin’s warning to her, said instead, “Yes, my lord. I apologize.”
“If you serve me well, you will find I am not a hard man,” he told her, “but I am master of El Sinut, and it is not an easy task. Should I show the slightest weakness, even within the privacy of my household, I should be challenged. I would not serve my master, the sultan, well if I allowed the slightest discord within this vassal state of his. Do you understand, India? I am the dey, not some foolish courtier.”
Strangely his words made sense to her. “Yes, my lord, I do understand,” she told him. Then, going to the cedar cabinet, she opened it and viewed the garments he would wear today. The white silk shirt was embroidered in gold thread along the neckline. The cuffs of its full sleeves had wide bands that were bejeweled. She brought the shirt to him, slipping it over his head so that it slid over his broad shoulders and chest. There were no laces, and the shirt was open to midchest. India now brought him the white silk pantaloons.
“I can find no drawers,” she said nervously.
“I don’t wear any,” he said softly.
She flushed, uncertain what to do next.
“You must help me on with the pantaloons,” he told her, lifting one foot so she could slide the garment over it.
India ground her teeth together to prevent the pithy comment forming in her mind. Kneeling, she pulled the pantaloons over first one foot and then the other. As she stood up again, she drew the silk up his long legs, over his slim hips, finally covering his manhood, which had seemed to grow larger beneath her gaze, from her sight. She pulled the drawstring of the pantaloons together, making a bow and tucking it within the garment, her hand brushing against his flat belly as she did so. Again she flushed, but said in an even voice, “There are two sashes set out, my lord. Which one will you have?”
“Today I shall wear the silver,” he told her. “I will show you how to wrap it about my waist,” and he demonstrated the method when she had handed him the item in question. Unwinding it, he told her, “Now you do it, India,” and when she had, and it was perfect, he complimented her. “Clever girl! You watched carefully.”
“Will you take the sleeveless coat lined in the cloth-of-silver then, my lord?” It was a beautiful thing, India thought, the front of the coat embroidered in silver and gold thread, and small sparkling aquamarines and deeper blue tourmalines sewn on it.
“Yes,” he said.
“It’s so beautiful,” India remarked. “Is this coat for an occasion, my lord?”
He shook his dark head. “Nay, India, but today my audience chamber is open to the people of El Sinut as it is one day each week. They come and bring their disputes to me to mediate. As I represent the sultan in Istanbul, it is important that I look a little majestic for them. It does both the people and the sultan I serve honor.”
India looked into the cabinet again, bringing out embroidered silk slippers and a small silver turban decorated with a single water-blue aquamarine. “Will you wear these now, my lord?” she asked.
“Bring them with you,” he told her. “After I break my fast, I shall finish dressing.” Then he turned, and she followed after him back to his apartment where Baba Hassan was waiting.
The brown-skinned eunuch eyed the dey critically. “She has done well, my lord,” he finally remarked.
“Yes,” the dey replied with a small smile, “she has.”
“We shall now go and fetch your meal, my lord. Where will you eat? Inside, or on the terrace?”
“It is still early, and the terrace faces west,” the dey said. “I think I may eat there without fear of baking in our hot sun.”
The eunuch gestured to India. “Come along, girl,” he said impatiently, and she barely had time to set down the slippers and the turban before she had to race after him.
Outside in the hallway India cried out to the eunuch, “Please, Baba Hassan, if you go so quickly, I shall not be able to find my way by myself later.”
The eunuch said nothing, but slowed his pace so she might be able to mark her passage alone tomorrow. They entered the kitchens, and he introduced India to Abu, whose domain it was.
“So this is the girl,”
Abu said meaningfully, looking her up and down. “You are a foolish creature,” he noted.
Abu said meaningfully, looking her up and down. “You are a foolish creature,” he noted.
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