Devil's Daughter (28 page)

He started at the sound of her voice. “Don’t worry that I will act anything but the bored observer, Raj. Whatever it is he intends, it won’t matter. I won’t react, in any way.”

“I hope your intentions become fact, my lady.”

W
e are all like sweets in a confectioner’s shop, Arabella thought, lined up in our prettiest wrappings to entice the buyer. Only here there was no buyer, there was simply the master who owned all the dainty morsels set before him. The girls were giggling, preening in front of each other, smoothing their soft trousers over their hips. More like an endless feast, Arabella thought, now that she knew what it was men wanted of women. She saw herself panting like any loose creature, beyond herself, aching for him to pleasure her. She saw him clearly, his man’s body all planes and sharp angles, his flesh smooth and furred, the muscles hard.

“I hate him,” she said, and drew back, realizing that she had spoken aloud; the young girl standing near to her was glancing at her, her head cocked in question. The girl’s belly was beginning to swell with child. Arabella swallowed. Would a babe be her unwanted punishment for the previous night? A man’s gift to a woman, or a man’s curse.

The afternoon sun was beginning to slant downward, bright slashes of light knifing through the oleanders. Arabella drew herself apart and sat upon a
narrow marble bench. She heard Elena’s bright voice and her laughter. The girl probably was quite nice, when Arabella was not around her.

Arabella was lost in her own misery until she was drawn by the sounds of approaching men. The huge doors to the harem were flung open and three Turkish soldiers, brightly garbed in their crimson-and-white uniforms, flanked Kamal as he walked slowly into the harem garden. Behind him walked an old man whom she had seen before but did not know. She watched Raj approach Kamal and bow deeply before him.

Bowing before a swine, she thought. He was dressed in pristine white. His shirt was full-sleeved and opened in the front to show a chain of gold, an odd medallion hanging from it. His waist was banded by a scarlet silk belt from which hung a curved dagger, its ivory handle covered with jewels. Unlike English gentlemen’s, his trousers were cut full, tucked into black leather boots that hugged his calves. He looked powerful and forbidding, despite the slight smile on his lips. His thick golden hair was brushed neatly, but Arabella was jolted by the memory of tangling her fingers through it. His blue eyes were cold and slightly narrowed against the harsh rays of sunlight. She could feel him searching among the women, searching her out. She wanted to hide beneath the marble bench, but she would not allow herself to show him how she feared him.

Slowly she rose, and for an instant across the distance their eyes locked. She reached out and plucked a rose from the bush beside her. Slowly she held the rose in front of her and began to pluck off its petals, one by
one, until it was naught but a naked bud. Then she dropped it and ground it beneath her heel.

Kamal felt rage at her symbolic act. Was he to take the blame for her folly? He said in a calm and clear voice, “Raj, display my women to their best advantage. I wish to inspect them now.”

Arabella ground her teeth. A woman to him was naught but a toy, an object to be enjoyed at his leisure and tossed aside when he grew bored. Or, a woman who angered him was to be humiliated before he tossed her aside.

Raj was lining the girls up in front of the arched entry columns. Lella sat on a cushioned bench near to the rippling pool, seemingly unmoved by the silently awed girls now standing straight for their master’s inspection.

Kamal stopped beside her. “You are well, my sister?”

“Aye,” Lella said. “ ‘Twill not be long now, Kamal. If I do not birth the babe soon, he will come from my body speaking to me of all his woes.”

He smiled, but Lella knew it was an abstracted smile. “Kamal—”

He brought his eyes back to rest on her upturned face.

“Why do you do this?”

The smile never left his face. “I remember Hamil telling me—before he met you, Lella—that the master must know the women in his harem. He would say that the eunuchs occasionally slipped in a pearl of great beauty.”

“Ah,” Lella said.

“Stay away from her, Lella,” he said suddenly, his voice harsh. “She is not what you believe her to be.”

Lella studied his face, before saying calmly, “ Unfortunately, my brother, she is exactly what she appears: young, innocent, desperate for her parents, and foolish.”

He shrugged and left her. Lella watched him approach the women, and wondered yet again what he intended.

Arabella slipped behind a lovely Turkish girl with inky black hair, thankfully, taller than she. And waited. When he reached her, he ignored her and turned sharply to stand before the women.

When he spoke, Arabella started, for his voice was gentle, as if he were addressing a group of well-behaved children.

“You are all lovely,” he said, his eyes caressing them individually. “And you make my choice more difficult than a man can stand.” He clapped his hands, and his servant Ali stepped forward and began to distribute small presents to each of the girls. There were cries of delight and excited murmurs of gratitude. Arabella shrank back as Ali approached. He looked at her, his dark eyes hooded, and passed her by.

Is this your punishment, you savage? You do not wish to pay me like you do the others for being your whore?

Kamal stepped back and casually stroked his jaw, as if in deep thought. Finally he said, “I wish Elena to be with me this night. I have missed her grace and her beauty and her gentle presence.”

Elena tossed her head, a smile of triumph curving her lips.

Kamal’s voice rang out. “I have suffered the graceless attentions of a girl from that faraway island of England. She is fit only to adorn a chamber, for her coldness would freeze a man.”

He looked at Arabella as he spoke, but she didn’t move a muscle. She simply gazed through him as if he did not exist. Damn her. “I desire a woman who is warm and yielding to me,” he continued coldly, “a woman I can trust.”

Arabella drew in her breath in fury at his words, but still she held herself perfectly still. He would soon cease his taunts and his lies and take his leave. She had but to remain calm and withdrawn from him.

Kamal wished he could shake her until her head snapped back. He would even welcome her curses, her insults, for then he would know that she was not indifferent to him.

He stood for a moment longer before his women, then turned sharply on his heel.

He heard Elena snicker behind him. He paused a moment when he heard her voice, heavy with triumph. “Daughter of a sow. Cold English bitch. I told you the master would see through you.”

Arabella looked into Elena’s brilliant eyes, now alight with the pleasure of her victory. “It is true, Elena, I have not the wit to play the whore. Perhaps if you perform as your master wishes, he will pay you with another gift, as men do for their whores.”

“Lying slut. You are jealous because the master chose me.” Elena did a small dancing step in front of her. “I knew, skinny witch, that the master would find you lacking. You are no woman. You are naught but a cold passionless shell.”

Cold and passionless. God, the lunacy of that.

“Well, cold bitch? Haven’t you anything to say now?”

Very calmly Arabella stepped toward Elena and slapped her hard with her open palm against her cheek. Elena gasped as her head rocked on her neck. “You have the mind of a child,” Arabella said very softly, “and the manners of a trollop.”

“Bitch,” Elena cried, and threw herself at Arabella.

Arabella had never slapped another human being in all her twenty years. Her hand stung; she had no time for thought, for Elena had grabbed masses of her hair and was pulling it. Something broke inside Arabella. With a speed she did not know she possessed, she launched herself at Elena, her fingers going around the girl’s throat. Elena screeched in fury at the suddenness of the attack, but she was no coward, and the thought of humiliating her rival before Kamal was sweetness to her. She clawed at Arabella’s hair, pulling her head back until Arabella released her throat.

Kamal whirled about and stared for an instant, openmouthed, at the two women. He ignored the cries from the other women, and plunged forward to grab Arabella away from Elena. He shouted to one of his soldiers to hold Elena. He tightened his hold on Arabella’s arms, surprised at her strength. “Stop it. Hold still, damn you.”

Suddenly Arabella leaned limply against him, all fight gone from her. “That’s better,” he said, shaking her. He eased his hold on her, intent upon turning her about to face him.

She moved so quickly he was stunned. He felt her hand slam into his belly, and the force of her blow
made him double forward. He grabbed for her, only to feel her knee crash into his groin with all the strength of her fury. He lurched downward, falling to his knees.

The idyllic harem garden was a pandemonium. Cries of the women filled the air. Arabella felt her arms pulled behind her until she moaned in pain. Two Turkish soldiers were jerking at her until she thought her arms would be pulled from their sockets.

She saw the flash of a silver blade above her, and closed her eyes against the pain she knew she would endure. To die because she lost her head, to die for naught—

“Stop.”

Her eyes flew open and she saw Kamal rise slowly to his feet. They stared at each other, and she smiled, thrusting her chin up.

Kamal felt Hassan’s hand on his arm. “Are you all right, highness? By Allah, the girl is mad.”

“I am well enough,” Kamal said, drawing several slow, deep breaths to ease the pain in his groin.

“Our laws are precise, highness. Any man who strikes a Bey must die.”

Kamal said slowly, willing his mind to obey him, “She is no man.”

Hassan drew back. “That is true, highness. Our laws have never considered that a woman would attack her master.”

Lella’s voice rang out, sharp with fear, “No, Kamal, please, you must not kill her. She does not know our ways—she did not mean—”

“I meant it,” Arabella said. “Do not try to defend me, Lella.”

“Kill her,” Elena screamed. “Kill the bitch.”

Kamal heard the furious arguments raging around him. God, what an utter fool he had been. He had pushed her too far and now she would pay for his petty revenge.

“Highness,” Hassan said quietly, “you must punish the girl. If you do not, your guards will quickly spread the story that the Bey of Oran was brought to his knees by a woman. You must do something.”

“But it was my fault,” Kamal said quietly.

“No matter, highness. You cannot let this pass. I know that you cannot kill her. The whip, highness, let it be lashes from the whip. It will break her and show all that you are no weak man.”

“Kamal, no.” Lella grabbed at his sleeve.

Kamal raised his head and again looked at Arabella. She was staring not at him, but through him. He prayed to God and Allah for inspiration, but none came. He knew he had no choice. He raised his hand for quiet. “The English girl will suffer ten lashes. Tie her to the column.”

“Eiee,” Elena cried. “The whip. Flay the flesh from the bitch’s back.”

“Animal,” Arabella said softly, her eyes cold upon Kamal’s face. She saw something in his eyes. Regret? “I hate you,” she said, and turned away from him. The two soldiers dragged her to an arched column. There were potted plants hanging from hooks embedded in the marble. One of the soldiers ripped off the lower of the plants. Arabella realized what they would do and began to struggle against the man who held her. He said something sharply in Arabic and jerked her hands toward him. He tied her wrists together with a leather
strap, then stretched her arms upward to fasten the leather into the hook, drawing her to her toes.

She closed her eyes a moment, swamped with fear. Just as she had never before struck another neither had she ever been harmed. She hung against the column, helpless, impotent. Fool, she screamed silently at herself, ten times a fool. She jerked when she felt a man’s hands tearing away the thin jacket, leaving her naked to the waist. She felt the coldness of the marble against her breasts. Plead with him, damn you. She shook her head violently at her own thought, pressing her cheek against the column. She gritted her teeth, waiting.

Kamal thought furiously but could find no plausible excuse for releasing her. He heard the snap of the whip and flinched, feeling the brutal leather striking his own flesh.

“You cannot release her, highness,” Hassan said, seeing his master’s indecision. “I am sorry, but it is your duty.”

Kamal shook off Hassan’s hand. He called to the soldier who plied the whip, and said quietly, “Don’t free your strength on her, Lam. Spare her as much pain as you can. I do not want her scarred.”

The man, Lam, looked at his master for a long moment, then nodded. He had never before beaten a woman, and the thought of plying his vicious whip on the beautiful creature, hearing her scream, watching her writhe to escape the pain, brought him no pleasure.

Kamal felt sweat bead his forehead as he watched Lam nearing Arabella.

“Please, Kamal, do not do this.”

He stared into Lella’s anguished face. “I have no
choice,” he said. He watched Lam pull Arabella’s long hair from her back and fling it over her shoulder. He winced at the sight of her naked back, soft, white, unmarked.

Lam stood back from her and slowly raised the whip.