India nodded vigorously, at first unable to speak. She was both hot and cold, and had to struggle to remain standing, for her legs felt as if they would give way at any minute. His large hand was splayed across her belly and felt fiery against her skin. She wondered if he could feel her trembling. Finally she was able to speak. “Of course I am a virgin,” she gasped. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“Because you have told me you are in love with the milord,” the dey answered her.
“I love him, but I am certainly no wanton,” India murmured. “And if he had had me, would you set us free?” Oh, God! She wished his hands didn’t feel so all-possessing. Every time he caressed her, chills raced up and down her spine.
“No, I would not set you free, although it would displease me to learn that another had traveled the path I have solely reserved for my own pleasure.” His lips brushed her ear. “I am going to make love to you,” he said softly. “I shall kiss you and caress you until you beg me to relieve you of the burden of your virginity.”
“Never!”
she half whispered vehemently.
“And I shall teach you how to please me.” His big hand drew her head to one side, and his mouth branded her throat with kisses. “Tell me your name, my thorny rose.”
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t breathe!
And then she finally managed to say, “India.”
“India,”
he breathed hotly in her ear.
“I am Lady India Anne Lindley, daughter of the duke of Glenkirk . . . I have a brother who is a duke . . . and another brother who is a marquis . . . I am rich and can pay whatever ransom you desire. Ohhh God!
Don’t do that!
Please let me go, my lord!”
“There isn’t enough gold in the world to buy you from me,” the dey told her. Then his fingers teased down her torso, and, pushing his hands between her trembling thighs, he cupped her Venus mound within his palm.
“You belong to me,”
he told her.
India collapsed against him. The touch of his hand in that most secret of places was simply too much for her. With a cry she fainted dead away. The dey caught her in his arms, and calmly handed her limp form to a eunuch. Brushing India’s hot cheek with the back of his hand, he smiled to himself. Aruj Agha had been wrong. There had been a valuable cargo on the English ship. and as was his right, the dey claimed this cargo for himself.
“Take her to Baba Hassan,” he told the eunuch, “and tell him the girl is to be treated like a princess. I will speak with him later.”
The eunuch turned, and exited the audience chamber carrying his burden with extreme gentleness.
“If she kills you, I will not be responsible,” Aruj Agha said wryly. “I think she will break you, rather than the other way around.”
“We will destroy each other in an excess of passion,” the dey answered him. “I have been bored of late. I will no longer be bored. She intrigues me, my friend. She was frightened to death, but she would not admit to it, or even show it by any outward sign. I knew, for I could feel her trembling ever so slightly beneath my touch.”
“When she declared she was in love with the milord, I feared I had been misled with regard to her virginity, and I was ashamed to have brought you so poor a gift,” the agha said, “but when she fainted at your intimate touch, I knew she was indeed a virgin. I wish you much joy with the girl, my lord dey. Now, I will take my leave of you.” Aruj Agha bowed low before his lord.
“The English milord,” Caynan Reis said. “Do not kill him, my friend. I want him alive to eventually ransom, but first I think he needs a strong lesson in manners.”
“You will ransom him despite the difficulty?” The agha was surprised. “Why?”
“The girl believes I have given him a death sentence. In a few months we will show her that he is still alive, and that I am a merciful man. I will have won her love by then, and so we will ransom him. It amuses me to do this. Now, go and Allah be with you, Aruj Agha. Travel safely, and bring me more treasures to enrich our master the sultan.”
The janissary captain departed the dey’s audience chamber, and Caynan Reis dismissed his servants, sitting quietly upon his dais.
Viscount Twyford.
How odd it had been to hear the title that had once come out of his half-brother’s mouth. Adrian had, under his mother’s tutelage, become an arrogant swine, so filled with himself that he had not even recognized Deverall Leigh, but then, it had been ten years since they had last seen each other. Ten years could be a lifetime, the dey considered.
In that time his half-brother had grown from a snot-nosed brat into a haughty and insolent cad. One of the guards who had escorted Captain Southwood and Adrian from his audience chamber had been a sailor on the ship he had taken from England. That vessel, like the
Royal Charles,
had been captured by corsairs sailing out of El Sinut. The guard, like Deverall Leigh, had accepted Islam, and gained a decent life. Although he rarely heard his native tongue, he had dutifully reported the conversation he overheard between the English captain and Adrian, even as the dey was preparing to punish India for her attack on his person. Captain Southwood’s gallant attempt to protect his cousin from scandal undoubtedly came about because the foolish, inexperienced India was attempting to elope with Adrian. He could see his stepmother’s greedy hand in it, the dey thought. He doubted the girl’s family would have approved any match between his half-brother and India. Not with his stepmother’s reputation, and the scandal of Lord Jeffers’s murder, for which he had been held responsible.
He simply should have held Adrian in his dungeon until a ransom could have been obtained for his person, although he knew his father was not a rich man. Still, MariElena Leigh would have moved heaven and earth to regain her darling son. The dey smiled grimly. He could imagine her anguish. The little bastard, however, had aggravated him with his arrogance. The order to send him to the galleys was out of his mouth before the dey realized what he was saying. Well, a few months in the galleys wouldn’t kill Adrian. It might even make him a better man. After all, the dey of El Sinut had himself been confined in the galleys for almost two years, and he had survived. Surely his half-brother was made of the same stuff.
And when the ransom was finally paid, Caynan Reis decided, he would reveal himself to Adrian. And he would tell him how delicious a prize the beautiful India was, for although his half-brother had now dismissed the girl he had been eloping with, it would certainly madden him to know she was Deverall Leigh’s mistress, and would be until he tired of her. Adrian had always been loath to share his toys when he was little. Even when he had tired of them.
His stepmother had taught him one important lesson. Women were expendable, and absolutely not to be trusted. Nonetheless, his revenge would be sweet, and it was little enough for Adrian to suffer. After all, he would go home to England, and one day inherit the title that was rightfully Deverall Leigh’s. Whereas Deverall Leigh could never go home because he stood accused of murdering Lord Jeffers. His name was blackened forever, and he knew that his father’s heart was broken because of it, for he had been the earl of Oxton’s favorite son.
And that was what hurt the dey worst of all. The knowledge that his father had been shamed, and injured because of this. So that a selfish and thoughtless woman’s son might supplant him. He wished there was some way he might make his stepmother suffer for all her betrayals, and for the death of an innocent man, but he knew his desire was a futile one. Still, he would think on it. Was it not written that nothing was graven so deeply in stone that it could not be changed?
Chapter
7
I
ndia opened her eyes. She was surrounded by pale gold gauze draperies. Gingerly she turned her head. She was lying naked upon a scarlet silk mattress. Beside her was a low table, its top inlaid with blue-and-white mosaic. Atop the table was a crystal goblet half filled with a pale peach-colored liquid. She was so thirsty, but she could hardly move. India moaned softly and instantly a black face appeared in her view. She gasped, trying to cover herself.
“I am Baba Hassan, lady, chief eunuch of the dey’s harem. You are thirsty.” It was a statement and not a question. The eunuch braced her shoulders in a half-seated position and held the cup to her lips. “Drink it slowly, lady,” he advised, apparently impervious to her unclothed state.
The liquid was cool, and fruity, and slid easily down her parched throat. “What is it?” she finally asked him when she had assuaged her thirst. The drink had been sweet, and she could feel the strength coming back into her limbs.
“It is a mixture of fruit juices,” he told her, and he lay her back upon the mattress.
“Where am I?” India asked him.
“You are in the harem of the dey, Caynan Reis, may Allah protect and preserve him.” Baba Hassan told her. “I have been told you are to be treated gently despite your violent behavior of earlier today.” The eunuch’s long face wore a disapproving look.
“I did not even wound him,” India said defensively.
“You should have not even attempted to do such a thing. It showed an appalling lack of manners,” Baba Hassan said sternly. “You are a beautiful maiden, not some wild savage.”
“Is our young assassin awake then?” a bell-like voice inquired.
India turned her head, and saw the voice belonged to a very beautiful older woman with silver hair and almond-shaped turquoise-blue eyes. She had a lean body and an elegant carriage, and there was an amused smile upon her unlined face.
“I am Azura, the mistress of the dey’s harem,” the woman said. “How are you feeling now, my child?”
“Tired,” India replied. “Weak. What is the matter with me?”
“A long sea voyage, the distress of being captured by Aruj Agha, fear,” Azura said quietly. “And I suspect you are in a little bit of shock having been whipped by the dey. I do not imagine you were ever treated so harshly before, my child, were you?” The older woman’s face was genuinely concerned.
“I am a nobleman’s daughter, and related to our king. Of course I have never been beaten before,” India answered Azura indignantly, and feeling the tears pricking sharply behind her eyelids, she fought to prevent them from overflowing her eyes and displaying her weakness for all to see.
Azura reached out and squeezed India’s hand. “Let the tears come, my child. They will be a catharsis for you.”
“If I weep you will think me weak,” India said stonily.
“I am not weak!
I do not cry before strangers.”
“I understand,” Azura said calmly, “but when you are alone later, cleanse your sorrow with your tears, my child. Now, are you hungry?”
India nodded.
“Baba Hassan will see you are fed, and then we will take you to the baths,” Azura told her. She arose. “I will come back later when you have finished your meal, my child. We will talk.”
“Who is she?” India asked the eunuch when Azura had gone. “Is she the dey’s wife?”
“Caynan Reis has no wife,” Baba Hassan replied. “The lady Azura was the favorite of the former dey. On his deathbed he asked Caynan Reis to protect her and let her live out her days here where she has lived most of her life. Of course he agreed. She keeps order among the women, who are apt to be difficult as all women are,” the eunuch concluded. He clapped his hands sharply, and a slave girl appeared with a tray. “Here is your meal, lady,” Baba Hassan said.
India sat up slowly, and another slave girl appeared to prop pillows behind her back. Upright, the tray in her lap, India inspected the contents curiously. There was a bowl of yellow grain mixed with pieces of green scallions and bits of chicken, half a round of a flat bread, a small bunch of green grapes, and a thin slice of something pale gold in color. “What is it?” she asked the eunuch.
“Saffroned rice with onion and chicken, the bread and grapes you recognize, and a slice of melon, a sweet fruit,” he answered her.
India began to eat using a small silver spoon and her fingers. There was neither a fork nor a knife upon the tray. The rice and chicken were nicely cooked and flavored, the bread still warm, and the melon was absolutely delicious, almost melting in her mouth. “It is all very good,” she pronounced as she finished. She washed her hands in a silver ewer the slave girl held out, drying them on a small linen towel provided. The tray was removed.
“We will now go to the baths,” Baba Hassan announced.
“But I have no clothes!” India protested.
“You do not need clothing to bathe, and you are certainly in need of bathing,” was the tart reply. “You have soft skin, and so are obviously used to washing, but I doubt you could have done so aboard your ship. Why are you so modest, lady? There are only women here.”
“You are not a woman,” India snapped at him.
“Neither am I a man,” he replied dryly, helping her to her feet. “Come along now. The lady Azura will be waiting for us.” He pulled back the gauze draperies.
They were in a large room, India now saw. Here and there were other partitions formed by the sheer draperies. Beautiful young women lounged about on low, silk-covered furniture and upon satin-covered pillows. Warm air blew through the latticed windows. There were cages of songbirds hung in the windows. India still felt embarrassed to be so vulnerable among these women, but, remembering her cousin’s warning, she grit her teeth and held her head high, ignoring the spiteful remarks spoken in French so she would be certain of understanding them as she passed through the harem.
“Her breasts are too small. Are we certain she is a girl?”
“Dark hair. Ho hum, how common,” an overblown blonde said.
“She is soooo hairy.”
“Her buttocks are nice enough.”
“But the dey is not
that
kind,” came the reply, followed by a round of malicious tittering.
“Do you think she’s a virgin?” asked another girl.
“She must be. Who would want such a creature?” was the answer.
“She does not look like she will hold much interest for our master once he has taken her maidenhead.”
“If he even bothers to before giving her away to some desert sheikeh he wants to believe he is honoring.”
There was more laughter among the women of the dey’s harem, and India could feel her cheeks flaming. She needed desperately to retaliate so these pampered creatures would not think she was easy prey. She stopped, and, turning about, slowly said with devastating effect, “I wonder which of you I will kill first.” Then she continued onward, following behind Baba Hassan with apparent meekness. Behind her there was a sudden, shocked silence.
“You have a fine sense of the dramatic,” the eunuch observed wryly as they left the main room of the harem and entered the baths.
“Ahh, here you are.” Azura hurried forward, smiling.
“I will leave you in the lady Azura’s competent hands while I return to restore order out of the chaos you have created. Half of the ladies will be weeping with fear from your fierce remark.” The eunuch departed.
“What on earth did you do?” Azura asked India.
“Those common creatures made unkind remarks about me as I passed through their domain,” India replied. “I only considered out loud which one of them I should kill first. Surely they didn’t really believe me. I only did it to spite them.”
Azura laughed. “You will have frightened them to death,” she told India. “You come from a land where the women are free in comparison to the women here. Your women may own land, walk the streets unveiled, in many cases even have a say in choosing their own husbands. Those vapid creatures peopling the dey’s harem are incapable of such independence. Their sole reason for being is focused on pleasing Caynan Reis, and any new inhabitant of this harem is considered a threat to be frightened away. You, however, were not in the least intimidated by the ladies of the harem. Indeed, you threatened them with violence, and having heard of your attempt on the dey’s life this morning, they fully believe you capable of such an act. It was most naughty of you to terrorize them so.” Then she laughed again.
“Where is your homeland?” India suddenly asked Azura.
“I was born in Poitou,” Azura said quietly. “Like you, my father was of the noble class, and I, his eldest daughter. I was sent one summer when I was twelve, and a marriage was being arranged for me, to visit relatives near Marseilles. One day, Barbary corsairs stormed ashore, and I was taken, along with my cousins, into captivity. The former dey, Sharif el Mohammed, was my only master. I have lived in this palace for thirty years.”
“You had no children?” India couldn’t resist being curious.
Azura shook her head. “Sharif el Mohammed had no offspring,” she said. “Women. of course, are blamed in such a situation, but my good lord knew better, which is why he never put me aside.” She smiled at India. “You are so full of questions, my child, and I must get you bathed. You have never seen baths like these, I will wager.”
And indeed India had not. The room into which they entered was constructed of creamy marble. Domed, its pillars were of a pale green marble. In the center of the room was a round pool directly beneath the dome. Around the room were fountains with gold spigots set into the walls, above shell-like indentations in the marble floor. There were marble benches in varying heights set about. The room was warm and damp, and the air was scented with roses. Several slave women hurried forward, bowing politely to the lady Azura.
“Here is the new maiden,” Azura said. “You must prepare her properly for our master. She has been aboard ship for many weeks, and is in need of much attention, but unlike many of these girls, she does bathe regularly as you will see by the softness of her skin.”
The bath attendants took India in their charge.
“I will remain with you,” Azura assured her.
The bath women tsked-tsked over the condition of India’s thick, dark curls, admired her golden eyes, and then set to work. She was stood in one of the floor shells and rinsed. A young woman with a small curved silver instrument ran the implement over India’s entire body. To her surprise, India saw dirt being scraped off of her skin. She was rinsed again. Next she was washed very thoroughly by two ladies holding large sea sponges filled with a foamy soap. When they had finished, and she had been rinsed off a third time, another woman knelt to examine India’s body so closely that India blushed with embarrassment.
“What is she doing?”
India asked Azura as the woman began to smear a pink paste that smelled of almonds over her legs and Venus mound. “Does she have to touch me so intimately?”
“Our men do not like body hair on a woman,” Azura explained as the bath attendant lifted each of India’s arms in turn and spread her mixture beneath the upraised arms. “The almond paste will remove the offense. It won’t take long, I promise.”
While they waited for the depilatory to do its work, India’s hair was thoroughly washed, and then toweled almost dry. Azura admired the girl’s tresses, for India had hair that curled naturally even to the end of its length, which was about midback. The older woman lifted a handful of the curls admiringly, feeling its texture and thickness.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “Here in the sultan’s realm maidens with golden or flame-colored hair are usually the most valuable, but your marvelous ebony curls are quite wonderful,” Azura told the younger woman. “These curls are truly your crowning glory, my child.”
The pink paste was washed away, and India found herself feeling shy again as her Venus mound was suddenly so prominently displayed. Azura led her into the bathing pool, which was warm and quite relaxing. India was surprised to see what a fine body the older woman had despite her age.
“When you are feeling relaxed, we shall leave the pool, and the slaves will massage our bodies with sweet oils,” Azura explained.
“Do you do this every day?” India asked her.
“Yes,” Azura replied. “Bathing is a very social amenity. The poor go to the public baths, the hours being specified for men and for women. There they wash, and exchange gossip and just talk.”
“Does the dey heed your words, my lady,” India asked. “He must if he entrusts his harem to you. You must tell him that I am a very wealthy girl and can buy my freedom. I must be returned to my family. Since Adrian and I snuck away just as my family was to return home to Scotland, it is just possible that no scandal has arisen from our behavior. If I could just get back home again it would be all right.”
Azura was very quiet for a long moment, and then she said, “I will not lie to you, my child. Caynan Reis has not need of your wealth, for he is wealthy beyond all. It is highly unusual for a young and beautiful woman to be ransomed out of Barbary. Once I thought as you did. My heart was broken, and only when I accepted my fate was I able to be happy again. You are not like the little fools peopling his harem. You are clever, and you are intelligent. You can win him over with those qualities if you will but try. I do not believe he has ever loved, which is why it is so easy for him to give his women away when he tires of them, and that is often, for they bore him. I suspect he may have once been betrayed by a woman he was beginning to care for, and so he trusts no woman entirely, not even me. If you displease him enough, he will dispose of you by offering you to someone he wishes to honor, or if you anger him, he will give you to his soldiers to be a barracks whore. He has done it before.”