Finding her way to the harem, she entered, looking about at the women there. They ignored her, for she was not as important as they were, being only the dey’s body slave. There were seven women from whom she might choose, and four of them were blond and voluptuous. Then Azura was at her side, murmuring softly, “Which one does he desire?”
“Nila,” India answered in a low voice.
“She is the one with the breasts like two soft pillows,” Azura told India. “The blonde with the longest hair is Mirmah. Laylu wears her hair always in a thick plait, and the last blonde is Deva. The redhead is Sarai. The tall brunette is Samara. The petite brunette is Leah. Have you enjoyed your day?”
India laughed. “It has been interesting and informative,” she told the mistress of the harem.
“Come and see me when you have the time,” Azura said. “Now go and fetch the chosen one.”
India walked across the main chamber of the harem, stopping before Nila. “The dey desires your presence. You are to follow me,” she said in neutral tones. Then she turned, and departed the harem, assuming Nila would follow. The dey’s concubine scrambled to her feet and, with a smug look at her companions, hurried after India.
“Do not walk so quickly,” Nila complained. “My legs are not as long and gawky as yours are. I am delicate and fine-boned.”
India said nothing, but she did slightly increase her speed. Delicate and fine-boned? The girl was a peasant!
“I shall tell the dey of your rudeness,” Nila cried.
India stopped, and turned about. “And I shall tell him I overheard you disparaging his manhood when I entered the harem,” she told the lush blonde. “Naturally, I was shocked. What did she mean you have the prick of a worm, my lord?”
“You would not dare!” Nila’s blue eyes were wide with fear.
“Do not find yourself on my bad side, Nila,” India warned her, and then she continued on her way, leading the blonde into the dey’s apartments. “I’m certain you know the way from here,” she said sweetly.
Nila almost ran past the English girl, and India overheard her trilling as she entered Caynan Reis’s bedchamber, “Ohhh, my lord, I have come as quickly as I could!”
“India! Fetch a carafe of sherbet,” she heard the dey call. “Why is there none already here? Hurry!”
She slammed from the apartment, and ran through the cool halls to the kitchen. It was empty, but there upon a silver tray was a carafe of fruit sherbet and two small goblets. Picking them up, India hurried back, and slowly entered the bedchamber. The dey and his companion were both naked now. Nila sat between her master’s spread legs, and, as he fondled one of her large breasts, she slowly and sensuously sucked the fingers of his other hand, her eyes half closed, her face a mask of open desire. India stopped, not certain where to put the tray.
Nila finished drawing upon the dey’s fingers, taking his hand and bringing it down to her Venus mound. The fingers seemed to have a life of their own, stroking her as she began to squirm beneath his attentions. The dey’s eyes met India’s. He could see the confusion and the surprise upon her beautiful face. She tried to look away, but could not do so, and she flushed with her shame.
“Put the tray by the bed, and then find your pallet,” he finally said, taking pity on her.
The hard voice seemed to rouse her from her stupor, and she tripped over her own feet to do his bidding, almost running from the bedchamber to escape the disturbing, yet exciting scene she had just witnessed. Her heart was hammering wildly. Her legs felt weak. Pulling her pallet from the cupboard, she saw a neck roll, and drew it forth, too. She spread her bedding before the dey’s bedchamber door, and lay down, but when she closed her eyes, she saw again the dey with his paramour. Her eyes flew open. Why was she so disturbed? she wondered. The dey was not hurting Nila, and, indeed, she was encouraging his attentions. Surely there was nothing wrong if the dey and Nila were content. She closed her eyes again, and dozed, only to be awakened by the sound of a woman moaning deeply. India crept closer to the door, and put her ear against it.
“Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh, my lord, do not stop! I am in Paradise! Oh! Oh! Yessssss!”
Nila’s voice cried.
India’s eyes were wide with shock, and then she heard the dey groaning. but the sound was one of pleasure.
“I’m not going to stop, you insatiable little bitch,” he said. “I’m going to keep on until you are finally satisfied!”
“Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Nila half sobbed.
India curled herself into a ball, her hands over her ears. She might be a virgin, but the audible sounds of lovemaking were obvious. For some reason it disturbed her greatly, and the earlier image of the dey and Nila caressing entered her mind again.
Oh, God, what is happening to me?
she wondered. She tried to picture Adrian Leigh with her in such a manner, but she could not. To her deep distress she found herself taking Nila’s place in her mind’s eye. It was too horrible to even contemplate. She did not know this man. How could she imagine such intimacy with a man she didn’t really know? It was wanton.
The days that followed took on a familiar pattern that mirrored the first day she had begun her service to Caynan Reis, and yet each day was different in its way. She particularly enjoyed the mornings when he would hold public audiences, or when officials or visitors would come to speak with the dey. Only the Europeans and the Jews, seeking the dey’s favor, found it difficult not to stare at her naked breasts with their bright red nipples. Oddly, she began to find humor in the situation. The afternoons were hot and long, and very dull. The dey gave permission for Azura to teach India Arabic. It was very difficult having a different alphabet she needed to learn, but it was a challenge, and India always enjoyed a challenge. One afternoon several months after she had come to El Sinut, they finished their lessons, and Azura ordered a cooling sherbet brought with a plate of honey cakes.
“You are doing very well,” she praised India. “It took Caynan Reis much longer to master what you have mastered in just these past four months. You have a knack for languages, my child.”
“Who is he, Azura? Caynan Reis, I mean. How did a foreigner rise so high in the sultan’s service?”
“He was a captive, very much like your own cousin, who now sails with Aruj Agha. He spent almost two years in the galleys, and then one day while his ship was anchored in the harbor, my lord, Sharif el Mohammed, was rowed out to it to see its captain on some small matter of business between them. Caynan had, by that time, proved his worth to the vessel’s captain and was no longer chained to an oar. Instead, he served the captain as his steward. Their business over, Sharif el Mohammed left the ship, but as he was getting into his own barge, he fell into the sea. He could not swim, and indeed he was weighed down by his garments. Caynan leapt over the side into the water, and saved the dey, Sharif el Mohammed.
“In gratitude, my own dear lord Sharif freed Caynan and invited him into his service. They became fast friends, and as my lord Sharif began to sicken, Caynan Reis took over more and more of his responsibilities. My lord wrote to Istanbul telling the sultan that he was dying and asking that Caynan Reis succeed him. The sultan agreed. My lord died shortly thereafter, but he was content knowing El Sinut was in safe hands.” There were tears in Azura’s bright blue eyes.
India reached out instinctively to comfort the woman. “Do not weep, my lady,” she said.
Azura laughed weakly. “It has been a long time since the mention of Sharif el Mohammed’s name could render me weepy,” she said. “He asked Caynan Reis to allow me to remain in the only home I had known since my capture. Caynan Reis is like a son to me. He has been gracious and very kind. Tell me, my child. Are you learning to like him?”
India nodded. “Aye, but not all the time. Sometimes he can be cruel, my lady, although I think he does not mean it.”
“You are wise to see that,” Azura said. “I do not know what happened to him in his homeland that caused him to leave it, but it hardened his heart, I fear. It will take a very special woman to melt the ice that encases his soul. Perhaps you are that woman. You cannot spend the rest of your days as his body slave. There is so much more you can have, if you will but ask, my child.”
“I do not know if I am ready yet, my lady,” India admitted.
“Surely you do not think you can be returned to your own land, India? Trust me, my child, it will not happen. Your life is here now.”
She thought about Azura’s words as she lay tossing upon her pallet that night, attempting to block the cries of the dey’s companion from her consciousness. Why did these women all howl so each night when he made love to them, and why did he call out as well? It was a mystery, and not one she was likely to solve unless she would yield herself to Caynan Reis.
Could she?
Was Azura correct? Would she never return to England again? And what if the harem mistress was right? Did she want to live like
this
forever?
She knew his body well enough, India thought, and the sight of it no longer troubled her, or frightened her. She knew her own body equally as well now. The trouble was, she wasn’t quite certain what they were supposed to do with their bodies once they were past the caressing and the kissing she had seen between the dey and his women. She remembered once asking her mother about what transpired between a man and a woman. Jasmine had grown thoughtful, and then she had told her eldest daughter that all would be revealed before she married, but it wasn’t really seemly that India have such knowledge before then. It might encourage her to experiment, and girls should not experiment with passion before marriage. It was not wise, or safe. And besides, here Jasmine had laughed, it was better that a man believed he was fully in charge of lovemaking, at least at first. But if his bride knew everything, then it would spoil it for him.
India wondered if Azura would enlighten her, and believed she would. She would ask her tomorrow. Azura, she knew, would be very pleased that India was finally showing an interest in the carnal side of her nature.
“Ahhhhh, my lord, it is too sweet!”
came the cry from the dey’s bedchamber.
“Oh, be silent, you silly creature!” India muttered to herself.
I vow
, she thought silently,
that I shall never carry on like those silly women do each night. I think they do it just to please him, and for no other reason. Nothing could be
that
wonderful
. Or could it? And would she be daring enough to soon find out? What if he decided he was no longer interested in her? India wondered nervously. No. Of late she had caught him sending glances her way when he thought she wasn’t looking, and when she caught him at it, he had smiled knowingly. Did he suspect her interest? God’s boots! How embarrassing!
She finally fell asleep, awakening just at dawn as she had accustomed herself to do. Rising, she stored her pallet and neck roll in the cupboard. Then, opening the dey’s bedchamber door, she crept silently into the room, going to the bed and poking at the naked girl curled up next to Caynan Reis. “Samara,” she whispered to the long-legged brunette. “Samara, it is time to get up. Go back to the harem.”
“Ummmm,” Samara murmured sleepily, turning onto her back and opening her eyes. “If I remain, perhaps he will want me again.”
India pulled the girl by her arm.
“Get up!”
she snapped. “You know Baba Hassan’s rule, and if you do not go back to the harem this minute, I shall go and fetch him! You will be punished.”
Samara scrambled to her feet. She was every bit as tall as India. “You are just jealous because the dey does not find you desirable,” she said meanly. “You are the lowest of the low. A body slave.”
India pushed the naked girl from the room, shoving her kaftan into her hands. “You are mistaken, you overblown Damascus rose. It is I who do not find the dey desirable. I think it will be a long time until you enter his bed again, Samara.” She smiled sweetly. “You see, I have my master’s complete trust now, and it is I who choose his nightly companion. I do not think I will choose you for a long time.”
Samara’s lush mouth fell open in shock. “You lie!” she said disbelievingly.
“You lie!”
India laughed. “Go back to the harem and await your master’s next invitation. You will be old and fat before it comes.” She thrust Samara out into the corridor and pulled the doors shut on her. “Nasty cow,” she muttered to herself. “I’d sleep with him myself before I’d let you go back into his bed again!”
“Would you, India?”
The dey stood in his bedchamber door.
“Would I what, my lord?” she asked innocently.
He laughed. “You have a wicked tongue, India, and you bully my women shamelessly. Are you jealous of them?”
“My lord, I may now find myself your slave, but I am a duke’s daughter. Your women are of a lower class, and if I did not keep them in line, they would be impossible to tolerate.” She pointedly ignored his question. “Come, now, my lord dey, it is time for your bath.”
“Yes, my lady,” he teased, following her into the baths.
She scrubbed him with great vigor until he finally protested. “Do not be such a bairn,” she told him. “Go and soak in the bathing pool.”