"Now madame will rest perhaps," Cassia said softly. "And if she grows hungry, or wishes for something," she lifted the end of a cord by the divan, "pull this and I will come." Then Cassia bowed again, and going to the door, closed it noiselessly as she went out.
Chapter 45
It seemed endless hours had passed before Brandon came, so silently that Juliette, lying sick with anxiety on the divan, had to quickly scramble up to face him, the depths of her round eyes sparkling with fear.
At once she noticed he had changed from the European garb of the night before into white Arabian robes, so now he looked every bit an Arab as he salaamed so gracefully with his long hands that the very gesture was insulting.
"Mademoiselle, or should I say madame." he said pointedly surveying those curves Juliette knew to be distinctly outlined beneath her white silk gown. "It appears you've survived last evening without undue damage."
Boldly she raised her head. "It's no credit to you if I have," she snapped. "What did you expect? To find me cowed and ready to lick your boots?"
Oh, how she longed to rake his face with her fingernails until he dared not look at her as he was looking now as he said, "No, you are not easily cowed, are you? It would have surprised me if you were. But I did expect that you would want to eat. Self-denial is hardly like you."
"Well, you're wrong! But this has nothing to do with self-denial or a lack of it! Certainly you don't actually expect me to accept this charade-this absurd role as your guest?"
Brandon was looking at her like a person he hardly knew and liked even less as he braced a hand against an overhead beam. "No, I expected you to struggle senselessly. But then you will learn, and that will please me."
"Is that what you think? But it seems to me that under the circumstances I can only imagine it would `please' you most to watch me starve to death!" Juliette said glaring directly into his black eyes.
Imperceptibly she recoiled then as a slow, wicked smile spread across his features. "Mon Dieu! How you underestimate me! I assure you I'm not so blood-thirsty. And I have much more amusing things in mind than watching you starve. In fact, it would `please' me most for you to eat. I'm sure you are going to need your strength."
Juliette colored at his innuendo and swallowed hard before she said, "But I won't!" curling her lip sarcastically. "I never will do anything to please you! And you can't keep me on this ship forever. When we land, and we shall have to eventually, I will escape!"
He came toward her, laughing in a cold humorless fashion that made Juliette fall suddenly weak-kneed as he roughly lifted her chin so their eyes interlocked. "You will escape only if it pleases me to let you." His hard gaze roved over her features and then dropped to the thin gown, pausing where two rounded protrusions thrust forward at the centers of her breasts. "And at the moment, it pleases me to have you as you are!"
Juliette wanted to shield herself from his insulting looks, but she would not shrink, and forced herself to meet his eyes squarely when once again he raised them. For a long moment each measured the other. Then, with a grimace, Juliette wrenched her chin from his grasp, her stare going to the floor.
He turned away, walking to a sideboard and pouring himself a glass of wine, his movements slow and casual as he sipped the rosy liquid.
"Eighteen seventy-two was a particularly good year for French wine, although not for Italian. Do you enjoy wines?"
Juliette raised her head. "Wine?" she repeated wonderingly, and then furiously, "Wine!"
She was prepared to fight, to scream, to die if that was what he intended, but not to stand here discussing wine. He was insufferable!
"What a hypocrite you are," she hissed. "And tell me how is it that you are Arab, and proclaiming to be Moslem even as you defy the precepts of that religion by drinking alcohol?"
He laughed again, and this time there was a new touch of light in his eyes. "So, you aren't so ignorant after all. And you are correct, true Moslems are forbidden wine. But I found when I began traveling in France that it was impossible to seem French without learning to enjoy their wines. Fortunately it hasn't led to my moral downfall," he laughed again, "although you might disagree with that. Now I accept it as one of life's joys, along with fine food." His eyes looked her up and down before he added, "And, of course, women." He toasted her and sipped again, his eyes hardening as he continued. "Cassia tells me you aren't hungry, but you won't mind if I'm served my meal here, will you?"
"I can hardly imagine you care what I prefer," she screeched, her self-control slipping.
"You mock this intolerable situation. And you should know I mind your presence. Eat here if you must, but I won't touch a bite!"
That was her final word. She did not even look at him again but went to the far side of the room and huddled herself in the alcove of the window where the fog had thinned to reveal the moon, half full, and glazed with a hazy golden mist as it rose where sea and sky blended as one.
It was approximately an hour before dinner was served, and her stomach growled incessantly as tantalizing fragrances wafted past her upturned nose. She couldn't resist peeking out of the corner of her eye at the dishes Cassia deftly set on the table before removing the silver cover. She offered each dish to Brandon so he could select whatever he wished before discarding the rest.
"Glutton," she said to herself, seeing how much he seemed to be eating, and determined not to let temptation get the better of her resolve, she turned away further, refusing even to look. But all her stoic display seemed lost on him as the click of china and silverware continued and he appeared absorbed in savoring the contents of each dish. Then, at last, he was finished, and Juliette heard Cassia clearing away the dishes until only the smell of coffee remained. Then Brandon dismissed the maid, leaving them alone again.
Juliette felt her skin flush and then turn to gooseflesh as the power of his presence emanated from behind her. She stiffened as the silence grew and her pulse quickened, reverberating in her head.
Minutes ticked by before, holding her breath, Juliette heard him rise from the table. She waited to feel his fingers encircle her shoulder as an inward tremor rushed through her stomach. But then, to her relief, he didn't come in her direction, but rather toward the bathroom. And in a moment, she heard water tumbling into the brass tub.
Was he going to take a bath? Here? Now? Of course he would. There was no limit to his audacity. So she remained facing away toward the window and discovered that, with the moon now overhead, the glass panes became a mirror back dropped by the black of night and she couldn't help watching him undress and step into the bath.
Her face grew hotter and she dared not move or speak as she could see him looking at her. Minutes seemed extended to hours, and when his deep voice finally broke the silence, she jumped.
"Come here, cherie," he said simply.
Juliette didn't move, but another tingling rush of emotion slid up her spine.
"Come here," he repeated.
Still Juliette remained motionless and erect. She wouldn't… wouldn't do his bidding.
"Damn it!" he swore. "Come when I call you!"
Juliette's breaths- grew short as she turned to face him, the cold anger in his eyes gripping hers. "I warn you," he continued. "I'm not above beating you into submission."
Juliette clenched her teeth as venomously she spat, "It would appear that there is nothing you are `above,' monsieur. Murder, kidnap, rape, they are all nothing to you!"
His eyes became slits. "And you," he said ominously. "Are you giving lessons in sainthood? What are you above, lying, stealing? You may have been a virgin, but don't think that makes any difference. You still have the heart of a whore!"
The last word cracked in the air like a whip. Juliette's breath left her lungs in a rush. "And spare me your indignant looks," he continued. "We have both sought revenge. I had to forfeit the first round. You are an expert in the art of duplicity and clearly made a fool of me. But the second round you have lost. Now it's your turn to suffer the con
sequences."
"You are insane," she flamed, seeing he was perfectly serious. "I've done nothing but injure your pride, while you . . . you've done murder!"
He was infuriatingly calm as he sat with arms casually stretched along the edges of the tub. "It may interest you to know that it was your beloved husband that pulled the trigger, not I. He succeeded not only in being stupid enough to marry you, but also in killing himself. Anyway, I thought you would be pleased to be rid of him. It appeared your marriage was already beginning to bore you. I think marriage vows wouldn't have prevented a woman like you from pursuing other interests. Perhaps its better Rodney's dead. There's nothing more ridiculous than a cuckolded husband. And you have a way of making a man a laughingstock."
Juliette opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth about Rodney, but in confusion she hesitated when he said, "Now come here!" the warning in his voice worse than an outburst.
Fear rose within her but, determined not to cower, and careful not to lower her gaze below the surface of the water, Juliette advanced to the tub. She paused near him, but out of reach, and Brandon's mouth curved upward slightly as his eyes measured her with a hint of amusement.
"I have difficulty reaching my back," he said at last, producing a large sponge and holding it toward her. "You will scrub it for me."
Juliette stared at him astonished. "The devil take you!" she said taking a step backward. "I'll not do anything of the kind!"
His smile evaporated. "You will do as I tell you," he said factually.
Blinking back tears, Juliette realized that no matter what she did to the contrary, he could make her do whatever he wanted. It was too much-unendurable! He would have to make her then.
"I won't," she said. "You won't make me a slave. White women don't follow the orders of ... of . . . half-breeds!"
She spoke with venom that shocked even herself, and the word "half-breed" hung in the air with the violence of a thunderclap. Still she faced him in the dangerous silence that followed the sudden opacity of his eyes and tightening around his mouth telling her she had at last penetrated his self-control.
There was a low growl and a splash, and he was out of the tub and beside her, a bronze naked savage. Then in a quick movement, she could not evade, she was in his arms, and just as quickly splashed full-length on her back in the tub and scrambling to get out.
Brandon's fist gathered her robe at the neckline and held her underwater until, sputtering, he raised her face barely above the surface.
"You will learn to obey," he said between closed teeth.
There are ways to teach you." His fist tightened. "And you will begin by calling me 'Master-in Arabic. Say it now-call me Sayyid."
He dunked her again roughly so the water splashed onto the floor. He pulled her out then, his features seeming carved of stone. "Now say it!-Sayyidl"
Courage and defiance Juliette had not known she possessed coursed through her. "You can kill me," she said, coughing. "I swear I'll never give in to you. I hate you!"
With a straightening of his arm, the water closed over her eyes and she held her breath. Her determination was strong, but as her oxygen ran out her arms came out of the water to push against him, her legs thrashing. His hold was as unyielding as a stone pillar. Juliette pushed harder, flinging her arms about, wildly clawing at him, her lungs feeling as if they would burst.
Abruptly the arm slackened, and with her robe still clenched in his fist, Brandon heaved her out of the water, the heaviness of her sodden hair tilting her head backward so her back arched, outlining every detail of her breasts beneath the wet silk.
"Sayyid!" Brandon repeated.
Juliette's eyes stung from the soapy water. Her outrage and hatred had taken her beyond fear as she sputtered catching her breath. She would not! She would not give in was unthinkable. Better he should kill her. And squeezing her eyes shut, and compressing her lips, she shook her head furiously.
Immediately the arm stiffened and the water closed over her in a blocking out of sound as his hand moved around her throat as if to choke her. Again her arms struck out, beating his arm, his chest, and scratching at his face. But this time he continued holding her down until her lungs burned as she sloshed about the tub, dizzy and disoriented.
Her hands made fists and beat on his arm, but already her lungs had reached their limit even as, in her mind, the same words repeated themselves of their own volition. "I will not! I will not!"
Then even the words faded, her arms suddenly falling limply in the water at her sides.
Vaguely she felt him pull her out again, and heard him speak. The words meant nothing to her as her head lolled backward.
He plunged her under again and everything reeled, whirling in a kaleidoscope of color that slowly became a tunnel of black where she was falling . . . falling toward a diminishing pinpoint of light-which then abruptly vanished.
Chapter 46
A fire crackling; the splashing of water; a regular swaying back and forth; the smell of wood burning; all, one by one, nudged their way into Juliette's consciousness before suddenly she remembered.
She was dead. She must be. And her heavy eyelids struggled to open. The room's incandescent glow was revealed. Above her the beam ceiling swayed and occasionally creaked. She was lying back down on the divan, and turning her head, she saw Brandon across the room.
He was wearing only a pair of tight-fitting suede breeches, the lantern glow casting a relief of light and shadow onto his bare torso as he leaned so his hands pressed flat against a table where a large map was spread.
For a time his countenance concentrated on the map, eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his nose. Then, as she watched, he unbent, instinctively aware, it seemed, that she was awake as he strode to the divan and stood over her, bracing an elbow against a low beam overhead, as he said, "So! You've come around. Are you surprised? Did you really expect me to let you die so easily?"
In spite of the dry warmth coming from the tile stove, or the thickness of quilts heaped over her, every muscle of Juliette's body shivered. She wasn't dead, though she felt at least half dead and beaten in every bone as she watched him shake his head and continue.
"No, madame, my plan isn't for you to die. And I've had enough of your foolish games. It is time to eat something."
Juliette did her best to glare at him, though the practical side of her mind was saying, "What difference will it make to eat? You can't fight if you starve yourself."
The smell of food tantalized her nose, as Cassia suddenly appeared from somewhere, her doe eyes filled with worry as she set a tray of silver plates on a nearby table. Juliette hoped the girl would stay, wanting the protective presence of another nearby, and her heart sank when Brandon's voice dismissed Cassia and they were alone again.
"So you're sorry to see her go." His expression was almost amused. "Did you think she would interfere with anything I chose to do?"
Coming close, he slipped a strong arm behind her, lifting her into a sitting position against propped up pillows. Then he set the tray in front of her. "Now eat," he commanded.
With a feeling of fathomless weariness, Juliette noticed the poulet a l'orange was precisely cooked and attractively served with a garnish and glazed carrots. Brandon remained beside her seeming ready to force the food down her throat if he saw any sign of flagging.
So she picked up a fork and began, moving it mechanically from plate to mouth and back again in an even cadence until the portion was finished. Then pulling the quilt higher under her chin, she leaned back heavily against the cushions in sheer exhaustion and looked toward the wall.
Against his will Brandon's half-hooded eyes roved over her pale face and slender limbs outlined beneath the quilt. What kind of woman was this? Most men would not have the courage or tenacity to fight in the face of such overwhelming odds. And yet, this woman, hardly more than a girl, was prepared to die if necessary rather than to give in, even as a pretense.
How complicated she was and how
full of contrasts. All at once she was as fragile as a flower, as lovely as an angel, and yet she possessed a heart of ice. And still, with her blond hair fanning in a halo around her face, she seemed like some fair waif. He shook his head. What a trick fate had played, crossing his stars with this most desirable and treacherous of women, this one woman who had moved him as none other of her sex.
"What a pitiful looking creature you are," he said at last.
The nourishment had renewed Juliette's energy and, in spite of her fatigue, she felt a sense of returning fury rumbling inside her like inner thunder. Her eyes glared open to find him still watching her with infuriating calm, so much the master. Again she imagined clawing his face.
"And how else could I look after all you've done?" she asked. "And if I were a man, Monsieur Phillips, or whatever you call yourself, you would not be smirking so!"
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