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.
Arabella held her breath, waiting for his first blow. Oh, Father, she prayed silently, do not let me shame myself.
She heard the soft hiss and jumped, more in surprise than in pain, as the whip came down across her back.
She was surrounded by fearful, strained silence, the only sound her own harsh breathing. She wondered crazily if the man whipping her could smell her fear. Suddenly the whip cracked through the air and curled around her back to her ribs. She lurched with the pain, seeing brilliant flashes of light before her eyes. Again and again the whip came down. She felt the wet of her own blood. The pain was building and there was nothing she could do. She tried jerking away from the whip, but it did no good.
Lam watched helplessly as the whip struck her breasts, drawing blood. He was controlling his mighty strength, but it was not enough. The girl was not tough-skinned like the men he had punished. But she made no cry.
“You play with the bitch,” Elena cried. “Mark her for the miserable slave she is.”
Arabella sagged against the column, all fight gone. It was all she could do to prevent herself from screaming. The pain—oh God, never had she dreamed of pain like this.
From a great distance she heard Kamal’s voice. “Enough. Stop, Lam, it is enough.”
He couldn’t bear it any longer. Two more lashes and he would have thrown himself at Lam.
“But, highness—”
“Be silent, Hassan,” he said. He was at her side in but a moment, wincing at the raw welts across her back. Blood trickled down over her trousers.
He walked around the column to see her face. Arabella felt his presence, just as she had heard his voice. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared up at him. He said her name.
She pursed her dry lips and spit at him, full in the face. “Jackal,” she whispered. The simple action brought her immense, crawling pain that overpowered her. She gave a soft cry and collapsed against the column, blessed darkness claiming her.
“Raj,” Kamal called. “Cut her down and care for her.”
“Yes, highness,” Raj said with careful calm. Never before had he seen Kamal so angry, or now, so distraught.
Kamal stared at her pale face for a moment longer, then whirled about, calling his men together to leave the harem. He paused a moment, seeing Elena walking toward Arabella, her hands clenched into fists. “Raj,” he called out. “Do not let anyone near her. You are responsible for her care. You alone.”
Elena stopped in her tracks. She wasn’t stupid. Kamal wanted the English girl, no matter what she had done. She felt a lump of misery in her belly. What hold did the proud bitch have on him that she, Elena, could not break? She lowered her head and wheeled about.
Kamal walked slowly, like an old man, back to his quarters in the palace. How, he thought, can a man’s pride bring him so low? She had guile, damn her, but not enough to ply him with soft phrases, to make him believe that she could not live without him, to gently guide him toward what she wanted to achieve. And now she hung beaten and unconscious, all because of him. He didn’t blame Elena. She was a child, with a child’s rage and a child’s gloating triumph. But he was a man, and a damned fool.
“Highness.”
“Leave me, Hassan,” he said wearily.
“Lam told me she would not be scarred. He said he treated her as gently as he could.”
“I know. But she is a woman, not a battle-hardened man.”
“A woman who attacked you, highness.”
“I have lost her,” Kamal said, amazed at his simple words. He stared almost uncomprehending at Hassan.
Hassan felt a knot in his throat. “You never had her,” he said slowly. “She is not one of us, highness. She was never yours to keep.”
“She was a virgin, until I took her.”
Hassan blinked. “But your mother—The letter—”
Kamal gave him a twisted, cold smile. “Yes,” he said, “my mother. No man had touched Arabella, but I was too stupid to realize her innocence until it was too late.”
“What will you do, highness, when the Earl of Clare comes?”
“With her or with her father? By Allah, Hassan, I feel like an actor in a play, and I do not know my lines.” He paused a moment, rubbing his fist over his forehead. “I would see the earl’s captain, Sordello. Have him brought to me.”
Sordello, though treated kindly enough over the past weeks of his captivity, felt a frisson of fear when the guards came for him.
The slave market, he thought. I will be gelded and sold on the slave block. The guards were silent. They did not hurt him.
He was taken into a beautiful chamber, its furnishings crimson and gold, the tapestries on the walls of exquisite woven cloth. They were Italian, he realized numbly.
“Sit down, captain.”
Sordello gazed at the man who had taken him. Slowly, he eased himself down on the fat cushions across from him.
“Would you care for wine, captain?”
Sordello shook his head.
“Come, captain,” Kamal said. “I will drink with you. There is no poison, I assure you.”
Sordello gulped down the sweet red wine.
“Have you been treated well, captain?”
“Yes.”
Kamal eased back, and Sordello was struck by his barbaric splendor. He was reminded of pictures he had seen as a child, of the ancient pashas, fierce-looking men. But this man was young, and seemingly kind, at least to him.
“How long have you sailed with the Earl of Clare?”
Sordello stared at Kamal, wondering if his question was simply an amusement or if what he said would determine his fate. He cleared his throat. “The earl allowed me to be a cabin boy when I was but ten years old.”
“And what is your age, captain?”
“Thirty-five. I have captained my own vessel these past five years.”
“Then you have known the Lady Arabella since she was born.”
“Yes.”
“When you were a boy, did you know the earl?”
Sordello nodded. “I was his gate boy, but he knew I wished to be at sea.”
“Did you know the earl’s half-brother?”
Sordello started. “The earl’s half-brother? I remember him, yes. He died when I was very young.”
Kamal had prayed that the captain would tell him that there had been no half-brother. But that, at least, then, had been no fabrication. “How did he die?”
“I don’t know. There were many things happening then. My master, the Earl of Clare, had brought his countess to Genoa, but all was not well between them for some time.”
“Was she his countess, his wife, when she arrived in Genoa?”
“I don’t believe she was. I also remember that she fought with him, but always he treated her gently.”
Kamal looked thoughtfully into his wine goblet. Another truth. Did Arabella lie to him, or did she not know? “Tell me about this half-brother.”
“His name was Cesare Bellini, if I recall correctly. Again, I was but a child. He was a foppish young man, but pleasant enough, I suppose. Why do you question me like this?”
Kamal waved away his question. “Do you also recall a Genoese contessa, Giovanna Giusti?”
Sordello gazed at him warily. “Vaguely. I saw her several times in Genoa.”
“Was she to have wed the Earl of Clare?”
Sordello started, and shook his head in confusion. “That would not have been possible. It was his lady he wanted for wife. No one else. He nearly lost her. I remember his rage, like a demon possessed him.”
Kamal sat forward. “What do you mean, captain?”
“I know little of it, only that Joseph, my friend, was with her and they were taken by bandits. Joseph was killed and the lady badly hurt. It was an awful time.”
Kamal realized that Sordello was speaking from his child’s memories. What child could understand treachery? It was becoming a puzzle, Kamal thought, and only the earl and his mother knew the true placement of the pieces. But he had heard at least two damning truths from a man who had no reason to lie. “Tell me about the Lady Arabella, captain.”
Sordello smiled, despite his fear. “Ah, such a lively little sprite. Not a bone of fear in her body. The earl, her father, spoiled her shamefully, I suppose, but it didn’t change her. So bright she is. I remember her telling her father that she had no wish to marry until she found a man like him or her brother.” Sordello came to an abrupt halt. “Why do you ask about the lady?”
“She is here,” Kamal said.
Sordello jerked up to his knees.
“Calm yourself, captain.”
“But why is she here?”
It was on the tip of Kamal’s tongue to tell Sordello of the earl’s treachery, but he knew well enough that the man owed his loyalty to the Earl of Clare. He would say nothing against his master; indeed, if he could, he would invent tales to protect him.
Kamal had gleaned all the truth he could. He rose gracefully to his feet. “You will not be here for much longer, captain. I thank you for speaking with me.” He nodded toward the guards who stood at the entrance of the chamber.
He stood silently, watching the captain leave between his two guards. A lively little sprite. Kamal felt his belly knot. God, what had he done?
Kamal stood over Arabella, watching Raj gently massage a white ointment into her back.
“It will heal her, highness, and draw out the pain. In two or three days she will be fine again.”
He looked at her raw back, then remembered the whip striking the front of her. “Her breasts?”
“The whip did not split her flesh.”
Kamal saw flecks of blood in her hair. He lifted the stiffened hair and began to rub out the blood.
“I will keep her drugged,” Raj said, eyeing Kamal, “at least for another day. She must keep quiet and rest, to heal.”
Kamal nodded. “Turn her over a moment, Raj.”
Raj clasped her shoulders and gently eased her up. Kamal gazed at the thin red line that cut the underside of her left breast and higher on the right. Very gently he ran his fingertip along the red slash, remembering the feel of her in his mouth, remembering how she had arched her back to bring him closer. He dropped his hand.
“I will stay with her for a while,” he said.
“As you will, highness.” Raj eased Arabella onto her stomach again, straightened, and stretched. “You do not wish Elena this evening?”
Kamal gave a short bark of laughter. “No. I have decided to arrange a marriage for her. Say nothing to her until I have all the details worked out.”
“You are generous, highness,” Raj said, but Kamal did not hear him. He picked up Arabella’s hand and simply held it.
Chapter 24
Hamil hunkered closer to the small fire and stretched his hands toward the flame. The night air was chilly, surprisingly so, Rayna thought, after the scorching day. There was a tension in Adam, a tension so palpable she wondered how he could act so very calm, so very patient while Hamil settled himself comfortably on a blanket opposite them. Adam knew as well as she that Hamil had news of Oran and Arabella. She picked up her cup of thick Turkish coffee and slowly sipped.
“What have you learned, Hamil?” Adam said finally.
Still, Hamil did not reply for a moment, wondering whether to speak the truth to the woman’s brother.
“Arabella is well, is she not?” Adam’s voice was sharper than he intended.
“Yes,” Hamil said finally. “She is well.”
But he had forgotten the sharp-eyed Rayna. “Come, Hamil,” she said. “What has happened to her?”
Hamil quirked an eyebrow at Adam, remarking as he did, “Are you certain you don’t wish to sell the girl? She is far too perceptive for a female.” He sighed deeply. Adam’s concern for his sister, so clear in his eyes, made further jests die in his throat. “Very well. Your sister was whipped.”
“What?” Adam roared.
“Beaten?” Rayna repeated blankly. “Why, Hamil?”
He shrugged. “Sit down, my lord. She will be quite all right. You told me she is proud and as wild as a sirocco, but it seems that she attacked Kamal in the harem, and in front of his guards. Instead of killing her, as he would have been expected to do, he merely had her whipped.”
“I’ll kill the bastard,” Adam said.
Hamil did not add that he had also learned his wife was expecting their child at any time. For a moment he forgot Lady Arabella Welles
, dwelling on his joy at the news. Both he and Lella had believed she was barren, but he had not set another above her. He loved her too much.
“Why,” Rayna asked, “did Arabella do such a thing?”
Hamil regretfully let go of his pleasant thoughts and turned to the lovely young girl who was looking so seriously at him. He said to Adam, “Kamal has bedded your sister, my lord. My man did not learn all the details, but it appears she fought him, insulted him, and even tried to kill him once before. All to save her parents, I would guess. But she must have gone to his bed willingly. My half-brother would never force a woman, even one as provoking as your sister.”
Adam’s face was pale in the firelight. “He has much to answer for, Hamil,” he said.
“Yes,” Hamil said. “It would appear so.” He frowned a moment in deep thought. “There is more here, I think. Evidently Kamal also stopped the whipping, and afterward he stayed with her.”
“Perhaps,” Adam said, “he feared she would die. Without her, he would have no bait.”
“I do not think so,” Hamil said. He turned suddenly at a slight noise near their campfire. “Quickly, Rayna,” he said, “put on your cap. No one save my captain, Boroll, knows that you are a woman. Not all of my men are trustworthy, and I do not wish to have to fear for your safety.”
Rayna quickly stuffed her hair under the cap.
“Always stay close to me or to Lord St. Ives,” Hamil continued, “until this business is done. Some of the men owe no particular loyalty to me. And I must admit that you would be a temptation.”
“As is my sister,” Adam said more to himself than to Rayna or Hamil. “She will not stir from my side,” he continued to Hamil. He rose suddenly and began to pace about the fire. “We must face your brother now, Hamil. I cannot allow my sister to endure more.”
“Not yet, my lord. Not yet. His mother, the contessa, has not arrived. More important, it is impossible for me to enter the palace and see Kamal secretly. There are more guards and slaves around him than you can imagine.”
“Dammit.” Adam said. “Your spy managed well enough to get into the palace. I cannot wait longer, not knowing what will happen to her.”
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