Then, in a sudden jolt of insight, Jamal made up his mind. He pulled open his chamber door and roared for Hammet. The eunuch rushed into the chamber a few minutes later, his robes flying behind him.
“I am here, my lord.”
“Summon Haroun.” Jamal’s words were sharp, demanding immediate obedience. Hammet didn’t wait around for further orders.
Jamal continued pacing until Haroun stood before him, salaaming respectfully. “You wished to see me, my lord?”
“How many men can you provision and have ready to ride by dawn?” Jamal asked without preamble.
“Twenty,” Haroun said without hesitation. “More if you wait until they can be recruited from the village.”
“Twenty will do.”
“What enemy do we fight?” Haroun asked, though he already suspected what Jamal had in mind.
“Perhaps none. It depends on how willing Sidi Bennaur’s men are to relinquish Zara without a fight.”
“Ah,” was all Haroun said. No other words were necessary.
“You may go, Haroun. We have a long, hard ride ahead of us. The caravan has a head start, but it shouldn’t be difficult to intercept the slow-moving camel train before it reaches Er Rachidia.”
Haroun turned to leave. “I will prepare the men. I am convinced you won’t be happy until you have the woman back in your bed.”
Jamal hated to admit it, but Haroun was right.
Zara cursed the slow-moving, clumsy camel upon whose back she rode. Had she been riding a racing camel, she would feel more at ease. But no, Sidi Bennaur had insisted that she ride in a howdah, a basketlike chair with curtained sides and canvas top to protect her from the relentless sun, and wear a djellaba, which covered everything but her eyes.
The heat inside the enclosure was nearly suffocating, forcing Zara to pull aside the curtain to allow air to circulate. The journey to Ali ben Baha’s desert home near Er Rachidia was a long one. They had already left the mountains and were now traveling along the edge of the desert, over a flat, stony plain, broken by reddish sand buttes and strips of green date palms bordering thin rivers. Monotonous little red-brown villages literally built from the earth were strung along the parched land. Water holes were infrequent, known only to men familiar with the desert. Zara was warned to drink sparingly from her water bag, for there were long stretches where water was not available.
Despite the blistering days, nights were bitter cold. Zara slept alone in a large white tent with carpets on the floor and braziers to keep her warm. Though she traveled in luxury, she could not be happy about it. How could she when she was on her way to a master she did not know, to be enslaved in a harem and used to satisfy her master’s lust? Few Berbers could afford the kind of luxury she’d enjoy in Ali ben Baha’s harem, but she couldn’t forget that among her people she had been a free woman. Berber women lived unrestricted lives compared to their Arab sisters.
Zara wondered where her father was now. Was he worried about her? Did he know about her misfortune? Youssef would be enraged to know that Jamal had sold her at the slave market.
Jamal.
Until now she’d avoided thinking about the darkly handsome sheik. It was too painful. She recalled the look she and Jamal had exchanged as Sidi Bennaur’s men dragged her away. Had that been longing and regret and, yes, anguish she’d seen deep within the dark, mesmerizing depths of his eyes? Zara had no idea why Jamal had appeared in the slave market to reclaim her when she had been sent away at his order. No matter the reason, she’d never forgive him for abandoning her to such a fate. Nor, she supposed, would he forgive her for betraying his trust and fleeing with her father.
With regret Zara realized that Jamal held no strong feelings for her. She had been but a sacrifice on the altar of his lust. Her own feelings for the arrogant sheik were more complicated. She didn’t hate him, though she should after the callous way he’d banished her from his life. She knew she wasn’t altogether blameless. Drugging him had been a despicable thing to do. But desperate situations called for desperate measures, and she had done what had to be done.
Zara shaded her eyes against the scalding rays of the midday sun and stared into the distant horizon. A cloud of dust appeared over the crest of a butte, and Zara prayed it wasn’t a sandstorm hurtling toward them. As the cloud of swirling dust and sand grew closer, others in the caravan took notice. Suddenly a cry went up and Zara saw a dozen or more blue-robed men mounted on racing camels appear from within the swirling core of sand and dust.
“Father!” Her cry was lost amidst the shouts of camel drivers and guards as they ran hither and yon in confusion.
The Blue Men were widely feared throughout the land. Their reputation as bandits and fierce fighters was legendary. Neither the guards nor camel drivers wanted to defend the caravan against these ferocious warriors. To Zara’s surprise, the guards laid down their weapons as the Blue Men surrounded the caravan.
Youssef brought his racing camel to a halt beside Zara’s lumbering beast. His camel knelt and he slid from the saddle; then he ordered the camel driver to bring Zara’s mount to its knees. A moment later he pulled Zara from the howdah and hugged her tightly.
“Praise Allah you’re safe,” Youssef said with heartfelt relief.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“From Rashid. Haroun went to the village to buy a racing camel for Jamal. Haroun let slip that you had been sent to the slave market by mistake. Jamal wanted the fastest racing camel available so that he might reach Fez in time to stop the sale. Rashid set out to find me the moment he learned what had happened.
“Unfortunately, he didn’t find me before the sale took place. But I learned that Sidi Bennaur was sending you by caravan to Ali ben Baha, who resided in Er Rachidia. I recruited men from other tribes and set out to intercept the caravan.”
“Jamal arrived in Fez too late to stop the auction. He said it was a mistake, that he never intended to sell me. He tried to buy me from Sidi Bennaur but his offer was refused.”
“Forget Sheik Jamal, daughter. I will find a mate for you from among our own tribe members. Together we will continue to raid Moulay Ishmail’s caravans. It will be a rare caravan that makes it through to Meknes with its cargo intact. Come, daughter, ’tis time to leave. Everything of value is being stripped from the caravan. The cargo will be sold and the money used to buy weapons and food for our people.”
Jamal rode with his small army through endless stretches of shifting sand, which seemed to reach to the horizon, creating a vast, ever changing panorama. The caravan route was a winding, rutted road worn down by the hundreds of camels and men that traveled the same path year after year, century after century.
Jamal’s sharp eyes spied the cloud of dust ahead and he experienced a surge of joy. At last. He’d soon have Zara back in his arms where she belonged.
Haroun rode up beside Jamal, pointing to the caravan in the distance. “Jamal, look! What do you make of it?”
Squinting against the glare of the sun, Jamal saw what Haroun was referring to. The caravan appeared to be traveling toward them, not away from them. It was returning to Fez! It couldn’t have reached the home of Ali ben Baha and returned so soon. Digging his heels into the sweat-slick flanks of his Arabian stallion, Jamal broke away from his men and raced ahead to meet the caravan.
Reining his stallion to a dancing halt, Jamal demanded that the caravan be halted. The head camel driver complied without question. Soon ten camels and twice as many men waited to see what this new confrontation would bring.
“I am Sheik Jamal abd Thabit.” His anxious gaze searched for Zara among the travelers. He spied the howdah perched atop one of the camels and wondered why Zara wasn’t peeking through the curtains. “Release Princess Zara to me and no one will be hurt.”
One man stepped forward, a lieutenant in charge of the guards sent to protect the princess. “She is not here, my lord.”
Rage exploded through Jamal. “Not here! What in Allah’s name have you d
one with her?”
“Nothing, my lord. Blue Men attacked the caravan two days ago. They relieved us of our cargo and took the princess with them. We are returning to Fez. It would be foolish to continue on to our destination with nothing to present to Ali ben Baha.”
“Youssef!” Jamal spat. “How in Allah’s name did the Berber cadi know where to find Zara?”
“The wily bandit seems to know everything,” Haroun said with a shrug. “What do we do now?”
What, indeed? Jamal wondered. Of late he had done nothing but chase an exasperating, utterly bewitching female across the width and breadth of Morocco. Had he lost all semblance of pride? he wondered. Zara had turned him into a witless, besotted fool and he’d allowed it. Because of his obsession with Zara, he had failed the sultan. Youssef had escaped. It was no wonder Moulay Ishmail was angry with him. The sultan was a cruel man who enjoyed torturing his slaves and punishing those who failed him, and if Jamal wasn’t careful, he would be next.
“Jamal? What are your orders, my lord?” Haroun repeated. “Do you want us to give chase to Youssef and his Blue Men?”
There was no decision possible but the one Jamal made. “Nay, Haroun, the men are weary. We will return home.”
Haroun searched Jamal’s face, recognized his anguish and wisely decided not to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue. Jamal didn’t need to be reminded of Zara when she was all but lost to him. Shaking his head in commiseration, Haroun vowed to find a way to ease his master’s heartache.
Jamal’s oasis kingdom shimmered like a brilliant jewel amidst a sea of brown. From a distance, the lake at its center sparkled with the radiance of a million blue sapphires. It was always good to return to his peaceful existence in his white marble palace, Jamal thought as he rode through the gate.
Unfortunately, his sojourn ashore was limited. It was no secret that he no longer basked in the sultan’s high regard. For his own continued health he thought it expedient to return to sea to fulfill his promise to the sultan. He hoped to return with enough wealth to appease the disgruntled Ismail.
Despite the pleasure Jamal experienced when he entered his home, his homecoming wasn’t quite the same this time. There was no female laughter echoing through the halls, no voluptuous women occupying his harem.
No Zara.
Nothing but the silent comings and goings of his servants and the ever present, ever loyal Hammet. And of course, Nafisa, the lone occupant and keeper of his empty harem.
Raids upon the sultan’s caravans began almost immediately. It was a rare occurrence when a caravan reached its destination intact. The sultan was at the end of his patience. His losses were enormous, thwarting his plans to build great mosques in his honor and to bring his nation under one rule … his. He blamed his misfortune on one man. Youssef. Youssef and his blue-robed bandits were systematically depriving him of tribute and taxes, then using the profits to feed and arm the Berber hordes.
The sultan held Sheik Jamal abd Thabit solely responsible for the renewed assault upon his caravans. If the sheik hadn’t wanted Youssef’s daughter in his bed, none of this would have happened. Youssef’s capture should have ended the raids once and for all. Without their leader, the Berbers would have been without direction. Had Jamal brought Youssef to Meknes instead of allowing him to escape, Ishmail’s caravans would now be safe from attack.
Ishmail considered ordering Jamal’s death, but in the end decided against it. At least for the time being. Jamal was responsible for this situation, and Ishmail decided to allow the sheik one final chance to redeem himself. If he failed this time, heads would roll. Ishmail had been lenient because Jamal’s father had died fighting Berbers, but his good will would last only so long.
Jamal returned to Paradise after a day of hunting with his favorite peregrine falcon. He enjoyed the sport and usually bagged enough small game to feed his entire household, but this time his favorite pastime had done nothing to lift his mood.
Haroun met him at the stables, a wide smile splitting his bearded face. “Did you have a good day, Jamal?”
Jamal tossed the game bag at Haroun’s feet. “Aye, send my catch around to the cook.” He glared at Haroun. “Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?”
“You’ll see,” he said cryptically. “Hammet is waiting for you in the hammam. You must be hot and tired after a long day of hunting. A bath will ease your aching muscles.” Still grinning from ear to ear, he slung the sack of game over his shoulder and walked away.
Jamal stared after him in consternation. What in Allah’s name was his lieutenant up to? Shrugging away Haroun’s odd behavior, Jamal entered the house and went directly to his chamber. Through the lattice wall separating his room from the hammam, he saw Hammet fussing with a stack of clean drying cloths. Pulling off his dusty white robes, he entered the hammam and greeted his head eunuch with little enthusiasm. Hammet didn’t seem to mind Jamal’s shortness, for his grin was every bit as foolish as Haroun’s had been. Was there some kind of conspiracy going on? Jamal wondered sourly.
“You may leave, Hammet,” Jamal said. “I’m quite capable of bathing myself.”
His grin firmly in place, Hammet bowed his way out the door.
Jamal threw off the rest of his clothing and lowered himself into the bath. The water was soothing and he closed his eyes. It was a mistake. The incredible vision of a beautiful, naked Zara, taking him inside her body, writhing beneath him, her golden skin flushed, her face aglow, her blond hair dancing around her flushed face, her breasts rosy from his kisses, sent blood rushing to his groin.
He muttered a curse, trying to ignore his body’s immediate and violent response to the image generated by his need for the Berber vixen. He was hard as stone, and no one but the delectable Zara could ease his tormented flesh. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, wishing he’d never met the Berber Princess who had altered his life forever. He forced himself to remember exactly who she was and what she had done. It didn’t help. Forgetting Zara was not going to be easy.
The soft whisper of footsteps on the tile floor captured Jamal’s attention. Assuming Hammet had returned, he said, “I didn’t call, Hammet. Return to what you were doing.”
His eyes flew open when his words were answered by feminine titters. Swiveling his head around, he was shocked to see Saha, Leila and Amar standing naked beside the hammam. He had forgotten how lovely they were. Then unbidden came the thought of how incredibly skillful his sensuous former concubines were at giving pleasure.
“Are you not happy to see us?” Saha asked as she lowered herself into the water.
“We are very glad to see you,” Leila murmured shyly as she and Amar entered the pool together.
Saha urged a thoroughly confused Jamal to sit on the edge of the pool as she dipped her fingers into a pot of scented soap and rubbed it into Jamal’s skin. She exchanged a knowing smile with Leila and Amar when she noted that Jamal was fully aroused. Her hand strayed momentarily to his erection and then quickly moved away as Leila and Amar used spatula-like scrapers to remove soap, sweat and dirt from his body. When he was scraped clean, Saha rinsed him with clean water from a ewer and urged him back into the water. The three concubines fussed over him excessively, their hands everywhere at once.
“Why are you here?” Jamal asked in a muffled voice. With Saha’s breasts pressed against his face it was difficult to speak.
“We’re here to make you happy, my lord,” Saha said, batting her long lashes at him.
“You are no longer mine. You have new masters now.”
“Haroun said you had need of us,” Saha said with a coy smile. “Leila and Amar’s masters agreed that they should try to cheer you. We will remain as long as you as you need us.”
Jamal frowned. “Haroun had no right to make such a decision. Go back to your masters. Tell them I appreciate their concern but I am content the way I am.”
Saha’s gaze lingered on Jamal’s groin, not at all convinced that Jamal was content. He was stil
l swollen, his juices running hot within him.
“Come, my lord, let us dry you. Once you return to your chamber, you can send us away if you truly have no need of us.”
The three women helped Jamal from the hammam, sighing when they saw the size of his rod. Each recalled with fondness the long, satisfying hours spent in Jamal’s bed. Jamal was an insatiable lover, and his appetite for erotic love play had brought them great pleasure. In all their years with Jamal he had never left them wanting.
Teased by three pairs of hands, Jamal was drawn as tight as a bowstring. His body begged for release. His former concubines were eager to please him. He knew their bodies intimately, knew which places to touch to bring them the most enjoyment. If Haroun had meant for them to sweeten his disposition, he just might have picked the right way to do it. Jamal couldn’t argue the point that he needed a woman. What he did question was whether these three women could ease the ache of Zara’s loss.
Lying on his back on his bed, Jamal allowed the three women to have their way as he stared at the ceiling, wondering why he was only marginally aroused by them. Just thinking about Zara did more to arouse him than anything the three concubines had done thus far.
His mind wandered, remembering the velvety texture and golden luster of Zara’s sweet flesh, and her enthusiastic response to his loving. She had been an innocent until he relieved her of her virginity, but her response had been anything but innocent. She had more natural passion in her little finger than Saha, Leila and Amar combined, with their vast experience and practiced caresses.
Saha and her companions were growing frustrated by Jamal’s apparent lack of interest. His body was responding but his mind was far away. He just wasn’t cooperating. Growing desperate, Saha rummaged through a drawer in the bedside table and found the small velvet pouch she had been looking for.
Sheik Page 18
