by Connie Mason
Dariq exited his small sleeping chamber a few minutes later, freshly shaved and dressed in loose trousers and shirt.
“If cook was able to fire up the brazier, you should have a hot meal soon. Try to entertain yourself while I inspect the ship for damage. If the Revenge fared well in the storm, we will continue our journey to Lipsi.”
Dariq was halfway out the door when Willow said, “I want to come with you. I shall go mad if I’m forced to remain cooped up another day.”
“You are to remain here,” Dariq answered. Then he was gone, leaving Willow fuming in impotent rage.
Dariq saw Mustafa standing near the broken mast and hurried over to join him.
“How long will it take to repair it?” Dariq asked.
“A day or two,” Mustafa replied. “Ripped sails and broken lines are being repaired as we speak.”
“I intend to take a reading tonight to see how far we were blown off course.”
“I did that last night while you slept. As luck would have it, we were blown toward Lipsi, not away from it.”
“That is good news indeed, Mustafa. What would I do without you?”
“That is something you need never worry about, Prince, for I shall always be at your side.”
Dariq clapped Mustafa on the back and went in search of something to eat.
* * *
Osman arrived a short while later with Willow’s breakfast. She was hungry and ate every bite. With nothing to do but ponder her dismal future, she prowled the narrow confines of the cabin. She longed to step outside into the sunshine, to raise her face to the rain-washed air and fill her lungs with it.
“I refuse to stay in here a moment longer,” she muttered to herself.
She found another woolen cap in Dariq’s chest, pulled it down over her ears and stuffed her hair underneath it. Then she opened the door and stepped outside. She lifted her face and sniffed appreciatively. The air smelled of sunshine and freshness.
The deck was a beehive of activity as men rushed about their duties. Willow saw men sewing ripped sails, working on the mainmast, and clearing debris from the deck. Gazing up, she noticed several bare-chested men repairing broken lines. Blushing, she started to turn away. Then she spied Dariq dangling precariously from a mast high above the deck. Had her life depended upon it, she could not have looked away.
He appeared to slip; she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. But the surefooted pirate did not fall. He merely grasped another line, steadied himself and continued his work.
Willow spied an overturned barrel, righted it and sat down so she could watch the activity without getting in the way. The soothing warmth of the sun after the intense drama of the storm made her drowsy, and she closed her eyes. Immediately her thoughts drifted to the wondrous, startling and embarrassing things Dariq had done to her.
The bubble burst when a pair of strong hands grasped her shoulders and heaved her up until her feet were dangling inches above the deck. She looked straight into Dariq’s glittering eyes, and to her credit, she didn’t flinch.
“By the beard of Allah, don’t you ever do as you are told?”
“Sometimes I do, but only when it pleases me. Let me stay on deck, Dariq. I wasn’t bothering anyone, and no one paid me the slightest heed until you drew attention to me.”
Dariq plopped her down onto the barrel. “Sit there and don’t move or say anything. I don’t want you getting in the way. Is that clear?”
Willow smiled. She had won another concession, and each one was precious to her. “Perfectly.”
Willow remained on deck, watching the activity until late afternoon, when shadows began to gather and she grew tired of her hard perch. Then she quietly returned to her cabin, pleased with her afternoon of freedom.
Willow didn’t see Dariq again until late that night, when he tiptoed through the cabin to find his bed. He stopped abruptly beside her bed and stared down at her. Light from the guttering candle made the stark planes of his face appear dark and dangerous.
“You must be exhausted,” she murmured.
Dariq jumped away as if startled. “You should be asleep.”
“Was the ship badly damaged?”
“Nay. The repairs should take but a day or two.”
“Were we blown off course?”
“Mustafa said we were blown toward Lipsi, not away from it. We should see land in three days, barring another storm. It cannot be too soon for me. The Revenge has been at sea many months; the men miss their women.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. Wary of his intentions, Willow scooted back. “I did not know your men had wives.” Somehow Willow couldn’t picture these fierce pirates with wives.
Dariq chuckled. “Most of the men keep concubines. A few have taken wives from among Lipsi’s Greek inhabitants.”
Willow could think of no response. “Good night, Prince Dariq.”
Dariq stared at Willow several long moments before rising. “You are right to dismiss me, sweet Willow. Your next lesson in passion should take place on satin sheets, in a room that will complement your beauty. Sleep well.”
Willow trembled at the thought of Dariq touching her again. How could she bear it?
Land appeared off the bow three days later, just as Dariq had predicted. The Revenge entered a deep-water bay and sailed gracefully toward a long stone jetty, where a crowd had gathered to await the return of their prince. The deck bustled with activity as sails were furled and lines trimmed. Through an expert feat of maneuvering, the Revenge slid gracefully up to the jetty and dropped anchor.
Willow spied two ships anchored in the bay a short distance from shore and assumed they were part of Dariq’s pirate fleet. A shout of welcome greeted Dariq when he appeared on deck.
Not long after the docking, Dariq returned to the cabin. “Welcome to Lipsi,” he said. “I hope you will be happy here while negotiations with Ibrahim are in progress.”
“I won’t be happy anywhere but home, but I will be glad to get off this ship.”
“I sent one of my men to my seraglio for an aba. As soon as you are properly covered, I will escort you to my home.”
Willow balked. “None of the women I saw from the windows wore abas.”
“Women on Lipsi are free to do as they please, but you are not. Do not argue, Willow, for this is the way it must be.”
Willow hated the thought of wearing an aba but knew she could not avoid it. Dariq left, and a short time later Osman delivered the robe to her cabin, informing her that the prince awaited her on deck.
Willow donned the robe, groaning as its voluminous folds all but swallowed her. She would surely die of suffocation before she reached Dariq’s seraglio.
Willow exited the cabin, anxious to feel solid ground beneath her feet once again. Dariq was waiting for her. He grasped her elbow and escorted her down the gangplank onto the jetty. She wobbled slightly, then found her land legs as she proceeded with Dariq through the crowd of fierce-looking pirates, most of whom Dariq greeted by name.
An Arabian gelding was led to the end of the jetty. Dariq mounted, then nodded at Mustafa to hand Willow up. Moments later, she found herself seated across Dariq’s legs atop the prancing horse. They took off in a cloud of dust. Mustafa remained behind; she supposed to oversee the unloading of the cargo.
“ ’Tis but a short ride,” Dariq said as he reined the horse away from the cove. “Every comfort will be made available to you at my seraglio.”
As they rode through the lush green landscape, Willow saw signs of life beyond the pirate community clustered around the docking area. She noticed a young boy driving a large herd of goats toward what looked like a village in the distance. That information could come in handy when she planned her escape.
She lost her train of thought when a glittering palace at the end of a long drive paved with seashells rose up before her. She suspected it was smaller than most palaces, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in elegance. Surrounded by swaying trees and blooming flow
ers, the palace resembled a perfect jewel in an opulent setting.
They rode into a tiled courtyard, so lovely it nearly took her breath away. At its center was a fountain in the shape of a dolphin that spouted water into a blue-green reflecting pool.
Dariq dismounted; he reached up and Willow slid down into his arms. A young man appeared to lead the horse off as Dariq ushered her into the dim coolness of the entranceway. A very tall, very intimidating guard greeted them. Dressed in balloon trousers, flowing shirt and boots, and armed with a scimitar that hung from his wide belt, he looked ready for battle. The large turban crowning his head made him seem even taller.
“Welcome home, Prince. All is in readiness for you.” Though the servant did not turn to look at the black-clad woman at Dariq’s side, his gaze kept straying to Willow.
“Lady Willow, this is Haroun, the captain of my personal guard. Haroun, this is Lady Willow. She will be my guest for an indefinite period of time. Please take her to the harem. Tell Ali Hara to take good care of her, and that I will explain her presence as soon as I have a spare moment. Baba will know what to do.”
He touched Willow’s black-clad shoulder. “Go with Haroun, Willow.”
Willow stiffened. “Who is Baba?”
“The mistress of my harem. You have naught to fear from her. She will see to your comfort.”
Dariq strode off down a white and green marble corridor; Willow had no choice but to follow the gigantic Turk. After several twists and turns, they arrived at a wide double door embellished with leaves and flowers of pure gold. Haroun’s knock was answered immediately by an ebony-faced man whose size exceeded that of Haroun.
“I bring you our master’s new concubine,” Haroun announced importantly. “You and Baba are to see to her comfort.”
“Welcome, lady. I am Ali Hara,” the eunuch said, bowing before Willow. “ ’Tis time my master brought another concubine to his harem. Safiye has been the sole occupant far too long. I know you do not understand our language, but nevertheless, I wish you welcome.”
Curving his fingers around her arm, he gently guided Willow inside the harem. When she heard the door close behind her, she panicked, shouting in English, “No! Let me out! I do not belong here.”
An elderly gray-haired woman wearing a caftan in muted colors came hurrying up to them. “Who is this woman, Ali Hara?”
“She is Prince Dariq’s new concubine.”
Willow sought words to convey her displeasure in Turkish. “No, I am most definitely not! Please, open the door and let me out.”
“You speak our language,” Baba said, clapping her hands in delight. “I wondered how we would communicate with you. How do you know our language, my lady?”
“Prince Dariq taught me.”
“Are you Frankish?”
“I am English,” Willow replied, choosing to claim her English heritage rather than her French. “I am Lady Willow Foxburn.”
“You may remove your aba, my lady; you have no need of it here.”
“Gladly,” Willow said, whipping off the dark robe.
“Oh, my lady,” Baba gasped. “What monstrosity are you wearing? You should be dressed in the finest silks and satins.” Baba took Willow’s arm, gently leading her away from the door. “Come with me, my lady. I am Baba. I shall take good care of you for my master.”
Since she had no choice, Willow followed Baba, her gaze taking in every detail of the large, elegant chamber. It was like no room she had ever seen before. She walked upon green and white marble floors across a room whose walls were composed of colorful tiles. Willow was intrigued by the oval-shaped pool in the center of the room, and the statue of a naked young man pouring water from a pitcher into the pool. Several marble benches were scattered about the pool, but it was the low couches piled high with colorful pillows that caught Willow’s attention. The windows were open, admitting a soft sea breeze that fluttered the filmy curtains.
Judging from the size of the harem, Willow assumed that Dariq intended to fill it with women. Her attention sharpened when Baba opened a door and ushered her into a sleeping chamber.
“I hope you will be comfortable here, my lady. You may rest while preparations are being made for your bath.” She inspected Willow with a critical eye. “You must be properly groomed and clothed before you go to Prince Dariq. Ali Hara will bring you food and something refreshing to drink.”
Willow didn’t bother to correct Baba’s assumption that she was here to pleasure Dariq, for she supposed Dariq would inform Ali Hara of his plans for her in his own good time.
Once Willow was alone, she made a thorough perusal of her sleeping quarters. The room was small but elegantly appointed with a silk-covered bed, table, dressing table, chest and several cushioned chairs. The walls were hung with silk in muted shades of peach and turquoise, and a thick carpet covered the marble floor. The window looked out over a small garden, exquisite with blooming roses and other exotic flowers. It was like another world.
Ali Hara arrived with a tray of fresh fruit, freshly baked flatbread and a pot of honey, a bowl of hot soup with pieces of lamb floating in it, and a drink that blended several fruits. Everything looked delicious after the ship’s fare she’d become accustomed to.
Willow picked up a piece of flatbread, spread it with honey and bit into it. It was so good she devoured it in minutes. Then she lifted the bowl of soup and sipped the hot liquid, relishing the spicy taste.
She was just starting on her second piece of bread when the door burst open, admitting a whirlwind of vivid color and grating sound. Her visitor was a woman, a very beautiful olive-skinned, dark-haired, sloe-eyed woman with generous curves. Her beaded vest of scarlet brocade and transparent skirts consisting of several layers of filmy chiffon left little to the imagination.
“Ali Hara said Prince Dariq had purchased a new concubine for his harem.” Hands on ample hips, the woman glared at Willow. “Why are you wearing men’s clothing? You look ridiculous.” She searched Willow’s face. “You are too pallid, too unremarkable for Prince Dariq’s taste. He likes women with lush curves and golden skin. Do not expect to take my place in his bed, for I will not allow it. He has had no other woman since he purchased me at a slave market.”
“You must be Safiye,” Willow said. “Please speak slowly, for your language is new to me. Dariq told me about you. I am Lady Willow. You have naught to fear from me; I will never become Dariq’s lover.”
Safiye’s eyes narrowed. “I am no fool, lady. My lord would not bring you here if he did not want you in his bed. Just remember, I am the favorite, and you must answer to my authority. Once I bear Lord Dariq a child, he will make me his wife and you will be naught but a slave.”
“I am naught to him now. Believe me, Safiye, I am not here by choice. I was captured by pirates and sold to—”
“Bah. Whatever he paid for you was too much. Has Lord Dariq bedded you yet?” Willow remained mute. “Never say you are still untouched.”
Willow blushed. While technically she was a virgin, she couldn’t claim to be untouched.
“Hah! ’Tis just as I thought,” Safiye spat. “He will tire of you once the novelty wears off.” She preened for Willow’s benefit. “Prince Dariq will send for me tonight, not you, and I will please him as I always do.”
“You are welcome to him,” Willow snapped. She was growing weary of Safiye’s boasting.
Her eyes spitting dark fire, Safiye looked as if she intended to launch herself at Willow. Willow prepared for the attack that never came, stopped abruptly by Ali Hara, who had just entered the chamber.
“What are you doing here, Safiye?”
Safiye’s cat-eyes glittered with barely concealed malice. “I was merely welcoming our lord’s newest concubine. A pallid little thing, is she not? And whatever is she wearing? I cannot imagine what Prince Dariq sees in her. The only thing appealing about her is her hair.”
“You may leave,” Ali Hara said. “The master wants Lady Willow properly groomed, and there is a g
reat deal to do before she is ready to go to him.”
“It will take more than grooming to make her presentable,” Safiye sniffed. Turning on her heel, she stomped off.
“Follow me, lady,” Ali Hara said to Willow. “Baba awaits you in the hammam.”
Willow knew the hammam was the bath and went forth eagerly, for she was in desperate need of a good wash. She expected to be taken to the pool in the main chamber but instead was led to a smaller room at the end of a short hallway. Baba, wearing a white robe belted at the waist, awaited her there.
The hammam held a large sunken tub, a marble bench, ewers filled with water and a table laden with vials and clay pots. Willow headed for the tub.
“Nay, my lady, you are not yet ready to immerse yourself in the bath.”
“What else is there?”
“Remove your clothing and lie down on the bench. All traces of body hair must be plucked and scraped from your skin before we can proceed to the next step.”
“Is that necessary? It is simply not done in my country.”
“You are in Prince Dariq’s harem, lady. He is a Turk and follows the teachings of Allah. You cannot go to him unclean.”
“I will not go to him at all,” Willow protested. “I do not belong here.”
“You would be much happier if you accepted your fate,” Baba scolded. “ ’Tis a good life, one you should embrace. You will be pampered and showered with gifts if you please our master. Since he is away at sea for long periods of time, you will not be overly taxed by his attentions. Please lie down so that I may attend you, my lady.”
Willow didn’t argue with the old woman; it would be futile to do so. Obviously, Dariq hadn’t told Baba that she wasn’t intended to be his concubine. Disgruntled, she stripped and stretched out on the marble bench.
The first thing Baba did was dip her fingers into a clay pot and spread a pink cream over Willow’s groin area, her legs, her arms, and all the places that hair appeared on her body. Baba busied herself elsewhere for at least a half hour before returning with a ewer of water. Using a rough cloth, Baba proceeded to scrub the cream from Willow’s body, taking away hair along with the cream and leaving Willow’s body as smooth as silk. Then she bade Willow to sit up.
