Dull color flushed Rajak’s cheeks. He turned to Azara and bowed.
“If you’ll excuse me, I will return. Basa will help you and your servants into the coaches.” He strode away, his long powerful strides carrying him quickly to the woman’s side.
“Your Highness,” Basa said, bowing slightly.
“I don’t wish to get into the coach just yet,” Azara said. “Help Oma and the rest of my women.”
Basa took a step backward and went to do her biding. Azara openly watched the scene before her.
Rajak had reached the woman who had flung herself from the carriage and into his arms. Laughing up at him, she rained kisses over his face. She was very beautiful, Azara saw, with the tawny skin of a half-caste and a tall, voluptuous figure, well displayed in a low cut gown. Her black, shiny hair was arranged in a cluster of curls that bounced when she tossed her head. Her hold on Rajak, indeed, her whole reaction to him, was possessive. Azara felt a frisson of jealousy run along her spine, which faded when Rajak pushed the woman away and spoke to her. Although she couldn’t hear his words, she could see the woman’s face and her angry reaction.
She screamed at him, slapping him several times before climbing into the carriage where she took up the whip and applied it to Rajak until he caught hold of it and jerked it from her hand. Still enraged, the woman slapped the reins against the backs of her team, urging them away. They bolted and galloped away from the busy dock, nearly running over a few people who had to scramble out of the way.
“Now, I will get in the coach,” Azara said.
But before Basa could move forward to help her, a man stumbled against her, nearly bearing her to the ground. Though well enough dressed, there was something in his dishevelment and the smell that enveloped him, that made her know he was drunk. In his attempt not to fall, he threw his arms around her, his hands clutching for a hold. She screamed when his hand closed over a breast.
“Whoa, ho,” he cried. “What have we here? It’s a beauty, it is.” He grabbed hold of her veil and stripped it away. His eyes widened when he saw her face. “Christ Almighty, but you are a goddess.”
“Please, sir,” Basa cried out, stepping forward quickly to put himself between Azara and the man.
“Is she for sale?” the man asked. Something had changed about him from the sloppy, good-natured, well-intentioned drunk to a man whose black eyes were filled with lust and greed.
“How much do you want for her? I’ll pay any price,” he offered in a heavy, oily voice. He held up a sack heavy with gold pieces. “Come, my good man, name your price.”
Basa stood as if frozen.
“I am not for sale,” Azara said coolly, replacing her veil across her face. “Be on your way.”
“Do you know who I am?” the man exploded, all vestige of good humor gone from his demeanor. His expression was hard and dangerous.
“Do you know who I am?” Azara returned.
She met his gaze with all the disgust she could muster. She saw anger flame in his small, reddened eyes. Whoever he was, he was a man used to getting what he wanted.
“You are a princess,” he said lightly, “but that doesn’t matter. I would pay a king’s ransom for you.” He thumped himself on his chest. “I am Boghos, Lord of Madagascar and you will be my lady.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him, dipping his head to plant a kiss on her mouth. But the veil was in place and he spit it out in disgust.
“Bah,” he cried. “You have no need for this.”
He ripped away the veil and tried again to kiss her. She cried out and struggled against him, but he was too strong for her. Basa tried to intercede, but with a mighty sweep of his arm, Boghos knocked him to the ground. Basa’s head hit against a large stone and he lay still. There was no one to help her now except Oma who rushed forward with her walking stick and began to beat the man. Boghos merely laughed at her puny efforts and crushed Azara against his chest.
“She is mine!” he shouted.
“No, she is mine!” a voice said calmly and Rajak stepped forward and grabbed hold of Boghos, swinging him around before landing a fist on his fat chin.
“Get into the carriage, Azara,” he ordered and she quickly complied.
Boghos backed away, eyeing Rajak cautiously.
“Rajak,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue in a mixture of fear and respect. “This is your woman?” When Rajak didn’t answer, the man shrugged. “May I compliment you on your good fortune. She is exquisite.”
“You have dared to accost a woman in my keeping,” Rajak said, “and you’ve looked upon her face against her will. In my country, we kill a man for less.”
At this, Boghos frowned and straightened his stance as if readying himself for battle.
“I have apologized,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Let us be reasonable about this. In my country, we do not kill a man for a mere woman unless…” He paused, looking first at Rajak, then at Azara where she sat in the coach. “Unless she is very valuable. Who is this delectable creature you’ve captured?”
“That is no business of yours,” Rajak said. “Just be sure that you never approach her again, or you will feel my blade slicing through your neck.”
“You forget who you’re talking to, Prince Rajak. Here, on this island, you do not rule.” Suddenly, he laughed, a loud grating sound that spoke of evil. “You do not rule anywhere. You’ve lost your throne. Here on Madagascar, I am the Lord, the ruler. You would be wise to remember that.”
“You would be wise to remember this is a title you’ve taken upon yourself. You haven’t got the men to support your claim should anyone challenge you. Stay away from me, Boghos, and from all who are mine.”
“I will try to remember your words,” Boghos said, backing away, “ but the next time we meet, my friend, I fear words will not be our only weapon.”
Boghos stalked away and was soon surrounded by his men who’d waited a short distance away. Azara wondered why they hadn’t sprung forth to help their friend when she noted the band of Rajak’s heavily armed men who surrounded them.
Rajak saw to Basa, who had recovered and struggled to his feet, then he gave orders to Kalari who stood nearby. The orders were relayed, and the men scrambled to mount up on sturdy island ponies. When all the riders were in place around the coach, Rajak climbed inside. The coach lurched forward. Four horses carried them swiftly away from the wharf and into the countryside. When they were well away, Azara lowered her veiled and looked at Rajak.
“Who was that woman?” she asked.
For a long time, he didn’t answer and she thought he meant not to. Then he sighed and turned to her, taking one of her hands in his.
“She is of no consequence. Let’s not speak of her again,” he said firmly and stared out the window.
Azara was hurt by his answer. She well knew who the woman was, had not her father been notorious for his women, but she wanted Rajak to convince her that the woman no longer mattered and that he’d never see her again. Unexpected tears filled her eyes, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see.
Her sadness dissipated as they rode through the tropical forests and up winding roads to a hillside, where a fortress-like structure sat with armed guards in attendance at the heavy gates. As the coaches drew near, the gates swung open so they were able to enter the compound without slowing. Inside the fortress walls, the grounds were filled with tropical trees and bushes. Tropical flowers abounded along the drive, and the air was filled with bird song. Azara was enchanted with glimpses of brightly hued birds flitting among the trees.
Then she caught sight of Rajak’s palace. He’d been modest in his remarks about it, but now Azara saw the true nature of his dwelling. Made of pink marble, it sat like a jewel in the midst of such tropical greenery. Rounded columns held up a wide portico, and marble steps led to a door made of gold and decorated with gems. Servants, dressed in spotless white livery, bowed as Rajak and Azara alighted from the coach and climbed the steps.
“It’s
very beautiful,” Azara cried, “and very grand for a pirate, even a pirate prince.”
Rajak’s eyes sparkled. “I’m glad you like it. Come.”
He took her hand and led her inside. Azara was only vaguely aware of Oma and the other serving women clambering behind, their voices shrill with excitement, their eyes sparkling with approval of such a grand structure. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside.
They entered a large hall with a graceful marble staircase curving upward. An arch led into an enormous main room sumptuously furnished with gilded chairs and sofas of European style. The ceiling and walls were adorned with gold-encrusted stencils and medallions and the marble floor was covered with rich, Persian rugs of many colors. Her women moved around the room, cooing over all they saw. They were used to the richness of palaces, but none so fine as this. Everywhere Azara looked were treasures such as she’d never seen gathered all in one place.
“You are very wealthy,” she said in a low voice.
“Pirating is most profitable,” he said. “Especially as I’ve made sure to target my brother’s ships. If I cannot have the throne, at least I can enjoy some of its riches.”
“You hate your brother very much?” Azara felt emboldened to enquire.
Rajak’s face darkened and he met her gaze without flinching. “Yes, Azara, I hate my brother enough that one day I will kill him as he killed our father. Until that day comes, I take all I can that belongs to my brother, including you.”
Azara’s eyes widened at the implication of his words.
“Then I mean nothing to you except as part of your revenge against him?” She waited with mounting dread for his answer, praying it would not be as she feared.
“You’ve asked me a double-edged question, princess. When first I planned to kidnap you, I did so out of revenge, but things have changed now. Surely, I’ve made that clear to you?”
“Are you saying you love me then?” she asked softly. Was she asking too much from him? Though he spoke of taking her as his wife, was that still part of his vengeance against his brother? Was she nothing more to him than a pawn?
“Do you love me, Rajak?” she repeated urgently.
“Do you love me, Rajak?” a voice mocked cruelly.
Rajak spun around to confront the woman standing in the entrance. Seeing her up close, Azara was struck even more by her beauty. Her skin was pale-coffee colored, her eyes wide and slanted exotically. Her nose and mouth molded perfection and above it all was glossy, blue-black hair that fell to below her hips. Her impossibly slim body was garbed in a fine kumquat silk and her long graceful arms were adorned with rich gold bracelets. More jewels adorned her hands and ears.
“Kamilah. What are you doing here? How did you get inside?” Rajak demanded.
The woman smiled at him with spite, her black eyes flashing, her lips twisting in an ugly sneer.
“I came to see your new whore,” she said, sauntering into the room. For the first time, she looked at Azara and laughed, a harsh, derisive sound. “This is what you’ve turned me aside for?”
“I want you to leave. Now!” Rajak shouted.
She ignored him while she continued to regard Azara.
“You are very beautiful,” Kamilah acknowledged, “but you can never please him as I have done.”
“Kamilah,” Rajak said, taking hold of her shoulder and turning her to face him. “This is wrong. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you, but it’s over between us. I told you that many weeks ago.”
“You didn’t mean it. You were angry with me,” she said, smiling at him as she caressed his face with one long, slim hand. The jewels on her fingers glinted with fiery lights.
Rajak caught hold of her hand and lowered it from his face. “You betrayed me,” he reminded her. “You proved yourself unworthy. I can never trust you again.”
“But you love me,” she wheedled beguilingly.
“I have never loved you,” he answered implacably.
Kamilah snatched her hand from his and slapped him across the cheek.
“I’ll leave you to your privacy,” Azara said stiffly, sick at heart that she’d witnessed such an intimate scene between Rajak and this beautiful woman.
“No,” Kamilah said, stepping in front of her. “I want you to stay and see how it is between Rajak and me. You will never be able to win him from me, because, despite what he says, he loves me and he always will.”
Rajak took hold of her shoulders and turned her toward the door. “You will leave, now. You shouldn’t have come here. It does no good.”
She shook herself free of him. “I have also come to reclaim my belongings,” she said, tossing her head.
Rajak looked at the servant who’d entered the room and stood waiting quietly in the midst of such chaos.
“She came to live here,” the servant explained, keeping his head bowed. “She said you had decreed it. I did not know what to do.”
“Now, you do,” Rajak said sharply. “Help her gather her things and see she’s taken back to Port Dauphin.” He turned back to Kamilah. “Do you still have the house I provided for you or have you sold it?”
“I have a better place to stay,” she said. “Boghos has offered me his home.”
“Boghos? Surely, you would not consider going with a man like him?” Rajak said, drawing his fine eyebrows together in a scowl.
“Are you jealous?” Kamilah asked the very thing Azara had wondered.
“You may go where you choose,” Rajak snapped and walked to the door. “Kalari!”
At once the handsome young man entered.
“I heard she was here and thought you might need me,” he explained to Rajak.
“Escort her back to Port Dauphin. I will send her belongings as soon as they’ve been gathered.” He turned back to Kamilah. “This is over, once and for all. Don’t approach me again, or I’ll have you exiled from the island.”
Kamilah raised her chin defiantly. “With Boghos, the lord of the island, I am protected from your threats,” she said and spat at him before flouncing from the room.
Rajak wiped away the spittle and turned to Azara, his eyes nearly black in his lingering fury.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, crossing to take her hands.
She pulled them away. “I’m glad I did. It has shown me a new side to you. One, that in my naiveté, I hadn’t suspected.”
“Don’t judge me too harshly,” he urged, “until you know all the facts.”
“Then tell me so I may understand what all this means.” Her gaze moved over his face.
She saw the anger, the male stubbornness that she’d often seen in her father. His silence confirmed her suspicions. He was a man and he ruled a world of his own making while she, as a mere woman, must accept what men decreed. The fact that she was a princess made no difference.
“I will trouble you no further,” she said, keeping her voice even and her head high. “Please have your servants show me to my rooms.”
Without waiting for his reply, she walked rapidly into the hall where her attendants and Rajak’s servants huddled, uncertain what to do. Azara was aware that he followed close behind. He escorted her to the bottom of the curving stairs and took her arm so she was forced to look at him.
“I’d planned a different homecoming,” he said, his voice ragged, his expression closed and guarded.
“So had I,” she answered and pulled away from him.
He motioned to one of his servants. A young woman stepped forward, offered a tentative smile and led the way up the beautiful staircase. Azara was well aware that Rajak stood at the bottom, watching them ascend, but she didn’t look back. Instead, she pulled her veil closer about her head to hide the tracks of tears down her cheeks.
Chapter Seven
A pleasant breeze blew from the balcony, cooling the spacious rooms and caressing the skin like a lover’s touch. Azara pushed the thought away and rose from the settee where she lounged. She hadn’t seen Rajak for nearly a week. She�
�d hope that he would summon her to fill his bed, for had he not planned that for her? Still, he’d remained aloof. And what would she have done, if he had? Refuse him? Would she be strong enough to do that? She wanted to think so, even while she longed for his touch. She wandered to the balcony and stared out at the tropical garden.
The sound of voice came to her, and she watched as Rajak stalked into the garden followed by another man. They conversed for several minutes in harsh, agitated tones. In an attempt to hear them better, Azara leaned over the balcony. Their words were still too quiet for her to make out until Rajak raised his voice in a final command. Abruptly, he turned toward the palace and, glancing up, found her watching him. He made no gesture nor did he call a greeting, but she felt his eyes burning into her very heart. Silently, he followed his guest inside.
Troubled, she left the balcony, no longer finding pleasure there and sat before her mirror, studying her face and hair for any imperfections. She was still as beautiful as she’d been when she’d left her home to go as a bride to the Mogul land. But that didn’t seem to matter to Rajak. He’d put her aside. Perhaps he planned to ransom her after all. His palace was sumptuous and surely cost a lot to maintain. She couldn’t blame him for wanting the money she would bring. But if that were so, why had he taken her virginity? Why had he claimed that one day she’d be his wife, and he would once again be the Mogul ruler of the Peacock Throne?
“What are your plans, princess?” Hestia whispered in her ear. Picking up a brush, she proceeded to brush Azara’s hair. “Do you wish me to send a message to your father or perhaps to your betrothed husband?”
“No,” Azara snapped, loathe to give up any final hope about Rajak.
“He doesn’t want you anymore,” Hestia said softly. “He hasn’t come to join you since we arrived. And that woman, bah. The servants tell me that he goes to the city to see her again as he did before.”
“I don’t believe it,” Azara said sharply. “You lie or your sources are not reliable. Leave me now.”
“You can’t ignore the truth,” Hestia said, turning away.
The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five) Page 6