The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five)

by Hogan, Temple

  Her words lingered in the room long after the woman had left.

  Malika came into the chambers. “You look very sad, Your Highness. Can I do something for you?”

  “No, no one can,” Azara answered and threw herself across the bed to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, anger and pride made her pound the pillows in frustration.

  “Your Highness, what troubles you?” Malika asked gently.

  Azara raised her head and glared at her favorite.

  “Send Hestia to me,” she said harshly and flopped on her back to stare at the arched ceiling, while she plotted what she must do. She’d not be an obedient slave to Rajak’s whim. She’d make her own plans and carry them out as ruthlessly as Hasna had taught her.

  “Your Highness?” Hestia entered the chamber as silent as always. She stood with her head lowered, her shoulders rounded in a facsimile of acquiescence, but her expression was sly and triumphant.

  Azara rose from her bed and paced the room. “See if you can find someone to carry a message to the Mogul Shah.”

  “You would not send one to your father?” Hestia asked in surprise.

  “My father would take the stand that I am no longer his responsibility. He would simply refer the problem to Mohan. Why waste time for all that. Send a message directly to the shah. When he learns his brother has taken me, he will see it as an act of treason and will act at once.”

  “Ah,” Hestia said with new respect. “You have learned to reason well.”

  “Go at once,” Azara replied. “Go by horseback so you will be less noticeable to the servants. If you’re questioned, tell them I have sent you on an errand.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Hestia bowed and, with no sign of hesitation, left the room.

  It occurred to Azara that Hestia had already made valuable contacts in the short time they’d been here. Obviously, she was no ordinary serving woman. Azara pushed away the swell of trepidation. She must trust her father and Hasna. In the strange world of intrigue, which ruled every court, every movement, they wouldn’t leave her to depend on a woman who was unreliable. She must trust her father’s wisdom.

  But what of Rajak? Was she not to trust him? She had given herself to him too readily, believing she had no other choice, but she hadn’t been prepared for what happened to her heart. She clenched her fist against her stomach, willing away the emotional pain that was worse than any physical hurt she’d ever known. Was she falling in love with him? Hadn’t she halfway fallen in love with him when he came to negotiate for her as Mohan’s bride?

  She remembered his fiery touch, the heat of his passion and she longed for him. Impatiently, she rose and paced her room. Malika and the other women came to attend her, but she gestured them away. Quietly, they left her, their faces troubled. Only Oma remained.

  “You are in distress, princess,” she said soothingly. “What troubles you so?”

  Azara turned to her old nanny, comforted by the caring she found in her gaze, by the gentle touch of her hand. She threw herself into Oma’s arms.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “He has grown tired of me now that he has returned to Madacasgar and his former lover. The servants say that he goes to her every night.”

  “You don’t know that,” Oma said. “He has many visitors late at night. They come and go silently, but when they are here, they talk in quiet, angry voices. I believe he is getting ready to reclaim his throne then think of it. You can be the wife of a powerful Mogul Shah. It is fitting for you.”

  “But what if he doesn’t choose to wed me? He’s turned away from me.”

  “It is your place to make him turn back to you.” Oma tapped her on the cheek. “You have seen this other woman. She is nothing.”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  “So are you,” Oma stated firmly. “But the world is filled with many challenges. Nothing is promised to us. You must fight to win that which you desire.”

  “I don’t desire him,” Azara said quickly and choked on any further words of denial.

  “Oh, my child,” Oma said, her words chiding as they had long ago when Azara was stubborn and wouldn’t do as she was bid. “It does you no good to deny what your heart feels. Fight for him, little princess. He is a man to believe in and fight for.”

  Azara remained silent and, with a nod of satisfaction, Oma drew away, crossing to a chest that held the finest of silk garments and exotic, sweet smelling oils.

  “Come, I have ordered a bath for you. You must make yourself very beautiful, so for a short time, he will think of nothing else but you.”

  As if summoned on cue, her attendants arrived with a fine tub made of gold and inlaid with gems. It was quickly filled with tepid water and scented with sweet oils.

  “Come,” Oma said.

  But Azara shook her head. “Call Hestia. I must speak with her.”

  “But princess,” Oma said patiently. “You have no time for this.”

  “I must speak to Hestia. I must tell her I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You will have to tell her later, princess. She took a horse and rode away with only a servant to guard her.”

  Heart quickening in its beat, Azara ran to the balcony and looked down the moon-lit road. There was no sign of Hestia and she had no idea where the maid would have gone. Deeply troubled, she disrobed and stepped into the water. It rose around her, the scent of jasmine and other exotic perfumes filling the air. She took no pleasure in the leisurely bath. She thought only of how she must undo the damage and how she might win back Rajak’s affection. Not because she wanted him, she told herself sternly, but because she needed to bind him to her if she were to control him as Hasna had advised her about men. As if reading her thoughts, Oma knelt by the tub with a goblet of cloudy liquid.

  “You must drink this, Your Highness,” the old servant whispered. Her eyes had paled from age, but they were fierce as she held out the cup.

  “What is it?” Azara asked.

  “A magic potion,” Oma said, grinning toothlessly. “It will make you very fertile. If you carry Rajak’s child, he will not turn away from you, no matter what comes.”

  “I don’t want to trap him with my belly,” Azara cried out. “I want him to love me.” She bit her lip so she’d give no more away.

  “And so he will if you carry his son. No man can resist. Drink!”

  Azara hesitated. Did she wish to go this far with her trickery to win Rajak’s affection, but Oma held out the cup and Azara took it and drank. The potion was not unpleasant and she half believed it was nothing more than a harmless drink from a soothsayer. No one could cause a child to be born unless Allah decreed it. She handed the cup back to Oma who smiled beautifully, her eyes sparkling.

  “Hurry now,” she scolded, rising from the floor with some difficulty. “It is almost time.”

  “Time for what?” Azara asked, rising so the water sluiced off her firm, young body.

  Oma picked up a towel and began to dry her shoulders and back.

  “It is time for you to go to Rajak,” the old servant answered cryptically. “His friends have left for the night and he is alone in his room.” Oma picked up a sheer silk sleeping garment and settled it over Azara’s head.

  “What if he doesn’t want me?” she asked, her hands suddenly clammy.

  “When he sees you, he will,” Oma said.

  She pushed her charge into a chair and took up a comb, applying it to the shiny black curtain of hair with a gentle touch. At last, she decreed Azara was ready and led her out of her chambers and down the hall, where she halted before an ornately carved door. Azara realized with a shudder, she’d never visited Rajak’s chambers here in his palace. She’d stubbornly waited for him to come to her. Well, now she must swallow her pride and apply all the tricks Hasna and Oma seemed to think were necessary to win him. Some small part of her still balked at the thought she must woo him, while another anticipated what was about to occur.

  Oma knocked lightly on the door then o
pened it. Squaring her shoulders, Azara raised her chin and glided into the room. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but not the sumptuous room before her. As in the main hall, the walls were stenciled and softened by rich draperies. Arches opened out onto a balcony that let in the moonlight. Chests and armoires filled the room and in one corner sat a magnificent bed. She looked around, disappointed to see Rajak was not present then a shadow cut across the moonlight and suddenly he was there. He’d been on the balcony. He entered the room and stared at her.

  “Azara,” he whispered.

  She heard all the longing in his voice that she felt in her heart. Quickly, he crossed the room and, without giving her a chance to protest, took her into his arms. His lips lowered to hers and all the scents and essences of his very being filled her nostrils. She was pressed against his hard, warm body, enveloped in his strong arms. His mouth, hot and demanding, captured hers. His tongue rasped against her lips and plunged beyond. He kissed her so deeply, so intensely that she felt her knees weaken and when she would have fallen, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bed. Lowering her gently, he gazed down at her, studying her face, her body. His hands moved over her as if reassuring himself that she was truly here in his bed, in his arms.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

  “And so are you,” she replied softly.

  She gasped in a breath as his roving hands parted the folds of silk and closed around her breasts, gently kneading and caressing. Lowering his head, he took one of her nipples into his mouth, rolling it between his tongue and teeth until she was moaning in ecstasy. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders, up his cheeks to his thick black hair as she drew him to her time and again. She couldn’t get enough of his touch. She was heady with desire. Their passion quickened. Hastily, he removed her clothes then stood to divest himself of his garments.

  He stood before her, all sleek, sinewy muscles and smooth dusky skin. His cock rose, hard and turgid from its nest of black hair. She reached for him, her hands closing around the firm cylindrical flesh. Touching it, feeling its length and power, remembering the feel of him sliding into her moist chambers, made her touch more forceful. She rose and took him into her mouth, sliding her tongue over him, exploring the folds of his tip, brushing her teeth against the sensitive pebbled skin hidden within those folds. She heard him draw a sharp breath and repeated her action. He breathed deeply, moaning slightly then shoved her onto her back so he could kneel between her opened legs. Placing her legs over his shoulder, he dipped his head and tasted her, his tongue delving into her slick well before rasping against her clitoris. She whimpered and arched her body for him.

  When she reached her first roaring climax, he lowered her legs to the bed and slid his cock into her tightened channel. She felt him shoving against her, plowing through her hot, moist sheath until he reached that spot that brought her screaming response to him. He was merciless, withdrawing and plunging again and again until she was breathless and had to hold onto him lest she slip away over some steep ledge and disappear forever. Then his final thrust took her over and she was falling, clinging to him with all her might. His cries answered her own and tears sprang to her eyes.

  After a long time, she was able to draw a breath. Only later did she wonder if she’d truly survived and would eventually emerge as herself. Rajak shifted beside her and cuddled her in his arms before he fell into a restful sleep. His skin was covered by a fine sheen of sweat. Sleepily, she put out her tongue and licked his shoulder and then she also slept.

  They woke several times during the night to make love, sometimes gently, sometimes with a passion that seemed bound to consume them before it burnt out. When the dawn offered its first lights they finally wrapped themselves in each other’s arms and slept again. When Azara finally woke, the sun was high in the sky and she was alone in Rajak’s bed.

  Oma slept on a chair in one corner.

  “Where’s Rajak?” Azara asked in soft, sleepy voice that she wasn’t sure could even be heard, but Oma raised her head and smiled.

  “He’s gone,” the old woman said, coming to the bedside. “Friends came for him and he went away.”

  “He left no word for me?”

  “No, Your Highness. His friends were very agitated and Rajak became so after they talked to him. I think there must be some crisis to which he must attend.”

  Azara lay thinking of Oma’s words. She was certain she had no reason to worry about Rajak. He was among friends and his own countrymen. Thoughtfully, she rose and returned to her chambers, where a fresh bath had been set up for her. She sank into the tepid water, grateful for its coolness against her heated, painful body. Languidly, she lay thinking of Rajak and their passionate night of lovemaking. Although he had spoken no words of love or marriage, his very eagerness plainly showed his continued desire for her.

  After a leisurely breakfast shared with her chattering attendants, Azara wondered what she might do for the day. Obviously Rajak was occupied and she had no wish to sit around the palace, as luxurious as it was. She decided she’d ride back to Port Dauphin and to please Rajak’s concerns for her safety, she would take a heavy guard with her.

  “Your Highness,” a voice whispered in her ear.

  Azara opened her eyes and gazed at Hestia. She’d forgotten the errand she’d sent the woman on the night before.

  “What is it you wish?” she asked Hestia, her nose wrinkling with distaste. She would send the woman away, she decided.

  “It is done, Your Highness,” Hestia whispered.

  “What is done?” Azara asked with growing dread.

  “The message has been sent to Mohan as you wished.”

  “No,” Azara said, so loudly the other women turned to look at them. She fought to regain her calm. “I’ve changed my mind. Don’t send the message.”

  Hestia smiled. “It is too late, Your Highness. The message was sent as soon as we arrived on the island,” Hestia revealed with a pertinent twist of her lips. “If Mohan is coming, he will be here soon.”

  “No,” Azara whispered.

  “It’s what you wanted,” Hestia said.

  “But you sent it without my command.”

  “I knew what you must do,” Hestia said without remorse. “Mohan’s forces will be here soon and we will be rescued. Aren’t you pleased?”

  “You don’t understand. Rajak will be captured.”

  “Yes, Azara,” Hestia said, smiling before she slipped away.

  The fact that she’d addressed Azara without her proper title had been meant as an insult, but Azara gave it little thought. She had to warn Rajak. He must know that she’d betrayed him, even if he never trusted her again. She remembered how adamant he’d been against Kamilah because of her betrayal and whatever she had done would not be as bad as to reveal to Mohan where Rajak was. She must find him and tell him what she’d done. Flying down the stairs, she ordered a carriage.

  “But Rajak has not ordered it,” Basa said.

  “I order it and I demand it at once,” Azara shouted.

  The gentle servant backed away. “I will see to it at once, Your Highness,” he said and turned away.

  “Basa, wait,” Azara said, but he’d already disappeared.

  She’d wanted to explain to him the urgency so he’d understand. She had set this in motion, she thought. If she’d told Hestia when she’d first approached Azara on the ship that she had no desire to flee from Rajak, this wouldn’t be happening. Now it was too late to change things. It was imperative that she warn Rajak. Impatiently, she waited for the carriage and without summoning her serving women, she leaped inside and ordered the driver to take her to Port Dauphin. The ride was interminable and when they arrived, she hadn’t a hint of where she might find Rajak.

  “Drive to the warehouse,” she directed the driver and soon he pulled before one of the low, long buildings along the quayside.

  “Go inside and inquire after Prince Rajak,” she ordered and the driver complied.

&
nbsp; Soon he returned. “He is not there, Your Highness,” he said. “No one knows where he is.”

  Azara sat uncertain of what to do next, when an idea came to her. “Do you know where the woman called Kamilah lives?”

  Reluctantly, the driver nodded his head without meeting her gaze.

  “Then go there,” Azara ordered, willing to swallow her pride.

  The driver shrugged and climbed back into his seat. The carriage lumbered through the streets until it came to a villa located on the edge of town, its sleek lines and open balconies facing the ocean.

  “Should I enquire within?” the driver asked.

  Azara shook her head. “I will go myself,” she said and with the driver’s help, left the carriage.

  Wrapping her veil around her head, she wished she’d paused long enough to take an appropriate robe to cover her gown, but it was too late now. A servant answered her knock, welcomed her in and left her while she inquired of her mistress if she would see a caller. Kamilah came to the hall.

  “Ah, Princess Azara, is it not?” she asked, one eyebrow arching with something Azara identified as an emotion less than friendly.

  “Yes, Kamilah. I’ve come to see if Rajak is here.”

  “Rajak?” Kamilah’s lovely eyes narrowed, glittering with malice. “I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. Perhaps if you’d like to wait.”

  Azara’s heart sank. Obviously, the servants had been right. Rajak had continued to see Kamilah. But what of last night? It was hard to reckon their passionate night together with a man who returned to his old mistress.

  “It’s very important that I see him at once,” she said stiffly. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  “I have no need to check his whereabouts,” Kamilah replied, and her full lips curved in a smile. “I knew you could never keep him.”

  The sound of a carriage arriving outside drew their attention.

  “Perhaps that is he,” Azara said hopefully and hurried to the entrance, but to her dismay, Boghos blocked her view.

  “What have we here?” he asked with false joviality. “Princess Azara.” He bowed elaborately.