He rose with the first light, and left her sleeping. In his dayroom his body servant lay sleeping before the door. Gently, Khalid nudged him with a slippered foot. When the slave’s eyes flew open, Khalid said, “Fetch my secretary immediately. I will be in the library.” Stumbling to his feet, the slave hurried off. Drawing his white robe about him, Khalid el Bey went to his library to await the secretary. He arrived a few minutes later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I am sorry to bring you from your bed so early, Jean, but there are some urgent matters.” The secretary nodded, sat, and took up his pen. A French captive, Jean gave thanks for his monastery education because it made him useful as a secretary. Otherwise, he would now be in the mines like so many others.
Khalid el Bey spoke. “Draw up manumission papers for the slave girl known as Skye. I want her legally free. Then draw up a marriage contract between the freedwoman known as Skye, and myself. Her bride’s price shall be this house, the estate, and twenty-five thousand gold dinars. Consult the mullah for the exact wording.
“Then,” he continued, “send for the astrologer, Osman. I wish a consultation today. Wait! Before anything you must send a message to the Lady Yasmin telling her that all lessons are postponed until further notice. Say nothing else. That should get you started. I will return later.”
As Khalid el Bey left, Jean heard him order a waiting slave, “See that Jean is sent breakfast immediately,” and the little Frenchman marveled that his master was so thoughtful. This was not the first time, either. The bey’s good manners had won his secretary’s loyalty from the very first.
Jean wondered what was in his master’s mind. He could have any woman without marriage. Why marriage? And Yasmin would be very angry. But Jean’s Gallic logic was on the side of his lord’s decision. It was time he settled down and had children. And besides, the lady Skye was the fairest woman Jean had seen in years.
Khalid el Bey returned to his bedchamber. Skye was gone, and he knew she had returned to her own chambers. Following her there, he heard giggles coming from the bathing room and found Skye and the pretty twin Ethiopian slave girls all splashing about the scented pool. He watched for a moment, struck by the vivid contrast of their wet bodies—ivory and ebony, sleek and shining.
Skye saw him first and, swimming over to the shallow end of the pool, came partway up the steps and held out her hand in invitation. She was like a goddess standing there in her nude young beauty, and he could feel his desire rising. He held his arms out and the two slave girls scrambled from the pool to remove his robe. Nude, his desire became visible to all. Skye’s blue eyes twinkled and, throwing him a saucy look, she dove back into the pool, giving him a delicious view of her sleek flanks. “Leave us!” he growled to the two girls, and dove after Skye.
He was amazed to find what a strong swimmer she was. She laughed mischievously at him and dove beneath the water to emerge in midpool. His own laughter sounded now. “Where in the name of the seven djins did you learn to swim like that, you vixen?”
Her blue-green eyes widened innocently, and she shrugged. “Alas, my lord Khalid. I know not. Are you not afraid to take such a wife to your bosom? Who knows what else I may know?”
He swam over to her and, gently, with a restrained passion that she instantly sensed, he took her face between his thumb and forefinger. His golden amber eyes regarded her gravely. “I am not afraid to take such a wife to my bosom, Skye. Whatever surprises are in store for us will only serve to make our life more piquant. I love you, my little lost one. I love you!”
Slim white arms slid up around him. Her small round breasts pressed against the dark furred mat of his chest as she offered him her lips. “Khalid, be sure, I would not hurt so good a man. You are all I know, and I should be lost without you, but is that enough for you? I can offer only myself, and I do not even know very much about who I am.”
“What is between us is good, Skye. Your lovely body responds well to mine. We like each other, and more couples than not have started life together with less. Do not fear, my love. You do not cheat me. It is a good bargain we make between us. Your concern for me does you credit. But now, my beautiful one,” he swept her up in his arms, “I want to make love to you again.”
She wiggled, wet and protesting, against him. “It is morning!”
“A most delightful time,” he agreed, laying her on the sun-warmed tiles that surrounded the pool. He straddled her.
“Someone will see us, Khalid,” she protested.
“No one would dare to disturb us,” he growled. His staff was hard and seeking against her thighs. “I want you, Skye. I want your tempting little body. I want you hot and sweet and yielding beneath me,” he whispered against her ear. She shivered deliciously as his tongue explored her ear, and shivered again as he moved downward along the scented length of her neck, biting gently at her silken shoulder. Skye soon forgot the bright sunshine. Khalid’s hands were on her hips, stroking and stroking the fires of her passions. He suckled at her breasts, drawing a cry of pleasure. “Open your legs for me, now, my love,” he murmured. “That’s it, my darling, take me into your fiery sweetness. Ahh … Skye, your little honey-oven is made for me! Hold me tightly, my love! Ahhh!”
His words aroused her greatly. His hands never stopped loving her body, and when his great rod entered into her she felt filled to overflowing with him. His body movement was strong and rhythmic, each stroke bringing her nearer and nearer to sweet oblivion. She climbed higher and higher. Then she was caught in a jeweled whirlpool, and she heard a long soft woman’s cry mingled with a great masculine sob.
Her next conscious thought was that the sun was hot on her face, and she heard water lapping against the tiled sides of the pool. She opened her eyes, and looked about. He lay on his back, eyes closed, but his voice brought a furious blush to her cheeks. “You were made to pleasure a man,” he said, “and I am grateful that that man is me. After we have breakfast, I shall see Osman the astrologer, and he will tell me what day this week is most favorable for our marriage. I am having Jean draw up papers freeing you, Skye.”
She pressed herself into the curve of his arm. “Oh, my Khalid, you are so kind to me! I swear I shall make you a good wife!”
He smiled and caressed her. “I know you will, my love,” he answered her.
They breakfasted on yogurt, green figs, and boiling-hot Turkish coffee. Afterward Skye returned to her own apartments, and Khalid el Bey welcomed Osman, who greeted him by saying, “So, my old friend! You have finally fallen in love again.”
Khalid laughed. “I have no secrets from you, do I, Osman?”
“The stars tell me all, my lord. And they tell me some things about your love that you might be interested in knowing. She comes from a green and misty land to the north, a land peopled by strong spirits and great psychic forces. She was born beneath the sign of the ram which, like all fire signs, is a strong and passionate one.”
Khalid el Bey leaned forward eagerly. “How can you know all this, Osman?”
“Because, my lord, such a woman has recently appeared in your own chart.”
“I want to marry her.”
“I cannot stop you, my lord.”
“You do not sound enthusiastic, Osman. What is it you are not telling me?”
“She will not remain with you, Khalid. It is not her fate. Her fate is back among her own people, and so it is written in the stars. There are many men in her life, but she will always steer her own course, rule her own destiny. One man in particular stands out in her life. Their paths have crossed before and will most assuredly cross again. It is with this man that she shares her soul, my friend, not with you. Can you not just enjoy her while she is with you? Why must it be marriage?”
He was shaken. The astrologer had always been accurate. “Will it make any difference if I marry her?”
“No, my lord, it will not.”
“Then I shall marry her. For I love her above all women, and would place her above all women.”
“She will not leave me, Osman. She will not leave me because of the children she will give me. She is not a woman who would abandon her babes. She will give me children, won’t she?”
“I cannot be sure, my lord. She will be mother to several children, but without a comparison of her exact birthday and yours, I cannot tell you for certain.”
“She will bear me sons!” he said positively, and Osman smiled faintly.
Still, he was concerned for his friend. The woman brought a confusion into Khalid el Bey’s chart. There was a dark area now that Osman could not fathom, and it worried him. Still, if his friend insisted on marrying her, then at least he would pick the best day. He scanned his charts carefully, made swift new calculations, and finally pronounced, “Saturday, at moonrise, you will take her as your wife.”
“Thank you, my friend. You will come, of course, and celebrate with us.”
“Yes, I shall come. Is it to be a large celebration, Khalid?”
“No, Osman. Just a half-dozen or so are to be invited—my banker, the head of the merchant’s guild, the mullah, the Turkish commandant, and my secretary, Jean.”
“What of Yasmin?”
“I think not.”
“Yasmin loves you, Khalid.”
“Yasmin thinks she loves me, Osman, and therefore she will accept my plans because of her belief in me. Besides, she will have no further contact with Skye. I cannot allow my wife to associate with a whore.”
Osman had to laugh. “There, my friend Khalid, speaks both the Spaniard and the Moslem in you.” He stood up. “Until Saturday, my lord Bey, and I wish you luck with Yasmin.”
Khalid el Bey sat pondering for a few moments after Osman had left. The astrologer was right. Yasmin would have to be dealt with, and the sooner the better. Rising, he called for his horse and, in the silent midafternoon heat, he rode down to the heart of the city, to the House of Felicity.
The building in which this famous brothel was housed was built around a planted courtyard that had a spraying fountain at its center. The side of the house facing the streets was white and devoid of windows or any decoration save the double-doored entry of blackened oak with polished brass studs. Guarding the doors were two huge black giants in scarlet satin pantaloons with cloth-of-gold sashes, turbans, and ridiculously turned-up shoes. Their large bare chests and muscular arms were oiled so that they gleamed in either sun or torchlight. They smiled broadly with flashing white teeth as their master rode past them into the courtyard.
Khalid el Bey dismounted, tossing the reins to a pretty young girl of ten who smiled at him in an adult and provocative fashion. Both her feet and her budding breasts were bare, and she wore only white gauze pantaloons that revealed her round little buttocks. A clever innovation, he thought, for many of his Berber clients liked prepubescent girls best of all.
For a minute he stood and looked about the courtyard with a proprietary air. Everything was in perfect order. He was pleased. The brick walks were well swept, the shrubs well trimmed, the flower beds colorful and fragrant.
“My lord Khalid, you honor us!” Yasmin swept down the steps to greet him, her black-and-gold silk caftan billowing. An odor of musk was strong about her, and he could see her vermilion-tinted nipples through the sheer silk. Her golden hair was plaited with black pearls, and behind one ear was a creamy gardenia. It continually amazed him that she always knew of the arrival of an important guest, and was instantly there to greet him.
“My dear Yasmin, you are as lovely as ever.” He chuckled inwardly as she bridled with pleasure. “Come. I wish to talk with you.” He led the way to her apartments, waiting patiently as she served him coffee and small honeyed almond cakes.
At length she asked, “How is Skye?”
“That is what I have come to discuss with you,” he answered. “I have decided she is quite unsuited for this sort of life.”
“Praise Allah! You have come to your senses!”
He smiled faintly. “You do not like Skye, do you?”
“No!”
“Then you shall not be burdened with her any longer, Yasmin.”
“You have sold her?”
“No. I am taking her to wife. The chief mullah of Algiers will join us on Saturday evening at moonrise.”
Yasmin’s face crumbled. Then, recovering herself as quickly as she could, she laughed weakly. “You jest, my lord. Gracious—how you startled me! Ha! Ha!”
“I do not jest,” he said quietly. “Skye is to be my wife.”
“She is a slave!”
“No, she is not. I have freed her. She was never meant to be a slave, Yasmin.”
“And I was?”
“You were born a slave of slave parents, of slave ancestors. It is your fate.”
“I love you! Does she love you? How can she? She barely knows you. But I know you, Khalid, and I know what pleases you. Let me!” and she fell groveling at his feet.
He looked down at her with genuine pity. Poor Yasmin with all her clever Mideastern sexual arts for pleasing a man. Yes, he had enjoyed them once, but they had also bored him to death. The Mideastern mode of loving was debasing to the woman. She was taught to please her master, who lay there, a nonparticipant except for the automatic ejaculation of his seed. It was up to the woman to please. The responsibility for his pleasure rested with her, and if she failed … the bastinado awaited.
How much better, he thought, the European way, where the man was in charge, his masculinity ruling and subduing his woman, her climax the most marvelous act of submission. It delighted the senses and soothed the male pride.
“I love Skye,” he said, “the decision was mine. And you, my most beautiful and valued slave, have no right to question me.”
“What will happen to me?” she whimpered.
“Nothing. You will continue your duties as before.” After a pause he asked, “Would you like your freedom, Yasmin? Then I should pay you for the duties you now perform for me.”
Yasmin was horrified. Her very slavery bound her to Khalid el Bey. Without it he could cast her off at any time, and now he probably would.
“Oh, no! No! No, my lord! I do not want my freedom.”
“Very well then, my dear, it shall be as you decree. Now, get up, Yasmin, and see me out.” He rose. Taking her arm, he raised her up. “You really are invaluable to me, my dear,” he said in a kindly fashion, and though she knew it to be a tossed bone, she was somewhat soothed.
“When may I come and wish the lady Skye happiness?”
“I would prefer you didn’t, Yasmin. Like any sensible man, I would prefer to keep my wife away from my business. And you, my dear, are a part of that business.”
“I understand, my lord Khalid,” she said smoothly, and thought bitterly to herself: Yes, I understand completely. You do not want your precious wife associating with a whore! And I am a whore!
They walked out into the sunlit courtyard, and the little girl brought Khalid’s horse to him. The Whoremaster of Algiers chucked the child underneath the chin, then slipped her a silver piece. “A nice touch, Yasmin,” he complimented her. Then, mounting the prancing animal, Khalid el Bey rode away.
CHAPTER 10
IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS THE PREPARATIONS FOR KHALID EL BEY’S wedding were made. The few invitations were issued, the feast and entertainment were planned, and the bridal chamber was decorated. Since Skye’s memory loss prevented her from having any religious preference, and since she had been a practicing Moslem since coming under Khalid el Bey’s protection, the chief mullah of Algiers found no impediment to the marriage.
On the afternoon of the nuptials six virgins from the House of Felicity arrived at Khalid el Bey’s estate and were housed in the women’s quarters. Unlike the Turks, who separated the sexes at a wedding, the inhabitants of Algiers were less formal. Although it was not necessary for the bride to be in attendance at the religious ceremony, which would be performed at the neighborhood mosque,
she and other women were invited to the feast. For what was a celebration without soft and fragrant feminity?
The little French secretary, Jean, had been given his freedom in honor of his master’s wedding. Jean had, however, elected to remain in Khalid’s employ rather than return to his native land. He and the other guests were to be gifted with feminine companionship for the evening. Khalid and Skye looked over the girls and decided the pairing. “I think,” he said, “the pretty plump little Provençale with the black-cherry eyes will do quite nicely for the mullah. He is yet a young man, but inclined to be overserious and weighed down by the importance of his position.”
“Has he no wife to ease his travail?”
“No, Skye, he has not, although I know he is not a celibate.”
“Then the choice is an excellent one, my lord, for should she insinuate herself into his affections she will make him supremely happy. I see beneath the youth and sensuality a proper housewife and mother.”
Khalid chuckled. “Bravo, my Skye! I see that also, and should God will that it be so, think how grateful the mullah will be to me when his first son is born! Now … for the head of the merchant’s guild, and for my banker, the delicious blondes. Each of these gentlemen is well into middle life. Each has a carping wife and a houseful of greedy, brawling children and relatives. What is needed here is simple, and quite physical. Maidens whose light-colored eyes fill with admiration easily, with big, soft breasts, and feather heads, who have only one desire, to please the master.”
Skye examined the two girls. They were fluffy creatures who would amply fill the bill. “What of Osman and Jean?” she asked.
“The petite creature with the soft hazel eyes and thick, chestnut-colored hair comes from his own Brittany. They will be quite a surprise for each other.”
“Oh, Khalid, how kind of you. The girl looks frightened, but Jean will reassure her nicely, and I will be delighted to have a friend in the house.”
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