Bedazzled

by Bertrice Small

  “Awaken, my child. It is time.”

  India slowly opened her eyes, rolling back over to ask the older woman, “Time for what, madame?”

  “Time for you to go to the dey,” came the answer.

  She was suddenly awake and completely alert. “Tonight? He would really ask for me? After what I did?” Her heart was beginning to pound with anxiety.

  Azura gently pulled India from her mattress. “There is nothing for you to be afraid of, my child,” she soothed the girl.

  “I am not afraid!” India protested, but in truth she was. Still, had not Thomas Southwood warned her about appearing frightened? India determined to show no fear no matter what happened.

  Azura ignored her protests, drawing a brush through her charge’s dark curls, instructing her to rinse her mouth with mint water, and then leading her from the harem into a dimly lit hallway at the end of which were two large arched doors, studded with brass nails and hinged with heavy black iron hinges. Azura pulled the doors open slightly, and said softly, “Go in, my child. He awaits you.” Then she gave India a delicate but effective push into the chamber, drawing the doors shut behind her.

  The room was softly lit by a large hanging lamp burning scented oil. There was the sound of a tinkling fountain that, India reasoned, was in the gardens she could see beyond the room, past the curved pillars with their pale gauze draperies, that hardly stirred in the warm night air. The floor beneath her feet was tiled. The furnishings were simple but elegant, of polished wood, brass, and tile; some chests, tables, and a single chair with a leather seat.

  “Come here!”

  India started at the curt, commanding voice, and her eyes went to a large dais of carved wood, decorated in gold and silver gilt, which harbored a huge mattress covered in coral and gold-striped silk. The dey, wearing only his white pantaloons, lounged arrogantly upon the mattress. Her eyes widened slightly. She had never seen a man so . . . so . . . unclothed. It was very disconcerting. His chest was smooth and golden. His one garment was worn low on his narrow hips. and cut low to reveal his navel. Without the small turban he had worn in his audience chamber, she could see that he was dark-haired.

  “Come here!” he repeated.

  India shook her head imperceptibly.

  Caynan Reis let his eyes examine the girl as she stood, visibly trembling, her back pressed to the door. She was absolutely the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered. The flawless porcelain, ivory skin. He had noted it when he had whipped her earlier. Cleaned up, he could see the prize he had snatched from his brother. He wanted to kiss the full, lush mouth and run his long fingers through her dark, silky curls. He could see she was terrified. Her golden eyes gave her away, but her stance was pure defiance. He slid off the mattress, curious as to how far she would challenge his authority over her.

  Seeing him on his feet, coming toward her, India swung about, her hands pushing against the door desperately. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as she felt him behind her, his body pressed lightly against hers. She could barely breathe, but she swallowed the cry in her tight and aching throat, standing perfectly still even as she heard his steady breathing next to her. When one of his hands slammed against the door by her head, she jumped in terror.

  He laughed softly. “You are afraid,” he said, his fingers pulling her dark hair aside, his warm lips kissing the nape of her neck.

  “No!” India managed to grate out, her nose just pressing against the heavy oak door between brass nails.

  “I will not hurt you,” he said, leaning around to nibble upon the delicate lobe of ear. “Ummmm. As I suspected. You are delicious.”

  She remained silent, although if the truth had been known, a succession of shivers was racing up and down her spine.

  “You are a very disobedient little slave,” he told her, his fingers playing with her curls.

  “I am not a slave,” India said fiercely. “I am Lady India Anne Lindley, daughter of the duke of Glenkirk, sister of the marquis of Westleigh, the duke of Lundy, and Lord Leslie of Glenkirk. You have no right to hold me! I am a free-born English woman, and no slave!”

  “Your lineage is impressive,” he told her softly, “but you speak of what you were, India, and not of who you are now. You are a spoil of war, brought to me by one of my captains, and thus you have become a slave.” He pushed his body hard against hers. “It is time you learned your place in this new world you have entered. You are my slave. Your sole purpose in life is to please me.”

  “Never!” The brass nails in the door were pressing against her delicate flesh.

  He laughed at her defiance and nipped the back of her neck with sharp teeth. “What other choice do you have?” he mocked.

  “I will die,” she replied grimly.

  “Little fool,” he growled low in his throat, “do you think I will allow that to happen quickly? First I would give you to the janissaries in the palace barracks for their pleasure. Do you believe they would accept your feeble refusals? They would strip you naked, holding you down while they took their pleasure of you again and again and again. You would be subjected to every kind of perversion known to man, my innocent little virgin, and when they had finally destroyed your spirit, and your beauty, you would become a common barracks drudge. It would take you some time, several years I suspect, before you would finally die of disease and starvation, India. Is that what you really want?”

  The words he spoke were terrifying. “No,” she whispered.

  “Then you will yield yourself to me,” he said quietly.

  Again she shook her head. “You may ravish me, my lord, but I will never yield to you. Ever!”

  “Ravish?” He tasted the word with his tongue, greatly offended. “Ravish? I want to make love to you, little fool. I want to caress these soft white limbs.” His big hand slipped beneath her wide sleeve, and then smoothed down her arm. “I want to love every inch of your body, and kiss that tempting mouth until it is bruised with my kisses.” His hands grasped her shoulders. “I want to hear you cry with pleasure when our bodies join and we become one, but I do not want to ravish you.”

  “The only way you will have me, my lord, is to force me,” India said stonily.

  He made a sound of annoyance as his hands dropped away from her shoulders. “Little fool,” he warned her, “do you not realize that I could have you bound and then take my pleasure of you? You would rejoice when I had finished, for I would have shown you Paradise. No, you do not understand, and I will not coerce a mere girl in order to teach joy to a reluctant maiden. I will not allow you to drive me to such a thing.” Grasping her arm, he yanked her away from the door, and then, opening it, half dragged her down the corridor to Azura’s private apartments. Entering, he pushed India to the floor, and put a firm foot upon her. “This slave girl,” he told the startled Azura, “is unmanageable, my lady. Keep her with you tonight, and then tomorrow Baba Hassan will come and prepare her to serve me as my body slave. I should give her to my janissaries, but I am too soft-hearted, and you know well the reason why; but she will service me in some capacity. If my bed is not to her liking, then there are other ways she may be useful.” Lifting his leg, he pushed the shaken girl toward the harem mistress, and then, turning about, departed.

  India crouched upon the tile floor trembling.

  “What happened?”Azura demanded, struggling to keep the anger from her voice. Was this silly little virgin going to spoil all their plans with her stubborn nature? I will not let her do this, Azura thought angrily. She roughly pulled India to her feet.

  “I refused him,” came the expected answer from the pale-faced girl. “I told him he would have to ravish me, but I would not yield myself willingly, and I will not!”

  Azura shook her head despairingly. “Do you know what might have happened to you?” she cried. “Have you any idea how fortunate you are that he has shown you mercy? This is a fair man, but he is not an easy man. He might have killed you where you stood, and it was his right for you ar
e only a slave now, India. Oh, I don’t know what will happen to you! Allah! We must convince him to forgive your outrageous behavior and accept you back in his bed.”

  “I will not be a whore!” India’s voice broke, and, in spite of herself, she began to cry. The dey had terrified her, first with his talk of the janissaries, and then when he had dragged her down the hallway, she had thought surely he was going to carry out his threat. “I want to go home,” she sobbed.

  “You are home,” Azura snapped. “Unless, of course, you continue in your foolish behavior. Allah only knows where you will end up then! Perhaps in some sheikeh’s tent out on the desert where your fair skin will be burned leathery as you squat over a campfire cooking your master’s supper of couscous and goat.” Then, relenting her harshness, she put her arms about the girl to comfort her.

  “Won’t the dey just ransom me now?” India sniffled.

  “No, my child. I have spoken the truth to you when I told you that there is no hope of a ransom for you. You must accept your fate. Now, what is so terrible about becoming the beloved of Caynan Reis? He is handsome, and yet young. If you would give him a child, your position in his household would be assured, particularly if that child was a son. Would this not have been your fate in your own England, India? To marry and have children?”

  “You want me to marry the dey?” India was astounded.

  “He will take you for his wife if you give him a child,” Azura half lied. “That is the way of this world.”

  “But I am a Christian, and he is an infidel,” India pointed out.

  “He follows the teachings of Islam, my child,” Azura said.

  “Mama’s father, her real father, not BrocCairn, was a Muslim,” India considered thoughtfully.

  “We all worship the same God,” Azura told her in practical tones. “What difference does it make how we worship.”

  India was thoughtful, and then she asked, “What will happen to me now, my lady? What did the dey mean when he said I was to serve him as his body slave? I do not understand.”

  “You will be at your master’s beck and call around the clock, my child, and you will serve him in all ways except in his bed,” Azura explained. “You will have no place in the harem.”

  “But where will I sleep?” India cried.

  “Wherever the dey tells you you may sleep,” she replied. “Do not be afraid, India. It is a mild punishment he gave you for the affront to his pride. Perhaps it is better. You will learn to know him.” She smiled encouragingly at the girl. “You may sleep here with me tonight upon the divan. Then, in the morning, Baba Hassan will explain your duties to you.” She patted India’s hand gently. “Lie down now, my child. You look absolutely exhausted, and I can see you are near collapse.”

  It was barely dawn when Baba Hassan came to awaken India. Both his look and his tone were disapproving. “Get up, girl! Your master must be awakened and bathed.”

  India scrambled to her feet, casting a desperate look at Azura, but the mistress of the harem ignored her.

  “Come along,” the head eunuch said, and India quickly followed him. “Now, after you have awakened the dey, girl, you will escort him to the baths, to bathe and dress him, and then you will fetch his breakfast. I will help you this morning, but after today, you must know your duties without me, and carry them out.” Baba Hassan pushed open the door to the dey’s suite, calling as he did in a low but clear voice, “Awaken, my lord dey. The dawn is breaking, and you have a full schedule.” He pulled the naked girl from the dey’s side. “Return to the harem, Layla.” Then he looked at India. “Gently touch him, girl, and bid him awake.”

  Gingerly she reached out, and brushed his shoulder with her fingers. “Awaken, my lord,” she half whispered.

  Caynan Reis rolled over, looking up at her. “She isn’t garbed properly,” he noted to Baba Hassan.

  “She must bathe you, my lord. She will be given her new garments after she has completed her first duties,” the eunuch answered his master.

  The dey arose. “Let us begin then.”

  India’s eyes widened with surprise and shock. The dey was stark naked. She didn’t know where to look, and what made it worse was the slight smile upon his lips that mocked her. First that overripe little creature in his bed! Was she going to be expected to rouse those women every day? Now his nakedness when he certainly knew that she had never seen a naked man in her entire life! Her cheeks burned with her embarrassment.

  “The dey has his own private bath,” Baba Hassan informed her. He moved across the chamber through another arched door, saying as he went, “Remove your kaftan, girl. You cannot bathe your master dressed. Your garment would be ruined with the water and the steam.” They were in the bath’s anteroom, and the eunuch swiftly whisked the kaftan over her head, handing it to a waiting slave.

  There was no time to protest, or even feel shy. India swallowed hard, not daring to look at Caynan Reis’s handsome face, for she knew instinctively that he would be silently taunting her, and she would want to smack his face. She had already learned that attacks on the dey would not be tolerated. She was amazed that her back was free of soreness after the five strokes he had meted out to her yesterday.

  “The first thing you must do,” the eunuch began, and then he went on to instruct India in the proper method of bathing a man.

  “Wield the scraper yourself, Baba Hassan,” the dey instructed the eunuch. “I am loath to allow a pointed object in her hand quite yet. ”

  India rinsed Caynan Reis using a silver basin after he had been scraped free of sweat and dirt.

  “Very good,” the eunuch approved. “Now, continue on as I have instructed you, and when the master is soaking in the heated pool, wash yourself, for it is the only time you will have to do so each day. Then bring our lord to the masseuse, and I will give you your new clothes.” Baba Hassan hurried off leaving India alone with the dey.

  Caynan Reis sat down upon a marble bench, nodding at India to begin the ablutions. First she washed his dark hair, and when she had rinsed it thoroughly, she toweled it free of water. Then, kneeling, she washed his feet, and lower legs. He stood, and India washed his upper legs, his chest, his belly, hurrying behind him to wash his back, shoulders, buttock, and the back of his legs. Then she rinsed him thoroughly. He had the most beautiful body, she thought, wondering as she did if it were proper for a woman to see a man naked and admire his form. He seemed to be in perfect proportion, lean and hard.

  “I am finished, my lord,” she said softly.

  “I think not,” he told her. “You have not yet washed my manhood, India. Remember you are now my body slave, and it is your duty to bathe all of me. My manhood is an important part of me.”

  “Could you not bathe it yourself?” she ventured. My God! He couldn’t really want her to wash him there!

  “Take your cloth. kneel down, and do your duty, India,” he said in a not-to-be-argued-with voice.

  India gritted her teeth. I am not going to allow him to bully me, she thought, kneeling down before him. God! It was staring her in the face. Were they all so big? And what was that hanging beneath and behind it? She dipped the cloth into the alabaster jar of thick soap.

  “Be gentle,” he warned her. “It is tender, and needs a delicate touch. You do not want to injure so fine an instrument as this.”

  “I’m certain there are better in the world,” she retorted, the words out of her mouth before she realized it.

  To her relief he laughed. “Possibly,” he agreed, “but you must trust me, my little virgin, when I tell you my manhood is a weapon to be reckoned with, and I have had no complaints from my women.”

  India washed him, and rinsed the potent flesh with warm water. “Your women would not dare complain, my lord. They might be banished from the comfortable idleness of your harem if they did. Now, I believe you are ready for the bathing pool.” Turning away from him, she let the dey make his own way into the warm, perfumed water, quickly washing herself while he relaxed. When she
had finished, he beckoned her.

  “Join me,” he said, his look daring her.

  India glided down the steps into the water, sighing softly at the luxury of it, and positioning herself opposite him. She said nothing.

  “You have the lushest mouth,” he told her. “Have you ever been kissed?”

  She nodded in the affirmative. His eyes were so blue.

  “By your lover, the English milord?”

  “He was not my lover, my lord. We were to marry.”

  “Who else kissed you in an amorous manner?” he demanded.

  “No one, my lord. I am not some lightskirt,” India replied.

  He moved quickly through the water, standing before her, and his lips lightly brushed hers. “Did your milord ever touch you?”

  “Once,” she whispered. It was really most disconcerting standing here in the warm pool, her body just touching his. “He touched my breasts once.” The admission colored her cheeks.

  “Like this?” He cupped one of her breasts, his fingers lightly brushing her nipples.

  India’s eyes closed briefly. “Aye.”

  “And you liked it,” he said softly.

  “Please, my lord,” India said. Then, pushing him away, for his nearness was most distressing, she exited the pool. “The masseuse awaits, my lord. Please come, and let me dry you.”

  “In the end,” he told her, “you will yield to me, India, but I will be patient with you, for I believe you are a prize worth having.” Then he left the bathing room, and she followed slowly, confused.

  Baba Hassan was awaiting her. “I have the garment you are to wear in your capacity as the dey’s body servant.” He handed her a pair of while silk pantaloons with wide bands of gold and silver embroidery at the ankles and about the hips. The pantaloons rode low on her body, baring her navel. The eunuch now stood before her, a small pot and a brush in his hands. Dipping the brush into the pot, he painted each of her nipples carmine red. When he had finished, he said, “You are ready, girl. Go now, and help your master dress for the day.”

  “Surely there is another garment for me to wear,” she gasped, looking down at her bright red nipples.