by Judith James
The chevalier was teaching him Arabic, and they spent much of their time conversing in that language, discussing what they had seen of the compound, and how they might plan an escape. Gabriel continued to exaggerate his frailty, even in the presence of the old slave, but in truth he did feel dizzy and disoriented some of the time, and his sleep was like that of the dead.
***
It was almost Christmas, and Jamie was back for the holidays. They'd feasted and feted and now he lay content, stretched on his stomach, lazily watching the fire as it crackled merrily in the grate, chasing away the December chill. He shifted his position to make room for her, as she came to sit beside him on the bed, both of them hypnotized by the flames. He grinned and purred when she began running her hand gently up and down his back, caressing his buttocks. She leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
"Reveille tois, mon ange."
A bolt of ice ripped through him, stopping his heart, chilling his blood, and freezing his soul. His eyes flew open and met Valmont's, watching silently from across the corridor. His breathing was harsh and ragged, and he was turned to stone, unable to move as those hateful hands rested on the small of his back. Deliberately, he slowed his breathing and strove to armor himself, to find that hard, chill space that none save he could enter. He knew he would need to if he were going to survive. When he'd found it, he was able to answer.
"I'm awake, de Sevigny."
"Good, good! I'm so very pleased you remember me, Gabriel! I've gone to a great deal of trouble to acquire you. I suspected it was you as soon as that rascally corsair described you to me. He always lets me know when a beauty arrives so I might purchase him first. You're as lovely as I remember. You should really call me 'master,' though, you know, and I should punish you for your disrespect. But I do want us to be friends, as we were in the past. Do you remember? So in the future you may call me 'Monsieur le Comte.'" He patted Gabriel on the back and rose to leave.
"I didn't mean to disturb your rest, my dear. I just came to see how you were progressing, and to renew our acquaintance. Rest now. I've had laudanum put in your food to help you sleep. I want to see you better. I have plans for you." He turned to look at Valmont. "He's very handsome, isn't he, Gabriel? Is he your lover? No? Well, no matter, I have plans for him, too. I have plans for you both."
Gabriel lay there, his eyes black with rage, his heart twisted with hatred, his soul cold and still, as something long dormant stirred to life.
"How is it that you know this man, St. Croix? How is it that you know him so well?"
"I was forcibly converted as a child," he said flatly. And after that there was nothing else to say.
Monsieur le Comte de Sevigny fairly skipped up the stairs. He was very pleased. Very pleased, indeed! He had done well for himself in Algiers. He'd had contacts here for many years, and it had seemed an ideal home when The Terror had swept across France in the wake of the revolution. He had converted to Islam willingly. Accepting circumcision and remembering in which direction Mecca lay seemed a small price to pay for the social advantages it gave him. He had enthusiastically entered the slave trade and was now far wealthier than he had ever been in France. He specialized in providing beautiful, well-trained men and boys for private sale to discriminating buyers.
It had been his intention to ransom Valmont. His blood was a bit too blue for him to have easily disappeared, but surprisingly, his family hadn't wanted him. Wellmade and strikingly handsome, he would fetch a small fortune once he was properly instructed. Gabriel was another matter entirely. He had thought never to see him again. He had been enraged when he'd dared to run away, punishing him and sending him back to the cesspool he'd found him in. But there had been a quality about him, something untouchable and proud, a distant reserve he had never been able to breach. He had thought about him often over the years, and had realized that he'd never really possessed the boy. But now he owned the man. His body, at least. And he wouldn't be satisfied until he owned his soul.
Gabriel remained locked inside himself. He didn't eat or drink, knowing his food was drugged. He said nothing to Valmont, was hardly aware of his presence as he struggled to restore the defenses that Sarah had made him abandon. He'd let himself relax, become weak and unwary, but that was over now. This was war, and if he was to be the victor he needed to focus. He needed to hold himself remote, detached, and above all, to rid himself of feeling—and think!
He paced his cell all day, restless, almost eager for the battle to begin. When the key rattled at the top of the stairs he was prepared. When the Comte reached his cell with two guards in tow, he was stretched on his cot pre tending to sleep. He let de Sevigny shake him awake, feigning confusion and fear, looking at him with sullen eyes as the guards waited, blank faced in the hall.
"I've been very patient with you, Gabriel. I have paid well to restore your health, and I've given you time to heal, but my patience is at an end. There's no need for you to live in these conditions. I can change them like that," de Sevigny said, snapping his fingers. "If you submit to me, I will remove those chains and you will live in comfort." He sat beside him, snaking an arm around his waist and drawing him close. "You would like that, Gabriel, wouldn't you? I could give you gold, a fine horse, beautiful clothes ... and a bath." He wrinkled his nose and let go of him with a laugh. "Yes."
"Yes, what? Speak up, my dear."
"Yes, I would like it. To have clean clothes and a bath ... to be free," Gabriel said, his voice a blend of pleading and defiance.
De Sevigny smiled, running a finger down his cheek, and then gripped his jaw, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. "Then I shall tell you how. Here. Now. Tonight. You will show the other one how it's done." He looked pointedly in Valmont's direction. "You will endeavor to please me, Gabriel, and you will acknowledge me as your master. Until then you will be treated as a slave. Prove to me your devotion, make yourself worthy of my favor, and I will reward you. I may even free you. If you fail, or if you dare to defy me, I won't kill you, nor will I return you to the bagnio or sell you to the Dey. I will have you hamstrung, and then make a private sale. There are many here who share my vice, Gabriel. I will ensure that your life becomes a living hell."
"I would not like that, Monsieur le Comte. I would prefer to stay with you. I can obey."
"Can you? You've lied to me before. I think you will have to prove it, my dear," he said, tugging open Gabriel's shirt and running his hand across his chest.
Gabriel winced, drawing away. "Your men ... my ribs... I need more time. I... I beg you."
"You beg me? That's good, Gabriel. That's very good! My men hurt you, I know. They weren't supposed to, and they have been severely chastised, I assure you. I shall give you all the time you need. Do you see how pleasant it can be when we are nice to each other? But first you must give me a kiss, to show me how you love me. You do love me, don't you, Gabriel?"
"No, Monsieur le Comte."
De Sevigny burst into delighted laughter. "Then you must pretend, until you do. Show me, Gabriel, and show your friend. He needs to learn. Kiss me, and then I will leave you in peace."
He hadn't expected that. It had never been asked of him before. His kisses were for Sarah. No one else. But that life was fading now, almost gone. It had started the moment he'd fallen, battered and torn into an angry sea. Monsieur needed convincing. Let the games begin. Leaning forward, he took de Sevigny's face between his palms and pulled him gently into a kiss. He touched his lips, featherlight against the count's, pretending it was Sarah he was kissing, his heart breaking as he knowingly defiled the purest thing they'd shared between them, knowing that by doing so, he was saying goodbye to her forever. He deepened the kiss, almost sobbing, and then pulled away. "Like so, Master?"
Dazed, de Sevigny pulled himself to his feet. Gripping the wall for support, he stumbled from the cell as if drunk. The guards locked the door after him, and followed him up the stairs. The chevalier coughed, but said not a word.
Gabriel lay motionl
ess, staring at the ceiling. He had wanted to kill de Sevigny when he'd dared put his hands on him. He'd almost choked on his hatred, and his hands had clenched in anticipation, reaching for the chain. He had imagined himself wrapping it around his neck and twisting, breaking Monsieur le Comte's vertebrae with a satisfying crack. If he'd done so, he would have died. The guards would have killed him, or the Dey's justice would have.
Two months ago he'd been a rich man. He had a wife he loved, who loved him in return. Blithe and carefree, trusting in himself and his future, he'd reveled in it. Now fate was punishing him for challenging her, and daring to take for himself what he was never meant to have. It was a harsh lesson, a costly and painful one.
He remembered something Davey had told him a lifetime ago. It had resonated with him, because he'd always known it to be true. Your best armor, is your mind. He needed to steel himself, to kill every weakness including hope. All that was left was revenge. Fate might have taken everything else from him, the vicious bitch, but he wouldn't let her rob him of that. The seed was planted. De Sevigny was going to die.
Chapter
27
The next evening, two guards came to remove Gabriel from his cell. Valmont sat, staring pointedly at the wall. They hadn't talked to each other since the day before, and they didn't speak now. The door slammed shut and Gabriel was escorted down the hall, up the stairs, and out into the night. There were three men at a post in the corridor, guarding the courtyard and the access to the second floor and cellars. Two more were posted on the roof. He took everything in as he was led, dirty and bedraggled, through the house. Cooling fountains, rich carpets, lush gardens, all the accoutrements a connoisseur like de Sevigny might require, but he had not neglected security.
He was brought to an area with two luxurious tiled rooms, one housing a steamy, rectangular bath, and the other a cool refreshing pool. Stripping off his vermin-infested rags, he allowed the attendant to wash his hair and shave him as he sank blissfully into the heated water. Its warmth was a welcome balm that soothed his aching muscles and abraded skin. Who would have thought such a simple thing could give such pleasure? When he was done with his bath, he was handed clean clothes and fitted with a chain around his ankle attached to a five-pound weight he would have to carry or drag behind him. It seemed to serve no purpose other than to humiliate and remind, but it had potential as a weapon.
Feeling greatly restored, he followed meekly as he was led down another corridor and brought to a halt in front of a large, ornately carved door. Two more men were stationed here. The door opened onto a suite of opulent rooms, flanked by a long gallery that took up the entire south wing of the building and offered a commanding view of the courtyard, gardens, and stables below. Another guard was stationed in front of an imposing door etched with a crest Gabriel recognized from years ago. This must be de Sevigny's private suite, and that was his sleeping quarters. So far he had counted ten guards in all. The man tapped on the door and de Sevigny opened it, smiling in appreciation.
"Oh, my, you've cleaned up very nicely, my dear," he said, caressing Gabriel's shoulder and stroking his arm. "You've grown into a very handsome young man. Do you feel better, now that you are clean?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Compte, thank you. I am hungry, though. I haven't eaten since yesterday."
"Ah, because of the laudanum. It was for your own good, you know. To ease your pain and help you sleep. Nevertheless, if you don't want it, I will order it stopped. You've pleased me, Gabriel, and you will find that I am generous when I'm pleased. You will sleep in my suite from now on. I've had a small room prepared for you next to mine. It is not luxurious, but a great improvement from where you were. When I know I can trust you, your situation will improve. Rest now. I'll order food sent, and we'll speak again tomorrow."
Gabriel was shown to a small closet adjoining de Sevigny's bedchamber. It was fitted with a trunk, a stool, and a comfortable mattress, but it offered no privacy. It lacked a door and was positioned in full view of the sentry. De Sevigny might want him, but he didn't trust him. He was brought a meal of aromatic lamb stew, soft white bread, lemon sherbet, grapes, and wine. He tore into it, wolfing it down and savoring the wine. It had been more than half a year since he'd eaten anything nearly as good. Clean, sated, and comfortable for the first time in months, he settled down on the soft pallet and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Early the next afternoon the count had Gabriel brought to his chamber. He was dressed in the Turkish fashion, much as Gabriel was, and wore a magnificent jeweled dagger tucked in his waistband. The guard took up a position by the open door. The room was sumptuous to the point of being excessive, but there were several interesting features. The far wall held a collection of swords and other weapons, and Gabriel's eyes sparked when he saw his own Toledo blade there. The count must have acquired it from the corsair captain.
He turned quickly to scan the rest of the room, praying that de Sevigny hadn't noted his interest. There was a piano that seemed strangely incongruous in the corner, an ornate fountain splashing against geometric tiles in the center of the room, and a long window seat that overlooked the gallery and the courtyard below. He studied the room, he studied his surroundings, and he studied the count, as a predator studies its prey.
They played chess, and de Sevigny ordered him to play the piano. He did as he was told, somewhat surprised that after a few rough notes, the music flew from his fingers as light and effortless as it ever had. Tiring of it, without asking permission, he rose and went to lounge by the window, gazing out to the courtyard below. No guards there, just grooms and stable boys, likely all slaves.
De Sevigny rose and came to join him, and Gabriel closed his eyes, steeling himself, suffering the kisses, the insistent caresses, remaining mute as his heart roiled with hatred. He couldn't tolerate much more. He needed to kill Monsieur le Comte the first time they were alone, and he needed to get him alone soon. He'd learned much from Madame after he'd left de Sevigny, and he used it now, pushing him away with hooded lids and a knowing look. "You promised to give me time... Master." His voice was seductive, beguiling. "You promised to let me heal."
"I didn't promise to let you play me for a fool, though, my dear. I think I shall have you examined by my own physician. If I find you've been playing games with me, I will punish you, Gabriel. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Compte. I understand," he whispered against de Sevigny's lips, then turned his head away and returned his attention to the courtyard below.
"Leave me now, Gabriel. Go to your room. I shall send my physician to attend you directly."
Gabriel rose, bowed low to the ground, and returned to his room to wait. He'd recognized the look in de Sevigny's eyes. He'd deliberately provoked it. Lust and greed and wanting. He'd seen it a thousand times before. It would override caution and good sense. The physician would come, he would examine Gabriel and pronounce him healthy, and the count would delight in the opportunity to chastise him for his lies. He would want privacy to do so. The trap was set. Gabriel was a grown man, powerful, deadly, trained to kill, not the defenseless child the count remembered, but de Sevigny couldn't see it. Blinded by habit and hubris, he imagined himself all-powerful, and Gabriel well schooled in obedience. His hunger would rule him. It shouldn't be long now.
The physician came and went, and Gabriel awaited the summons. It came just before midnight. He had fallen into a light sleep. The guard stepped into his chamber and kicked at his pallet.
"The master wants you. Be quick about it." Gabriel entered the chamber with the same mix of anticipation and dread he felt before battle. De Sevigny was waiting, cloaked in a long white silk djellaba, a jeweled belt cinched around his waist, his dagger thrust through it. He was tapping a rod against his boot. "Leave us," he snapped at the guard. Hurriedly the man bowed and backed from the room, pulling the door closed behind him. "I am very disappointed in you, Gabriel. You lied to me. My physician says there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all." He flicked th
e rod against his boot, making it whistle and snap. "I so wanted us to get along. But you force me to punish you."
"I am sorry, Monsieur le Compte. It was only a game. I thought to amuse you."
"Come here."
Gabriel moved forward, eyeing the rod warily. "Remove your clothing."
"I have said that I was sorry. I did not understand the game we were playing."
"Do as I say!" de Sevigny snapped. "I would see that you are unarmed," he added evenly.
Gabriel removed his clothing, spread his arms wide, and turned around in a circle. "I carry no weapon .. . Master."
"I don't wish to punish you, Gabriel. If you show me your loyalty and your devotion, I will spare you this." De Sevigny twirled the rod in his hands.
"What must I do, Master?" he rasped.
"Come here," de Sevigny said, pointing to the floor in front of him. "Kneel."
Heart racing, breathing heavily, Gabriel knelt in the soft carpet.
"That's right. Oh, my, such fire and passion in your eyes!" Placing one hand on top of Gabriel's bent head, the count swept his robe aside with the other, and leaning over, whispered, "Now, offer me your submission, Gabriel. Show me that you love me. You know how."
And so he showed him. Wrenching the jeweled dagger from its gem-encrusted scabbard, he plunged it into the soft underside of Monsieur le Comte's belly, turning and twisting it with one hand as the other reached up to stop his mouth, stifling his anguished screams. Rising to his feet in one fluid movement, he sliced him from pubic bone to breastbone, castrating him, gutting him, and laying him open. Dropping the dagger, he hugged him close, holding him upright as he gazed into his eyes, watching his shock and terror. "Now you know how much I love you," he whispered, fierce against his cheek. Taking his hand from his mouth, he grasped the back of his head and kissed him savagely as the life fled from his eyes. "Know that I give you this kiss freely, de Sevigny. It's the kiss of death. Now go to hell!" He let go of the body, pushing it away, and watched dispassionately as it crumpled, lifeless, to the floor.