"I will, I will," she heard herself say. "I love you. What a wonderful Papa you are. Always stay here," her childish voice pleaded, "Never, never leave again. See, I'll dance for you." And as she spoke, she raised her arms overhead, suddenly swaying to the twanging chords.
The crowd paused at this unanticipated sight. Never had they seen a slave so beautiful, and now those luminous eyes were blinking heavily, and her full, pomegranate lips spoke without sound as delicate limbs lifted and moved in a graceful interpretation of native dance.
A wave of whispers swept the audience. Again Abad's eyes traveled to her buttocks. And feeling himself grow hard and painful beneath his robes, he imagined parting those cheeks and driving himself into her. Then suddenly he was on his feet, unconscious of the odd angle at which his robes protruded and, rushing to the stage, he grabbed the slave girl's ankle as he shouted, "Twenty-five thousand dinars!"
Pandemonium followed. Jack Player's voice calling above the din as he too abruptly dashed from the protective darkness into the uncertain candlelight.
"The merchandise will not be molested!" he shouted over and over.
Gessat Nassid was suddenly out of his seat, too, protesting loudly in his native tongue as others did, shouting louder and louder to be heard above the chaos. Then a dozen men were clamoring at the girl's feet and Abdul ibn al-Mehridim was calling for his guards.
The surge of noise startled Juliette, who felt something touch her ankle and, from beyond her dreams, a congealing of thought drew her nearer reality.
Looking down, she saw a thickset man with bloodshot dyes caressing her calf, while a second man was struggling in the arms of guards. Through swirling clouds of smoke, ghoulish demons emerged, staring with leering grins and clutching the edge of the platform where she stood.
"Papal Papal" she screamed.
But her voice was lost in the fracas and her father faded as another face appeared, a mocking face that she recognized immediately by his black cape and hard laugh as the Arab who had murdered her father.
She tried to rouse herself, raising hands to press against her checks. Surely this must be Hell. Karim al-Sharif had murdered her father and now had murdered her, too, and brought her here to reside among demons. Her mind echoed "Karim al-Sharif, Karim al-Sharif." Her head spun dizzily and the images blurred.
Then with deafening suddenness, the music and voices ceased. There was a single scream and then only a low murmur.
Shaking her head weakly, Juliette closed her eyes. When she opened them again, all the demons had turned to look across the room where a lone figure stood. It was him, something told her, her father's murderer, Karim al-Sharif, just as she had always imagined him, dressed from turban to boots in black, a large burnoose hanging from his shoulders that floated behind as he advanced down a parted aisle of bowing figures.
Juliette's heart pounded violently. He was coming for her and there was no escape. Her vision blackened then cleared, as she swayed. He reached the edge of the platform and in a single step was up beside her.
There was the rushing of the sea in her head, or was it her father's voice whispering a thousand times, "Karim al-Sharif," over and over. But as she looked at him, she inexplicably saw Brandon, a half-triumphant, half-mocking smile on his handsome features.
Her thoughts tumbled in confusion. She had not the capability of reasoning and only knew that he reached out and took her wrist before pulling her toward him, his dark eyes glimmering like polished mirrors.
Again her father's voice came echoing through the walls of her memories, "Karim al-Sharif, Karim al-Sharif," followed by the memory of Brandon's own voice saying, "and I suppose you deny knowing my name, Karim al-Sharif.'
Juliette stepped backward, her eyes rounding so the whites’ circled huge violet centers as the width of his shoulders blocked her view of everything but him.
Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. There was only the strength of his arms encircling her, pressing her against thick enveloping robes.
"Come," he said simply.
Hearing him speak somehow broke the spell and, with it, an understanding sprang to Juliette's mind.
She pounded him with her fists and screamed, "Brandon ... Brandon, Karim al-Sharifl"
But her cries were muffled against his great burnoose as his arms tightened and an overpowering dizziness swept her. Then she was being carried through grotesque lights and figures that parted for them to pass.
Outside the stars were veiled by misty fog, or was it her misty eyes. She never knew, because she fainted.
Sharif lifted her to balance on his saddle before mounting behind her. Her cheek fell heavily against his arm as he spurred his horse and they burst away, Juliette's unbound blond hair streaming past his shoulder in the wind.
Chapter 51
The mellow tones of a bell echoed down the polished marble halls of the governor's palace, summoning Zalla to the special suite prepared for the Sheik of El Abadan.
Immediately Zalla went hastening toward his chambers. She was a tall woman whose advancing age didn't conceal her grace or completely disguise her -once sumptuous beauty. Since puberty, Zalla's one occupation had been the pleasure of men, and having learned her lessons well, she was now keeper of the governor's harem and the only woman of any importance inside the palace besides the governor's short-reigned "favorites," who came and went as swiftly and easily as the seasons.
Her position secure and long standing, Zalla was well acquainted with those most delicate conduits of palace gossip, those particularly secret and reliable sources to be found among any large servants, which often seemed to transmit an event almost as it was happening.
But at this moment, Zalla needed none of her fine informing methods to know what every occupant of the palace, from the royalty to the lowest stable attendant knew-that this girl could be none other than the one who had kept the household in a storm of speculation for days-that same girl who had mysteriously run away from the Sheik of El Abadan when so many others plotted to gain even a glance of his attention.
Zalla herself had been present when the news was first brought to the sheik of the girl's escape. She had seen with her own eyes the lieutenant of the guards turn pale beneath his dark skin as he bowed deeply and reported the loss. He paled to an even lighter shade when the master came to his feet with a spring like that of a cheetah stung by a wasp.
"Four men could not keep one girl!" he said. "Where did you lose her?"
From his prostrate position, the guard began, "It was in the market place, Sayyid. There was a disturbance--"
But the sheik didn't wait for the rest of the answer. Already Rashid was bringing the sheik's rifle and his burnoose, and his personal guard was hastily falling in behind as he strode out of the hall.
The search lasted for days and nights while men combed the streets and criers were sent about the city telling the people of the girl, the dire consequences to anyone who might harm her, and the reward of gold to that one who would return her to the Sheik of El Abadan. But five days passed while each hour the master's face grew darker and his eyes more dangerous until the entire household feared even to speak in his presence. And, in the end, they were all grateful to a certain beggar who on the sixth day was seen breaking through the palace guards to speak to the master.
"Sayyid, Sayyid!" the beggar cried out, falling to his knees. "I pray only that you listen to a poor beggar who serves you as faithfully as the richest of your subjects."
Already two guards had taken the old man by his shabby robes and were preparing to drag him from the royal presence while another guard bowed, apologizing for the interruption.
The sheik's voice was clipped. "Let him speak. Don't you think beggars hear and see more than all the servants and guards of the palace combined?"
Then he turned to the crouched figure whose fallen hood had revealed a deeply lined face sparsely bearded with straggling gray hair.
"What is it, old man?" the sheik demanded. "Speak. But
pray that the information you bring is worthy of the disturbance you cause."
The guards released their painful hold and the beggar fell forward to his hands and knees. "Oh, great and noble lord, defender of the faith." The beggar raised his grayed lips. "If the eyes of the slave girl you seek are truly the color of the desert sky in the evening as I have heard described, then I have seen today such as she taken to the Club Rayseyn. She is to be sold there tonight at midnight."
The sheik studied the old man's face with such sudden intensity that the beggar recoiled and said, "My words are true, Sayyid. I swear in the name of Allah the merciful and compassionate and also in the name of your beloved father, for whom once I was a warrior before the pain of a wound gave me over to the disgrace of drink, may Allah forgive me." Rolling his watery eyes skyward, he salaamed.
The sheik's face was expressionless for a moment before a certain light glowed behind his features. "Zayed- ib-Rafik. I remember. You rode with us the day my father was captured."
Zayed bowed so deeply that his gray beard dragged in the dust. "My master does me great honor to remember, and with him I spit on those English infidels who that day committed the infamous crime for which they can never be forgiven."
"Nor shall they be forgiven," the sheik added. "But my father has been avenged, his murderer sent before Allah to be judged."
And leaning down, the sheik helped the old man to his feet and pressed a rich coin in his palm. Then over his shoulder he said to Rashid, "Get my horse, and signal the men. And see Zayed ibn-Rafik has food and work if he wants it."
Again the old man was prostrating himself and kissing the hem of the sheik's robes. "Sayyid, Sayyid. I did not believe a man could be wiser or more generous than thy father, but before Allah, I have seen it is so."
The sheik shook his head. "It takes little wisdom for simple matters," he said shortly. "What man is so powerful that he does not need another faithful subject?"
Then the master's horse was there, already prancing even as Karim al-Sharif mounted him in a single movement and rode galloping from the palace gates, a complement of warriors streaming behind.
For hours after that the entire household held its breath. If the slave girl had been harmed, they sensed a bloody vengeance and each feared the worst. In a rage the master was more dangerous than a hungry lion. And so they waited until at last the sound of horses' hooves clapped again against the courtyard flagstones, telling everyone they had returned.
Even before Zalla had answered the royal summons, she had heard whispered that the sheik had taken revenge on his enemies that those responsible for the abduction of the girl had been executed, and the Club Rayseyn destroyed. And now as Zalla watched him lean over this girl, who had already taken more trouble than fifty slave girls, she saw a new look in his face.
Zalla bowed low, listening carefully to the sheik's orders, only nodding before bowing again as he left. Then she rose from her knees to strike the small bell twice more. At the signal, three giggling serving girls entered and peered curiously at the white girl. She was beautiful, was she not?-so fragile-like a butterfly of heaven all in gold and white and pinks.
And what strange words she murmured in a tongue they could not understand as she seemed first awake and then asleep again. But Zalla gave them little time for idle wondering, setting them immediately to work undressing the girl's limp body and slipping her into the master's luxurious bathing pool, already filled to the brim with fragrant scented water.
Slowly they scrubbed her inch by inch, until she was washed clean and her skin glowed a rich rose. Then, lifting her out, they dabbed her dry with soft cloths before laying her once again on the couch so that Zalla, with the care of an artist, could brush color on her lips and nipples and even rouge her sex while the girls added perfume of a light exotic scent before dusting her with powder that made her skin as smooth as a newborn babe's.
At last satisfied with the result, Zalla moved the white slave to the master's bed, arranging the clouds of golden hair that now was her only ornament, and letting down the mosquito netting that fell from the ceiling in- a filmy mist of white.
The slave girl's eyelids began fluttering with fresh life as the lamps were dimmed to a soft orange glow. Then together, they tiptoed out of the chamber, the three girls whispering and giggling among themselves and only wishing they could be the fortunate one offered to the master like a rare treasure.
Later, when Juliette's eyes blinked narrowly open, she was still dizzy and disoriented, and bringing a hand to her forehead, she didn't realize for several minutes that a figure was standing over her, a bronze god, wearing only white pants drawn tight at the waist by a black silk cord.
There was no past, only the present, and after a time, a shadow parted the milky curtain surrounding her, and lolling her head in that direction, she saw Brandon who, like a dream, did not speak, but silently came onto the huge bed.
She was in his arms then, pressed against his body so much larger and harder than her own. He was warm, so warm, and of their own accord, her arms wrapped around his neck.
She couldn't help lifting her starry gaze to his, at once hypnotized by those penetrating eyes, mysterious, and dark as midnight. Yet something nagged at her brain as he drew her closer, an understanding not clearly formed. She only knew she didn't want to feel so helpless, and struggled to make sense of the tangled threads of her mind. But still lost in a strange fogginess, she could only watch him wonderingly as she felt his long fingers caressing her throat and sliding downward to her breasts as his mouth took hers in a scorching kiss.
She did not want to be changed, but sensations erupted that dissolved any question of will. His lips were playing against hers, teasing, soft, then demanding, his tongue running along her teeth before pushing through, exploring her inner recesses so she blazed and trembled by turns. He was the sun, and she the sea, his touch glimmers of delight against her undulating need. Together they became light and shadow, a mingling soaring oneness.
She heard herself moan under the onslaught of whirling colors circling her head as all movement, all knowing narrowed down to only one irresistible demand. His mouth lifted to hover over hers and words were whispered against her flesh as he moved down her throat to one breast, his mouth taking the nipple and rolling it with his tongue, pulling it with his teeth, sucking it until it was swollen to erect bursting before he moved to do the same with the other waiting breast.
Her heart pounded crazily and her thighs opened themselves even before his tongue had moved to explore her navel, expertly circling it again and again, She was no longer her own creature, but his, brought alive so that desire was all that existed as his hands took her hips firmly, his lips slipping in soft kisses down her silken belly and lower.
Moaning, her head turned slowly from side to side. She was mesmerized-his slave as she let her thighs be lifted over his shoulders, a sinking surging dizziness spreading outward from his plunging tongue that burned hot like the sun's radiance from the inner core of its central furnace.
She arched her back and moaned again as wave after wave of shimmering pleasure peaked and fell away only to rise shimmering again, building each time higher and more wonderfully full-an overripe fruit ready to burst at the slightest touch. But then, just when a new incomparable height was within her grasp, he pulled away, his lips traveling down the inside of her thighs that fell open wide in offering.
She moaned, weakly reaching to pull him back, but he was suddenly above her again, her own feral scent upon him. And slowly, so she knew each burrowing inch of his taut and throbbing hardness, he filled her with himself, her own body rising to meet what he thrust forth.
"Brandon," she whispered against his lips as he found her mouth again.
Then he was driving and gliding, in and out, building a momentum of wild sensations that climbed steadily toward an unknown dimension, each thrust seeming to penetrate deeper than the one before so she could feel herself opening wider, deeper, to take all of him.
He paused then and, fearful the wonderful sensations would stop, her own hips swirled up to match his movements as she whispered hoarsely, "Brandon, Brandon ... don't stop. I want . . . I want ..."
But then he began again, faster, harder. And just when she imagined she could endure no more, a wrenching wonderful ecstasy exploded, so stabbing, so triumphant, she pressed against him in wild abandon as fulfillment drowned her in rapturous spasms.
It seemed then she teetered between life and oblivion, beyond time or knowing as the world hung by a gossamer fiber that at any moment would dissolve. But like ocean waves rolling up the sand, her senses surged to their highest point before slowly declining until only a wonderful peace and satisfaction remained.
And with him still a part of her, Juliette murmured, "Brandon," and breathed a sigh of velvet softness before falling into deep sleep.
Chapter 52
"Where am I? What am I doing here?" Visions of her father, of the Arab devils, of hands groping about her an¬kles-and of Brandon, were all scrambled in confusion as her eyelids fluttered open and she found herself lying on her back in a wide bed.
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