The Surrender of a Lady

by Tiffany Clare

And her son. How much longer before she saw his chubby, smiling face?

  How many more days would they continue onward? This breakneck pace in travel was taking its toll on her body. She was tired and needed to regain her strength.

  A warm wind blew in from the water and pushed her hair forward. Despite the warmth, she shivered. This was the first place she had been allowed to sit alone since leaving Constantinople.

  Repulsion had goose bumps forming on her arms at the thought of the slave market. Tightness clenched the nerves throughout her body, creating a nausea she could do without. She never wanted to experience the degradation of the slave markets again.

  She took in another deep breath, cleaning out the putrid scent left in her nostrils from her sickness on the boat. She’d been dreadfully ill the whole trip over the sea as the boat tipped her one way then the next.

  She raised her forehead from the ground and swiped away the sand stuck there. Still kneeling, she raised her head to the sky. Hot sun beat down on her, warming every part of her body that was thrust upward to the rays of light. She could sit just like this for the remainder of the day, absorbing the air around her.

  The sunshine penetrated the thick cloth over her eyes. The citrus smell of the Englishman’s cologne, like fresh peeled oranges, told her of his proximity.

  Was he letting her savor the last moments of her freedom? Not that she was free. Freedom had long ago been stripped away.

  When the silence grew unbearable, she asked, “Do you only allow me a small bit of fresh air to restore my constitution?”

  “No, no. We’ve arrived.”

  She didn’t say anything, just raised her hands to the back of her head. Elation filled her. She could take away the cloth that seemed to bind what was left of her free will. Was she allowed to remove the cloth now that they’d untied her hands?

  His hands covered hers to stall her progress. “Leave it until we are within the safety of the palace walls. No woman who enters this place is permitted to see the way.”

  Her hands dropped away. She pushed herself up from the ground and at once toppled to the side; her legs were still a trifle wobbly. The Englishman was quick to put a steadying hand around her arm before she teetered to the ground.

  She smoothed her skirts in embarrassment, then stood firm. “Will I see my son soon?”

  “Soon.” He took her elbow to lead her to their destination.

  It had been the same answer since her purchase. Why she expected to hear differently, she wasn’t sure. But she hoped the solid knot lodged in the pit of her stomach wasn’t a warning that this man lied. No, she needed to keep her thoughts positive. There had to be some good to come from this disastrous turn in her life. Besides, why would he lie? With Robert dead, this was the last option available to her. Now this Englishman held all the cards.

  Robert’s death had been a hard truth to swallow. Five years she’d given that swine. Five years of her youth, and he’d wasted what could have been a good, mutually respectful union. Never did she imagine she’d be sold into slavery—sold to be some man’s harlot. It was ludicrous, unheard of, but it was the truth of her existence.

  A whore.

  There was no pretty way to label it.

  In a twist of fate—or terrible luck, really all the same thing at this point—not only had she married the man who ruined her reputation in one eager embrace she hadn’t even encouraged, she’d also signed away the security she thought to gain in marriage. Husbands were supposed to honor and protect. Robert had done neither.

  Then there was her son, an innocent child not yet exposed to the cruelties of the world. For years she’d thought herself barren and been thankful for it. She hadn’t wanted to bring a child into the impoverished life her husband forced them to live because of his penchant toward gambling.

  She stumbled on the path when her foot caught in a hole. She landed hard against the Englishman. He grunted and stood her upright. “Take your steps slowly. The terrain is rocky here. We’re almost inside the palace.”

  The blindfold was becoming tedious. Truth be told, it had become tiresome after a few hours of wearing it—days ago. She was helpless to do anything for herself. Did they really expect her to remember the way to this place? To remember the roads they had ridden and then the waterways they had sailed to reach this unknown destination?

  The loss of sight certainly impeded any escape she might have planned. Where did they think she would escape to with a baby in tow? There were no relatives who could help her. What distant relations she did have would shun her for the trials she been through these last weeks. No self-respecting lady would ever allow such a thing to happen.

  As if she could have stopped her husband from betting at the races or staying on at the gaming table when he knew he ought to leave. Stopped him from selling her into this life.

  Her captor stilled, his hand yanking her elbow back when she kept walking. “Slow down, there are some steps here. I’ll count them out for you. We’ll be there momentarily.”

  She followed silently at his side. Finally, they stepped into shade. She guessed they were indoors when a shroud of darkness immediately enveloped her. At least she got a break from the unbearable heat of the sun; she was baking in her clothes. Their steps echoed around them. How much farther could it be? After a few minutes of slow walking, they ascended more stairs, then went down some more. They turned about so many ways she would never have a hope of finding her way back outside.

  Doors opened or closed around her, she couldn’t tell which. A cool draft brushed over her the deeper they walked. The hair at her nape rose in sudden trepidation. The cool stone walls under her fingertips must keep the heat of day at bay in this long corridor, but not her fears.

  Darkness soon made way for light. There was quiet and stillness everywhere. Then they stepped into full-blown daylight. Elena turned her head to the side, straining to hear her surroundings. Songbirds chirped close by, and the sound of the sea was a soft din farther off.

  Would she be forced to meet her owner now? Would she have the opportunity to see her son? So many questions, but she was afraid to ask anything. Afraid to know if she stood before her owner she was to address as Amir—a word that meant “prince.” She wasn’t sure if he was a real prince, or if his name was a way of placing himself on a pedestal above his slaves.

  Fingers tugged at the knot behind her head. The cloth fell away. She didn’t open her eyes. Not yet. She wasn’t quite ready for the final outcome of this journey.

  “There’s no one here, Elena. You can open your eyes.”

  “No one here?”

  “No one.”

  She cracked her eyes open slowly, afraid to see the new world around her.

  The room she stood in was simple but pretty. A rose-colored divan with throws and pillows of many colors occupied the open-windowed wall. Fresh, hot air blew inward. Green and blue strips of silk floated toward her on the breeze, brushing around her toward the arched door at the opposite end of the room, presumably where they had entered. There was a bold red rug underfoot. A small table topped with a porcelain washing bowl at the entryway. Was this to be her room? If so, where was her son?

  “You have time to refresh yourself after the journey. I’ll send in Laila to help you with your bath. She’ll also assign a slave to you in the next week or so.”

  “Slave. You mean I’m to have my own slave?”

  A slave owning a slave? What a most peculiar concept, and a most disgusting concept—for a well-bred lady to have charge of a slave.

  “Of course.” His narrowed gaze said he thought she understood these things before arriving. “You are to be at Amir’s call at all times—day or night. Someone must guide and instruct you in this life. There is much for you to learn over the next few weeks.”

  She nodded her understanding. “When am I to meet my new master? And—and my son? I want to see my son.”

  Her voice came out anxious, threaded with too many conflicting emotions. How would a man
who kept a harem treat her? Why wasn’t her son waiting for her arrival?

  “You won’t see Amir until you are properly prepared.” His gaze slid down the length of her body. Slouching her shoulders forward, she hoped to stop his lewd assessment. He raised his eyes back to hers. “I know not when you’ll be ready for Amir. Much depends on your cooperation. And your son has been here for some days. You’ll see him later. Laila has much to do with you first. By the by, my name is Harry Chisholm.”

  She looked down to where her hands were clasped, suddenly shy, afraid he’d give her another once-over. She didn’t want to witness such looks from anyone. Was this commonplace in a harem? For men to look at the women and see one thing . . . a creature of ill repute at their disposal? She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She knew this was to be her life. It was too late to balk.

  “I’ll send in Laila.” He cleared his throat. “She knows her way around better than anyone. She’ll assign all the duties to the slaves until you can take on the task yourself. She’ll see to your bath and teach you some of the . . . customs you’ll have to adhere to.”

  Again, she nodded, not understanding what he hinted at. She had nothing else to ask Mr. Chisholm. As she continued to stare down at her hands, a woman’s naked feet came into view. Her skin was smooth and youthful, her ankles painted with vines and flowers wrapped around her bared skin all the way up her calves till it disappeared beneath her dress.

  Elena looked up into the beautiful face of a pale-skinned woman—her skin as white as freshly fallen snow and free of blemish. She wore a piece of amber cloth wrapped about her body and tied in a knot between her breasts. Her shoulders and arms were bare. Filigreed bracelets of every width adorned her wrists. Long, dark brown hair fell over her back with golden thread woven through it. Big brown almond-shaped eyes stared back at her, a smile evident in them.

  With that warm gaze, Elena gave a small sigh of relief. This woman could be a friend.

  A quick glance told her Mr. Chisholm was nowhere to be seen. She stood alone with this strange woman looking her over, from the top of her head down to her heeled shoes.

  She motioned with her hand as she spoke. “We will get you washed.” To Elena’s surprise the woman spoke English. “Off with all of it.”

  Elena’s smile slipped. “What do you mean, off with it?”

  “You’ll not be wearing these clothes anymore.”

  “What will I wear?” She looked around the room for clean linens.

  “A lot less,” Laila said with a grin. “You need to take these off. They are travel-worn and frayed. Most importantly, Amir does not like English clothes. The only English he likes is your prim voice whispered in passion.”

  Her cheeks flamed with the insinuation. It wouldn’t do to start on the wrong foot, so Elena swallowed her retort. “If you’ll provide me with clean clothes, I will change.”

  “Not here. You have to go to the baths. You’ll have a bath every day now; it is important we have cleanliness. You English are dirty.”

  She would not part with her clothes. Elena wrapped her arms around her middle, wondering why this woman disdained the English so much. Perhaps she was mistaken to assume this woman a possible ally.

  “If you don’t remove them, I’ll call in the eunuchs. You have to go down to the baths and be prepared should Amir want to see you in his chambers tonight.”

  All the air left her lungs. Tonight? Was she serious? “Mr. Chisholm said a few days—”

  “A few days before you occupy his bed.” Laila nodded her head and clucked her tongue in annoyance. “You will still have to see him before then.” Her fingers snapped and two men filled the entryway. The men came forward. Elena took a step away, the back of her knees hitting the divan.

  Laila continued, “You must undress, the baths will take some hours.”

  “Please send them away.” That step back didn’t give her any distance from the guards as they continued their advance.

  “I think it will take you a long while to get used to this place if you play so shy. These are not men but eunuchs and our harem guards, as well. They are here to assist me.”

  “I can’t walk around without any clothes in front of them. Please.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. The stern look did not bode well for further argument.

  Elena knew with sudden clarity that Laila would not be swayed. She hugged into her middle tighter, trying to shrink inward to hide from what they were going to do. Would they hurt her as they had in the slave market? Was she in for another beating at the slightest show of disobedience?

  “Could you—” She licked her dry lips, suddenly more nervous than when she’d been in the slave market. What if she angered this woman and they wouldn’t let her see her son? “When will I see my son?”

  “Make your questions quick.” Laila crossed her arms over her bosom, foot tapping in impatience.

  It was useless to play a simpering, scared woman. She stood up straight and looked Laila directly in the eye, trying to ignore the fact that the two men still approached her. “I want to see my son.” Her voice broke, giving away the fear she tried to hide. She needed more bravado than this and yanked out her shirtwaist to undo the buttons, showing her willingness to obey. The guards came forward regardless of her obedience.

  “After you are prepared.” Laila smiled, her expression softening. “Your son is in the private harem quarters. The other girls are watching him. There are no children here, so we are well pleased to look after such a fine beautiful babe. A wet nurse was brought to the island with him, too. So you can let your milk go.” Laila’s eyes dropped to the swell of Elena’s breasts above the corset. “If it hasn’t already dried.”

  To her dismay, her milk had stopped flowing a week ago. She thought it a sign that her life as a mother had shriveled away with the nourishment and sustenance drying up. The truth in the woman’s words filled her heart to overflowing, and a few tears leaked out the sides of her eyes. She swiped them away and returned Laila’s smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

  She squealed in surprise as she was jerked clear off her feet when one guard pulled her corset away from her back and slashed a dagger through the ties. Would she seem unworthy and weak if she cried? The boned contraption fell away, and she stood there helplessly, crossing her arms over her bosom—only the thin material of her chemise still in place.

  “The sooner you take off this fine English wear, the faster you can see the child. It is not so bad.” Laila pointed to her skirts, and the guards stripped them from her with a deft flick of their daggers. “There, you see, I believe that was much faster.”

  Elena kneeled to a hunch, still covering her chest, and untied her shoes as quickly as possible, then pulled them off. She ducked her face as tears swelled. Rolling her stockings down, she chanced a look at Laila. The woman raised one eyebrow at the short chemise and pantalets. After a deep calming breath, Elena stood with every last scrap of dignity she could muster.

  Laila shook her head and held aside the material hanging in the doorway. Elena slipped underneath and hid her rear against the wall, one arm firm across her bosom as she hurried after Laila. The sound of the guards’ slippered feet followed them.

  This was a far worse humiliation than what she’d been subjected to at the slave market. To be paraded around all but naked. It was too much to bear. It made her want to scream her fury. This was a new low. How could she live this new life? What had she been thinking when she’d agreed to such a fate? Was it true that her husband was dead? Or was this some ploy so her husband didn’t have to look out for her welfare?

  “Oh, now, now, little beauty. No need to look forlorn. Come.” Laila pushed her with a gentle, coaxing hand down the length of the hall.

  Elena paid no attention to her surroundings. Her mind was too scattered, imagining every possible course her new life might take. What if she couldn’t live up to the expectations of her owner? Already she balked at the idea of something so simple as a bath. Adm
ittedly, it was the presence of the men that made her uneasy, filling her body with barely tempered rage. She wanted to lash out with clawed hands and rake her nails down their faces. Blind them from her humiliation.

  She was at odds with herself. She’d never felt this kind of anger before. Not even when she was in the slave market. There, fear had drowned the anger that now boiled over in her blood. She closed her eyes for only a moment and took a calming breath.

  Laila stopped when they reached a narrow passageway. The door in front of them was arched at the top in an elegant Turkish-style point. Small green mosaic tiles were inlaid around the stone, giving this part of the palace a less sterile feel with its warm, earthy colors.

  Elena stepped into the room and hit a wall of steam.

  “This is part of the private hamam.” Laila motioned to the clouds of steam rushing out to swallow them both. “There are also public baths, which you will use daily.”

  “Hamam,” Elena repeated, puzzled. She could barely breathe, the air was so thick. How could anyone bathe here? Steam rose all around her, tightening her chest and wetting her skin. Her chemise clung to her, and she felt as though she’d been doused with a boiling bucket of water.

  “This is where I will remove your hair. Then we go to the public bath.”

  A gasp escaped Elena’s lips with the pronouncement. Laila turned to look at her with a skeptical eye. Elena retreated, her shoulder blade hitting the corner of the entrance, stopping her escape.

  “Remove my hair, you can’t possibly mean . . .”

  “You will see.” Laila pushed wooden clogs into her hands without further illumination, nodding toward the swirls of misty air that rose from deep within the room. “These are called nalin. They’re for your feet. You must wear these whenever you are in the bath. The tiles below are hot enough to scald your feet. And it is better than walking in the filth below us and harder for djinn to kidnap you when you are out of their reach.”

  Fitting her feet into the strange contraptions, Elena stood up and made a tentative step forward. They were heavy, maybe so the person wearing them didn’t slip on the wet floor.