Silver Angel

by Johanna Lindsey

  142 Johanna Lindsey

  hung indecently low on her hips, leaving nearly a foot of bare skin between the upper line of the pantaloons and the lower edge of her short fringed vest. She began to relax somewhat when she realized no one was actually looking at her. Everyone's attention was on the tall African girl on her right whom the lord had stopped in front of.

  Haji Agha came closer to inform his master: "She claims to be a princess from the jungles to the far south but refuses to name her tribe. Unlike the other two, she is no virgin, and she still fights her captivity. Hamid Sharif had to keep her chained."

  Jamil's eyes moved slowly over the girl, revealing nothing, though he found her magnificent. She was tall, nearly six feet, with large, upthrusting breasts, a thick, hard-muscled waist, and what he imagined would be strong legs, used to running through the bush. Her eyes were a light brown, fired with hate.

  "I trust you can tame her?"

  "With certainty," Haji Agha assured him.

  Jamil nodded, turning his head toward the silver-haired blonde. "I suppose this is the English girl?"

  "Yes. She has proved docile, but then she is very intelligent, supposedly of the English nobility. Already she has learned the language well enough to understand most of what we say."

  A dark brow shot up. "So soon? From where was she captured?"

  "From the English coast, my lord. One of Hamid Sharif s corsairs was hired several months ago to take a passenger there. They had not intended to raid in those waters, but the girl apparently fell into their hands during the short time it took to drop their passenger off on the beach."

  Jamil glanced sharply back at his Chief Black Eunuch and suddenly laughed. "By Allah, what irony!"

  It was not Haji Agha's place to question his lord's humor or what he found ironic. "Hamid Sharif had sent out word of her far and wide," he continued. "Which is why she was still available. Her private sale was scheduled for two days hence, so naturally he was reluctant to let her go."

  "She came expensive, then?"

  "Extremely."

  Jamil sighed. Next to the African wench, she did not seem tall, though she was taller than most of the women in his harem. And she was skinny, to the point where she looked as if she were starving. Her breasts did not fill out her vest; her stomach was concave, her hips pointy. If that was not bad enough, she was blond, and personally he did not favor blondes because his mother was one, though this girl's hair was so light as to be almost white. But he could see why she would be considered special. Her features were the most exquisite he had ever seen. Not even the dark smudges beneath her eyes could detract from that beauty.

  Even so, he was not attracted to her. But then he had not bought her for himself. Whether he kept her or returned her to the slave merchant in time for that special auction was up to Kasim.

  "And the last one? Did Hamid Sharif make a fortune off me tonight?"

  Haji Agha did not dare to grin, even though he sensed Jamil was not annoyed by the expense, which he could well afford. "No, my lord. One of your own captains brought her in earlier this week, so she cost you nothing. She's Portuguese, of peasant stock, and so quite accepting of her captivity considering her circumstances improved."

  Jamil nodded, still revealing nothing of his thoughts. The last girl wasn't exceptionally pretty, but there was a lush sensuality about her that was hard to ignore, which was undoubtedly why Haji had picked her out. And there was the chestnut hair, which the Chief Black Eunuch knew he favored. But then Haji was not aware these women were not for him.

  Three to choose from was more than he could have hoped for under such short notice. He was pleased. Whether his brother was pleased had yet to be determined. Jamil was not going to add three more women to his harem if Kasim wouldn't make use of them. With that in mind, he turned his attention back to the African beauty.

  Chantelle stole glances at him only when she was sure he was not looking at her. She was too humiliated to meet his eyes directly. To be talked about as if she weren't even there, as if she couldn't understand them, when Haji Agha had explained that she could, just proved further how insensitive were these men. And the lord sounded so indifferent, as if he couldn't care less that he had just bought three new slaves. And he had bought them. His last question to Haji Agha proved that. But why would he buy women sight unseen? Or was the sale upon condition of his approval?

  God, let it be so. Let him give her back to Hamid Sharif. She couldn't bear being owned by someone who looked like one of her own countrymen. And he was handsome. Lord help her, she wanted to deny it, but couldn't. She found him utterly attractive in both face and form. It was impossible. She could see herself giving in, accepting her enslavement, all because of an unanticipated attraction that she had no business feeling. No! She had to do something to make him send her back before she was enclosed inside his harem and it was too late. But what?

  She watched him now, praying an idea would come to her quickly. And then she realized the examination was not over yet. He stood before the African princess, dispassionately studying her face while she stared furiously back, unafraid to let him see her loathing. When he raised a hand and casually flicked open the single clasp on the girl's vest, hot color flooded Chantelle's cheeks, but the princess didn't move, not even to keep the scanty material from falling open.

  He stared at the large breasts for a long moment. Chantelle groaned inwardly. She had been proved wrong again. She had actually been relieved at being bought as she was, thinking she wouldn't have to go through a public stripping, yet here it was happening, and in a room filled with people. And the one girl she had thought for certain would resist this debasement didn't. The princess still hadn't moved at all, standing proudly erect, apparently not in the least embarrassed or offended.

  It was when the lord finally looked up at her to judge her reaction that she did react. She spat full in his face.

  Chantelle gasped in surprise, but it went unheard because of the collective exclamations of shock and outrage in the room. The girl was immediately seized, not by her guard, but by his. The two Nubian giants forced her easily to her knees; then her guard withdrew a short whip from his belt and began to beat her across the back.

  Chantelle watched this in utter horror. The lord hadn't ordered the girl whipped, but he didn't stop it from happening either. He stood there totally unmoved, not angry, not anything. One of his servants had rushed to him with a cloth to wipe away the spittle, but he ignored him, choosing to use the back of his sleeve, slowly, while he watched the poor girl writhing on the floor. Not until her pride had finally succumbed and she screamed did he wave a hand to end it.

  "A pity," he said, though Chantelle could detect no actual regret in his tone. "Give her to my palace guard. If she survives a night with them, Hamid Sharif can have her back tomorrow." And his attention went to Chantelle.

  She turned cold, the blood leaving her face until it was deathly white. Just like that, he had condemned that girl to mass rape, then dismissed her from his mind. And as soon as he had said it, the girl was dragged out of the room. But even with her gone, Chantelle still saw the red welts in her mind, visible even against that dark skin, crisscrossing the area on her back that was bare.

  Chantelle finally met his eyes, and knew in that instant of total fear that she despised him. The attraction had died for her in witnessing his cruelty. He was a cold, unfeeling man, no doubt capable of unspeakable acts of brutality.

  "You're despicable."

  The words came out before she could stop them, but he seemed not to hear her, or he didn't understand English or care what she might say to him. She didn't know the word for "despicable" in his language. More's the pity, for there were more appropriate names to call him now that she thought of it.

  He was still staring at her eyes, and there was finally some emotion in his expression. It was surprise. Jamil had never before seen this violet color, hadn't known eyes could be this color. He was purely fascinated. They were like glittering
amethysts, fringed with long golden lashes that matched her gently sloping eyebrows, of a shade darker man her platinum hair.

  What an unusual combination. No wonder she had been so highly prized. With rich food to fill out her curves, she had the potential to rival even Sheelah. And her hair could be dyed . . .

  Jamil had to shake himself, remembering her purpose here. She was not for him. But if Kasim didn't want her, he was tempted to break his own rules and keep her for himself after all. It was the thought of Sheelah that decided him against it. This girl might be a rare find, but he loved his first kadine. And ever since he had realized that love, he had added no new women to his harem. These two, if Kasim wanted them, Sheelah was not going to understand, at least not until he returned. But that couldn't be helped. No one but Omar was to know about Kasim.

  "Shahar," he said suddenly. The moon. It was appropriate, with hair like moonbeams. He turned to his Chief Black Eunuch. "She will be known as Shahar, Haji."

  "No," Chantelle said, drawing his attention back to her.

  "No?"

  "Don't name me. Don't keep me. Send me back to Hamid Sharif."

  He was amused. Didn't she realize the decision wasn't up to her? "Why should I do that?"

  "Because I don't want to be owned by you."

  His eyes narrowed, making her pale. Good God, had she just bought herself a whipping? Couldn't she even state the obvious around here?

  But Jamil was annoyed with himself, not with her. He realized it had been a mistake to allow the black girl's whipping, whether it was deserved or not. It was meant as a lesson for the two remaining women, but mostly for Kasim, who had yet to witness such a situation and how quickly those around him would respond to it.

  The English girl had been docile and accepting up to that point, and now she was not. He saw now that she was afraid of him, but even in her fear, she couldn't mask the condemnation in her eyes. Kasim was not going to appreciate the fact that he had made her hate him by a simple act of punishment. And Jamil was almost certain that Kasim was going to want this girl.

  His eyes remained locked on her while he asked the Chief Black Eunuch: "Does she know who I am, Haji?"

  Chantelle answered first, insisting, "I don't care if you're the Dey of this whole bloody city."

  "You English have a quaint way with words, always using more than necessary." There was a mocking slant to his mouth as he added, "If you don't care, Shahar, then it will come as no surprise to you that I am in fact Jamil Reshid, Dey of this 'whole bloody city.' "

  It was a surprise, but only for one reason. "You declined to buy me when I first arrived, so why am I here?"

  He didn't answer for a moment. It was a trial of concentration to decipher her pronunciations and understand exactly what she was saying, though he had to admit her grasp of his language was far superior than could be expected. But even so, he was arrested by the way her eyes and mouth had softened. In her temporary confusion, her fear and revulsion were forgotten.

  He surprised her further by replying in perfect French, assuming that if she was of the English nobility as she claimed, then this was a language she would be more familiar with. "It is my prerogative to change my mind."

  "Then would you change your mind about that poor girl you had whipped?"

  "Interesting that you do not ask me to change my mind about you again instead."

  "I would have gotten to that."

  He almost laughed. It was refreshing to be spoken to with such audacity by a woman. His women did not argue with him, no matter how much they would like to. He might pamper and indulge them outrageously, but their awareness of his power and total control over their lives was never forgotten.

  "If I grant you one request, English, which will you ask for?"

  Her eyes widened. Was he serious, or was the question only rhetorical? Either way, there was no choice, not one that her conscience would allow. The girl's fate was already sealed; hers was not. And if he was the Dey, then his must be the largest harem in Barikah. He might have bought her, but there was the possibility that he would forget about her once she became lost among so many women. No, her fate was not sealed—yet.

  "The girl," she said.

  "You want me to keep her instead of sending her back?"

  "No, rescind the further punishment you ordered."

  He turned and did so, and Chantelle watched in amazement as the order was relayed to a guard outside the door. She glanced back at him, not knowing what to think of this gesture on his part.

  "Where is your gratitude, English?"

  Now she knew what to think, and it wasn't pleasant. "Thank you," she said, but her tone was clipped.

  ''What? I have not redeemed myself in your eyes?''

  "Her offense was too minor to warrant a beating," she replied in answer.

  "In your opinion," he stated. "But she insulted my person, and that is not allowed. You do wish to be aware of what is not allowed, don't you?" It was a warning, and caused her eyes to narrow. "Ah, I see you have remembered that you find me not to your liking. But you will change your mind, Shahar, if I decide to keep you. Shall we determine that now? Will you open your vest, or do I?"

  Her whole body stiffened, and there was again that mixture of fear and impotent rage in her expression. But was she cowed enough to heed his warning?

  "Will you spit on me, too?" he demanded, his voice brusque now.

  She wouldn't. She had wanted to know what she could do to get sent back to Sharif and now she did know, but what came first was unacceptable.

  She shook her head, lowering her eyes. And after her earlier resentment, he was surprised to hear her plead, "Please, must you do this in front of so many people?"

  "They are only slaves, English, as you are—" he began. Yet what he was doing was unusual, and only for Kasim's benefit. "Very well," he amended. "If you will step over here, no one need look at you but me."

  He walked over to the side of the room, waving his guard back. She thought it best to follow him, though this was still not what she had in mind. Her back might be to the room now, but others were still present, and she felt outraged that this could happen. He had no right. He believed he had every right. God, she hated this!

  She stood with head bowed and fists clenched. He wouldn't allow it, so reached under her chin to force her eyes to meet his.

  "Again I do what you ask, English. I am waiting."

  "I can't," she said simply, miserably.

  "Very well."

  It was not a reprieve. Chantelle itched to slap his hand away when it dropped to her vest. But if you could be whipped and condemned to an even worse punishment for spitting on him, what would happen if you slapped him? Would a scimitar be drawn and used instead of a whip?

  She groaned as she felt the material drop to each side of her breasts. She looked away, staring at the screened wall in front of her but seeing nothing, feeling only the acute embarrassment that spread color down her chest and made her cheeks burn.

  He stepped to her side, saying in a soft voice, "You may cover yourself, Shahar. You will go with Haji Agha. He will have questions about your background for his records."

  She turned her head toward him, asked miserably, "Then you won't send me back?"

  He didn't answer. He had already lost interest in her, turning his attention to the Portuguese girl.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Well?" Omar asked when the last girl was led away and Jamil retired to his bedchamber.

  "The blonde," Derek replied without hesitation.

  "And the other two?"

  "I thought the black wench was already dismissed."

  "Not if you care to have her."

  "And deal with that hostility? No, thank you. Just the blonde will do, and I'll pay for her myself."

  "Jamil would not hear of it."

  "Then what happens to her when this is over? And the others I summon? You never did answer that."

  "They will be given handsome dowries and found good husbands
."

  "Christ!" Derek swore softly. "Why wasn't I told that before now?"

  "Because it can make no difference. Believe me, Jamil will not mind if you use half his harem. He will probably thank you for this excuse to bring his total women down to a number that will not wear him out. You did not really think he would keep those women you favor?"

  "I hadn't thought that far ahead. But I'm sure he wouldn't thank me if I go through all his favorites."

  Omar chuckled. "Why do you think he has provided you with one of your own?"

  Derek grunted. "And his wives? Would he get rid of them, too?"

  "They are still the mothers of his sons. They would remain in the harem."

  "Never to be favored by him again?" Derek guessed.