Silver Angel

by Johanna Lindsey

  "Which only proves the power this girl has over him, if she could upset him that much. I think it would be wise to be extremely careful in our dealings with her henceforth."

  "I will see she has anything she wants if she is deserving of it," Rahine said with glowering irritation. "I won't change my policies in dealing with his women just because he has."

  Haji shook his head at such stubbornness, but Rahine wouldn't be Rahine without it. "Will you at least strive for your renowned control where she is concerned? She seems to have the power to make you lose it, as well as your son."

  Rahine made a very unladylike sound that caused the eunuch to grin before she demanded, "I assume that you have already set things in motion and sent someone to fetch her to the baths?"

  "Of course. The feast won't last but a few hours."

  "Again we are expected to work miracles. So be it. What color did you select for her?"

  "Blue, to soothe her nerves and his temper, should it arise again, Allah forbid."

  Rahine's lips quirked finally. "Very appropriate, but then you can always be depended upon to think of such things. I will bring along my sapphires to complement your choice. Hopefully the next time he summons her, she will have her own jewels."

  "Your attitude is already improving, Rahine."

  "Let us pray hers has as well."

  Their prayers were not to be answered. One of the bath attendants met them before they reached the hammam.

  Breathless from running, the girl cried fearfully, "You must hurry, lalla! Kadar is having difficulty restraining the English girl without hurting her!"

  "Restraining? Why?"

  "She is fighting him, lalla. "

  Rahine scowled darkly. "Was someone stupid enough to tell her she had been summoned by the Dey?"

  The girl's horrified expression was answer enough. "You can't blame them, Rahine," Haji said reasonably, though he was frowning now, too. "It's an honor, after all, that anyone would assume—"

  "The whole harem knows why she was banished to the kitchens! You can't keep secrets here." But then Rahine groaned. "Oh, never mind. What's done is done. So much for hoping she might be more agreeable this time." And then, determinedly: "Haji, you had better fetch something to calm her, and quickly. With all that we have to do to prepare her, mere is no time for this silliness. I'll meet you there."

  Rahine ran the rest of the way to the hammam, which was fortunately empty at this time of the evening except for a few attendants. The sight that met her eyes at first glance seemed an embrace, for Haji's slave, Kadar, had his arms wrapped around Shahar, her back to his chest, his head bent to her ear. It was only when Rahine saw Kadar's hands gripping the girl's wrists, which were crossed in front of her body, and the two bleeding stripes on Kadar's cheek, as well as the many smaller scratches on his arms, that the illusion ended. Shahar's face was also beet red from her straining with all her might to get free of Kadar's hold. She appeared not to hear at all the calming, beseeching words he was whispering in her ear.

  "So we resort to violence again, do we?"

  Chantelle glanced up to see Rahine's disapproving countenance and snapped, "Go to hell, madame!"

  Rahine clucked her tongue. "I hope we aren't going to rehash the same arguments, because the consequences of resisting your master still apply, you know."

  "My so-called master isn't here, but if he was, you can bloody well believe I'd—"

  The rest of that tempestuous statement was squeezed off as Kadar tightened his arms around her midsection. Rahine stepped closer and lifted Chantelle's chin to meet pure fury in the narrowed violet gaze. If eyes could snarl . . .

  "So you obviously are incapable of learning from your mistakes. You are not ready to be returned to more comfortable quarters?"

  "Never!" Then Chantelle accused, "You said he would forget me!"

  "Wishful thinking on my part, I'm afraid," Rahine returned dryly.

  "What happens this time when I resist him?"

  "I honestly don't know, my dear. You've sorely tested his patience already. He isn't used to waiting for what he wants."

  "Too bad," Chantelle sneered with such derision that Rahine actually chuckled. That only increased Chantelle's outrage. "I'm not going this time! Tell him I fell into a vat of stew and drowned!"

  "Don't be ridiculous, child, You know very well that you have—"

  "No choice?" Chantelle spat out. "Hah! You'll have to carry me there this time, and I swear I'll blacken Jamil's eye, too, if he lays one hand on me!"

  "Too?" Rahine said in bemusement, glancing up at the eunuch, who met her look with a grimace. "Why, Kadar, is that actually swelling around your eye?"

  He stoically refused to answer, but there was indeed a slight puffiness, though with his dark skin, no bruise was visible yet. Rahine shook her head in amazement.

  "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Shahar? But this really can't continue, you know."

  "No, indeed," Haji said from behind her, having heard enough to realize that Rahine was wise in deciding to drug the girl. Rahine had never approved of resorting to drugs, not that it had ever been necessary since Jamil had come to power. But for her sake, he tried one other tack first, hoping to terrify the girl into compliance. "As long as we must carry her to Jamil, it won't matter too much if she has a taste of the bastinado first."

  It didn't work, for Chantelle turned her lethal stare on him, screaming, "Go ahead! I don't give a bloody damn anymore what you do to me! It can't be any worse than submitting to that monster you all worship, that two-faced whoremaster, that bloody tyr—"

  The word was choked off as Haji took advantage of her open mouth to shove a vial halfway down her throat. Fortunately, it wasn't made of glass, for Chantelle bit down so hard in reaction, she would have broken it with her teeth, cutting her mouth horribly. But Haji was the one to get hurt as she bucked and strained violently to shake the thing from her mouth. One foot caught him brutally on the shin, making him leap back. Chantelle immediately spat out the vial.

  "You bas—tard." Her eyes closed slowly, then popped back open. "Damn you—" The eyes closed again.

  Rahine gripped Haji's arm in alarm, watching Chantelle fight to keep her eyes open. "By the Prophet's beard, how much did you give her? It has never taken effect this quickly!"

  Haji was himself alarmed. "No more than necessary."

  "Did you take into account her frailty?"

  "Frailty?" he snorted, rubbing his shin before he frowned. "No, actually, I was in too much of a hurry to recall her skinniness in comparison—"

  "Forgive me for interrupting, master," Kadar cut in as Chantelle sagged in his arms, "but I was told by one of the kitchen women that the girl was worked from dawn until dusk preparing the Dey's feast. She was sleeping in a corner when I arrived to fetch her, so exhausted that the noise of two dozen chattering women could not keep her awake."

  "By Allah, and still she fought like a demon," Haji said with a degree of admiration. "How does she do it?"

  "She's English, Haji," Rahine said in answer, as if that were answer in itself.

  Haji gave a snort of disgust for the pride he detected in Rahine's tone. "English or not, she can't be trusted to remain unconscious for long, no matter how tired she is. The girl's will is much too strong to succumb to mere exhaustion, even with the help of the relaxant I gave her. We had better take advantage of her incapacity and get her bathed and ready while we can." He nodded for Kadar to carry Shahar into the nearest bathing cubicle, motioning the cowering attendants as well as the terrified Adamma, who had arrived behind him with her cosmetic tray, to follow.

  "We might have an easy time preparing her now," Rahine said, "but you realize Jamil is going to be furious if she arrives in this condition."

  "We will have to get some coffee into her to counteract the drug," was all Haji could suggest.

  "Will that work?"

  "It should," he replied, hoping against hope that it actually would.

  His assurance
relieved Rahine, enough to send her thoughts onto a different path. "At least I can take this opportunity to get rid of the rest of her body hair. Thank Allah, Jamil didn't proceed far enough last time to discover her sinful state—"

  "Rahine," Haji interrupted, "he did proceed that far. He even mentioned it to me, wanting to know how it was possible that she retained the curls between her legs."

  "Did you tell him?"

  He nodded, though his expression now held a touch of bemusement. "He actually laughed."

  Rahine's brows shot up. "Laughed, as in amusement?"

  He frowned at her own levity. "Yes, as in amusement," he retorted. "And he specifically ordered me to see to it that those silver curls are left alone."

  Rahine found no humor in that. "But it's forbidden."

  "Nothing is forbidden the Dey," he reminded her unnecessarily.

  "The other women will see it when they bathe with her."

  "Yes, and will want to grow their own hair back to emulate the current favorite."

  Rahine sighed. "Do you really think Shahar will reach that status, to become his first ikbal?"

  Haji pursed his lips before replying, "If Jamil doesn't kill her in a fit of fury before he beds her."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chantelle had to be guided down the entire length of the wide corridor, a hand firmly supporting each elbow. Her feet were moving of their own accord, but she was barely aware of it, and she couldn't seem to recall where she was being taken. Not that it mattered; her mind flitted from one undisturbing subject to another, between lapses of total blankness during which she actually slept on her feet.

  The coffee that had been forced down her throat had revived her enough to leave a pleasant lassitude. Even when she was shaken to awareness and told that they had arrived at Jamil's door, she couldn't dredge up much interest, let alone fear. Jamil who? she wondered briefly before she was pushed to her knees; then her head dropped down and she promptly fell asleep.

  Derek waited for Shahar to stir after Haji and Kadar bowed out of the room, but when several minutes had passed without even a little fidgeting on her part, he sighed. So he was going to have to start over again, to force each and every concession out of her. But had he really thought they could begin tonight where they had left off before? His body had certainly hoped so.

  "Shahar, you may rise—and henceforth, I don't want to see you on your knees again. I will so inform Haji." If Derek thought this would please her, a privilege afforded only to Sheelah by Jamil, he got no immediate reaction. "Shahar?" he repeated, and when she still didn't respond: "Shahar!"

  "What?" she replied in an irritated tone as she rose to her knees. Unfortunately, she came up so quickly she toppled right over. Derek stared at her in bemusement as he heard her giggle and ask, "Now, how did that happen?"

  Derek didn't answer. He closed the distance between them and offered her a hand to help her rise. She took it immediately, surprising him further, and once again giggled.

  "Thank you kindly, sir."

  "You're welcome," he replied hesitantly, peering down into her face. "Are you all right?"

  "Couldn't be better." She gave him a smile that took his breath away.

  His fingers were instantly drawn to trace the line of those curving lips. But the moment he touched her, she pulled back.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded indignantly, shaking loose the hand that still held hers.

  She took another step back, only to get tangled up in her own feet and sway dangerously before she righted herself. Her indignation was gone and she was once again giggling.

  "My, that was clumsy of me, wasn't it? I really think I ought to sit down." She swept the room with a glance, swaying dangerously again and making him start to reach out to steady her, but he stopped when her eyes lit on him and she said in what amounted to a confiding whisper, "I hate to say so, sir, but you need a decorator. Not a single chair? Where's a body to sit itself, I ask you?"

  Derek's brows were already narrowing as he suggested, "You might try the bed."

  "Absolutely not!" The indignation had returned. "Whatever would Aunt Ellen say?"

  It was the last straw. He grabbed her hand and yanked her to the bed, which she fell back on with a small shriek. He stood there glowering down at her, only to watch her eyes slowly close and to hear a contented sigh as she settled more comfortably into the soft mattress.

  "Oh, no, you don't!" he growled, leaning over to shake her shoulders. "Look at me!" he commanded harshly, and when she did, he asked, "Do you know who I am?"

  She stared at him with keen concentration for nearly a half minute, her eyes moving over every inch of his face, before she finally said, "Yes."

  That wasn't good enough. "Who am I?"

  "You're that bloody cold fish who condemns innocent women to fates worse than—"

  She said it without rancor, but still he put a hand over her mouth to silence her. Christ, Jamil probably would have slapped her unconscious before she got past the "bloody," not that it would take much to render her unconscious at the moment. Her eyes were already closing again.

  He let go of her, swearing under his breath, then grabbed her and shook her furiously again. "What the hell did you take to make this easier? Answer me, dammit!"

  She blinked at him. "Take?"

  "Don't play games with me, woman! I want to know what you drank and who gave it to you!"

  She discovered her indignation again. "Are you accusing me of being drunk, sir? I'll have you know—"

  "Arghhhh!" The snarl exploded from his lungs.

  He came off the bed in a towering rage, barely able to recall the silent language of the mutes, which he had learned as a child, in order to send one of them after the Chief Black Eunuch. A stream of epithets followed as he waited for Haji's return, pacing in front of the bed. Every few moments he cast Shahar a fulminating glare, which she was blissfully unaware of since she was now soundly asleep.

  He felt like wringing her neck. How dared she attempt to escape him in this way? My God, Jamil would have the skin off her back for such audacity, and off her accomplice's, too, for she couldn't have obtained whatever she took on her own. And knowing what could have happened to her if his brother were here instead only made him more furious with her. The stupid little half-wit!

  Haji burst into the room out of breath, took one look at Shahar sprawled half on the bed and then at Derek's murderous expression, and dropped to his knees. "It was necessary, my lord, I swear! She was so out of control that we feared she would harm herself. I gave her only enough relaxant to calm her. I just didn't know she was already so tired—"

  "Then she didn't do this deliberately?"

  "No, Jamil, no. I take full responsi—"

  "Why was she out of control?"

  Even though the question was snapped out, Haji was able to breathe again. The murderous look was gone, replaced by one of only extreme aggravation, though that was nothing to relax over. Jamil aggravated was as quick to issue punishment as Jamil in a towering rage these days. And Haji was afraid that the "why" he wanted answered was going to tip the scale again.

  "You will not like the reason," Haji warned, to ease the suspected reaction.

  "I don't suppose I will, but tell me anyway. . . .

  No, don't. I can well guess." He gave the girl another baleful stare before shouting for a servant, who fortunately appeared immediately. "I want some kanyak and plenty of it." To Haji, when he noticed the old man's surprised look, he said, "I need it." And he bloody well did.

  Christ, so much for hoping fear might bring Shahar around. Or did she no longer fear him? Perhaps he should have punished her in some small way instead of simply sending her back to the harem, which obviously made her think there were no consequences to suffer by defying him. But, dammit, he couldn't bring himself to punish her in any way. She couldn't be blamed for her reaction to him. It was perfectly natural after what Jamil had forced her to witness. That he wasn't Jamil made no diff
erence. She thought he was.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  "My lord?"

  "Oh, get up, Haji," Derek snapped. "You're too old to be wearing out your knees on the floor.''

  Haji got hesitantly to his feet, not understanding Jamil's present mood at all. Jamil never touched spirits, never. His brother Mahmud had, and had been known to order the execution of luckless innocents while under the influence. Mustafa had occasionally drunk, too, in his later years, on a moderate scale. But Jamil? That he intended to drink himself into a stupor with so much ordered kanyak was not only alarming in its unusualness but unnerving given his unpredictable temper. And that he should think he needed it . . .