Devil's Daughter

by Catherine Coulter

  “Sleep well, little flower,” he said, and turned to walk away. Her yells of rage followed him.

  Arabella’s breathing slowly calmed. She had not harmed him greatly, and for a moment she wondered if, in her heart, she had wanted her aim to be true. Was she so weak that she was unwilling to sacrifice herself to save her parents? Had she killed him, her death would have been assured. She lowered her head against her arms and cried. Would Raj be punished since it was his dagger she had taken? She did not want the big eunuch to suffer for her.

  The time stretched endlessly, and the lone candle guttered. Still she stared toward the doorway, wondering what Kamal was doing. She shivered. Would he return and rape her, and perhaps, after he had finished with her, give her to his soldiers? Suddenly she laughed. So very foolish she had been, so full of vain bravado. She could have remained safe, even in Naples, if she hadn’t been such a silly fool, certain of her own ability to take care of herself.

  She saw Kamal silhouetted in the doorway. There were no soldiers with him.

  “I know you are not asleep, Arabella,” he said. He strode over to her and sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at her.

  She said nothing.

  “Are you so afraid of me that you pretend sleep?”

  “I am not afraid of such as you.”

  “No, I do not think you are.” She saw him flex his white-bandaged shoulder. “But perhaps you should be.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, raising her face to his. “I hope your pain is so great you weep and moan with it.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. He leaned toward her and grasped her chin in his hand. Before she could jerk away from him, he kissed her hard on her mouth, then released her.

  “Now you are afraid, are you not?”

  “No,” she said, but her voice shook. She was completely helpless, and she knew it. To her unutterable relief, he stretched out on his bed and turned on his side, away from her.

  “Please do not hurt Raj,” she said after a while. “He did not know what I intended.”

  “He has already been tortured and hung,” came the calm response.

  “No. You could not be such a barbarian.”

  “Hold your tongue, else I’ll stuff your mouth with cotton.”

  Her voice broke on a deep, ugly sob.

  He listened to her cries dissolve into hiccups. He said nothing more, and let the laudanum his physician had given him pull him into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 20

  The Earl of Clare waited patiently for Viscount Delford to finish his tirade before gracefully flicking open his snuffbox with his left hand and inhaling his favorite sort of Spanish Bran. He appeared to reserve all his concentration for the task.

  “Perhaps you did not hear me, my lord,” the viscount said, gritting his teeth and striding around his desk.

  “I did hear you quite clearly, my dear Edward,” the earl said calmly. “In truth, one remark most assuredly held my full attention. I believe your exact words were ’Your damned scoundrel of a son has run off with my daughter.’ Do I have that correct?”

  “You know you do,” the viscount said, barely in control. “For God’s sake, my lord, where has he taken her?”

  “I cannot imagine my son abducting a young lady of quality. Surely it is unlike him.” There was a mocking gleam in the earl’s eyes that the viscount chose to ignore.

  “My silly daughter imagines herself in love with your son. I realize now that he must have told her who he is.”

  “Ah,” the earl said. “I begin to understand. Is it that your daughter ran off with my son, my lord?”

  “He should have brought her back, damn him.”

  “Not, my dear Edward, if she stowed aboard his ship, which undoubtedly she did. Most enterprising of her.” For a moment he met the viscount’s furious eyes. “I would not have expected such dashing behavior from one of your offspring. I only wish Adam had restrained himself and awaited my arrival.”

  “Dammit, Clare, where are they? Not in Naples, Lord knows, I’ve searched everywhere.”

  “It’s likely they’re nearing Oran. How my gallant son plans to rescue his sister is quite beyond my simple wits.”

  “Oran.” The viscount paled visibly. “My God, that’s in Algiers. It is a stronghold for the Barbary pirates.”

  “Exactly,” the earl agreed.

  “How do you know? Surely you can be mistaken.”

  “No, unfortunately. Adam left one of his men here to tell me where he was bound. From what Vincenzo told me, it is clear to me he did not know your daughter would be joining him. But that hardly matters now. It occurred to me that Adam might offer himself in exchange for his sister as bait. He will not do so now. He must protect your daughter.”

  “You do not seem terribly concerned, my lord.”

  “Do I not? I assure you, my lord, I am very concerned. You see, I now know who engineered this fantastic scheme, and why. But I also know my daughter is relatively safe. She is not the object of the game. I am. I am sailing to Oran on the morrow. I will contrive to bring your daughter safely back to you, Edward.”

  “I am coming with you.”

  The earl cocked a thick black brow.

  “You heard me, Clare. It is my daughter who might be brutalized by those savages.”

  “Impossible,” the earl said curtly. “My son would never allow her to be taken. But I suppose you must come,” he added on a sigh. “Incidentally, my dear Edward, what is your daughter’s name? My lamentable memory—I confess to have forgotten.”

  “Rayna.”

  “Thank you. Adam is not lost to all sense of propriety. We shall both dance at their wedding.”

  “He will not wed her. I have told them both that.”

  “How very Shakespearean of you,” the earl said, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Recollect your youth, my dear Edward.”

  The viscount reddened.

  “Just so,” the earl said.

  Arabella stirred at the sound of a voice saying her name and an insistent shake on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and blinked. “Lena?”

  “Yes, my lady. I have brought your breakfast.”

  She was in her own small room. “I do not understand,” she said.

  “His highness carried you here early, at dawn.”

  She looked down dispassionately at her bruised wrists as she said quietly, “I will need some more of your ointment, Lena.” She frowned, thinking of Kamal carrying her back to the harem. Had she hurt him so little that he could bear her weight?

  “You fought him again,” Lena said in a sad, matter-of-fact voice.

  “Yes,” Arabella whispered, her thoughts on Raj, the man who had been kind to her, the man she had witlessly betrayed. Tortured and killed—no, murdered—all because of her. She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed.

  “My lady. What is this?”

  Arabella raised her tear-streaked face to see Raj standing in the doorway, his wide brow furrowed with worry.

  “Y-you are alive,” Arabella stuttered, as relief flooded over her. “Oh, thank God. I thought—Kamal said that you were dead because you allowed me to—” She broke off, realizing that Kamal’s lie had been her punishment.

  “Of course I am alive,” Raj said, sitting down beside her on the narrow bed. “His highness is not an unfair man. What you did was very foolish, my lady.”

  “I failed,” she said flatly. “That is more tragic than foolish.”

  “You speak nonsense. His highness told me that if he punished me, he would have to punish himself as well for being a gullible fool.” He paused a moment, studying Arabella’s ravaged face, waving to Lena to leave them. He handed Arabella a peeled orange and watched her take an absent bite.

  “Do not make the mistake of thinking his highness soft, my lady. He has, shall we say, made allowances for what you did. But he will not forget.”

  Arabella wiped orange juice from her chin. “I hope he will remember, and leave me alone,” she said in a
dull voice.

  “He told me of your playacting. It is odd, but I believe that your show of submissiveness angered him more than your attempt to kill him.”

  “Perhaps I should tell Elena that.”

  “No, you mistake me, my lady,” Raj said patiently. “He has been told you are a harlot. Your courage did not fit with his image. When you pretended last night to succumb to him, he was again convinced that your brave front was naught but a trick.” Raj sighed. “Allah only knows what he will do now.”

  “Allah and the devil.”

  “You have challenged him and made him look the fool. He is not a man to be taken lightly, my lady.”

  Arabella felt tears blur her eyes. She gazed up at Raj. “What am I to do? He will allow his wicked mother to murder my parents. I must stop him.”

  “Even if your own life is forfeit?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will leave you now, my lady.” He rose slowly to stare thoughtfully down at her. “You are not a restful woman, Lady Arabella.”

  Arabella was in no mood to be baited by Elena and her small group of cohorts. After her bath, she returned to her small chamber and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the whitewashed wall. How much longer did she have? she wondered. A week perhaps, no more. And Adam—did he yet know where she was? Even if he did know where she was, she thought, he had no chance of rescuing her.

  “Lady Arabella.”

  She raised dull eyes to Lella.

  “May I visit you for a while?”

  “If you wish.”

  Lella sat awkwardly beside her. “I admire your courage,” she said after a moment.

  “If I were truly courageous, I would have killed him. I think perhaps I knew I would die if my aim were true. I am more a coward.”

  “No, you are no coward.” Lella folded her hands over the mound of her belly. “You know, child, I feel as though I am responsible. It was I who told you to be more conciliating, more submissive.”

  “No,” Arabella said firmly. “It was my idea, and you will not take any blame. Besides, he is quite all right. It is merely a scratch on his shoulder.”

  “You are fortunate, Lady Arabella, that it is Kamal who rules.”

  “Oh, yes, certainly.”

  “Nay,” Lella continued. “It’s true. Hamil, my husband, I love—loved him dearly, but he was a Muslim, his beliefs rigid. Had you defied him, he would have treated you very differently. I do not mean to say that he was not a merciful man, it is just that—”

  “Women rank somewhat above dogs,” Arabella interrupted. “Ah, Lella, how do you stand to be a prisoner in this place?”

  “No, you must attend me, child. Muslim men love their women, truly, but they believe that women are fashioned to be the mothers of their sons, that women are weak creatures and need their protection. They could not conceive of a woman who wants to step out of her slippers and act as they would act. I tell you this so that you will understand how unusually Kamal has behaved toward you. It is doubtless because of the years he spent in Europe.”

  “Kamal truly lived in Europe?”

  “Indeed. He returned to Oran but seven months ago when his half-brother died. He is a good ruler, but I do not believe it is what he truly wants. His sense of duty, his honor, if you will, compels him to carry out his responsibilities to the Dey of Algiers. Nor do I think him particularly happy. He is more European than Muslim, you see, and the two cultures war within him.”

  “If he is so much tied to Europe, then how can he bear to treat women as he does? Locked up as prisoners, used for his pleasure.”

  Lella smiled. “Kamal is not stupid, child. He knows and accepts the Muslim way. As the Bey of Oran, he must conform to Muslim law and Muslim tradition. That includes his harem. He must pleasure himself with his women; if he did not, those he rules would question not only his leadership but also his commitment to this way of life. Do you understand? It is his duty, and Kamal would never shirk his duty.”

  “I do not want to understand,” Arabella said. “I must hate him, and I must somehow save my parents.”

  “It is not him. It is his mother. Again, his honor dictates that he avenge her.”

  “But you say he is not stupid. You know what she is like, Lella. How can he be so blind?”

  “Lady Arabella, she is his mother. Do not you defend your parents with every breath you take? Also, he does not know her. He was taken from her at a very young age and raised by men and his father, as is the custom. When he was thirteen, Hamil and Kamal’s mother convinced Khar El-Din that he should be educated in Europe. Their belief was that he would learn the ways of the Europeans and thus aid Hamil when he came to power.”

  Somehow, Arabella thought, turning over what Lella told her in her mind, somehow I must reach him. I must make him understand. Lella’s voice broke into her reverie. “Do you know that he refuses to take a wife? To his mother’s fury, he has announced that if I birth a son, the child will be his heir.”

  Arabella felt a surge of hope. Perhaps if she spoke to him as she would to a European, he would come to trust her, believe what she told him. On the heels of that wishful thought, she realized that he would believe she was but playing another role with him. Was there nothing she could do? She wanted to be alone, to think. “Lella, you are kind to me, and all I do is argue with you. You must be tired with the burden of your child.”

  Lella gave her a smile and rose clumsily to her feet. “Whatever you decide to do next, please take care. Kamal can be pushed only so far. He must retain the respect of his people to be an effective rule. If you need me, you have but to send Lena to me.” With those words, she was gone.

  Arabella rose and stretched. How was she to save her parents? Surely Kamal would be wary of her now. She hung her head, staring at the toes of her red leather slippers, admitting to herself that she had not wanted to kill him. It was his mother who deserved punishment, not him. What then was she to do?

  She strolled out into the harem garden. She gazed at the beautiful young girls who were kept here for his pleasure. She heard their chatter, felt the power of their presence. His pleasure. She halted, frozen in her tracks. He had wanted her; she realized that now, but he hadn’t forced her. She had only herself, her body, to bargain with. She felt but a moment of fear at the thought of being naked and vulnerable to him. She tossed her head, her brow furrowed in pain. She would bear it; she must bear it. Her willingness in his bed in trade for her parents’ safety.

  She paused, suddenly apprehensive. She was a virgin; but she was, after all, twenty years old. Was it possible that she no longer had a maidenhead? If not, could a man tell if a woman had never before been with another man? What if he still believed her a wanton after he had sated himself with her body? What if he laughed at her bargain after he had taken what he wanted? Arabella started at a rippling of pain. She stared down at her palms, at the deep scratches her fingernails had made. How did one go about seducing a man?

  The afternoon stretched endlessly before her. She returned to her small chamber and lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. When Raj appeared in the open doorway and informed her that Kamal wished to see her, she felt a surge of relief.

  “Very well,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of her bed.

  He frowned at her. “I pray you will not attempt any more foolishness, Lady Arabella.”

  “No,” she said calmly, “I will do naught to hurt him.”

  Chapter 21

  Hamil stood on the quarterdeck of his xebec, his legs spread, his hands on his hips. There was a grim smile on his face as he watched the Malek draw closer. He could picture the confusion and helpless fury of the captain. He, Hamil El-Mokrani, Bey of Oran, knew better than anyone that the Malek was under tribute.

  “Raise the white flag, Boroll,” he said to his captain, “though I strongly doubt the captain will believe our good intentions.”

  “At least he isn’t fool enough to fire on us.”

  Hamil’s dark eyes glittered in an
ticipation as the xebec drew alongside the merchant ship. He heard the harsh grating of the grappling hooks and felt the deck tilt beneath his feet as the xebec scraped against the Malek’s hull, and Boroll and his men scrambled aboard her, their scimitars drawn at the ready. The crew of the Malek offered no resistance. Their captain was no fool, Hamil thought. Quickly his sailors were herded into a single line across the quarterdeck.

  Hamil saw no woman. He strode to the railing and leapt gracefully onto the Malek’s deck. A thin man wearing an outlandish wig sped toward him.

  “Sir.” The man wheezed in his fear. “We are under tribute. Why do you stop us?”

  “You are Captain Alvarez?” Hamil asked.

  “Aye, and we journey first to Oran and then to Cádiz. I know the Bey, sir, and he will not approve what you have done.”

  Hamil smiled. “Well, then, Alvarez, greet the Bey of Oran, for he stands before you.”

  Captain Alvarez’s eyes widened. “Highness, you are dead. It is your half-brother Kamal who holds rule.”

  “Hardly dead. You look well, Alvarez.”

  “How may I serve you, highness?”

  Hamil gazed again down the line of sailors. “Bring up your passengers, Alvarez. I have business with one of them.”

  “I have but one passenger, highness. Lord St. Ives, an Englishman.”

  “Bring me this lord,” Hamil said.

  Adam strode forward, leaving Rayna in Daniele’s substantial shadow. “I am Lord St. Ives,” he said.

  Hamil frowned. The bearded man standing before him looked somehow familiar. “What is your given name?”

  “Adam Welles.”

  “Ah,” Hamil said. “Your father is the earl of Clare.”

  Adam bowed slightly. “I understood also that you were dead, highness. Drowned in a storm. You are Hamil?”

  “Yes,” Hamil said. He turned abruptly away from him and demanded of the captain, “I am looking for a woman. I was told she was to be a passenger on the Malek. Where is she, man? Tell me now, else I’ll have my men sack your precious ship.”