Devil's Daughter

by Catherine Coulter

  “Why have you brought me here?”

  “There are only unhappy memories for you at my palace. I wanted to show you some of my country, make you understand—” He broke off, unwilling to lie, and unwilling to tell her that he wanted her to love him, to care for him as he did for her. “I want you to know me as some man other than the Bey of Oran. Alessandro, perhaps.”

  “It does not matter what you call yourself,” she said, forcing the final words from her throat. “The man Alessandro does not own people. He does not own women.” She dashed her palm across her eyes, an oddly childish gesture. “You still keep me your prisoner; you still plan to harm my parents. I will do everything in my power to escape you. I will not be one of your pliant women to kiss your feet.”

  “It is just as well that you no longer seek my favor, my lady. You are no longer a virgin and your value is greatly diminished. Your lovely body is mine for the taking, without any false bargaining.”

  “You savage.” She flung herself at him, her fists flailing at his chest. He caught her, drawing her arms above her head. He slammed a leg over hers, holding her still. “You can spit at me all you want, Arabella, but you know I could have you begging me to take you.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Is it? What a pity that you are so inexperienced, unlike my other women. They, at least, know how to pleasure a man; they are not selfish in their passion, as are you. They are not ignorant little girls.”

  She slipped one hand free and struck him as hard as she could on the jaw.

  He grunted more in surprise than in pain, grabbed her arm, and slammed down on top of her. Still she struggled. Finally, exhausted, she stilled. He clasped her wrists in one hand over her head and caressed her face with his other hand. “You cannot win, Arabella. Do not fight me. Give me your loyalty.”

  “I will give you nothing but my hatred,” she whispered.

  She heard his hissing breath. “Then let me give you a true reason for your hatred.” He reared up, pulling her thighs apart, and went into her. He did not touch her, ignored her fists and her cries of rage and pain. He climaxed, then jerked out of her as if he could not bear to touch her.

  She didn’t cry; she was beyond tears. Her body burned. Slowly, painfully, she drew her knees up and buried her face in her arms. She felt degraded, used. Suddenly she started shivering from a cold that came from deep inside her. She did not look at Kamal; she rose painfully and began to pull on her men’s clothes.

  “You will not escape me again, Arabella. I told you, you cannot win against me.”

  She ignored him. She looked at the boots but knew that she could not bear to pull them on. She straightened and looked down at him. “I am leaving, Kamal.”

  “My men will stop you before you take one step beyond this tent.”

  “I owe you nothing now,” she said in an emotionless voice.

  She pulled the burnoose about her, raising the hood over her hair and fastening the corded leather about her head. Slowly she turned to face him. “I bid you farewell.”

  “Come back to bed, Arabella. It is only dawn. Do not make me have to come after you. If I do, I will tie you down.”

  “You can go to hell,” she said in a very precise voice. She whirled about and kicked the brazier of live coals against the tent flap. Flames billowed up in an instant.

  Arabella dived through the opening, a scream on her lips as she breathed in the cold morning air.

  “Quickly,” she yelled. “The master is within. There is fire.”

  In an instant the small camp was in confusion. The men rushed toward the tent, none of them paying her the least attention. He would be all right, she told herself, looking back over her shoulder at the burning tent.

  She chose Kamal’s stallion, Timar, and jabbed the bridle bit into his mouth. She grasped his flowing mane and swung up onto his broad back. She forced the stallion to plunge at the other horses, and soon all of them were running wildly away from the camp. But she couldn’t help herself, and looked back to see Kamal standing in front of the tent, staring after her.

  Chapter 26

  Arabella pushed Timar until his coat glistened with sweat. They were deep in the hills now, going north, she prayed, toward the sea. She drew Timar to a halt on a rocky rise and stared back. Nothing. No one. I am free, she thought, flinging her head back. I am free. And Kamal is unharmed.

  She leaned forward and patted Timar’s thick neck. She smiled suddenly, picturing how she must appear: barefoot, dressed like a man, tangled hair framing her face, and smelly as the stallion.

  The sun was high overhead now, and there was no water in sight. There were scrubby trees about, and patches of windflowers and shrubs. Surely, she thought, there must be water somewhere. It was not, after all, the desert. She refused to dwell on the fact that she had no food and no weapon. I will reach the sea before nightfall, she told herself over and over, as if reciting a litany. She click-clicked Timar forward, higher into the hills. The land was savagely beautiful, the air fresh and cool. She heard animals but saw none.

  She drew Timar up at the edge of a boulder-edged cliff and stared down in to the narrow valley below. It was barren and looked bone dry, and there was no path downward. She stared about her with mounting frustration. North was straight ahead, a sheer drop to the valley below. She turned the stallion east.

  The trees became thicker, the ground softer, but still she saw no water. Timar was heaving and she forgot her own swollen tongue at the stallion’s plight. She slid off his back and tethered him to a skinny-branched tree. She sank down to the ground, leaned back against the trunk, and closed her eyes. The land is as savage as its people, she thought, and I will die here, alone.

  She forced her eyes upward and saw that the sun was slanting westward. Were there wild animals? She remembered the strange animal sounds she had heard throughout the long day. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against her arms. She saw Kamal standing in front of the burning tent, dressed only in his white trousers, looking after her as his men raced after the horses. She had been too far distant to see the expression on his face. She shook her head and struggled to her feet. What did it matter what he thought? She felt a wave of dizziness from hunger.

  Suddenly all thoughts of food and water were gone. A loud roar came through the trees. Lions roared, she realized, and lions ate people. Timar snorted and pulled against his tethered reins, his eyes rolling in fear.

  “Kamal—” Arabella started at the sound of her own voice, raspy from thirst, saying his name. She knew she could not survive in this brutal country. Life suddenly seemed very precious, and at the nearing roar of the lion, very fragile.

  “We are going back,” she said, and swung up on Timar’s back. She could feel the stallion quivering in fear and she gave him his head, letting him set his own pace back to Kamal’s camp.

  For an instant Arabella couldn’t believe her eyes. She blinked, but the small pool of water was still there. There were animal tracks around its edges, so the water must be safe. She slipped off Timar’s back and led him to the water. She waited until he had drunk his fill, then fell on her knees to cup the cool water in her hands. She splashed the water over her face, reveling in the taste and feel of it. Finally she rose and looked around her. There were clumps of bushes around the pool, and behind, harsh barren rocks, lying loose, as if broken off from the sheer cliff above them. She thought briefly of spending the night there, but there was still light, perhaps several more hours. Time to reach Kamal. She was starting toward Timar when the lion’s roar seemed to reverberate off the rocks. The stallion reared in fright, tossing his great head. “No,” Arabella screamed, but she was too late. Timar wheeled about and broke into a mad gallop away from her. She saw a shadow of movement toward the rocks. She stared, paralyzed, at the huge lion poised atop a flat boulder. It was a female, she thought vaguely, and the females did the killing for the males. Slowly she began to back away in the direction Timar had fled. The lion snorted and tossed her head
. Arabella broke into a run, but fear made her look back. The lion seemed a statue; then suddenly it launched into the air. She screamed as her bare foot struck a rock, and she tripped, falling to the ground.

  She heard the loud crack of a gun and a terrible screaming sound, and whirled around, knowing the beast would be on her. The lion seemed suspended in air; then it was twisting, blood spurting from its head. It fell to the ground not three yards from Arabella, dead, a bullet through its brain. Arabella stared at the lion. Slowly she raised her head and saw Kamal, the gun still in his hands, standing silently watching her, near the edge of the pool. Time stood still. Then she was running, oblivious of the sharp rocks cutting her bare feet, running until, with a cry, she launched herself at him.

  Kamal threw the gun to the ground and caught her against him. She was sobbing and clutching at him as if to assure herself that it was really he. He ripped off the burnoose and stroked his hands through her filthy hair.

  “Hush,” he said against her ear. “It is all right now.”

  Arabella sniffed loudly and whispered against his throat. “I was coming back to you.”

  “I know.”

  “You saved me.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I stole your horse.”

  “I let you.”

  Arabella drew back, staring up at him. “I don’t understand.”

  Kamal let loose a shrill whistle. To Arabella’s surprise, Timar soon appeared behind them.

  “Why?”

  He pulled her against him again. “I had intended to find you much sooner, but Timar’s tracks were difficult to follow through the rocks, and he couldn’t hear my whistle. I told you, cara, I want us to have time together, alone.” First we must see to your needs. Are you hungry?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “You’re dirtier than an urchin. How about a bath first?”

  “I’m sorry I burned down your tent.”

  Kamal smiled down at her. “One would think I would no longer underestimate your inventiveness. Make me a promise, sweetheart.” He cupped her dirty face in his hands and lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “Promise me you will stay with me, else you will age me beyond my years.”

  She nuzzled her face against his hands. “I promise.”

  “You’ve scared at least five years off me since I met you. I suppose I should be thankful you’re not as dirty as you were upon your initial delivery to me.” He released her, albeit unwillingly. “Why don’t you bathe while we’ve still daylight? I’ll set up camp and make us some dinner.”

  She saw the lion from the corner of her eye and shuddered. “No,” he said, “it’s all right. I’ll take care of the lion.”

  Arabella managed a smile and walked to the pool. She sat down at the edge and unwrapped the bandages from her bruised feet. “You are a mess, my girl,” she said.

  “Indeed, but the soap will help.”

  Kamal handed her a bar of scented soap and a clean towel, and left her.

  Close to an hour later, Arabella, scrubbed clean from head to toe, appeared in the small camp, the towel wrapped securely about her, and stared. Kamal was hunkered next to a fire, turning a skewered rabbit over the flames; the horses were tethered some feet away; the lion was not in view, much to her relief, and a small tent stood close by.

  He raised his head and smiled at her. “Did you believe me useless, Arabella?”

  She shook her head and pulled the towel more tightly to her.

  He rose and she took a step back. He frowned. “Don’t be afraid of me, cara.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “And don’t ever lie to me. Your nose turns red.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “I’ve brought you some clothes and a comb for your hair. Come to the fire. After saving your beautiful hide, I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

  He handed her a soft velvet robe with long full sleeves. “I promise not to look.”

  “Did you plan all this?”

  “Not precisely this,” he said, waving his hand around the small camp. He turned his back and Arabella quickly shed the towel and pulled on the robe. “I won’t wear those ridiculous veils again.”

  He smiled at the challenge in her voice. “No,” he said only turning to face her. “The blue velvet is lovely. Sit beside the fire and dry your hair.”

  He had placed wool blankets on the rocky ground. “What if it rains?”

  “If it rains, I will lay you beneath me to keep you dry.”

  For the first time since Kamal had met her, she was silent. Then, “Where is the lion?” she asked finally, accepting some of the rabbit. “Is it not dangerous to leave the carcass close to us? Will not other animals want it?”

  “I have taken care of it,” Kamal said. “Have some more rabbit.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he had sent his men, with the lion’s carcass, back to the other camp. “Why were you coming back, cara?”

  “I had no water, no food, and no weapons,” she said. “I am not entirely stupid.”

  “You execute your escapes with dash, but once you are away, things go awry.”

  “I said I was not entirely stupid.”

  “I’m sorry I forced you.”

  Her head jerked up at his words. She remembered the pain, the humiliation.

  “You have the talent, Arabella, of bringing out extremes in me,” he continued when the silence stretched long. “Will you forgive me?”

  “You hurt me.”

  “I know. It was not well done of me.”

  “Not just my body, but my spirit.”

  He removed the rabbit bone from between her fingers and tossed it away. He drew a deep breath and stared toward the spitting fire. It was dark now, and the stars overhead glittered down like sparkling diamonds.

  “When I was a boy,” Kamal said finally, “I saw my father rape a woman he had captured on a raid. It was as if he had ceased being a man and had become an animal. The other men laughed and cheered my father, for the woman was Spanish, and thus an infidel and of no count. Hamil did not laugh. It was he who pulled me away. He told me that a man should not prove himself by hurting another who is weaker, even though it be but a woman. I had forgotten that incident until after I forced you. I felt like the savage you have several times accused me of being. Your bravado, cara, and your damned stubbornness made me forget.”

  “Do not blame me, sir, if your veneer of civilization peels off like the skin on an orange.”

  He laughed. “No,” he said. “In the future, when you anger me, I shall kiss you until you are soft and yielding to me. Ah, you blush again, Arabella. It pleases me that no other man will ever know the depths of your passion, and rest assured that I shall never let you forget it.”

  The future. She realized suddenly that she wanted a future with this man, and she felt her mind shy away from all the reasons why it could not be so. Instead she said, “It is so beautiful here. Savage and untamed. I felt so alone and frightened all day.”

  “And now?”

  She drew a deep breath. “Now,” she said, smiling, “I feel safe and warm and well-fed.”

  Kamal looked about their primitive camp with a grin. “You are easy to please. I must remember that.”

  She knew she should ask him what he now intended, but there would be time enough tomorrow. “I have known you but a week,” she said.

  “Surely it has been at least a year.” He eased down beside her, stretching his long legs toward the fire. “Life here is different,” he said after a moment. “It has been difficult for me to adjust, even though I spent my childhood years trained as a Muslim.”

  “Lella told me that you lived in Europe. I don’t understand.”

  “You forget that my mother is Italian, Arabella. She wanted her son to be educated in Italy, and Hamil, my elder half-brother, helped her to convince my father. I spent ten years in Rome and Florence. In that, cara, we are lucky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He did not reply immediately, but rather rose and
fetched a thick wool blanket from the tent. He spread it out beside the fire, then sat down cross-legged. “Will you bring your blanket and join me? It is getting cooler and we should share our warmth.”

  Arabella eased down beside him, her profile to him. Her hair was dry now and fell free down her back. She felt him staring at her and quickly turned to face him. “You did not answer my question, Kamal.”

  He lifted his hand and began wrapping a thick tress of her hair around his hand. “When my mother first told me of the treachery of your parents—no, do not interrupt me yet—I asked her if there were children. I told her that you and your brother were innocent of any wrong and should not be harmed. When I first realized who you were, it was my intention to treat you as an English lady.” He touched his fingertips to her chin and brought her about to face him. “But you were so damned insulting, and there was, of course, my mother’s letter claiming you were nothing better than a whore. I suppose I thought a young lady who had undergone what you had should be fainting or crumpling in hysterics, or pleading with me. To hear myself cursed as a savage, a barbarian, and an animal, well, as I said before, you provoke me to extremes.”

  Arabella frowned at him a moment. “I have never fainted or succumbed to hysterics in my life.”

  He wrapped her hair about his fist, drawing her closer. He lightly kissed her. “I have always admired strength and courage, but I never expected to find such traits in a woman. Nor,” he added, “did I expect such passion.”

  She did not move away from him. “Nor did I,” she said. “Did you know many European women?”

  “Yes, certainly. Italy was my home for more than ten years. I grew to manhood there, with many ladies willing to instruct me. Understand, Arabella, when I returned to Oran to assume my half-brother’s duties, I had to conform to what was expected by my people and the Dey of Algiers.”

  “Lella said that. She also told me that she did not believe you were happy here.”

  “All of us do our duty. There has been much between us, Arabella, yet not enough. It was my intention to humiliate you, you know.”