Zara merely sniffed, unwilling to admit her fascination with Jamal’s grand home.
Haroun, Jamal’s lieutenant, approached from the barracks, his face wreathed in a broad smile of welcome. He saluted and said, “Did all go well in Meknes? Your message told me little of the mission you were undertaking for the sultan. I should have been riding at your side.”
“I had Ishmail’s army at my disposal,” Jamal said. “The sultan ordered me to capture the Berber cadi responsible for the raids upon his caravans. We set a trap, but the Berbers scattered into the hills when we appeared. Unfortunately, Youssef escaped.”
Haroun’s gaze settled disconcertingly on Zara. His eyes narrowed and his thick black brows rose upward in silent query. “Have you brought back a new slave? He doesn’t look strong enough to be of much use.”
Jamal laughed. “You’re wrong, my fine friend, this particular slave is perfectly suited for what I have in mind.” Then he surprised Haroun by ripping off Zara’s turban and tossing it to the ground. Pale blond hair spilled out, framing her face in a halo of molten gold. “What think you now of my slave?”
“Allah and the Prophet!” Haroun said, bug-eyed with shock. “If the rest of her is as lovely as her face, she will outshine the loveliest pearl in your harem. Who is she?”
“I am Zara, daughter of Youssef, you gaping ass,” Zara said imperiously.
The insult brought forth a burst of laughter from Jamal. “Zara has a sharp tongue, my friend. Watch lest she cut you to ribbons with it.”
Haroun didn’t think it at all amusing. “Why would you want such an ill-tempered woman when you have Leila, Saha and Amar, docile jewels all, waiting to give you pleasure?”
“I wish I knew,” Jamal muttered beneath his breath, but it was loud enough for Haroun to hear and wonder. “I suppose I couldn’t bear to see her beautiful head separated from her body. Zara had the audacity to offend the sultan. I talked him out of beheading her. Then he threatened to give her to Abdul, his blacksmith. I may yet live to regret my rashness, but I asked Ishmail to give her to me instead.”
“I had no idea you wished to enlarge your harem. Shall I take Zara to the women’s quarters?”
“I am Princess Zara,” Zara corrected in a haughty tone. If Jamal intended to break her spirit, he was wasting his time.
“No longer a princess but a lowly slave,” Jamal pointed out. “Ranking below all my other slaves.” He turned to Haroun. “Zara is to work in the stables. Tell Ahmed she is to rake dung from the stalls.”
Haroun appeared puzzled by Jamal’s words. Women as beautiful as Zara did not rake dung. They served their masters in bed, giving and receiving pleasure. “Are you sure, my lord? Perhaps she would better serve you in your bed.”
“’Tis the sultan’s wish that Zara be taught humility and obedience. He insisted that she be punished for insulting him. She spat at him. Had I not promised to obey his wishes in the matter, Zara would have become Abdul’s slave. He would have killed her the first time she insulted him. I convinced Ishmail that Zara should live, that his cause would be better served if she was held as a hostage to insure her father’s compliance.”
“I would have preferred death,” Zara loudly proclaimed.
“You will do as you’re told,” Jamal warned ominously. He turned to Haroun and shrugged. “See what I mean? She is incorrigible. She is to remain in the stables, working alongside the other slaves until she learns obedience. Instruct the guards that she is not to be allowed outside the palace walls.”
“I understand, my lord. Come along, wench. Ahmed will be glad for the extra pair of hands. Jamal’s stables are vast, surpassed only by the sultan’s.”
As he watched Zara walk off with Haroun, Jamal decided that Zara would be his stable’s finest addition to date. The green-eyed, fair-haired Berber vixen was more difficult than his feistiest mare … and infinitely more enticing.
Head held high, Zara accompanied Haroun to the stables, determined to survive the meanest task without complaint. But despite Jamal and the sultan, she would never become a docile slave. She was a Berber warrior, too proud to be tamed.
Haroun placed Zara into Ahmed’s keeping with little ado, saying only that it was Sheik Jamal’s wish that the woman work in the stables alongside the other slaves, and that she was to be given no special treatment. Within minutes of Haroun’s departure a rake was placed in Zara’s hands and she was shoved into a stall that was ankle deep in dung.
Four slaves worked in the stables. Zara met them when they gathered around a small brazier to cook their evening meal. Rice, meat and vegetables were provided by Jamal’s kitchens, along with tea leaves and fruit. The evening meal was simple but ample, and Zara was pleased to note that Jamal didn’t starve his slaves.
Jamal had purchased Ahmed, Nails, Mustafa and Abdullah in slave markets in various cities. All were young and randy. From the moment Zara appeared, there began a rivalry among them that Jamal had never anticipated.
Jamal took his evening meal alone, brooding over the events that had brought Zara into his life. He had yet to greet his own women and yet he could not get Zara out of his mind. He had deliberately avoided the stables today. He didn’t like casting Zara in the role of stable slave, but she had brought it on herself. He was determined to break her spirit, and softening toward her wasn’t the way to go about it.
Jamal was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Hammet, the head eunuch in charge of his household, sidle up beside him.
“May I have a word with you, my lord?”
Startled, Jamal’s head shot up. Dressed in a wide-sleeved brocade robe edged in silver thread, Hammet was middle-aged, short and plump, with a kind disposition. Jamal depended on Hammet to keep his house in order and his women in line.
“What is it, Hammet? Is there a problem?”
“Your women sent me to tell you they are lonely, my lord. They eagerly await a visit from you. They beg most humbly that you attend them tonight.”
Jamal’s brow quirked upward. “Shall I pleasure all three at once, Hammet?”
“That is their wish, my lord. They promise you a night of a thousand delights.”
Jamal had frolicked with all three women at once before, but for some reason the idea didn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. Perhaps he was getting old.
“Tell them I will attend them in an hour, Hammet. If I am to please all three, perhaps you should prepare a vial of restorative. I’ve had a long, exhausting day.”
Hammet bowed himself out of the room, leaving Jamal to anticipate the many delights to be had with his concubines. All three women were young, lush and ripe. He had chosen them expressly for their experience in the arts of love. But it wasn’t Leila, Saha or Amar he wanted to make love to, it was a tall Berber vixen with the supple curves of an houri.
Zara stretched out on her bed of straw and groaned. Every bone in her body ached. She was filthy, smelled of dung, and felt exhausted beyond endurance. But those were the least of her problems. Even in the dark she could feel the avid dark eyes of her companions upon her, and despite the warm night, she shivered. Though she had spoken but briefly to the other stable slaves, Zara knew what they were thinking. She was fair game. Earlier she had heard them arguing over who would have her first, and she had hidden a pitchfork beside her in the straw before making her bed.
Despite her fear, Zara must have fallen asleep for she awoke abruptly to the sound of footsteps shuffling across the floor. She braced herself and reached for the pitchfork, somewhat comforted when her hand closed over the handle. Suddenly a body fell on top of her and she cried out. She might as well have remained mute for all the help it brought her.
“Quiet, woman,” a voice rasped into her ear. “Our master sent you here to pleasure us, and since I am the strongest I will have you first.”
It was Mustafa, a huge man with the strength of a bull. She had seen him lift an anvil today without breaking out in a sweat.
“Get off me, you stinking p
iece of camel dung! I was sent here to work, not to pleasure the sheik’s stable slaves. Touch me and I will tell your master.”
Her commanding voice captured his attention, but not for long. He groped her breasts, trying to rip her clothes aside to get to her bare skin. “Hold still, woman! Once I impale you with my mighty lance you will beg for more. I am as big as a horse. Whatever you did to displease our master is our gain.”
He found the sash holding up Zara’s pantaloons and released it, crying out in triumph when his hand encountered flesh as soft as silk. “Aiyee, tonight I will taste heaven. Open yourself for me, woman.”
Digging into the straw, Zara’s hand closed upon the pitchfork. Grasping it close to the shank, she brought it upward, thrusting it against Mustafa’s chest.
“Release me, foul beast,” Zara said with quiet menace. “Never touch me again. Tell your companions they will suffer horribly if they do not leave me alone. I will emasculate them in their sleep. I will cut off their testicles and feed them to the pigs. Believe me, I do not lie. I am Princess Zara, daughter of the great cadi Youssef. Consider yourself lucky that I do not kill you.”
Mustafa sprang away, impressed by Zara’s bravery yet at the same time angry that a mere woman should talk to him so. “You are but one small woman against many. I have but to call my companions to hold you down while I take my pleasure.”
Holding the pitchfork protectively aloft, Zara warned, “Try it and tomorrow your master will have your heads separated from your bodies.”
Her words gave Mustafa pause. What if the master had put the woman to work in the stables as punishment for some minor infraction? To use her as Mustafa wanted might enrage the master, and then what would become of him? Sheik Jamal was a kind master and Mustafa would rather remain in his household than be sold, or possibly killed.
He rose slowly. The moment his weight was gone from her, Zara leaped to her feet. “Get out of my way!”
“Where do you go, lady?”
“To find a bed not infected with vermin like you.”
Pitching aside her makeshift weapon, she held her pantaloons about her slim waist with one hand and ran from the stables, not daring to look back. Her knees were knocking together and she was trembling. Had Jamal truly sent her to the stables to pleasure his slaves?
Zara had no idea where she was going, except away from the stables. She’d rather sleep with pigs than be ravished by humans more foul than pigs. Unfortunately, Zara was trapped within the compound. The gates surrounding Paradise were guarded by Jamal’s men-at-arms and too high to scale. She followed a moonlit path to the inner courtyard. Slipping through the arched entrance, Zara stared in awe at the lush gardens within the enclosure, and the sparkling pool fed by a fountain at its center.
Jamal’s marble palace was built around the tiled courtyard, with all its rooms opening onto it. A covered walkway marched along all four sides of the square, held up by marble columns. Zara visualized Jamal’s concubines walking, laughing and talking in the jewel-like setting, like fluttering birds amid the colorful blossoms.
But it was the pool that drew Zara. The night was warm, and she was filthy and sweaty beneath her clothing. Her own stench offended her. Glancing about, she saw no movement within the palace. She supposed Jamal was frolicking in the harem with his concubines and not likely to leave any time soon. She gazed longingly at the pool. It proved too inviting to resist.
Creeping to the edge of the pool, Zara removed her djellaba, shirt and pantaloons and eased into the water. Though the water only reached her knees, it felt like heaven. In the center of the fountain a fat cherub knelt on a pedestal, holding an ewer from which a steady stream of cool, clear water spewed forth.
Zara waded to the fountain, raised her face to the moon and let the water spill down upon her. She lamented the lack of soap and scent to rub upon her skin, but the cool water was enough to restore her.
Unbeknownst to Zara, Jamal was watching from the double doors opening into his chamber. He had pulled aside the silken curtains wafting in the gentle breeze and was going to take the short walk across the courtyard to the harem when he’d seen her. He stepped out into the star-studded night, lured by the object of his erotic fantasies, her nude body a pale column of gold beneath the bright moonlight.
Moving behind a marble pillar, he watched her enter the shallow pool and wade to the fountain. He lost the ability to breathe when she turned toward him, lifting her face to the sky as water from the cherub’s ewer spilled down upon her golden head.
She was a goddess, created by Allah to tempt the holiest of men, and Allah knew he had never aspired to the state of holiness. His erection rose full and hard. Release was but steps away in his harem, yet he couldn’t turn away from the tempting houri bathing in his pool.
Her arms were raised, fanning her hair to catch the spray from the cherub’s ewer. The simple motion pushed her breasts upward and out, providing a feast for his hungry gaze. Her nipples were distended, and he ached to lap the drops of water clinging to their coral tips. Jamal blessed the brightness of the moon as his gaze slid downward, past Zara’s narrow hips, across her flat stomach to her smooth mound. She was plump and pink there, and he longed to part her pale thighs and sip of her sweet nectar.
When Zara turned her back to him, he admired the supple curve of her spine, the perfect twin moons of her buttocks, the long, elegant length of her legs. He wondered if the backs of her knees were sensitive and wanted to press kisses there and on the tender flesh between her pale thighs.
Zara would have liked to remain in the pool longer but she feared discovery. A household this size was bound to have servants wandering about, but still she lingered. Suddenly she shivered, and the hairs at the back of her neck prickled. She glanced around, feeling eyes on her that she could not see.
Probing the shadows beneath the walkway, Zara sensed but did not see him. Yet his presence was so strong, every nerve ending in her body tingled with awareness. What would he do if he found her in his pool?
Jamal knew the instant Zara sensed his presence. She became watchful; her body tensed. He heard her gasp aloud when he stepped out from behind the pillar.
“Do not let me interrupt your bath.”
Zara stared at him, seeing him for the first time without his turban. His hair was dark, wavy, and clubbed at his neck with cord. He wore a silk caftan, belted at his narrow waist.
“I was just leaving.”
“I insist that you stay.”
She was surprised to hear him summon his servant. “Hammet, bring soap and fragrant oils. My new slave wishes to bathe.”
Chapter Four
Zara truly did try to turn her gaze away as Jamal released the sash on his caftan and let it slide down his body. But the mesmerizing beauty of his muscular, fully aroused form fascinated her. His chest was broad and lightly furred. A narrow band of hair reached down to his groin and was lost in the dark forest between his legs. She stared at his manhood, rising full and heavy against his stomach, and suspected he was much larger than most men. Tearing her gaze away from his groin, she glanced down the long length of his legs, which like his chest were covered with fine dark hair.
Her gaze returned to his erection, and this time she did look away.
Jamal chuckled, aware of where her eyes had taken her. With consummate grace he sat down at the edge of the pool, dangling his legs in the water. A moment later Hammet appeared at his side, bearing a jar of soap, a vial of perfumed oil and a stack of linen drying cloths.
Jamal’s gaze never left Zara as he said, “Thank you, Hammet, you’re dismissed. I will have no further need of you tonight. And take these with you,” he added, handing the eunuch Zara’s filthy clothing.
Hammet held Zara’s clothing between thumb and forefinger, as if offended by its stench, then left as silently as he had appeared.
“Come here,” Jamal commanded.
Zara shook her head and edged away from him, her eyes wild with panic. Where could she go? What co
uld she do? Her clothes were gone, she couldn’t run about naked, not with animals like Mustafa around.
“Come here, I said,” Jamal repeated more harshly. “You can’t wash properly without soap.”
“I’m clean enough,” Zara insisted. “I want my clothes back.”
“In good time,” Jamal said. He offered his hand to her.
Since no other choice was open to her, Zara approached Jamal warily. She halted just out of his reach. “What do you want?”
He glanced down at his massive erection and laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m not your love slave. You have concubines to ease your lust. The silly girls are probably pining for your attention.”
“So they are.” He lunged for her, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her between his spread thighs, facing him. “Now behave while I bathe you.”
He dipped his fingers into the jar of soap and, starting at her shoulders, spread jasmine-scented lather over her torso. His hands paused on her breasts, molding them against his palms, gently squeezing the nipples between his thumb and forefinger until they became swollen and distended. He searched her face as his hands explored her body, smiling smugly when she tilted her head back and groaned.
Zara was on fire. Her breasts felt heavy and engorged and her nipples were aroused. If Jamal didn’t stop she would die. Then she felt his hands moving down to her stomach, rubbing around her navel, pressing places on her abdomen that added a new dimension to her torment.
Jamal was entranced. Zara’s smooth, hairless body was perfection. Unlike his concubines, who sat around eating and preening all day, it was obvious Zara spent long hours in strenuous activity. Her stomach was flat, not an ounce of superfluous fat marred her torso, and her legs were taut and lightly muscled.
Jamal’s hand cupped her silken mound, spreading soap over her loins, then dipped down between her thighs, and up again into her tender cleft. Zara cried out, struggling to escape his invasion of her body, but his strong legs held her like a vise.
He worked his fingers against her flesh, seeking and finding the tiny pearl of her femininity. Zara’s body spasmed as fire licked along her nerve endings. She pushed against his chest to make him stop, but he merely laughed at her.
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