Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

With a curse, the captain phrased his request in French.

  “I am Bayezid Reis, captain of this ship. You are my prisoners, which I claim by right of the sea in the name of my illustrious master, the dey of Algiers. If you value your lives, you will make no attempt to escape. You will identify yourselves and tell me how you came to be adrift in a small boat.”

  Rud obliged him by supplying the information. To this, Bayezid Reis gave a satisfied nod. “I thought as much. I have had word of your tall ship more than once. I am sorry to lose such a prize, but that is the will of Allah. Tell me, this woman who is with you,” he went on without so much as a glance in Julia’s direction. “She is, perhaps, the wedded chattel of one of you?”

  Rud hesitated for no longer than the flicker of an eyelid. “Would that it were so,” he said with a timbre of regret in his voice. “She is unwed.”

  “Ah,” the captain said, smoothing his beard. “She is older than most maidens, but wondrous fair even in her present state, and it is said the women of Frankistan ripen late. It may be that I have captured a prize worthy of further inspection.”

  Julia flung a look at Rud. His face was stony, but his eyes seemed to burn with the blue fire of sapphires.

  “It may be true, what you say, captain,” Rud answered, “for the woman is a great lady in her own country. Her sire, who is now dead, was possessed of vast lands, and counted his horses, cattle, and slaves in the hundreds. He was friend to the great ruler Napoleon, whose fame must surely have reached Algeria. She wears at her throat the token symbol of his reign.”

  Bayezid Reis gave a wise nod. “If that is so, the prize may be greater than I dreamed. And yourself?”

  Julia’s husband appeared to have as little use for modesty in connection with his own rank. “I was the captain of the brave ship struck down and sent to the bottom of the ocean by the great wave. This man beside me was my second officer.”

  “Indeed? If it is so, my master the dey may have use for you. His navy is his pride, his strong right arm which brings glory and tribute, one he ever seeks to strengthen. But if you lie—”

  The threat hung in the air, a palpable thing, heavy with the sound of quick, but difficult death. Bayezid Reis made a gesture with one hand, giving an order in Turkish. The men supporting Julia came to attention and half led, half dragged her away.

  Behind her, Rud made an abrupt movement as though to prevent the rough handling, then stood still. “Take care. She has been ill.”

  There came the cracking sound of a sharp blow as the pirate captain struck Rud across the face. “Be still, Christian dog! I need no one to tell me how to handle slaves. Take them below. We have wasted enough time on such puny merchandise. Like as not the female will be shark bait before morning.”

  At the sound of a scuffle, Julia looked back to see Rud at the captain’s throat with his guards clinging like monkeys to his arms, while O’Toole was the center of a second melee. As he was hurried below deck, she heard behind her the sodden sound of blows and the hoarse voice of Bayezid Reis ringing out. “Forty lashes with the kurbash for both of them! They need a lesson in how a slave should act. They will learn it, or else!”

  Julia was taken to a small, airless cubicle bare of furnishings except for a pile of rags in one corner. The seamen gave her a push in the direction of the makeshift bed. She fell to her knees. With a remark that had a ring as ribald as it was scathing, the two men turned and left her. She heard the grate of a key in the lock.

  Slowly, she lowered herself onto the rags, sitting with her back against the bulkhead and her head resting on the wood. She closed her eyes. The ship got under way once more. Time crept past. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she came alert, her nerves tingling with dread.

  The door opened to reveal Bayezid Reis. Behind him was a man in the long flowing robes of an Arab, with a turban wrapped about his head. His copper-colored skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones, crinkling into a thousand tiny wrinkles around his eyes, while his beard was sprinkled with gray. In his eyes was mirrored only an impersonal curiosity.

  “Stand up,” the pirate captain ordered.

  Julia understood what he said. She recognized the wisdom of obeying, also, and yet, there seemed a great distance between her mind and her will. She stared at him with fevered eyes that appeared enormous in her thin face.

  Striding to her, Bayezid Reis reached down to catch her arms and drag her to her feet. He turned her back to the Arab, who with skillful fingers began to strip the buttons of her gown from their holes.

  Weakly, Julia struggled, her heart beginning a frantic beat. She knew beyond all doubt that she could not bear to be taken in lust so soon after the miscarriage. She would surely bleed to death.

  “Peace, unfortunate lady,” the Arab said, his voice soothing in purest Castilian Spanish. “We mean you no harm. This which comes to you is necessary for an exact evaluation of your worth.”

  Her senses swam and her eyesight grew dim. In some dark recess of her mind, she felt her knees buckle and knew when they laid her naked upon the makeshift bed. She felt the touch of the Arab’s hands pressing the bruised flesh of her right side, over her ribs, passing over her in swift examination, including a careful probing of internal intimacy. She understood when he called for water to wash the bloodstains from her thighs, knew his gentle ministrations. A soft and sooty ball of some unknown substance was pushed into her mouth and a beaker of tart juice held to her lips.

  “Swallow, my lady,” the Arab said. “This is precious musk which will stimulate the life force within you, warming you to living.”

  His words were true. In a short while, she felt strength returning. When she opened her eyes, she was alone in the cabin with the Arab physician. The captain had gone. The man who knelt on the floor beside her looked into her eyes, searching deep. At last, he gave a slow nod.

  “It is well,” he said. “Attend to me for the sake of your life and your future. You are not a virgin.”

  Julia shook her head, mesmerized by the dark, burning eyes above her.

  “It lowers your value. Still, you have hair which, when cleansed and rubbed with unguents, will shine like the morning sun. You have the eyes of a sorceress fit to destroy men’s souls or lead them to search for the treasure therein. Your body has the grace of a gazelle, it is a poem of tender symmetry. When fed with rich food, bathed and tended by slaves, your skin will glow like pearls and your breasts will be like mounds of warm snow. I see this plainly. There are not fifty maidens in all Islam of your coloring, and of that number, not five who can match you. In such rare beauty, great men will accept a small flaw. Failing that, others will pay handsomely for the honor of possession of so novel a woman.”

  Julia did not know how to answer such praise. She said nothing, waiting for the reason for it, waiting for the purpose she could sense in the Arab’s manner. It was not long in coming.

  “There is one thing more I must put to you, O daughter of the moon. As a physician, I am aware that you have conceived and that your body has rejected the seed. Think well before you answer what I must ask you, for it will determine your fate. No Mussulman may take to himself a woman who has been wed for fear of committing the great sin of adultery, endangering his immortal soul and his hopes of paradise. If you have had a husband, then you must be sold as a mere drudge or consigned to the owner of a brothel which caters to infidels. In either case, the reward of Bayezid Reis would be small. He might think it scarcely worth the expense of bringing you back to health.”

  The implication was plain. If she could not declare herself unfettered by matrimonial ties, then the Turkish captain might decide to be rid of her as not worth the investment he must make in her care. Was this why Rud had denied her? Had he foreseen, with his small knowledge of Islamic customs acquired in Mediterranean ports, the present situation? In the press of the moment, Julia could not decide whether she should be grateful to him. If she answered truthfully, as she would have without the Arab’s guidance, she would no longe
r need to live with grief, painful anger, and humiliation. But the power of the musk circulating in her system was pervasive. She wanted to live. Regardless of where she lived or in what condition, she must protect the fire of her life and keep it burning. She would shelter the flame until such time as it could leap high, feed it on dreams of vengeance and visions of final freedom from all the specters of her past. She would not blame herself for what had happened. Despite a deep-seated feeling that she must be somehow at fault, she knew she was not. Remorse and self-pity were useless emotions. What she needed now was strength.

  “No,” she said slowly. “I have never been a wife. For a short time, I had a lover, but he died when our ship sank, and is forever lost to me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  They put ashore under cover of night as though there were something not quite legal about landing white captives in the bright light of day. Julia, who had been lost for what seemed like weeks on end in a drugged state, half sleeping, half waking, had no idea what country they had reached. From the smell of dust, dung, charcoal smoke, and spices which wafted toward them on the night wind, she could only surmise that they were somewhere on the continent of Africa.

  Bundled in a woolen barracan with a veil over her face and leather sandals on her feet, Julia was led from the ship and pushed into a curtained litter. An order was shouted and the litter was picked up and borne quickly away. Peering through a slit in the striped cotton curtains, Julia could see armed guards walking on either side. From the ship, she had just left emerged a winding line of men — captured sailors, no doubt. The chains on their wrists and ankles made a clinking sound in the quiet. Bowed by the weight of their fetters, made featureless by the moonless night, they had the look of shuffling beasts without intelligence or personal identity. If Rud and O’Toole were among them, she could not tell, though she watched until they were lost from sight.

  It was a jostling ride through narrow streets. Now and then, she caught the tinkling of bells or the wailing sound of music like a dirge in a minor key. Men in robes or covered by the heavy folds of a burnoose, men black, brown, and white, shouldered past the litter. All appeared empty of feeling, their features honed by wind and weather and hardship to a cruel edge. Julia pulled the curtains tight after a time and huddled back against the cushions.

  They entered a gate and crossed the open space of a courtyard before plunging down the dark labyrinth of a tunnel. Here they were forced to wait before entering a second courtyard. At last, the curtains of the litter were parted. The Arabian physician, called Ismael, handed Julia out. She was conducted into a small, dark chamber where an enormously fat Turk with a beardless chin waited. She had heard of eunuchs before, but this was the first one she had ever beheld. He said something to her that she did not understand, and she glanced instinctively at the Arab.

  “This man is Abdullah. You will place your hands to your forehead, as I have shown you, and bow to him as a sign of respect. It will be to your advantage to smile upon him also, for he is the keeper of the harem of the dey of Algiers and has great influence, something you will need if you are accepted.”

  “If I am accepted? You mean, if I become a member of the harem of the dey?”

  “It is impertinent of you to ask. When your fate is decided, it will be made known to you. Go with Abdullah Effendi now and do as you are bid, having no will other than that of your master and of Allah. Do this according to my instructions and all will be well.”

  There was a stern note in the Arab’s voice, but beneath it Julia could detect a trace of compassion and concern. She had had no contact on the Algerian ship except with this man. He had given her drugs which had helped to mend her spirit and her body. Though Julia realized that his purpose had little to do with her as a person, she thought he was not as indifferent as he would like to appear to what became of her. For that, and for his aid, she was grateful. She sought to express it in the only way possible.

  “I will do as you say, O healer of wounded souls. May there be peace with you.”

  Julia followed Abdullah the eunuch through endless branching passages. They paused at last before a doorway that the huge man opened with a large and ornate gold key which dangled with several others at his waist. They passed through, and Abdullah locked it behind them.

  She was aware at once of the fragrance of perfume. It hung in the air like a pall, a combination of all the scents in the world, it seemed; rose, orange blossom, lilac, musk, patchouli, bergamot, frankincense, and jasmine. They stood in a hallway lit at intervals by brass oil lamps with fat bellies and twin spouts. At the end of it was an arched opening leading to a garden. From that direction came the sound of a fountain playing into a pool and the sleepy cooing of doves disturbed in their rest.

  Turning to Julia, Abdullah indicated a door on her right. She followed behind the eunuch, pushing through the curtain that closed off the doorway, and found herself in an enormous bathing chamber. Two Numidian slave girls came forward at their entrance and salaamed deeply to Abdullah. He gave terse, detailed instructions in Turkish, then stalked away as if he considered the task he had just performed to be beneath him.

  With much giggling and exclamations at her yellowing bruises, the slave girls undressed Julia and then removed the trousers and short tunics they wore. Smiling, they urged her into the steaming water which filled a small tiled pool in the center of the room. After much consultation among themselves, they chose a soft soap scented with the damask rose, and with their hands filled with this gel-like substance, stepped into the pool after Julia, advancing upon her.

  Julia knew a moment of panic. She did not trust the mischievous look of anticipation in the girls’ eyes. Then, she lifted her head. There was little she could do to protect herself. The water was wonderfully hot and silken. Her skin, chafed by the woolen material of the robe she had worn and clogged with the accumulated grime of weeks, had begun to itch frantically. Let them do their worst. It would be worth it to be clean again.

  They soaped her hair again and again. Their quick, slim hands scrubbed, massaged, and kneaded, cleansing her with a thoroughness that seemed to indicate that they considered her defiled in some way and in need of purification. Satisfied at last, they wrapped her in a gigantic bath sheet and escorted her from the hot bath into a second chamber, where a pool of clear, tepid water awaited. There they rinsed away the last vestiges of soap and allowed her body temperature to return to normal. From there, she was taken to yet another room set about with long marble tables. When she lay full length upon one table, one of the slave girls combed the tangles from her hair and rubbed it dry, coaxing it into soft waves and curling the ends about her fingers. The other smoothed precious oils over Julia’s body, oils with a base scent of roses. This was followed by a gentle, soothing massage. Taking up a pumice stone, they removed the rough skin from her feet, elbows, and knees. While she feasted on a confection made of almonds and honey and washed it down with the refreshing juice of pomegranates, her fingernails and toenails were shaped, then buffed to a gloss. A bit of oil was smoothed over her lips where they were still dry and peeling at the edges. A touch on her brows and lashes, and they were done.

  Next, a barracan of transparent, rose-colored Samarkand silk was brought forth and draped around her. A veil of a slightly darker hue was placed over her face. Julia glanced down at herself, dismay flitting through her mind. Her body was clearly visible through the silk. As pleasant as it was to be arrayed in color instead of black or the heavy woolen garment given to her on the ship, she could not believe this was what all women of the Turkish empire wore. The Numidian girls had been more decently covered. It could not be denied that the slave girls had chosen wisely, however. The rose silk was the perfect complement for her coloring. Through its gauzy folds, her skin gleamed like living marble and the pink tips of her breasts were as dark as rubies, while her bruises were minimized. She was by no means certain what was going to happen to her, but she had the uneasy suspicion that she was being prepared to be put on dis
play. She had not expected it so soon, despite the words of Ismael, the physician. If you are chosen—

  The Arab had explained to her that as a captive of a ship of the Algerian navy, she would be inspected by a representative of the dey to see if she was suitable for the royal harem. The honor of being so chosen was great, but she must not expect it. It had been some time since a woman had been added to the harem; the dey was an aging ruler who had turned to the pleasures of the mind in recent years. Still, it was rumored that an edict had gone out from the palace to all slave dealers to be watchful for females of unusual or extraordinary attraction. If she was not accepted, she would be taken to a slave dealer, who would arrange for discreet viewing by a larger clientele. There were over five hundred houses in Algiers alone owned by men of enough substance to gratify their desires for novelty in the way of bed mates, five hundred prisons which could swallow her up. The irony was that though all five hundred could stare at will at her body, none could see her unveiled face except the slave dealers and the man who bought her. How many times must she be prepared and paraded before she was finally bought? How many indignities would she have to endure?

  The slave girls arranged the barracan around her, straightening the folds, draping them with so much precision it was almost as if they expected her to have her portrait painted. That done, they stepped back and salaamed deeply before effacing themselves, moving to stand against the wall. Their obeisance was not toward Julia, however, but toward a pierced screen set into the wall directly in front of her. Alerted, Julia caught a whisper of sound coming from behind the screen. A flush rose in a wave of heat to her forehead. She was being watched. On the other side of the screen, there was a man staring at her with appraising eyes. It had been easy enough to consider the idea, but now that it was actually happening she wanted nothing so much as to run and hide. Only by clenching her teeth tightly, staring straight ahead, and holding her arms rigid at her sides was she able to subdue the impulse.