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

by Jennifer Blake

  “And, how is this any different?” Julia asked with a bitter gesture around them.

  “For you, I am not sure it is. Like the honey that they have named you, you are too desirable; you will attract many. If you are lucky, one will be stronger than the rest, or higher in authority, so as to keep the others from you. For myself, I expect no such problem. Except for the purest accident of discoverance, you may be sure I will keep out of the way as much as possible until I see a man who is old and ugly enough that he hesitates to press himself forward with younger, more lusty men. Such a man may relish that which is freely given rather than what he must take by force. He may be so wise as to welcome comfort and skill upon his sleeping mat, rather than spread-eagled pleasure or a sharp tussle that contents no one.”

  “I have always known that you were wise in your own way,” Julia said. “Now, I have proof of it.”

  “We shall see. There can be no harm in the attempt. If my plan succeeds, I may count myself more fortunate than the next women who occupy the harem, poor creatures who will beget an heir from Kemal with very little help from him. It may be that I will consider myself luckier than I have been in some time. I was never meant for a celibate existence, especially knowing as I do a wider, more varied style of life.”

  When Abdullah returned to the barracks, his face was streaked with runnels of perspiration, his satin tunic ripped and dirty. He did not linger, but snapped an order, which made the eunuchs feel for their weapons and start at a quick trot from the barracks. Only a handful of men were left to guard the two hundred women. Since these had weapons, and the women none, it was enough.

  ~ ~ ~

  Time dragged. There was water to be had in clay cooling pots hanging from the ceiling, but food there was none. They had not eaten since morning, and as the shadows began to fall, bellies began to growl. Terror died away, ousted by the imperative demands of the body. With the thinning of their guard, some even dared to complain and ask in querulous voices when they would be fed.

  The breezes of evening brought the faint sound of cheering. Moving to the window, Julia stood listening, trying to hear whose name was being cried in the courtyard and streets of the city. She could not tell; she could only surmise that as in all conflicts, one army had been victorious, one had gone down in defeat. Regardless of the outcome, men must rest, seek a place to lick their wounds and sleep. Soon, the victors would turn toward the barracks. Whether they were the men of Kemal or of Ali Pasha made little difference to the women who waited to receive them.

  Shadows began to gather in the room, but no one came to light the lanterns. Then, as Julia stood straining to hear, she caught the rumble of voices. Loud, boisterous, they came nearer.

  The doors of the barracks were thrown open to slam against the wall. A captain of the Janissaries strode into the open room and stopped, his hands on his hips. Behind him crowded a second man, and a third. More poured in at the doorway, pushing against those who had halted at the sight of the frightened huddles of women.

  “I heard, but I did not believe. Truly, the dey is a generous man who values the well-being of his followers!”

  “The leavings of the old dey,” a man behind him growled.

  “But, long unused, from all accounts,” another jeered. “They should be ready.”

  “Not as ready as I!” came yet another voice from farther back in the crowd.

  Grins appeared on bearded faces. Slowly, the men in front inched forward, pushed by their fellows behind, as more and more struggled to see the prizes that awaited. They fanned out, closing the women into a circle like wolves surrounding sheep. They brought with them the fetid stench of sweat and blood and high-pitched excitement. Lust, and a cruel enjoyment of the helplessness of the harem, glittered in their eyes.

  The women struggled to their feet, clinging to each other, moving into a tight cluster in an instinctive act of self-preservation. Some began to cry and moan. Others stared, white-faced, with wide, unbelieving eyes at the advancing men. Jawharah caught Julia’s arm, drawing her to the dense-packed center of the group.

  Abruptly, the circle broke and the men closed in. Women screamed as they were pulled down to the sleeping mats. Scratching, biting, shrieking, they fought. It availed them nothing. There were too many hard hands, and arms and legs bulging with muscles. Their barracans were torn to shreds, their protecting veils ripped away and thrown aside. Eager fingers grasped, wrenching at their pantaloons, baring their white, quivering flesh. Arms and legs were pinned, while brief fights broke out and arguments flared over who would be first, second, third, fourth. Shouts, grunts, the thud of flesh upon flesh filled the room, while yet more women were jerked from the small knot that was left.

  Plump, overblown Jawharah shielded Julia with her bulk from the front, while her back was protected by a center column. Ruthlessly, the larger woman pressed other females into the grasping, clawing hands. But even her covering form could not protect Julia for long. As their numbers dwindled, Julia became more and more exposed. In a peculiar way, Julia could not be sorry. Though she appreciated the concern that caused Jawharah to wish to protect her, she felt like a coward sheltering behind her when all around her other women were going down to violation.

  “The Keeper of the Honey!”

  The cry went up as a man caught sight of Julia’s soft golden tresses. Soldiers turned, their glazed eyes avid for this creature whose legendary beauty and wisdom had made her the favorite of the old dey. Jawharah was seized and thrown into a sprawling heap. Moist, meaty hands reached out, yanking Julia off her feet, so that she fell to her knees. Immediately, she was thrown onto her back. Her veil was wrenched away. With her teeth tightly clenched to keep from crying out, Julia heaved and kicked. She tried to claw with her nails until the vicious weight of men’s hands clamped her arms out straight, pressing on her elbows. Her knees were pulled apart. She was pushed this way and that as her barracan was ripped from her. Her soul cringed at the rough exploration, the kneading and pinching of her body. They knelt upon her bright hair spilling over the floor, causing tears of pain to spring to her eyes, as they fumbled to expose her milk-white skin

  At her feet, a man’s voice with the sound of the captain of the Janissaries was heard. “The pick of the lot,” he grated in strained tones. “I command first entry.” Without waiting for a reply, he began to tear at the sash, which held the scabbard of his scimitar.

  “And then I,” said the man who had recognized Julia. Other voices chorused, one after the other. They were drowned only by the sound of a gunshot reverberating through the room.

  Activity ceased as the men fresh from the heat of battle dived and rolled in instant reaction to the sound. They scrambled for weapons before they looked up to search for danger. The captain of the Janissaries whirled, facing the detail of men who stood with smoking rifles in the doorway. Striding forward, he shouted in goaded frustration, “What is the meaning of this?”

  “The women of the harem of the dey were sent here on the orders of the pretender, Kemal, whom you so gallantly defeated. It is not the wish of the new dey of Algiers, Ali Pasha of illustrious name, that these women be abused!”

  That voice. It belonged to Rud. Julia, with the weight gone from her arms and legs, levered herself to a sitting position. Drawing the tattered edges of her bodice together over her breasts, she reached as automatically as any Turkish or Moorish woman for her veil. Hope hovered in her mind, but she would not allow herself to trust to it, especially with the captain of the Janissaries standing over her with his hands on his hips, blocking her view.

  “He cannot take them away, not now, when the men have tasted of the meal set before them. They deserve some reward; none could please them more than this.”

  “If any woman wants to stay after such rough wooing as she has received, then she may,” Rud snapped. “Otherwise, they come with me.”

  It was a tense moment. The number of soldiers was large, and the detail in the doorway small. Only the might invested in the o
ffice of the dey kept the red-eyed Janissaries from committing murder on the spot. No one moved. The sound of gasping breathing and small, ragged moans filled the strained quiet. Slowly, Julia gathered her bruised and trembling legs beneath her and pushed to her feet. She stumbled to where Jawharah lay, and catching her arm, helped her to stand. No one spoke, no one put out a hand to help or stop them as they threaded their way among the stiff figures of the men. Another woman staggered after them, and yet another, each trailing bits of clothing like apparitions newly risen from the grave.

  As Julia stepped to Rud’s side, he reached out a hand and caught her wrist, drawing her close against him. The detail moved aside, allowing the other females of the harem to pass between them out the doors. When the last woman had quitted the room, Rud gave a short nod. A man stepped forth from the detail and presented a fat purse to the captain of the Janissaries. “Accept this with the compliments of Ali Dey, along with his assurances that the women of the brothels of Algiers will serve you better than these sheltered creatures who have been snatched from you.”

  “It may be so,” the captain said, his hot gaze terrible as it scorched the woman at Rud’s side, “but their taste cannot be as sweet.”

  Rud’s voice rang with the hardness of steel as he answered, “Without doubt — still, they can be taken with no fear of stinging.”

  When they reached the doors of the harem, Rud drew Julia to one side while the other women passed through. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her upper arms as though he meant never to let her go. The lanterns in the corridor had not been tended for some time, and they flickered low. Still, even in that indifferent light, Julia thought she could see a shadow of concern in his eyes, and something more, a fierce gladness that sent the warm blood coursing through her veins.

  “I will tell Ismael the physician to make ready for those who have need of him,” he said, his tone abrupt.

  “There may be some who must avail themselves of his services,” Julia said, her gold-flecked eyes searching his dark, bearded face for signs of injury, of pain past or present, and of change. “For myself, I have taken no hurt. This much I owe to your timely intervention, for which I give praise. May I know how you came so opportunely?”

  “A blonde woman was brought to the quarters of Ali Pasha and left there while the battle for the throne of Algiers was fought outside the palace gates. The final engagements were brief, but bloody. In the past two days, I have spent much time at the side of Ali Pasha and was there at the last pitched fight. I went with him back to his quarters, where he intended to remove the signs of the fray before he appeared in public to accept the fealty of the nobles. Learning of the woman’s continued presence, he had her brought before him so he could thank her for the part she had played in his great victory. It may be the woman thought that since no one had seen the unveiled face of the Keeper of the Honey, she could pass herself off as you. She was mistaken. Under persuasion, she revealed what she had done and where you could be found. I do not think she will try such a masquerade again.”

  Julia suppressed a shiver at the grimness of his voice. For the sake of her own peace of mind, she did not inquire what had been done with Mariyah. “I am grateful for your quickness and also for the mercy of Ali Pasha, now Ali Dey, in sparing the women. My — my indebtedness would be boundless if I only knew what was going to happen to us now.”

  Rud hesitated, looking away as though he wished to hide the expression that burned in his sea-blue eyes. “That is a question you must put to the dey himself. He has requested that I bring you before him in as short a time as possible so that he may honor you. If you are certain you have taken no injury, I will wait for you here while you make yourself ready.”

  There could be no arguing. The state of her nerves, the feeling she had that she had been touched by something unclean, her reunion with her husband, were of no moment to the dey. With Jawharah’s help, Julia threw off her torn clothing and cleansed herself as well as she might with a bowl of water. She then donned a bodice and pantaloons of cloth-of-gold with a barracan of pale-yellow silk banded with cloth-of-gold thrown over it. For her face was a yellow veil. Jawharah wanted to weave pearls into her hair, but there was time for no more than the quick application of a brush. With the burnished strands spread upon her shoulders like a golden mantle, Julia hurried back to Rud.

  Surrounded by the smoky glare of lanterns, Ali Dey sat with folded legs upon the richly draped divan of the deys of Algiers. His sashed turban was pinned with an enormous ruby. His wrists rested on his knees in a relaxed pose. His hawklike face was creased in a slight smile, but in his eyes was a hard and fearful watchfulness.

  Rud approached, kissed the extended hand, spoke a few quiet words. Only then did the new dey allow his gaze to travel to Julia, alone and unrecognized in the center of the room.

  “Come forward, Jullanar, O Keeper of the Honey,” he said, his gaze probing, admiring.

  With her head held high, Julia obeyed. She steeled herself to ignore the curious and malignant stares, the sibilant whispers of the men that crowded the room behind her. Her lips touched the hem of Ali Dey’s garment, then she stood back with her bearing stiff and straight, her gaze downcast.

  “You have served me well, Jullanar. I honor you for all you have done to further my cause. In acknowledgment of my appreciation, I present to you this small token, with the hope that it brings you as much pleasure and good fortune as this other jewel which has become your symbol, and which I return to you, your gold bee.”

  The gift of the new dey of Algiers was a magnificent yellow diamond the size of an egg yolk. Set as a pendant, it hung from a fine gold chain. With unsteady fingers, Julia took the jewel from the hands of the man who served as the new grand vizier and passed the chain over her head. The brilliant stone settled between her breasts, drawing all eyes to its flashing light. The gold bee she pinned in its old place between her temple and cheekbone. It clung, a loved and familiar weight, to her veil.

  “Your generosity is exceeded only by your kindness, O Illustrious Ruler of the Time,” she murmured, salaaming once more. “That this evening you stayed the harsh command of Kemal, the false dey, will make your name ever one for praise among women. It is not often that strength and ability are so well wedded to honor and mercy as in your exalted self.”

  Ali Dey flicked Rud a sardonic glance. The thought shafted through Julia’s mind that perhaps her husband had exceeded his authority in the matter of rescuing the harem from the soldiers’ clutches. She did not falter, however. Now that deed was made public, the dey could not rescind it without being made to appear both incapable of making a firm decision and unable to control his followers.

  “It only remains,” Julia continued, “for you to make known to us, the women of the harem of the old dey, what you have chosen for our fate.”

  “This matter has vexed me sorely,” Ali Dey answered, his tone dry. “It would be incestuous conduct for me to retain the women presently in the harem, the women of my uncle, who stand as aunts to me. Moreover, there might be strife with my own wives and women. While I see no difficulty in overcoming the objections if I should so choose, I have no wish for discord in my household at this time. On the other hand, these women are not equipped to fend for themselves. It appears they must have either husbands or masters.”

  “You are as wise as Solomon, the son of David,” Julia intoned.

  He lifted a brow in an indication that he accepted her flattery with reservations and a certain admiration for her daring. At the same time, his eyes wandered over her, lingering for the space of a heartbeat in the area of her girdle. Beside Julia, Rud stirred, placing his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. Ali Dey looked at the Englishman and smiled, raising his hand to his dark beard with a look of regret at the back of his eyes. “Have you a suggestion to make, O Keeper of the Honey?”

  A rustle ran around the room at this unheard-of honor to a woman of publicly asking her counsel. Julia felt a flush rise to her face, though her comp
osure remained even. “There is a possibility, effendi, though I fear it may cost you a small portion of that which is traditionally the spoil of the new ruler.”

  “I am not surprised. Still, you may speak.”

  “If every woman were permitted to keep the valuables which have been presented to her during her sojourn in the harem, then, this wealth might constitute for each an acceptable dowry. With this in their favor, then might not husbands be found for many?”

  “It is possible,” the dey agreed, nodding.

  “Then, for those who do not find someone willing to wed them, this property could be sold. With the money, they might eke out some form of free existence, or else it could be invested with a merchant who might be willing to guarantee a small monthly stipend.”

  “For the other women, your proposal merits some consideration,” Ali Dey said. He paused, as if reluctant to continue, slanting a brooding glance at Rud from under his eyebrows. Then, he gave himself a small shake. “I find, however, that in your case I can undertake no such arrangement. This is due to the essential fact that I have already committed myself as to your disposal.”