Sheik (4 page)

“Have you brothers?”

“Nay, none that lived past infancy.”

“Sheik Jamal tells me you are well loved by your father. He says that you ride at his side and fight like a man.”

“Sheik Jamal does not lie. I have ridden at my father’s side since the age of thirteen.”

Ishmail’s probing gaze slide the length of Zara’s body with uncommon interest. “I do not believe you are a real woman at all, but an aberration. Remove your clothing so that I may judge for myself.”

Jamal suppressed a groan, waiting for the fireworks. He didn’t have long to wait.

“It does not please me to remove my clothing,” Zara said with quiet dignity.

“It does not please me to put up with your insolence,” Ishmail roared. “I’ve had men drawn and quartered for lesser offenses. Either remove your clothing, Princess Zara, or I will have it ripped from you.”

“Do as he says,” Jamal urged quietly. “Your life rests within his hands.”

Realizing Zara meant to disobey, Jamal helped matters along by stripping away her turban, releasing a bright cascade of blond tresses. The breath caught in Jamal’s throat; he was utterly
captivated by the shimmering curtain of golden silk floating about her shoulders.

Equally intrigued, Ishmail couldn’t wait to see more of this unlikely female warrior. “Continue,” he said with a hint of impatience.

Zara stood still as a statue as Jamal peeled off her
djellaba
, refusing to help him or even acknowledge the affront to her dignity. When Jamal reached for the ties on her shirt, she winced but gave no other other sign of her distress.

The shirt was whisked over her head and arms and tossed aside. A collective gasp from those in the hall brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks and throat but no other outward display of emotion. When Jamal made no move to release the sash holding up her pantaloons, Zara dared to breathe again.

“So you
are
a woman,” Ishmail said, his gaze fastened on her full breasts. He stepped down from his throne to examine Zara more closely.

For some unexplained reason Jamal wanted to tear Zara away when Ishmail reached out to test the weight and size of her breasts. Ishmail’s hands didn’t stop at Zara’s breasts but continued downward, across her torso and flat stomach, lower still, gliding over the material of her pantaloons to thrust between her legs. Jamal was on the verge of doing something entirely reckless, like snatching Zara away from the sultan, but Zara made his intervention unnecessary.

Screwing up her face, she shot a wad of spittle into the sultan’s face. “Son of a pig! Camel dung! Take your filthy hands off me!”

Blood rushed to Ishmail’s dark face as he flung
his arm back and delivered a stunning blow to Zara’s face, sending her flying. She landed in a heap at his feet.

“Seize the Berber she-devil!” he cried, wiping spittle from his face. “The spawn of a jackal deserves no mercy from me.”

Immediately two guards rushed forth, dragging Zara to her feet between them. The right side of her face had turned red and was already beginning to swell from the sultan’s blow.

Panic raced through Jamal. He’d feared that something like this would happen. He’d tried to warn Zara against defying Ishmail but she’d chosen not to heed him. He searched frantically for a way to save Zara from a terrible fate but could think of nothing.

“The Berber wench is beyond redemption,” Ishmail declared. “She would disrupt my entire harem should I decide to use her body for my pleasure. She isn’t worth the effort. Cut off her head and hang it from the wall for all to see,” he ordered brusquely. “Word of her fate will reach her father, and when it does he will realize Moulay Ishmail will not tolerate treason.”

The guards started to drag Zara from the hall.

“Wait!” Jamal cried, growing desperate. It had never occurred to him that Ishmail might kill the Berber princess. He had assumed that Ishmail would either enslave her or keep her for his bed. “You’re making a mistake. Killing Zara will enrage Youssef. Presently the Berber tribes are not united, but killing the wench will surely bring them together in a common cause, and that could be disastrous for you. Think of the vast number
of Berbers scattered throughout the Rif and Atlas Mountains, and imagine them uniting under one leader.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ishmail allowed as he halted Zara’s progress from the hall with a wave of his hand. The guards obeyed instantly, dragging Zara back to the dais.

“Think carefully, my lord,” Jamal intoned solemnly. “Spare the Berber wench. Keep her as a slave and make it known that her continued health depends on Youssef’s obedience. Word will reach Youssef that his daughter will live only if he ceases his raids upon your caravans.”

“Hummm,” Ishmail said, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “I see what you mean, but I don’t want the wench in my household. She has the body and face of an
houri
but she is a menace. She is undisciplined, brazen and defiant and would disrupt my entire household. She’s too incorrigible to make a decent slave.” Suddenly his face lit up. “I have it! I will give her to the lowest-ranking man residing within the
Kasbah
. She will become his slave, submissive to his every need. Is that not a clever solution, Jamal? If I recall, the Negro blacksmith is a huge giant of a man. He will do nicely for Zara.

“As long as Zara is kept alive, her father will cease his raiding,” Ishmail continued. “Yet her defiance will be rewarded by having to submit to a man far beneath her in rank. I will make it known that Youssef’s daughter is my captive, that her continued good health will depend upon Youssef’s willingness to abide by my laws. All raids must cease immediately.”

“You would give Princess Zara to Abdul?” Jamal asked, aghast. He knew the man well; he was an animal. A strong-willed woman like Zara wouldn’t last a week with him.

“A perfect match, wouldn’t you agree?” Ishmail said complacently.

“Slay me now,” Zara cried. She had remained mute as long as she could. “I will become no man’s slave!”

“Silence, lady, or you’ll get your wish. Take her away and present her to Abdul with my good wishes,” Ishmail told the guards.

“Wait!” Jamal demanded. “I have a better solution. Give the Berber wench to me. I have need of another slave.”

Ishmail frowned as he mulled over Jamal’s request. “Why do you wish to burden yourself with such a troublesome slave? Let Abdul tame her. Abdul is a better master than Youssef’s daughter deserves.”

“Youssef will demand proof that his daughter is not being mistreated before he agrees to stop his raids. Can you be certain Abdul won’t kill Zara after she cuts him to pieces with her sharp tongue?” He shook his head. “Nay, I think not. Youssef has spies everywhere. He will know what is taking place.”

“The princess has a magnificent body,” Ishmail allowed. “Perhaps you can find some use for her. I can’t be bothered with reluctant maidens, but you are young and vigorous and might enjoy the fight. Still… I will give her to you only if you promise to make her pay for defiling me with her spittle.”

“Slay me and be done with it!” Zara spat.

Jamal sincerely wished he could gag Zara. Her mouth would be her undoing if she didn’t shut up. “I will endeavor to teach Princess Zara humility, my lord, and administer discipline when necessary. As my slave, she will obey or surfer the consequences. For her affront to your person, she will toil in the stables for an indefinite period. She will rake dung alongside the stable slaves, sleep on straw and share their crude meals.”

The sultan smiled. “That’s a start, Jamal. Your haughty princess will soon learn who is master and who is slave. Once she is taught submission, she may prove useful in your bed, but I don’t envy you that task.”

“Then she is mine?” Jamal asked, concealing his pleasure. The sultan was a cruel and perverse man; one never knew where one stood with him.

“You were promised a reward for your service, Jamal. Consider the woman your prize. If you’d rather have gold, speak now and I will give the woman to Abdul.”

Jamal had a niggling feeling that one day he might wish he’d taken gold instead of Zara, but some internal demon demanded that he not abandon the courageous princess. He knew he was biting off more than he could chew, that Zara was a troublesome female, but he looked forward with relish to the confrontation. Zara was a beauty worth taming and he was just the man to tame her.

“I would have the woman, my lord,” Jamal said, sending Zara a look that warned her to silence.

“She’s yours,” Ishmail decreed. “Take her from
my sight, she offends me. If keeping her alive will prevent her father from plaguing me, then I am happy you are the one who must deal with her.”

Caught between the restraining grip of Ishmail’s guards, Zara sent Jamal a scathing look that spoke volumes about her feelings. Stable slave, indeed. Well, she’d prefer to muck camel dung than to let Jamal use her body. Besides, once her father learned of her fate, he’d not let her languish long in Jamal’s stables. Youssef was resourceful; he’d find a way to free her from her onerous role as slave, and soon she’d be riding at his side, where she belonged.

Jamal snatched Zara’s robe and shirt from the floor and wrapped them around her. “We’re leaving immediately for Paradise,” he said, hustling her from the hall.

“Paradise, ha!” Zara sneered. “Hades, you mean.”

Before she could say anything further, Jamal scooped her into his arms and carried her away from the glowering sultan.

Chapter Three

Jamal carried Zara from the Hall of the Sulanate and into a nearby alcove, where they were hidden from the curious stares of guards, supplicants, merchants and servants milling about in the outer ward. Zara struggled to hold her robes about her as Jamal set her on her feet.

“Turn around while I get dressed,” she demanded.

Jamal stared at her with smoldering eyes. “I’ve already seen your breasts and tested their firmness. They are exquisite.”

Excitement shuddered through him as he recalled how smooth and pliant they had felt against his palms. He stared at her chest, his eyes glazed with lust. He felt himself harden when he saw a plump nipple peep out from between her spread fingers, but he knew this was neither the
time nor place to explore his unaccountable need for the Berber vixen. Soon, he vowed to himself, he would know every luscious inch of Zara, daughter of Youssef.

“Get dressed,” Jamal ordered in a voice made harsh with desire.

Realizing Jamal had no intention of turning his eyes from her, Zara presented her back and quickly pulled on her shirt, then her
djellaba
.

The elegant curve of her back was as sensually enticing as her breasts, Jamal mused as he made a visual exploration of the smooth expanse of her silken flesh. He couldn’t wait to have her writhing beneath him, giving him untold pleasure. But he would give her pleasure, too. More pleasure than she had received from her Berber lover.

Once her body was decently covered, Jamal found he could breathe normally and think clearly again. He was surprised that the sight of Zara’s nude body had such a profound effect on him. He was no stranger to a woman’s body. He used his own concubines frequently and with great zeal. When he was sailing the high seas he put into ports often enough to slake his lust with prostitutes. Yet Zara excited him as few women had in more years than he cared to count.

He wanted her
.

Zara read Jamal’s mind as effectively as though he had spoken aloud. His expressive dark eyes were a mirror into his soul. Had they met under different circumstances, she might have been attracted to him. Whereas most Arab men wore thick, black beards, Jamal’s face was smooth and golden rather than swarthy. His nose was
straight, his forehead high, his chin square and determined. He was a man to make any girl’s heart beat faster … any girl but her.

Jamal noted Zara’s preoccupation with his face and grasped her arms, bringing her hard against him. “Do you like what you see, vixen? Without your betrothed to pleasure you, you’ll be needing a man soon. Perhaps I shall make you wait,” he said with typical male conceit. “Our joining will be all the sweeter for it. But if you find waiting is painful, you have but to tell me and I’ll ease your suffering.”

“Braying ass. Conceited dog,” Zara hissed. “You are the last man I want in my bed.”

“We shall see,” Jamal said complacently. He stared at her lips, lush and red and enticing, so close he could see little drops of moisture clinging to their surface. He battled against the need to taste their sweet fullness, goaded by the heat that had been simmering inside him from the moment his hand had closed upon her soft breast. The battle was lost before it had even begun.

Zara realized a moment too late what Jamal intended. Grasping her head between his large hands, he held her steady as his mouth came down hard on hers. She opened her mouth to voice a protest and found it filled with the bold thrust of his tongue. She tensed, hands pressed against his shoulders. A strangled sob caught in her throat, suppressed by the fierceness of his kiss.

Driven by some insatiable need, Jamal cupped the twin moons of her buttocks, molding her
against him. The rise of his manhood stirred against her and suddenly he needed more. Holding her with one hand, he pushed inside her clothing with the other to caress her breast, testing the fullness of it, palm rubbing over the nipple.

He shook with a desire so potent it convulsed the length of his body. He wanted her naked beneath him, open to him in all ways. He wanted to teach her all the erotic subtleties of loving he’d learned from his travels abroad. He wanted her as his love slave, obedient to his every whim.

He wanted her
.

Suddenly aware of Zara’s pounding fists against his chest, Jamal finally returned to his senses. He set her firmly from him. He would have the Berber wench but on his own terms. She needed to be taught submission; she had to learn to obey her master.

Jamal’s kiss had shaken Zara more than she cared to admit. His hands upon her made her want things that could never be. She cursed herself for a fool. Poor Sayed was not yet cold in his grave and here she was allowing the enemy to take liberties she had never allowed her betrothed. What manner of man was Jamal to confuse her senses so? For a brief moment, while his tongue was plundering her mouth and his hands caressing her flesh, she had wondered what it would feel like to take this man inside her body, to let him plumb her most secret places.

Pure bliss
, a perverse devil inside her whispered.

The thought was sobering.

“We’re wasting time here,” Jamal said harshly. How had the little vixen gotten under his skin so quickly? he wondered. Allah forbid if she ever found out how susceptible he was to her willowy charms. He must need a woman desperately to get so worked up over a viper-tongued seductress. His concubines would soon cure him of his obsession with Zara, he thought, eagerly looking forwared to his homecoming.

“My home lies two leagues west of Meknes,” he told Zara. “We will leave immediately.”

Zara was given a mount of her own, a pure white mare with a black star on her forehead. After riding camels most of her life, she found the gait of a horse less jarring and more restful. She was happy to leave the sultan’s fortress behind but couldn’t help worrying about her fate as Jamal’s slave. She wouldn’t mind working in the stables, if that was to be her lot. It was far better than having Jamal use her body for his pleasure. But after his amorous display in the palace, she was not so foolish as to believe he wouldn’t take her whenever it pleased him. Her worst fear was that her unprincipled body would respond.

Sheik Jamal was far more experienced than she, and judging from her reaction to his kiss, he would wring a response from her whether she was willing or not.

They rode for nearly an hour before the sere brown landscape slowly gave way to palm and fig trees. A profusion of flowers and lush vegetation grew in abundance. Zara blinked, certain she was seeing a mirage when a huge body of water appeared
ahead of her. But as they entered the vast oasis, Zara realized that the sparkling blue lake was no mirage. She gazed about in wonder. The oasis was huge, with a cluster of dwellings hugging the north shore of the lake. Jamal’s palace was built on the south shore, sitting like a sparkling jewel amid verdant green vegetation. High, whitewashed walls surrounded the compound, and a bulb-shaped marble tower rose majestically from the center of the palace.

They passed through the
gate
into the compound itself. Beyond the tiled front courtyard Zara noted several other buildings. There were barracks to shelter Jamal’s soldiers, a grainary, stables, servants’ quarters and a separate kitchen.

Lush gardens of gardenias, camellias and Damascus roses sent perfumed scents wafting through the air. Beyond the house was an orchard that stretched to the edge of the oasis. A vineyard grew on one side of the stunning white marble palace.

“Welcome to Paradise,” Jamal said as two stable slaves hurried forward to take their horses.

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.”