The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five) (8 page)

BOOK: The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five)
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“There’s St. Mary’s Island and Johanna beyond. Madagascar is not far away,” Rajak pointed out as they stood on the bridge, his arm around Azara.

They’d long since given up any attempt at discretion. Quarters on the ship were too tight to keep secret that the beautiful Persian princess was the courtesan of the Indian prince pirate. A few feet away, Oma leaned over the rail, ostensibly as chaperone, her eyes lively, her cheeks flushed as she watched the sun-sparkled waves.

The other serving women ranged out along the rail as well, their voices high pitched with excitement. Like Azara, they’d donned hooded cloaks of a dull gray to camouflage their bodies beneath their light silken gowns. Heavy veils draped over their heads and were pulled across their faces, so only their eyes peered out.

“I shall be sorry to reach the end of our journey,” Azara said and won a smile from Rajak.

He hugged her tighter. “You will like my island home,” he said.

“I like your ship,” she answered, meeting his gaze.

His fingers grazed her cheek in a soft caress. After a moment, she turned back to the sea and the dark mound rising in the distance.

“Madagascar.” Rajak affirmed her unspoken question. “Your life will not always be spent here. One day soon, if Allah decrees, I’ll have my throne back and our home will be in India.”

“I’ll be happy here, if you are here,” Azara said, but she thought of the plans she and Hestia had made, plans to escape on one of the other pirate ships that would claim a prize for returning her to her father. Did she really want to go, she asked herself and knew the answer was not as it should be. Even Oma seemed infected by this new life they lived with a pirate.

Two weeks had past since she’d been captured, but it seemed like two lifetimes. The nights had been filled with ecstasy such as she’d never dreamed. She and Rajak had practiced every Kama Sutra position Hasna had ever taught and some she had not. Rajak, she discovered, was an experienced lover. Part of her was jealous that he’d known other women in such intimate ways, while part of her was glad for his prowess.

She put her thoughts aside as the ship arrived in Port Dauphin. She’d never seen such exuberant joy at the arrival of a ship, though there were many such vessels in the harbor. The wharf and areas in front of the warehouses were piled high with barrels and chests of goods. People lounged about, chatting. Sailors called ribald greetings. Women, dressed in the latest fashions from all countries, strolled along the shore, their bodies swaying provocatively. The women were of all colors, some black, some white and some half-caste. All were beautiful and as they moved seductively along their route, which would take them into direct contact with the sailors leaving Rajak’s ship, other men came to engage them in earnest conversations. Sometimes, money exchanged hands and the chosen woman strolled away on the arm of her eager client.

The men were dressed in an assortment of styles, some in rich traditional Asian garments, some in formal European coat-tails as if about to attend a ball. Other men were simply dressed in pants and britches with hats of various kinds on their heads.

“I see our carriage has arrived,” Rajak said. “We can disembark now.”

Startled that the boat had already been secured to the wharf and sailors were unloading the rich goods, Azara followed behind him. Oma clucked at the other women, and they all fell into a line behind. When they reached the wharf, Azara was surprised to see that sudans—curtained platforms supported on horizontal poles—had already been arranged. Quickly, Azara and the other women were ushered into the traveling chairs and were carried at a rapid speed down the long wharf. Dismayed, Azara stuck her head out of the curtains and looked around. It seemed she was not even allowed to walk.

“Rajak!” a woman called.

Azara glanced at Rajak, who’s face was stern. He made no acknowledgement that anyone had hailed him but stiffly ordered the men to carry her to two closed coaches. Azara craned to see who had hailed him. She soon made out a woman dressed in a flamboyant European fashion, holding a colorful umbrella and wearing a large hat with many feathers. Even as Azara caught a glimpse of her, she stood up in the open carriage and once again called out to him in a clear, high voice.

“Rajak! You are back, my lover! I have waited so long for you. I have missed my brave pirate prince.”

Dull color flushed Rajak’s cheeks. He turned to Azara and bowed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I will return. Basa will help you and your servants into the coaches.” He strode away, his long powerful strides carrying him quickly to the woman’s side.

“Your Highness,” Basa said, bowing slightly.

“I don’t wish to get into the coach just yet,” Azara said. “Help Oma and the rest of my women.”

Basa took a step backward and went to do her biding. Azara openly watched the scene before her.

Rajak had reached the woman who had flung herself from the carriage and into his arms. Laughing up at him, she rained kisses over his face. She was very beautiful, Azara saw, with the tawny skin of a half-caste and a tall, voluptuous figure, well displayed in a low cut gown. Her black, shiny hair was arranged in a cluster of curls that bounced when she tossed her head. Her hold on Rajak, indeed, her whole reaction to him, was possessive. Azara felt a frisson of jealousy run along her spine, which faded when Rajak pushed the woman away and spoke to her. Although she couldn’t hear his words, she could see the woman’s face and her angry reaction.

She screamed at him, slapping him several times before climbing into the carriage where she took up the whip and applied it to Rajak until he caught hold of it and jerked it from her hand. Still enraged, the woman slapped the reins against the backs of her team, urging them away. They bolted and galloped away from the busy dock, nearly running over a few people who had to scramble out of the way.

“Now, I will get in the coach,” Azara said.

But before Basa could move forward to help her, a man stumbled against her, nearly bearing her to the ground. Though well enough dressed, there was something in his dishevelment and the smell that enveloped him, that made her know he was drunk. In his attempt not to fall, he threw his arms around her, his hands clutching for a hold. She screamed when his hand closed over a breast.

“Whoa, ho,” he cried. “What have we here? It’s a beauty, it is.” He grabbed hold of her veil and stripped it away. His eyes widened when he saw her face. “Christ Almighty, but you are a goddess.”

“Please, sir,” Basa cried out, stepping forward quickly to put himself between Azara and the man.

“Is she for sale?” the man asked. Something had changed about him from the sloppy, good-natured, well-intentioned drunk to a man whose black eyes were filled with lust and greed.

“How much do you want for her? I’ll pay any price,” he offered in a heavy, oily voice. He held up a sack heavy with gold pieces. “Come, my good man, name your price.”

Basa stood as if frozen.

“I am not for sale,” Azara said coolly, replacing her veil across her face. “Be on your way.”

“Do you know who I am?” the man exploded, all vestige of good humor gone from his demeanor. His expression was hard and dangerous.

“Do you know who I am?” Azara returned.

She met his gaze with all the disgust she could muster. She saw anger flame in his small, reddened eyes. Whoever he was, he was a man used to getting what he wanted.

“You are a princess,” he said lightly, “but that doesn’t matter. I would pay a king’s ransom for you.” He thumped himself on his chest. “I am Boghos, Lord of Madagascar and you will be my lady.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him, dipping his head to plant a kiss on her mouth. But the veil was in place and he spit it out in disgust.

“Bah,” he cried. “You have no need for this.”

He ripped away the veil and tried again to kiss her. She cried out and struggled against him, but he was too strong for her. Basa tried to intercede, but with a mighty sweep of his arm, Boghos knocked him to the ground. Basa’s head hit against a large stone and he lay still. There was no one to help her now except Oma who rushed forward with her walking stick and began to beat the man. Boghos merely laughed at her puny efforts and crushed Azara against his chest.

“She is mine!” he shouted.

“No, she is mine!” a voice said calmly and Rajak stepped forward and grabbed hold of Boghos, swinging him around before landing a fist on his fat chin.

“Get into the carriage, Azara,” he ordered and she quickly complied.

Boghos backed away, eyeing Rajak cautiously.

“Rajak,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue in a mixture of fear and respect. “This is your woman?” When Rajak didn’t answer, the man shrugged. “May I compliment you on your good fortune. She is exquisite.”

“You have dared to accost a woman in my keeping,” Rajak said, “and you’ve looked upon her face against her will. In my country, we kill a man for less.”

At this, Boghos frowned and straightened his stance as if readying himself for battle.

“I have apologized,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Let us be reasonable about this. In my country, we do not kill a man for a mere woman unless…” He paused, looking first at Rajak, then at Azara where she sat in the coach. “Unless she is very valuable. Who is this delectable creature you’ve captured?”

“That is no business of yours,” Rajak said. “Just be sure that you never approach her again, or you will feel my blade slicing through your neck.”

“You forget who you’re talking to, Prince Rajak. Here, on this island, you do not rule.” Suddenly, he laughed, a loud grating sound that spoke of evil. “You do not rule anywhere. You’ve lost your throne. Here on Madagascar, I am the Lord, the ruler. You would be wise to remember that.”

“You would be wise to remember this is a title you’ve taken upon yourself. You haven’t got the men to support your claim should anyone challenge you. Stay away from me, Boghos, and from all who are mine.”

“I will try to remember your words,” Boghos said, backing away, “ but the next time we meet, my friend, I fear words will not be our only weapon.”

Boghos stalked away and was soon surrounded by his men who’d waited a short distance away. Azara wondered why they hadn’t sprung forth to help their friend when she noted the band of Rajak’s heavily armed men who surrounded them.

Rajak saw to Basa, who had recovered and struggled to his feet, then he gave orders to Kalari who stood nearby. The orders were relayed, and the men scrambled to mount up on sturdy island ponies. When all the riders were in place around the coach, Rajak climbed inside. The coach lurched forward. Four horses carried them swiftly away from the wharf and into the countryside. When they were well away, Azara lowered her veiled and looked at Rajak.

“Who was that woman?” she asked.

For a long time, he didn’t answer and she thought he meant not to. Then he sighed and turned to her, taking one of her hands in his.

“She is of no consequence. Let’s not speak of her again,” he said firmly and stared out the window.

Azara was hurt by his answer. She well knew who the woman was, had not her father been notorious for his women, but she wanted Rajak to convince her that the woman no longer mattered and that he’d never see her again. Unexpected tears filled her eyes, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see.

Her sadness dissipated as they rode through the tropical forests and up winding roads to a hillside, where a fortress-like structure sat with armed guards in attendance at the heavy gates. As the coaches drew near, the gates swung open so they were able to enter the compound without slowing. Inside the fortress walls, the grounds were filled with tropical trees and bushes. Tropical flowers abounded along the drive, and the air was filled with bird song. Azara was enchanted with glimpses of brightly hued birds flitting among the trees.

Then she caught sight of Rajak’s palace. He’d been modest in his remarks about it, but now Azara saw the true nature of his dwelling. Made of pink marble, it sat like a jewel in the midst of such tropical greenery. Rounded columns held up a wide portico, and marble steps led to a door made of gold and decorated with gems. Servants, dressed in spotless white livery, bowed as Rajak and Azara alighted from the coach and climbed the steps.

“It’s very beautiful,” Azara cried, “and very grand for a pirate, even a pirate prince.”

Rajak’s eyes sparkled. “I’m glad you like it. Come.”

He took her hand and led her inside. Azara was only vaguely aware of Oma and the other serving women clambering behind, their voices shrill with excitement, their eyes sparkling with approval of such a grand structure. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside.

BOOK: The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five)
9.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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