Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (6 page)

He smiled. The austere lady patronesses of Almack’s would have apoplectic fits if they knew what he was considering.

A
soft thud sounded through the chamber, stirring him. Ren opened his eyes and rubbed his stiff neck, wondering momentarily why he’d slept in the uncomfortable chair. Then he remembered.

His gaze flew to the vacant bed, and he sprang from his seat to search for his charge. He found her naked, curled in a ball on the floor, rubbing her legs.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, leaning forward to lift her. “You must have fallen after I nodded off. I’m sorry....”

She turned to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes, then swung at him, the blow landing on his ear.

He sprang backward to avoid further pummeling. “Damnation woman! I’m only trying to help!” He stared at the wildly thrashing, naked creature, writhing about on the floor, who succeeded only in tangling herself further in the fallen bed covers.

Ren called for a servant to find Ismael and bring him. Whatever evil this Kamilah fought was a formidable foe. He gently, yet firmly, lifted her onto the bed, and sat next to her. At first he held her as her arms and legs flailed about. Throwing a leg over her, he straddled her, trying to prevent her from doing harm to herself or to him. His fingers twined with hers to grip her hands. The woman had incredible strength. Even for all of his height and weight, he had trouble holding her down. She both trembled and fought him at the same time, and her body perspired while her skin was cold to the touch.

She mumbled incoherently at some unknown person, in Italian, and she wasn’t pleading. His Kamilah was cursing. Fluently. Her voice grew stronger and louder until she screamed at him. Her profanity reached beyond even his knowledge of her language.

Her fingernails caught the skin of both hands just above the knuckles, scratching him so deeply he bled. He brought her wrists together and held them tightly with one hand. With the other he caught her hair at the crown of her head and pulled it back to stop her struggling.

“Stop it!” Ren shouted at her above her cursing. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Suddenly the thrashing and swearing stopped, and her eyes flew open. What he saw in that instant made him regret his decision to purchase the woman whose plight had touched the deepest chord in him last night. He had gone so far as to convince himself she had been forced into such a shameful position, and that he would be her rescuer—her hero come to save her honor—when in actuality she was a madwoman.

The hatred which spewed from her fiery emerald stare scalded him so that he couldn’t stand to be near her, much less touch her. And to think he’d found her desirable last night. The mere thought now repulsed him.

Ismael entered the room, took a close look at her eyes, and felt her clammy skin. “It is as I described,” the physician said. “Her body is withdrawing from the opium. For the next two to three days you can sit atop her and hold her down, or you can take my advice and tie her to the bed. She’ll not sleep a great deal, and when she is awake, she will be as she is now. Eventually, she’ll sleep from exhaustion.”

Both men stared at the wild-eyed hellion that Ren held down. They could tell she knew they spoke of her as her thrashing began again in earnest. When he saw her prepare to spit at him, Ren reached for her hair again, forced her head back and stared into her eyes. He spoke to her in her own tongue, warning her, “Don’t even dare.”

She spat in his face.

A servant came to take over his restraint of the woman. He turned to Ismael and said, “Do what you must to save her from herself. I will go to my ship.”

“It is the drug causing this behavior, you must believe me.”

“I believe you. I do,” he said as he raked his hands through his hair. He felt disgusted with the entire situation, and said as much to the physician. “It’s just that... I thought perhaps if... if I explained to her that I would return her to her home....”

He went into the garden, unable to watch the woman’s struggles and hear her cries. Ismael issued orders to the servants to have Kamilah tied to the bed with silken ropes so she would not hurt herself further, then he joined Ren on the bench before the small fountain. The sound of the woman’s screams soon subsided as the servants tending her gave her a tonic of some sort. The two men sat on the mahogany bench as sunlight crept over the walled garden.

“I want to be rid of her,” Ren said. “How soon before I can take her to her home?”

“Suppose she has no home to return to? Have you thought of that?” the physician asked. “I know you think our ways barbaric, and I agree that some are. But, many times these women have nowhere to return. It may have been her father who sold her because he had too many daughters, or needed the funds for some reason.”

Ren considered his friend’s words. “If that is the case, I will place her somewhere, a convent perhaps. Or an asylum for the insane.”

“Hakim and I discussed something last night,” Ismael divulged, “and I think you should hear our solution.”

Ren arched a brow with skepticism, remembering what state the three of them had been in the night before.

“Consider keeping her,” Ismael stated flatly.

Ren choked back a laugh. “Impossible. I have a family to think of. I desire a wife and children one day, not an insane mistress.”

“I’ll not tell you tales, Ren. I consider you a new friend. She is going through the worst onset of withdrawal I’ve seen in a while. What you see is common, only the intensity differs. Her glazed feverish eyes, the shaking, perspiration, fighting—it’s all a part of it. And the sickness will get worse before it gets better. But trust me, the drugs will be purged from her body in ten to fourteen days. She will seem a different person then.”

Ren stood and paced a geometric path in the tiled floor letting Ismael’s words sink in. He moved before the physician, glaring down at him. “What are you getting at? Are you saying I should keep that crazy woman? Take
her
back to England? As a mistress? As my
wife?
”

“I’m saying you should wait until she’s back to normal before you decide.”

“What you suggest is preposterous. I’ll admit last night such thoughts may have crossed my mind.” Raking his hands through his hair again, he met Ismael’s eyes. “But I was wrong to think that she could.... Good God, man, you saw her. She’s.... She’s....”

“Your skepticism is obvious, and appropriate given the situation. But, as a physician, I assure you that what you just witnessed was her body’s reaction to being deprived of a drug to which it has become accustomed. I shall have her moved to the
harim
. There are women there who know how to care for her, and she will be fed herbs to ease her pains of withdrawal.”

“How can I know for certain that she will be different once she has finished with this withdrawal process? Suppose she is a candidate for Bedlam even then?” Ren saw the other man’s questioning eyes, and he clarified. “What if she really is insane? She would be beautiful to look at, but permanently insane. I cannot keep one such as that.”

“There are never any guarantees in life,” Ismael said. “All I am suggesting is that you wait fourteen days. I can assure you her true personality will have returned by then.”

Ren continued to pace, and considered Ismael words. As he saw it, he had two weeks to make a decision on what to do with the woman. He shook his head yet again at the thought of her.
Why had he done it?

Ren could come to one conclusion: his need to feel needed. Even if only for a while. When he’d seen her yesterday afternoon, her desperation reached depths of his soul he’d thought forever locked away due to the treachery of his own cousin and the obvious infidelity of his fiancée. Then, one glimpse of her terrified eyes as she ran through the market, had been enough to spur him to save her; her undeniable beauty had been nearly enough to drive him insane with desire last night. For that reason alone, Ismael’s plan was worth considering.

He stood and looked into his now empty room, the servants having taken his charge away to the harem. He turned to Ismael. “I will wait the fortnight you say is necessary. But I cannot guarantee what my decision will be.”

“I ask no more than that,” Ismael replied.

L
ia awoke with a start. She’d had the dream again. Luchino struggled to free himself from a weighted sack as it sank lower and lower into the sea.

Sitting up, she called for Maysun, a native of her country who now lived in the harem of the Prince.

“I am here, Kamilah.”

The woman was soon at her side, and wrapped her arms about her charge.

“Please call me Angelia,” she requested yet again. “It is the name my parents gave me.”

Her friend shook her head. “I thought you understood. That part of your life is over,” the dark-eyed woman replied. “You must accept this. You are no longer the girl who left Genoa.”

“I cannot. My brother still lives. I would know otherwise.” She pounded her heart with her fist as a lump formed in her throat. “I would feel it here.” Lia began to cry again and Maysun gently rocked her until the tears ended.

“You are still alive, Kamilah. You have a long, long life ahead of you, and it can be as good a life as you allow it to be.” She backed away and took Lia’s chin firmly and raised it. “Look at me,” the woman commanded. Lia obeyed, opening her sore, burning eyes. “Look all around you. See this wealth?”

Lia looked beyond the open doorway to a lush tropical garden with citrus, date, pomegranate, and fig trees of various sizes and shapes providing shade for several women seated around a large fountain. More women tended the flowering shrubs bordering their walled garden. Delicate curtains billowed in the soft breeze that came from the ocean just beyond the palace walls. Tall brass candle holders stood intermittently spaced against the stucco and tiled walls. The floors held rich, plush carpets. Her clothing was of the finest silk, some outfits being indecently sheer, but comfortable nonetheless, and she wore the softest leather sandals she had ever felt. Servants catered to her every wish, night or day, and she was never without food or drink as she had been when she first arrived in this country. Wealth? Yes it was all around her in abundance. But was that enough to compensate for the loss of her only remaining family?

“The prince is good to us,” Maysun said. “We do not hold any hope for marriage, for he already has six wives and many heirs. But he treats us well and doesn’t ask much of us. He is not perverse as some masters. He is a gentle lover and pleases us all immensely. If we are blessed, we give him another child without fear for that child’s life, for there are many in line to the throne before our children.

“There is no bickering or back-stabbing in this
harim
. We are all content with our lives.” Maysun looked toward the women in the garden. “For most of us, life here is better than what we had before.”

Lia contemplated Maysun’s words. Still, she could not resign herself to a life anywhere as long as her brother still lived. And he did. She knew it as surely as she knew she breathed when she slept. Something inside her would have told her if Luchino were dead.

Escape. It seemed her only option. The harem in which she was confined was guarded by eunuchs both within the walls and out. Lia knew she could not involve anyone else in her plans. To do so meant certain death for her accomplice as well. And, though escape would not be easy, it was better than doing nothing.

Then another thought came to mind. If it was not possible for
her
to save her brother and Maura, then perhaps the prince could.

Yes, that was it. Surely once he understood her plight, he would want to help her.

“I must speak to the prince,” Lia blurted out. “If he is as kind and generous as you say, then I will beg him to send someone after my brother and our old nurse. I will offer him anything to save my brother’s life.”

“There is but one thing you have,” Maysun replied, “and it already belongs to him.”

Lia bit her hand, choking back a sob.

The other woman added, “I cannot say that Prince Hakim will not hear your plea. I have known him to be a fair and understanding master. Perhaps he will even help you.

“But consider this,” she continued, “if your brother lives and our prince sends for him, you’ll not be able to keep him with you. Regardless of our trappings, we are slaves, not free women. Your brother, too, will be a slave. You will not have access to him. The only men we are allowed to see are the prince, the royal physician, and eunuchs. And the eunuchs are only half men. Are you so selfish that you would have that done to your own brother? Simply so you can see him?”

Lia knew she would find a way to keep her brother from harm, if she could only get him away from her
Zia
Claudina and her maid, Ottavia. He was just a child. He could not care for himself yet.

Her resolve intact, she asked, “How soon can I see the prince?”

Maysun shook her head, her long dark hair falling forward. “We must wait for the prince to ask for us. We are not allowed to request his presence.”

Having no other option, Lia knew she must wait. She hoped the prince would not be long in asking for her. After all, as Maysun said, she had something the prince wanted. She would gladly give it to him for her brother’s life.