Love and Honor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 7 (33 page)

When he left them, Valerie fearfully asked what those strange names meant.

“Perverts and lunatics,” Kit told her. “That isn’t going to happen, though, so don’t even think about it,” Kit reassured her. “Remember we’re going to make everyone think our spirit is broken, that we’ve lost all our fight. Pretend to be docile. That’s the key to catching our next captor off-guard.”

The door swung open, and Galen ushered in a huge, fat man dressed in a flowing robe and a turban. He had a long black beard and little black eyes. Kit loathed him on sight. With him was another fat man, but this one had kind eyes and looked almost as if he felt sorry for them.

“You see?” Galen gestured. “I told you they are rare pearls. See the beauty of their faces? The smoothness of their skin? They are
magnifico
, no? Go ahead, touch them, feel them. They will not resist.” He shot them a warning glare.

The snake-eyed man circled them slowly, as though he were inspecting food for his table. A slow smile spread over his thick, wet lips. “Perhaps you are right. They are ripe.” He stopped in front of Kit, his eyes devouring her. “Her breasts are firm and plump. The caliph requires this. She also has cheeks like roses. I’ll be able to tell more about her when she is naked.”

Kit stiffened.

The man then went to Valerie, and she forced herself to remain perfectly still as he pushed her hair back from her face. “She has skin as fair as the moon in the night sky, and a neck like a gazelle. That is good. But the golden hair!” he exulted. “The caliph will like that very much. I do not believe he has ever had a golden woman in his harem. Has he, Abjar?” He looked at the bald-headed man.

“No, sire.” Abjar bowed his head respectfully.

He turned his attention to Kit once more and began to walk around her. “Abjar is one of the high caliph’s most trusted eunuchs,” he remarked. “He has served the family since he was a child.” He suddenly grabbed Kit’s face with his fat, stubby fingers and yanked her mouth open. “Teeth like pearls, lush, red lips. I believe he will like her, but I still wish to see her naked before we talk price.”

He went to yank open her shirt, but Kit could stand no more. With a swift move, she brought her knee up between his legs. “Keep your goddamn dirty paws off me, you…you camel eater!”

Doubling over in pain, he stumbled backward, his eyes bulging. As Galen went to help him, Kit thought she saw Abjar smile.

Galen and Abjar helped the huge man out the door. Just before they disappeared down the hall, Galen yelled that he was going to make Kit wish she were dead.

Kit sank glumly to the floor, sitting with her chin on her hands.

Valerie stood over her, hands on hips. “Docile!” she cried. “You call that acting docile, Kit?”

They looked at each other, and despite their desperate situation, they suddenly broke into hysterical gales of laughter—but only to escape momentarily from the terror they felt.

The cantina was filled with the usual Saturday night crowd, playing poker and gathering at the bar.

One man sat alone at a table in a rear corner. He drank from the bottle of whiskey in front of him, and a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. A flickering candle cast his stubbled face in shadows, and the scar at the corner of one eye seemed to twitch ominously. No one dared to bother him, for he looked like an angry panther, ready to spring at first provocation.

Chico Dupez stomped down the rear stairs and glanced curiously at the
Americano
sitting alone in the shadows. He made his way on to the bar, adjusting his gun holster as he walked. Ordering a drink, he heard the barmaid mention a Mr. Tanner as she slipped around the bar with a cold beer on her tray and headed toward the silent stranger.

Chico went to the far side of the room and leaned back against the wall, looking at the
Americano
out of the corner of his eye. So that was Kurt Tanner. When he had first returned to Valencia he’d heard that Tanner was searching like a madman for the missing Coltrane girl.

He began to inch his way slowly toward Tanner as he tried to decide whether to betray Galen. He didn’t like to betray him to a
gringo
, but without a single
peso
to his name, honor suddenly didn’t seem to matter so much.

Chico stepped away from the wall—and found himself staring into a gun barrel. The
Americano
’s hawk-brown eyes burned with rage. “Who are you, and what the hell do you want?” he demanded.

Chico held his arms up. “Please,
señor
, I only wish to speak with you. I think you will be interested in what I have to tell you.”

Kurt nodded to the empty chair. “Sit, and keep your hands on the table. Start talking.”

Leaning back in his chair, Chico became smug. “I can help you find what you have been looking for.”

Kurt sipped his drink slowly. “I’m listening,” he said in a low voice.

Chico leaned across the table. “Do you think it’s worth ten thousand dollars in
Americano
gold to know what became of the red-headed
señorita
?”

Like a shot, Kurt’s hand closed around his throat. With one arm he lifted Chico straight up and out of the chair, so high that his boots barely touched the floor. His eyes bulged, and he kicked wildly. “Do you think it’s worth your life?” Kurt hissed. “Because that’s all I intend to give you in exchange.”

He held Chico up for a few seconds longer, then let him drop back to the chair. He poured another drink while Chico clutched his throat, coughing and gasping. “Talk,” he commanded. “And convince me that you know what you’re talking about—or you die.”

His voice hoarse and raw, Chico told him everything. When Kurt was sure there was nothing more, he shot him one last look of hatred, then got up and walked out of the cantina.

After galloping straight to his ranch, he threw a few supplies into his saddle bags and collected his best rifle, a shotgun, plenty of ammunition, and several canteens of water. It was a long way to Morocco and, by God, he would be going full speed all the way. He would find Kit no matter how long it took. He felt confident that the
bandido
was telling the truth. All he had to do now was follow the trail and hope he could get to Morocco in time to keep Kit from being sold into slavery.

God help Galen Esmond when he found him, Kurt vowed, the taste of vengeance like blood on his tongue.

He passed Kit’s ranch on his way to the main road and looked down on the quiet buildings. Someone was down there, moving around. Kurt saw a lone figure walking from the barn to the house. The figure went inside, and light spilled from a window. Damn, whoever he was, he was making himself right at home!

Slowly Kurt rode down the ridge, then dismounted. Creeping stealthily towards the lighted window, he drew his gun before looking inside.

He saw a man sitting at the kitchen table, his back to the window. His head was resting on his arms.

Kurt crept around to the front door and found it standing open.

He walked into the kitchen. Startled, the man looked up, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

“Tanner…” he whispered hoarsely. “Thank God! I was going to ride over to your place in the morning,” Travis said.

Kurt holstered his gun. “How the hell did you hear about Kit’s disappearance? I didn’t think she was in touch with her family.”

“I didn’t know until I got here this morning. I went to the sheriff’s office to ask directions to her ranch, and he told me.”

Travis stood up. “Will somebody tell me what the hell happened to my sister and my fiancée?”

“Fiancée?” Kurt repeated. Then it dawned on him—the blond girl. He remembered her from the crossing and the inaugural ball.

Travis told him about Kit’s letter saying that Valerie was now living with her. He had left for Spain at once. “And this is what I find,” he finished despondently. “Both of them gone. Do you know anything at all?” he asked desperately.

Kurt nodded. “As of tonight I do. If you’ve got a horse, let’s ride.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Galen could not remember ever being so angry. There was a great roaring in his head, and he was shaking. “I am so sorry,” he said to Jaewal, as he and the eunuch, Abjar, helped him along.

They met Hashim, who opened the door to an empty room. “Lay him on the bed. I will get him a drink,” Hashim said.

Jaewal looked up at Galen. “I will buy her,” he declared. “I want to watch the caliph’s whip cut into her when he tames her. He will reward me for bringing such a spirited filly to his harem.”

“Of course, of course.” Galen nodded, greatly relieved. Jaewal called to Abjar, “She deserves the caliph’s special punishment, does she not?”

Abjar said nothing. He despised Jaewal. It had been all he could do to keep from exploding in laughter when the one with flaming hair gave him what he deserved.

Offended that Abjar was ignoring him, Jaewal snapped contemptuously, “Pah! What do you know? If it had been you she kicked, you would not have felt it.’’

Abjar’s blank expression did not change, but inside the volcano of hatred grew ever closer to eruption.

“My men and I would like to be on our way, so can we talk about money?” Galen asked.

A few moments later he triumphantly informed Kit and Valerie that he had been right—
Americana
women did bring top price in the slave market. Then he shook his fist at Kit. “You are lucky. That temper of yours could have ruined everything, but Jaewal says the caliph will enjoy breaking your spirit. I only wish I could be there to hear you scream when the rawhide cuts your arrogant flesh.”

Kit shrugged, but Valerie fired back, “And we only wish we could be there to hear you beg for mercy when Kurt Tanner takes his revenge!”

“That will not happen, because I won’t be going back to Valencia,” he said smugly. “After a few days, I am heading for Portugal to spend my fortune there. So even if
Señor
Tanner finds out I was responsible for his whore’s disappearance, he will never find me!”

Galen tipped his sombrero and flashed them a satisfied grin. “
Adios, muchachas
,” he said, leaving them.

“Where are they going to take us?” Valerie wailed. “Oh, Kit, no one will ever know what became of us!”

They sat in silence, each lost in thought, until Jaewal arrived. He carried a whip, and he snapped it over Kit’s head. She glared at him with unflinching, venomous eyes. “I should cut your head off,” he growled.

“You just paid for it, I hear,” she said with a shrug. “I guess that’s your privilege, but if you think I’m going to fall on my knees and beg for mercy, you’re wrong.”

Jaewal s face reddened. “Hear me,
infidel
!” he screamed. “I will beat you myself till your skin hangs in shreds if you ever try anything like that again! You will obey me, and you will obey Abjar. Now get up. We are leaving.”

He snapped his fingers at Abjar, who walked over woodenly to pull them to their feet. Then he led them downstairs, where Hashim stood watching fearfully. Kit gave him an imploring look, but he only stared at them silently.

“I am not going to tie you,” Jaewal said as Abjar lifted them onto the backs of waiting horses, “because if you try to escape, I will just leave you to be auctioned here. And that, I promise you, is a fate worse than death for a woman. The men who bid on slaves know they are getting what the caliphs and sheiks will not have, so they buy them for reasons too ugly to describe. Is that not so, Abjar?”

Abjar grunted.

Hashim dared to whisper, “What he says is true. I have seen women kill themselves before being sold on the block. Obey him. I have heard of the caliph he serves. It is said he is not a bad man. You will fare well in his house if you do as you are told.”

They rode on toward Tangiers. Kit wished she could tell Valerie her idea—that Abjar might be persuade to help them escape, if only to annoy Jaewal. Maybe she was wrong, but it was their only hope at the moment.

In Tangiers, they were taken to the second floor of a building on a narrow back street. Kit had never been inside a bordello, but she immediately knew that’s what it was. Scantily clothed women lounged around smoking cigarettes and sipping tea, watching them with mild curiosity as they were shoved down a dimly lit hallway.

At the end of the hall, a plump woman with ratlike eyes motioned them into a big room.

“I leave them with you and Abjar,” Jaewal said, sounding relieved. “I have to buy other women, but I return tomorrow morning. Have them ready.”

She stared at Valerie and Kit, then nodded at Abjar. “Why is he here?” she asked Jaewal.

“The red-haired bitch is crazy. She needs watching. You might not be able to handle her, and she has cost me many
dinar
. I take no chance.”

“Ha! I wish she would try something with me,” the woman said as Jaewal left. She began to circle them, her hands on her hips.

Kit stiffened with resentment as, once again, she was being inspected like a piece of beef. Maybe she was in for a lot of pain, but, by God, she would not give up without a fight. In Spanish, she asked the woman, “Who are you?”

“
No habla
,” was her curt response.

Kit smiled to herself. The woman did not understand Spanish. She asked again in English, and got another negative answer. Kit and Valerie would be able to communicate without Rat Eyes understanding them!