Sheik (14 page)

Kadeem ignored her. “Are these not sweet? Like perfect twin moons, round and succulent.” He squeezed with both hands.

Zara made a strangled sound deep in her throat and Kadeem’s hands fell away. “Who will start the bidding?”

“Is she a virgin?” asked an obese bearded man dressed in flowing white robes and turban.

“Zara is not a virgin, my friend, but something better. Her previous owner trained her himself. She is proficient in all manner of love play and guaranteed to satisfy the most jaded of men. You will not be disappointed.”

His words set off a round of bidding that was fierce and competitive. The price doubled and redoubled, until only three men in the crowd were rich enough to participate in the lively auction.
Then the white-robed man in the back made a bid so outrageously high that it shut out the remaining two bidders.

“The prize goes to Sheik Sidi Bennaur,” Kadeem announced grandly. “The price was high, but I’m sure he will find the beauteous Zara well worth it.”

Sidi Bennaur came forward with mincing steps. A half-grown boy with the face of an angel trotted behind him. He waved a plump hand in Kadeem’s face. “You know my preferences, Kadeem, and it’s not for women with lush curves.” Absently he patted the boy’s blond head. “Boys like Azzi are more to my tastes. Once in a while I’ll attempt a woman, but she must be as slim and sleek as a boy for me to enjoy her.”

Zara stared at Sidi Bennaur with distaste. Not only was he perverted but freely admitted it. She pitied the poor children forced to submit to his depraved tastes.

“The woman is a gift for a friend who has done me a great service. Ali ben Baha has an enormous appetite for women, but unfortunately he tires of them quickly. Pray Allah my gift pleases him, for she has cost me a small fortune. Are you sure she is experienced in bed sport, Kadeem? I would hate to send my friend inferior goods.”

“I was told that her previous master taught her to both give and receive erotic pleasure. Your friend will thank you for the gift.”

Zara fumed in impotent rage. They were speaking over and through her as if she were mute and blind.

“Should she displease him, Sheik Ali ben Baha
will give her to his stable master, a man known for his perverse appetites.”

A commotion caught Zara’s attention and she watched in dismay as a man rode through the marketplace, scattering people and beasts of burden who dared to get in his way. Unerringly he headed toward the slave block. Zara swayed with shock when she recognized Jamal, racing toward her atop a sleek camel.

Jamal spied Zara immediately. She wasn’t hard to spot in the nearly empty slave market. She was lovelier than the moon and stars, and he feasted upon the sight of her. Then he realized the implication of the empty slave market and his heart sank. He was too late. Allah help him! He skidded to a halt before the slave block, threw his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, bracing himself for the jolt when his feet hit the dirt.

“Am I too late for the auction?” Jamal asked, though he already knew the answer. With a knowing glance he sized up Sidi Bennaur, marking him as a man who did not enjoy women.

“The auction is over, my friend,” Kadeem said. “Zara was the last to be sold. She is now the property of Sheik Sidi Bennaur.”

Jamal forced himself to speak calmly despite his racing heart. “I will double the bid.”

Kadeem recognized an opportunity to increase his profit when he saw one. He was acquainted with Sheik Jamal from previous dealings. Haroun had told him that Zara had been Jamal’s slave. “It is up to Sidi Bennaur whether or not to sell her to you. If he chooses to give her up, I, of course, will take a broker’s share for the resale.”

Jamal turned his dark scrutiny on Sidi Bennaur. Jamal’s hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. “Of what use is the woman to you, Sidi Bennaur? I understand young boys are more to your taste.”

Zara inhaled sharply, still in a state of shock over Jamal’s unexpected appearance. Why would Jamal wish to buy her when she had been sent to the slave market by his order? Nothing made sense.

Sidi Bennaur waved a fat beringed hand in the air, dismissing Jamal’s words with a scowl. “’Tis no concern of yours what I do with the slave. She is mine now. I do not wish to sell her.”

“I find this strange, my lord,” Kadeem said. “Why did you instruct your man Haroun to sell the woman if you still wanted her?”

Jamal turned his gaze to Zara. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but something within those unfathomable depths spoke to her of strong emotions. She blinked, fearing her eyes were deceiving her. When she looked again into Jamal’s eyes they had turned murky.

His voice was fierce as he explained, “Selling Zara was a mistake. Haroun misunderstood my orders. Zara was to be taken to my palace to await my return. It was the Blue Men who were to be sold.”

“What say you, Sidi Bennaur? Will you sell the woman to Sheik Jamal and make both of us a tidy profit?” Kadeem asked. His eyes glittered with anticipation, so great was his greed.

Sidi Bennaur made a pretense of considering
Kadeem’s offer as he stroked his chin with one hand and caressed the young boy standing meekly at his side with the other hand. At length he said, “I have not changed my mind. My great good friend, Ali ben Baha, is a connoisseur of women and ever eager for new female flesh. He makes his home at the edge of the desert near Er Rachidia. The beauteous Zara will be outfitted like a queen and sent by caravan to Ali.”

“I will pay three times what you paid for Zara.” Jamal’s voice was brash and demanding.

He did not intimidate the effeminate Sidi Bennaur in the least. Bennaur was a cruel and perverse man. He would have denied Jamal’s request no matter what Jamal offered, simply because it pleased him to do so.

“I refuse your offer, Sheik Jamal,” Sidi Bennaur said with a sniff. He motioned to Zara. “Come along, lady, you will stay at my home until I can arrange for a caravan to take you to your new master.”

“Ali ben Baha will find me to be a difficult slave,” Zara declared, finally finding her voice. “I am defiant and disobedient. I am proud and haughty and refuse to submit willingly to a man not of my own choosing. I am Zara, daughter of Youssef, the Berber
cadi
. The first time Ali touches me I will slit his gullet.”

Sidi Bennaur gathered his robes around him, recoiling in shock. He glared at Jamal. “I understand now why you sold the woman. I hope you had her beaten regularly. Ali ben Baha is just the man to teach her obedience. He is not a patient
man. If she refuses to curb her tongue he will cut it out.”

Sidi Bennaur clapped his hands and two burly men appeared at his side. “Seize the woman!” Bennaur ordered. “Take her to my home and guard her well.”

Jamal wanted to launch himself at Bennaur’s men and tear Zara away from them, but he knew he had no legal right. Bennaur had purchased and paid for her, and there was nothing he could do as long as the man refused to give her up. He forced himself to pretend indifference. Zara was truly lost to him.

“I wish Ali ben Baha joy of the Berber vixen,” Jamal said with forced joviality. “I’ve grown rather fond of my throat. Having it slit while I am sleeping does not appeal to me. I realize now that selling the slave was a wise move on my part.” Zara had no idea he spoke out of despair and resignation.

“Most prudent,” Kadeem agreed, recalling how Zara had threatened the most delicate part of his anatomy with his own blade.

Zara sent Jamal a look of pure frustration. His appearance here just didn’t make sense. Why had he traveled all this way to buy her back if he felt that way about her? Had sending her to the slave market truly been a mistake?

Jamal read the bewilderment on Zara’s face but could do nothing about it. He had lost her. Soon she would belong to another, warming to his caresses, begging for his kisses. Jamal had no choice but to return home and forget that Zara had ever existed. He turned to leave, seeing no
point in remaining. He had done a terrible thing to Zara, though the fault did not lie entirely with him. Losing her cut deeply into the part of his heart he’d always kept free of involvement.

“How could you, Jamal?” Zara cried as Bennaur’s men dragged her away.

Jamal turned to look at her, his dark eyes bleak with despair. Their gazes locked, and he felt a terrible jolt in the vicinity of his heart. The look they shared was one of pain.

Of betrayal.

Of heartbreak.

Chapter Thirteen

Jamal paced the carpeted floors of his chamber, his mood as foul as his temper. He’d returned home from Fez immediately after Zara was taken away by Sidi Bennaur’s men. Three days had passed. Three days in which the emptiness of the palace and silent women’s quarters produced a kind of loneliness Jamal had never experienced before. During those three endless days and nights Jamal wavered between riding to Zara’s rescue and forgetting her.

Then, in a sudden jolt of insight, Jamal made up his mind. He pulled open his chamber door and roared for Hammet. The eunuch rushed into the chamber a few minutes later, his robes flying behind him.

“I am here, my lord.”

“Summon Haroun.” Jamal’s words were sharp,
demanding immediate obedience. Hammet didn’t wait around for further orders.

Jamal continued pacing until Haroun stood before him, salaaming respectfully. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

“How many men can you provision and have ready to ride by dawn?” Jamal asked without preamble.

“Twenty,” Haroun said without hesitation. “More if you wait until they can be recruited from the village.”

“Twenty will do.”

“What enemy do we fight?” Haroun asked, though he already suspected what Jamal had in mind.

“Perhaps none. It depends on how willing Sidi Bennaur’s men are to relinquish Zara without a fight.”

“Ah,” was all Haroun said. No other words were necessary.

“You may go, Haroun. We have a long, hard ride ahead of us. The caravan has a head start, but it shouldn’t be difficult to intercept the slow-moving camel train before it reaches Er Rachidia.”

Haroun turned to leave. “I will prepare the men. I am convinced you won’t be happy until you have the woman back in your bed.”

Jamal hated to admit it, but Haroun was right.

Zara cursed the slow-moving, clumsy camel upon whose back she rode. Had she been riding a racing camel, she would feel more at ease. But no, Sidi Bennaur had insisted that she ride in a
howdah
, a basketlike chair with curtained sides and canvas top to protect her from the relentless sun, and wear a
djellaba
, which covered everything but her eyes.

The heat inside the enclosure was nearly suffocating, forcing Zara to pull aside the curtain to allow air to circulate. The journey to Ali ben Baha’s desert home near Er Rachidia was a long one. They had already left the mountains and were now traveling along the edge of the desert, over a flat, stony plain, broken by reddish sand buttes and strips of green date palms bordering thin rivers. Monotonous little red-brown villages literally built from the earth were strung along the parched land. Water holes were infrequent, known only to men familiar with the desert. Zara was warned to drink sparingly from her water bag, for there were long stretches where water was not available.

Despite the blistering days, nights were bitter cold. Zara slept alone in a large white tent with carpets on the floor and braziers to keep her warm. Though she traveled in luxury, she could not be happy about it. How could she when she was on her way to a master she did not know, to be enslaved in a harem and used to satisfy her master’s lust? Few Berbers could afford the kind of luxury she’d enjoy in Ali ben Baha’s harem, but she couldn’t forget that among her people she had been a free woman. Berber women lived unrestricted lives compared to their Arab sisters.

Zara wondered where her father was now. Was he worried about her? Did he know about her misfortune? Youssef would be enraged to know
that Jamal had sold her at the slave market.

Jamal.

Until now she’d avoided thinking about the darkly handsome sheik. It was too painful. She recalled the look she and Jamal had exchanged as Sidi Bennaur’s men dragged her away. Had that been longing and regret and, yes, anguish she’d seen deep within the dark, mesmerizing depths of his eyes? Zara had no idea why Jamal had appeared in the slave market to reclaim her when she had been sent away at his order. No matter the reason, she’d never forgive him for abandoning her to such a fate. Nor, she supposed, would he forgive her for betraying his trust and fleeing with her father.

With regret Zara realized that Jamal held no strong feelings for her. She had been but a sacrifice on the altar of his lust. Her own feelings for the arrogant sheik were more complicated. She didn’t hate him, though she should after the callous way he’d banished her from his life. She knew she wasn’t altogether blameless. Drugging him had been a despicable thing to do. But desperate situations called for desperate measures, and she had done what had to be done.

Zara shaded her eyes against the scalding rays of the midday sun and stared into the distant horizon. A cloud of dust appeared over the crest of a butte, and Zara prayed it wasn’t a sandstorm hurtling toward them. As the cloud of swirling dust and sand grew closer, others in the caravan took notice. Suddenly a cry went up and Zara saw a dozen or more blue-robed men mounted on racing
camels appear from within the swirling core of sand and dust.

“Father!” Her cry was lost amidst the shouts of camel drivers and guards as they ran hither and yon in confusion.

The Blue Men were widely feared throughout the land. Their reputation as bandits and fierce fighters was legendary. Neither the guards nor camel drivers wanted to defend the caravan against these ferocious warriors. To Zara’s surprise, the guards laid down their weapons as the Blue Men surrounded the caravan.

Youssef brought his racing camel to a halt beside Zara’s lumbering beast. His camel knelt and he slid from the saddle; then he ordered the camel driver to bring Zara’s mount to its knees. A moment later he pulled Zara from the
howdah
and hugged her tightly.

“Praise Allah you’re safe,” Youssef said with heartfelt relief.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“From Rashid. Haroun went to the village to buy a racing camel for Jamal. Haroun let slip that you had been sent to the slave market by mistake. Jamal wanted the fastest racing camel available so that he might reach Fez in time to stop the sale. Rashid set out to find me the moment he learned what had happened.

“Unfortunately, he didn’t find me before the sale took place. But I learned that Sidi Bennaur was sending you by caravan to Ali ben Baha, who resided in Er Rachidia. I recruited men from other tribes and set out to intercept the caravan.”

“Jamal arrived in Fez too late to stop the auction.
He said it was a mistake, that he never intended to sell me. He tried to buy me from Sidi Bennaur but his offer was refused.”

“Forget Sheik Jamal, daughter. I will find a mate for you from among our own tribe members. Together we will continue to raid Moulay Ishmail’s caravans. It will be a rare caravan that makes it through to Meknes with its cargo intact. Come, daughter, ’tis time to leave. Everything of value is being stripped from the caravan. The cargo will be sold and the money used to buy weapons and food for our people.”

Jamal rode with his small army through endless stretches of shifting sand, which seemed to reach to the horizon, creating a vast, ever changing panorama. The caravan route was a winding, rutted road worn down by the hundreds of camels and men that traveled the same path year after year, century after century.

Jamal’s sharp eyes spied the cloud of dust ahead and he experienced a surge of joy. At last. He’d soon have Zara back in his arms where she belonged.

Haroun rode up beside Jamal, pointing to the caravan in the distance. “Jamal, look! What do you make of it?”

Squinting against the glare of the sun, Jamal saw what Haroun was referring to. The caravan appeared to be traveling toward them, not away from them. It was returning to Fez! It couldn’t have reached the home of Ali ben Baha and returned so soon. Digging his heels into the sweat-slick flanks of his Arabian stallion, Jamal broke
away from his men and raced ahead to meet the caravan.

Reining his stallion to a dancing halt, Jamal demanded that the caravan be halted. The head camel driver complied without question. Soon ten camels and twice as many men waited to see what this new confrontation would bring.

“I am Sheik Jamal abd Thabit.” His anxious gaze searched for Zara among the travelers. He spied the
howdah
perched atop one of the camels and wondered why Zara wasn’t peeking through the curtains. “Release Princess Zara to me and no one will be hurt.”

One man stepped forward, a lieutenant in charge of the guards sent to protect the princess. “She is not here, my lord.”

Rage exploded through Jamal. “Not here! What in Allah’s name have you done with her?”

“Nothing, my lord. Blue Men attacked the caravan two days ago. They relieved us of our cargo and took the princess with them. We are returning to Fez. It would be foolish to continue on to our destination with nothing to present to Ali ben Baha.”

“Youssef!” Jamal spat. “How in Allah’s name did the Berber
cadi
know where to find Zara?”

“The wily bandit seems to know everything,” Haroun said with a shrug. “What do we do now?”

What, indeed? Jamal wondered. Of late he had done nothing but chase an exasperating, utterly bewitching female across the width and breadth of Morocco. Had he lost all semblance of pride? he wondered. Zara had turned him into a witless, besotted fool and he’d allowed it. Because of his
obsession with Zara, he had failed the sultan. Youssef had escaped. It was no wonder Moulay Ishmail was angry with him. The sultan was a cruel man who enjoyed torturing his slaves and punishing those who failed him, and if Jamal wasn’t careful, he would be next.

“Jamal? What are your orders, my lord?” Haroun repeated. “Do you want us to give chase to Youssef and his Blue Men?”

There was no decision possible but the one Jamal made. “Nay, Haroun, the men are weary. We will return home.”

Haroun searched Jamal’s face, recognized his anguish and wisely decided not to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue. Jamal didn’t need to be reminded of Zara when she was all but lost to him. Shaking his head in commiseration, Haroun vowed to find a way to ease his master’s heartache.

Jamal’s oasis kingdom shimmered like a brilliant jewel amidst a sea of brown. From a distance, the lake at its center sparkled with the radiance of a million blue sapphires. It was always good to return to his peaceful existence in his white marble palace, Jamal thought as he rode through the gate.

Unfortunately, his sojourn ashore was limited. It was no secret that he no longer basked in the sultan’s high regard. For his own continued health he thought it expedient to return to sea to fulfill his promise to the sultan. He hoped to return with enough wealth to appease the disgruntled Ismail.

Despite the pleasure Jamal experienced when he entered his home, his homecoming wasn’t quite the same this time. There was no female laughter echoing through the halls, no voluptuous women occupying his harem.

No Zara.

Nothing but the silent comings and goings of his servants and the ever present, ever loyal Hammet. And of course, Nafisa, the lone occupant and keeper of his empty harem.

Raids upon the sultan’s caravans began almost immediately. It was a rare occurrence when a caravan reached its destination intact. The sultan was at the end of his patience. His losses were enormous, thwarting his plans to build great mosques in his honor and to bring his nation under one rule … his. He blamed his misfortune on one man. Youssef. Youssef and his blue-robed bandits were systematically depriving him of tribute and taxes, then using the profits to feed and arm the Berber hordes.

The sultan held Sheik Jamal abd Thabit solely responsible for the renewed assault upon his caravans. If the sheik hadn’t wanted Youssef’s daughter in his bed, none of this would have happened. Youssef’s capture should have ended the raids once and for all. Without their leader, the Berbers would have been without direction. Had Jamal brought Youssef to Meknes instead of allowing him to escape, Ishmail’s caravans would now be safe from attack.

Ishmail considered ordering Jamal’s death, but in the end decided against it. At least for the time
being. Jamal was responsible for this situation, and Ishmail decided to allow the sheik one final chance to redeem himself. If he failed this time, heads would roll. Ishmail had been lenient because Jamal’s father had died fighting Berbers, but his good will would last only so long.

Jamal returned to Paradise after a day of hunting with his favorite peregrine falcon. He enjoyed the sport and usually bagged enough small game to feed his entire household, but this time his favorite pastime had done nothing to lift his mood.

Haroun met him at the stables, a wide smile splitting his bearded face. “Did you have a good day, Jamal?”

Jamal tossed the game bag at Haroun’s feet. “Aye, send my catch around to the cook.” He glared at Haroun. “Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?”

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically. “Hammet is waiting for you in the
hammam
. You must be hot and tired after a long day of hunting. A bath will ease your aching muscles.” Still grinning from ear to ear, he slung the sack of game over his shoulder and walked away.

Jamal stared after him in consternation. What in Allah’s name was his lieutenant up to? Shrugging away Haroun’s odd behavior, Jamal entered the house and went directly to his chamber. Through the lattice wall separating his room from the
hammam
, he saw Hammet fussing with a stack of clean drying cloths. Pulling off his dusty white robes, he entered the
hammam
and greeted his head eunuch with little enthusiasm.
Hammet didn’t seem to mind Jamal’s shortness, for his grin was every bit as foolish as Haroun’s had been. Was there some kind of conspiracy going on? Jamal wondered sourly.

“You may leave, Hammet,” Jamal said. “I’m quite capable of bathing myself.”

His grin firmly in place, Hammet bowed his way out the door.

Jamal threw off the rest of his clothing and lowered himself into the bath. The water was soothing and he closed his eyes. It was a mistake. The incredible vision of a beautiful, naked Zara, taking him inside her body, writhing beneath him, her golden skin flushed, her face aglow, her blond hair dancing around her flushed face, her breasts rosy from his kisses, sent blood rushing to his groin.