Sheik (6 page)

He grasped her arm and pulled her into the courtyard and out the gate. Zara dug in her heels. “I need a weapon. The pitchfork is too unwieldy to use effectively.”

“You want me to give you a weapon?” Jamal asked with amusement. “I’m not stupid, Zara.”

“What if I promise to use it only to protect myself? Do none of your slaves carry weapons?”

It was a logical question. Many of his slaves carried weapons, but only those loyal to him. Some even served as men-at-arms. “Only those I trust.”

She gave him a guileless smile. “I’m a helpless woman. What harm can I do?”

Jamal gave a shout of laughter. “There’s no denying you’re a woman, sweet vixen, but helpless is not a word I would use to describe you. I told you I would speak with the slaves. After I finish with them, they will not dare to accost you.”

Gripping her wrist firmly with one hand and the lamp with the other, he pulled her along with him to the stables. Once inside, he came upon one of the slaves sleeping in the straw and nudged him awake with his foot.

Abdul came up in a crouch, ready to defend himself. When he saw Jamal, he blanched and fell to his knees. “What is it, master, what have I done?”

“Rouse the others,” Jamal ordered.

Within minutes all four slaves stood before him, glancing warily from Jamal to Zara. Ahmed, the stable master, stepped forward. “What have we done, master?”

Jamal pushed Zara forward. “Listen well, for I will say this but one time. Zara is to work, eat and sleep in the stables; she is
not
here for your pleasure. Abuse her at your own risk, is that clear?”

A look of silent communication passed among the slaves before Ahmed spoke for all of them. “We understand, master. Your new slave is safe with us.”

Jamal nodded curtly, turned on his heel and strode from the stables. He should have gone directly to the harem to relieve his frustrations with his concubines, but he was no longer in the mood. For the first time in his memory he sought his bed without first easing himself with a woman, despite the fact that he needed one desperately. His sex ached and his lust was unappeased, but the woman he wanted was sleeping by choice on a bed of straw in the stables instead of reclining on a soft couch in the women’s quarters.

Jamal had never met a woman quite like Zara. Her flesh was sweet and soft, her face lovelier than the moon and the stars, yet she insisted upon being treated as a man’s equal. He had tasted her passion tonight and it had but whetted his appetite for more. Since he had no intention of freeing her any time soon, he was determined to seduce her and enjoy every minute of it.

Zara crawled into her bed of straw, still wary despite Jamal’s warning to the stable slaves. Quiet settled over the dark stables. It was very late, and she was exhausted. She closed her eyes, ready to drop off to sleep, when she heard a noise and then a voice whispering into her ear.

“You are a slave like the rest of us, Berber wench. You may have opened your thighs for our master tonight, but he still brought you back to the stables to sleep. If you had pleased him you would be in the woman’s quarters now, sleeping upon a soft bed.”

Zara did not recognize the voice; it could be any one of the stable slaves. “Who are you?” The air around her did not stir; her tormentor was gone.

The next day Zara was given the foulest of chores. Ankle deep in dung, she raked and swept and mucked out the stalls. That night she fell asleep over her dinner, too exhausted to finish her meal. The next day was the same, and the day after that. Fearing the consequences of running into Jamal, she stayed away from the courtyard
pool, using water from the well to wash the day’s grime from her face and hands.

Zara did not like the way Mustafa continued to stare at her, as if she were a sweetmeat and he a starving man. At the end of the third day of back-breaking toil, a stroke of luck placed a weapon in her hand. She was at the well and found a knife someone had left in a basket of fruit. No one was nearby as she quickly snatched it up and hid it within the folds of her
djellaba
. The next day she had reason to be grateful for her good luck.

Mustafa had been goading her for days, somehow making sure that she was given the hardest and dirtiest chores. When he told her he would take over her work load as well as his own if she would lie with him, she spit in his face. Being shamed by a woman enraged Mustafa. He retaliated instinctively. He backhanded her with his hamlike hand, sending her flying against a stall. Regaining her feet in a crouch, Zara pulled her knife and flew at Mustafa, though he was three times her size.

Their struggle brought the others running, appalled that Mustafa had deliberately disobeyed Jamal’s orders. Ahmed tried to break up the fight, receiving a cut on his hand for his efforts. Over and over the combatants rolled on the ground. Despite being smaller than Mustafa and a fraction of his weight, Zara was holding her own. Mustafa got in one or two good punches, but Zara wielded her knife with dexterity. Mustafa was bleeding from several small cuts, and Zara’s right cheekbone was swollen and purple.

Zara did not hear the sound of running footsteps,
or the commanding voice issuing crisp orders. She had no idea Jamal was nearby until Mustafa was pulled off her.

“Master,” Mustafa said, bowing low. “Forgive me.”

Zara looked up at Jamal from her position on the floor and recoiled in fear. His face was twisted into a mask of rage, terrible to behold. Haroun, his lieutenant, stood beside him, awaiting orders.

“Take Mustafa to the slave market in Meknes and sell him, Haroun,” Jamal said with quiet menace. “Take him away now, before I kill him myself.”

“Please, master,” Mustafa begged, “it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, Mustafa, it
won’t
happen again.” He turned his back on the slave as Haroun dragged him away. Then he dropped to his knees beside Zara. “Are you all right?”

Still winded from her fight, Zara merely nodded.

“What was that all about? It seems I can’t trust you out of my sight.”

“I’m surprised you need to ask,” Zara said bitterly. She tried to rise but was too shaky. It was then that Jamal saw the bloody knife in her hand.

“Where in Allah’s name did you get that? Give it to me!”

Zara handed it to him; it had served its purpose. He helped her to her feet, grimacing when he saw the fresh bruises on her face. The bruises from the sultan’s blows had just begun to fade. Rage welled up in him. Some men enjoyed striking women, but he wasn’t one of them. Seeing
Zara bruised and battered made him want to kill. Zara might be rash and foolish but she was not lacking in bravery. How much simpler his life would be if she but acted like a woman, taking her ease in the harem and sharing his couch at night.

“You can’t stay here,” Jamal said, coming to a decision. The sultan be damned. Zara could not remain in the stables. She was his slave and she would obey him.

Zara merely stared at him. What could she say? She didn’t want to stay in the stables either, but she didn’t like the alternative.

“Come with me. You stink of dung and sweat.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Jamal noticed that the stable slaves were listening with avid interest. “Go back to your chores,” he told them.

He waited until they were alone before answering Zara’s question. “You know where I want you. Beneath me, in my bed.”

“You can’t force me.”

Jamal gave her an amused grin. “I can. But I’d rather have you lie with me willingly.”

Zara faced him squarely. “I’ll never agree to that.”

His voice was low and evocative. “We’ll see, sweet vixen. Meanwhile, you can join my household staff. But first we have to rid you of the stink of the stables. I’ll take you to the
hammam
, where you can bathe.”

Taking her hand, Jamal led her away. They had reached the courtyard before Zara realized where he was taking her.

“You’re taking me to the harem!”

“Aye, to the women’s quarters. Nafisa will take care of you. She’ll see that you’re given proper clothing and a bed. Hammet can inform you of your duties tomorrow. Come along, Zara. Even you must realize there is a limit to your obstinateness.”

After three backbreaking days in the stables, Zara was ready to give Jamal that small point. She didn’t want to go back to the stables and she wanted a bath. Jamal had said she wouldn’t be a part of his harem of women. She’d be a house slave, not a concubine.

“I will not fight you on this, my lord. Take me to the
hammam
so that I may rid myself of the stench of the stables. Allah forbid that I offend your delicate senses.” Her words were shrouded in sarcasm that was not lost on Jamal.

“You do not offend me, Zara, I am quite taken with you. But I can wait to have you.”

“So can I, my lord. Wait to be free, that is. Have you forgotten our wager?”

“I have not forgotten. And I rarely lose a wager.”

Jamal led her to a pair of richly carved and painted double doors at the far end of the courtyard. “The harem lies behind these doors,” Jamal pointed out. “You are standing in the courtyard of the concubines. My women come and go as they please, with certain restrictions. They visit the village, the
souk
, and even, upon occasion, go to Meknes accompanied by Hammet and several men-at-arms. But you, sweet vixen, are a slave. You are not allowed those privileges. You will be
confined to the house, the courtyard, and the gardens within the walls.”

After that rather lengthy speech, he opened the doors and pulled Zara inside the harem.

Chapter Five

Zara felt as if she’d stepped into another world. A world far removed from the black tents and sun-baked villages constructed of mud bricks where her people lived, loved and died. The room was not overly large but was memorable for its ornate furnishings, silk wall hangings and rich carpets upon the floor. Satin, velvet and brocade-covered couches, piled high with thick cushions, were scattered about the room. Polished ebony tables, inlaid with mother of pearl and holding baskets of fruit and sweetmeats, were placed before the couches. Three women occupied the room, taking their ease upon the couches.

“Jamal!” squealed a plump brunette with cherry red lips and melting brown eyes. “You do us great honor by coming to us in the middle of
the day.” She batted her long lashes at him. “How may we serve you, my lord?”

A petite redhead with extraordinary breasts preened for Jamal’s benefit. “Aye, my lord, what can we do for you?”

A second brunette, lovelier than the first, if that were possible, gave him a smile that was so sexually charged, Zara had to look away. “Look, ladies! Our lord has brought a new eunuch to wait upon us.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at Zara.

Zara studied each concubine in turn. All three wore short vests that barely covered their breasts, silken pantaloons and transparent caftans. Soft pointed slippers adorned their feet, and their fingers were laden with rings. Each wore a silk veil that could be pulled across their face and fastened.

The redhead wrinkled her nose distastefully. “Where did you find so pitiful a slave, Jamal? His stench offends me.”

Jamal bit back a smile. “The new slave is a woman, Saha. She will serve you, Leila and Amar in the harem and perform minor household duties.”

Leila sent Zara a condescending look. “What a pathetic excuse for a woman.”

Zara would have flown at Leila had not Jamal placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Where is Nafisa?”

“I am here, my lord.” A stout elderly woman entered from another room, huffing from her exertions. “What do you wish of me?” Suddenly her
gaze fell on Zara and a frown wrinkled her brow. “Is that a woman, my lord?”

“Aye, Zara is indeed a woman, Nafisa. I’m counting on you to make her look like one. The sultan has presented me with this new slave.”

“Slave, my lord?” Nafisa repeated. “Is she to serve you in no other way?”

“Nafisa, Jamal knows what he wants and obviously it isn’t a filthy beggar who’s probably riddled with disease,” Amar said sharply.

“Riddled with disease!” Zara cried, shrugging off Jamal’s restraining hand as she leaped at Amar. The lovely concubine fell beneath Zara’s surprise attack before Jamal could pull her away.

“That’s enough!” Jamal said, giving Zara a shake. “You will behave or return to the stables.”

“I’m not diseased,” Zara muttered angrily.

“She’s vicious,” Amar said, picking herself off the floor and setting her silk veil back in place. “She will not make a good slave, my lord. She needs a beating.”

Jamal agreed wholeheartedly. “Zara, these are my concubines, Saha, Leila and Amar. Your duties include serving them in the harem. Saha has a temper to match her red hair. Leila is like a playful kitten, but beware of her claws. And Amar can be fractious if stroked the wrong way.”

“Why is Zara so filthy, my lord?” Nafisa asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot to introduce Nafisa, mistress of the harem,” Jamal told Zara. “Zara is filthy because she has been serving as a stable slave,” he explained.

“A stable slave!” Saha gasped.

“Zara must have displeased you greatly, my lord,” Amar said with a smirk.

A hint of compassion crossed old Nafisa’s wrinkled face. “Come along, Zara, I’ll soon rid you of the stench of dung and horses.”

Zara followed, as eager to escape Jamal’s sniping concubines as she was to have a bath. As she passed through an arched doorway, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Jamal stretched out on a couch, his women crowded around him like a litter of puppies, eager to please and be pleased. Her face flamed, recalling all those arousing things Jamal had done to her that night beside the pool, wondering if he meant to bed his women while she was in the next room.

The
hammam
was hot and steamy, and Zara couldn’t wait to immerse herself in the sparkling water. The pool dominated the large room, whose floors were inlaid with white and blue tiles. Benches lined the walls around the pool.

“Allow me to remove those filthy robes, Zara,” Nafisa said kindly. “Why are you dressed like a man?”

“This is how I always dress,” Zara explained. “Normally I wear the blue robes of my people.”

“Blue robes? Allah help us. Are you one of the Blue Men? How can that be when you are a woman?”

“My father is Youssef,
cadi
of the Berbers who live in the Rif mountains. I ride at his side.”

Nafisa stared at her. “You ride with bandits?”

“We do not think of ourselves as bandits. We are free people, fighting for equality. We raid the
sultan’s caravans because we are driven to it by high taxes.”

“I know nothing of politics.” Nafisa shrugged as she pulled off Zara’s shirt and helped her out of her pantaloons. The old woman wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her eyes, and a shocked gasp left her throat. “Blessed Allah, you are lovely. That hair, that skin, you are like a rare butterfly emerging from its cocoon. If the sheik saw you like this he’d—”

“The sheik has already seen her like this,” Jamal said from the doorway, “and was as awestruck as you are, my good Nafisa.”

“What are you doing here?” Zara cried, trying to hide behind the ample Nafisa.

“This is my home, I go wherever I please.”

“Am I not allowed to bathe in privacy?”

“You are my slave. I am your master. I will decide what you are allowed and not allowed.” He ambled into the
hammam
and dropped down onto one of the benches, stretching his long legs in front of him. “You may continue, Nafisa.”

Zara bit her lip to keep from flinging back a sharp retort, noting that Nafisa seemed not at all disturbed by Jamal’s presence. Did he regularly watch his concubines bathe? she wondered.

“Why aren’t you with your women?” Zara dared to ask.

Why, indeed?
Jamal thought but did not say. Instead of easing the lust Zara had created inside him with one of his women, he was torturing himself by watching her bathe. He was already hard and growing harder.

“I sent them to the village with Hammet,” Jamal
said. “’Tis market day and they love to browse in the
souk
.”

“’Tis the master’s right to be here,” Nafisa said with a hint of censure. “Lie on the bench, Zara, so that I may tend you properly. You have neglected your body most shamefully.”

Jamal watched with growing excitement as Nafisa swiftly and efficiently rid Zara of all her body hair. When she had finished, Zara’s skin was once again as smooth and soft as satin. His eyes feasted on her plump pink mound, recalling how moist and hot her tight sheath had been when he’d aroused her with his mouth and fingers. His loins grew heavy, his manroot rose, hard and engorged. This seduction was going much too slowly, he thought. Tonight he would escalate his efforts to bring Zara to his bed. But for now he had suffered enough torment. Rising abruptly, he called Nafisa to his side, spoke briefly to her, then left the
hammam
.

Zara noted Jamal’s absence when she rose to enter the pool. Her relief was immediate and heartfelt. The knowledge that Jamal was watching her while she bathed had excited her. Her nipples had puckered into taut buds, and she wondered if Nafisa had noticed. Allah take Jamal, she thought grumpily. Why should this arrogant sheik, enemy of her people, be the only man to fully arouse her womanly passions?

She had loved Sayed, but her feelings for him were tepid compared to the exhilaration she felt when Jamal touched her. It shouldn’t be like that, she thought, disgruntled. He was too sure of himself, too powerfully male, too arrogant. He
wanted her in his bed, and she didn’t know how long she could resist the compelling appeal of his seduction.

Nafisa washed Zara’s body and hair with jasmine-scented soap, then rinsed her several times with warm water that had been heated on a brazier. When Zara had finished bathing, Nafisa wrapped her in a large square of linen cloth and rubbed her body dry. Then she bade Zara lie down on the bench so that she could massage oil of jasmine into her skin. It felt wonderfully relaxing, but had the hands upon her been Jamal’s, Zara reflected, the massage would have been erotic and arousing. Praise Allah that it was Nafisa administering to her and not Jamal.

The clothing Nafisa brought for Zara to wear was not fit for a slave. Zara gazed with distaste at the short, sleeveless blouse fashioned of rich turquoise brocade, thinking that it would barely cover her breasts. The silken pantaloons were a pale ivory color and embarrassingly transparent. They belled out from the waist and hugged her slim ankles. But they were so sheer her skin tones were clearly visible. Then Nafisa handed her a veil to cover her face.

“I cannot wear these clothes,” Zara protested. “They’re not proper attire for a Berber princess.”

“I am but following Sheik Jamal’s orders,” Nafisa said with a shrug. “Now be a good girl and get dressed. Your master left orders that you are to serve him tonight. After you finish dressing, I’ll show you to your room. It is tiny, but more than adequate for a slave. There is even a small walled garden for your enjoyment.” She gave Zara an assessing
look. “’Tis unusual for Sheik Jamal to bring home a female slave. Male slaves and eunuchs perform the day-to-day tasks at Paradise. The only women in the palace are myself and his concubines.”

“Do you expect me to be grateful for such an honor?” Zara asked bitterly. “I didn’t ask to be a slave. I vow I will not remain one long. My father will come for me soon.”

“We’ll see,” Nafisa said sagely. “Hurry, now. There will be time for a nap before your duties begin.”

Since no other clothing was forthcoming, Zara quickly donned the revealing costume, but drew the line at the veil. “Berber women do not hide their faces,” she declared haughtily.

“You are in an Arab harem,” Nafisa said, not unkindly. “You will obey your master. Come along, I’ll take you to your room.”

Zara entered a small chamber scarcely bigger than a large closet. There were a sleeping couch, a chest for her clothing and a low table. A pile of cushions was stacked against one wall. A double door opened into a small walled garden. It was indeed adequate for her needs, Zara decided, for she wouldn’t be remaining long. At the end of four weeks, if her father didn’t come before then, she would be free. Jamal was a man of his word, and when he failed to seduce her, he would have no choice but to free her.

“Rest, Zara,” Nafisa said as she left her charge. “Someone will come for you when it is time to serve your master.”

“How am I to serve the sheik?” Zara asked warily.

“You will bring his food from the kitchen and serve him.”

Relief shuddered through Zara. She knew Jamal could order her to his bed and she would have no say in the matter. She almost wished he would, for then he would lose his wager and she would be free. Lying with the enemy was repugnant to her, but it would almost be worth her freedom. Almost…

Since there was little to explore in her room, Zara lay down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. What seemed like scant minutes later, someone arrived to awaken her. She opened her eyes and met the gaze of a young man about her own age. He had a long, sad face, expressive brown eyes and skin as smooth and flawless as her own. She knew instinctively that he was a eunuch, for no other males were allowed in the harem.

“I am called Hakim. I bring your supper.” He motioned to a tray of food he had placed on the table. “You must eat quickly. When you finish I’m to take you to the master.”

“Thank you, Hakim. The food smells delicious,” Zara said, walking to the table. She saw that Hakim had placed a cushion before the table and she sat down cross-legged upon it.

“I’ll return for you shortly,” Hakim said as he quietly let himself out of the room.

Zara ate ravenously, thoroughly enjoying the rice with tiny bits of capon breast in it, creamy yogurt with peeled grapes, a dish of figs, warm
flat bread and fresh apples and oranges. She was just finishing her meal when Saha barged into her room, her eyes blazing furiously.

“I understand you are to serve Jamal tonight. Since he brought you home, we have been sorely neglected.” Her fiery gaze slid over Zara’s face and body. “You are not half as beautiful as I. Even Leila and Amar are lovelier than you. Have you bewitched Jamal?”

“I am no witch, and I do not serve Sheik Jamal in bed,” Zara declared hotly. “I am not a love slave. You are more than welcome to him.”

“I am not stupid. Our master wants you. And what Jamal wants, Jamal gets. Why were you sent to work in the stables?”

“’Tis a long story, one that will bore you. ’Tis not my aim to challenge you for Jamal’s affections.”

“Are you ready, Zara?” Hakim had sidled into the room, hoping to rescue Zara from Saha’s vicious tongue.

“I am ready, Hakim,” Zara said, rising quickly. “Please excuse me, Saha. Unlike you, I have duties to perform.”

“I hope those duties will not be performed on your back,” Saha muttered to herself.

“Hurry, Zara,” Hakim said as they passed through the harem door into a long hallway. “Fasten your veil; it isn’t seemly for the guards to look upon your face.”

“Nay, Berber women do not hide behind veils.”

Hakim looked uncomfortable but said nothing more. It wasn’t his place. He took her directly to
Jamal’s chamber and opened the door. “Go, the sheik is waiting for you.”

“Come in, Zara,” Jamal said curtly.

Zara looked past the doorway into the room. She saw Jamal seated upon a cushion before a low table. An old man was seated nearby, preparing mint tea with great ceremony over a brazier. Hammet stood by the door with his arms folded over his ample chest.