All the Sweet Tomorrows (45 page)

“He is so frighteningly possessive of you,” Alima returned. “Must you go, my lady Skye?” Alima spoke French so that anyone listening would not understand her words.

“There is no other way for me, Alima. If Osman were in the same position as my husband is, would you not try to aid him?
How can I return to my home knowing that Niall is alive. How can I face our children with such knowledge on my conscience. Better they lose both of us than I return to them leaving their father behind in bondage.”

“You love him very much, don’t you?”

“Yes, Alima. I love Niall with every fiber of my being! I will not rest until we are safely together again.”

“Be careful, my lady Skye,” Alima begged her. “Make no move unless you are absolutely certain that Kedar will not catch you. He is a very cruel man, as you already have learned.”

“Yes,” Skye said, shuddering as she remembered the bastinado. “He is very cruel. Yet, Alima, he can also be kind. See the anklet that he had made for me? It is quite lovely.” Skye handed the narrow golden circle to Alima. “You read Arabic. What has he written on it?”

Alima took the anklet and studied it carefully. As her eyes moved across the Arabic script her face darkened. “He is a beast!” she muttered. “He makes a charming gesture, and then ruins it with his ego!”

“What does it say?” Skye demanded.

Alima looked up at Skye, and said quietly, “It says
Muna, Property of Kedar.
”

“I will not wear it!” Skye stormed.

“You have no choice, my lady,” Alima said sadly. “It is the bracelet of a privileged slave. Once you fasten the clasp about your ankle the only way you will be able to remove it is if a goldsmith saws it off.” She handed Skye back the anklet.

Skye’s eyes were dark with anger, and she longed to throw the offending gold circle onto the nearest trash heap. She knew, however, that she dare not. Bending down, she fastened the bracelet about her right ankle. She knew the punishment for offending Kedar, and she had no wish to ever taste the bastinado again.

As she rose up again her eyes met the sympathetic ones of Alima. “You are far braver than I could ever be,” Osman’s wife said.

Skye shrugged. “As you have said, I have no choice.”

“Mistress, it is time to go.” Zada had materialized from wherever she had been.

“Get the yashmak then, Zada. Hurry! We must not keep the master waiting.” She looked at Alima, and there was mischief in her blue-green eyes again. “You don’t think she speaks French, do you?”

Alima laughed. “Never. She’s just a little Berber girl, one of
too many daughters in her family. They sold her off. That’s what she told Nigera.” Then Alima’s face grew serious and, stepping forward, she hugged Skye hard. “Be careful, my lady, and Allah go with you!”

Skye hugged Osman’s wife back. “I shall endeavor to be careful, Alima. Thank you for all your hospitality, and don’t stop your prayers, I beg you. I shall need them!”

Then Zada was bustling about her, importantly pulling up the hood of the djellabah, fastening the veil about her face, helping her into a black silk yashmak whose hood fell to just below her eyebrows, and adding a second black silk veil.

“You will smother me,” Skye protested.

“Dagan says the master insists you be properly veiled,” was the prim reply.

Skye gritted her teeth and grew silent. There was no arguing, for although she was Kedar’s favorite concubine, she was as much a slave as Zada and Dagan. There was no appeal of the
master’s
word. She stood quietly while the slave girl went about the job of thoroughly muffling her, and when Zada had finished Skye looked to Alima, merriment suddenly filling her eyes at the silliness of the situation. “I don’t know who he thinks will see me between here and your courtyard that I must be so encased,” Skye said in French.

“It is simply another instance of his impressing his will upon you, my lady Skye,” was the answer.

“We must not keep the master waiting,” Zada said.

Skye and Alima embraced a final time, and then Skye followed her slave girl from the bedchamber, through the house that had once been hers, and into the main courtyard, where Kedar’s vast caravan was nearly assembled. The Fasi merchant had brought a rich cargo to Algiers from the interior, and now he was returning with an equally lavish one. There were numerous pack animals, donkeys, and camels, all laden down with the goods. The train was to be escorted by a large group of armed and mounted mercenaries who had come from Fez with Kedar, and would now return with him.

The caravan would travel at a brisk pace during the day, but at night they would stop and set up their tents in order to eat and rest the animals. They would travel approximately twenty miles each day, following the caravan track that led through a narrow piece of land that was bordered by the Atlas Mountains. It was dangerous by virtue of the bandits who preyed upon poorly guarded caravans. Kedar had never lost so much as a camel in all his years of traveling the route, for he was willing to spend the
monies necessary to hire enough guards to protect him and his goods. It was a poor economy, Kedar believed, to stint on protection only to lose a valuable cargo.

Skye traveled in a covered cart drawn by two sturdy donkeys. The inside of the vehicle had been quilted in red silk and fitted with two dark blue pallets. Dagan drove while Skye was forced to remain within the cart with Zada. Her only escape from total boredom was the opportunity to look out through the gauze drapery veiling over the back of the cart. When she became tired of sightseeing she could sleep. She had little in common with Zada, whose only concern in life seemed to be beautifying her mistress in order to retain Kedar’s devotion so they both might get ahead in the harem. Zada often sat up front with Dagan, chatting for hours with him about Kedar’s house in Fez.

Dagan believed he saw the handwriting on the wall. Never in his ten years with his master had he seen Kedar so obsessed with anything, let alone a woman. This one, Dagan decided, could end up being Kedar’s first and only wife. Consequently he took the time to make friends with the ambitious Zada. Best to have a friend in the future mistress’s camp. Even Kedar might be softened and influenced by a wife.

The trip gave Skye some respite from Kedar’s possessive passion, for she only saw him for a short time each night. During the day he rode at the head of his caravan, his sharp hazel-colored eyes watching the hills around them and the trail ahead, never missing anything. He ate the midday meal with his men, although sometimes he would come by her cart afterward to see that all was well with his beautiful slave. He ate his evening meal alone, or with one of the senior men among his mercenaries. When the camp was quiet for the night, the fires burning in lonely splendor and the pickets alert and watchful, then would Kedar take his own pleasure.

In a curtained-off portion of Kedar’s tent they slept upon soft down and feather mattresses covered in scarlet velvet. Having eaten alone herself, and then washed in a small wooden tub as best she might, Skye was expected to await her master within the alcove. When he came he would take her twice, and then fall immediately into a deep sleep. For Skye it was a relief, for Kedar’s only interest was in satisfying his natural and normal lust with these brief encounters. She might have been anyone, and his attitude gave her hope that his desire for her was now waning as they grew nearer Fez, and his large harem.

* * *

When they were a week from their destination they met with another party of heavily guarded merchants coming from Fez and going to the coast. Most of the men were known to Kedar, and it was decided that they would eat together that night. Already several young kids had been butchered, and were roasting over the cookfires. They had met up with the other group in late afternoon, and so had stopped early, setting up their tents in an open place by a cold mountain stream. Skye was allowed to bathe in the stream, and she delightedly washed her long hair which, despite Zada’s care and brushing, was filled with trail dust. Even the prissy Zada was pleased, and afterward brushed attar of roses into Skye’s damp tresses.

They returned the few feet to the tent to find Kedar awaiting them. His eyes swept over her, lighting with pleasure at the cloud-soft billow of her fragrant hair. “I want you to dance for my guests tonight,” he said. “Do you know the Dance of the Veils?”

“Yes, my lord.” Skye was extremely surprised. He was always so strict about shielding her from other men’s eyes, and yet he was now asking her to dance before his friends.

“You will dance it then, my jewel, and wear your hair loose like it is now.”

“My lord, do you think it wise to display me before others?”

“Are you questioning me, Muna?” His voice was suddenly menacing.

“My lord, I only thought …” she began.

“
You thought?
Slaves do not think, Muna. They obey, and although I have given you an order, you are attempting to defy me.”

“No, no, my lord! I would not disobey you, I swear it!” Skye was becoming frightened now, and she desperately attempted to placate him. He was in one of those moods where the least thing set him off.

“I think, my jewel, that you need a lesson in deportment.” Reaching out, he trailed his fingers in leisurely fashion down her cheek, but his eyes were cold with anger. “You have displeased me, Muna.”

Skye shuddered at his touch, and beside her she heard Zada suck in her breath. “Please, my lord!” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“Dagan! Get the rods.” His voice was toneless.

Skye’s heart began to hammer wildly, and she slid to her knees, reaching out to wrap herself about his legs. “Please, my
lord, not the bastinado! I am my lord Kedar’s slave. I exist solely for his pleasure!
Please
, my lord!” Her voice was frantic with pleading, but in her heart Skye hated Kedar with every fiber of her being. She wanted to take a knife and plunge it into his heart! That he could torture her so cruelly both mentally and physically was appalling to her.
Niall!
She silently cried out to him.
Niall!

Kedar shook himself loose of her clinging arms. She was pulled roughly to her feet, and her caftan ripped off, exposing her nudity beneath. Then she was once more slammed down on her back upon the floor of the tent. Two slaves were called to hold her shoulders and arms down, and a round ottoman piled with pillows was shoved against her to force her long legs upward. Two additional slaves were called to hold her legs steady, and Zada was ordered to sit across her mistress’s hips to hold her down. Skye was already sobbing with terror, and being so successfully immobilized frightened her even more. “Pl-please, m-my lord!” she begged him once more.

“Dagan, begin the punishment,” came Kedar’s cold voice.

“Twenty strokes, my lord?” Dagan asked.

Kedar debated for a moment with himself, and then he said, “Fifteen. I am of a mind to be merciful, and it is her first offense.”

“Please, no, my lord!” Skye was growing frantic now.

Kedar nodded to Dagan and the rod descended. A piteous shriek sounded throughout the camp, followed by several others in fairly quick succession. When she fainted to elude the pain she was almost brutally revived, the bastinadoing stopped until she was fully conscious once more. Then it began again, and Skye felt the pain sweep from the burning soles of her tortured feet up her legs almost to her hips. Pinioned down, she still fought them, begging and pleading with Kedar for the mercy she knew he was not going to give her. Yet she continued to cry out to him in the vain hope that she could touch some chord within him. She struggled to stay conscious lest she offend him further and prolong her punishment.

Sitting astride her hips, Zada whispered to her the number of strokes. “Eleven. Twelve. Courage, mistress! Fourteen. Fifteen!”

It was over. The hold on her arms, shoulders, and legs was released, and Zada arose. With a sob Skye curled herself into a tight ball upon the rug, and wept desperately. Suddenly with frightening awareness she realized that all about her was quiet. Slowly she raised her head. Dagan, Zada, and the other slaves
were gone. Only Kedar remained, and the light in his eyes was unmistakable. Dear God, she thought horrified, he couldn’t!

“Do you know how much I want you, Muna,” he whispered hoarsely. “Dear Allah, how I want you now!” He knelt by her side, fumbling eagerly for her lush breasts, and she knew that she dare not refuse him. Kedar pushed Skye onto her back again and, pulling his robes up, thrust quickly into her. He pounded against her all the while telling her how she excited him, how watching her being beaten had made his passion rise to the point where he could not deny himself her body. Then without warning he poured himself into her, and fell upon her breasts panting. They lay that way together for several long minutes, and then Kedar recovered himself. Standing up, he looked down at her and said, “You will dance for my guests tonight, Muna. See that you are ready when I call you to me.”

She nodded at him, her beautiful blue eyes still wet with her pain and her shame as he strode from the tent. Skye pulled herself up, crying out softly at the pain she felt in her feet, and then Zada was there to help her.

“I have something that will take the pain away, mistress. Dagan brought it to me. He begs your forgiveness.”

“He enjoyed it, the brute!” Skye accused.

“No, no, mistress! Dagan would be your friend,” Zada assured her as she helped Skye into the privacy of the sleeping alcove.

Skye glowered at the girl. Naturally Dagan would be her friend if he thought that Skye had Kedar’s ear. Well, at least his eagerness to be friendly proved to Skye that her position with Kedar was a strong one.

“How lord Kedar loves you!” Zada enthused.

“In my country we do not beat the women we love,” Skye muttered irritably.

“Here, we do!” Zada grinned broadly at her. “And then to mate with you afterward! What a man he is! How I wish a man like that had carried me off before my family sold me, but then I am not beautiful like you, mistress. Lie back now and let me put the salve Dagan gave me on your poor feet.”