Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (5 page)

The woman up on the podium was sold after the bidding reached the highest it had all evening. Finally Ashraf announced his personal favorite, and the final selection for the evening, Kamilah.

His focus heightened at the sound of her name. A sense of urgency washed over him and he straightened. Some disturbance erupted behind the curtain, but was quickly silenced. Then, a moment later, a eunuch led the woman out onto the dais.

His heart fell to his gut. Without seeing the one discernible feature he would recognize—those haunting green eyes—he knew without a doubt it was her, as did Hakim, who came to stand behind him once again.

Wrapped in a dark robe that dragged the ground, the young woman’s head hung forward, her long dark hair prohibiting the audience a view of her face. Ren agonized for the poor thing, but there was nothing he could do lest he create a commotion. The eunuch yanked her head back, forcing a cry from her.

Ren lurched forward, intending to beat the man to a pulp, but was held back by Hakim’s hand on his arm. Ashraf swung at the slave with his cane hitting him on the back, cursing angrily in Arabic. The servant left the dais and the old man stood next to the woman called Kamilah, speaking softly to her, soothing her. She settled somewhat, enough for him to back away from her. Again, she hung her head, clutching the robe tightly about her.

Ren leaned over to Ismael, instructing him to enter his bid immediately. The physician choked at the amount Ren ordered he offer.

When bidding began, Ismael voiced Ren’s bid, creating an uproar in the audience. Another man countered loudly, and still another protested that they had not seen the wares. Before Ren could reply, the audience had been silenced by the old man.

Once the noise settled, Ashraf again spoke to the girl, but Ren could not hear what he said. It took several long moments before she reluctantly dropped the robe. The black material slid to the floor, pooling at her feet, and Kamilah lifted her head.

She stared at the ceiling, and Ren saw a dried trail of tears on her face. His heart clenched for her. Long, dark brown hair fell in a wavy mass over her shoulders, covering her breasts and falling to her waist. Ashraf stepped forward and gently moved the woman’s hair behind her, revealing her bounteous dark-tipped breasts.

Ren felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest, forcing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held.

She’d been driven beyond decency by the old man, and though he had intended to prevent her exposure, Ren found himself aroused by her ethereal loveliness. His palms burned with want to touch her, to feel if her skin were as satiny soft as it appeared. He wanted her, and hated himself for it.

Ashraf stepped forward and assisted the woman in turning around. Lifting her heavy curtain of hair, the old man began to speak in Arabic. Ren looked to Hakim for translation.

“Kamilah is a virgin. A true beauty, unscarred and shapely.”

Turning her again to face the crowd the whoremaster added, “She is an intelligent girl, of fine breeding—but a spirited one, in need of a firm hand. She has learned the skills of pleasure well, and will make her master proud, bearing him many children.”

Bidding began in earnest, fast and furious. At Ren’s insistence, Ismael created a bidding war with the general that had quickly exceeded the amount paid for the last three sales combined.

Ren closed his eyes, wanting to banish her image from his memory, knowing he had to return her to her family. Instead, he envisioned his waif in a stylish, ivory silk gown with one of his mother’s diamond necklaces about her throat. She turned luminous, expressive emerald eyes up to him, and smiled. The powerful vision shook him to his very core.

The bidding war had slowed as Ismael waited for further direction from him. Ashraf was near to declaring the woman sold to the general, and Ren took a close look at his opposition. The man turned a hardened expression in their direction. He had narrow slits for eyes, and a thin mustache with a short-trimmed goatee which surrounded lips that were pressed into a straight line. Determined not to let the runaway go to the likes of him, Ren signaled Ismael to continue. The physician raised his voice, and did as instructed.

The woman faced forward now but her eyes were shut. Ren thought he saw a tear escape and create a new path down her cheek. His heart wrenched for her, while his body longed to possess her.

His opponent increased his bid substantially, drawing gasps from the crowd.

“Shall I continue, Your Grace?”

“Until she is mine, Ismael.” Ren had no idea how high the current bid was, nor did he care as he sat there, listening to Ismael and the general haggle over the woman. The bidding slowed again, as the military man considered his next move.

“Double the current price,” Ren told Ismael, unwilling to see this beauty go to the likes of his opponent. “I need this to be over.”

Ismael did as requested—eliciting gasps from the crowd that had gathered from the street to watch the battle taking place inside. As he suspected, Ismael’s opponent backed down, unable to beat Ren’s offering.

With the pounding of his cane on the dais, Ashraf declared the woman sold. The old man led her behind the curtain again and Ren discreetly handed Ismael his purse. Ismael stood to go but first asked, “Is a physical exam necessary?”

Ren shook his head, not wanting to subject the woman to further humiliation, then turned to Hakim.

“So,” Hakim said. “Now you have her. She is a beauty my friend.”

Ren grunted, uneasy with what had just transpired.

Several minutes later, Ismael emerged from the building. The woman Kamilah, cloaked in her black robe and now veiled, followed him. Ren led Kamilah forward. As he took the woman’s hand to help her into the cart, she collapsed onto him.

“I was afraid that might happen,” Ismael said.

Ren lifted her easily and sat on the back of the cart cradling the woman. Hakim sat next to Ismael on the bench seat, and took the reins. Signaling for the donkey to move, the cart jerked forward and pulled away from the souk, headed back to the palace.

“I’m concerned about her Ismael. Will she live?” Ren looked at the wrapped bundle on his lap. He longed to pull the pins from her hair, to remove the veil and let her hair cascade about him, but local customs forbid it.

“I have seen this before,” said the physician. “She has been drugged to make her more acquiescent.”

“I’ll wager that’s what the disturbance was behind the curtain,” Hakim muttered.

“These women are kept mildly drugged from the time of their arrival at the whoremaster’s compound until the time of sale,” Ismael explained. “Opium is used as a tool in a concubine’s training. Once addicted, it is withheld until the woman earns more by perfecting certain—ah—lessons.

“Ashraf said this one was very defiant unless medicated. While drugged, she was more biddable, so they kept her that way. As I paid the old man, the guard laughed and said he had to give her a large dose just before she was brought out. If so, this evening will be difficult for her.”

Ren looked at Ismael, concerned for his new charge.

“She is likely addicted to the opium, as most are,” the physician continued, “which will make for a dangerous and frightening withdrawal process. Depending on how much opium she has been given and when, she will have to be watched closely, especially tonight to make sure she continues to breathe. Then for the next ten days, as the drug leaves her body, she’ll have nightmares, hallucinations and may even become violent. I’ve seen women jump from upper balconies to ease the pain of it. Should this happen, take my advice, lock her in your room and tie her to your bed until she comes out of it. It shouldn’t take longer than a fortnight. Then, you can return her to her family if that is still your wish.”

A short while later, their cart entered a small side gate of the palace compound and Hakim stopped the donkey before a servant. Ren alighted from the cart, carrying his bundle.

“Would you like to place her in the
harim?
” the prince asked.

Ren shook his head. “I will care for her.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to do it, but for some inexplicable reason, he did. “Shall I wake her at regular intervals?”

“That is not necessary as long as you make sure she breathes,” the physician said. “You’ll need help with her tomorrow. She will either need more opium or she will start to have fits until her body is free from the drug.”

“I shall see that she has the best care,” Ren replied.

Ren carried his acquisition into his room as the door opened for him on silent hinges. Another servant appeared from nowhere to turn the bed down for the woman in his arms. As he laid Kamilah down, the same servant lit more candles and gave orders for another to bring a basin of water. Ren dismissed them both once the water arrived.

After seeing to his own needs, Ren turned his attention to the woman in his bed. He knelt next to her and unpinned the veil. Behind the sheer gray scrap of fabric her skin was a translucent light olive. She had a straight nose above a sensuous mouth, and her lower lip was just a bit more full than her upper lip, giving her a natural pout. For some reason, he wanted to kiss those lips, to see if they would mold themselves to his as he awakened passion in her.

Her eyebrows were gently arched as she relaxed in slumber. He raised a hand to her hair and smoothed a strand on the pillow behind her. Her hairline came to a peak high in the center of her forehead. It intrigued him and beckoned his touch. He resisted though, for fear of waking her.

His eyes drifted down to the robe that she held clasped shut with both hands, even in her slumber. Ren knew she would rest easier without it, and moved her hands to undo the knotted belt at her waist. When that brought no response from her he began to carefully slip the material away from her. She stirred a moment, but was quickly back asleep. Once he had the covering removed he stared at her, knowing it was wrong to do so as she’d not given him permission to gaze upon her nakedness. But, heaven help him she was exquisite.

This woman had skin as smooth and flawless as his Sèvres porcelain. Except each wrist bore angry red welts, from where she had obviously fought against bindings of some sort. He glanced down to her ankles and saw similar marks encircling them. The revulsion he felt at her treatment was hard to contain. His only consolation was in knowing it would never happen to her again. At least not while she was his responsibility.

Again she stirred, taking a deep, shaky breath, and Ren’s gaze settled on her full breasts. The dark peaks had the texture of raw silk. He hated that his body was responding to an unconscious woman, beautiful though she was. Likely it came from the fact that he’d not had a woman in his bed in more months than he cared to remember. His mouth watered in anticipation of drawing one tip into it, laving it with his wetness. He could feel his erection pushing uncomfortably toward her against his breeches. Leaning over, he gathered the blankets to cover her, inhaling her musky rose perfume, and something inside of him snapped. God help him, he desired her with an intensity he’d never known before.

This was crazy. He was mad to think he could see to her care. He backed away from the bed, shoving his hair back in frustration with nervous, shaking hands. His body ached with wanting her.

He had to remember that she was someone’s daughter or sister, and he must do what he knew was right. For some odd reason, perhaps having to do with this damned sense of honor he felt toward the fairer sex, that was more important than satisfying his need for her body.

His breathing and pulse quickened. He had to control his baser instincts. That was the only way he could stay the entire night with her and maintain sanity. Stepping out onto the private courtyard, he lit a cheroot and sat on the bench facing the fountain. Then a thought entered his mind.
What if?

No. The idea was beyond mad.
Or was it?

She could be the answer to his problem.

Could he pull off introducing a woman such as she as his wife? What of her past? How would he respond to all the questions sure to be asked? More importantly, how would she respond? The woman likely didn’t speak English, or any language he did, and he spoke four fluently. Certain facts had to be corroborated in order to make for a credible story. How would they explain their meeting, courtship and marriage? And, where could a Christian marriage take place in this Islamic country?

Ren shifted on the seat as he contemplated his situation. If he followed through with this insane idea, sometime between now and their return to England, he would have to create a plausible story that wouldn’t stir suspicions or cast doubts as to the legitimacy of a potential heir. Before contriving the perfect tale, communication with Kamilah was imperative. He needed to know more—a great deal more—in order to craft a tightly-woven story even the ton could find no fault with.

He chuckled softly as he puffed at his cheroot. In a society where married women freely and openly took lovers after the requisite heir had been provided to their husbands, the thought of a trained concubine taking a place amongst polite society seemed minor to Ren. It was more important to him that a wife, or betrothed, remained faithful to her vows. The hypocrisy of it all, and the enormity of the ramifications should he be discovered, made it an irresistible challenge.

Exhausted from his long day, he ground out his cheroot and stepped back into the bedroom. He placed a hand lightly over her mouth to make sure she was still breathing. He waited until he felt the warm, moist air waft against his palm. Satisfied that she still lived, he lit another candle and brought a chair over to the bedside. He wanted to be here when she awoke, so he settled in for the long night ahead.