Devil's Daughter (21 page)

“It stings.”

“Ah. I will endeavor to find a remedy.” He unfastened the draw string on the cambric shirt and lifted it over her head.

He eased her down into the crook of his arm and laid his other hand gently down on her belly. “I shall probably have to duel with every one of your damned brothers.”

K
amal slowly rolled the parchment into a tight ring, tied a black ribbon around it, and handed it to Hassan.

“You seem preoccupied, highness.”

“Yes, old friend. I just received word from a friend in Paris that the French and the English will shortly be at each other’s throats again. The Treaty of Amiens is no more.”

Hassan shrugged and gazed briefly at the parchment. “Did you write to the Dey of this?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly he will hold a celebration.”

“It does mean that the English will be distracted, protecting their puny island from the French emperor.”

Kamal looked up at Ali, who stood in the open doorway waiting to gain his master’s attention.

“What is it, Ali?”

“Raj approaches, highness, with the English girl.”

Kamal smiled at Hassan. “At least she should no longer offend the nose.”

He heard Hassan draw in his breath and turned slowly. Standing close to the huge eunuch was the most exquisite girl Kamal had ever seen, all golden
and ivory with eyes so dark they appeared almost black.

Kamal stared at her, knowing full well who she was, but asking nonetheless, “Well, Raj, where is she?”

“Lady Arabella Welles, your highness,” said Raj, and gently pushed Arabella forward.

“Ah,” Kamal said slowly. He could not prevent himself studying her. In the soft candlelight her hair looked like spun gold. It flowed long and silky down her back, held off her forehead by a simple gold embroidered band. She was dressed in the Turkish fashion, and the gossamer veils did nothing to hide her. He finally met her eyes and smiled reluctantly, for she was staring at him as closely as he was her.

Arabella stood stiffly, her hands fisted at her sides. She would not show fear; she must not. She studied the man lounged on the soft cushions before her. She had not remarked earlier how very fine-looking he was. Not that it mattered. He was her enemy, the son of the vicious contessa. She heard Raj say, “It was walnut stain, highness, doubtless used to protect her on her voyage here. She is again as she was.”

A beautiful whore, Kamal thought, wishing perhaps that she weren’t so lovely. He could picture her dressed in her European finery. He wondered if she would try to seduce him to gain her ends.

Hassan said, “She does not wear a veil, Raj, nor does she kneel to his highness.”

Arabella felt a quiver of anger, and her fists clenched harder. She felt Raj’s soft fingers lightly touch her arm. “Lady Arabella is not Muslim,” he said.

She drew herself up straighter, narrowing her dark
eyes at the old man, who was regarding her speculatively.

“Still—” Hassan said, taken aback by the fury in those dark eyes.

“I do not kneel to animals,” Arabella said in a loud, clear voice, “even though they pretend royalty.”

“I see that you could do nothing about her tongue, Raj,” Kamal said. He uncoiled his powerful body to stand in front of her. She raised her eyes to his face and looked at him with contempt. So, he thought, she was still bent upon her insults. He had planned to treat her as a European lady, to speak to her gently and try to explain why she was here. Evidently, as a Muslim, he was worthy only of her insults. It angered him. Without warning, his hand shot out and wound about a thick mass of hair. Slowly he wrapped it about his hand, drawing her toward him.

“Kneel before your master,” he said pleasantly.

“Go to hell,” Arabella said.

Kamal released her hair suddenly and hooked his leg behind hers, throwing her forward. Arabella fell on her knees, momentarily stunned. She growled in fury and tried to jump up, only to feel his hands on her shoulders, keeping her down.

“That is where a slave and a woman belongs,” Kamal said. “You will stay there until I give you leave to rise.”

Raj stared at Kamal in consternation. Never had he treated any woman thus. He knew too that Arabella wouldn’t submit, and he feared for her life. He opened his mouth, but he wasn’t in time. Arabella thrust out her hands and shoved at Kamal’s legs with all her strength. He staggered backward, but kept his balance.

“Highness,” Raj said, quickly moving in front of the girl.

Arabella leapt to her feet and turned to run, but she got no farther than the door. Raj held her arm firmly. “No, little one,” he said.

“You protect the little slut?” Her eyes darted to his face and he saw fury in their depths. “Leave us,” he said. “I wish to dine now, and the slave will keep me company. Perhaps she can even be taught manners.”

Raj heard the low hiss of her breath and said quietly, “Take care, my lady. You might consider conciliation. His highness is as much European as he is Muslim.”

She blinked in surprise until she remembered that his mother was indeed European.

Why is he protecting her? Kamal wondered. They were quickly left alone. He saw her glance dart about the chamber, and he did not have to be told that she was searching for a way to escape.

“Sit down,” he said, pointing to the cushions set in front of the low sandalwood table. For a moment he thought she would refuse, but she eased herself down to the cushions. He rang a small golden bell beside him, and three young Nubian boys entered, each carrying covered silver dishes.

Kamal looked at the girl opposite him. She was paying him no attention, her eyes fixed on her plate, but her rigid body gave her away. He allowed the boys to serve them, then nodded his head for them to leave.

“It is baked mutton in curry and fennel. Eat.”

Arabella shook her head. “No,” she said. “I am not hungry.”

He said slowly, his voice very precise, “If you were
in the presence of any other man in this country, you would now be dead, your body thrown to the dogs.”

“What is the matter?” she asked him in an equally precise voice. “You have no dogs for your barbaric sport?”

“Ah, certainly I have. But for you, little slut, I would have my soldiers take you. You would doubtless, however, find that quite enjoyable.”

The words were scarce out of his mouth when he felt the grains of rice strike his face. She was staring at him, her face perfectly white. She dropped her spoon to the table.

Slowly Kamal wiped his face. “You will eat your dinner now.”

She shook her head, mute.

“If you do not eat, I will have your clothes taken from you. A woman without clothes, I have found, is very vulnerable.”

Her eyes widened, and he was pleased to see her hand tremble just a bit as she picked up her fork.

Though the lamb was tasty and tender, Arabella could swallow only a couple of bites. She was too aware of the man so close to her. She accepted a piece of pita bread he handed her, and nibbled it around the edge. She supposed it too was good, but it curdled with her fear and tasted like paste in her throat. She sipped at her wine, then set the goblet down.

“I want to know why I am here,” she said.

“You are here to be my slave,” Kamal said easily. She stiffened, just as he knew she would. “You look like my slave,” he continued, “and I will teach you to respect and please me, your master.”

To his surprise, Arabella smiled, an enchanting
smile that brought forth dimples on either side of her mouth. “Pray stop being an ass,” she said. “Although I find your rhetoric somewhat amusing, I grow bored with you. I asked you why I am here. I expect an answer.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snarl to Arabella. He lifted his goblet and slowly sipped the sweet red Cypriot wine.

“My mother—the contessa—she told you nothing?”

Arabella shook her head, deciding she wouldn’t tell him what she did know. See if the pirate was capable of truth.

Kamal shrugged and speared another square of lamb on his fork. “There is no reason for you not to know. You are out of the game, so to speak.” He started to add that he had never wanted her involved in his mother’s vengeance, but her ill-disguised contempt for him held him silent. He continued in an expressionless voice, “Twenty-six years ago, my mother, the Genoese Contessa Giovanna Giusti, was captured by my father, Khar El-Din, along with your father’s half-brother, Cesare Bellini. Your mother evidently paid a great deal of money to my father to keep the contessa and to kill her husband’s half-brother.”

“That is a ridiculous lie.”

Kamal arched a brow.

“Very well, I will listen to you.”

Kamal smiled at her with satisfaction. “I see that you are capable of manners. The reason my mother was sold to my father was that your mother—an English harlot—wanted the wealth and position the Earl of Clare could offer her. Once she was pregnant, your father did indeed wed her, and did nothing to save my
mother. She bore me within a year of her captivity. She has waited long for revenge for the evil done to her.”

She drew a deep breath and said slowly, “My father has always told me that the corsairs were honorable. He paid tribute to your father, Khar El-Din, and your half-brother Hamil, yet you”—her voice frayed with contempt—“you looted and burned two of my father’s ships and killed all his men. Your notion of revenge is chilling.”

“The revenge, my lady,” he said, “will be the capture of your esteemed parents and their disposition as slaves in Constantinople.”

Arabella could only stare at him; then she threw back her head and laughed deeply. “You credulous fool. Your mother,
your highness,
is a vicious harridan, a liar, and the mistress of an evil Frenchman and of the king.”

Kamal’s face grew red with fury. “Do you want the flesh flayed off your back?”

“Ah, the honorable gentleman now makes his savage threats. You and your mother are two of a kind, both of you dishonorable animals.”

No one had ever spoken thus to Kamal and he could only stare at her. Did she not understand that he could break her neck with one hand?

“You are afraid to hear the truth?”

“The truth, my lady? That you are indeed your mother’s daughter? A fact I have little trouble in believing now that I have met you.”

“I repeat,
your highness,
are you afraid to hear the truth?”

Kamal waved a negligent hand. “Proceed with your tale.”

Arabella’s brow puckered in thought. “I do not know anything about your mother, nor has my father ever mentioned a half-brother. He met my mother in England. She was to wed another man, but fell in love with my father instead. She was anything but a harlot. Indeed, she was an eighteen-year-old girl, the daughter of an English baron. Your mother’s story of my father bringing her to Genoa, unmarried, is ridiculous. My mother is a lady, and my father a gentleman.” She paused a moment, sensing that he was listening to her. She leaned toward him, her eyes intent and serious upon his face. “My mother could have no reason to rid herself of your mother. She was my father’s wife. Perhaps there was jealousy on your mother’s part. I do not know. But you must believe me. My parents are honorable people. They would be incapable of perpetrating such a deed as your mother claims.”

“I see,” Kamal said quietly. “How, then, my lady, did my mother arrive in Algiers? Her own free will? She sold herself?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what was the name of the English gentleman your honorable mother was supposed to have married?”

“A childhood friend, a viscount,” Arabella said. “I know little else.” A memory, vague and misty from Arabella’s earliest years, rose unbidden in her mind, a memory of her mother’s old nurse teasing her mother about her father’s ruthlessness in taking what he wanted. “Aye,” she could hear the woman saying, “he’d take you again, my pet, and devil take the consequences.” Arabella shook away the senseless memory, aware that Kamal was speaking.

“It is likely that you are truly ignorant of what happened. Are you so certain that your mother did not play your father’s whore until he finally married her?”

“That is impossible. My mother is a lady.”

“You spin amusing tales, my lady,” he said, “but they have no substance. It is time for you to change your thinking, just as you have changed your clothes.”

“I have no intention of changing my thinking.” Arabella stared at him. She said slowly, “I asked you why I was sent here. I am bait, am I not? I am to lure my father here?”

He nodded and looked away for a moment, unable to bear the anguish in her eyes.

“I will not allow that,” Arabella said calmly. “You will have to kill me first.”

“Kill you? Pride sits ill on a woman’s shoulders. Consider yourself a slave—my slave. I am your master and you will obey me.”

“Master. I would as soon call a jackal master. And what would you now,
master,
force me, as would an animal?”

“Why should it matter? You gave your body willingly enough to all the foppish gentlemen in Naples.”

“That is another of your mother’s lies.”

“If it is a lie, it could be easily disproved, could it not?”

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

“If I did not know of the harlot’s blood flowing through your lovely body, I would be much moved by your virgin’s performance. As it is, I only hope that you are not diseased.”