The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (10 page)

7

V
ulgar comments and the shouts of the bidders filled Rahab’s ears, despite her desperate attempts to block them. She shivered, grasping for her cloak that was not there. They had nearly ripped it from her, though the guard who seemed to be her constant shadow had not allowed them to take her tunic. She told herself she should be grateful for this kindness, except for the deep hatred, the anger that swelled within her against Gamal, against Dabir. She should not be here. This was not her fault.

The last calls for more silver stopped, and a cheer erupted from a man she did not recognize. The guard who flanked her returned her cloak and took her to a man whose close-shaven beard and make of clothing set him apart as one of Jericho, a servant of some high rank.

“You purchased me for your master, is that it?” she asked as the man led her from the crowd, through the back alleys toward the king’s palace.

“You will find out soon enough.” The man continued on at a hurried pace, until she recognized familiar halls, the very halls that led to the chambers of the king’s advisor. Could it be?

Her heart kicked over with a mixture of dread and hope. When they stopped at one of the chamber doors, she saw the markings of the king’s advisor carved into the wooden plaque that hung by leather straps to the right of the entrance. The door opened, and the servant stepped back, allowing her to precede him.

Dabir slowly turned from the window, where he could look down on the king’s main courtyard. His gaze slid over her, possessive, the flicker of longing in his dark, narrowed eyes. The door clicked shut behind her.

“So you have paid the price to own me, Dabir?” She stood studying him, barely containing her heart’s bitter cry. No. She must find a way to turn this around to her advantage. She would not be slave to this man as she had been to Gamal. She would not let him destroy her spirit. Somewhere in the night in the dank prison cell, she had chosen to believe her sister. She was not worthless as Gamal had said. Maybe her barrenness was a sign of the gods’ displeasure with him, not her.

Dabir stepped closer but did not attempt to touch her. “I must admit, my dear Rahab, that I could not bear the thought of you carried off with a Syrian caravan. I will say, though, that your husband has made things quite convenient for us.” He shook his head and tsked his tongue. “Such a fool you married, my girl.” He fairly purred the words as he stepped nearer still, his gaze fixed on hers.

He cupped her cheek, and she tilted her head, looking away.
“Am I to be your slave then, Dabir?”
Or just
your unwilling mistress?

His touch was gentle on her cheek, and he tipped her chin up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “
Slave
is such a harsh word, my dear.” He sifted his fingers through one long strand of her unkempt hair. She had had no opportunity to bathe or change her clothes since spending the night in the cell.

“Nevertheless, spending the night in a prison gives one that impression, my lord.” She offered him a rare glimpse into a vulnerable gaze, then quickly lowered her eyes.

His arms came around her then, and he leaned close. “I am sorry for the poor accommodations, my love, but it had to be done.” He softly kissed her, but she could not return it. She was in no mood for love.

He held her at arm’s length, studying her. “The truth is, Rahab, I have wanted you for a long time, and I saw my chance. I paid a great deal of silver to have you, and I daresay it would have cost me more if I had allowed them to show you as the other female slaves are shown. Your beauty is impossible to contain, my dear.”

Her stomach twisted at the reminder of those moments when too many men had stood gawking at her, raising the bids higher and higher. She should be grateful Dabir wanted her so badly. But not like this. Not when the guilt of their affair and the pain of all Gamal had put her through was still so raw.

“Does this mean I am no longer married?” How could she remain married to a man who in all respects had abandoned her?

He stroked her cheek, looked deeply into her eyes. “Gamal is no longer your concern, Rahab. He will not be coming
back. I would not expect him to live long in a land that puts their slaves to hard labor.”

She knew this. Should have known it when she glimpsed the Syrian traders. But memories of the early days rushed in on her.
Your daughter is very
beautiful, my lord.
She closed her eyes.

“I know, my love. I know.” Dabir pulled her close and stroked her back. He must have assumed her expression was one of sorrow over Gamal’s loss. But as the memories faded, she knew she would not grieve Gamal. Not after all he had put her through. No. She grieved the loss of her freedom.

“What is to become of me?” she whispered against Dabir’s rough cheek, taking advantage of the moment of his kindness to ask what might later become too difficult to say.

Dabir kissed her cheek and brushed the hair from her face. His dark eyes held a glint of longing and the pride of one who has gained a priceless prize. He took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers. “Come, sit with me and I will tell you.” He gave her a lazy smile and tugged her toward a cushioned couch that lined one of the walls of the spacious room. He positioned her to face him.

“I have bought a house along the outer wall of the city,” he said, lifting his square chin in that telltale pride. “The neighborhood is much safer and better than where you are living now. You will have servants and guards, and an allowance to spend however you please.”

She lifted a brow but said nothing.

He looked at her, stroked a strand of her hair. “I have plans for you, Rahab. But now is not the time to share them with you.” He took her hand again and helped her to her feet. “You must be hungry.” He led her toward the door. “I will take you
to your new home, where you can eat and bathe and sleep. I will visit you tomorrow to explain what you are to do.”

Rahab stood before a wooden gate, its scrollwork rivaling that of some of the finest homes in Jericho. A guard opened it for her and nodded to Dabir, and a female servant met them in the courtyard to wash their dusty feet. Inside, the rooms were large, spread with tapestries, and sconces held the flame of torches along the walls. Intricately carved furnishings, the kind Gamal would have sold and gambled away, graced each room with elegance.

“Well, my dear Rahab, what do you think?” Dabir turned in a circle, his arm taking in the spacious sitting room. Every vase, every pillow, every detail seemed in perfect place.

“I think it is wonderful,” she said, her voice soft, breathy. “But I am afraid to touch anything.”

Dabir laughed and came toward her, pulling her into his arms. He swung her around, still laughing. “Touch all you like, my dear girl. This place is for your use.” His smile seemed genuine, but Rahab could not stop the sense of wariness that fringed the edges of her mind.

“Will you show me the rest?” She could tell he was eager to show off all he was offering her. But . . . what of his wife?

“Of course.” He took hold of her elbow and gently led her into a large cooking area, where a woman stood at a wooden table chopping vegetables. “This is Kifah. She will cook whatever food you like.”

Rahab stared, seeing herself in such a role just yesterday. She glanced at Dabir, calculating his motives and purpose for her. He wanted more than he was saying.

She followed him to a small sleeping chamber, then to a larger one, then to several more. Was he expecting her to run an inn? Or would he dare to want children by her?

“You’re terribly quiet, my dear.” He swiveled to face her and caught her in a light embrace. “Surely you have a thought in that beautiful head of yours?” His bright smile did not warm her.

She hugged her arms to her chest and glanced around the opulent room. What must the chambers in the palace be like if a normal house could boast so much?

“I don’t know what to say,” she said, meeting his ardent gaze. “How did you . . . I mean, this is too nice for someone like me, Dabir. Surely your wife and children—”

“Live in a home far better than this one.” He pressed a gentle finger to her lips. “Did you not realize the wealth and power I wield? Surely you are not ignorant of my position.” He studied her, and she lowered her gaze against his scrutiny.

“I knew you were advisor to the king.” She looked at him and offered a weak smile. “I did not realize how close an advisor or how well the kingdom paid you.”

His arms came around her then, and before she could think, his lips claimed hers, as they had the night he wooed her. “Well, it is time you realized it.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and she caught his sudden shift in mood. He touched her hair and twirled a strand around his finger. “You are mine now, Rahab.”

The knot in her stomach tightened, fed by his obvious need to control her.

“Does your wife know about me?” She watched him, wondering if this was a wise question. “I only wonder how I should act if I should meet her at the market.”

“You will never meet my wife at the market. The servants
do her work.” He sounded petulant, and she imagined a woman who sat lazily on a garden bench or upon her bed all day doing nothing.

“Am I allowed to go to market, my lord? I do enjoy picking my own fruits and fabrics. I will learn to weave the finest linen you can imagine.” She smiled brighter now and placed a hand against his chest, coaxing, praying for this small amount of freedom. “I would do my part to please you, Dabir. I could not bear to sit about with nothing to occupy me.”

He considered her a moment, as though the question was more difficult than she thought it should be. “When I am sure I can trust you, and possibly with a guard accompanying you, then we will discuss it. For now, the servants will go to market, but you are free to weave or spin or do whatever you desire—inside these walls.”

So she was a prisoner as surely as she had been in that cell the night before. But she did not say so. “Thank you for your generosity, my lord.” She gave him what she hoped was a grateful smile. She should be thankful to him. After all, he had rescued her from slavery to foreign merchants.

But as she lay alone in her bed after he had finished with her that night, she could not stop the aching loneliness, the awful truth she had known since she married Gamal. She was a slave. As she had been a slave in her marriage, now she was slave to this pompous, wealthy man, who was as much a fool as Gamal. A different type of fool, but pride and greed always produced fools, no matter what level of success they achieved.

She had simply been traded from one fool to another, hopelessly bound to their desires.

8

E
vening shadows danced with the flickering torches in Rahab’s sitting room, where Dabir lounged on one of her plush couches. Not a speck of dust swirled above the lamps nor dared to land on the polished wood of the tables. Three months in her spacious prison had nearly driven her mad with the desire to do something,
anything
. But most of the daily womanly tasks, including the polishing of his expensive furniture, had been given to servants, and she had had no visitors except Dabir. A deep ache for her family settled within her.

“I acquired a new villa today,” Dabir said, drawing her to look at him. He crossed one ankle over the other and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s quite nice, actually, though of course I will hire men to change things to my liking.” He smiled. “I’ll have to take you there sometime.”

She picked up an embroidered pillow and ran a hennaed finger over the delicate fabric. “What plans do you have for this one?” She met his gaze, showing interest, though his purchases had begun to weary her, especially his prideful
arrogance as he bragged his way through the telling of the details. But she had learned well how to play the role he demanded. To do otherwise . . . She blinked. Dabir could be abusive in ways Gamal had not even considered.

“I haven’t decided yet. I may rent it out for a time. Or I may acquire another mistress.” His smile, meant to cause her distress, did the opposite. Another mistress would mean more freedom for her—away from him. But she could never let him think she was anything but his devoted lover. She rose gracefully and came to kneel at his side.