WindBeliever (44 page)

Sabrina barely glanced at Kharis as he cautioned her to be reasonable. It had gone beyond her desire to compete with the Rysalian Prince. It had now gone beyond her innate sense of competitiveness. There was something in Guil’s face that said he would maim, even kill, the man on the auction block if given the chance.

She could not allow that.

“Fifty thousand gold Ryals!” she called and laughed when the crowd’s gasp was immediate.

Guil stared at her. No slave had ever brought more than twenty, not even a slave taken from a foreign household. He doubted the black bitch knew who it was she bid for, and he didn’t care, but fifty thousand gold pieces was a lot to bid for any man, Conar McGregor or not.

“Your Grace?” Hiram asked, his face glowing with greed.

Guil swallowed, saw the smirk in McGregor’s strange eyes and yelled, “Sixty!”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

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Conar stared at the man, sensing that such an amount was not only ludicrous, but unheard of.

People were staring at him again with what could only be considered pity, instinctively realizing the man meant him nothing but agony. Without knowing he was doing so, he swung his gaze to the woman. Had he known there was pleading in his eyes, he would have been mortally ashamed.

Kharis tensed, barely able to breathe. He knew she was going to bid again, saw her smiling that cat-like smile that said she was about to get what she wanted. He was just not prepared for his mistress’ all out assault.

“Two hundred thousand golden ryals!” Sabrina bid.

“Oh, my god!” Conar heard the auctioneer gasp.

Guil was stunned. She has to know, he thought wildly, seeing the challenge in her dark gaze.

He glared at her, wishing her dead, consigning her to the pit, for he knew he dared not bid so recklessly. His father would take away his allowance if he did such a ridiculous thing.

“Prince Guil?” Harim could barely ask. He was already counting his share of the slave’s price.

With a growl of frustration and growing fury, the Rysalian prince cut his hand through the air.

“If she wants his cock that badly, let her have him!”

Kharis stumbled as the Prince shoved past him, plowing his way through the silent crowd with murder written on his handsome face. He looked down at his mistress and saw her staring intently at the blond slave.

Conar had kept his gaze on the woman, unable to look away once she made her last bid. It did not take him long to realize that he was hers, that she had paid a high price, indeed, to own him. He stared at her, hot fury and promise of revenge glowing in the sapphire orbs and when she laughed at him, actually giggled at his humiliation, he had the intense urge to beat her broad face in with his fists until there was nothing left but pulpy ooze. Being manacled and yoked the way he was did not offer the chance, he realized, but she could not keep him like this forever. He lifted his chin, his head held proudly, and glared back at her laughing face.

“Oh, you are magnificent,” he heard her purr up at him, her face crinkled with delight, and the crowd went wild with thunderous applause.

“She’ll make you a fine mistress, Serenian!” a man called out. “His grace might have worn you down, but the lady will wear you out!”

Harim jerked his head at the two men beside Conar, indicating they were to take him off the block. He chuckled at the way the slave still fought his fate, even as he was dragged away, his chains clanking.

Sabrina made to leave, but stopped as the slave warden came to the edge of the block and squatted down. She looked up at him.

“Do you really think he’s worth two hundred thousand gold pieces, milady?” Harim asked.

She smiled at him. “Do you know who he is?”

Harim nodded. “So does Prince Guil.”

Sabrina reached up to touch his cheek. “Then you know he’s worth every coin.”

“He doesn’t know who he is,” Harim informed her. “The physician says he’s lost his memory.”

Sabrina smiled. “It is just as well he doesn’t remember, don’t you agree, Harim? If you thought he fought hard just now, can you imagine how he would have reacted if he was himself?”

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“Be careful, Sabrina,” Harim warned. “His Grace wants the man badly enough to kill for him.”

A hard gleam entered Sabrina’s dark gaze. “So do I, my old friend.” Her smile turned lethal.

“So do I.”

Prince Jaleel Jaborn glared at his old friend. “Here? In Asaraba?”

“I bid on the bastard, Jaleel!” Guil bellowed. “I looked into his infidel face. There are no two men with a face like that!”

Jaleel clenched his hands. “Then your man lied about having killed McGregor.”

“He shall pay for his incompetence,” Guil promised.

Jaborn looked up. “Who bought him?”

A look of disgust passed over Guil’s face. “The woman they call Lady Sabrina.”

“The procuress?” Jaleel asked, surprised.

“That is one of the bitch’s professions,” Guil snarled. “But it is for her farm that she purchased him, I am sure.”

For a long moment, Jaborn didn’t speak, then his face brightened and he began to laugh. He laughed so hard tears formed and ran down his cheeks and he had to sit down to keep from collapsing.

“I see nothing funny about this, Jaleel,” Guil grumbled, staring at his friend as though he thought the man had lost his mind.

Jaleel swiped at his eyes. “Do you not?” he gasped. “By the Prophetess, Guil! Do you not see the irony in this?”

Guil’s narrowed gaze was hateful “All I see is the black bitch beating me out of purchasing that son-of-a-whore!” He held up his hand and clutched his fist. “I had him right here, Jaleel.

Right here!”

There was a negligent wave of Jaborn’s own hand. “We’ll get him, Guil.” He chuckled again, then shook his head. “If not before their caravan leaves Asaraba, then on the trek to Phaedra.”

“She won’t sell him,” Guil told him. “Two hundred thousands Ryals, indeed! Even if she is aware of who he is, he isn’t worth that kind of money.”

Jaleel instantly sobered. “You think she knows who it is she’s bought?”

Guil nodded. “I am almost sure of it.”

The Lady Sabrina having such knowledge changed things. If she knew, others might, also.

Jaleel’s forehead crinkled with concern.

“Have one of your men find out when she plans on leaving for her farm. I want to know the minute that caravan leaves Asaraba!”

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Conar grunted beneath the tight constriction of the gag, tossing his wet hair back from his forehead. The inside of the warehouse was like the inside of a roaring inferno and sweat was dripping down his face and sides. It was hard to breathe with the gag drawn securely over his mouth and the heat and the smell inside the warehouse was clogging his nostrils, making it even more difficult to draw breath.

His shoulders ached, pulled as his body weight sagged from the yoke. His lungs, constricted with the pull, were being pressed close by his diaphragm. If they left him like this much longer, he thought, he’d suffocate.

The warehouse padlock clicked and he swung his head up to see who was coming. All the other cages were empty, the slaves either sold or disposed of in ways only their gods and their murderers would know.

He had been expecting the black woman to come for him all morning long. The healer had already told him the woman had paid for him and the man seemed to have been highly amused that he had brought such a high price.

“I see nothing about you that would warrant such an outrageous amount,” the man had laughed, sweeping his curious gaze down Conar’s naked body, “but then again, I am not in the profession to which the lady belongs.”

Conar hadn’t understood the remark. When he was being dragged back to the warehouse, he had heard vulgar comments that made no sense to him at the time and the man’s sly innuendoes only added fuel to his puzzlement.

“How long do you think it will take Lady Sabrina to recoup what she paid for him? Three years? Five?” one of his guards had asked the other.

“He’ll die before he works that debt off!” a man had guffawed as they passed.

“I doubt he has that much in him!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” a brazen woman had remarked, stopping his guards and reaching out to put her hand on his manhood, shocking him to the very core of his being as her fingers had closed around him. “I’d pay a goodly price to have this service me!”

He snarled at the bitch, his eyes flashing, and she had squeezed him, winking at him as though she had every right in the world to touch him as she was doing.

“Wait your turn, Janna,” one of his guards had chuckled, pushing the woman away from him.

“Once she sets a price for him, you can barter over him then.”

It hadn’t been until the healer had told him just how the black woman made the money that had bought him did Conar began to see how dehumanizing his position was going to be.

That the woman had purchased him for her bedmate had been bad enough, but if what the healer said was true, it would not be only her he’d be servicing.

“She has a keep just on the other side of the Nilus. I’ve been there a few times. She has women and girls in one side of the keep, men and boys on the other.” The healer had laughed. “A little something for everyone.” When he had seen the horrified expression on his patient’s face, he had shaken his head. “Oh, I am sure she did not pay that kind of price for you to become one of her prostitutes. She bought you for her farm.”

Conar had shivered at the cruel laugh that had made the man’s face turn ruddy. His fear must have shown for the healer had put what he probably thought was a comforting hand on his patient’s shoulder.

“It’s a breeding farm, my friend.” He had not seen the absolute horror behind the shocked WINDBELIEVER

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sapphire stare. “Only the richest women will be able to afford your services. You’ll be treated well.” He had smiled. “I almost envy you.”

Disgust made Conar roar behind the gag. His thrashing only served to chafe his wrists more and brought a look of concern from the healer.

“Would you not rather live a life of luxury and enjoyment in golden shackles than toil your life away in Prince Guil’s quarry with manacles and leg irons attached to your flesh?”

The thought of being at the mercy of the black woman, his body used to breed children for wealthy women, his seed going to the highest bidder each night, infuriated him to the point of mindlessness. He had struggled so violently against his bonds, the healer had sedated him.

When he came to, he found himself alone in the sweltering heat of the warehouse, dread his only companion.

Hanging there, waiting to see who was coming out of the shadows toward him, Conar knew a helpless fury that turned in his gut. As he caught sight of her tall, chunky frame bearing down on him, he threw back his head and roared with rage.

“He doesn’t seem particularly happy to see you, Sabrina,” Harim, the man Conar had come to realize was the slave warden, teased her. “I think he’s found out what you intend to do to him.”

Sabrina frowned at Hiram. “Who would have told him?”

Harim shrugged. “The physician, most likely.”

Conar lowered his head and if looks could have killed, would have reduced the woman looking back at him to cinders. He pulled on his restraints, his legs irons rattling, and growled deep in his throat.

“Lower him, Harim,” Sabrina told the slave warden. “Such a position has to be uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? Conar sneered to himself. Agonizing was more like it, bitch! He wondered what kind of restraints she would be forced to use on him to get him ready for her clients. That she would have to immobilize him, chain him spread-eagled to the bed, had probably not occurred to her yet.

Harim stared into the hot gaze which raked over him as he entered the holding cell. Not for the first time was he glad a slave could be confined in such a manner. This one, he had no doubt at all, would have gone for his jugular. He carefully lowered the yoke until the blond man was seated on the floor.

“Better she bought you than Prince Guil,” Harim quipped. “If you think you had known the lash before, you would think again.”

“Prince Guil will never lay hands on him,” Sabrina snapped. “No one touches what is mine.”

The slave’s menacing snarl behind the gag made Harim chuckle. “I don’t believe he cares to hear himself defined as yours, Sabrina.”

The Lady Sabrina shot the slave warden another cautionary look then turned her full attention on Conar.

“Will you behave if I have Harim remove your gag?” Sabrina asked as she also came into the cell. Her expression did not change as the man glaring back at her narrowed his eyes to thin slits of fury, nor did she jump as he tried to kick out at her with his chained foot.

Harim squatted down and drew up the link of chain that hung between the two leg irons, effectively bringing the slaves legs together and hobbling him. The action brought another roar of hatred from behind the gag.

Sabrina sighed. “All this could be avoided if you would just be good.” Her comment was WINDBELIEVER

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rewarded with a low, menacing growl of promise.

“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Harim quipped.

“You’re going to have more trouble with him that you bargained for, Sabrina,” Kharis told his mistress from outside the holding cell. He was watching the slave’s hatred growing as that sapphire stare bored into his mistress.

The black woman shook her head. “No, I’m not.” Her lips twitched when the gagged man vigorously nodded his head as though to prove her wrong. She swept her skirts aside and knelt in front of him. “No, I am not and do you want to know why I am not?”

Because you’re going to lash me? Conar snarled at her. Well, go ahead and do it! I’ve been turned inside out by the best, bitch. Or you can let these two beat me senseless and it won’t make any difference at all. I’ll just spit in your ugly face. Give it your best shot then I’ll give you mine!