Devil's Daughter

  “I am Lella. I wished to speak to the woman who managed to anger Kamal.” She spoke in very slow, precise Italian.

  Arabella swung her legs over the edge of the chaise and sat up. “Please sit down. It is hot and your burden is heavy.”

  Lella nodded and eased herself down beside Arabella. “You are English, child?”

  “Child?” Arabella smiled. “You are scarce older than I.”

  “I am nearly twenty-five, and carrying this babe makes me feel like a graceless old woman.”

  Arabella shook her head. “You’re beautiful,” she said. Lella’s thick dark brown hair glistened with amber light, and her heart-shaped face was classical in its perfection. Her gray eyes were warm and intelligent.

  “I had thought you would be kind. Is it true that you angered Kamal so that he tied you to his bed?”

  “I was relieved to be tied to his bed and not be in it,” Arabella said. She paused, then tilted her chin upward. “I am sorry if you carry his child and are perhaps fond of him, but—”

  Lella gurgled with laughter. “Yes, I am fond of him,” she said at last, clasping her hands over her huge belly. “It is not his child I carry.”

  Arabella frowned at her.

  “Kamal is my brother-in-law,” Lella said. “My husband was Hamil.” Her voice broke on his name, and she whispered, “He did not even know I was with child when he died.”

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me for wounding you. It is just that I do not know what to do, and my helplessness makes me a witch.”

  Lella patted her hand. “You are not a witch. Indeed, it was a witch who sent you here. Kamal’s mother is a woman who knows only bitterness and hate. Kamal is not like her.”

  “Ha! He has treated me with contempt, called me a liar and a harlot, accused my parents of the most ridiculous crimes, and you tell me he is not like his mother.”

  “My, I would like to have seen that,” Lella said, admiration in her voice. “Kamal is usually so kind, particularly to women, and so exquisitely calm. What did you say to him to spend your night tied to his bed?”

  “Perhaps I was not wise but he angered me so. I called him an animal, a barbarian, a savage—”

  Lella held up her hand in horror. “No more. My dear child, you are fortunate not to be dead.”

  Arabella shrugged. “As to that, he cannot kill me. I am bait, and bait must be live to be useful. And if my anger keeps him from ravishing me, I shall become a demon from hell.”

  “But I have heard that you, well, that you are no maid.”

  “Another of his mother’s lies. Lella, is there anything you can do to help me?”

  “No, child, I am truly sorry. Were it not for Kamal, I would even now be shut away, or worse, sold months ago. Carrying Hamil’s child made me particularly vulnerable to his enemies. But Kamal would not allow his mother to treat me with other than honor. Perhaps you can speak to him more reasonably, convince him of your innocence, at least. If you ceased to antagonize him, were perhaps kind, he would likely listen to you.”

  It was on the tip of Arabella’s tongue to tell Lella that she would as soon be kind to the devil himself, but an idea came to her, one so simple, one so final, that she could not disregard it. She accepted it, knowing there was no other way. Suddenly she felt calm and serene. “Perhaps you are right, Lella,” she said at last.

  Lella stared at her doubtfully, disliking the cold calmness in her voice. She said slowly, not realizing that she was planting seeds of action in Arabella’s mind. “As I said, Kamal is not a vicious man. Indeed, you are so lovely, he could not long be angered if you behaved more like . . . well . . . like a . . .”

  “A soft, submissive woman?”

  “Yes. You are, after all, a woman.”

  “And women play roles, do they not?”

  “I am not certain what you mean. My Italian is not so fluent as yours.”

  “It matters not. Oh dear, here comes Elena again. Has she nothing else to do besides attack me?”

  “She fears you.” Lella rose ponderously. “We will speak again, child. I will take care of Elena, at least for now.”

  Arabella watched Lella draw Elena into conversation, and true to her word, the two women disappeared into her chamber.

  Kamal stood naked as Ali sluiced him with cool water. He flexed his tired muscles and tried to focus his thoughts on anything but the English girl. He had lain awake for hours listening to her breathing the previous night, wondering what he was going to do with her. Actually, he really did not have to do anything with her, simply wait until her father came for her; but at that thought, he shook his head. He wanted her; he wanted her to cease fighting him and cease lying. He wanted her to look at him with desire, not fear or hatred.

  “What did you say, Ali?” he asked, realizing that he wasn’t listening.

  “I wondered, master, if you wished Orna to dance for you this evening?”

  “No—yes.” Kamal smiled to himself. Orna would dance for him and for the stubborn English girl. “And, Ali, tell Raj that I want the English girl again tonight.”

  Arabella was waiting for Raj to come with a summons from Kamal; indeed, she was looking forward to it. When he appeared, a worried frown on his fleshy face, she smiled, a soft smile.

  “His highness wishes your company this evening,” he said.

  Arabella lowered her head. “As he wishes,” she said.

  “I have brought you new clothes.”

  “That is very kind of you, Raj. May I see them?”

  Arabella fingered the gossamer trousers and the yellow jacket. There were matching yellow leather slippers. “They are beautiful.”

  Raj frowned, but said smoothly, “I selected the colors. You will look lovely.”

  Arabella said, “Yes, you chose well. I thank you.”

  “Are you well, my lady?”

  “Yes, of course.” She allowed a deep sigh and stared beyond his massive shoulder toward a point unseen. “I have been thinking today. You told me to accept my fate. Perhaps that is what I have done.”

  “You wish to be with his highness?”

  “Why not? Lella told me he is not a barbarian. If I am more understanding, perhaps he will be also.”

  “His highness will be surprised.”

  “But pleased, Raj?” she asked. “Will he be pleased?”

  “Undoubtedly,” the eunuch said.

  He left her then to dress. When he returned for her, she was standing in the doorway gazing out over the garden. She looked utterly beautiful, her golden hair flowing free down her back, her body outlined clearly through the trousers.

  “Do you still feel as you did, my lady?”

  She smiled slowly, but her eyes were infinitely sad. “Yes, certainly. It is just that—” She raised her hand in a small gesture, then dropped it to her side.

  “What troubles you, my lady?”

  Arabella looked down at herself. “I am used to showing myself to advantage, Raj.”

  He eyed her full breasts straining against the soft material. “I see no flaw in your beauty, my lady.”

  “It is probably nothing,” she said. “I just wish for a jewel, a brooch perhaps to make me more elegant.”

  He had not thought her vain, nor had he believed her capable of thinking herself anything less than a great lady, no matter her circumstance or costume.

  “I should feel more confident in myself had I something to wear that reminded me of happier times.”

  Still he remained uncertain, until she raised her eyes to his face. No one, he thought, could remain indifferent to those fathomless eyes. The master would be pleased were the girl to smile. Raj nodded. “I will bring you something. Wait here.”

  “So,” Elena said, stepping out of the shadows, “you play games to be with the master.”

  Arabella said nothing.

  “He will tire of you, and quickly. You are cold and he will find no warmth between your skinny legs.”

  “You are probably right,” Arabella said. “
Perhaps his highness will desire something quite different after tonight.”

  Elena snarled in frustration, and beat a hasty retreat when Raj approached.

  “This should brighten your spirits, my lady,” he said, and to Arabella’s utter chagrin, he slipped a sapphire-and-diamond necklace over her head. She wanted to laugh aloud and howl at the same time at the failure of her plan. She tried to tell herself that a brooch clasp probably wouldn’t have been strong enough for the task. She managed a smile. “It is beautiful, Raj. I thank you.”

  He nodded. “Come, my lady.”

  She followed him silently, thinking furiously. She had to do something. Raj’s chambers. She gazed at him through her lashes, waiting until they had nearly reached the harem gates.

  “Raj?”

  He turned somewhat impatiently to face her. “My lady?”

  “I must—that is, I have to—” She managed a flush of embarrassment and lowered her head.

  “I see,” he said, smiling slightly. “I will await you here, my lady.”

  Arabella dashed back toward the harem suites. Before she veered away from her own small room, she glanced back toward Raj. To her profound relief, he was in close conversation with one of the girls. She slipped into the outer chamber that Raj used for his sitting room. She saw a small writing desk and hurried toward it.

  She rejoined Raj some minutes later.

  She followed him docilely from the harem compound to the palace. The air was warm and perfumed from the profusion of flowers. A full moon lit the night sky. She felt her heart begin to thud as they neared Kamal’s chambers. Please, she prayed silently, give me strength to do what I must.

  She heard music as they neared, barbaric sounds, she thought.

  Kamal reclined on cushions, his eyes on a dancing girl. He was dressed in pristine white, a wide crimson leather belt around his waist. His head was bare and his streaked wheat-colored hair gleamed in the candlelight. He raised his eyes from the dancing girl when he saw Arabella. He saw no anger on her beautiful face. She looked calm, accepting.

  He frowned as he said crisply, “Here, girl. We will enjoy the entertainment while we dine.”

  Arabella briefly met Raj’s eyes, and her own held a hint of—apology? “Thank you, Raj,” she said, and quickly left his side.

  She lowered herself onto the cushions beside Kamal.

  To her chagrin, her stomach growled.

  Kamal smiled at her bowed head. “Here, you may eat while you watch Orna.”

  She accepted the flaky pastry filled with small chunks of lamb, peppers, and rice. It was delicious and gone quickly.

  “You are too thin. Here, have another.”

  She ate the second slowly, her eyes on the dancing girl. The music increased in volume and tempo. The girl was covered from head to toe in sheer silk veils. As she whirled about to the sound of the clashing cymbals, one of the veils floated to the floor. For a moment Arabella felt herself drawn into the frenetic, savage music and the movements of the dancer. The veils billowed around her body. Arabella gulped. The girl would soon be naked.

  “Does Orna’s performance please you?” Kamal asked, watching her widened eyes.

  “It is unusual.”

  “Do you dance?”

  “Not like that.”

  “Ah, yes. The minuet, the cotillion. They are enjoyable enough, I suppose.”

  Orna was whirling faster and faster, dipping backward, then tossing her long brown hair. The last veil fell to the floor, but still she moved to the music, now slow and sensuous. She moved closer to Kamal, the small cymbals fastened to her fingers beating a primitive rhythm. She was so close, Arabella could see the sheen of sweat on her smooth belly. She leaned back, thrusting her hips forward. Arabella’s wine goblet trembled in her hand and wine fell to the white cloth.

  Kamal nodded and the music stopped. “She is talented, is she not?” he asked, looking at Arabella’s whitened face.

  Arabella was too embarrassed to say anything. The girl hadn’t moved and was so close that Arabella could see clearly the damp profusion of brown curls between her thighs.

  “I think you would look equally lovely in such a position.”

  He was baiting her, she thought, and forced herself to keep quiet. She picked up another pastry and slowly bit into it, as if it were the only object that interested her.

  Kamal laughed softly, and clapped his hands. The girl, to Arabella’s immense fury, fell forward on her knees and kissed Kamal’s boot. It took all her control not to fling the wine in his face and then smash the goblet against his head.

  He nodded and the girl backed from the chamber. The musicians had already faded away. They were alone.

  Kamal began to eat. “You are silent, Arabella,” he said.

  “More pensive, perhaps, highness.”

  “Pensive? Were you not well-treated today?”

  “Oh yes. I suppose I was lonely.”

  Kamal frowned ferociously at her bowed head. He could not see her face, for her silky hair fell like a veil, obscuring it. “Lonely?”

  She raised her head. “I am but a woman, highness. My happiness cannot be found within myself. I am fashioned differently.”

  He felt a perverse stab of disappointment. She was behaving just as he had hoped she would: docile, pliant, and submissive to him. “You are fashioned for my love, Arabella. You are fashioned to receive me as my scabbard does my sword.”

  She colored charmingly, and he lightly touched his fingers to her bare arm. She did not draw away but what she thought was that if he said something so stupid again, she would surely vomit on his boots. “Do you want to receive me, Arabella? As a man and as your master?”

  “You will not hurt me?”

  “Hurt you, my little flower? There is only brief pain, and that only when a woman is a maid. After, there is only pleasure. Have you not found that to be true?”

  She nodded, her eyes on his strong fingers. They were rough against her soft skin.

  “Ah, I see you make no more protestations. I am pleased.” But he wasn’t pleased. He knew a moment of fierce anger. The girl was like the rest, perhaps only more intelligent. She had toyed with him until she had gained his interest. Now he could have her. He was annoyed that he had been such a fool. Allah, he could have taken her the night before and she would have readily yielded to him. It had been all a sham.

  “Stand up.”

  Arabella locked her knees and rose to stand above him. She felt his eyes traveling over her body, thoroughly and intimately. She caught her lower lip in her teeth.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. His blue eyes studied her, and she felt for a brief moment that he could see into her mind. She quickly lowered her head. “Will you not help me, master?”

  He laughed, and the sound made her want to shriek. He thought he had won, and he was enjoying her humiliation. She stood quietly, not daring to look again at him.

  Kamal rose gracefully. He clasped his hands about her shoulders and slowly drew her to him. “Kiss me, Arabella,” he said.

  She raised her face and rose to her tiptoes. She felt his mouth lightly touch hers. He tasted sweet, of oranges and wine. She felt his tongue softly glide over her lips, then gently probe until hers parted. To her shock, Arabella felt a surge of tingling warmth deep within her belly. No, her mind cried, and she stiffened. He tightened his hold on her and she felt his hands moving upward from her waist, over her bare ribs to her breasts. The only feeling she knew now was raw fear. His mouth was punishing now, and she hated his tongue probing into her.

  “Please,” she whispered, and pulled back.

  Kamal studied her flushed face. “What bothers you, little flower?” He had felt her reaction to him and sought to bend her completely to his will.

  “I wish to feel your flesh against mine.”

  He felt a surge of lust at her words, but remnants of reason warred in his mind. “Why have you changed toward me?”

  “I desir
e you. Do you not want me?”

  “Yes,” he said, and quickly untied the leather sash at his waist. His white shirt quickly followed, and he faced her, naked to the waist.

  Arabella probed at the small buttons on her jacket. She felt his hands on her breasts, caressing her through the cloth. Her hand slipped slowly to the band of her harem trousers. Slowly, very slowly, forcing herself to lean against him, she grasped the slender dagger.

  “Savage! Animal!” She raised the dagger, and struck at him. He jerked away so quickly that the sharp point sliced across his shoulder and did not plunge deeply into his flesh. Arabella gazed a moment at the long jagged cut, oozing blood, furious with herself that she had not thrust it deep into his heart.

  Kamal lurched back and stared at her. He was tempted to laugh at himself, for he had been naught but a fool, a gullible fool. He felt his blood streaking down his chest. He had no further time for thought, for she lunged at him again. He struck her outstretched arm and she staggered backward.

  “I’ll kill you, you bastard.” She was crouched forward, moving closer toward him, the dagger held tightly in her hand. “I’ll kill you.”

  She rushed him and he quickly sidestepped. He caught her wrist, feeling the delicate bones crunching beneath his fingers. She was crying, and screaming at him in frustration. He tightened his grip until the dagger flew from her hand to the floor.

  They faced each other, panting.

  Tears of rage streamed down Arabella’s face. She threw herself at him, pounding her fists against his chest, kicking out at his legs.

  He pulled her tightly against him and she felt his blood seep through her jacket to her skin. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her head back.

  He stared down into her distraught face and laughed.

  “I hope your blood is poisoned. Next time my aim will be true.”

  He tightened his hold on her, knowing that he was crushing her ribs, but she made no sound, no plea.

  “There will be no next time, my lady.” He considered taking her now, ripping off her clothes and throwing her to the floor. He saw his blood smeared over her breast, and laughed again at his own stupidity. He grasped her arm and dragged her into his bedchamber. He looked only briefly at her bruised wrists before binding them. She struggled wildly, cursing him, but he finished tying her. He stood over her, staring down at her.