Bertrice Small - Bedazzled

India nodded vigorously, at first unable to speak. She was both hot and cold, and had to struggle to remain standing, for her legs felt as if they would give way at any minute. His large hand was splayed across her belly and felt fiery against her skin. She wondered if he could feel her trembling. Finally she was able to speak. "Of course I am a virgin," she gasped. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Because you have told me you are in love with the milord," the dey answered her.

"I love him, but I am certainly no wanton," India murmured. "And if he had had me, would you set us free?" Oh, God! She wished his hands didn't feel so all-possessing. Every time he caressed her, chills raced up and down her spine.

"No, I would not set you free, although it would displease me to learn that another had traveled the path I have solely reserved for my own pleasure." His lips brushed her ear. "I am going to make love to you," he said softly. "I shall kiss you and caress you until you beg me to relieve you of the burden of your virginity."

"Never!" she half whispered vehemently.

"And I shall teach you how to please me." His big hand drew her head to one side, and his mouth branded her throat with kisses. "Tell me your name, my thorny rose."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe! And then she finally managed to say, "India."

"India." he breathed hotly in her ear.

"I am Lady India Anne Lindley, daughter of the duke of Glenkirk… I have a brother who is a duke… and another brother who is a marquis… I am rich and can pay whatever ransom you desire. Ohhh God! Don't do that! Please let me go, my lord!"

"There isn't enough gold in the world to buy you from me," the dey told her. Then his fingers teased down her torso, and, pushing his hands between her trembling thighs, he cupped her Venus mound within his palm. "You belong to me," he told her.

India collapsed against him. The touch of his hand in that most secret of places was simply too much for her. With a cry she fainted dead away. The dey caught her in his arms, and calmly handed her limp form to a eunuch. Brushing India's hot cheek with the back of his hand, he smiled to himself. Aruj Agha had been wrong. There had been a valuable cargo on the English ship, and as was his right, the dey claimed this cargo for himself.

"Take her to Baba Hassan," he told the eunuch, "and tell him the girl is to be treated like a princess. I will speak with him later."

The eunuch turned, and exited the audience chamber carrying his burden with extreme gentleness.

"If she kills you, I will not be responsible," Aruj Agha said wryly. "I think she will break you, rather than the other way around."

"We will destroy each other in an excess of passion," the dey answered him. "I have been bored of late. I will no longer be bored. She intrigues me, my friend. She was frightened to death, but she would not admit to it, or even show it by any outward sign. I knew, for I could feel her trembling ever so slightly beneath my touch."

"When she declared she was in love with the milord, I feared I had been misled with regard to her virginity, and I was ashamed to have brought you so poor a gift," the agha said, "but when she fainted at your intimate touch, I knew she was indeed a virgin. I wish you much joy with the girl, my lord dey. Now, I will take my leave of you." Aruj Agha bowed low before his lord.

"The English milord," Caynan Reis said. "Do not kill him, my friend. I want him alive to eventually ransom, but first I think he needs a strong lesson in manners."

"You will ransom him despite the difficulty?" The agha was surprised. "Why?"

"The girl believes I have given him a death sentence. In a few months we will show her that he is still alive, and that I am a merciful man. I will have won her love by then, and so we will ransom him. It amuses me to do this. Now, go and Allah be with you, Aruj Agha. Travel safely, and bring me more treasures to enrich our master the sultan."

The janissary captain departed the dey's audience chamber, and Caynan Reis dismissed his servants, sitting quietly upon his dais. Viscount Twyford. How odd it had been to hear the title that had once come out of his half-brother's mouth. Adrian had, under his mother's tutelage, become an arrogant swine, so filled with himself that he had not even recognized Deverall Leigh, but then, it had been ten years since they had last seen each other. Ten years could be a lifetime, the dey considered.

In that time his half-brother had grown from a snot-nosed brat into a haughty and insolent cad. One of the guards who had escorted Captain Southwood and Adrian from his audience chamber had been a sailor on the ship he had taken from England. That vessel, like the Royal Charles, had been captured by corsairs sailing out of El Sinut. The guard, like Deverall Leigh, had accepted Islam, and gained a decent life. Although he rarely heard his native tongue, he had dutifully reported the conversation he overheard between the English captain and Adrian, even as the dey was preparing to punish India for her attack on his person. Captain Southwood's gallant attempt to protect his cousin from scandal undoubtedly came about because the foolish, inexperienced India was attempting to elope with Adrian. He could see his stepmother's greedy hand in it, the dey thought. He doubted the girl's family would have approved any match between his half-brother and India. Not with his stepmother's reputation, and the scandal of Lord Jeffers's murder, for which he had been held responsible.

He simply should have held Adrian in his dungeon until a ransom could have been obtained for his person, although he knew his father was not a rich man. Still, MariElena Leigh would have moved heaven and earth to regain her darling son. The dey smiled grimly. He could imagine her anguish. The little bastard, however, had aggravated him with his arrogance. The order to send him to the galleys was out of his mouth before the dey realized what he was saying. Well, a few months in the galleys wouldn't kill Adrian. It might even make him a better man. After all, the dey of El Sinut had himself been confined in the galleys for almost two years, and he had survived. Surely his half-brother was made of the same stuff.

And when the ransom was finally paid, Caynan Reis decided, he would reveal himself to Adrian. And he would tell him how delicious a prize the beautiful India was, for although his half-brother had now dismissed the girl he had been eloping with, it would certainly madden him to know she was Deverall Leigh's mistress, and would be until he tired of her. Adrian had always been loath to share his toys when he was little. Even when he had tired of them.

His stepmother had taught him one important lesson. Women were expendable, and absolutely not to be trusted. Nonetheless, his revenge would be sweet, and it was little enough for Adrian to suffer. After all, he would go home to England, and one day inherit the title that was rightfully Deverall Leigh's. Whereas Deverall Leigh could never go home because he stood accused of murdering Lord Jeffers. His name was blackened forever, and he knew that his father's heart was broken because of it, for he had been the earl of Oxton's favorite son.

And that was what hurt the dey worst of all. The knowledge that his father had been shamed, and injured because of this. So that a selfish and thoughtless woman's son might supplant him. He wished there was some way he might make his stepmother suffer for all her betrayals, and for the death of an innocent man, but he knew his desire was a futile one. Still, he would think on it. Was it not written that nothing was graven so deeply in stone that it could not be changed?

India opened her eyes. She was surrounded by pale gold gauze draperies. Gingerly she turned her head. She was lying naked upon a scarlet silk mattress. Beside her was a low table, its top inlaid with blue-and-white mosaic. Atop the table was a crystal goblet half filled with a pale peach-colored liquid. She was so thirsty, but she could hardly move. India moaned softly and instantly a black face appeared in her view. She gasped, trying to cover herself.

"I am Baba Hassan, lady, chief eunuch of the dey's harem. You are thirsty." It was a statement and not a question. The eunuch braced her shoulders in a half-seated position and held the cup to her lips. "Drink it slowly, lady," he advised, apparently impervious to her unclothed state.

The liquid was cool, and fruity, and slid easily down her parched throat. "What is it?" she finally asked him when she had assuaged her thirst. The drink had been sweet, and she could feel the strength coming back into her limbs.

"It is a mixture of fruit juices," he told her, and he lay her back upon the mattress.

"Where am I?" India asked him.

"You are in the harem of the dey, Caynan Reis, may Allah protect and preserve him." Baba Hassan told her. "I have been told you are to be treated gently despite your violent behavior of earlier today." The eunuch's long face wore a disapproving look.

"I did not even wound him," India said defensively.

"You should have not even attempted to do such a thing. It showed an appalling lack of manners," Baba Hassan said sternly. "You are a beautiful maiden, not some wild savage."

"Is our young assassin awake then?" a bell-like voice inquired.

India turned her head, and saw the voice belonged to a very beautiful older woman with silver hair and almond-shaped turquoise-blue eyes. She had a lean body and an elegant carriage, and there was an amused smile upon her unlined face.

"I am Azura, the mistress of the dey's harem," the woman said. "How are you feeling now, my child?"

"Tired," India replied. "Weak. What is the matter with me?"

"A long sea voyage, the distress of being captured by Aruj Agha, fear," Azura said quietly. "And I suspect you are in a little bit of shock having been whipped by the dey. I do not imagine you were ever treated so harshly before, my child, were you?" The older woman's face was genuinely concerned.

"I am a nobleman's daughter, and related to our king. Of course I have never been beaten before," India answered Azura indignantly, and feeling the tears pricking sharply behind her eyelids, she fought to prevent them from overflowing her eyes and displaying her weakness for all to see.

Azura reached out and squeezed India's hand. "Let the tears come, my child. They will be a catharsis for you."

"If I weep you will think me weak," India said stonily. "Iam not weak! I do not cry before strangers."

"I understand," Azura said calmly, "but when you are alone later, cleanse your sorrow with your tears, my child. Now, are you hungry?"

India nodded.

"Baba Hassan will see you are fed, and then we will take you to the baths," Azura told her. She arose. "I will come back later when you have finished your meal, my child. We will talk."

"Who is she?" India asked the eunuch when Azura had gone. "Is she the dey's wife?"

"Caynan Reis has no wife," Baba Hassan replied. "The lady Azura was the favorite of the former dey. On his deathbed he asked Caynan Reis to protect her and let her live out her days here where she has lived most of her life. Of course he agreed. She keeps order among the women, who are apt to be difficult as all women are," the eunuch concluded. He clapped his hands sharply, and a slave girl appeared with a tray. "Here is your meal, lady," Baba Hassan said.

India sat up slowly, and another slave girl appeared to prop pillows behind her back. Upright, the tray in her lap, India inspected the contents curiously. There was a bowl of yellow grain mixed with pieces of green scallions and bits of chicken, half a round of a flat bread, a small bunch of green grapes, and a thin slice of something pale gold in color. "What is it?" she asked the eunuch.

"Saffroned rice with onion and chicken, the bread and grapes you recognize, and a slice of melon, a sweet fruit," he answered her.

India began to eat using a small silver spoon and her fingers. There was neither a fork nor a knife upon the tray. The rice and chicken were nicely cooked and flavored, the bread still warm, and the melon was absolutely delicious, almost melting in her mouth. "It is all very good," she pronounced as she finished. She washed her hands in a silver ewer the slave girl held out, drying them on a small linen towel provided. The tray was removed.