Captive of the Harem

Suleiman rose from the massage bench, wrapping a cloth around his waist. His back and shoulders glistened with the oil that had been rubbed into his skin, enhancing the honed beauty of his muscular torso. He had a presence, an air of power and confidence that kept others in awe of him, but also created a distance so that he had few true friends.

What could the Corsair want with him? Suleiman was aware of a tingling sensation at the nape of his neck and experienced the first prickles of a strange excitement. The Corsair’s reputation was known to him, though they had never met.

‘Ask him to come to my private room.’ He glanced at the officers who were also enjoying the benefits of being massaged by Suleiman’s slaves. ‘Excuse me, my friends. This will not take long. Please, eat, drink—and the women will entertain you.’

He gave an order to the eunuchs for dancing girls to be brought as he retired to his inner chamber, where only a very few were ever permitted.

‘Bring coffee and food,’ he told one of the slaves, ‘then leave us.’

Suleiman was seated on a silken divan, clad now in simple white trousers and a long white caftan belted at the waist, when the Corsair captain was shown into his presence. He fell on his knees but was immediately told to sit, which he did on the cushions provided.

‘We are both men,’ Suleiman said, his eyes narrowed and intent on the other’s face. ‘We shall speak as equals. You will take coffee with me?’

‘You honour me, my lord.’

‘You have something for me?’

Mohamed smiled. The Caliph’s son wasted no time. ‘I have been told you seek something rare and beautiful?’

‘This is true. What have you to sell?’ Suleiman frowned. It was said of this man that he had an eye for quality. When he had merchandise for sale it was always the best—always highly priced. Again he felt that tingling sensation in his spine and was conscious of excitement. ‘Is it treasure—or a woman?’

‘Some would say this woman is a treasure beyond price.’

‘Why?’ Suleiman’s hard gaze intensified. ‘There are already many beautiful women in my harem—what makes this one worthy of special attention?’

‘Her hair is the colour of ripe corn in the sunlight and reaches to below her waist,’ Mohamed said. ‘Her body is perfect, her eyes are azure like a summer sky and—’

‘And?’ Suleiman was demanding, imperious, dismissive of such details. ‘What else?’

‘She is clever. She speaks three languages, and I believe she reads Arabic. She is the daughter of an English baronet—curse all unbelievers!’

The prickling at Suleiman’s nape had become almost painful. He felt as if a thousand hot pins had been stuck into him, and it was all he could do to stop himself gasping. A feeling of intense excitement had come over him, but he had no intention of showing it.

‘Her mind is of little account,’ he said with a studied carelessness. ‘If her body is perfect, I may be interested. Where did you find her?’

‘I attacked the ship of a merchant of Cyprus,’ Mohamed said. He was not in the least put off by Suleiman’s apparent indifference. It was expected that they would bargain. ‘The ship was damaged and becalmed after the storm, and we thought it ripe for plucking—but a Spanish war galley bore down on us. We were able to take only the woman, her servant and a boy before escaping.’

‘How do you know she is the daughter of an English noble?’

‘She told me, my lord—in three languages. She insists her family would pay twice her price in the market for her return.’

‘And yet you come to me?’

‘I would not sell this woman in the market, my lord. Nor would I entrust her to the slave merchants, who might defile her. She is safe in a house I know of—and will stay there until I sell her.’

Suleiman nodded, his face expressionless. ‘What is your price for this woman?’

‘One thousand gold pieces, my lord.’

‘For a woman?’ Suleiman laughed scornfully. ‘No woman is worth a third of such a sum.’

‘Forgive me for wasting your time, my lord.’ It was clearly the Corsair’s intention to leave as he rose to his feet. Suleiman rose too, matching the Corsair for height and build. ‘I was told you sought something rare, a treasure beyond price but—I see I was misinformed.’

‘Stay!’ Suleiman’s face was very hawkish at that moment, his pupils more silver than black. ‘We have not yet concluded our business.’

Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn smiled inwardly. He had not thought for one moment that he would be allowed to leave.

‘She is truly beyond price, my lord. I would not have offered her to you if I had not thought the woman a rare prize. I swear you will not be disappointed in her.’

‘Eight hundred if she is what you claim.’

‘One thousand gold pieces—her family would pay more.’

‘For a woman?’ Suleiman scorned and yet he knew he would pay the price asked if she was all this man claimed. ‘A thousand then, but I will take the boy you spoke of, too.’

‘He has been sent to the slave market.’

‘Get him back,’ Suleiman commanded, determined that he must assert his authority in some way. The boy was of little importance, but a Corsair must not best the Caliph’s son in business. ‘One thousand for them both or you may send the woman to the market too.’

‘Come with me, child,’ the woman said to Eleanor in a soft, melodious voice. ‘You must feel so dirty after being on the galley for so many days. Bathe and rest and you will feel better.’

‘Who are you?’ Eleanor asked. She had been too weary to notice much as she was brought to this house that morning, but she had been given a delicious meal of rice and vegetables in a sweet sauce, and allowed to rest in a room by herself and was feeling better. ‘And where am I? What is going to happen to me—and where is my brother? Has he been brought here too?’

‘So many questions! I cannot answer the half of them.’ The woman laughed. ‘I am called Roxana and I am what some people call a Morisco—but I have mixed blood. My father was a Moor but my mother was Spanish.’

‘Are you a Muslim or a Christian?’

‘I am of the true faith,’ Roxana replied, but did not meet her eyes as she spoke. ‘Mohamed thought you might be of the Muslim persuasion—are you?’

Eleanor hesitated. She might be spared much if she was thought to be a Muslim, but she did not wish to lie to this woman, who had treated her kindly.

‘No. I was raised as a Protestant—but I believe that everyone should have the right to worship as they please. How can any of us know that we alone are right in our religious beliefs?’

Roxana looked anxious. ‘You should not speak so openly, child. Men are fanatical about such things—you could be put to death for those words. In Spain you would have been given to the Inquisition for questioning. Here too you could be punished for voicing such an opinion. It is always best for a woman to be silent.’

‘But why?’ Eleanor sighed. Was there no one left to whom she could open her mind? Now that her father was dead she would never be able to speak freely again. But Roxana was only speaking the truth. ‘You are right, of course. But you have not answered my questions.’

‘You are in my house,’ Roxana said. ‘I was given it by Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn for saving his life some years ago. I have some skill with herbs and I nursed him when he was close to death. He comes here sometimes and I live because he lives. If it were not for him, I would have to sell myself to a master—and I would prefer to die.’

‘I do not think him a bad man. He was not unkind to me.’

‘That is because you will fetch a good price,’ Roxana told her. ‘You are very beautiful. Your skin is soft and smooth, and your body is comely—though a little thin for perfection. Good food will soon cure that. Come, now, and cleanse yourself. Then we shall sit and talk until your master comes for you.’

‘You are kind, Roxana.’

‘I have known what it is like to be in your position. I was sold by my family to an old man. He was…not kind.’ Roxana shuddered at the memory. ‘But he died and I ran away before his possessions were sold. I lived in a hut by the river and it was there I nursed Mohamed…’

‘You love him—don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Roxana smiled at her. ‘My wish is only to serve him, but one day he will take a wife and go far away. Then I shall not see him again.’

‘He will not marry you?’

Roxana shook her head. ‘He will take a young girl of his own…class. He came from a good family. He has suffered much at the hands of the Spanish—in their galleys as a slave.’

Eleanor nodded. She had been terrified of her captor at first, but she was beginning to see that she had been lucky. Instead of being taken directly to the slave market, she had been brought here to this house to rest and refresh herself. It could have been so much worse, and her mind shied away from what might have happened to her. She was safe here for the moment with this kind woman.

Yet she would escape if she could! Her mind was frantically looking for a way of escaping as her hostess led her into a walled garden, which was planted with many bushes and flowers that gave out a heady perfume. They walked through little paths between the bushes and wooden trellises, up which scrambled flowering shrubs. At a sunlit spot in the middle of a very secluded area, they came upon a sunken bath.

‘You may wash here,’ Roxana told her. ‘There is soap in the jars and towels to dry yourself when you have finished.’

‘I have never bathed in the open air before,’ Eleanor said, glancing round nervously.

‘No one will disturb you.’ Roxana smiled at her. ‘I shall leave you to bathe in private—and bring clothes to you in a while.’

It was very warm as Eleanor removed her clothes. Her dress felt stiff with dirt and sweat and she was glad to be rid of it. The sun was warm on her skin as she stood naked at the edge of the pool, relishing the warmth on her skin. It was many years since she had swum naked in the river at her home, for when she assumed the duties of a woman she had left the pranks of childhood behind her—but it did feel so good to be free of her restricting gown for once.

She was of medium height and slender with slim hips and small, pert breasts, the nipples the colour of a dark pink rose. Her skin was a warm cream in colour, and seemed to have a slightly golden sheen in the sunlight. Seen in her naked glory she was truly magnificent, a goddess come to earth—or so it might seem to any who saw her thus.

She walked down the gently sloping steps into the water, which seemed to be perfumed and was cool to her skin. It felt delicious and she walked further into the shallow pool, dipping down into the water and splashing in it in sheer delight. She suddenly went right under, remembering that she had loved to swim beneath the water as a child. She was so dirty and her hair needed a good soaking to be rid of the filth of her imprisonment.

It was so good to relax here by herself. She would think about escape later. For the moment she was simply going to enjoy the luxury that had been granted her.

Suleiman caught his breath as he watched the woman bathing. She seemed to be content as she splashed and soaped her limbs, and then her hair. It was a wonderful colour. He did not think that he had ever seen such beautiful hair…so thick and wavy. Now that it was wet it had gone darker but he knew it would look even better once it was clean. It would be pleasurable to bury his face in hair like that, to stroke that skin and crush her to him.

He felt a stirring in his loins, and realised that she had affected him in a way no woman had for a long time. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he knew a fierce longing to take her there and then—but then his self-control asserted itself once more. He had not paid a thousand gold pieces for his own benefit. He needed something rare and beautiful to please the Grand Turk.

She was truly a gift fit for the Sultan, he thought as he continued to watch her. The money demanded for her price had been exorbitant, far more than he would normally have considered—but perhaps she was worth it. He frowned as she submerged beneath the water again, seeming to stay there longer than necessary.

Was she trying to drown herself? Such things were not unknown amongst infidel women—they did not always take kindly to the idea of becoming a slave. He had heard of women killing themselves rather than being forced to submit to slavery.

He moved out from behind the pierced wooden screen, which had served as his hiding place, just as the woman surfaced once more. At first she did not seem to see him, then, when she became aware that she was no longer alone, she stared at him for a moment, screamed and ducked beneath the water again.

Suleiman cursed loudly and waded into the pool. The foolish woman was trying to kill herself. He saw her beneath the surface and bent down to grab her, but she shot out of his grasp, swimming beneath the water to the far side. Then she came up gasping for air. He caught a glimpse of her lovely breasts, the nipples a deep rose, peaked and tempting, and then she crossed her arms over herself, her eyes meeting his in a cold stare.

She was angry! Suleiman was also angry. He was wet and uncomfortable and he realised that she had no intention of drowning herself—which made what he had done seem foolish.

‘Who are you?’ Eleanor demanded as he waded up the steps of the bath. He had been wearing a long, heavily embroidered robe over loose white pants and the tunic dragged against him in the water. ‘How dare you spy on me?’

‘I thought you meant to drown yourself. I did not intend to frighten you.’

Eleanor realised that she had spoken in English and that he had replied in the same language, clearly as at home in her native tongue as she. She had not expected that somehow.

‘Go away! You have no right to be here. Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn owns me and he will kill you if he finds you here.’

‘I do not think so.’ Suleiman was amused by her show of defiance. Did she not realise that she was completely at his mercy? He could strip off his wet clothes and join her in the bath… The temptation to do so made him harden beneath his robes. He could feel his manhood burning and throbbing with a fierce need—a need he had not felt in a long time. ‘Come out and dry yourself, woman.’

‘Not while you’re watching!’

‘Foolish one! You have nothing to show that I have not already seen a thousand times.’

‘I don’t care how many concubines you have!’ Eleanor retorted, stung by his mockery. How dare he speak to her so! ‘I am not one of them and I am not coming out until you go away.’

‘You will turn cold.’ Suleiman sat down on a tiled bench, his eyes intent on her face, his mouth softened by amusement. ‘I have no intention of leaving.’

‘You are also wet.’

‘But I shall dry in the sun.’ He laughed huskily, the cruel mouth softened and suddenly appealing. ‘What a fierce one you are, my little bird. You are truly worth the price asked. You will make a fine gift for the Sultan.’

Eleanor was chilled. So she was to be sold after all!

‘Have you bought me?’ He inclined his head, sending strange little sensations down her spine as she saw the brilliance of his eyes. ‘Who—who are you?’

‘My name is Suleiman Bakhar. I am the son of Caliph Bakhar—chief justice minister to the Sultan.’

Eleanor was silent, fighting her desire to weep. It seemed that all her hopes were at an end. She had hoped so much that she would be able to persuade her captor to ransom her—but it was already too late. There was something masterful about this man, an air of arrogance that told her he would not easily give up what was his.

Suleiman relented as he saw her shiver. ‘Come out, foolish woman. I shall turn my back.’

He stood up, turning away so that he could not see her. He heard her moving in the water and was tempted to turn as she left the bath, but resisted.

‘You can look now.’

Suleiman turned. She had wrapped a towel around her body, leaving her shoulders and arms bare, and was clutching the cloth to her as if her life depended on it. He smiled, feeling oddly moved by her need for modesty. Most of the women were only too eager to show off their charms. He picked up the second towel.

‘Come here. I shall dry your hair.’

She made no move to obey, simply staring at him with her head up and her eyes proud. No one disobeyed Suleiman! To do so could mean instant punishment—even death. He was stunned by her obstinacy. Was she mad or merely foolish? Had she no idea how important he was—or what he could do to her if he chose?

‘You must obey me. I am your master.’

‘You may have bought me, but that does not mean that you can make me your slave.’

Suleiman saw the pride and defiance in her eyes and felt a surge of excitement. She was like one of his hawks—when they were fresh from the wild and untamed to the touch of his hand. Most of the birds succumbed to gentle persuasion in time, but now and then one would attempt to tear out his eyes. If that happened the bird was returned to the wild. Some men would have ordered it killed, but Suleiman understood the wild spirit that could not be tamed—and respected it.

He had never met a truly spirited woman before. They were always trained in their duties by the eunuchs and older women long before they were presented to their master.

‘What makes you say that? Do you not understand that I have absolute power over you? I can do with you as I will.’

‘You can do as you will with my body,’ Eleanor retorted, head high. She ought to be afraid of this man but she wasn’t. ‘But you cannot command my mind—or my soul.’

‘Ah…’ Suleiman nodded, enjoying this verbal tussle. ‘Yes, I see. You think you can rise above the indignity of being a slave. I understand. But you do not. You are fortunate that I paid a great deal of money for you—or you might even now feel pain. I do not think you have ever experienced true pain, Eleanor.’

‘Who gave you permission to use my name?’ Her eyes flashed blue fire.

Suleiman moved towards her, towering above her, menacing her with the power of his strength and masculinity—yet she did not flinch. Her hair had begun to dry at the edges in the hot sun, little wisps curling about her face. He could imagine what it would look like properly dressed in its natural waves, cascading down to the small of her back. He was pleased with his purchase and inclined to indulge her for the moment.

‘Here…’ He put the second towel around her shoulders to protect her from the fierce heat. ‘Go into the house and let Roxana help you to dress. We have a ride of some distance to my father’s palace.’

Eleanor was torn between anger and caution. This man was a noble of his own country. A barbarian, of course, but better than many she might have been sold to. She was foolish to antagonise him. If she tried persuasion instead, he might ransom her to her family.

‘I shall obey because I have no choice for the moment,’ she said with dignity. ‘But you do not understand either, sir. I am the daughter of an English baronet. I have powerful friends. They will look for me and they will pay a high price for my return—twice what you paid for me. You may name your own price, sir.’

‘You do not know how much I paid…’ A smile curved his mouth. ‘Would your family give ten thousand in your English gold coin? I might sell you for such a sum.’

It was a king’s ransom and her family could not pay anywhere near as much—and he knew it.

Eleanor paled from shock. ‘That is impossible. You did not pay any such sum!’

Suleiman laughed, much amused by her reaction. She had not tried to lie, and that pleased him. ‘No, I did not—but I am beginning to think I paid too much. You have too much to say for yourself, woman. Have you no respect for your betters? Do you not know that it becomes a woman to remain silent in the presence of her master—at least until she is given permission to speak?’

‘When I am in company that deserves my respect I give it.’ She felt a flash of temper. How dare this barbarian try to teach her manners? She was an English gentlewoman! ‘Here, I see only barbarians.’

‘Be careful, woman.’ Suleiman’s mouth hardened as he took a step towards her. ‘My patience wears thin. Go to the house before I drag you back in the pool and drown you!’

‘You wouldn’t…’ Eleanor began, but the look in those fierce eyes made her think he just might. She gave a little squeak of alarm, turned and fled.

Suleiman watched her flight, his eyes bright with laughter. He had won the first tussle—but what a fight she had put up. She was indeed a fine prize. A worthy gift for the Sultan…and yet perhaps she needed to be tamed a little first. She was too fiery, too defiant. From what he knew of the Sultan, her spirit would not be particularly appreciated.

Perhaps Suleiman would keep her for a while…

Chapter Three

‘You are beautiful,’ Roxana said as she brushed Eleanor’s long hair. She sighed and looked at her with sympathy. ‘It is a pity that you are destined for the Sultan’s harem and not Suleiman Bakhar’s own household.’

‘Why?’ Eleanor frowned at her.

‘Suleiman Bakhar is young and strong—and they say that to be loved by him is like dying and going to paradise. Though perhaps this is only gossip brought by servant women to the markets.’

‘I do not care if he is young and handsome,’ Eleanor said, shivering as she remembered the look in those fierce eyes when he had threatened to drown her. For a moment she had truly believed he might do it. ‘I do not want to be his concubine.’

‘He might marry you—if you are clever. Until now he has taken only concubines. They say he must marry soon, because he must give the Caliph an heir…’

‘I have no wish to be his wife!’ Eleanor stared at her in horror. ‘I can think of nothing worse.’

‘That is because you do not know what it is like to be the wife of an old man.’ Something flickered in the older woman’s eyes. ‘If you did, you would do all you could to make Suleiman notice you and want you for himself.’

‘Was it very hard for you, Roxana?’ Eleanor looked at her with sympathy. It was easy to see that the older woman had once been lovely—and that she had suffered.

‘Sometimes I prayed that I might die before night came.’

‘Is that why you left me alone in the garden? Did you think I might escape? Were you trying to help me?’

‘It is not in my power. Had you tried to escape, you could not have done so,’ Roxana replied. ‘The walls are high and there are guards outside. Besides, if you had got out you would have been noticed immediately. The clothes you were wearing marked you as an infidel and an unbeliever. You would have been chased and caught by the mob—then, when they saw how beautiful you are, they would have begun to quarrel over you. Unless Mohamed’s men rescued you, you might have been raped again and again…’

Eleanor turned pale. She held up her hands as if to ward off the pictures Roxana’s words had brought to life in her mind.

‘Enough! It is clearly useless to try and escape in the city—but if I managed to slip away outside its walls dressed like this…’

She was wearing a pair of drawers, very full, which reached down to her ankles; they were of a fine green material brocaded with gold. Over these, was a smock of a paler green silk gauze, edged with pearls; it had loose sleeves which covered as far as her elbows and closed at the throat with a cluster of pearls. And to Eleanor’s disgust, her breasts were clearly visible through it! The waistcoat fitted her close to her body and had very long sleeves fringed with gold tassels, and the buttons were again clusters of pearls. On top of all these was what Roxana had called a caftan, and that was a straight robe that covered her to the ankles. A girdle of gold threads woven with what looked like precious stones, but must surely be crystals, was fastened with a heavy clasp of gold, again set with jewels. If they were jewels. But Eleanor was certain they must be false. On her feet she wore soft boots that reached just to mid-thigh and were embroidered with gold thread.