The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (26 page)

That night, in his lavish suite, he could not sleep. He lay in the expansive, wide bed. Mosquito netting draped about him like a shroud. His sleep was plagued with dreams of another man buying Badra, dragging her toward a dark room, the door slowly closing, her wide, terrified eyes shut away from him. Her screams pierced his ears.

He returned to the Pleasure Palace the next afternoon. Hovering in the
ka’ah
—the spacious reception room—with the other men awaiting the sale, he willed away his rage. Dozens of men sat on red cushions on the floor with straight-back pillows resting against the wall, or they milled about, sampling dates and drinking fruit juices. Kenneth sat, drumming his fingers on one knee.

When the Palace guards called the potential buyers into the adjacent room, he tightened his resolve. But nothing could prepare him for the agony of seeing who was on the raised dais. Wide dark eyes, ebony hair—she was beautiful as the desert night and its thousands of stars sparkling overhead.

Scarlet skirts clutched in one clenched fist, her chin upright and defiant, Badra stared out into the sea of men. Lust in their eyes, they made crude remarks. Instinct demanded Kenneth yank her off the platform, gather her into his sheltering arms and flee. Protecting her was his nature. He had to save her.

She was being sold as a concubine in her daughter’s place, he realized. Her fierce love astounded him, humbled him. But why had she stolen the artifacts? For the same reason? He needed more answers.

His heart ached as he beheld her, fear sparkling in her dark eyes, yet she stood regally upon the dais. Badra did not tremble. A rough mixture of love and desire rushed through his heated blood as the auction master turned her around, displaying her in a way Kenneth had only dared dream about in the years Jabari entrusted him to her care.

Violence coursed through him, desire to pound the snickering auction master with his fists and show the man the might of an angered Khamsin warrior. Kenneth locked his gaze on Badra’s face. He summoned all the discipline he had learned as a warrior, when his own desire had brewed inside him. When he had wanted nothing more than to tumble Badra to the sand and thrust deeply into the soft portal of her lush body and whisper words of passion in her delicate, shell-like ear. When he would have sold his soul merely to be around her.

Mine, mine, mine. The possessive chant filled him as he glared at the other men. The same craving was reflected in their greedy faces, as if Badra were a tasty dish to be consumed.

But he had never, not once in the five years he had guarded her, thought of her as something to be used and discarded. These men did not know her, could not appreciate her. Kenneth felt all the love he had restrained come pouring out like the ocean upon dry sand. He looked at Badra and silently sent a message, praying she somehow could hear.

I love you. I will not let another man use you for his lust and violate what I sought for five years to guard—your honor, your virtue. You are not goods to be bought and sold. You deserve love, a man who will cherish you as the treasure you are. You are more precious to me than gold. I would give up all the riches I own to hold you in my arms for one single night. I would sacrifice all my tomorrows for one night of your true love.

He burned hotter as he caught a glimpse of her shapely calf. The auction master had lifted the gown, leering as he did so, to show off what awaited Badra’s buyer in bed. Kenneth swore silently, his hand going to his waistband. No scimitar. He had only his wits and his burning love to drive him on.

Kenneth gritted his teeth. He glanced around at the men crowding the platform. Sensing her terror, he willed a message to Badra.

Do not fear. I will not let them have you.

Her evil past was unfolding again before her eyes. Badra stared into the faceless crowd, unwilling to let them see her fear, her shame at being sold like a sheep. She’d already faced this, at age eleven, shivering and confused, fearful of the darkness in the eyes of the men staring at her with great hunger. Then she had known nothing of men. Now she knew.

Minutes passed in agonizing slowness. Badra bit hard on her lower lip as the auction master raised her gown to mid thigh.

"Look here, my good friends. Have you ever seen such a treasure? Surely this one will bring you to paradise when you take her to bed. She is not a virgin but well-versed in the arts of sensual delight."

Murmurs filled the air, cackling noises that splintered her self-possession. If they saw her fear, they would frenzy like desert jackals. Badra steeled her spine and tried to quiet her heart rate.
You are not a spectacle. You will not let these men intimidate you.

She needed a focus, a peaceful place of serenity that would shut out the leering men and their ribald remarks.

Khepri. She did not see him in the crowd.

His image flashed in her mind. His startling blue eyes, his fierce warrior’s might, his polish and urbane charm as an English duke. How much he’d changed. And yet, not at all. He was a man of honor. A man of might. Her protector. What would Khepri say to defray her fears?

He would wink and say, "Look at them. Don’t be afraid. Imagine them naked and impotent. The sagging paunches, the dimples in their overweight bottoms, their tiny little ..."

A bubble of hope rose. She thought of Khepri scrutinizing the portly man in the front row. "Look at him. Have you ever seen a man with so many chins? Do you think he has three wives for each chin? Does each chin have a name?"

Oh Khepri
, she thought silently, wishing with all her heart to see him.
You once made me laugh. You always made me feel safe. Even now, when you are far away, I am surrounded by your memories and can survive.

Resolve filled her to stand upright and throw back her shoulders. Smiling, Badra kept the image of Khepri in mind, his friendly grin and breezy self-assurance, his tender concern and remarkable courage.

Khepri had been placed on a stage like this when he’d returned to England—stared at and studied like her potential bidders were doing to her now. The insight startled her. Had Kenneth felt as naked as she did? Yet he seemed to handle the role of English nobleman with charm, never once intimating he minded the quiet scrutiny of his peers, minded being weighed and measured like a commodity.

Knowing her former falcon guard had probably suffered a similar torment gave her new courage. Badra relaxed. Until the bidding began. Then she swallowed hard.

"Gentlemen! This lovely lady is available to one man, exclusively, for a month of pure pleasure. The bidding opens at five hundred pounds."

Fingers flicked, heads nodded, and the bids climbed higher and higher. Panic tightened her chest. Forced to endure a new master every month? It was worse than she’d thought. The bidding rose to one thousand pounds. Two thousand. Badra thought of Khepri’s reassuring smile, his tender manner. She must not panic. Khamsin warriors never showed emotion before the enemy. Nor would she.

The man casting the last bid on her stood toward the front. His face was lean and hollow-cheeked. He had a cruel smile. Badra could not prevent a shudder from racing down her spine, nor the icy fingers of fear wrapping about her heart.

Then, "Five thousand pounds," a quiet voice said, and it held an air of arrogant assurance.

All heads swerved toward the back, toward the commanding voice that had softly dominated the airless, musty room. It sounded like Khepri’s voice, but Badra could not be sure. She craned her neck to see. The auction master slapped her.

"Mind your place!" he snapped.

Dared she hope? No other offers followed. The room remained draped in awed silence.

The auction master barked, "Sold! Good sir, please retreat to the
ka’ah
to make arrangements to pay—and to collect your new concubine. She will see to all your wildest desires."

Badra was hustled off before she glimpsed the tall, dark-garbed stranger, his face shrouded in shadows. She could only pray with all her heart that her new master’s manner with her did not match the tempered steel in that deep voice.

The building was fashioned like many lavish Cairene buildings, with a large inner courtyard and dark wooded latticework windows overlooking lush gardens. Inside, a high ceiling and elaborate tile work decorated the private apartment. Divans and heavy cushions were scattered about the room. Set into a small alcove was an obscenely large bed. Silk pillows sat atop a richly embroidered coverlet.

Two eunuchs guarded the door, granting no one but her new master access and barring her escape. Rubbing her arms, Badra paced, fighting her razor-sharp fear.
You can do this
, she reassured herself.
You are a mature, experienced woman, not a frightened eleven-year-old virgin.

But she felt as scared as that long-ago child.

A full-length brass-edged mirror mounted on a wall caught her attention. Badra wandered over to examine her appearance. Large terrified eyes outlined in black kohl stared back at her. A silk gown of turquoise with white flounces covered her body. A sheer veil of white gauze fringed with coins hid her face. The veil served to add to the mystique of the exotic surroundings and excite her new owner, not to cover her modesty.

She wore saffron-colored slippers of soft kid leather, edged with turquoise piping and embroidered with tiny turquoise-and-white flowers. The slippers brought a shudder—too much like those she had worn when first enslaved.

Resigned, she walked over to the bed, testing it with one hand. Soft as a cloud. Knowing what would happen there shook her self-confidence. Badra sat, wrapping her arms about herself.

Who would it be? Another cruel, sadistic man who laughed and raped her until her mind grew numb? Perhaps this time she’d be fortunate and her master would rut upon her but not flay her with a whip.

She thought of Khepri, how gently he used to take her hand when they walked into the village of Amarna. How he had guided her back to Jabari’s home. His fierce blue eyes had roved the streets, ever-watchful for enemies. She rested assured in his scimitar, which was always ready to slay any who dared touch her.

Khepri. Now Kenneth. So foreign she scarcely recognized him, his tall, leanly-muscled frame exuding only confident power. He belonged to a green land far across the water, this man who had once gazed at her with such love and devotion.

Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Badra tensed. Her clammy fingers plucked at the gauze of her harem trousers, and she hugged herself tighter as the wooden door opened. She heard the hard, firm click of masculine heels walk inside. Quivering, Badra stared at the floor and saw approaching brown leather boots.

She forced herself to speak. "My master, I am most willing to do whatever you wish of me. All I ask is—please, please, do not beat me." The words came out in a trembling whisper.

The bed sank with her new captor’s weight. A hand caught her chin, lifted it up. With every last ounce of courage, Badra lifted her gaze. And found herself looking directly into a familiar pair of deep blue eyes.

"My dear Badra," the Duke of Caldwell said softly. "How can I make you understand? As long as I draw breath, no one will ever hurt you."

Stark relief slammed into her with the force of a raging wind. She closed her eyes, opened them, afraid he was a mirage. Kenneth tenderly regarded her.

"Jasmine? Is she safe?" she asked hopefully.

Kenneth laid a finger on her lips. He glanced at the eunuchs standing guard and issued a crisp command. "Leave us."

When they had left, he gave her an expectant look. A shiver of misgiving shot through her at his grave expression.

"Your daughter is safe with Jabari."

She could only stare in growing horror. Her jaw dropped as she struggled to make sense of his words.

"Your daughter, Jasmine. You did this because of her?"

"She’s my sister ...," she argued.

Her denial died with the keen look he gave her. "No, Badra. Your daughter. She has your eyes, your stubborn little chin. And the remarks you made, about a mother’s love. She’s the daughter you bore to Fareeq. I know. Jabari does as well."