The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (29 page)

Hard boot heels clicking on the marble floor warned of his return. Badra immediately scuttled to the bed and dove under the sheets. Violent shudders racked her body.

Kenneth had left her alone for some time. Now, during the dark of night, he would not. She was both excited and afraid.

Curling into a ball, she lay still. The door opened with a click. An oil lamp burned on a sandalwood table. Sounds assaulted her ears, the plucking and rasping of buttons as he unfastened his shirt. The bed sagged where he sat. A dull thud echoed as his boots hit the floor. There came a muted rustle of trousers and underdrawers sliding off.

He was naked!

Cool air freshened her body as Kenneth lifted the sheet and slid into bed. Badra felt dipped into a bath of ice.

His deep voice startled her. "Jabari knows you are well. I told him I’m going to scout out every inch of this building and form a plan to get you out of here."

His words offered little reassurance. And until then? The question thickened her tongue. When she found her voice, it came out as a rasp.

"What are you going to do to me, Khepri?"

"Badra, I will not lie. I want you."

Tears came to her eyes. Heat enfolded her as he shimmied closer, until the warm hardness of his body pressed against her backside. He lay still, stroking her hair. The male hardness of him pressed against her bottom. Badra tensed. She knew, oh God, she knew what would happen next.
Oh please—if he does, I cannot bear it, I swear I cannot.
If he turned into a raging lusty beast and the mad look came into his eyes and he pushed himself crudely inside her, she could not bear it.

Not him. Not Khepri. Please, not him.

But he did not move; he merely lay still, stroking her hair. At last he rose and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to prepare for the inevitable, when he would become a groping beast, grunting and shoving his cock inside her, to rid himself of that hardness, to spill his seed deep into her womb. And then he’d lie back, panting, his eyes glowing with conquest.

The bed shifted, creaked. Something thick and soft fell over her. Badra’s shivering ceased. She eased one eye open.

A blanket. Warm thick fleece lay atop her quivering body.

Kenneth moved noiselessly about the room, a Khamsin warrior still. She heard him give a soft sigh as he eased his tall, muscled body onto the large seat beneath the latticed window.

She waited. And waited.

Soft sounds of deep breathing eventually came from the window. He was sleeping. Badra clutched the warm blanket close to her. Relief soothed her body.

He had not touched her.

He was Khepri still. A man of honor.

Her heart beat quietly with love for him as she lay awake in the dark, tears slipping down her cheeks.

That night in her dreams, the past lived on. It approached like a herd of Arabians shaking the sand, but no beauty existed in this black tent. She was eleven, a newly purchased slave to Sheikh Fareeq. Badra lay upon the thin sheepskin bed, its fibers old and graying with dirt and dust, the stench of old sweat and something more intimate and darker ground into the bed skins.

A flimsy crimson gown of gauze covered her thin, undeveloped frame. Her veil was fashioned from the same fabric, and delicate slippers of saffron covered her tiny feet. Badra adored the slippers. They were the only thing of hers left when her parents had left her, sobbing at the brothel, and she clung to them as a child would clutch a battered, favorite doll.

The footsteps stopped outside the tent. Sunlight exploded into the darkness as her master pulled up the door flap and stomped inside. She shook with fear.

Breath stinking of onion and garlic flooded her face. A stench of old sweat. The sheikh removed his robes and unwrapped his black turban. His hair was thick, greasy and lined with threads of white age.

He stood before her, naked, his torso flabby and hairless but for a small thatch of black below the curve of his belly. A phallus the size of her fist jutted out.

She drew back, fear snaking into terror as he came toward her. The same gleam filled his gaze that had maddened the eyes of the men staring at her on the auction block. A meaty fist tore the scarlet gown from her body and ripped off her veil.

Fareeq glanced at the saffron slippers she was so proud of and laughed. "Leave them on," he ordered.

He pushed her flat on her back, against the sheepskins. He shoved at her, forcing her back into the sheepskins. He squeezed her tender young breasts, which were just beginning to show signs of approaching womanhood.

"Boyish," he grunted in disgust. "They had better ripen. You will open your thighs for me every night until my seed takes root in you and my son grows in your belly."

Then he mounted her, his strangling weight pressing her into the sweaty sheepskins. Breath wheezed out of her but she became aware of the little hard tube of flesh poking out from him, poking the soft, secret place between her legs.

With a grunt, he shoved inside her.

A scream of fright rippled from her throat. Fareeq laughed and pushed harder. Burning pain filled her as he ripped inside, pushing harder.

It was over in a minute as he grunted, straining over her. He withdrew, leaving a bloody streak upon her trembling thighs.

"Nothing like a virgin," he leered, wiping himself with the discarded shreds of her gown. "You will be my new favorite each night, for your sheath is tight and accommodates me nicely." He then settled his bulk upon the bed and fell asleep. Loud snores filled the tent.

Badra curled into a tight ball, crying softly. Each night? She vowed he would not use her again. Tomorrow night, she would fight.

The next night Fareeq undressed as she lay on the sheepskins. "Open your legs for your new master," he ordered.

He went to mount her. Her fingers, curled into a tight fist, smacked him. Fareeq howled. Satisfaction tunneled through her at the smear of crimson on his lip.

"No man is my master." She thrust out her chin.

Panting, he jerked away, his eyes darkening. Fareeq grabbed her, jerking her upward. Terror flooded her as he positioned her between the thick tent poles, binding her naked body between them. Savage anger gleamed in his eyes as he picked up a leather whip and began snapping it.

"No, whore? I’ll show you who your master is."

She shrieked as the lash tore into her flesh.

Badra gave a sobbing scream, and Kenneth sat up, startled out of deep sleep. The noise had lacerated him. He ran to the bed. Badra’s slender shoulders shook. Kenneth pulled her to him.

"Shhh, it was a dream, my love," he whispered soothingly.

But she did not cease crying. The violence of her sobs alarmed him. In a low voice he began to sing a lullaby he remembered Jabari singing to Tarik as an infant.

Badra’s shoulders went still. Then her body shook. She lifted her wet face. She was laughing.

"Oh please, do stop. Jabari was correct," she sputtered. "You do have a voice like a camel farting."

He grinned sheepishly and pursed his lips, making a low purr by blowing between them. A sound between a choked sob and a laugh caught in her throat. He pulled her tight against him.

Finally, she quieted. He fetched a cloth. As she wiped her face, Kenneth stroked her hair. ‘Tell me," he said softly. Badra stiffened. He repeated, ‘Tell me. Once you tell someone, dreams have no power over you," he assured her.

Finally, her hand squeezed his. Slowly the words spilled out. Kenneth listened, anger clenching his muscles. Damn Fareeq!

He pulled her against him, letting her take reassurance in the simple comfort of being held and cherished. Kenneth pressed a deep kiss against her forehead.

"Never again," he said softly. "I promise you, little love, never again will I allow another man to hurt you."

He eased her back onto the bed. She slept, long lashes lying against her cheeks. For a long while after, Kenneth remained on the bed gazing at her, until a soft knock at the door roused him from his watch.

Badra woke gritty-eyed and disoriented, and sat up, rubbing her eyes. An overpoweringly sweet scent flooded her nostrils. Now she was hallucinating as well! A fragrant illusion, though: the delicious smell reminded her of a flower garden and freedom.

Badra opened her eyes and gasped. The bed was awash in jasmine flowers. Sprigs and sprigs of fresh jasmine floated in bowls and filled ceramic vases throughout the room. The room no longer smelled of stale perfume, rancid smoke or sex.

"Good morning."

Kenneth’s deep voice sent a small shiver down her spine. Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her breasts.

Kenneth sat on the floor before the sandalwood table. A silver pot, two china cups and a tray were laid out. Steam misted the air. She inhaled the tangy scent of Turkish coffee and fresh yeast rolls. Kenneth nodded toward the bed. "A gift for you," he said softly.

Glancing down, she saw a puddle of red. Badra picked up the robe, which was embroidered with tiny gold stars. She stroked the Chinese silk, marveling at the sensual feel between her fingers. "Thank you," she told him.

She slipped the robe on over her yellow gown, went to the small connecting room serving as a necessity, then murmured about visiting the women’s bath. Bathing each morning was a requirement for slaves here.

When she returned, he offered her an orange. Badra settled on the table’s opposite side, her new robe draped about her in graceful folds. "I loathe oranges."

"How can anyone loathe oranges? It’s like biting into a burst of sunshine." He popped a slice into his mouth.

Badra bit into a roll and swallowed hungrily. "You must adore oranges because of your name, Khepri, and being associated with the sun. So if I ever desire to bite into sunshine, I will just bite you," she assured him with a teasing smile. It disappeared when she realized what she had said.

Kenneth grinned and winked. "Any time, feel free to use your teeth on me. I won’t bite back."

After a moment she gave in to an odd impulse. "Pity," she said, tossing her hair back.

Kenneth held her gaze in his. He selected another orange slice and gave it a long, slow caress with his tongue. "I didn’t say anything about licking, though," he warned.

A furious heat rose to her cheeks. Badra’s insides felt like warm yogurt. Kenneth watched her, his brilliant blue eyes never leaving her face. She picked up her coffee and considered him over the cup rim.

"I am named Badra after the full moon, Khepri. Have you ever seen the moon? It’s pale and cold and distant. I think my parents chose the name for a reason."

"I have seen the full moon. Seen it as a silvery wash upon the gray sand, filling the land with a pale light. Egypt’s moon is hauntingly beautiful, not cold and distant. Yet she yields to the approaching sunrise, gently allows herself to be coaxed into surrendering to the powerful embrace of Khepri the sun."

His voice was a whisper. Those intense blue eyes burned into her. Her hand shook a little as she set down her cup.

Why hadn’t he taken her last night as she’d expected? She felt confused. Despite his relaxed position, Kenneth looked dangerous, a powerful man accustomed to having his way. He wanted her. She was his concubine. She’d stolen from him and left him wanting for years. Yet he had left her alone, except to offer comfort when she sobbed from her nightmare.

Slowly she dragged her gaze away and absorbed herself in eating. When she raised her eyes again, his intent look was gone, replaced by a charming smile. Kenneth gestured to a stack of books piled atop a table. "I thought you’d enjoy spending some time reading, so I had these sent over."

Eagerly she went to the books, brushing crumbs off her gown. Badra lifted one, hungering for the words inside the leather cover much as her body had hungered for food.

Such treasures! She recognized the Dickens she had left in his library and blushed, remembering what had transpired there.

"When you’re finished with breakfast I thought we could begin your lessons."

"But I know how to read."