Bought for the Harem Page 2

  ‘You must not give way to despair, my love,’ Harriet said. ‘If I can find a way to have us both ransomed, I shall. I have a fortune and I will use it to see us both safely home again.’

  ‘What of Papa and … Captain Richardson?’ Marguerite asked. ‘Do you think they were killed on the ship? I have wondered if it would have been better to have stayed with them. If he is dead.’ She choked back her grief. ‘I would truly rather be dead than live as the concubine of one of those terrible men.’ She shuddered. ‘They frighten me, Harriet. I do not like their voices or their smell.’

  ‘The corsairs are brutes and there is an unpleasant smell about them, but I believe it will be very different in the har … household of a wealthy man. I understand that the Turks and Saracens can be highly educated men and that they like to bathe frequently. They are more likely to smell of perfume than sweat.’

  ‘Harriet!’ Marguerite stared at her in horror. ‘How can you say they are intelligent when they treat women as slaves? It is wicked and inhuman! I would rather die than be forced to. I should die of shame.’

  ‘Yes, I know that we should be ruined as far as the chance of a good marriage is concerned, but there are other pleasures in life. Besides, if a man of honour buys us, he may allow us to be ransomed in time.’

  Marguerite gave her an accusing look. ‘You are saying that just to comfort me. You know it won’t happen, don’t you?’

  Harriet cast down her gaze. She had begun to think that the hope of being ransomed was fading fast, but, seeing the fear and distress in her cousin’s eyes, knew she must not give up.

  ‘I can only promise to try, Marguerite. As yet I have found no one who will listen—’

  Harriet broke off as she saw that something was happening. The slave master was choosing men and women and they were being taken from the compound. She grabbed hold of Marguerite, her heart beating wildly.

  ‘I think we are being taken to the auction. Hang on to me, Marguerite, and don’t let go whatever they say to us.’

  Marguerite nodded, her face ashen. She took hold of Harriet’s arm, determined that she would not let go even if they were threatened, as they had already been several times.

  ‘Let go of her,’ the slave master commanded. ‘I want the fair one, not you.’

  ‘We go together.’ Harriet faced him down. In a tone of utter loathing she muttered an insult that he would understand, which she had once found in a rather risqué book in her father’s library. The stories had been about Arabia, but told as amorous adventures, and something she ought never to have touched, let alone read. Yet it had opened her eyes and perhaps she was more prepared for what was happening, because she had read of things most women might not have heard of and would think horrifying.

  The slave master’s face was a picture of surprise and shock, yet a gleam of appreciation showed in his eyes and Harriet realised that he had a reluctant admiration for her vocabulary.

  ‘Go on, then, but you are to be sold separately.’

  ‘Quickly,’ Harriet hissed as they followed the other slaves through a dark tunnel. ‘Help me tie your wrist to mine. If they want to separate us they will have to cut us, apart.’

  ‘Oh, Harry …’ Marguerite trembled, her eyes dark with fear. ‘What will happen to us? Supposing someone horrible buys us?’

  ‘I shall protect you,’ Harriet said, though she could not help wondering who would protect her. Her own fear was like a hard knot inside her chest and she wished herself safe at home with her dogs and horses, but she lifted her head proudly, refusing to show her feelings. If only she had never agreed to accompany her uncle to Spain, she might have been out riding now with the wind in her hair. Yet that was selfish. Marguerite could not have survived her ordeal alone. ‘Whatever happens to us, I shall try to keep you from harm.’

  Kasim watched the procession of slaves brought on to the block to be sold one by one. There were some strong men by the look of it, some of whom would make excellent Janissaries. However, he was not here to purchase male slaves, only a bride for the Caliph’s son. A few women had been brought out, but none of them would be looked on with favour even for the Caliph’s harem. He frowned, wondering if he had been lured here on a false pretence; then, as he heard a small disturbance and two women were pushed on to the auction block together, he sat forward with renewed interest.

  Kasim saw instantly that one of the women was exceptionally beautiful. Her hair was long and fell down her back in silken waves just as Yuri had described. She looked pale and frightened, which was not surprising in the circumstances. Having experienced what it was like to be captured by Corsairs as a young man, Kasim could understand the fear. He looked at the beauty’s companion and frowned. She was older, attractive, but not beautiful by any means. Her hair was a rich dark brown with a hint of red, her face pale, but she did not seem as frightened as the beauty. She held herself proudly, her hand holding on to her companion tightly. A grim smile touched his lips as he saw the two women had tied themselves together. Yuri had named the older of the two the hellcat and perhaps it was an apt name.

  There was an argument going on. Several men were interested in buying the beauty, it seemed, but they were not prepared to take both women. One of the slave owner’s servants tried to pull the older woman away, but she spoke to him fiercely and he dropped back, clearly stunned by what she had to say. Kasim was not close enough to hear what was said, but he had seen enough. He got to his feet and called out. ‘I bid one thousand gold pieces for the two women.’

  For a moment hushed silence fell, then a voice in the crowd called out that he would pay twelve hundred for the women. Kasim waited to see if there were any more offers, then raised his arm.

  ‘I will pay fifteen hundred gold pieces.’

  A hushed silence fell on the crowd as they waited to see what would happen next.

  ‘Sixteen hundred.’

  ‘Two thousand,’ Kasim said. This time there was no rival bid. It was a huge sum to pay for a slave, because no one counted the second woman. It seemed she refused to be parted from her companion, but she would learn to obey her master once she was taken to the harem, most likely as a body slave.

  ‘Sold to Kasim, master of the Caliph’s personal household,’ the slave owner said swiftly. He genuflected with reverence towards the man who had bid such a fabulous price. ‘May Allah bless your union and make you many sons, honourable lord.’

  ‘I will take them with me now.’

  Kasim left his seat and walked down the steps leading to the block, then mounted it, moving closer to look his purchase over. Close to, the beauty was even more lovely than he had imagined. All she needed was some more becoming clothes. Kahlid would be pleased with what he had found. He frowned as he looked at her companion. The older woman met his gaze unflinchingly, her eyes intelligent and inquiring; they reminded him of a smoky haze in an English sky and he felt a little jolt low in his stomach. Suddenly, he was remembering his home and his childhood, when he had run free in the fields about his home. He banished the thought instantly. That life had gone for ever.

  ‘You are both English?’ he asked in their own tongue. ‘You have nothing to fear, ladies. I am Kasim, controller of the Caliph’s household and you are in my care. You have suffered a terrible ordeal, but from now on you will be cared for and pampered as ladies of the Caliph’s household.’

  ‘You speak English.’ The beauty looked at him in relief. ‘Please, will you ransom us? The price you paid will be repaid and you will be well rewarded for your trouble—won’t he, Harriet?’

  ‘My brother is Viscount Sefton-Jones of London, England,’ the older one said. ‘My cousin speaks truly, sir. We should be so grateful if you would ransom us to our families. I promise you would not lose by it for I have my own fortune. I would make certain your price was met.’

  Kasim’s gaze narrowed as he looked at the one the beauty had named Harriet. He saw that she realised they had been bought for a fabulous price, though her companion seemed less aware of it.

  ‘Forgive me, ladies,’ Kasim said without a flicker of emotion in his face. Her voice had made a strong appeal and for a moment he was tempted to listen to her plea, but he crushed the weakness swiftly. To find another woman who was both English and beautiful might take many months, if it were even possible. ‘I am merely the Caliph’s servant. The money I must now pay to Ali bin Ahmed belongs to my royal master. I am not at liberty to ransom you, but my master may listen to your request for he is a just man. Come, there is nothing to fear. If you behave with dignity you will not be harmed.’

  The beauty looked at him, then turned to her companion, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘Don’t let him take us, Harry. Please, don’t let him take us.’

  ‘He will not listen to us any more than the others.’ The older woman looked at Kasim with scorn. ‘We must do as he says for the moment, Marguerite. Try not to be frightened, my love. Perhaps the Caliph will be a reasonable man and show some compassion.’

  Kasim inclined his head. There was something about her that commanded respect, and he wondered what she had said to the slave master. Few women managed to keep such men in check, but he thought he understood why the man had been in awe of her. As a youth he had met women like her, women who could command with a look or a softly spoken word. Her scorn made him feel a little uncomfortable for he knew that he did have a choice. He could turn his back on the life he had made for himself in the Caliph’s palace, and yet he was not truly free, for he had given his word when he was released from the slave quarters and made a trusted member of the household. He was free to come and go as he pleased, but it was a matter of honour to remain loyal to the man who had given him so much. His royal master treated him as another son, giving him honours, position and money. He was no
t going to break his word to the Caliph for a woman he did not know. Even so, he was vaguely uneasy as he steered the women away from the slave market towards the harbour where his ship awaited them.

  He tried not to remember that he had once come from the same world as these two young women. Had it not been for an unfortunate quarrel with his father, he might still be living in England, leading the life of an idle wastrel with nothing to fill his days but gambling and fighting over the women he shared with his so-called friends.

  It was one of those friends who had been the cause of Kasim’s downfall, and his subsequent lies that had led to the quarrel. Kasim had left England as a privateer looking for riches and adventure, but he had been shipwrecked and taken on board a corsair ship more dead than alive. He knew all about being sold and beaten, but fortune had led him to the Caliph’s palace, and his own bravery in saving the Caliph’s son from an assassin had made him what he was today.

  Kahlid bin Ossaman had treated him with respect and fairness from that day to this. He would be failing in his duty if he did what the beauty asked, but he could not quite rid himself of a niggling feeling of guilt as he escorted the women to the harbour.

  His ship was waiting to take them to Constantinople—or Istanbul as it was known throughout the Ottoman Empire. Once the women were safely locked in his cabin he would return and pay the slave master—and he would purchase the young boy Yuri for himself if it were permitted. He would do his duty and forget his personal doubts.

  He had been given a commission, which he had fulfilled to the best of his ability. If the Caliph’s son did not find the beauty desirable the Caliph might indeed listen to the women’s pleas to be ransomed. He eased his conscience by reflecting that if they had been bought by the tribal chief who had tried to bid against him, their fate would be much worse than it was at present. The older one would have been beaten and, if she continued to resist, might have died a cruel death; the beauty might have preferred death to her likely fate at that devil’s hands. They were fortunate that he had been at the auction that day, though as yet they might not realise how close to disaster they had come.

  Harriet looked about her as they were escorted through the port. It was teaming with people, dogs, donkeys and carts. All kinds of merchandise was being sold or loaded on to ships, and there was much confusion. She considered whether or not it would be possible to break away from the man who had bought them and disappear into the crowds. If he should be distracted for a moment, she might take the chance—surely anything would be better than simply allowing this man to make them slaves?

  ‘Do not even think of escape.’ A hand of iron gripped Harriet’s wrist. She jumped, feeling as if something seared her skin, and lifted her eyes to his. The look he gave her was angry, terrifying, because she felt he read her mind. ‘You are the Caliph’s property. He may have little use for you, lady, but I should pursue you both and take her back. You, I might leave to your fate. Think carefully what that means—you would not last long if I were not here to guard you in this place.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She felt chilled as she saw the warning in his eyes.

  ‘There are men here who would think nothing of abusing you. They would fight over you like a pack of dogs, snarling and quarrelling to decide who had you next. You would be used until your spirit was broken and you died of some foul disease if you did not starve to death. Is that what you want—for yourself or your companion?’

  ‘No …’ Harriet shivered—there was something about him that reminded her of a dream that had frightened her the night before she left England. In the dream she looked into the face of a man and been very afraid, but she had not been able to recall the rest of the dream when she woke. ‘I want both of us to be free. We are English gentlewomen from good families. How could you think it right to buy us as if we were beasts of burden? You had no right to offer all that money. It was ridiculous.’

  ‘I was making a statement. I hoped none would bid against me. You were fortunate that my purse is deep.’

  ‘Fortunate?’ Harriet glared at him. ‘I do not consider myself fortunate to be sold as a slave.’

  ‘Had I not been there you would still have been sold, probably separately—and to a man who would have slit your throat if you defied him.’

  ‘No …’ Harriet felt chilled. ‘Can you not see that it is wrong to make a free woman a slave?’

  ‘I am not prepared to debate these things with you.’ His expression was forbidding. ‘You are not in England now. You must adapt to a different culture.’

  ‘Why? You can buy another woman for your harem. Why will you not let us be ransomed? I promise I will pay twice what you paid.’

  ‘It is not possible. I was commissioned to buy an English woman of beauty and intelligence. The fair one is a rare beauty. I am not at liberty to free you.’

  ‘No one would know.’

  ‘I should know. It is a matter of honour with me.’

  ‘What honour is there in making slaves of two women?’

  A little pulse flicked in his throat, as if she had touched a nerve deep within him. ‘You will have comfort and a measure of freedom in the palace if you behave. Do not ask for more. You belong to the Caliph and I shall never let you escape. Yet in the harem you will be treated kindly enough if you behave in a sensible manner.’

  Harriet raised her head proudly. ‘You could have let us be ransomed. If you had compassion or decency, you would sell us to our families and make a profit for yourself. You are nothing but a barbarian and have no honour—’

  ‘Be careful, lady. I have only so much patience, and you walk a fine line. If I wished, I could punish you.’

  Harriet was silenced. She knew that she had risked punishment several times already. She had made the slave master fear her, but curses and insults would not sway this man. There was something harsh and commanding about him, something that made chills run down her spine—and yet when she looked into his eyes she almost believed that she could see compassion in their depths.

  No, she must not allow herself to weaken. There was nothing soft or decent about this man. He was a savage, a barbarian, and she despised him and all his kind.

  The cabin in which they had been housed was not uncomfortable. Harriet thought it might belong to the master of the ship. She was not sure, but by the way they had been greeted when they came on board ship she believed that the man with the blue eyes might own the vessel.

  The suspicion made her feel angry and frustrated. Why could he not have taken them to England? If he was his own master, he could have set her and Marguerite free on payment of a generous ransom. She would willingly have repaid him what he had spent and more from her own fortune, though it would have meant she had none left for travelling.

  A shiver went through her. After what had happened, she would never want to leave her home again. She wished that neither she nor Harriet had left the shores of England.

  ‘Harry …’ Hearing a wail of despair, Harriet turned to look at her cousin. Marguerite was vomiting, her gown stained with brownish liquid. ‘I feel so ill. My stomach hurts.’

  ‘Sit down, dearest. Is it the same as you felt when we had the storm?’

  ‘No, it is worse. I think the food they gave us in that terrible place was bad.’

  ‘Lie down on the bed and I will get help.’

  Harriet went to the door of the cabin. She had expected that it might be locked, but found it opened at her touch. She went out into the narrow passage and looked to left and right, hoping that she might see someone.

  ‘Help … please help …’

  ‘There is no use in calling for help. No one will help you to escape.’

  Harriet glared at the man with the blue eyes, raising her head proudly. ‘I am not foolish enough to imagine I could escape from a ship. Had I wanted to try I should have done so while we were in port. My cousin is ill.’

  He stared at her, considering. ‘What ails her?’

  ‘She has been sick and she has pain in her stomach. I think the food we were given at the slave master’s compound was bad. I ate nothing but a piece of bread, but Marguerite was hungry and ate some meat.’

  ‘What kind of meat?’

  ‘I do not know. She said it tasted horrible.’