Page 32 of Silver Angel

Chantelle watched this in utter horror. The lord hadn’t ordered the girl whipped, but he didn’t stop it from happening either. He stood there totally unmoved, not angry, not anything. One of his servants had rushed to him with a cloth to wipe away the spittle, but he ignored him, choosing to use the back of his sleeve, slowly, while he watched the poor girl writhing on the floor. Not until her pride had finally succumbed and she screamed did he wave a hand to end it.

“A pity,” he said, though Chantelle could detect no actual regret in his tone. “Give her to my palace guard. If she survives a night with them, Hamid Sharif can have her back tomorrow.” And his attention went to Chantelle.

She turned cold, the blood leaving her face until it was deathly white. Just like that, he had condemned that girl to mass rape, then dismissed her from his mind. And as soon as he had said it, the girl was dragged out of the room. But even with her gone, Chantelle still saw the red welts in her mind, visible even against that dark skin, crisscrossing the area on her back that was bare.

Chantelle finally met his eyes, and knew in that instant of total fear that she despised him. The attraction had died for her in witnessing his cruelty. He was a cold, unfeeling man, no doubt capable of unspeakable acts of brutality.

“You’re despicable.”

The words came out before she could stop them, but he seemed not to hear her, or he didn’t understand English or care what she might say to him. She didn’t know the word for “despicable” in his language. More’s the pity, for there were more appropriate names to call him now that she thought of it.

He was still staring at her eyes, and there was finally some emotion in his expression. It was surprise. Jamil had never before seen this violet color, hadn’t known eyes could be this color. He was purely fascinated. They were like glittering amethysts, fringed with long golden lashes that matched her gently sloping eyebrows, of a shade darker than her platinum hair.

What an unusual combination. No wonder she had been so highly prized. With rich food to fill out her curves, she had the potential to rival even Sheelah. And her hair could be dyed…

Jamil had to shake himself, remembering her purpose here. She was not for him. But if Kasim didn’t want her, he was tempted to break his own rules and keep her for himself after all. It was the thought of Sheelah that decided him against it. This girl might be a rare find, but he loved his firstkadine. And ever since he had realized that love, he had added no new women to his harem. These two, if Kasim wanted them, Sheelah was not going to understand, at least not until he returned. But that couldn’t be helped. No one but Omar was to know about Kasim.

“Shahar,” he said suddenly. The moon. It was appropriate, with hair like moonbeams. He turned to his Chief Black Eunuch. “She will be known as Shahar, Haji.”

“No,” Chantelle said, drawing his attention back to her.

“No?”

“Don’t name me. Don’t keep me. Send me back to Hamid Sharif.”

He was amused. Didn’t she realize the decision wasn’t up to her? “Why should I do that?”

“Because I don’t want to be owned by you.”

His eyes narrowed, making her pale. Good God, had she just bought herself a whipping? Couldn’t she even state the obvious around here?

But Jamil was annoyed with himself, not with her. He realized it had been a mistake to allow the black girl’s whipping, whether it was deserved or not. It was meant as a lesson for the two remaining women, but mostly for Kasim, who had yet to witness such a situation and how quickly those around him would respond to it.

The English girl had been docile and accepting up to that point, and now she was not. He saw now that she was afraid of him, but even in her fear, she couldn’t mask the condemnation in her eyes. Kasim was not going to appreciate the fact that he had made her hate him by a simple act of punishment. And Jamil was almost certain that Kasimwasgoing to want this girl.

His eyes remained locked on her while he asked the Chief Black Eunuch: “Does she know who I am, Haji?”

Chantelle answered first, insisting, “I don’t care if you’re the Dey of this whole bloody city.”

“You English have a quaint way with words, always using more than necessary.” There was a mocking slant to his mouth as he added, “If you don’t care, Shahar, then it will come as no surprise to you that I am in fact Jamil Reshid, Dey of this ‘whole bloody city.’”

It was a surprise, but only for one reason. “You declined to buy me when I first arrived, so why am I here?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. It was a trial of concentration to decipher her pronunciations and understand exactly what she was saying, though he had to admit her grasp of his language was far superior than could be expected. But even so, he was arrested by the way her eyes and mouth had softened. In her temporary confusion, her fear and revulsion were forgotten.

He surprised her further by replying in perfect French, assuming that if she was of the English nobility as she claimed, then this was a language she would be more familiar with. “It is my prerogative to change my mind.”

“Then would you change your mind about that poor girl you had whipped?”

“Interesting that you do not ask me to change my mind about you again instead.”

“I would have gotten to that.”

He almost laughed. It was refreshing to be spoken to with such audacity by a woman. His women did not argue with him, no matter how much they would like to. He might pamper and indulge them outrageously, but their awareness of his power and total control over their lives was never forgotten.

“If I grant you one request, English, which will you ask for?”

Her eyes widened. Was he serious, or was the question only rhetorical? Either way, there was no choice, not one that her conscience would allow. The girl’s fate was already sealed; hers was not. And if he was the Dey, then his must be the largest harem in Barikah. He might have bought her, but there was the possibility that he would forget about her once she became lost among so many women. No, her fate was not sealed—yet.