Chapter Seventeen #2
God, let it be so. Let him give her back to Hamid Sharif.
She couldn’t bear being owned by someone who looked like one of her own countrymen.
And he was handsome. Lord help her, she wanted to deny it, but couldn’t.
She found him utterly attractive in both face and form.
It was impossible. She could see herself giving in, accepting her enslavement, all because of an unanticipated attraction that she had no business feeling.
No! She had to do something to make him send her back before she was enclosed inside his harem and it was too late. But what?
She watched him now, praying an idea would come to her quickly.
And then she realized the examination was not over yet.
He stood before the African princess, dispassionately studying her face while she stared furiously back, unafraid to let him see her loathing.
When he raised a hand and casually flicked open the single clasp on the girl’s vest, hot color flooded Chantelle’s cheeks, but the princess didn’t move, not even to keep the scanty material from falling open.
He stared at the large breasts for a long moment.
Chantelle groaned inwardly. She had been proved wrong again.
She had actually been relieved at being bought as she was, thinking she wouldn’t have to go through a public stripping, yet here it was happening, and in a room filled with people.
And the one girl she had thought for certain would resist this debasement didn’t.
The princess still hadn’t moved at all, standing proudly erect, apparently not in the least embarrassed or offended.
It was when the lord finally looked up at her to judge her reaction that she did react. She spat full in his face.
Chantelle gasped in surprise, but it went unheard because of the collective exclamations of shock and outrage in the room.
The girl was immediately seized, not by her guard, but by his.
The two Nubian giants forced her easily to her knees; then her guard withdrew a short whip from his belt and began to beat her across the back.
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 first kadine.
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 Kasim was going 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.”