"Shiek" - читать интересную книгу автора (Connie Mason)

"I have every right. You are my captive." That statement left a sour taste in his mouth. Technically, Princess Zara belonged to the sultan. She was not his.

What would Moulay Ishmail do with her? he wondered. Make her a part of his harem? He already had more women than he knew what to do with. Ishmail was a shrewd man; perhaps he would use her as bait to capture her father. Her life wouldn't be easy as Ishmail's prisoner. The sultan was an exceptionally cruel and vindictive man.

Zara dared another glance over her shoulder at Jamal. He appeared to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, and she took a moment to study him. His hair was concealed by a white turban, but judging by the color of his dark brows and lashes, she supposed it was dark also. His skin was more bronze than swarthy, and she suspected the dark color was due to the sun and was not his natural skin tone. His eyes were dark and impenetrable, not the murky brown of mud but the pure black of a desert night.

Her silent contemplation of his face at an end, Zara dwelled briefly on Jamal's other attributes, those she couldn't see but could feel. He was uncommonly strong; she could feel his strength in the hardness of his chest and thighs pressing against her, and in his hand splayed against her, restraining her struggling with such ease. He controlled his spirited mount with one hand upon the reins, as if born to the saddle. Sheik Jamal was a man to be reckoned with, Zara decided. She would need to employ cunning and guile in order to escape him, but, Allah willing, she would escape.

They rode across towering brown hills, through forests of mimosa, cork and olive trees, stopping briefly at a water hole to refill their goatskin water bags. Zara drank greedily when offered water, and accepted a handful of olives and a hunk of goat cheese from Jamal. Then they rode on, until darkness claimed the land and Jamal called a halt. A fire was quickly built to brew mint tea. Again they ate sparingly of olives, bread and cheese they carried with them, washing the food down with refreshing mint tea. Then Jamal placed his blanket on the ground and lay down, indicating that Zara was to lie beside him.

Nights were cold despite the sizzling heat of the day, and Zara would have welcomed the warmth of a blanket, but she neither trusted nor liked Jamal and wondered what mischief he intended for her this night.

"Come, Zara, lie down beside me. I'm tired, and keeping you beside me tonight is the only way I can be sure you won't escape."

"Your touch disgusts me," Zara said with a shiver. "'Tis enough I'm forced to ride with you. I won't lie with you."

"Would you rather be bound hand and foot and made to sleep on the cold ground?"

"Aye, if it meant I wouldn't have to endure your hands on me."

Jamal's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did you enjoy Sayed's hands on you?"

The breath hissed from her lungs. "Don't you dare compare yourself with Sayed. Aye, I very much enjoyed his hands on me."

"I understand that Berber women are bound by few restrictions. An Arab man would slay his bride if she came to him without a hymen. How many men have you taken between your sweet thighs, Zara?"

"Do not judge me, prince of donkeys," Zara declared. "Berber women are free to love where they will. How many concubines do you have to ease your nights? How many love slaves do you keep in your household? I will be no man's slave. Berber women choose the men with whom they wish to share their bodies."

Jamal's mouth thinned. Never had he heard a woman speak so openly or with such passion. Zara's words shook the very foundations of Islamic teachings. In the Arab world women were taught to be obedient and submissive to men. Allah had placed women on earth for men's pleasure, and to bear their children. They lived in harems apart from males and covered their faces discreetly when they appeared in public. Their purpose in life was to pleasure their masters, and some, particularly concubines, were highly skilled in such arts. They did very little except indulge themselves with food and sweets and enjoy the luxuries provided by their husbands or masters.

Of course, his own mother had been an exception to the rule, Jamal reflected. His father had emptied his harem at her request and taken no other concubines or wives after she came to him as a young English captive. They had shared true love, and his father had desired no other woman. After his father's death at the hands of Berbers, his mother was free to do as she pleased. His father had willed it so. Lady Eloise had chosen to return to her people in England. Jamal had elected to remain in his native Morocco, sailing to England frequently to visit his mother.

Jamal felt a modicum of pity for the rebellious girl standing before him. But pity was not an emotion he dared to entertain. The sultan would have his head if he allowed Zara to escape. "Do you refuse to lie beside me?" he asked harshly.

"Aye," Zara said, tossing her head defiantly.

"So be it." Jamal called Hasdai to attend him. The captain appeared almost instantly.

"What can I do for you, Sheik?"

"Princess Zara has expressed a desire to sleep on the cold ground, bound hand and foot so she can't escape. See that her wishes are granted."

Grasping her arm none too gently, Hasdai pushed Zara to the ground and called for a rope. It was provided moments later and Hasdai seemed to derive great pleasure in binding Zara's wrists and ankles, then winding the rope ends around her slim waist and tying the ends securely behind her back. When he finished, he stepped back and looked inquiringly at Jamal.

"That will be all, Hasdai. Set the guard and see that the rest of the men settle down for the night.

"Are you comfortable, Princess?" Jamal asked with bland indifference. If she would but admit to her discomfort, Jamal would release her immediately. He wasn't cruel by nature and he didn't like to see women suffer.

Zara bared her teeth at him. "As comfortable as I can be amidst an army of jackals."