Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

He laid down his spoon beside his empty wooden bowl and leaned back in his chair. Unbidden, the image of Lella rose in his mind. Had she been killed as he was to be, six months ago?

For the first time in his life, Hamil bowed his head and let pain-filled sobs break from his throat. He felt burning tears streak down his cheeks. He felt Ria’s arms close about his shoulders, and without thought, he buried his head against her scrawny bosom.

“Dono, my son,” he heard her whisper softly to him as her fingers stroked through his thick hair, “it is all right. No one else will hurt you again.”

“Lella,” he whispered.

“Your sweetheart, Dono?”

“My wife. Perhaps she is dead now, even as I was meant to be.”

Ria’s eyes met her husband’s over Hamil’s bowed head. Gently, her fingers still stroking his hair, she asked, “Who are you, Dono?”

Hamil stilled. He felt a great shame at his weakness. A man did not weep like a woman, not even a skeleton of a man. He raised his head and looked into the wrinkled face he had come to know well.

“Ria,” he said sadly, “I have shamed myself.”

“Men,” Ria grunted. “Do not be a fool.”

Hamil had never before been called a fool by a woman; indeed, only his father had dared. Yet he wasn’t angered; rather, he felt strangely comforted.

“My name,” he said slowly, looking from Antonio to Ria, “is Hamil.” At their blank looks, he gave a mocking laugh. “Until six months ago, I was the

Bey of Oran.”

Ria sucked in her breath and gazed at him, appalled. “A pirate? You’re one of those men who raid ships and make slaves of people?”

“I rule them. Rather, I ruled them. I am now supposedly dead.”

Antonio stared at him as if he were a creature with three heads. “You are a . . . king?”

“Something like that. The Bey of Oran rules at the whim of the Dey of Algiers, who, in turn, owes his allegiance to the Grand Turk in Constantinople.”

“You’re a heathen,” Ria said.

“No, but I am a Muslim.” He saw Ria mouth the foreign word. He asked softly, “Do you want me to leave? I must go soon in any case, to Cagliari. I have friends there, powerful men who will help me regain what is mine.”

“No,” Ria said, tightening her arms about his shoulders. “I don’t care if you are one of them. I’ll not let you go until you are well. We will speak of this again. Eat the stew, Dono.”

“Antonio?” Hamil inquired.

“Eat the stew, boy.”

Chapter 8

Naples

Edward Lyndhurst greeted his daughter pleasantly when she stepped into the sitting room with her mother. “This wretched climate appears to agree with you, puss,” he said. “You are looking quite lovely.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Rayna said, eyeing him a bit askance. It was not yet teatime, and she had not lived with her father for eighteen years without learning to recognize the gleam of purpose in his eyes.

“Sit down, my dear,” Edward Lyndhurst said. “Your mother and I wish to speak with you.”

Rayna obligingly sat on a blue brocade wing chair, smoothed her narrow skirt, and smiled up at her father. “I have always enjoyed speaking with both of you, sir.”

“Yes, well . . .” her father began. He paused a moment, fiddling with his watch fob. “You have always been a good-hearted girl, Rayna, and a pleasure to your mother and me.”

Oh dear, Rayna thought, sitting up straighter. Her father’s tone, though gentle as it always was toward her, was becoming weighted. “I trust so, Father,” she said.