“I am well enough,” Kamal said, drawing several slow, deep breaths to ease the pain in his groin.
“Our laws are precise, highness. Any man who strikes a Bey must die.”
Kamal said slowly, willing his mind to obey him, “She is no man.”
Hassan drew back. “That is true, highness. Our laws have never considered that a woman would attack her master.”
Lella’s voice rang out, sharp with fear, “No, Kamal, please, you must not kill her. She does not know our ways—she did not mean—”
“I meant it,” Arabella said. “Do not try to defend me, Lella.”
“Kill her,” Elena screamed. “Kill the bitch.”
Kamal heard the furious arguments raging around him. God, what an utter fool he had been. He had pushed her too far and now she would pay for his petty revenge.
“Highness,” Hassan said quietly, “you must punish the girl. If you do not, your guards will quickly spread the story that the Bey of Oran was brought to his knees by a woman. You must do something.”
“But it was my fault,” Kamal said quietly.
“No matter, highness. You cannot let this pass. I know that you cannot kill her. The whip, highness, let it be lashes from the whip. It will break her and show all that you are no weak man.”
“Kamal, no.” Lella grabbed at his sleeve.
Kamal raised his head and again looked at Arabella. She was staring not at him, but through him. He prayed to God and Allah for inspiration, but none came. He knew he had no choice. He raised his hand for quiet. “The English girl will suffer ten lashes. Tie her to the column.”
“Eiee,” Elena cried. “The whip. Flay the flesh from the bitch’s back.”
“Animal,” Arabella said softly, her eyes cold upon Kamal’s face. She saw something in his eyes. Regret? “I hate you,” she said, and turned away from him. The two soldiers dragged her to an arched column. There were potted plants hanging from hooks embedded in the marble. One of the soldiers ripped off the lower of the plants. Arabella realized what they would do and began to struggle against the man who held her. He said something sharply in Arabic and jerked her hands toward him. He tied her wrists together with a leather strap, then stretched her arms upward to fasten the leather into the hook, drawing her to her toes.
She closed her eyes a moment, swamped with fear. Just as she had never before struck another neither had she ever been harmed. She hung against the column, helpless, impotent. Fool, she screamed silently at herself, ten times a fool. She jerked when she felt a man’s hands tearing away the thin jacket, leaving her naked to the waist. She felt the coldness of the marble against her breasts. Plead with him, damn you. She shook her head violently at her own thought, pressing her cheek against the column. She gritted her teeth, waiting.
Kamal thought furiously but could find no plausible excuse for releasing her. He heard the snap of the whip and flinched, feeling the brutal leather striking his own flesh.
“You cannot release her, highness,” Hassan said, seeing his master’s indecision. “I am sorry, but it is your duty.”
Kamal shook off Hassan’s hand. He called to the soldier who plied the whip, and said quietly, “Don’t free your strength on her, Lam. Spare her as much pain as you can. I do not want her scarred.”
The man, Lam, looked at his master for a long moment, then nodded. He had never before beaten a woman, and the thought of plying his vicious whip on the beautiful creature, hearing her scream, watching her writhe to escape the pain, brought him no pleasure.
Kamal felt sweat bead his forehead as he watched Lam nearing Arabella.
“Please, Kamal, do not do this.”
He stared into Lella’s anguished face. “I have no choice,” he said. He watched Lam pull Arabella’s long hair from her back and fling it over her shoulder. He winced at the sight of her naked back, soft, white, unmarked.
Lam stood back from her and slowly raised the whip.
Arabella held her breath, waiting for his first blow. Oh, Father, she prayed silently, do not let me shame myself.
She heard the soft hiss and jumped, more in surprise than in pain, as the whip came down across her back.
She was surrounded by fearful, strained silence, the only sound her own harsh breathing. She wondered crazily if the man whipping her could smell her fear. Suddenly the whip cracked through the air and curled around her back to her ribs. She lurched with the pain, seeing brilliant flashes of light before her eyes. Again and again the whip came down. She felt the wet of her own blood. The pain was building and there was nothing she could do. She tried jerking away from the whip, but it did no good.
Lam watched helplessly as the whip struck her breasts, drawing blood. He was controlling his mighty strength, but it was not enough. The girl was not tough-skinned like the men he had punished. But she made no cry.
“You play with the bitch,” Elena cried. “Mark her for the miserable slave she is.”
Arabella sagged against the column, all fight gone. It was all she could do to prevent herself from screaming. The pain—oh God, never had she dreamed of pain like this.