“Why have you brought me here?”
“There are only unhappy memories for you at my palace. I wanted to show you some of my country, make you understand—” He broke off, unwilling to lie, and unwilling to tell her that he wanted her to love him, to care for him as he did for her. “I want you to know me as some man other than the Bey of Oran. Alessandro, perhaps.”
“It does not matter what you call yourself,” she said, forcing the final words from her throat. “The man Alessandro does not own people. He does not own women.” She dashed her palm across her eyes, an oddly childish gesture. “You still keep me your prisoner; you still plan to harm my parents. I will do everything in my power to escape you. I will not be one of your pliant women to kiss your feet.”
“It is just as well that you no longer seek my favor, my lady. You are no longer a virgin and your value is greatly diminished. Your lovely body is mine for the taking, without any false bargaining.”
“You savage.” She flung herself at him, her fists flailing at his chest. He caught her, drawing her arms above her head. He slammed a leg over hers, holding her still. “You can spit at me all you want, Arabella, but you know I could have you begging me to take you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Is it? What a pity that you are so inexperienced, unlike my other women. They, at least, know how to pleasure a man; they are not selfish in their passion, as are you. They are not ignorant little girls.”
She slipped one hand free and struck him as hard as she could on the jaw.
He grunted more in surprise than in pain, grabbed her arm, and slammed down on top of her. Still she struggled. Finally, exhausted, she stilled. He clasped her wrists in one hand over her head and caressed her face with his other hand. “You cannot win, Arabella. Do not fight me. Give me your loyalty.”
“I will give you nothing but my hatred,” she whispered.
She heard his hissing breath. “Then let me give you a true reason for your hatred.” He reared up, pulling her thighs apart, and went into her. He did not touch her, ignored her fists and her cries of rage and pain. He climaxed, then jerked out of her as if he could not bear to touch her.
She didn’t cry; she was beyond tears. Her body burned. Slowly, painfully, she drew her knees up and buried her face in her arms. She felt degraded, used. Suddenly she started shivering from a cold that came from deep inside her. She did not look at Kamal; she rose painfully and began to pull on her men’s clothes.
“You will not escape me again, Arabella. I told you, you cannot win against me.”
She ignored him. She looked at the boots but knew that she could not bear to pull them on. She straightened and looked down at him. “I am leaving, Kamal.”
“My men will stop you before you take one step beyond this tent.”
“I owe you nothing now,” she said in an emotionless voice.
She pulled the burnoose about her, raising the hood over her hair and fastening the corded leather about her head. Slowly she turned to face him. “I bid you farewell.”
“Come back to bed, Arabella. It is only dawn. Do not make me have to come after you. If I do, I will tie you down.”
“You can go to hell,” she said in a very precise voice. She whirled about and kicked the brazier of live coals against the tent flap. Flames billowed up in an instant.
Arabella dived through the opening, a scream on her lips as she breathed in the cold morning air.
“Quickly,” she yelled. “The master is within. There is fire.”
In an instant the small camp was in confusion. The men rushed toward the tent, none of them paying her the least attention. He would be all right, she told herself, looking back over her shoulder at the burning tent.
She chose Kamal’s stallion, Timar, and jabbed the bridle bit into his mouth. She grasped his flowing mane and swung up onto his broad back. She forced the stallion to plunge at the other horses, and soon all of them were running wildly away from the camp. But she couldn’t help herself, and looked back to see Kamal standing in front of the tent, staring after her.
Chapter 26
Arabella pushed Timar until his coat glistened with sweat. They were deep in the hills now, going north, she prayed, toward the sea. She drew Timar to a halt on a rocky rise and stared back. Nothing. No one. I am free, she thought, flinging her head back. I am free. And Kamal is unharmed.
She leaned forward and patted Timar’s thick neck. She smiled suddenly, picturing how she must appear: barefoot, dressed like a man, tangled hair framing her face, and smelly as the stallion.
The sun was high overhead now, and there was no water in sight. There were scrubby trees about, and patches of windflowers and shrubs. Surely, she thought, there must be water somewhere. It was not, after all, the desert. She refused to dwell on the fact that she had no food and no weapon. I will reach the sea before nightfall, she told herself over and over, as if reciting a litany. She click-clicked Timar forward, higher into the hills. The land was savagely beautiful, the air fresh and cool. She heard animals but saw none.
She drew Timar up at the edge of a boulder-edged cliff and stared down in to the narrow valley below. It was barren and looked bone dry, and there was no path downward. She stared about her with mounting frustration. North was straight ahead, a sheer drop to the valley below. She turned the stallion east.
The trees became thicker, the ground softer, but still she saw no water. Timar was heaving and she forgot her own swollen tongue at the stallion’s plight. She slid off his back and tethered him to a skinny-branched tree. She sank down to the ground, leaned back against the trunk, and closed her eyes. The land is as savage as its people, she thought, and I will die here, alone.
She forced her eyes upward and saw that the sun was slanting westward. Were there wild animals? She remembered the strange animal sounds she had heard throughout the long day. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against her arms. She saw Kamal standing in front of the burning tent, dressed only in his white trousers, looking after her as his men raced after the horses. She had been too far distant to see the expression on his face. She shook her head and struggled to her feet. What did it matter what he thought? She felt a wave of dizziness from hunger.