Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

Kamal leaned against the thick embroidered pillows at his back and gazed at Señor Ancera, a Spanish merchant. The man’s jaw hung slack as he watched a swaying dancing girl.

“Shall we conclude our business, señor?” Kamal asked. “Then you may have the girl for the night.”

Señor Ancera nodded, his eyes still fixed on the girl. She wore only two veils now, one over her face and the other about her waist. Her chestnut hair was loose to her waist, falling in thick waves over her shoulders to her breasts.

The tambourines and cymbals quickened their tempo. The girl whirled closer and let the veil slip down over her smooth belly.

The Spaniard would sign over his mother to have Orna, Kamal thought, watching the man clutch at his drink. Kamal nodded to Orna, and she let her veil fall slowly from her hips. The cymbals suddenly stopped and she sank to her knees before the Spaniard, her glorious hair spread about her like a rippling fan.

Kamal clapped his hands. Orna rose to stand before him, her head bowed.

“Take off your veil,” he said.

The veil fluttered to the floor, and Kamal watched the Spaniard’s eyes widen in appreciation.

“Orna is quite skilled, señor,” Kamal said dryly. “She will await you in your chamber. You will join her once we have finished.” At his nod, Orna slipped once again to her knees and kissed the toe of his soft leather boot. A eunuch appeared to lift the girl to her feet and lead her away.

Señor Ancera wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “Yes,” he managed, “let us conclude our business, highness.”

Kamal looked over the parchment once it was signed, nodded affably to the older man, and watched him disappear through an arched doorway. The pious Spaniards were the easiest to deal with, he thought, but it gave him no sense of mastery. “Hassan,” he called to his minister.

“Yes, highness.”

“See that the Spaniard visits the baths.”

“I will see to it the old man gets a dousing of cold water, highness.”

“My thoughts exactly, Hassan. Send Orna back. I would enjoy her dancing before she spends the rest of the day and night on her back.”

“The Spanish know no better,” Hassan said, and bowed himself out.

Kamal nibbled at a date offered him by a slave girl and settled back, waiting for Orna to return to ease his boredom. “Do you wish anything more, master?” the girl asked softly. As Kamal turned his head, her silk-covered breast brushed against his cheek.

“No,” he said abruptly at her ill-disguised attempt to gain his notice. He turned his attention to Orna, who had begun to dance before him naked, bending her ivory body to the beat of the music. She was indeed well trained, he thought objectively, some of her movements so suggestive that they captured even his eyes. When the music stopped, Orna dropped lightly to her knees.

“You may stay for now,” Kamal said, motioning her beside him.

Hassan returned, a frown puckering his forehead. “Your half-brother Risan has arrived, highness, with a present for you from your mother.”

Kamal grinned. “I haven’t seen my randy brother in a good two months. Show him in.”

The guards at the main doors stood at attention when Risan strode into the room.

Hassan stepped aside.

“My most noble master,” Risan said, and bowed deeply.

“Straighten up, brother, before I have one of my guards kick you onto your smirking face.”

Risan laughed easily. “You may yet give that order when you see what I’ve delivered to you from your esteemed mother.” He turned toward a guard at the door. “Bring in the wench.”

Kamal watched a scraggly figure struggle futilely against the grip of his Turkish soldier. “Arabella Welles, brother.” Risan roared with laughter and flung her to her knees at his brother’s feet.

Kamal stared at the crumpled woman. Her hair was filthy and matted to her head. When she raised her head

to him, he stared speechless at her. Her skin was streaked with dark filth, and his nostrils quivered at her stench.

“Arabella Welles?” Kamal repeated. He came gracefully to his feet. “Is this some kind of jest, Risan?”