Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

Slowly Kamal wiped his face. “You will eat your dinner now.”

She shook her head, mute.

“If you do not eat, I will have your clothes taken from you. A woman without clothes, I have found, is very vulnerable.”

Her eyes widened, and he was pleased to see her hand tremble just a bit as she picked up her fork.

Though the lamb was tasty and tender, Arabella could swallow only a couple of bites. She was too aware of the man so close to her. She accepted a piece of pita bread he handed her, and nibbled it around the edge. She supposed it too was good, but it curdled with her fear and tasted like paste in her throat. She sipped at her wine, then set the goblet down.

“I want to know why I am here,” she said.

“You are here to be my slave,” Kamal said easily. She stiffened, just as he knew she would. “You look like my slave,” he continued, “and I will teach you to respect and please me, your master.”

To his surprise, Arabella smiled, an enchanting smile that brought forth dimples on either side of her mouth. “Pray stop being an ass,” she said. “Although I find your rhetoric somewhat amusing, I grow bored with you. I asked you why I am here. I expect an answer.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snarl to Arabella. He lifted his goblet and slowly sipped the sweet red Cypriot wine.

“My mother—the contessa—she told you nothing?”

Arabella shook her head, deciding she wouldn’t tell him what she did know. See if the pirate was capable of truth.

Kamal shrugged and speared another square of lamb on his fork. “There is no reason for you not to know. You are out of the game, so to speak.” He started to add that he had never wanted her involved in his mother’s vengeance, but her ill-disguised contempt for him held him silent. He continued in an expressionless voice, “Twenty-six years ago, my mother, the Genoese Contessa Giovanna Giusti, was captured by my father, Khar El-Din, along with your father’s half-brother, Cesare Bellini. Your mother evidently paid a great deal of money to my father to keep the contessa and to kill her husband’s half-brother.”

“That is a ridiculous lie.”

Kamal arched a brow.

“Very well, I will listen to you.”

Kamal smiled at her with satisfaction. “I see that you are capable of manners. The reason my mother was sold to my father was that your mother—an English harlot—wanted the wealth and position the Earl of Clare could offer her. Once she was pregnant, your father did indeed wed her, and did nothing to save my mother. She bore me within a year of her captivity. She has waited long for revenge for the evil done to her.”

She drew a deep breath and said slowly, “My father has always told me that the corsairs were honorable. He paid tribute to your father, Khar El-Din, and your half-brother Hamil, yet you”—her voice frayed with contempt—“you looted and burned two of my father’s ships and killed all his men. Your notion of revenge is chilling.”

“The revenge, my lady,” he said, “will be the capture of your esteemed parents and their disposition as slaves in Constantinople.”

Arabella could only stare at him; then she threw back her head and laughed deeply. “You credulous fool. Your mother, your highness, is a vicious harridan, a liar, and the mistress of an evil Frenchman and of the king.”

Kamal’s face grew red with fury. “Do you want the flesh flayed off your back?”

“Ah, the honorable gentleman now makes his savage threats. You and your mother are two of a kind, both of you dishonorable animals.”

No one had ever spoken thus to Kamal and he could only stare at her. Did she not understand that he could break her neck with one hand?

“You are afraid to hear the truth?”

“The truth, my lady? That you are indeed your mother’s daughter? A fact I have little trouble in believing now that I have met you.”

“I repeat, your highness, are you afraid to hear the truth?”

Kamal waved a negligent hand. “Proceed with your tale.”

Arabella’s brow puckered in thought. “I do not know anything about your mother, nor has my father ever mentioned a half-brother. He met my mother in England. She was to wed another man, but fell in love with my father instead. She was anything but a harlot. Indeed, she was an eighteen-year-old girl, the daughter of an English baron. Your mother’s story of my father bringing her to Genoa, unmarried, is ridiculous. My mother is a lady, and my father a gentleman.” She paused a moment, sensing that he was listening to her. She leaned toward him, her eyes intent and serious upon his face. “My mother could have no reason to rid herself of your mother. She was my father’s wife. Perhaps there was jealousy on your mother’s part. I do not know. But you must believe me. My parents are honorable people. They would be incapable of perpetrating such a deed as your mother claims.”

“I see,” Kamal said quietly. “How, then, my lady, did my mother arrive in Algiers? Her own free will? She sold herself?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what was the name of the English gentleman your honorable mother was supposed to have married?”