Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

Lella studied his face, before saying calmly, “ Unfortunately, my brother, she is exactly what she appears: young, innocent, desperate for her parents, and foolish.”

He shrugged and left her. Lella watched him approach the women, and wondered yet again what he intended.

Arabella slipped behind a lovely Turkish girl with inky black hair, thankfully, taller than she. And waited. When he reached her, he ignored her and turned sharply to stand before the women.

When he spoke, Arabella started, for his voice was gentle, as if he were addressing a group of well-behaved children.

“You are all lovely,” he said, his eyes caressing them individually. “And you make my choice more difficult than a man can stand.” He clapped his hands, and his servant Ali stepped forward and began to distribute small presents to each of the girls. There were cries of delight and excited murmurs of gratitude. Arabella shrank back as Ali approached. He looked at her, his dark eyes hooded, and passed her by.

Is this your punishment, you savage? You do not wish to pay me like you do the others for being your whore?

Kamal stepped back and casually stroked his jaw, as if in deep thought. Finally he said, “I wish Elena to be with me this night. I have missed her grace and her beauty and her gentle presence.”

Elena tossed her head, a smile of triumph curving her lips.

Kamal’s voice rang out. “I have suffered the graceless attentions of a girl from that faraway island of England. She is fit only to adorn a chamber, for her coldness would freeze a man.”

He looked at Arabella as he spoke, but she didn’t move a muscle. She simply gazed through him as if he did not exist. Damn her. “I desire a woman who is warm and yielding to me,” he continued coldly, “a woman I can trust.”

Arabella drew in her breath in fury at his words, but still she held herself perfectly still. He would soon cease his taunts and his lies and take his leave. She had but to remain calm and withdrawn from him.

Kamal wished he could shake her until her head snapped back. He would even welcome her curses, her insults, for then he would know that she was not indifferent to him.

He stood for a moment longer before his women, then turned sharply on his heel.

He heard Elena snicker behind him. He paused a moment when he heard her voice, heavy with triumph. “Daughter of a sow. Cold English bitch. I told you the master would see through you.”

Arabella looked into Elena’s brilliant eyes, now alight with the pleasure of her victory. “It is true, Elena, I have not the wit to play the whore. Perhaps if you perform as your master wishes, he will pay you with another gift, as men do for their whores.”

“Lying slut. You are jealous because the master chose me.” Elena did a small dancing step in front of her. “I knew, skinny witch, that the master would find you lacking. You are no woman. You are naught but a cold passionless shell.”

Cold and passionless. God, the lunacy of that.

“Well, cold bitch? Haven’t you anything to say now?”

Very calmly Arabella stepped toward Elena and slapped her hard with her open palm against her cheek. Elena gasped as her head rocked on her neck. “You have the mind of a child,” Arabella said very softly, “and the manners of a trollop.”

“Bitch,” Elena cried, and threw herself at Arabella.

Arabella had never slapped another human being in all her twenty years. Her hand stung; she had no time for thought, for Elena had grabbed masses of her hair and was pulling it. Something broke inside Arabella. With a speed she did not know she possessed, she launched herself at Elena, her fingers going around the girl’s throat. Elena screeched in fury at the suddenness of the attack, but she was no coward, and the thought of humiliating her rival before Kamal was sw

eetness to her. She clawed at Arabella’s hair, pulling her head back until Arabella released her throat.

Kamal whirled about and stared for an instant, openmouthed, at the two women. He ignored the cries from the other women, and plunged forward to grab Arabella away from Elena. He shouted to one of his soldiers to hold Elena. He tightened his hold on Arabella’s arms, surprised at her strength. “Stop it. Hold still, damn you.”

Suddenly Arabella leaned limply against him, all fight gone from her. “That’s better,” he said, shaking her. He eased his hold on her, intent upon turning her about to face him.

She moved so quickly he was stunned. He felt her hand slam into his belly, and the force of her blow made him double forward. He grabbed for her, only to feel her knee crash into his groin with all the strength of her fury. He lurched downward, falling to his knees.

The idyllic harem garden was a pandemonium. Cries of the women filled the air. Arabella felt her arms pulled behind her until she moaned in pain. Two Turkish soldiers were jerking at her until she thought her arms would be pulled from their sockets.

She saw the flash of a silver blade above her, and closed her eyes against the pain she knew she would endure. To die because she lost her head, to die for naught—

“Stop.”

Her eyes flew open and she saw Kamal rise slowly to his feet. They stared at each other, and she smiled, thrusting her chin up.

Kamal felt Hassan’s hand on his arm. “Are you all right, highness? By Allah, the girl is mad.”