Caversham’s Bride

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

The crush of men packed into the plain stucco building on the outskirts of the souk made the large room uncomfortably warm, humid, and stuffy. A heavy cloud of smoke hugged the ceiling, and appeared as a solid mass which threatened to fall onto their heads. Ren, Ismael, and Hakim stood at the back of the room, all seats long ago taken by early-comers.

Wishing to remain anonymous, they’d changed clothing, with no outward signs to denote their positions. During the ride, Ismael and Hakim informed Ren that because of his status as a foreigner he was unable to bid. Ren then delegated Ismael to transact in his stead.

“Understand, my friend,” Ismael said, “that selling concubines is an ancient custom. It existed long before you or I, and likely will forever. Most still practice the old ways. They do not take kindly to foreigners intruding and attempting to change their world, and that is how they view you.

“If it were common knowledge that you purchased a prepared concubine, only to liberate her, it would serve to stir the newly settled hostilities. Not to mention that the whoremaster, Ashraf, will have wasted his considerable knowledge educating the girl. He will feel disgraced, and he holds great power among the merchant and military classes. With little effort, he could hinder trade relations with your country.”

Ren inhaled from his cheroot, exhaled, then turned to Ismael and Hakim. “That is a good thing then, because I cannot have my name connected to the purchase of a woman,” he stated. “If such information should ever become public knowledge amongst the ton, it would create a tremendous scandal. I must think of the others in the family, not only myself.”

His friends nodded in agreement. Ren turned back toward the curtained dais to await the beginning of the sale. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hakim nod knowingly to Ismael.

Ren leaned back and took another drag, confident that no scandal could occur, if he kept in mind that he had a title to uphold, and a family who depended upon him to behave with honor.

And he would do just that. He would return the desperate runaway to her family once he secured her freedom.

The three men held minimal conversation as one by one, Ashraf’s women were brought out, relieved of their robes and turned about for inspection. Each one sold quickly. Snapped up by merchants, military officials, and other men of means establishing their harems, or adding to them.

“Your brother’s secretary and the general are together near the front,” Ismael whispered to Hakim.

“I cannot let him recognize me.” Hakim slid behind Ren. “I must stay out of his view, lest he tell my brother that I move among the commoners. That man has tried for years to fill my brother’s head with lies, and the last thing I need is for him to tell my brother that I am looking to secure the favor of the other tribes.”

“I was called to the general’s harim a few nights ago,” Ismael said, “to find another of his women beaten for failing to please him. This one was lucky, she didn’t die from the beating. The last woman died before I arrived.”

“Did the general kill her?” There were certain differences in their culture that still had the ability to shock Ren. The treatment of their women was one. He was amazed that the man faced no repercussion at all for beating one of the weaker s*x to death.

“Likely so,” replied Ismael. “He has some peculiar fetishes and likes young virgins, particularly. Disgusting man either doesn’t realize, or doesn’t care, that they are the ones most frightened by, and least experienced in, the practice of his habits.”

Hakim said from behind Ren’s left shoulder, “Don’t worry, my friend. Your green-eyed beauty will not fall into his hands. We—” he looked to Ismael then back at Ren, “—will not allow it. I will be right behind you.” He motioned to a corner several feet away and slid into the crowd, needing to remain incognito.

Ren and Ismael had come up with a plan where, hopefully, the woman would not have to endure the humiliation of baring herself as these others were. Once he recognized her, he’d place a bid so exorbitant that no one would dare bid against him, especially the General. Perhaps by doing so, the old man on the dais would declare her sold without forcing degradation on her.

“Have you seen her yet?” Ismael asked.

Ren shook his head, and took another long swig from the flask. Where was she? He shifted, trying to get a glimpse behind the curtain.

“Where the bloody hell is she?” Ren hissed several minutes later after yet another young woman stood on the dais. He wasn’t sure why yet, but finding and saving that particular woman felt important for some reason. Perhaps it was her soulful, keen eyes. Because Ren got the impression she knew he understood her urgency.

He wouldn’t let her down.

“Relax, my friend, there’s still time,” Ismael said. “The truly great selections are saved for last. That, too, is where you are more likely to find a woman of noble blood, if she is one.”

Ren nodded while he contemplated his friend’s words. If the girl were a noble, there was more at stake. He would not simply be returning a peasant’s daughter to her family. If she were a peer, once she returned home, she faced a lifetime of ostracism and prejudice. But at least she would be free, his conscience reassured.

The woman up on the podium was sold after the bidding reached the highest it had all evening. Finally Ashraf announced his personal favorite, and the final selection for the evening, Kamilah.

His focus heightened at the sound of her name. A sense of urgency washed over him and he straightened. Some disturbance erupted behind the curtain, but was quickly silenced. Then, a moment later, a eunuch led the woman out onto the dais.

His heart fell to his gut. Without seeing the one discernible feature he would recognize—those haunting green eyes—he knew without a doubt it was her, as did Hakim, who came to stand behind him once again.

Wrapped in a dark robe that dragged the ground, the young woman’s head hung forward, her long dark hair prohibiting the audience a view of her face. Ren agonized for the poor thing, but there was nothing he could do lest he create a commotion. The eunuch yanked her head back, forcing a cry from her.

Ren lurched forward, intending to beat the man to a pulp, but was held back by Hakim’s hand on his arm. Ashraf swung at the slave with his cane hitting him on the back, cursing angrily in Arabic. The servant left the dais and the old man stood next to the woman called Kamilah, speaking softly to her, soothing her. She settled somewhat, enough for him to back away from her. Again, she hung her head, clutching the robe tightly about her.

Ren leaned over to Ismael, instructing him to enter his bid immediately. The physician choked at the amount Ren ordered he offer.

When bidding began, Ismael voiced Ren’s bid, creating an uproar in the audience. Another man countered loudly, and still another protested that they had not seen the wares. Before Ren could reply, the audience had been silenced by the old man.

Once the noise settled, Ashraf again spoke to the girl, but Ren could not hear what he said. It took several long moments before she reluctantly dropped the robe. The black material slid to the floor, pooling at her feet, and Kamilah lifted her head.

She stared at the ceiling, and Ren saw a dried trail of tears on her face. His heart clenched for her. Long, dark brown hair fell in a wavy mass over her shoulders, covering her breasts and falling to her waist. Ashraf stepped forward and gently moved the woman’s hair behind her, revealing her bounteous dark-tipped breasts.

Ren felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest, forcing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held.

She’d been driven beyond decency by the old man, and though he had intended to prevent her exposure, Ren found himself aroused by her ethereal loveliness. His palms burned with want to touch her, to feel if her skin were as satiny soft as it appeared. He wanted her, and hated himself for it.

Ashraf stepped forward and assisted the woman in turning around. Lifting her heavy curtain of hair, the old man began to speak in Arabic. Ren looked to Hakim for translation.

“Kamilah is a virgin. A true beauty, unscarred and shapely.”

Turning her again to face the crowd the whoremaster added, “She is an intelligent girl, of fine breeding—but a spirited one, in need of a firm hand. She has learned the skills of pleasure well, and will make her master proud, bearing him many children.”

Bidding began in earnest, fast and furious. At Ren’s insistence, Ismael created a bidding war with the general that had quickly exceeded the amount paid for the last three sales combined.

Ren closed his eyes, wanting to banish her image from his memory, knowing he had to return her to her family. Instead, he envisioned his waif in a stylish, ivory silk gown with one of his mother’s diamond necklaces about her throat. She turned luminous, expressive emerald eyes up to him, and smiled. The powerful vision shook him to his very core.

The bidding war had slowed as Ismael waited for further direction from him. Ashraf was near to declaring the woman sold to the general, and Ren took a close look at his opposition. The man turned a hardened expression in their direction. He had narrow slits for eyes, and a thin mustache with a short-trimmed goatee which surrounded lips that were pressed into a straight line. Determined not to let the runaway go to the likes of him, Ren signaled Ismael to continue. The physician raised his voice, and did as instructed.

The woman faced forward now but her eyes were shut. Ren thought he saw a tear escape and create a new path down her cheek. His heart wrenched for her, while his body longed to possess her.

His opponent increased his bid substantially, drawing gasps from the crowd.

“Shall I continue, Your Grace?”

“Until she is mine, Ismael.” Ren had no idea how high the current bid was, nor did he care as he sat there, listening to Ismael and the general haggle over the woman. The bidding slowed again, as the military man considered his next move.

“Double the current price,” Ren told Ismael, unwilling to see this beauty go to the likes of his opponent. “I need this to be over.”

Ismael did as requested—eliciting gasps from the crowd that had gathered from the street to watch the battle taking place inside. As he suspected, Ismael’s opponent backed down, unable to beat Ren’s offering.

With the pounding of his cane on the dais, Ashraf declared the woman sold. The old man led her behind the curtain again and Ren discreetly handed Ismael his purse. Ismael stood to go but first asked, “Is a physical exam necessary?”

Ren shook his head, not wanting to subject the woman to further humiliation, then turned to Hakim.

“So,” Hakim said. “Now you have her. She is a beauty my friend.”

Ren grunted, uneasy with what had just transpired.

Several minutes later, Ismael emerged from the building. The woman Kamilah, cloaked in her black robe and now veiled, followed him. Ren led Kamilah forward. As he took the woman’s hand to help her into the cart, she collapsed onto him.

“I was afraid that might happen,” Ismael said.

Ren lifted her easily and sat on the back of the cart cradling the woman. Hakim sat next to Ismael on the bench seat, and took the reins. Signaling for the donkey to move, the cart jerked forward and pulled away from the souk, headed back to the palace.

“I’m concerned about her Ismael. Will she live?” Ren looked at the wrapped bundle on his lap. He longed to pull the pins to remove the veil and let her hair cascade about him, but local customs forbid it.

“I have seen this before,” said the physician. “She has been drugged to make her more acquiescent.”

“I’ll wager that’s what the disturbance was behind the curtain,” Hakim muttered.

“These women are kept mildly drugged from the time of their arrival at the whoremaster’s compound until the time of sale,” Ismael explained. “Opium is used as a tool in a concubine’s training. Once addicted, it is withheld until the woman earns more by perfecting certain—ah—lessons.