Caversham’s Bride

Chapter Three-2

“Ashraf said this one was very defiant unless medicated. While drugged, she was more biddable, so they kept her that way. As I paid the old man, the guard laughed and said he had to give her a large dose just before she was brought out. If so, this evening will be difficult for her.”

Ren looked at Ismael, concerned for his new charge.

“She is likely addicted to the opium, as most are,” the physician continued, “which will make for a dangerous and frightening withdrawal process. Depending on how much opium she has been given and when, she will have to be watched closely, especially tonight to make sure she continues to breathe. Then for the next ten days, as the drug leaves her body, she’ll have nightmares, hallucinations and may even become violent. I’ve seen women jump from upper balconies to ease the pain of it. Should this happen, take my advice, lock her in your room and tie her to your bed until she comes out of it. It shouldn’t take longer than a fortnight. Then, you can return her to her family if that is still your wish.”

A short while later, their cart entered a small side gate of the palace compound and Hakim stopped the donkey before a servant. Ren alighted from the cart, carrying his bundle.

“Would you like to place her in the harim?” the prince asked.

Ren shook his head. “I will care for her.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to do it, but for some inexplicable reason, he did. “Shall I wake her at regular intervals?”

“That is not necessary as long as you make sure she breathes,” the physician said. “You’ll need help with her tomorrow. She will either need more opium or she will start to have fits until her body is free from the drug.”

“I shall see that she has the best care,” Ren replied.

Ren carried his acquisition into his room as the door opened for him on silent hinges. Another servant appeared from nowhere to turn the bed down for the woman in his arms. As he laid Kamilah down, the same servant lit more candles and gave orders for another to bring a basin of water. Ren dismissed them both once the water arrived.

After seeing to his own needs, Ren turned his attention to the woman in his bed. He knelt next to her and unpinned the veil. Behind the sheer gray scrap of fabric her skin was a translucent light olive. She had a straight nose above a sensuous mouth, and her lower lip was just a bit fuller than her upper lip, giving her a natural pout. For some reason, he wanted to kiss those lips, to see if they would mold themselves to his as he awakened passion in her.

Her eyebrows were gently arched as she relaxed in slumber. He raised a hand to her hair and smoothed a strand on the pillow behind her. Her hairline came to a peak high in the center of her forehead. It intrigued him and beckoned his touch. He resisted though, for fear of waking her.

His eyes drifted down to the robe that she held clasped shut with both hands, even in her slumber. Ren knew she would rest easier without it, and moved her hands to undo the knotted belt at her waist. When that brought no response, he began to carefully slip the material away from her. She stirred a moment, but was quickly back asleep. Once he had the covering removed he stared at her, knowing it was wrong to do so as she’d not given him permission to gaze upon her nakedness. But, heaven help him, she was exquisite.

This woman had skin as smooth and flawless as his Sèvres porcelain. Except each wrist bore angry red welts, from where she had obviously fought against bindings of some sort. He glanced down to her ankles and saw similar marks encircling them. The revulsion he felt at her treatment was hard to contain. His only consolation was in knowing it would never happen to her again. At least not while she was his responsibility.

Again she stirred, taking a deep, shaky breath, and Ren’s gaze settled on her full breasts. The dark peaks had the texture of raw silk. He hated that his body was responding to an unconscious woman, beautiful though she was. Likely it came from the fact that he’d not had a woman in his bed in more months than he cared to remember. His mouth watered in anticipation of drawing one tip into it, laving it with his wetness. He could feel his erection pushing uncomfortably toward her against his breeches. Leaning over, he gathered the blankets to cover her, inhaling her musky rose perfume, and something inside of him snapped. God help him, he desired her with an intensity he’d never known before.

This was crazy. He was mad to think he could see to her care. He backed away from the bed, shoving his hair back in frustration with nervous, shaking hands. His body ached with wanting her.

He had to remember that she was someone’s daughter or sister, and he must do what he knew was right. For some odd reason, perhaps having to do with this damned sense of honor he felt toward the fairer s*x, that was more important than satisfying his need for her body.

His breathing and pulse quickened. He had to control his baser instincts. That was the only way he could stay the entire night with her and maintain sanity. Stepping out onto the private courtyard, he lit a cheroot and sat on the bench facing the fountain. Then a thought entered his mind. What if?

No. The idea was beyond mad. Or was it?

She could be the answer to his problem.

Could he pull off introducing a woman such as her as his wife? What of her past? How would he respond to all the questions sure to be asked? More importantly, how would she respond? The woman likely didn’t speak English, or any language he did, and he spoke four fluently. Certain facts had to be corroborated in order to make for a credible story. How would they explain their meeting, courtship and marriage? And, where could a Christian marriage take place in this Islamic country?

Ren shifted on the seat as he contemplated his situation. If he followed through with this insane idea, sometime between now and their return to England, he would have to create a plausible story that wouldn’t stir suspicions or cast doubts as to the legitimacy of a potential heir. Before contriving the perfect tale, communication with Kamilah was imperative. He needed to know more—a great deal more—in order to craft a tightly-woven story even the ton could find no fault with.

He chuckled softly as he puffed at his cheroot. In a society where married women freely and openly took lovers after the requisite heir had been provided to their husbands, the thought of a trained concubine taking a place amongst polite society seemed minor to Ren. It was more important to him that a wife, or betrothed, remained faithful to her vows. The hypocrisy of it all, and the enormity of the ramifications should he be discovered, made it an irresistible challenge.

Exhausted from his long day, he ground out his cheroot and stepped back into the bedroom. He placed a hand lightly over her mouth to make sure she was still breathing. He waited until he felt the warm, moist air waft against his palm. Satisfied that she still lived, he lit another candle and brought a chair over to the bedside. He wanted to be here when she awoke, so he settled in for the long night ahead.

He smiled. The austere lady patronesses of Almack’s would have apoplectic fits if they knew what he was considering.

A soft thud sounded through the chamber, stirring him. Ren opened his eyes and rubbed his stiff neck, wondering momentarily why he’d slept in the uncomfortable chair. Then he remembered.

His gaze flew to the vacant bed, and he sprang from his seat to search for his charge. He found her naked, curled in a ball on the floor, rubbing her legs.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, leaning forward to lift her. “You must have fallen after I nodded off. I’m sorry…”

She turned to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes, then swung at him, the blow landing on his ear.

He sprang backward to avoid further pummeling. “Damnation woman! I’m only trying to help!” He stared at the wildly thrashing, naked creature, writhing about on the floor, who succeeded only in tangling herself further in the fallen bed covers.

Ren called for a servant to find Ismael and bring him. Whatever evil this Kamilah fought was a formidable foe. He gently, yet firmly, lifted her onto the bed, and sat next to her. At first he held her as her arms and legs flailed about. Throwing a leg over her, he straddled her, trying to prevent her from doing harm to herself or to him. His fingers twined with hers to grip her hands. The woman had incredible strength. Even for all of his height and weight, he had trouble holding her down. She both trembled and fought him at the same time, and her body perspired while her skin was cold to the touch.

She mumbled incoherently at some unknown person, in Italian, and she wasn’t pleading. His Kamilah was cursing. Fluently. Her voice grew stronger and louder until she screamed at him. Her profanity reached beyond even his knowledge of her language.

Her fingernails caught the skin of both hands just above the knuckles, scratching him so deeply he bled. He brought her wrists together and held them tightly with one hand. With the other he caught her hair at the crown of her head and pulled it back to stop her struggling.

“Stop it!” Ren shouted at her above her cursing. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Suddenly the thrashing and swearing stopped, and her eyes flew open. What he saw in that instant made him regret his decision to purchase the woman whose plight had touched the deepest chord in him last night. He had gone so far as to convince himself she had been forced into such a shameful position, and that he would be her rescuer—her hero come to save her honor—when in actuality she was a madwoman.

The hatred which spewed from her fiery emerald stare scalded him so that he couldn’t stand to be near her, much less touch her. And to think he’d found her desirable last night. The mere thought now repulsed him.

Ismael entered the room, took a close look at her eyes, and felt her clammy skin. “It is as I described,” the physician said. “Her body is withdrawing from the opium. For the next two to three days you can sit atop her and hold her down, or you can take my advice and tie her to the bed. She’ll not sleep a great deal, and when she is awake, she will be as she is now. Eventually, she’ll sleep from exhaustion.”

Both men stared at the wild-eyed hellion that Ren held down. They could tell she knew they spoke of her as her thrashing began again in earnest. When he saw her prepare to spit at him, Ren reached for her hair again, forced her head back and stared into her eyes. He spoke to her in her own tongue, warning her, “Don’t even dare.”

She spat in his face.

A servant came to take over his restraint of the woman. He turned to Ismael and said, “Do what you must to save her from herself. I will go to my ship.”

“It is the drug causing this behavior, you must believe me.”

“I believe you. I do,” he said as he raked his hands through his hair. He felt disgusted with the entire situation, and said as much to the physician. “It’s just that… I thought perhaps if… if I explained to her that I would return her to her home…”

He went into the garden, unable to watch the woman’s struggles and hear her cries. Ismael issued orders to the servants to have Kamilah tied to the bed with silken ropes so she would not hurt herself further, then he joined Ren on the bench before the small fountain. The sound of the woman’s screams soon subsided as the servants tending her gave her a tonic of some sort. The two men sat on the mahogany bench as sunlight crept over the walled garden.