must obey me. I am your master.’
‘You may have bought me, but that does not mean that you can make me your slave.’
Suleiman saw the pride and defiance in her eyes and felt a surge of excitement. She was like one of his hawks—when they were fresh from the wild and untamed to the touch of his hand. Most of the birds succumbed to gentle persuasion in time, but now and then one would attempt to tear out his eyes. If that happened the bird was returned to the wild. Some men would have ordered it killed, but Suleiman understood the wild spirit that could not be tamed—and respected it.
He had never met a truly spirited woman before. They were always trained in their duties by the eunuchs and older women long before they were presented to their master.
‘What makes you say that? Do you not understand that I have absolute power over you? I can do with you as I will.’
‘You can do as you will with my body,’ Eleanor retorted, head high. She ought to be afraid of this man but she wasn’t. ‘But you cannot command my mind—or my soul.’
‘Ah…’ Suleiman nodded, enjoying this verbal tussle. ‘Yes, I see. You think you can rise above the indignity of being a slave. I understand. But you do not. You are fortunate that I paid a great deal of money for you—or you might even now feel pain. I do not think you have ever experienced true pain, Eleanor.’
‘Who gave you permission to use my name?’ Her eyes flashed blue fire.
Suleiman moved towards her, towering above her, menacing her with the power of his strength and masculinity—yet she did not flinch. Her hair had begun to dry at the edges in the hot sun, little wisps curling about her face. He could imagine what it would look like properly dressed in its natural waves, cascading down to the small of her back. He was pleased with his purchase and inclined to indulge her for the moment.
‘Here…’ He put the second towel around her shoulders to protect her from the fierce heat. ‘Go into the house and let Roxana help you to dress. We have a ride of some distance to my father’s palace.’
Eleanor was torn between anger and caution. This man was a noble of his own country. A barbarian, of course, but better than many she might have been sold to. She was foolish to antagonise him. If she tried persuasion instead, he might ransom her to her family.
‘I shall obey because I have no choice for the moment,’ she said with dignity. ‘But you do not understand either, sir. I am the daughter of an English baronet. I have powerful friends. They will look for me and they will pay a high price for my return—twice what you paid for me. You may name your own price, sir.’
‘You do not know how much I paid…’ A smile curved his mouth. ‘Would your family give ten thousand in your English gold coin? I might sell you for such a sum.’
It was a king’s ransom and her family could not pay anywhere near as much—and he knew it.
Eleanor paled from shock. ‘That is impossible. You did not pay any such sum!’
Suleiman laughed, much amused by her reaction. She had not tried to lie, and that pleased him. ‘No, I did not—but I am beginning to think I paid too much. You have too much to say for yourself, woman. Have you no respect for your betters? Do you not know that it becomes a woman to remain silent in the presence of her master—at least until she is given permission to speak?’
‘When I am in company that deserves my respect I give it.’ She felt a flash of temper. How dare this barbarian try to teach her manners? She was an English gentlewoman! ‘Here, I see only barbarians.’
‘Be careful, woman.’ Suleiman’s mouth hardened as he took a step towards her. ‘My patience wears thin. Go to the house before I drag you back in the pool and drown you!’
‘You wouldn’t…’ Eleanor began, but the look in those fierce eyes made her think he just might. She gave a little squeak of alarm, turned and fled.
Suleiman watched her flight, his eyes bright with laughter. He had won the first tussle—but what a fight she had put up. She was indeed a fine prize. A worthy gift for the Sultan…and yet perhaps she needed to be tamed a little first. She was too fiery, too defiant. From what he knew of the Sultan, her spirit would not be particularly appreciated.
Perhaps Suleiman would keep her for a while…
Chapter Three
‘You are beautiful,’ Roxana said as she brushed Eleanor’s long hair. She sighed and looked at her with sympathy. ‘It is a pity that you are destined for the Sultan’s harem and not Suleiman Bakhar’s own household.’
‘Why?’ Eleanor frowned at her.
‘Suleiman Bakhar is young and strong—and they say that to be loved by him is like dying and going to paradise. Though perhaps this is only gossip brought by servant women to the markets.’
‘I do not care if he is young and handsome,’ Eleanor said, shivering as she remembered the look in those fierce eyes when he had threatened to drown her. For a moment she had truly believed he might do it. ‘I do not want to be his concubine.’
‘He might marry you—if you are clever. Until now he has taken only concubines. They say he must marry soon, because he must give the Caliph an heir…’
‘I have no wish to be his wife!’ Eleanor stared at her in horror. ‘I can think of nothing worse.’
‘That is because you do not know what it is like to be the wife of an old man.’ Something flickered in the older woman’s eyes. ‘If you did, you would do all you could to make Suleiman notice you and want you for himself.’
‘Was it very hard for you, Roxana?’ Eleanor looked at her with sympathy. It was easy to see that the older woman had once been lovely—and that she had suffered.
‘Sometimes I prayed that I might die before night came.’
‘Is that why you left me alone in the garden? Did you think I might escape? Were you trying to help me?’
‘It is not in my power. Had you tried to escape, you could not have done so,’ Roxana replied. ‘The walls are high and there are guards outside. Besides, if you had got out you would have been noticed immediately. The clothes you were wearing marked you as an infidel and an unbeliever. You would have been chased and caught by the mob—then, when they saw how beautiful you are, they would have begun to quarrel over you. Unless Mohamed’s men rescued you, you might have been raped again and again…’
Eleanor turned pale. She held up her hands as if to ward off the pictures Roxana’s words had brought to life in her mind.
‘Enough! It is clearly useless to try and escape in the city—but if I managed to slip away outside its walls dressed like this…’
She was wearing a pair of drawers, very full, which reached down to her ankles; they were of a fine green material brocaded with gold. Over these, was a smock of a paler green silk gauze, edged with pearls; it had loose sleeves which covered as far as her elbows and closed at the throat with a cluster of pearls. And to Eleanor’s disgust, her breasts were clearly visible through it! The waistcoat fitted her close to her body and had very long sleeves fringed with gold tassels, and the buttons were again clusters of pearls. On top of all these was what Roxana had called a caftan, and that was a straight robe that covered her to the ankles. A girdle of gold threads woven with what looked like precious stones, but must surely be crystals, was fastened with a heavy clasp of gold, again set with jewels. If they were jewels. But Eleanor was certain they must be false. On her feet she wore soft boots that reached just to mid-thigh and were embroidered with gold thread.
It all felt very strange and she protested when she was told that she must put on a casacche before she went out. Since this was a huge cloak that would envelop her in its folds, and she must also wear a veil and a talpock to cover her head, she felt she would suffocate.
‘It is too much,’ she said.