Free The Harem Bride by Blair Bancroft Page B

circumstances was too horrible to contemplate.
    Tentatively, she flexed her fingers and
toes—ah, they worked!—then forced her mind to think . The Grand Bazaar. Carpets. That was it.
She was rolled up in a carpet, being carried over someone’s
shoulder. She must scream! But when she tried to draw breath, she encountered carpet
fibers that clogged her nose and filled her mouth. She managed
little more than a muffled squeal before the effort tumbled her
back into unconsciousness.
    A thump woke her. The dizzy whirl of the
unrolling carpet. The blessed rush of air. She lay quite still,
struggling to find her wits; yet, when the world steadied, she was
afraid to look. Whatever awaited her here in this room could not
possibly be good.
    Two men dragged her to her feet, held her up
between them. Although she could not understand a word being spoken
around her, pride and unsquelched curiosity forced her head up. She
stuck her chin in the air and glared at the man who seemed to be
giving the orders. Richly dressed, from the broad turban above his
bearded face to his heavily embroidered gold satin robe, he lounged
on a brocaded divan set on a raised dais. His dark eyes assessed
her with a gleam Penny had never before seen in a man’s eyes. Part
hard-headed business, she guessed. And the other? She suspected it
was that unknown—lust.
    Hands—all-too-willing hands—ripped at her
gown. Penny screamed and fought. Laughing, the men brushed aside
her feeble efforts with insulting ease, quickly finishing their
task. Chemise, garters, stockings, half boots. Most horribly
humiliated, Penny stood before her captors, with one arm clutched
over her breasts, and one small hand splayed over her most private
part. She could feel a flush rushing up from her toes to stain her
cheeks and dizzy her mind. This could not be happening. It simply
could not. She was not here. She must have sampled one of the
hookahs in the bazaar, and this was all a mad hallucination.
    By some miracle, her degradation was brief.
After having his two henchman turn her slowly around so he could
inspect every inch, the man on the dais gave a nod of satisfaction
and barked a command. An older woman scurried forward and threw a
linen robe around Penny’s shoulders. The man on the dais waved his
hand and two guards, armed with long curved swords dangling from
their belts, seized her arms. Penny found herself trailing after
the older woman, her feet skimming the floor of the audience
chamber. Behind her, she heard the chink of coins. No doubt the
sound of her captors being well rewarded for their efforts.
    As they followed the older woman across a
courtyard, the guards slowed their pace, allowing Penny’s feet to
touch the tiles, an intricate mosaic so hot, she was thankful for
the drops of moisture spilling onto the walk from the central
fountain. As they continued on in the shadows of a colonnaded
loggia, Penny was actually grateful for the strong hands holding
her up, for pride dictated she not fall to her knees, and she very
much feared she could not stand by herself. The sun spots, which
had danced before her eyes as they crossed the open courtyard, had
not gone away. They flitted before her, like a legion of
fireflies.
    She must bear up! But despair shook her. This afternoon had been the worst of
her life, and she greatly feared it would only grow
worse.
    The older woman swept aside heavy velvet
draperies hanging over an archway, then seized Penny’s arm in a
grip almost as strong as the guards’, before waving the men to
positions on either side of the arch. Inside, the steaming,
moisture-laden air hit Penny like a blow. Head swirling, she
staggered. More hands clamped down on her arms, and, suddenly,
Penny found herself seated on a surprisingly plain wooden stool in
a setting so exotic she could not quite take it in. Scattered about
the room were women with skins of every shade, from midnight black
to brown to warm tan. There was even one with skin almost as