Free Silver Angel by Johanna Lindsey Page B

not be afraid, Hakeem?” she asked in a near whisper.
    He would have told her the obvious, that the one who bought her would endeavor to please her so that she would in turn please him, but he knew her well enough to know that that was the last thing to tell her, that one of her main fears was eventually having to please a master. He could only hope that when the time came, she would think differently about it. But what could he tell her that he hadn’t already?
    “No one expects you not to be afraid, lalla . But if you remember that you will not be hurt, that you have value, is it not reasonable to find courage in that? And you are prepared, you know what to expect. You also have some understanding of the language now, which will improve with time. Few prisoners can say the same, for most captains do not bother to ensure that the adjustment will be easy, much less that the captives will arrive in the same condition as they were when they were captured. Rais Mehmed saw the wisdom in turning you over to our employer without tears or resistance, and with a knowledge of our ways that could only be beneficial to everyone involved. Hamid Sharif will be pleased, and so the rais will benefit, as will you. You truly have no reason to fear your arrival here, lalla . Everything will go well.”
    “Until I’m sold,” she couldn’t resist adding.
    Hakeem frowned at her, but there was nothing more he could say. “I have here the clothes supplied by the rais for you to wear to leave the ship. Please be ready three hours after the sun sets.”
    He held up each piece for her inspection. They were all in dull, nondescript colors and serviceable cotton, except for the yashmak, the veil worn by all women who ventured out in the street, and this was made of a dark gauze. There were pantaloons that looked like long drawers, a long-sleeved tunic that she couldn’t know Hakeem himself had supplied for her modesty’s sake, a short bolero-type vest with a single button to fasten over her breasts, a wide sashed belt, and a voluminous caftan, the long coatlike garment worn in the Near East by both men and women, this one full enough to conceal her completely from shoulders to feet. Shoes were not supplied, since her own were still wearable even after their drenching in her one bid for freedom.
    Chantelle was not at all pleased by the pantaloons, which in her opinion were no better than unadorned underwear. “Couldn’t I wear the robe and veil over my own clothes?”
    Hakeem shook his head, but there was a slight smile for her expression of distaste. Clothes had accomplished what all his words had not—to take her mind off her fear.
    “Your dress is too foreign in design. The full skirt would bell out even with the weight of the caftan over it. It is our intention that if you should be seen leaving the ship, you will appear a Muslim woman who perhaps had passage with us, and so not draw attention to yourself. Hamid Sharif will want your presence kept secret until he is ready to announce your auction, which will be private, only for those who can afford the high price he will set for you. And besides,” he added hesitantly, “your own clothes will be denied you henceforth. In Barikah you will be dressed according to your—”
    “New status?” Chantelle cut in bitterly.
    Hakeem flushed, but said, “Did you think it would be otherwise, after all I have told you?”
    She lowered her gaze to the floor. “No, but can’t I keep my pictures, my own hairbrush, my—”
    “Nothing, lalla . A slave goes to her new master with nothing, so that what he chooses to give her she will be grateful for.”
    Her head snapped up. She had been told this, but because she was faced with the immediate loss of her only reminders of home, her earlier anger returned in full force.
    “A tradition that serves to undermine confidence and self-esteem, not to mention self-worth,” she bit out with contempt. “Will I be begging for my food, too, for even a