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Authors: Johanna Lindsey
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by a man who had no wives, no household of women in which she could lose herself, a man who would rape her, though he might marry her and have children by her, God forbid. Then where would she be? Lost. Forever. Oh, horrid, horrid.
And Hakeem, that sometime idiot, thought to cheer her by telling her how likely it was that the man who bought her would want to marry her. “He will be extremely rich, for he could not afford you otherwise. And you will be his favorite, his ikbal . You will bear him fine sons, and he will honor you by making you his first wife.”
First wife. She cringed every time she heard that. It was bad enough that where she was going a man was allowed four wives if he so wanted, but he could also keep as many concubines as he could afford. Potentially hundreds of women for one man. It was inconceivable to her European mind. She didn’t see how the women could tolerate it. But then she had to remind herself that they had no choice, for concubines were slaves, captured in war, raids, and by piracy. Theirs was a culture steeped in slavery.
“Was your life so much better?” Hakeem demanded one day when she was particularly resentful of what he was telling her. “Braz says he found you running away with your little bundle of clothes.”
That didn’t sit well with her. “At least I hadchoices, Hakeem. I didn’t have to stay and be forced to marry a man who was unacceptable to me. But what choices do I have now?”
“You can accept your new life or not. You can go far, lalla , if you so choose. Riches can be yours, and freedom of a sort. You need only strive to be the favorite—”
“I won’t prostitute myself! I’d rather be a scullery slave!”
He threw up his hands in disgust and left her alone. And she cried—because it was true. She would rather do the meanest chores than warm some stranger’s bed, but she would rather not do either. Oh, God, did Charles Burke have more to atone for now! It was his fault she was here, his fault she was so frightened and helpless, facing a life abhorrent to her.
They would assume she had run away. Aunt Ellen would have come to Dover, and after being told what they had planned for Chantelle, she would assume she had run away, too. But she would also assume that Chantelle would contact her at the soonest opportunity, and she would wait in vain, wondering, and then worrying when time passed and she had no word. And no one would ever know what had really happened to Chantelle. She had simply disappeared from England without a trace.
There had been only one bad storm that delayed the ship’s progress for several days. Chantelle hoped for more, but the weather held fine, too fine, the heat increasing in the small cabin soon after they had slipped through the narrow Strait of Gibraltar to enter the Mediterranean Sea. The very next day, she was witness to the corsairs in action.
It came as a shock when the ship began readying for attack, and Hakeem rushed in to explain what washappening. They had passed other ships in the Atlantic without incident, so Chantelle had assumed they weren’t after any more prizes on this voyage. Wrong. They simply did their attacking in familiar waters.
“You need not worry, lalla . It is doubtful we will need to use the ship’s guns. It is nearly evening, so we can take the merchantman by surprise, approaching down-sun of her so it will be difficult for her to identify us. The rais has already raised identical colors, and we have a man who speaks her tongue to hail her and lull her. We will board her before she is aware she is in danger.”
Chantelle wasn’t worried. But she was excited. This was a possibility she hadn’t counted on—hope from an unexpected quarter. If the corsairs’ ship failed in its attack, if it should be captured instead, she would be saved.
She began to pray the minute Hakeem left her, and continued for the next half hour. That was all it took. The noise was horrible, the shouts and screams, the
And Hakeem, that sometime idiot, thought to cheer her by telling her how likely it was that the man who bought her would want to marry her. “He will be extremely rich, for he could not afford you otherwise. And you will be his favorite, his ikbal . You will bear him fine sons, and he will honor you by making you his first wife.”
First wife. She cringed every time she heard that. It was bad enough that where she was going a man was allowed four wives if he so wanted, but he could also keep as many concubines as he could afford. Potentially hundreds of women for one man. It was inconceivable to her European mind. She didn’t see how the women could tolerate it. But then she had to remind herself that they had no choice, for concubines were slaves, captured in war, raids, and by piracy. Theirs was a culture steeped in slavery.
“Was your life so much better?” Hakeem demanded one day when she was particularly resentful of what he was telling her. “Braz says he found you running away with your little bundle of clothes.”
That didn’t sit well with her. “At least I hadchoices, Hakeem. I didn’t have to stay and be forced to marry a man who was unacceptable to me. But what choices do I have now?”
“You can accept your new life or not. You can go far, lalla , if you so choose. Riches can be yours, and freedom of a sort. You need only strive to be the favorite—”
“I won’t prostitute myself! I’d rather be a scullery slave!”
He threw up his hands in disgust and left her alone. And she cried—because it was true. She would rather do the meanest chores than warm some stranger’s bed, but she would rather not do either. Oh, God, did Charles Burke have more to atone for now! It was his fault she was here, his fault she was so frightened and helpless, facing a life abhorrent to her.
They would assume she had run away. Aunt Ellen would have come to Dover, and after being told what they had planned for Chantelle, she would assume she had run away, too. But she would also assume that Chantelle would contact her at the soonest opportunity, and she would wait in vain, wondering, and then worrying when time passed and she had no word. And no one would ever know what had really happened to Chantelle. She had simply disappeared from England without a trace.
There had been only one bad storm that delayed the ship’s progress for several days. Chantelle hoped for more, but the weather held fine, too fine, the heat increasing in the small cabin soon after they had slipped through the narrow Strait of Gibraltar to enter the Mediterranean Sea. The very next day, she was witness to the corsairs in action.
It came as a shock when the ship began readying for attack, and Hakeem rushed in to explain what washappening. They had passed other ships in the Atlantic without incident, so Chantelle had assumed they weren’t after any more prizes on this voyage. Wrong. They simply did their attacking in familiar waters.
“You need not worry, lalla . It is doubtful we will need to use the ship’s guns. It is nearly evening, so we can take the merchantman by surprise, approaching down-sun of her so it will be difficult for her to identify us. The rais has already raised identical colors, and we have a man who speaks her tongue to hail her and lull her. We will board her before she is aware she is in danger.”
Chantelle wasn’t worried. But she was excited. This was a possibility she hadn’t counted on—hope from an unexpected quarter. If the corsairs’ ship failed in its attack, if it should be captured instead, she would be saved.
She began to pray the minute Hakeem left her, and continued for the next half hour. That was all it took. The noise was horrible, the shouts and screams, the
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