Page 27 of Kismet

Chapter 8

“By all that is holy, woman, what have you done to your hair?” Nassar grabbed Allegra by the arm and jerked her toward the center of his tent.

“You will have to ask Rana that question, not me.”

With what was left of her pride, she lifted her chin to a proud angle and stared at a point over Nassar’s shoulder. She refused to let the man see how devastated she was. He’d only take pleasure in her pain, just like Rana had this morning.

“Rana knows better than to incur my wrath.”

“She might know better, but Rana is responsible for shearing me like a piece of livestock,” she snapped without looking at her jailor.

Her mind flashed back to how she’d awakened to find her hair strewn all over her pallet in large clumps. The horror of that moment washed over her as she recalled the desperate way her fingers had tried to clutch at hair that no longer existed. Even now she had to fight the urge to reach up and touch her cropped head. Any sign of anguish and Nassar would consider her beaten. No, she refused to give the bastard that satisfaction.

“You are a liar.” Nassar’s roar of disbelief destroyed what little reserve of common sense she had and she sent the man a scornful look.

“And you are a fool.”

Her head snapped sideways beneath his hand, the sound of the blow splitting the air with a vicious crack. Fighting to remain upright, she stumbled back into one of the guards. Rough hands shoved her back into place. Her hand touched her cheek, and she winced at the agony the slight touch triggered. By morning, her cheek would be black and blue.

A sharp exclamation of disgust made her jerk her head toward the sound. Stunned, she saw her Bedouin Sheikh seated on the tent’s carpet glaring up at Nassar with angry disdain. Certain she was imagining things, she closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again. He really was here. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Her shoulders sagged with relief as she stared at his handsome profile. He’d come to rescue her.

“You must think me a fool, Nassar. I have no intention of accepting this pitiful creature even as a gift.”

The contempt in his voice eroded some of her relief. Pitiful creature? She watched him rise to his feet and cross the short distance between them, his gaze empty of any recognition. As if she were invisible, he walked in a circle around her, a skeptical look on his dark features.

She flinched at his careless disregard. A moment later, his fingertips pressed into the skin under her chin and forced her to turn her head while he examined her face where Nassar had hit her. A low-pitched sound rumbled in his throat. Her gaze jerked up to his face, but he’d already turned away from her.

“Even if she were of interest to me, she’s damaged.” His words made Nassar wave his hands in protest.

“Do not allow her appearance to deceive you, Sheikh Shaheen. I can assure you the woman will please you.”

Her mysterious Bedouin had a name—Sheikh Shaheen. She flinched as he looked her up and down once more then turned his back on her with a wave of his hand. Still struggling to understand what was happening, she trembled at his abrupt dismissal. Surely, he wouldn’t leave her here.

“She is too defiant. Even Abyad is not so stubborn.”

“Are you saying you cannot tame her?” Nassar stroked his beard and raised his eyebrows at Sheikh Shaheen.

“It’s easy to use a whip to control a creature, but taming requires patience and a gentle hand.” He turned his head to look her up and down again before shaking his head. “It is something I do well, but I don’t think she’s worth the price of my stallion.”

Price. It was as if he’d thrown her into a lake of icy water. A wild tremor rippled through her and her heart slammed to a halt for a long second as she fought to breathe. Worth the price. Dear God, Nassar was offering to trade her for a horse. Her stomach lurched and sent bile rising in her throat. Closing her eyes, she fought against the nausea. After a few seconds, the sickness passed and in its place was a cold rage that forced her hands to knot into tight fists. She watched as Nassar’s face took on a crafty expression.

“Very well, I’ll give you the woman and a quarter of the gold you paid for the stallion.”

Sheikh Shaheen’s scoffing laugh sent humiliation sweeping through her. Fierce and terrible, her mind clawed at old wounds until they were bloody and raw just as badly as they had been that first night at Madame Eugenie’s. Her mother’s harsh voice had mixed with Madame Eugenie’s softer, more refined one as the two of them argued over a price. When the final price of ten pounds was agreed to, she’d looked on in horror as her mother walked out the brothel doorway without a backward glance. Allegra drew in a slow breath that reflected her pain.

The sound captured Sheikh Shaheen’s attention, and for a fraction of a second, she thought she saw regret flash across his face. She immediately realized she was wrong as his gaze ran over her figure with a critical look before he turned his attention back to Nassar. Knuckles white beneath the pressure of her clenched fists, she could feel her rapid pulse spill hate and anger through her blood. To these men, she was nothing more than human cattle to be bought and traded.

“The woman and 75 percent of the gold I paid for Abyad,” Shaheen said carelessly and folded his arms across his chest.

“Forty percent.” Nassar shook his head.

“Sixty.”

“Done.” Nassar said with a jubilant smile and offered his hand to seal the transaction. “You drive a hard bargain, Shaheen.”

Rage swallowed her like a turbulent, dark river. Its undercurrent dragged her down into a primal place that blinded her to everything except the desire to kill them both. With an unintelligible cry of fury, she lunged toward Nassar and her fingers wrapped around the jeweled handle of the knife he wore. With a vicious tug, she yanked it free of the scabbard. Nassar’s curse and shouts from the others in the tent barely registered with her as she flung her hand upward in an attempt to plunge the blade into Nassar’s chest. Strong fingers caught her wrist and held her in place.

“Drop the blade, ma chérie.” His voice was almost gentle, and was that regret in his voice? No, that wasn’t possible for a man who’d just bought her like a piece of livestock.