“You motherfucker!” Conar yelled, rattling his cage mindlessly, impervious to the hurried movements of the physician below him. “Let me out of here and I’ll show you what kind of animal I can be!!!”

  So enraged was he, he barely felt the dart that was blown through the hollow reed into his naked thigh. He plucked the offending missile out and flung it away, wrapping his fingers through the mesh once more to pull at the cage. His fury was no less diminished when the second dart hit him and he slapped at it, breaking the needle off in his arm. As the drug coursed through his system, a system already pumping adrenalin, his eyes glazed, his lids began to droop, but he continued to jerk on the mesh of the cage until he shuddered and his head dropped to the cage door. He tried to shake off the drug, but it began to shut down his mind.

  “Shoot him again!” Habi barked, not wanting to climb the ladder to get the blond man until he was sure the bastard was out cold.

  Once more the physician blew a dart into the slave, hitting him in the belly, just above the wound that had nearly cost the man his life.

  “They’ll never be able to even get a bid for him like this,” Habi grumbled, dragging the ladder over to the upper cage. “They’ll have to keep the bastard in restraints even on the auction block.”

  “That’s their concern, not ours,” the physician answered.

  “I say they’d be better off slitting his throat,” Habi complained. He stuck the key to the padlock in and twisted, warily eying the unconscious man as if anticipating him leaping up and attacking.

  “Just get him down, Habi,” the physician ordered.

  It took longer that Habi would have liked to get the slave into one of the holding cells, but once he did, it didn’t take long to manacle him and stretch his well-muscled arms into the restriction of the yoke, an apparatus that had been designed to teach troublemakers a hard and uncomfortable lesson.

  Constructed of a thick piece of sturdy oak, the yoke’s six foot span was heavy and cumbersome. Somewhat resembling the contrivance used to harness oxen, this particular symbol of subjection served a two-fold purpose—it kept a prisoner from being able to use his arms and when drawn up with the pulley inside the holding cell to the cross beam overhead, it became a formidable form of excruciating punishment resembling crucifixion.

  “You aren’t going to give anyone any trouble, now, are you, pretty boy?” Habi sneered. He clamped the wrist restraints as tight as he could get them.

  “Leave him alone,” the physician growled.

  “Let me have him for just ten minutes,” Habi growled as he securely tied a thick gag over the slave’s mouth. He reached down to press his fingers against the bandage covering the man’s stomach wound. He laughed when there was a faint groan.

  “Get out of there, I told you!” the physician yelled. “They may not get much for him, but Lord Khan won’t like it if he’s been damaged!”

  Habi snorted his displeasure and then reached for the rope that would hoist the prisoner up from the floor. When the slave was dangling helplessly from the overhead beam, his feet off the floor, the physician’s assistant slipped ankle irons around his feet and secured them to hooks cemented to the floor.

  “It’ll be a miracle if hanging like that doesn’t pull his stitches lose and he bleeds to death,” the physician grumbled.

  “Harim won’t care and I doubt Lord Khan will,” Habi sneered.

  “Just go find out when they intend on selling him,” the medical man ordered. “I want him here no longer than is absolutely necessary.” He stared at the man in the cage and shuddered. “If he survives this, he can survive anything and I don’t want to be anywhere near him if he should ever get free!”

  “There is another blond haired man in the warehouse,” Kharis told his mistress.

  “Ionarian?” Sabrina asked as she spoonfed the man she had named Sirocco. She picked up her napkin and wiped his mouth.

  “Serenian, I believe.” Kharis felt sorry for the handsome young man Sabrina was caring so diligently for. As yet, he had not spoken to them, to tell them anything of his past or what he had thought his future would hold.

  His vacant stare was pitiful and he flinched whenever loud sounds occurred. Docile, and totally vulnerable, he followed Sabrina with his thankful gaze wherever she happened to go.

  And he slept in the black woman’s bed, curled against her like a child would its mother.

  “Has he touched you, Sabrina?” Kharis had asked only once, but his mistress had shaken her head sadly.

  “It will take time, Kharis,” she said. “He is like a music box that has been dropped and broken. The music is still there, trapped inside, but the mechanism which runs the music box is damaged.”

  “Shall I bid for this other one?” Kharis asked.

  Sabrina lifted a cup of wine to her bedmate’s lips. “Do you think he is worth buying?”

  Kharis shrugged eloquently. “I am told he is handsome. Blond, blue eyes the color of dark sapphires, well-built. Who knows?” He frowned. “His face has been scarred on one side and he has been beaten rather badly. His back is covered in ….” He stopped, seeing Sabrina staring at him with her mouth open. “Is something wrong?”

  “His back is scarred?” she asked, putting down the glass, unmindful that the lips of the young man beside her were dripping with red wine.

  “Yes,” Kharis answered. He was puzzled at the strange look on his mistress’ face.

  Sabrina stood up and stared at her servant. “And which cheek is it that is scarred? His right?”

  Kharis shook his head. “I am told his left.”

  “Twin scars, from the inside of his left eye to his ear?”

  A dark scowl crossed Kharis’ face. “I have no way of knowing.”

  “Go look!” Sabrina ordered. When her servant nodded and made to leave, she stopped him. “And check the back of his sword hand, the right hand. Tell me what you find there.” If he had been puzzled before, Kharis was even more mystified by her next request. “If you find a tattoo on his hand, let no one purchase him before I have seen him, Kharis. Under penalty of punishment, do not!”

  Kharis nodded again and left for the warehouse where new slaves were kept, his thoughts a jumble of surprise.

  Sabrina stared at the door out of which her servant had exited for a long moment. Her heart was racing inside her chest and she could hear the blood pounding behind her temples.

  “It can’t be,” she said in a whisper. “It isn’t possible.”

  Chase Montyne watched the black woman, wishing she would come back and touch him, put her gentle hands on him and smooth away the fear her excited words had caused him. He grunted, striving to gain her attention, and was immediately relieved when she turned back around and looked at him with the tenderness with which she had been soothing him all week. His expression turned from anxious to content when she came back to sit down beside him.

  “If it is him, Sirocco, I dare not let him see you.”

  A shaft of fear drove through Chase Montyne’s heart and he reached out for her, clasping her waist as he laid his head in her lap. He grunted his agreement, not understanding of whom she was speaking, but fearing him, nevertheless, connecting him with the man who had brutalized him.

  “Do not worry, my sweet wind. I will keep you safe,” she whispered to him, bending down to put a light kiss on his cheek. He reached up for a thick braid of her coarse black hair and brought it to his mouth, kissing it as though it were a precious religious icon. “If it is him, I will keep him safe, too.”

  Kharis stared through the mesh of the cage at the slave. He had to crane his neck to see the right hand that was held in the clamp of the yoke, annoyed that the back of that hand was pressed tightly to the wooden bar.

  “May I see his right hand?” Kharis asked.

  “His hand?” Lord Khan inquired. “Why?”

  “I am to look at his hand,” Kharis said. He need not give the slave trader an explanation. The Lady Sabrina paid good money for her slaves.

  Lord Khan stared at Khan for a moment and then shrugged. “Open the door, Harim.”

  Harim unlocked the cage door, lowered the slave, and then allowed Kharis to enter. He paid close attention to the Lady Sabrina’s servant as the man unlocked the slave’s wrist and turned his hand over to see the back of it. He saw a strange expression of concern flit across Kharis’ face before the man re-clamped the limp wrist to the yoke. He waited until Kharis had left the holding cell before he hoisted the slave up again.

  “I have been instructed to ask that you not to sell this particular slave until Her Ladyship can view him.” Kharis reached into his caftan and drew out a holding fee. “Will one hundred gold Ryals be enough to secure him?”

  Harim folded his arms over his chest, half-listening to his master bargaining with Lady Sabrina’s man. His gaze was intent on the slave. He wasn’t even aware of Kharis leaving until Lord Khan spoke to him.

  “Why would she want this one?” Khan asked. He viewed the man in the holding cell as little more than a nuisance. He had not thought to get even a hundred for him and wasn’t sure Sabrina would buy him although it meant she would lose her security deposit.

  “Who knows what her criteria is?” Harim asked.

  “Well, at any rate, I want him sold to the highest bidder tomorrow at noon.” Khan turned to go. “Are you coming?”

  Harim shook his head. “No.” He had seen the strange tattoo that Kharis had seen, but unlike Kharis, he knew what the strange bisecting lines meant. “There is something I need to attend to.”

  Khan shrugged. “As you wish.”

  Harim’s inner voice was telling him this man in the cage might well be worth more than what Sabrina would pay for him for her farm. He glanced at Habi. “Did I not hear that Prince Guil Ben-Shanar Gehdrin is here?”

  Habi nodded. “His ship docked two weeks ago and he has yet to leave. His man will be at the auction today. They will be buying slaves for their quarry.”

  Harim looked back at the blond slave. “Where is His Grace staying?”

  “With his cousin, Prince Hedron.” Habi thought the look on the slave warden’s face seemed entirely too smug. “Why?”

  Harim smiled. “No particular reason.” He glanced around at the eastern wall where hopeless faces peered back at him. “I am sure we will rid ourselves of quite a few slaves this day.” He looked back at the blond man who was just beginning to stir inside the holding cell. He grinned. “Quite a few.” Harim chuckled.

  Chapter Fifty

  Sabrina outdistanced Kharis as she hurried toward the slave auctioning arena where her servant had told her the blond slave would be sold. Her legs pumped furiously beneath the multi­colored cotton caftan and she had a set and determined look on her broad black face that made others step out of her way with arched brows.

  “In a hurry, Lady Sabrina?” someone called out to her as she passed. “A goodly assortment in today?”

  There was raucous laughter and elbows jabbed into sides as she hurried on her way, but the lady ignored them, her purpose clear, her heart skipping beats as she plowed through the gathering crowd of buyers.

  “There is a tattoo on his hand as you suspected,” Kharis had told her. “Two lines which look like ….”

  “A bird in flight,” she answered, her eyes intent on her servant’s face.

  Kharis sighed. “Yes.” He had studied her, watching the expression that had alarmed him further. “What does it mean, Sabrina? Who is this man?”

  But Sabrina refused to answer.

  “What will you sell that Ionarian for, Lady Sabrina?” a woman yelled out to her as Sabrina neared the auction block. “I will pay twenty Luens for the pleasure of his company!”

  “Bitch,” Sabrina hissed as she elbowed her way to the front of the crowd. Relieved that the auction had not begun, she reached out to clutch Kharis’ arm in a death grip as he reached her side. “You did pay Khan a holding fee, did you not?”

  Kharis sighed. “Yes. I told you I did.”

  It was not easy standing there with Sabrina, he thought as each new slave was brought up on the block. Each time a new man was thrust up there, she would dig her nails into his arm until it was obvious it was not the man she had come to buy.

  “Where is he?” she asked a thousand times.

  “Since you plan on buying him,” Kharis had explained in his most pleasant voice, “what difference does it make?”

  And when the blond slave had been brought out, struggling like a wild animal as he was thrust naked onto the block, Kharis had felt Sabrina’s wicked nails gouging into his arm like dagger points.

  “Look!” she gasped, her face filling with absolute fury. “Look what they would dare do to him!”

  There were those in the crowd that day that were shocked and dismayed that a slave had been brought before the crowd in such a condition. That he was naked was of little consequence since most were divested of their clothing before the buyers, anyway. But this one was shackled, manacled hand and foot, his arms stretched into the confinement of a wooden yoke used only for the most dangerous of slaves and never used for the slaves sold from this arena. Two burly guards lifted him and hooked the restraining yoke between two uprights, then knelt to shackle his feet to the wooden platform.

  “Why is he gagged, Hiram?” a man called out from the crowd.

  “He can’t control his tongue!” Hiram answered, laughing. “So, I controlled it for him!”

  Laughter broke out and many pointed at the slave who was thrashing furiously, doing his best to get free.

  “It’s a good thing you hobbled him, Hiram!” someone else shouted.

  “If Sabrina’s here to buy him, he’ll get used to it soon enough!”

  The crowd erupted into vengeful laughter that made Sabrina swing her head about, her eyes flashing fire at those gathered. She had never been so angry in her life and it showed on her dark face.

  “You buying him for yourself, Sabrina?” a woman taunted.

  Kharis was watching the blond slave, seeing humiliation and fury alternately taking control of his face. The dark sapphire glare was awesome to behold. It fairly sparked with lethal intent at those who were ogling him. The crowd’s laughter and taunting, the fingers pointing at his more than adequate anatomy had brought a furious red glow to the man’s face and he was sucking in his breath so harshly through the restriction of the gag, the fabric moved in and out with each breath.

  “I’d like to get MY hands on him!” one of the women in the crowd yelled out. “I’d stake him down and make him beg for mercy!”

  Sabrina was quivering, her insides like jelly. She turned away from the jeering of the crowd and looked up into the humiliated and enraged face of the man on the auction block. He was not looking at her, but she knew the gleam in those dark eyes boded ill for anyone who dared buy him.

  “Are you sure you want him, Sabrina?” Kharis asked, bending down so she could hear him above the ribald remarks and coarse innuendoes. He was deeply concerned by the look on his mistress’ face.

  “I have to,” Sabrina breathed. “I have no choice.”

  “Get on with the auction!” a bold voice shouted above the den and heads turned to see a member of the royalty striding forward, pushing people out of his way.

  Harim smiled. “Good morning, Prince Guil. Will you be bidding on this slave?”

  Conar swung his head toward the man who had pushed his way to the edge of the auction block. He did not know the man, but there was something in the way the man stared at him that put his hackles up.

  “Five hundred Ryals,” Guil said, staring into Conar McGregor’s eyes with revenge. He massaged his broken arm, adjusting the splint. “He’s not worth it, but that is my bid.”

  Sabrina frowned, sensing something that was beyond her understanding here. She looked from the eager, knowing face of the Rysalian prince to the auctioneer. “Six hundred,” she bid.

  Conar flicked his furious glance over the woman who had dared bid for him. He grunted with contempt beneath the gag and was not surprised when the man bid again.

  “Seven hundred.”

  “Eight.”

  Prince Guil turned to glare at the black woman. “Nine.”

  Sabrina’s chin went up. “One thousand.”

  There were surprised looks in the crowd. Was the man on the block really worth that much to Sabrina? Women turned to stare at the blond slave, assessing him as they had not before. Men shook their heads, wondering what Sabrina saw.

  Guil’s lips rose in disgust before he turned back to the auctioneer. “Fifteen hundred.”

  A rumble went through those gathered.

  Conar’s eyes narrowed. The man was willing to pay a lot to have him and that didn’t bode well. There was cruelty in the man’s gaze and a hardness to his mouth that suggested he was anxious to make this purchase and be done with it.

  “Two thousand.”

  As the crowd rumbled again, louder now, Conar turned his attention back to the black woman and his stare lowered. To his way of thinking, she was staring back at him, her dark gaze gleaming with lust. Boldly, her scrutiny was sliding over him, stopping now and then at his shoulders, his chest, lingering insultingly too long at the juncture of his thighs.

  “Twenty-five,” Prince Guil shouted.

  Heads turned from Prince Guil’s bored expression to the man who had stopped struggling on the auction block and was staring down at the Rysalian prince with hatred.

  “Three thousand.”

  Heads swung to the Lady Sabrina.

  Conar watched the woman wet her lips as her eyes crawled slowly up him again to fasten on his face. He felt unclean, degraded, unmanned as she fused her haughty stare with his furious one.

  “Thirty-five,” the man shouted, annoyance beginning to sound in his harsh voice.

  Those gathered looked back to the Lady Sabrina and were not surprised to see a smug smile on her thick lips.

  “Four thousand,” Sabrina bid.

  His blood ran cold as that slow, nasty smile pulled at the woman’s purple-tinged lips. Why did she want him so badly? The man, he could see. There was something in the man’s dark gaze that said he would enjoy breaking him. But the woman?

 

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