Chapter Four

 

‘A Girl is Kissed’

 

For three days the San Cristobal sailed seemingly alone on

an empty sea, a favourable wind driving her steadily on towards Marsala on the eastern tip of Sicily. From there she would set course for the safer, Spanish-patrolled Straits of Bonafacio, that narrow strip of water separating the island of Corsica from its more southerly cousin, Sardinia.

Once past Marsala, however, the capricious wind fell off,greatly slowing the ship’s passage, so that the unfortunate wretches on the oars were forced to labour long and hard under the ever-present lash of the unrelenting Spanish oar-master. Salim bin Rahdi spoke no more to the galley slave, though an observant onlooker might have noticed his expression darkening each time his gaze fell on the sweating, straining wretches who, urged cruelly on by the constant crack of the whip across naked backs, continued to heave mightily on the giant sweeps.

Charlotte and Meylissah continued to make love as and when they wished in the privacy of the cabin and the English girl could not remember being happier. Twice each morning and in the afternoon, they would take the air on the canopied aft poop deck; as did the Moor, Salim bin Rahdi and his Nubian. Sometimes the fat Spanish merchant and his swathed and veiled slave-girl would join them for a time, though conversation seemed to be limited to a nod of the head and a brief word of greeting.

It was on the third morning that Meylissah went down with a fever. It seemed to be not as severe as her Mistress’s had been, but even so Charlotte was worried and reluctant to leave her alone. It was only after repeated assurances from the slave girl that she really was all right, that Charlotte was finally persuaded to leave the stuffiness of the cabin for a turn on deck.

She made several circuits of the small deck, listening with half an ear to the slap of canvas and the groan of the rigging, very much aware of the rolling deck under her feet and the tang of sea air in her nostrils, a clean smell which helped somewhat to offset the reek of salt embedded timbers and the unwashed bodies of the sailors. She was standing at the ship’s rail, senses alive and vibrating as she watched the gentle rolling swell of the grey-blue sea, when she suddenly became aware that she was not alone.

Turning her head, she saw Salim bin Rahdi staring at her from the stern rail; a stare which sent the most curious icy sensation all the way down her spine. For a moment she met his eyes . . . eyes of the most startling blue in the dark face . . . then, seeking to evade the uncomfortable scrutiny, she turned back to look out over the vast expanse of sea.

He made no sound as he crossed the deck and yet, seconds later, she somehow sensed that he was standing directly behind her. Charlotte was not normally nervous, but at that moment she tensed in every muscle of her body. Mouth dry, she spun around.

“What is it? What do you want? ” she asked in English, then cursed herself for her stupidity. He would not understand, unless her tone of voice managed to convey the meaning of her words.

Salim smiled and lifted his hands expressively, his eyes appearing to scan her every feature. “Forgive me, my Lady . . . I did not mean to frighten you,” he replied softly in Spanish.

Charlotte shifted a little nervously. Up close, like this, the man was quite intimidating. Hesitantly she groped for the right words. “I am not frightened, señor . . . I was thinking of other things. My companion is ill,” she finally managed.

The Moor frowned. “Meylissah? Not serious, I hope. ”

“I don’t know. A touch of fever. I had it recently myself. ”

“I have some knowledge of fevers and medicines. Would you like me to take a look at her? ”

Charlotte considered for a moment. “Thank you,” she replied, “if she gets any worse that would be most kind of you. But for the moment she is sleeping peacefully and I have no mind to disturb her. ”

“Very well. But if her condition does give cause for concern, please let me know. ”

For the rest of that morning, and again in the afternoon, Salim bin Rahdi accompanied her as she took her exercise, proving himself to be the most congenial of companions, though she remained very nervous of him. True, she found him attractive in his eastern, somewhat exotic way, and the chance to increase her limited knowledge of the language of the Moors was something she found difficult to resist. Obviously rich and well-travelled; he had that self-confident and commanding manner which goes hand in hand with the possession of great wealth and power. Beneath the handsome face and polite veneer, however, Charlotte could sense a hardness and ruthlessness about the man which frightened her. A dangerous man, her every instinct warned her; a man she might do well to avoid! And yet, while she might never have admitted it, even to herself, it was precisely these qualities . . . as much as the man’s natural magnetism and dark good looks . . . that attracted her. He was, in short, unlike any man she had ever known. . . .

 

The unfriendly winds continued and it was three days more before the expected shout came from the main masthead.

“Deck there! Land ho! ”A momentary pause, then: “And sail ho! ”

Buffeted by the breeze, the warning shout drifted faintly down from the galleass’s topmast. On the shaded after-deck, the young immaculately turned-out lieutenant was immediately alert.

“Where away, sail? ” he shouted.

Back came the shout:“A point off the port bow, sir! ”

Hurriedly, the lieutenant moved to the rail to lift his telescope.

Boots clattered on the companionway steps behind him and the Captain puffed his way on deck, dragging at his jacket and pushing his hat in place as he tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.

“What is it, Lieutenant? ”

The young man saluted smartly. “The Straits are in sight, sir . . . and there are some small vessels off our port bow. Heading our way, looks like. ”

“Can you make ‘em out? ” asked the Captain worriedly.

His subordinate shook his head and handed over the telescope. “No sir! Too far away. Small though; black sails . . . fishermen out from one of the coastal villages, most likely. ”

The Captain lifted the glass himself. “Hmmm,” he murmured. “Maybe . . . maybe not. ”

The young officer suppressed a smile. Captain Diaz had a reputation for being cautious. Of course the galleass might well be considered a tempting target by pirates . . . the Moslem corsairs . . . raiding from the north coast of Africa, but this was a long way north for such a raid; and the Straits were regularly patrolled by Spanish and Neapolitan warships. He gave a mental shrug. It really didn’t matter. In addition to her powerful ram, the San Cristobal bristled with cannon, ten on the forecastle, four at the stern and thirty two smaller swivel guns broadside - sixteen each side - mounted on the gun platform above the rowing benches. In a fight, she would be more than a match for the best of them. Any pirate - Moslem or otherwise - foolish enough to come within range would be swiftly blown out of the water.

“Another half an hour or so of daylight, sir,” he commented. “The sun will be down before we’re close enough to see who they are. ”

Captain Diaz ignored the remark. “Come about and ease the oars! ” he ordered. “We’ll let the wind take her for a while; then turn back on our original course after dark! ”

The lieutenant knew better than to protest. He gave the order and the great galleass heeled over, digging her bows into the swell as the wind finally got the chance to belly the sails which filled with a crack and much dragging of the rigging.

Charlotte was about to go on deck for some much-needed air when she heard the lookout’s shout. She picked up her cloak, pausing for a moment to look at the still figure lying on the other bunk.

“Are you awake, Meylissah? ” she whispered softly. There was no reply, just the soft, ragged sound of breathing. “Meylissah,” she whispered again. “Are you asleep? ”Again, there was no response. Quietly, she tiptoed to the bunk and placed a hand on the sleeping woman’s forehead. It was still hot and dry. She frowned, thinking that if the fever got any worse she would ask Salim bin Rahdi to take a look at her. He had impressed her with his knowledge and confidence; he would know what to do.

The sleeping figure moved restlessly in her sleep and, not wishing to wake her, Charlotte stepped back, pulling the cloak around her bare shoulders as she turned for the door.

Stepping out on to the deck, she smiled inwardly as she saw Diego, the young lieutenant, turn towards her eagerly. From the first the young man had made no secret of his admiration for her and, to be honest, she rather enjoyed the attention.

Captain Diaz ignored her as usual; his eye remaining firmly pressed to the telescope.

“What is it, Captain? ” she asked in Spanish, bracing herself quite naturally against the roll of the deck.

The older man indicated the black dots which were the unknown vessels, so indistinct now against the rays of the setting sun that she had to strain her eyes to see them. “The Straits of Bonafacio and some small boats, my Lady,” he replied dourly. “Fishermen most likely, out from the coast, but we are taking no chances. We’ll change course for a while, just in case, and turn back after dark. ”He closed the telescope with a snap then, setting his chin against the wind, moved away to stand by the helmsman.

Charlotte leaned on the side rail, cloak flapping in the wind as she drank in the clean air, so refreshing after the stuffiness of the cabin.

The Lieutenant braced himself wide-legged on the swaying deck, his admiring gaze tinged with more than a little lust. With an effort, he forced his voice to be calm; looking longingly at the creamy upper slopes of his companion’s proudly jutting breasts, half-revealed by the fashionably low-cut gown under the wind-blown cloak. Casting a glance at the Captain and seeing that he was still busy with the telescope, he moved closer, holding his breath as, seemingly innocently, his companion stretched, the cloak streaming back in the breeze to reveal the bountiful mounds almost threatening to burst from their confinement.

As if unaware of the effect she was having, Charlotte breathed deeply of the clean air, then relaxed and smiled impishly at the young officer. “How will this change of course affect our passage, Diego? Will there be much delay? ”

Diego took a deep breath. “Oh no! We can easily make up the time,” he replied, eyes still drawn irresistibly to the glorious globes which, almost every night since first seeing her, he’d caressed in his dreams. “A few fishing boats will not delay us for long. ”

If the English girl noticed the direction of the young man’s gaze, she made no mention of it, but merely leaned closer to him. “I’m so glad,” she said, “I am a little worried about Meylissah. The sooner I can get her to a doctor, the better! ”

“She is no better then? ” asked the young officer, moving even closer as the clean, lightly perfumed smell of his lovely companion became more evident.

Charlotte turned to face him with a smile, her breasts brushing against his arm as he leaned even closer. “A little,” she replied. “But the fever still clings, I fear. ”

“Lieutenant! ”The Captain’s shout abruptly took the young man’s attention and he jumped.

“Coming, sir! ”

Charlotte smiled secretly to herself as Diego hurried away. She enjoyed flirting with the young officer, and he was quite handsome. Yes . . . QUITE handsome . . . in his own boyish way.

It was at that particular moment that a movement at the after-companionway hatch caught her eye, and she looked round just as Salim bin Rahdi came on deck followed by his towering black servant. Seeing her, the Moor spoke quietly to the black, who nodded and turned away. Salim himself, smiling in his usual friendly fashion, walked to where Charlotte leaned against the ship’s rail.

“Ah . . . Lady Charlotte,” he said in his usual immaculate Spanish. “I heard the look-out’s shout and the ship has turned. Has something happened? ”

Charlotte’s attention was immediately removed from the retreating Diego. “Nothing very important, I fear,” she replied a little breathlessly, her mind suddenly and inexplicably taken with the thought of a possible liaison d’amour with this powerful and extremely enigmatic man. She tried to picture the body under the flowing robe. Was his shaft bigger than those of the boys she had known? Immediately, she berated herself. Dear God, what was she thinking of? Her uncle would have a fit if he could have read her thoughts.

Blushing hotly, she turned away and pointed towards the distant coastline. “Some small boats on the horizon, that’s all. The Captain wished not to take any chances, and has changed course for a while.”

The Moor frowned. “Small boats, you say? ”He held up a hand to shade his eyes from the dying rays of the sun. “And what did your lieutenant make of them? ”

Covertly, Charlotte studied the features turned to her in profile, fighting a sudden, inexplicable temptation to tidy one stubbornly stray lock of black hair curling over the forehead. Then, embarrassed and not a little irritated with herself that she should even think such things, she sought to cut short the conversation. “For your information, Diego is not MY lieutenant,” she said acidly.

Salim smiled at her tone, his steel-blue eyes examining her candidly. “Ah, yes . . . Diego; for a moment I had forgotten his name,” he replied.

Charlotte flushed. Who did the man think he was? “Diego thought they were probably fishing boats,” she replied shortly.

The Moor’s expression remained mild. “Well . . . he was probably right,” he replied. “Still, the Captain is wise to be careful. These are dangerous waters. ”

Still annoyed, Charlotte made as if to walk away and he turned towards her. Quite without thinking, she turned her face upwards and, for a tiny moment, their faces were but inches apart. She breathed deeply. He smelt clean, with just a hint of dried cinnamon on his skin. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned forward to take her in his arms and . . . incredibly . . . kissed her! In that moment her knees turned to jelly and she was helpless in his grasp, and then . . . even more incredibly . . . she was kissing him back while his hands made free with her body. From beneath his robe the unmistakable feel of a semi-erect penis . . . plainly much larger than any she had known . . . nudged its length powerfully between her helplessly parting thighs. She felt the strength of the muscular arms confining her and recognised the primal knowledge that this man could almost certainly subdue her with one hand if he so wished. That thought, coupled with the unrelenting pressure of the hardened shaft against her lower body, sent an incredible thrill up her spine. Her nipples hardened against the material of her gown and with a shock she realised she was in a state of high sexual arousal. This was no boy who held her . . . this was a man! And in that moment, she was no longer the English aristocrat, Lady Charlotte Brandon, but just a girl, a female . . . responding to one of the oldest and strongest instincts known to man.

Shouted orders and the slap of calloused bare feet on the deck brought her quickly back to reality. Frantically, she tore herself from the young Moor’s close embrace. Face crimson, she did what she’d always been taught. She slapped him hard across the face.

As soon as she had done it, she regretted the action. For a moment she was even tempted to apologise; but it was too late. For one heart-stopping second, as she looked into the glittering blue eyes, she thought he might even strike her back. Instead, he just bowed slightly and turned away. Moments later, she heard the angry clatter of his boots on the companionway steps as he went below.

Charlotte was mortified. Red with shame and embarrassment, she glanced to where Diego and Captain Diaz still stood, deep in conversation. Obviously they had seen nothing of the incident and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least her show of unladylike behaviour was not public knowledge. . . .

 

At the Captain’s dinner table that evening, Charlotte sat quietly and listened to the men’s conversation. The Malagan slaver was in good form, smiling a lot and monopolising much of the talk, though he addressed little of it to Charlotte. The big table was set at one end of the large cabin under the large windows that stood open to the warm evening breeze. The Captain and three of his officers - one of whom was Diego - were seated in a row on one side, the three passengers; herself, the fat Malagan, whom the Captain had previously introduced as Señor Valdez, and Salim bin Rahdi on the other. Behind the Moor, as if on guard, stood the big Nubian, Zamil. The rest of the cabin had been cleared to leave a large open space in the centre. Idly, she wondered why.

Señor Valdez was talking to Salim. “So, you travel to Valencia also, Señor? The Captain tells me your father is a merchant. In what does he trade? ”

Salim bin Rahdi smiled at the blunt question. “Oh, many things,” he replied easily. “Spices, oils, precious metals. ”

“Slaves? ” enquired Señor Valdez bluntly.

Salim shrugged casually. “Sometimes,” he admitted.

The Captain addressed the Malagan. “Forgive me, Señor, but are not slaves the major part of your own business? ”

Valdez laughed shortly. “Yes indeed! And I must confess . . . the most profitable. ”He waved an airy hand. “I supply oarsmen for the King’s ships and many beautiful girls for all the best brothels in Spain. ”

There was an abrupt silence and Charlotte’s face reddened.

Unperturbed, the slaver continued: “However, I am sure all this talk is boring Lady Charlotte. ”He leered across at her. “With the Captain’s permission, I have arranged a little entertainment for us. ”He turned to Captain Diaz. “Con permisso . . . ? ”

His host nodded and Valdez clapped his hands sharply. From the curtained doorway to the inner cabin, a veiled dark-haired girl ran to the centre of the room, oiled body glistening in the yellow lamplight. Scandalised, Charlotte tut-tutted to herself. But for her veil and a shimmering length of semi-transparent silk caught at neck and waist by gold chains, the dancer was practically naked. Gold slave bracelets graced her wrists and ankles; both, interestingly, fitted with rows of little bells, all tinkling softly as she moved. A swarthy man, Valdez’s servant, followed her, carrying a small drum in the crook of his arm.

“This is my Egyptian, Leila,” announced Valdez, proudly. “She will dance for us! ”

There was a murmur of appreciation from the men as, hands fluttering as if to cover her semi-nudity, she dropped to her knees and placed her head to the floor at the drummer’s feet. Charlotte could see that she was around the same age as herself. The drummer snapped his fingers and immediately the girl raised her head, continuing to kneel submissively as he ripped the silk coverings from her body.

Charlotte blushed. As Eastern custom dictated, the girl’s body hair had been completely removed. A glint of gold at the dancer’s breasts caught her eye and she bent her head for a closer look. ‘Oh my God . . . what have they done to her? ’ was her horrified thought as she saw that the flesh of both the girl’s nipples had been pierced and set with heavy gold rings; each ring supporting a tiny golden bell.

The drummer snapped his fingers again and the girl widened her thighs in response. Charlotte gasped with renewed horror. There, snapped shut through holes punched in the dancer’s outer labia, clearly visible below the smooth and hairless pudenda, hung a golden padlock from which dangled the last bell.

Charlotte’s composure - that of an aristocrat trained almost from birth not to betray her feelings - almost wavered at the barbaric sight. ‘Oh my God . . . how could they? ’ was the outraged thought which flashed through her mind - just as the final snap of the drummer’s fingers sent Leila to her stomach, flattening herself to the floor at the man’s feet.

Curious despite her shock, Charlotte saw that the man was carrying a length of chain about six feet long. This he dropped to the floor at the dancer’s side before settling the small tom-tom like drum more comfortably in the crook of his arm. A preparatory rap on the instrument brought her back to her knees and Charlotte looked, fascinated, at the naked, oiled body glistening so seductively in the soft lamplight.

‘How beautiful she is,’ thought Charlotte a little enviously, anger fading as she subconsciously compared her own more voluptuous curves to the depilated, lissom young body kneeling in the centre of the cabin.

There was a hush from the men as, at a further signal from Valdez, the drummer began to beat out a rhythm on his instrument and slowly, very slowly, Leila began her dance. Bells tinkling, the drum ordering her movements, she knelt to retrieve the chain from the floor, lifting it high above her head before placing it around her neck, the two ends reaching down her oiled body, coiling on the ground at her knees. Sharper beats urged her once more to her feet, taking the chain with her. Hips swaying sensuously to the beat of the drum, she slowly turned, wrapping the links tightly around herself.

Charlotte breathed deeply, keenly aware of her own damp arousal beneath the folds of her heavy dress. The message was clear. This was the dance of the slave-girl surrendering herself to her Master. Meylissah had told her about it. She looked round the circle of onlookers, seeing that each was as enraptured as the next.

Now, it seemed, the dance could begin in earnest. Slowly, as ordered by the drum, the girl unwound the chain from her body. As the unwinding was completed, the onlookers saw her eyes widen as if in surprise, holding the chain from her as if seeing it for the first time. Then tenderly she brought it close and embraced it.

Cleverly, as she danced to the drum’s commands, Leila wrought erotic impressions with the chain, first winding it around her waist . . . then her gold-tipped breasts . . . and even between her legs. Charlotte blushed at this, even as the drum rapped sharply, three times, sending the nude dancer to her belly. There, still under the drum’s command, she continued her dance, first on her stomach and then, as ordered, even more sensuously on her back. Eyes fixed, as if pleading, on the instrument, she attempted to rise, but the drum denied her, fixing her to the floor like a beautiful impaled fluttering butterfly. Moments later it allowed her to half-rise then drove her down again to her belly. Up again as the drum commanded, she continued to move helplessly to the insistent beat. Sweating freely, senses patently inflamed, her sexuality was bold, challenging almost as she displayed herself freely to the watching men. Down to her knees, then up again, chain drawn tight between her legs as she moved to the primitive rhythm, it seemed that she must soon helplessly orgasm and several of the watchers, young Diego among them, cried out in pleasure as she seemed to control her needs just in time.

Leila now moved to where Valdez sat at the table, swaying seductively before him with legs splayed wide as he took a small key from his pocket and, reaching forward, unlocked and removed the golden padlock.

It was time for the tempo . . . and the purpose of the dance . . . to change!

A short series of raps from the drum brought the dancer up short, before slower, more sensuous beats dismissed her to the pleasure of the audience. Turning, chain tight again between her legs, she made her way slowly around the table, boldly parading her oiled nakedness for each man in turn.

Charlotte suddenly realised what was about to happen. She snatched a look at Diego who was obviously caught up in the sensual moment. Then she glanced at the dark-faced Salim bin Rahdi, colouring in confusion when she saw him studying her seriously in return. Behind him, she could see Zamil’s hot, lust-filled gaze fixed on the nude dancing girl. Obviously the big black was amongst those profoundly affected by the erotic spectacle.

Distantly, she heard Valdez laugh as Leila went to her knees in front of one of the officers. Quite clearly he was about to be the first to sample her charms. Charlotte was suddenly hot with her own awakened sexuality. She felt the moistness between her legs increasing and pressed her thighs together, desperately trying to control her breathing as she imagined how it must be to be so commanded to the service of men. Her eyes met Salim’s and once more her breath caught in her throat at the look on his face. He was studying her thoughtfully, a faint smile curving the handsome mouth. She looked away, face beet red. He knew! He knew what she was thinking . . . what feelings were running through her body! Suddenly it was all too much and she knew she just had to get out of there. Jumping to her feet and mumbling some kind of an apology, she stumbled from her chair and out of the room. Diego frowned and made as if to follow, but Valdez held out a hand to stop him.

“Let her go, young man! ” he chuckled“Lady Charlotte is a little embarrassed by our entertainment and she will not thank you for your attention. For now, it is better to leave her alone. ”

Salim bin Rahdi also smiled at Charlotte’s confused retreat. Then, as the sweating Leila spread herself in front of the first-chosen man, he turned back to the spectacle.

 

Meylissah was still asleep when Charlotte re-entered the cabin, though her breathing seemed much easier and she appeared to be sleeping naturally. Quickly, she donned her nighdress and climbed into her own bunk, dimly hearing the applause and excited shouts of the men in the Captain’s cabin, then a little later the cheers and shouts of‘to me . . . to me’ as the slave-girl, presumably at Valdez’ whim, began to intimately entertain each in turn. Burying her face in the pillow so as not to wake Meylissah, Charlotte sobbed her anguish as the noise went on . . . and on. Bitterly she pictured what was happening in the cabin above! Brutes . . . swine! How could they, she thought bitterly and then, as the unthinkable crystallised in her mind, ‘how could HE? ’

She tossed and turned for a long time, unable to sleep. The ‘San Cristobal, once her helm was turned for the coast again, began to pitch and roll in quite a disturbing manner as the strong Mediterranean swell, driven by the gusting north-easterly, once more made itself felt. She eventually drifted into a fitful sleep full of troubled dreams . . . dreams of soft pierced flesh, steel blue eyes, and strong hands roaming over her nakedness and strong lips crushing her own. In one such dream she saw herself in a dim chamber . . . and manacled! She did not realise this until . . . in the dream . . . she tried to move. She was naked and the irons were tight about her wrists and ankles, holding her fast to a grim stone altar in an outstretched ‘X’ position. Struggling for memory, she lifted her head and looked around the dim chamber . . . and screamed! All around were other girls . . . beautiful girls . . . all naked as she and chained in some way.

Men were there, too . . . many men . . . using the helpless girls in disgusting, perverted, almost unthinkable ways. Mouths, bottoms, breasts, vaginas . . . nothing, it seemed, was sacrosanct. Yet without exception the chained girls seemed to welcome their usage.

One particular man . . . a very large, dark-faced man she was sure she had seen before, yet who for some reason she did not recognise . . . entered the chamber and approached where she lay. She moaned in shame as he looked down at her splayed nakedness, excited despite the shame, loins already oiling themselves at the thought of what was to come.

“Be silent! ” warned the intruder. “Make no noise! ”Swiftly he mounted the altar and pressed himself between her parted legs. She shivered with excitement; her wrists and ankles jerking spasmodically against the metal bonds which held them. Her would-be rapist was already hugely erect. “Shhhhh! ” the man warned again, his hands on her breasts, kneading and massaging; fingers pulling at her suddenly erect nipples, his solid length nudging inexorably at her love portal.

Then he had slipped easily inside her; filling her with the solid length of himself as he moved steadily and determinedly towards his . . . and her own . . . gratification. Writhing under him, she felt as if her lower half was filled with a great moving pillar of flesh pistoning in fast friction almost to a bursting point. The man . . . still she could not fathom his identity . . . paused for a moment and then drew back, relieving her a little of the feeling of fullness, before surging right back into her again, even fiercer than before. He reached between them and Charlotte felt his fingers pulling apart the lips of her sex to expose and caress the erect nub of flesh that was her clitoris. It was enough! Helplessly, she lifted her hips in rapturous response; head flung back, mouth gasping as the full force of orgasm burst suddenly upon her.

She awoke to find herself on her own bunk; covers flung aside in disarray, her night-dress pulled up to her waist. She was slick with sweat, her fingers still moving between her thighs as the throbbing violence of her orgasm began to wane. It had all been a dream . . . but what a dream! In sudden panic, she looked to where Meylissah still lay on the other bunk, deeply relieved when she saw that the girl was still sleeping peacefully. Still shaking, she rearranged her night-dress and pulled up the covers.