Chapter Five

 

‘Attack’

 

In the little cable tier where she had been held prisoner in the

months since her capture, a nude girl lay with wrists and ankles secured tightly to the corners of a filthy bunk as the San Cristobal’s brutish First Mate took violent possession of her helpless body.

It was a common enough occurrence. Since her capture, she had been used in one fashion or another almost every day by a succession of Spanish officers. This particular brute, though, liked to tie her down, seeming to gain even more pleasure by having her completely helpless as he raped her.

The Mate’s hands descended once again to maul and squeeze the swollen, discoloured breasts and the girl gave another half-stifled squeal of pain through the wadded, sour-tasting cloth stuffed deep into her mouth as the thin cords noosed so tightly around the base of each cut deeper into the soft flesh. Then the rapist was climaxing and, belly heaving, the girl struggled desperately to match his frantic thrusts. “Fail to please me, bitch,” the Mate had warned her, squeezing her tortured globes so hard she’d thought she might faint from the pain, “and I’ll cut these off! ”She’d believed him. The devil was capable of anything.

It was at that moment that the door opened to admit a tall, bare-chested figure. From where he lay between the girl’s legs, the Spaniard looked up in alarm and tried to withdraw. Too late! Quick as a striking snake the figure lunged with a sword and the First Mate collapsed limply on top of his terrified victim.

With a look of disgust, the swordsman heaved the corpse from the spreadeagled girl and allowed it to slide off in an untidy heap to land on its back, a viscous trail of semen escaping from the man’s still-erect penis collecting in a little pool on his stomach.

Frightened, the girl lifted her head to stare up at her rescuer.

The intruder placed a finger to his lips and, drawing his dagger, gently cut the cords around her breasts. “Remain as you are! ” he whispered. “Soon the ship will be taken and then I will come back to release you. Do you understand? ”

Wide-eyed, the girl nodded her comprehension.

“Good. Do so and no harm will come to you! ” The door closed quietly behind him and the girl allowed herself to slump back on the bunk. Breathing heavily, she stared into the still open, yet lifeless eyes of the sadistic brute who would never again so abuse her. . . .

 

At the helm of the San Cristobal, in that dark cold blackness which precedes the dawn, the sailor on watch was expecting the ship’s Mate on his inspection. Lounging at the tiller, he was thinking, somewhat wistfully, of the girl he’d left behind in Valletta and wondered with a stab of jealousy whose bed she shared tonight. Lord, she’d been a looker! He remembered the smell of her; the sweaty feel of her nakedness as they’d lain together that last night. Would she still be waiting when he returned? he wondered.

The sound of a measured tread brought the helmsman upright as he made out a tall shadowy, indistinct figure approaching. ‘The bastard’s late this morning,’ he thought, ‘I bet he’s been having fun with the French whore! ’Just at that moment the wind took the mainsail, cracking it like a gunshot. Startled, he looked upwards. In that instant, the indistinct shape leapt forward, striking down expertly with the club-like instrument carried in his right hand. It was a terrible blow. Caught squarely on the temple, the helmsman pitched limply to the deck.

Swiftly and silently the shadowy figure made fast the tiller and then, just as silently, lit a lantern and hoisted it slowly to the mast-head and back down again. Seven or eight times he did the same thing, until he caught an answering flash of light far out in the blackness. Leaving the lantern burning at the top of the mast, he faded back into the darkness as silently as he had come. Pilotless now, the galleass sailed on into the night - no sound, apart from the wind, and the creak and rattle of the spars and blocks, to be heard. At intervals around the deck lay the prone and silent figures of the ship’s watch.

Minutes later, oars muffled, sails furled, two black-painted Arab galleys slipped out of the darkness like ghosts. Cautiously at first, then with increasing confidence as no alarm was raised, a stream of ragged, well-armed men swarmed aboard.

It was all over very quickly. The Spanish, waking bleary-eyed in their bunks, were no match for the attackers. Those who resisted were killed, the rest quickly herded into the ship’s hold where they were stripped and chained.

Surprise was complete; not a cannon fired . . . not an arrow loosed. Resistance over, the jubilant pirates ran to loot the ship.

Down in her cabin, Charlotte was jolted awake by the cheers and sounds of running feet on the deck above. Frightened, she scrambled from her bed to fumble frantically in the darkness for her clothes. She was still fumbling when the cabin door, which she had bolted from the inside, was dealt a blow from the passageway beyond. At a second assault, the sagging door burst inwards with a crash. There, framed in the light from the passage, blood still dripping from the double-headed axe held carelessly in one hand, stood a darkly bearded giant of a man in blood-stained robes.

The English girl was terror-stricken. What was happening? Was this yet another nightmare? Surely she must waken soon?

The corsair stepped into the cabin, his fingers closing on her shoulder, and she jerked away frantically, tearing her nightgown from neck to waist as she did so. Desperately, as her assailant’s other hand fastened on her waist, she kicked and pummelled until he lost patience and struck her a casual flat-handed blow which laid her, dazed and barely-conscious, across the bunk.

It was at this point that, from the cot in the corner, a female whirlwind launched herself onto the assailant’s back, striking down wildly with the razor-sharp dagger she kept always under her pillow.

“Run, Mistress! Run! ” gasped Meylissah.

Taken by surprise, the huge corsair gave a cry of pain as the blade penetrated his neck and lodged there. White with anger, he reached back with one hand, fingers closing around the Meylissah’s throat to pluck her from her perch. Face twisted with pain, he held her out at arm’s length; then threw her across the cabin like a rag doll. Meylissah screamed as she flew through the air, the scream abruptly cutting off as her head hit the wall with an ominous thump.

For a moment Charlotte went completely mad. Fingers crooked like talons; she went straight for the giant’s eyes. Fortunately for him, his reflexes were quick enough to save his sight, though in leaping clear he did manage to lose his footing, pitching over backwards with a crash.

Reason returned to Charlotte and she tried to run for it, but she was not quick enough. Even as she stepped over the fallen corsair, his fingers closed on her ankle and, with a savage growl, he jerked her down beside him, tearing off the remainder of the nightgown in the process. Holding her with one hand, he climbed to his feet and reached back to pull the dagger from his neck. Effortlessly, then, he propelled her to the little bunk and, still dazed, she did nothing to resist as he turned her onto her stomach and bent her over with her face in the covers.

Charlotte groaned and tried to move, but a meaty hand in the small of her back ensured that she stayed exactly as she was. Suddenly, something fleshy and hard began to force itself between her legs and she realised what was about to happen. Frantically she wriggled to one side and kicked out as hard as she could, catching her attacker square in the groin as he fought to hold her still.

Paralysed for a moment or two by the atrocious pain, the giant released his grip on Charlotte and straightened up, both hands cupping his injured groin as the breath whooshed from his body. Charlotte squirmed away, but found her path of escape still partially blocked by the sheer bulk of her would-be rapist.

She tried to slide past the groaning man and didn’t even see the blow that slammed her to the floor, senses whirling, stomach heaving. Her attacker, infuriated by the pain, had completely lost control. Picking up the dagger, he bent over his fallen victim and, taking her by the hair, jerked up her head so her throat was exposed. Dazed and helpless, Charlotte felt the sharp steel, still bloody from the man’s wound, lodge itself in the soft skin under her jaw. She looked into the mad, pain-filled eyes and saw only death waiting there. Fatalistically then, lifting her throat to the blade, she braced herself for the agonising slash that would end her life.

It didn’t happen. Even as her attacker’s arm flexed, there came a shout from the shattered doorway.

“Stop! ”

Startled, both Charlotte and the intruder looked up. Standing in the doorway stood a bare-chested Salim bin Rahdi, the muscles in his huge shoulders rippling as he lifted a scimitar held carelessly in one hand. “Stop, I say! ”Again the command. This time there was an edge to the voice that cut like a knife.

Snarling, Charlotte’s assailant came to his feet in one fluid movement, dragging her with him by the hair. She gasped for breath as her scalp was almost ripped from her head. Menacingly, he moved the dagger blade closer towards her throat. “She is mine, Khalif! ” growled the giant, defiantly. “I kill her, or let her live, as I decide. It is corsair law. ”

Salim smiled lazily and then, in a movement so smooth that Charlotte hardly saw it, the razor-sharp point of the scimitar was at the giant’s throat. Charlotte gasped. The movement had been so quick, so deadly; not at all the movement of a merchant.

“Very well, Jahwar of the Berbers! ” he said quietly. “Now you are mine, to kill, or not, as I decide. This,too, is corsair law. So. . . do we come to an understanding or do I send you to Allah’s mercy?”

Charlotte understood only a portion of the conversation, but her rescuer’s meaning was clear. If she were killed, her assailant was promised a similar fate.

The bearded giant’s face showed indecision if not fear. It seemed that he too had been impressed by the speed of the other’s attack. For a moment, he stood quite still. His anger was fading now and it was obvious, even to him, that he would be a dead man in seconds if the other so desired. The scimitar jabbed again, this time bringing a spot of blood to the skin.

“Make up your mind, girl-killer! ”

Jahwar made up his mind quickly. Carefully, so there could be no mistaking his intent, he turned the blade of the dagger away and offered the weapon, hilt first, to his antagonist.

Salim stretched out his hand, took it and tucked it in his belt. Abruptly, then, he withdrew the scimitar. “Go now, foolish one! ” he said easily, looking without humour on the man who, but a moment before, he might so easily have killed. “No! Leave the axe! ”Jahwar had stooped to retrieve the fearsome weapon from the floor. “You may retrieve it later! ”

Silently, the giant Berber crossed to the shattered doorway then turned to face his antagonist. His face was white with suppressed anger. “So be it! ” he gritted. “For the moment the nasrani slut is yours. Do with her as you wish, but do not think that Jahwar of the Axe will forget! ”

Then he was gone.

Although much of the Arabic exchange had gone over her head, Charlotte was in no doubt that she owed her life to the handsome young Moor. Suddenly her knees felt like jelly and she felt as if they might not support her for very much longer.

“Thank you, Salim,” she faltered, crimson with embarrassment now that they were alone and he was able to study her nakedness with such undisguised interest.

“Your life is now mine, Charlotte,” he said softly. “Quickly now! Do you accept my leash? ”

She gaped at him, her words coming as a disbelieving whisper. “Leash . . . ? ”

“Yes, leash. Mine . . . ” he indicated the upper deck, from where she could hear the whoops of the jubilant pirates, “. . . or theirs! Which do you prefer? ”

She looked into the steel-blue eyes and shuddered, sudden understanding flooding into her mind. “You are one of them? ” she whispered.

“Yes! ”

Still she did not want to believe.

“Well? ” he demanded.

There was no help for it. Bitterly, she faced him. “My clothes . . . I need to get dressed. ”

“Clothes will not be necessary,” he said quietly.

She stared at him in dismay. Surely he didn’t expect her to remain as she was. “But . . . but,” she faltered.

“No time to argue,” he growled. “Quickly. . . turn around! ”

Trembling, Charlotte did as he ordered, unprotesting as he quickly corded her wrists together. “Please . . . ,” she whispered, face crimson with embarrassment, “. . . allow me to cover myself! ”

There was a scream from overhead followed by a heavy splash as a body . . . or something similar . . . hit the water. From his belt, Salim bin Rahdi produced a strip of braided leather. “Be silent! ” he snapped.

Breathlessly she stood helpless as he slipped the leash over her head, unable to suppress a gasp as he jerked it tight around her throat. With a sense of horror, she looked up into the bronzed face of her captor and tried to come to terms with what was happening. She was naked and tied . . . and totally at his mercy. She looked desperately to where the crumpled figure lay by the bulkhead. “Please! ” she begged. “Meylissah . . . my maid . . . is she dead? ”

Dropping the leash, Salim strode across the cabin to the prone figure and gently turned her over, pressing his fingers to the maid’s neck to search for a pulse. Meylissah gave a little groan and stirred under his hand.

“She lives,” he said simply.

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears of relief as, still dazed, Meylissah struggled to her feet and submitted first to being stripped, then tied and leashed as she. A sharp tug on her leash brought the English girl back to awful reality.

“Come! ” ordered her captor.

She looked up at him desperately. “No . . . please! ” she choked, as the leash tightened on her throat. “Do not take us like this . . . please . . . I beg you! ”

He was unmoved. “Come! ” he repeated flatly.

She looked into the steel blue eyes and recognised there a strong resolve. He was not to be swayed. Shivering with cold and fear, both she and Meylissah followed helplessly as he led them out through the shattered doorway and into the corridor beyond.

On deck, the fighting was over. Naked and bound, a small group of Spanish officers were grouped together in the middle of the deck. Charlotte looked around in horror. Already, jubilant corsairs were throwing dead and wounded alike over the side, while others ran to loot the ship and release the galley slaves. With a sick feeling, she saw the bodies of the young lieutenant, Diego, and Valdez the slaver heaved into the sea. Of Captain Diaz there was no sign and her heart sank even further at the thought that he had probably already been disposed of similarly.

Charlotte looked up and her heart thumped in her chest. On the canopied after-deck, not a hand’s breadth away from where only yesterday, she had imagined herself insulted by a kiss, stood a terrifying, mailed and helmeted figure. Behind him stood the huge figure of Zamil and, kneeling beside him, naked and tied as she was herself, the sloe-eyed Egyptian dancer, Leila, golden padlock with its little bell still hanging between her widely parted thighs.

The corsairs were chanting, stamping their feet in time as they shouted a name. Charlotte shivered, her heart cold as ice. The mailed figure was ageing now, the great red beard flecked with grey; but still there was no mistaking his identity. Throughout the Mediterranean his name was anathema to Christians.

“Dragut! Dragut Bey! Dragut! Dragut Bey! Dragut! ”

The shouts filled Charlotte’s ears like the bells of doom. Dragut Bey, the legendary corsair Lord; he of the red beard; scourge of western shipping and master of a dozen ships; Redbeard the bloodthirsty, whose Christian prisoners filled the slave-markets of the Barbary Coast; whose black-painted galley he called ‘Jehad’ which, freely translated from the Arabic, means ‘Holy War’!

Another jerk on the leash urged she and Meylissah forward and the corsairs began to chant a different name. “Khalif! Khalif! ” they chanted.

Salim lifted an acknowledging hand and the English girl trembled with increased horror. Naked and leashed like an animal, she now began to understand just what had happened to her. No wonder the Moor had not seemed like any merchant she had ever known. She knew him now. Or, rather, knew OF him! Not as the merchant, Salim bin Rahdi; but as Khalif Barbar . . . more commonly known as the ‘Barbarian’ to his Spanish and Neapolitan enemies. No one knew his real name, but it was rumoured that he had once been a galley slave of the Spanish. She trembled anew. Khalif Barbar had almost as grim a reputation as Dragut Bey himself.

As they approached, Dragut Bey turned to the Moor with a wolfish smile. “So, Khalif, once again we triumph,” he rumbled. His eyes flickered over the two naked girls. “And what have we here? Two more beauties! I see your eye for slave flesh has not let you down. ”He laughed, indicating the kneeling figure at his side. “And, as you can see, Zamil too has made a capture. ”

Salim/Khalif smiled. “Yes, my Lord, so I see. ”He held out the two leashes. “This one is an English milady,” he said carelessly, indicating Charlotte. “She should bring a fair price on the block. The other was her body slave. ”

Dragut accepted the leash and examined Charlotte with an expert eye. “A English milady, you say! ” he murmured, running a none-too-gentle hand over her breasts and down over her rump. He passed a hand intimately between her legs, then chuckled and glanced sideways at the younger man. “A juicy slut,” he pronounced.

Charlotte almost died of shame. It was true. In spite of her terror, she could feel her juices running.

The old corsair snapped his fingers, still shiny from her secretions. “Kneel! ” he ordered, indicating that both girls should place themselves alongside the other captive.

Charlotte felt a sudden surge of anger and for a moment almost considered disobeying; then a sharp tug on the leash changed her mind and, with a little sob, she followed Meylissah’s example and dropped to her knees.

“Dragut! Khalif! Dragut! Khalif! ”The chants went on and on until the old corsair lifted a hand for silence.

The noise subsided and one half-naked warrior stepped forward to salute with bloodied sword.

“The prize is ours, my Lords,” he shouted. “What orders? Will you give us the female slaves for our pleasure? ”

The corsair chief grinned as if contemplating the thought and Charlotte shivered with fear. Although the dialect was different to Meylissah’s, she understood much of what was being said. Was this to be her fate? At the mercy of this crew of cut-throats; raped over and over again until they tired of her? And then what? Killed in any one of a dozen slow and agonising ways for their amusement, the fact that she was English and an aristocrat adding even more spice to their game!

Dragut smiled wolfishly, displaying blackened, discoloured teeth. He shook his head, almost regretfully. “No . . . I think not, Saiid,” he said. “They are but common sluts and for them to be used by so many lusty brethren would probably be fatal for them. Far better to fetch both alive to the marketplace. ”He grinned slyly. “This is, after all, a profit-making venture,” he glanced down at the captives, “and dead sluts bring no-one a profit. ”

Charlotte bridled at once. She had understood enough of the exchange to know what Dragut had called her. She raised her head defiantly, her eyes flashing. “I am not a slut! ” she declared. “My name is Lady Charlotte Brandon. My uncle is Sir James Brandon; a great Lord who will pay much for my release. ”

Dragut regarded the kneeling girl with some interest. “So,” he marvelled, “you speak our language. ”He gave a sardonic bow. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Obviously a mistake has been made. ”

Hope surged in Charlotte’s breast at the pirate’s words - a hope stifled almost as soon as it was born.

“Of course, it would not be proper to treat such a lady as yourself as a common slut,” he said. He grinned and turned to the crew. “Run out a plank! ” he shouted. “We have made a mistake. This nasrani, who I took to be slave flesh, is in reality a great lady in her own country. Therefore, as we have sworn to take no prisoners . . . only slaves . . . she must die as a real lady would wish! ”

Dragut stepped back and instantly, as the corsairs cheered, Charlotte was hauled to her feet by a grinning Zamil who, tugging on her leash until she thought she might choke, dragged her to where a group of villainous-looking corsairs were already lashing a plank of wood to the side of the ship. She looked back in terror at Salim bin Rahdi for help, but could discern no sign of pity or concern in the dark, expressionless face.

Thrust up onto the swaying plank, Charlotte almost lost control of her bowels as, looking down into the blue water, she saw the unmistakable shapes of half a dozen or so great sharks tearing at those bodies which were still floating.

“Blindfold her! ” ordered a grinning Dragut and she moaned in terror as her vision was abruptly cut off by a dirty rag tied tightly around her eyes.

A sharp pain in her buttocks as a sword point jabbed at her flesh made her jump and, to a great cheer from the corsairs, she took one unsteady pace along the plank. The plank wavered and bent under her feet and she could sense the water and the terrible predators it contained beneath her. She cried out in terror. Whatever else, she could not face that. “No! No! No! ” she screamed. “Please no! Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! I am not a lady. I am a slut . . . a whore! Please . . . please . . . don’t kill me! ”

Rough hands hauled her from the plank and removed the blindfold. Roughly, she was forced to her knees again and, blinking her tear-filled eyes, Charlotte looked up numbly at a frowning Dragut.

“So . . . now you are a slut,” said the old corsair, “and content to be treated so? ”

Charlotte moaned with shame and hung her head.

“Answer, girl! ” repeated the pirate. “Are you lady . . . or slut? ”

There was no help for it. Charlotte was completely defeated. “Just a . . . a . . . slut,” she finally managed to whisper.

Dragut was satisfied. He turned to Zamil with a grin. “Take them below and secure them well! ” he ordered. He held up a warning hand. “And for the moment, make sure they remain untouched! ”

The huge black man nodded. “Come! ” he ordered tersely, taking up the three leashes.

“Oh no! ” gasped Charlotte, as the braided noose once more tightened on her throat and threatened to cut off her wind. In her extremity she looked towards her erstwhile captor for help. “Please . . . ! ” she choked, “. . . please! Tell them! My uncle will gladly pay any ransom you ask. ”

The Moor’s face remained expressionless and Charlotte caught her breath as Zamil bent over her. The Nubian’s skin was slick with sweat and his muscles rippled as he picked her up in his arms. Effortlessly he lifted her and stepped forward to the deck rail. Charlotte looked down in terror. The main deck was at least eight or ten feet below.

“Ho! ” shouted Zamil to the men below, then casually opened his arms as the man directly underneath looked up. Charlotte gave a piercing scream as she fell. The surprised pirate managed to half-catch her, though not quickly enough to prevent him being knocked to the deck amid howls of laughter from his comrades.

“Fool, Zamil! ” gasped the man, struggling out from underneath the winded Charlotte. “You might have killed me! ”

There was another howl of laughter from the watching corsairs, and Zamil grinned hugely. “Forgive me, Saiid! ” he chuckled, turning to pick up the gold-nippled Leila and hold her, too, out from the rail. “Here . . . this one is not quite so heavy, I think! ”

This time the pirate was ready and managed to catch his human prize without any trouble. Still grinning, Zamil repeated his action with a trembling and white-faced Meylissah, then swung down to reclaim his charges and, encouraging them with sharp swats to their backsides, swiftly herded the three girls below decks. There, he threw open the door to a tiny, windowless room and thrust them inside. “Kneel! ” he growled.

Charlotte, looking in horror at the room’s occupants, hardly heard him. On the floor was the body of a man, a Spanish officer by the look of him. On the bunk, securely fastened by her outstretched arms and legs, lay another young, dark-haired female gagged with a wadded cloth. The girl was naked and, looking closer, Charlotte’s flesh crawled as she saw the bruised and discoloured breasts and other marks of abuse which someone . . . some devil . . . had inflicted on the soft flesh.

“Kneel! ” growled Zamil again.

Shocked to the core and sick at heart at what she perceived to be her betrayal by Salim bin Rahdi - alias Khalif, Charlotte remained on her feet even as Leila and Meylissah fell submissively to their knees. Bound and helpless as she was, she nonetheless tried to speak with some dignity. “Please,” she said, trying desperately to recall the Arabic words, “I am not a slave. My uncle will reward you well if you return me to him. Release me, I beg you! ”

Casually, Zamil cuffed her round the head, the blow setting her head spinning. “Learn to obey! ” he commanded. He pointed to the floor at his feet. “Kneel! ” he repeated.

Tears welling from her eyes, still Charlotte persisted. “Please, Zamil! ” she begged. “I am not a slave. You know this. Your Master knows this. Much gold will be paid for my release. Do not treat me so, I beg! ”

Zamil’s eyes narrowed and he reached out to take a murderous looking, three-thonged whip from its hook on the wall.

“You have already admitted to being a slut and a whore, nasrani,” he growled. “I have told you to obey! ” he growled. “Do you wish to be taught? ”

The meaning was clear, yet still Charlotte’s ravaged modesty would not allow her to retreat.

“Please . . . please! ” she whispered, this time in her own language. “I am not a slut . . . or a whore . . . do not treat me so! ”

“Very well, foolish one! ”Taking hold of one soft shoulder, he forced her easily to her knees, then jerked her bound wrists sharply upward to press her nose firmly to the dirty floor. Charlotte gasped in terror as her rounded bottom and the backs of her thighs were presented as a perfect target. Then she screamed; shoulders almost threatening to break under the strain as, once . . . twice . . . three times the whip fell. The pain was almost unbelievable. Charlotte couldn’t even scream . . . the shock had taken her breath away so completely. Utterly vanquished, she writhed at the Nubian’s feet. “Oh God . . . oh God . . . oh God,” was all she could gasp.

Still Zamil had not finished with her. Reaching down, he took her by the hair and pulled her back to her knees, roughly kicking them apart as she fought for breath. “A slave kneels thus! ” he growled.

Charlotte was shaking uncontrollably, nine crimson swathes of fire lining the creamy flesh of her bottom. Never had she felt such atrocious pain. Zamil examined her candidly, initial anger cooling a little as he regarded his shuddering but now acquiescent captive. He turned to replace the whip on its hook and then looked back sternly.

“Silence now! ” he ordered. “Remain as you are until I return! ”

The door banged shut and Charlotte, bottom on fire where the lash had struck, looked at her companions in misery through tear-filled eyes and began to sob aloud.

Leila’s reaction was not entirely sympathetic. “Stop that! ” she whispered fiercely. “Did you not hear? We are commanded to be silent . . . and I fear the lash, even if you do not. ”

“Please, Mistress,” whispered Meylissah. “You must be silent now, or we shall all be whipped. ”

The words sank in to Charlotte’s brain and, desperately, she tried to stifle her sobs. The thought of being whipped again was unthinkable. Another assault with that fearsome weapon would surely kill her. She looked at the sprawled body of the Spanish sailor and shuddered, managing to gain control of herself only with a mighty effort, though her shoulders continued to shake with silent sobs.

Leila regarded her impassively, shifting slightly on her haunches to make herself more comfortable. The glint of gold caught Charlotte’s eye and she shuddered at the sight of the heavy rings set in the tender flesh. Oh God, she thought, what sort of world was this where men might do such barbaric things to helpless women?

Feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life, Lady Charlotte Brandon - now a bound and naked slave - knelt on the dusty floor of the cabin, the silent sobs continuing as the awful reality of what had happened to her began to sink in.