Tiffany Clare - The Surrender of a Lady

She licked at her dry, cracked lips. “Why me?”

“Ah, there are many reasons for that, madam.”

“Am I to guess your reasoning, then?”

“My employer has a certain fondness for English women with dark skin. Imagine my surprise when I happened upon you speaking the Queen’s English in your dulcet, educated tone in this place. You’ll also fetch a fair price from the other lords who visit his pleasure island. But only after he’s trained you to do your duties as one of his harem girls.”

Her stomach flipped. Elena raised her hand to her head to massage her temple, hoping it would help her find balance in a suddenly spinning room. She was to be a sex slave. Not just the whore for one amoral man but the sex slave for a plethora of men.

She looked up and focused on the Englishman. “If I agree to your offer . will you take me out of this place and reunite me with my child?”

He nodded. “Are you agreed?”

She couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat to ease the tension tightening her body, threatening to hyperventilate her. She nodded her yes. With that nod she threw away any hope of comfort. There was no other choice. She did this to protect her son.

She felt so helpless and despondent that the last bit of spirit in her heart—once so strong and determined to make something of the unfair life she’d been given—withered away. She was the wounded deer looking into the predatory eyes of a wolf, knowing this was it. This was all that was left. Do or die—what choice was there in that? What fairness lay in this world? None.

He pushed himself from the wall, still expressionless. “Then, my dear, I’m off to haggle a decent price for you.”

Elena hung her head in shame. What had she agreed to? God save her if this was the wrong decision for her son.

Large hands spanned the whole of her waist and lifted her from the skiff to carry her ashore. Set down on solid earth, she sighed in relief to be on land. After a few steps her legs gave out. No one caught her as she sank to the sand as easily and gracefully as she could. Her legs were unsteady and shaky after being in the boat for so many days.

Sand flowed between her fingers, smooth siltlike grains filled with flat, small pebbles. What beach was this? Where had they brought her?

Elena bowed forward to rest her head against the ground and clawed her hands deep into the sand surrounding her. All she cared about was the stillness. Complete and utter stillness.

And her son. How much longer before she saw his chubby, smiling face?

How many more days would they continue onward? This breakneck pace in travel was taking its toll on her body. She was tired and needed to regain her strength.

A warm wind blew in from the water and pushed her hair forward. Despite the warmth, she shivered. This was the first place she had been allowed to sit alone since leaving Constantinople.

Repulsion had goose bumps forming on her arms at the thought of the slave market. Tightness clenched the nerves throughout her body, creating a nausea she could do without. She never wanted to experience the degradation of the slave markets again.

She took in another deep breath, cleaning out the putrid scent left in her nostrils from her sickness on the boat. She’d been dreadfully ill the whole trip over the sea as the boat tipped her one way then the next.

She raised her forehead from the ground and swiped away the sand stuck there.

Still kneeling, she raised her head to the sky. Hot sun beat down on her, warming every part of her body that was thrust upward to the rays of light. She could sit just like this for the remainder of the day, absorbing the air around her.

The sunshine penetrated the thick cloth over her eyes. The citrus smell of the Englishman’s cologne, like fresh peeled oranges, told her of his proximity.

Was he letting her savor the last moments of her freedom? Not that she was free.

Freedom had long ago been stripped away.

When the silence grew unbearable, she asked, “Do you only allow me a small bit of fresh air to restore my constitution?”

“No, no. We’ve arrived.”

She didn’t say anything, just raised her hands to the back of her head. Elation filled her. She could take away the cloth that seemed to bind what was left of her free will. Was she allowed to remove the cloth now that they’d untied her hands?

His hands covered hers to stall her progress. “Leave it until we are within the safety of the palace walls. No woman who enters this place is permitted to see the way.”

Her hands dropped away. She pushed herself up from the ground and at once toppled to the side; her legs were still a trifle wobbly. The Englishman was quick to put a steadying hand around her arm before she teetered to the ground.

She smoothed her skirts in embarrassment, then stood firm. “Will I see my son soon?”

“Soon.” He took her elbow to lead her to their destination.

It had been the same answer since her purchase. Why she expected to hear differently, she wasn’t sure. But she hoped the solid knot lodged in the pit of her stomach wasn’t a warning that this man lied. No, she needed to keep her thoughts positive. There had to be some good to come from this disastrous turn in her life. Besides, why would he lie? With Robert dead, this was the last option available to her. Now this Englishman held all the cards.

Robert’s death had been a hard truth to swallow. Five years she’d given that swine. Five years of her youth, and he’d wasted what could have been a good, mutually respectful union. Never did she imagine she’d be sold into slavery—sold to be some man’s harlot. It was ludicrous, unheard of, but it was the truth of her existence.

A whore .

There was no pretty way to label it.

In a twist of fate—or terrible luck, really all the same thing at this point—not only had she married the man who ruined her reputation in one eager embrace she hadn’t even encouraged, she’d also signed away the security she thought to gain in marriage.

Husbands were supposed to honor and protect. Robert had done neither.

Then there was her son, an innocent child not yet exposed to the cruelties of the world. For years she’d thought herself barren and been thankful for it. She hadn’t wanted to bring a child into the impoverished life her husband forced them to live because of his penchant toward gambling.

She stumbled on the path when her foot caught in a hole. She landed hard against the Englishman. He grunted and stood her upright. “Take your steps slowly. The terrain is rocky here. We’re almost inside the palace.”

The blindfold was becoming tedious. Truth be told, it had become tiresome after a few hours of wearing it—days ago. She was helpless to do anything for herself. Did they really expect her to remember the way to this place? To remember the roads they had ridden and then the waterways they had sailed to reach this unknown destination?

The loss of sight certainly impeded any escape she might have planned. Where did they think she would escape to with a baby in tow? There were no relatives who could help her. What distant relations she did have would shun her for the trials she been through these last weeks. No self-respecting lady would ever allow such a thing to happen.

As if she could have stopped her husband from betting at the races or staying on at the gaming table when he knew he ought to leave. Stopped him from selling her into this life.

Her captor stilled, his hand yanking her elbow back when she kept walking.

“Slow down, there are some steps here. I’ll count them out for you. We’ll be there momentarily.”