Sandra Hill Read Online Free Page B

silly girl. “I come from a noble family in the Norselands,” she said, even though she’d told Zena this story in one version or another several times before. “My holding was invaded and I was taken to your Arab lands.”
    “Why did your family not come to rescue you?”
    “They are all dead.”
    “Ahhhh,” Zena said with as much honest sympathy as the empty-headed girl could garner.
    “Toki the Trader sold me to Caliph Abdul Abba in the Baghdad marketplace.”
An experience I would not want to repeat … ever.
    “I have heard of him. Why would such an important caliph be interested in such as you?”
    Zena’s incredulity should have been insulting, but Madrene was beyond caring about such trivial concerns. All she cared about was escaping, something she’d been unable to do thus far. Besides, her appearance probably
was
dreadful. Her blond hair hung in a single, disheveled braid down her back, not having been washed or combed since she’d left Baghdad. She wore an ankle-length, hooded gunna of coarse linen with a rope belt. She could hardly remember the times when she’d worn embroidered silk and jewels. Well, this garb was better than the transparent garments she’d been forced to wear before coming here. “To answer your question as to why any man of importance would want me, it could be because Toki, the traitor, told everyone in the slave mart that I was a Norse princess, accomplished in the bed arts.”
Blather, blather, blather. Betimes my tongue outruns my good sense.
    Zena’s little mouth formed a circle of surprise. She did not question Madrene’s lineage, having more interest in other matters … like sex. “Do you have such talents?”
    “Hah! I never noticed any art in the bed furs of Karl, my former husband, and he is the only man with whom I ever coupled. To further enhance my desirability, Toki claimed I could do exquisite things with my mouth, whatever that meant. Needless to say, the bidding was enthusiastic.”
    Zena frowned with confusion. “You said your former husband was the only man you have lain with. How can that be? Did the caliph not purchase you for his harem?”
    “Yea, he did. The slimy weasel! As did the other seven caliphs and sultans who purchased me after that, including your husband, who brought me here.”
    Zena’s dark eyes went wide at that number. Then she resumed frowning. “Does my husband know this?”
    “He did not when he purchased me. He does now.” Madrene now knew how a man could holler and break wind at the same time.
    “Why did those men not use your body? Are you diseased?”
    Madrene smiled to herself in remembrance. She had never been one to believe in luck, but that was the only way she could describe all that she had escaped. Oh, her capture by Steinolf had been unlucky, but she had not suffered too badly these two years since. Except that she wanted her freedom. She wanted to return to Norstead. And she would do so … somehow, someday. Mayhap she should pray to the Christian Mary, mother of the One-God, and Freyja, the Norse goddess, to deliver her from this wretched land.
    “Why are you smiling?” Zena whined. “Are you laughing at me?”
    “Nay, I am not laughing at you.”
Leastways, not on the outside.
“And, nay, I am not diseased.”
    “Then continue with your life story … and cover that smelly butter. It turns my stomach.”
    I would like to give you a life story … one about a dimwitted maid being knocked over onto her fat buttocks.
“That first night I was pampered in Abdul’s luxurious home. Abdul’s harem girls bathed and perfumed my body and forced me to wear a garmentwhich was so sheer my nipples and nether hair were visible to one and all. I would have run away, but there were always guards about to make sure no one escaped from his harem.”
    In fact, the same was true today. She could not even go to the bushes to relieve herself without Gadi the goatherder following after her. She glanced over to where he leaned