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taste in his mouth. Technically,Princess Zara belonged to the sultan. She was not his.
    What would Moulay Ishmail do with her? he wondered. Make her a part of his harem? He already had more women than he knew what to do with. Ishmail was a shrewd man; perhaps he would use her as bait to capture her father. Her life wouldn’t be easy as Ishmail’s prisoner. The sultan was an exceptionally cruel and vindictive man.
    Zara dared another glance over her shoulder at Jamal. He appeared to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, and she took a moment to study him. His hair was concealed by a white turban, but judging by the color of his dark brows and lashes, she supposed it was dark also. His skin was more bronze than swarthy, and she suspected the dark color was due to the sun and was not his natural skin tone. His eyes were dark and impenetrable, not the murky brown of mud but the pure black of a desert night.
    Her silent contemplation of his face at an end, Zara dwelled briefly on Jamal’s other attributes, those she couldn’t see but could feel. He was uncommonly strong; she could feel his strength in the hardness of his chest and thighs pressing against her, and in his hand splayed against her, restraining her struggling with such ease. He controlled his spirited mount with one hand upon the reins, as if born to the saddle. Sheik Jamal was a man to be reckoned with, Zara decided. She would need to employ cunning and guile in order to escape him, but, Allah willing, she would escape.
    They rode across towering brown hills, through forests of mimosa, cork and olive trees, stopping briefly at a water hole to refill their goatskin water bags. Zara drank greedily when offered water, and accepted a handful of olives and a hunk of goat cheese from Jamal. Then they rode on, until darkness claimed the land and Jamal called a halt. A fire was quickly built to brew mint tea. Again they ate sparingly of olives, bread and cheese they carried with them, washing the food down with refreshing mint tea. Then Jamal placed his blanket on the ground and lay down, indicating that Zara was to lie beside him.
    Nights were cold despite the sizzling heat of the day, and Zara would have welcomed the warmth of a blanket, but she neither trusted nor liked Jamal and wondered what mischief he intended for her this night.
    “Come, Zara, lie down beside me. I’m tired, and keeping you beside me tonight is the only way I can be sure you won’t escape.”
    “Your touch disgusts me,” Zara said with a shiver. “’Tis enough I’m forced to ride with you. I won’t lie with you.”
    “Would you rather be bound hand and foot and made to sleep on the cold ground?”
    “Aye, if it meant I wouldn’t have to endure your hands on me.”
    Jamal’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did you enjoy Sayed’s hands on you?”
    The breath hissed from her lungs. “Don’t you dare compare yourself with Sayed. Aye, I very much enjoyed his hands on me.”
    “I understand that Berber women are bound byfew restrictions. An Arab man would slay his bride if she came to him without a hymen. How many men have you taken between your sweet thighs, Zara?”
    “Do not judge me, prince of donkeys,” Zara declared. “Berber women are free to love where they will. How many concubines do you have to ease your nights? How many love slaves do you keep in your household? I will be no man’s slave. Berber women choose the men with whom they wish to share their bodies.”
    Jamal’s mouth thinned. Never had he heard a woman speak so openly or with such passion. Zara’s words shook the very foundations of Islamic teachings. In the Arab world women were taught to be obedient and submissive to men. Allah had placed women on earth for men’s pleasure, and to bear their children. They lived in harems apart from males and covered their faces discreetly when they appeared in public. Their purpose in life was to pleasure their masters, and some, particularly concubines, were highly skilled