Taming Charlotte by Linda Lael Miller Page B

the tall elm tree in the courtyard, and the liberty, however hazardous it was, that lay beyond the palace walls.
    She had eaten a banana, taken a nap on the pallet, recited every poem and sung every song she knew, before Rashad came back at sunset and released her.
    “The sultan celebrates the birth of twin sons,” the eunuch announced. “He wishes you bathed and dressed and sent to his chambers to dance for him.”
    Charlotte gulped. “D-Dance for him? I’m afraid I don’t know any steps…”
    Rashad smiled. “Then I would suggest that you make some up,” he replied, ushering her out of her luxurious prison cell. “The sultan will have his amusements.”
    She glared up at her companion, wanting to gall him because he was so arrogant, so officious, and because he’d held her captive so many hours. “You speak well for a slave,” she said.
    Rashad’s dark eyes sparked, but Charlotte couldn’t tell whether he was feeling anger or amusement. “I should. I accompanied the sultan to England when he took his schooling, and before that, I served his father.”
    They reached the baths, and once again a bevy of chattering women surrounded Charlotte, stripping away her robe, escorting her into the water. A thorough washing followed, and her hair was carefully shampooed. After that, she was dried and stretched out on a marble table, where a warm paste that smelled of sugar and lemon was spread on the skin of her legs, allowed to harden slightly, and then pulledoff. The soft, fair fuzz covering Charlotte’s lower extremities was being removed.
    The process was almost painless, but its implications worried Charlotte right out of her fog of decadent pleasure. “What are you doing?” she demanded straightaway, trying to sit up.
    She was immediately pushed back onto the table, and the spreading and pulling continued. Even Bettina Richardson, the eternal innocent, could have figured out that she was being prepared for the sacrifice, like a helpless lamb, and the realization filled Charlotte with panic.
    “Let me go!” she cried, struggling.
    “Enough!” Rashad said, appearing at the foot of the table and glowering down at her. “You will be silent!”
    She subsided, but her mind sought a method of escape even as she ceased her struggles and lay glaring up at the women who attended her.
    When Charlotte’s legs and underarms were smooth and bare, she was washed again, then fragrant oils were massaged into her skin. She closed her eyes, willing her body to be tense, ready for battle, but all her muscles went loose with decadent abandon.
    She was dressed in a dancer’s garb: bright yellow harem pants with transparent legs and a tight-fitting bodice, sparkling with topazes, that revealed her stomach. Over these scanty garments went a brown silk robe, embossed with golden thread.
    Charlotte’s hair was carefully toweled, scented, and then brushed. One of the women wove tiny orange flowers through the tresses, and another lined Charlotte’s eyes with kohl and painted her lips with pink rouge. With dignified resignation, she followed Rashad out of the harem and along the winding hallways.
    “If Khalif thinks he’s going to touch me, he’s wrong,” she said, to Rashad’s broad back.
    She thought the eunuch chuckled, but his bearing was stern. He didn’t turn to meet her gaze as he boomed out, “You will do whatever the sultan tells you to do.”
    “In a pig’s eye,” Charlotte responded. She was whistlingin the dark and she knew it, but her pride wouldn’t let her accept such a travesty meekly.
    This time Rashad glanced back at her. “You will not last long,” he said, with certainty and regret. “You are much too contentious and unruly.”
    Charlotte sighed, exasperated. “What are you going to do? Feed me to the sharks?”
    The eunuch had resumed his rapid pace. “That fate would be preferable, I assure you, to angering the
sultana valide. “
    Charlotte made no response, for she was sure Rashad’s comment