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compulsory mutilation in order to serve the needs of the Brothers brought tears to her eyes and vengeance to her heart.
    Lying awake in her lonely bed each night, she envisioned his arms around her, her head upon his shoulder, their fingers entwined. Her dreams were of him and her waking thoughts filled with his soft voice and beautiful male eyes. When he entered the room where he instructed her in the arts of lovemaking, her world brightened even if the day was cold and gray with rain.
    “You take to training like a fish to water,” he had once said, the closest thing to a compliment he had ever given.
    “Perhaps that is because I ache to belong to someone,” she had responded. “Can you understand that?”
    The warrior had nodded sagely. “Aye, Wench. I understand it all too well.”
    His words had melted her heart for she could hear the great sadness that he tried so hard to hide, to keep at bay. She wanted nothing more than to be with him and to ease that ache she sensed in his troubled soul.
    But if it was the Master who had won her!
    Jameela sat up slowly, sensing she was now in the Chamber alone. There were no more shuffling feet, no sounds at all save the slow drip of water somewhere within the Chamber. Reaching up, she tugged the blindfold from her eyes, not in the least surprised that the room around her was dark as pitch.
    “Qutaybah, you bastard,” Jameela swore beneath her breath and swung her legs from the table. She slid her feet to the floor—gasping with the chill of the stone against her bare soles—and cautiously made her way to her right, feeling ahead of her with outstretched hands.
    “Over here, Wench,” she heard Dagan call out and turned toward the sound of his voice.
    Surprised, Jameela had gasped, her heart pounding but then she was relieved Dagan had come to her. “I am afraid,” she said, unsure of which way to walk.
    “There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “Come this way.”
    “Keep talking,” she pleaded with him.
    “Do you want me to come over there?” he asked in an exasperated tone.
    “Aye,” she replied and heard the loud expulsion of his breath.
    “Sometimes,” he said, his voice getting closer, “I believe you are more trouble than you will ever be worth.”
    “Only sometimes?” she asked as she felt his hand touch her shoulder.
    “Most times,” he replied as his hand moved down her arm to grasp her fingers. She felt him tense when she gripped his hand with her free one.
    “Thank you,” she said as he began walking with her.
    “For what?”
    “For coming to get me.”
    “Someone had to,” he said and she could feel his shrug even if she could not see it. “You’d have been here all night otherwise.”
    “I would have found the door eventually,” she said, her chin up.
    “Wouldn’t have done you any good if you had since it was locked from the outside,” he said.
    “I believe I despise Brother Qutaybah,” she said through clenched teeth.
    “You aren’t the only one,” he mumbled.
    Jameela shielded her eyes as the door swung open and they were met with the harsh light from the torch in the corridor.
    “Who told you to remove your blindfold?” he asked.
    “I told me,” she snapped and instantly regretted her petulant tone for he stiffened and turned to glare at her.
    Dagan studied her upturned face for a moment then let out a long sigh. “You’ve a mind of your own, haven’t you, Wench?”
    She stared into his tawny eyes, losing herself in the shimmering depths, aching to reach up and smooth away the stray curl that touched his high forehead. “Would you have me any other way?” she whispered.
    A faint twitching of his lips might well have become a smile had Dagan not made a conscious effort to keep the telltale humor from his expression. Instead, he shook his head.
    “I suppose not,” he answered and jerked gently on her hand, pulling her behind him down the narrow corridor.
    Jameela smiled behind his back for her hand was