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woolen blanket, Chantelle lay shivering. It was a condition she had no control over, and it wouldn’t stop. Her hair had dried hours ago. The cabin was warm. It was her fear that was causing the trembling, and twice had made her sick to her stomach.
    Dear God, she had come so close to escaping the corsairs. Her feet had actually touched bottom when the small boat bumped into her, pushing her under the water. When she came up for air, hands immediately hauled her inside the boat, and she knew she wouldn’t get another chance to escape.
    She was brought back to the ship, carried back into this cabin. Only this time two men had stayed to see her stripped down to nothing. Too exhausted from her bid for freedom, she had been unable to stop them. But they hadn’t touched her otherwise. They had left her alone in the dark cabin, taking her wet clothes with them. She had eventually found the pillows and fur rug she remembered seeing from before, and the blanket to cover herself with. She had crawled into a tight ball, and the shivering had begun as she wondered what would happen next, afraid she knew.
    She didn’t sleep, terrified of being caught by surprise. Morning came, and with it light from one small window, and still she was left alone. She would rather have gotten it over with, whatever they would do to her next, than to lie here thinking about it. She was certain she would be raped by the crew, certain thatif she survived that, she would then be sold into slavery. Both prospects were so inconceivable that she couldn’t bear thinking of them, and so there was just the fear of being hurt and abused.
    Several times she wondered what had happened to the little man who had spoken to her before. Why didn’t he come again? Any communication at all would have been a relief. But perhaps it was standard procedure to let captives suffer the agonies of the unknown to wear them down. Fear was debilitating. Yet he had spoken to her before. He had said she wouldn’t be harmed. But what exactly to a corsair constituted harm?
    God, if only she didn’t know what they were. If only her tutors hadn’t thought to include world history and affairs in her studies. But the Ottoman Turks, who for hundreds of years had been intruding on Christian Europe, were known to her, as were the Barbary States, members of the Turkish empire, and the Barbary corsairs, pirates of the Mediterranean. They raided foreign coasts, they attacked foreign ships, they killed or sold all Christian captives into slavery without exception. So what would such men consider harm to a woman? Certainly not what she would reckon as harm.
    When the door finally opened later that morning, it wasn’t to admit the sailor Chantelle had spoken with. Four men entered, two bare-chested, one tall, thin man in a long white robe, and one more impressive fellow in a bright silk jacket over loose Turkish pants. All wore turbans. All were sharp-featured, though light-skinned. Only the one in the white robe didn’t have a long, curved sword attached to his belt.
    Chantelle sat up immediately, but she didn’t try to rise with only the blanket to cover her. She held it upto her chin, cowering back against the wall. Trapped in the small room, eyes huge with fear, skin translucent without color, she didn’t realize that she stunned them, especially the captain, who was having his first look at her in good light. Eyes like hers were unknown to them. And the hair, silver blond, with a lock falling over the blanket to reveal its glorious hip length, was prized in the East. Circassians were known to have blond hair, but sailors weren’t likely to ever see it, and these hadn’t. Her face was exquisite. If she had a body to match, she would be worth a fortune. If she was also a virgin, her price could increase tenfold.
    It was precisely the latter that Rais Mehmed had come to judge, for her comfort on the voyage depended on her worth. Then, too, if she wasn’t a virgin, there was no point in