Lady Of Fire AKA Pagan Bride Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Tamara Leigh Novels

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Excerpt: Baron Of Godsmere

  Tamara Leigh Novels

  About The Author

  LADY OF FIRE

  A “clean read” rewrite of Pagan Bride, published by Bantam Books, 1995

  TAMARA LEIGH, USA Today Best-Selling Author

  DANGEROUS

  Believing only death will prevent him from returning to England, Sir Lucien de Gautier answers his king’s call to arms. When he is captured and his family refuses the ransom demand, he finds himself bound to the oars of a galley. Enraged and embittered, he has no hope of escape—until a rich merchant’s wife offers him freedom. In exchange, he agrees to smuggle a virtuous young woman out of a harem and onto a ship bound for England, unaware the real danger lies in the bond forged between him and his fiery charge. But when he learns she is as much his enemy as those who enslaved him, can he forgive her? More, can he forget her?

  IMPETUOUS

  Determined to wed her childhood friend, a betrothal her English mother will go to any length to break, Alessandra refuses to abandon the only life she has known in Algiers—even if it means compromising her faith. But when she is entrusted to a new bodyguard whose scarred face and soul draw her to him, she soon discovers the bold Englishman is only playing a part, biding his time until he can fulfill his end of a treacherous bargain. Desperate to turn him from his course, she reveals her identity, but only succeeds in gaining his contempt. Now that he knows the truth, will he ever feel for her all she feels for him? And will it be enough for her to forsake her world to live in his?

  TAMARA LEIGH NOVELS

  INSPIRATIONAL HISTORICAL TITLES

  The Feud: A Medieval Romance Series

  Baron of Godsmere: Book One, 01/15: Amazon

  Age of Faith: A Medieval Romance Series

  The Unveiling: Book One, 08/12: Amazon

  The Yielding: Book Two, 12/12: Amazon

  The Redeeming: Book Three, 05/13: Amazon

  The Kindling: Book Four, 11/13: Amazon

  The Longing: Book Five, 05/14: Amazon

  CLEAN READ HISTORICAL TITLES

  Dreamspell: a medieval time travel romance, 03/12: Amazon

  Lady At Arms: a “clean read” rewrite of the 1994 Bantam Books bestseller Warrior Bride, 01/14: Amazon

  Lady Of Eve: a “clean read” rewrite of the 1994 Bantam Books bestseller Virgin Bride, 06/14: Amazon

  Lady Of Fire: a “clean read” rewrite of the 1995 Bantam Books bestseller Pagan Bride, 11/14: Amazon

  INSPIRATIONAL CONTEMPORARY TITLES

  Southern Discomfort Series

  Leaving Carolina, RandomHouse/Multnomah, 2009

  Nowhere, Carolina, RandomHouse/Multnomah, 2010

  Restless in Carolina, RandomHouse/Multnomah, 2011

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Stealing Adda, 05/12 (ebook edition) Amazon

  Stealing Adda, NavPress, 2006 (print edition)

  Perfecting Kate, Multnomah, 2007

  Splitting Harriet, RandomHouse/Multnomah, 2007

  Faking Grace, RandomHouse/Multnomah, 2008

  OUT-OF-PRINT GENERAL MARKET TITLES

  Warrior Bride, Bantam Books, 1994

  *Virgin Bride, Bantam Books, 1994

  Pagan Bride, Bantam Books, 1995

  Saxon Bride, Bantam Books, 1995

  Misbegotten, HarperCollins, 1996

  Unforgotten, HarperCollins, 1997

  Blackheart, Dorchester Leisure, 2001

  *Virgin Bride is the sequel to Warrior Bride

  Pagan Pride and Saxon Bride are stand-alone novels

  www.tamaraleigh.com

  LADY OF FIRE (a “clean read” rewrite of the 1995 Bantam Books bestseller Pagan Bride) Copyright © 2014 by Tammy Schmanski, P.O. Box 1298, Goodlettsville, TN 37070, [email protected]

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  ISBN-10: 0-9853529-9-8

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9853529-9-8

  All rights reserved. This book is a copyrighted work and no part of it may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or any information storage and retrieval system) without permission in writing from the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the author’s permission is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for supporting authors’ rights by purchasing only authorized editions.

  Cover Design: Ravven

  CHAPTER ONE

  Algiers, 1454

  Not even chains could make him look the slave.

  Wearing loose-fitting chausses and a sleeveless, tattered tunic that was more ribbon than garment, the towering, broad-shouldered man was dragged to the platform to stand before the astonished crowd. Those who struggled to hold him scowled and grunted as he roared curses understood only by those who knew his language.

  An Englishman, Sabine silently rejoiced. An enraged one.

  She had not expected to encounter such a fine specimen. Though he could not be noble, for he would surely have been ransomed, he had the bearing of one of high birth.

  She gripped the arm of the chief eunuch who had accompanied her to the auction. “That one, Khalid.”

  His eyes widened. “Mistress, he is not a eunuch.”

  True. The auctioneer had not prefaced the summons to bid with that information, but it did not matter. This was the one she had been waiting for these two months, and she would not allow him to slip through her fingers.

  “He is the one,” she said sharply.

  Khalid leaned down from his great height. “Only a eunuch is allowed within the walls of a harem.”

  “None need know,” she said as the bidding commenced.

  Khalid shook his head. “This man is fit only for the quarries. There will be others better suited to your purpose.” Of which only he, her confidant these past ten years, knew.

  “The time that remains to me is swift-footed,” she said, a creak in her voice. “Do not deny me this. It may be my only chance.”


  The corners of his mouth tightened. “Upon his arms and through the tears in his tunic, can you not see the stripes laid to him?

  Of course she saw them, the recently acquired ones livid and swollen.

  “He has been beaten and often,” he continued. “That is a bad sign.”

  “And yet he is alive,” she countered. “It means he is strong and determined. That is a good sign.”

  Khalid’s shoulders rose with the breath of patience. “Mistress, a man as valuable as that is not beaten so viciously without cause. He is dangerous.”

  Regardless, she would have him, for she had seen none worthier to carry out her plan. “Only a fool or one too apathetic to rise up again would be devoid of such anger,” Sabine retorted, “and neither of those I seek. Now buy him.”

  Noting the bidding had turned fierce among those who sought to acquire the Englishman for their mines and quarries, she watched the struggle that alternately lined and smoothed Khalid’s face. He longed to aid her, but had good cause to weigh his loyalty against fear for his life. If the English slave could not be reasoned with…if he seduced the women of the harem…if it was revealed he was not a eunuch…

  But if I lose him to another, I could lose that which is most precious to me, she excused herself for what she demanded of her old friend. “Do you not bid, Khalid, I shall.”

  His nostrils flared. “He will cost much, mistress.”

  She pulled the gold bracelet from her wrist and thrust it into his hand, then began to work a ring from her finger. “I care not what he costs.”

  Khalid stayed her desperate gesture with a hand to her shoulder, and grudgingly stepped forward.

  Watching through the gossamer veil that hid her face, Sabine anxiously smoothed her fingers down her black cloak. Draped from the crown of her head, the garment fell straight to the ground, concealing the colorful finery beneath. It was the same for all respectable women who went out in public in this place far removed from the world she had been born into.

  As the bidding escalated, Khalid adding his voice to the shouts, the slave continued to struggle against his captors.

  From what well does he draw strength? Sabine wondered. What sustains his spirit?

  In the next instant, he broke an arm free and slung the chain stretched between his manacled wrists into the face of one of his captors. The man shouted, stumbled back, and fell to the platform where he groped at his bloodied mouth. His companion also sprayed blood upon the air, but when he fell, he took the Englishman down with him.

  As the crowd rumbled with alarm, those nearest the platform—save Khalid—hastened back as slave and captor wrestled to subdue one another.

  Hands to her chest, beneath which her heart beat frantically, Sabine acknowledged that Khalid had been wise to discourage her from purchasing such a man. After all, she was no longer the young woman of twenty years ago. Had she three more years left in her, she would see the age of forty.

  When it became evident the Englishman would not be easily put down, Khalid leapt onto the platform, wrenched the slave off his opponent, and brought his knee up between the Englishman’s thighs.

  The man threw his head back, but no sound issued from his lips. Then he dropped.

  A cheer rose from the crowd as the formidable, dark-skinned eunuch relinquished the Englishman to the others who had been reluctant to come to the aid of their comrades. Then Khalid turned and searched out his mistress. Eyes lighting upon her, he frowned.

  Though Sabine knew he was more strongly opposed to purchasing the slave, she nodded.

  Khalid looked to the auctioneer. “I will pay no more,” he said, letting his last offer stand. “Is there another who would challenge me?”

  The beady-eyed auctioneer looked out across the throng. When none came forward, he accepted the eunuch's bid.

  Hiding her unease behind her veil, Sabine watched as the slave was dragged from the platform.

  “It is done,” Khalid growled when he rejoined her. “I hope you do not come to regret it as much as I.”

  She set a hand upon his arm. “I thank you, my friend. Your loyalty will be rewarded.”

  He inclined his head. “I pray I live long enough to enjoy the harvest.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Feigning boredom amid excitement and fear that tangled her insides, Sabine levered up from the pillows. Though eyes bored into her as she rearranged her slender form amid a profusion of color, she did not acknowledge the slave until she was comfortably settled.

  She sighed, focused on his manacled ankles, and began an upward perusal. When she reached his face, his indignation was evident in bunched muscles and eyes shot with rage.

  Mentally, she prepared herself for flight lest he defy his chains and the guards holding him, but then she saw him sway.

  She swept her gaze to Khalid. Though his expression was impassive, his sparkling eyes confirmed he had drugged the man in such a way that, though the mind remained alert, the body was severely limited in acting upon its urgings.

  Relieved, she motioned for the guards to withdraw.

  They bowed and slipped into the shadowed corners of the tent to keep watch. And watch was all they could do, for they knew nothing of the English language. Unlike Khalid.

  Sabine lowered her feet to the carpet that covered the earthen floor, straightened, and sauntered forward.

  “I am Sabine,” she said in accented English that evidenced the nineteen years she had lived among the Arab people. “By what name are you called, Englishman?”

  He narrowed his lids.

  Confident he could do her no harm, she placed herself before him, rose to her toes, and peered into a hard countenance divided into two distinct halves. Whereas the right was unblemished, the left was scarred by a blade that had perfectly traced the high cheekbone there.

  She shifted her attention to eyes of a shade approaching amethyst. And frowned. On whom had she seen that rare color? Finding no match in her memory, she considered his hair. It was dirty, hanging almost to his shoulders, and appeared to be bronze in color. As for his face, one would not call it handsome, but neither was it unattractive.

  Pity, she thought, he might give his life to achieve the goal I set him.

  Firmly telling herself he would succeed, if for no other reason than to preserve his own life, she set herself back on her heels, causing the miniature bells about her ankle to tinkle like the laughter of children. A moment later, the sprightly sound was answered by the harsh rattle of chains.

  “Harlot!” the slave rasped, shoving his great body against her.

  Instantly, Khalid and the guards were upon him. The latter held him by the arms while the eunuch landed the back of a hand across the man’s face.

  The slave did not flinch.

  I am in no danger, Sabine told herself as she struggled to calm her pounding heart, but not until the guards began dragging the slave toward the tent opening did she find her voice.

  “Leave him!” she commanded in Arabic. When Khalid protested, she quieted him with a shake of her head. “You have made it so he can do me no harm.”

  With obvious grudging, the eunuch ordered the guards forward. “Seat him there”—he motioned to a stool—“and take yourselves from the tent.”

  They forced him to sit and withdrew.

  “They will talk of the slave’s defiance,” Khalid warned. “If you intend to continue on this perilous course, mistress, it is best done in privacy.”

  He was right. Emasculated men, deprived of desires of the flesh, lost much of their high spirit and unruliness. Indeed, some became quite gentle. But this Englishman displayed none of those qualities. Given the right incentive, could he feign them?

  Once more, Sabine approached him. “You have nothing to fear from me—”

  “Fear?” he growled. “’Tis I who should be feared. As lovely as your heathen neck is, I am quite taken with the thought of it between my hands.”

  Sabine was further unnerved, though more by his voice than his thr
eat. Despite its strain, his speech seemed too eloquent for a commoner. But she shrugged off the peculiarity and pulled out the pins securing her hair veil.

  “You have much to learn, Englishman,” she said, and revealed tresses of a red so true no amount of henna could reproduce it.

  Confusion lined his face, but he cleared it with a scowl.

  “I am as English as you,” she said, lowering to her knees beside him. “Just as you are a slave, so was I when I arrived in this country.”

  He swept his gaze over her Arabic dress. “What is it you call yourself now?”

  Refusing to be ashamed of the lifestyle that had been forced upon her nearly twenty years past, she set her chin high. “I am the wife of a wealthy Arab merchant.” She said it with the pride warranted for having attained such a station. She could have easily met the fate suffered by most—that of a prostitute.

  “An apostate,” the Englishman tossed back. “A harlot who has thrown off her religion and taken that of another so she might know greater comfort.”

  Sabine lifted a chain from the neck of her caftan and held forth the crucifix suspended from it. “Is it still your wish to feel my neck between your hands?”

  He stared at it, returned his gaze to hers. “What is it you want from me?”

  “I have a proposal I believe you will find acceptable.” At his lack of response, she continued, “You seek your freedom, and if you do my bidding, you shall have it.”

  His anger eased perceptibly, but when he spoke, defiance was in every letter formed by tongue and lips. “Whether or not I do your bidding, I shall have my freedom.”

  Recalling what Khalid had apprised her of a short while ago, she smiled. “If that is so, why have you not escaped since you were taken? It has been over a year.”