Michelle Willingham - Innocent in the Harem

The tales of Scheherazade and the Arabian Nights were among my favorite fairy tales when I was growing up. I was intrigued by the exotic location, the handsome princes, and the ever-present danger within palace life. It inspired me to research the sixteenth century Ottoman Empire, where I learned about the sultan Suleiman and the forbidden world of his harem. Many of the elements in Innocent in the Harem are based upon true stories.

Although Prince Khadin was not a real historical character, Ive taken creative license in giving Suleiman an additional son. During this era in history, the royal heirs were sent to distant corners of the kingdom to avoid jealousy (it wasnt until later that they were imprisoned within the Cage in the palace). Also, what happened to Khadin as a child and the ultimate fate of his mother were based upon real life stories.

I hope you enjoy this Arabian Nights fantasy, where a captive of the harem is rescued by a handsome prince and ultimately falls in love.

Ottoman Empire
1565

Laila binte Nur Hamidahs heartbeat shuddered within her chest as she stood beside the other women in the slave market. The heat of the sun sent a bead of perspiration sliding beneath the ferace that covered her body. Fear paralyzed her, but she held her posture straight. All she could do was watch the other women and await her turn upon the auction block.

The air was a stifling blend of tobacco, spices and coffee, foreign odors that made her all-too-aware that she didnt belong here. When the next young maiden was stripped and inspected, strangers touched the slaves breasts and bottom, testing her skin for firmness. They examined her like a prized mare, fit for breeding. A hard lump formed in Lailas throat. Was this to be her fate? Fondled and pinched by strangers, humiliated before everyone?

Her vision swam, and she took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She tried to envision her father and brothersthe familiar black tents of the Bedouin camp. The lilting voice of her mother as she told stories that had been passed down for generations.

No more. They were gone, killed in battle when a neighboring tribe had attacked. Laila had tried to flee, only to be captured by the enemy. And now, here she stood. Her appearance and her virginity had kept her value high, which was why her enslaver had left her untouched.

With a light shove, she was forced to step upon the block of wood, a whip resting at her shoulder. Do exactly as I tell you, the slave merchant ordered. If you are fortunate, you may be taken into a mans harem to become a concubine. If you resist, you will feel the lash against your tender skin. Callused hands tore the ferace away, exposing her to the crowd.

Laila stared straight ahead, her teeth clenched. Ropes bound her wrists, and the crowd of men watched from below. She refused to cower before them, defeated. Regardless of this shame, she would survive it. The cold fear metamorphosed into a purposebefore she was handed over to a master, she might find a chance to escape.

Her gaze fastened upon the Arabian mares tethered nearby. Their necks craned with unrest, their hooves pawing at the ground. These animals were not meant to be crowded, nor did they like it.

If she could get close enough, she might be able to steal one of the horses and escape. There had to be a way to leave the marketplace. If she could only find it

A man, wearing black robes and a white turban around his head, rode forward, blocking off the mares. His wealth was evident from the stallion he rode and the rubies set within the horses bridle. Behind him, she spied a dozen guards, and she wondered who he was. A pasha or a lord, perhaps. She wondered what had caused him to stop. Noblemen rarely ventured within the marketplace.

She met his gaze without shame, not bothering to feign a demure presence before him. Though she was completely unclothed, she refused to surrender her pride. By the grace of Allah, she intended to free herself from this nightmare or die trying.

She ignored the hands reaching toward her and the lustful stares. Instead she remained focused upon the horses, determining which mare would obey her command. It would not be easy. Most Arabian horses were loyal to their masters; intelligent creatures who would balk at being taken. She had to find the right one.

As the men continued to bid, the pasha rode closer, his gaze fixed upon her. Laila stared back, surprised to see such blue eyes shaded by his turban. His face was darkened by the sun, his jaw firm. His features held an exotic cast, like a man whose mother was a great beauty, perhaps a woman from Al Andalus or farther north. He rested his hands upon his saddle, absorbing the atmosphere and ignoring the merchants who dared to approach him, asking if he cared to bid for her.

Laila met his curious expression, and then turned her attention back to the horses. The desperate need to escape consumed her. She would not be distracted by any man, not even a handsome one.

The pasha stared at her a moment longer, but at last, turned away. The merchants followed behind him, trying to cajole him into making a purchase. Raucous voices sounded in the marketplace. My lord! For you, only one thousand kurush! When he continued on his path, the merchant offered, Nine hundred!

The slight distraction was the opportunity Laila had been waiting for. She wrenched her ropes free of her captor, leaping off the block toward the horses. Running swiftly, she heard the crack of the whip. The tip of the lash missed her but caught the delicate skin of the mare, ripping through the horses flanks. Furious, the mare reared up in pain, her hooves striking out.

Once again, the slave trader cracked his whip, and the other horses began to strain against their tethers, baring their teeth. Laila knew better than to step in front of enraged animals, but she had only precious seconds before the men might seize her again.

This was her last and only chance.

Prince Khadin pulled hard on the reins of his mount, unable to believe what he was seeing. The slave maiden had leaped from the auction block, and was running toward a group of horses. Any other woman would have screamed in terror when the mares reared high, but the slave stood perfectly still.

My lord, one of his men asked, shall I go back?

Not yet. Khadin eased his mount forward, watching as the woman lifted her hands in appeasement, speaking to the horses. A hush fell over the merchants in astonishment as the maiden used her voice to soothe the animals.

Was she an enchantress? Hed never seen a woman charm a horse that had suffered from the lash. There was no fear upon her face, as if she understood the animals anger.

I know youre upset, beautiful one, the woman said, keeping her eyes fixed upon the animal. The mares oval eyes met her own, and the slave continued uttering a stream of soft compliments. The other horses seemed to sense that she meant them no harm, and one by one, they quieted.