The Kadin Read Online Free PDF Page B

he was tortured, and throughout the process, one nonparticipant watched Standing stoically in her dark silk gown and starched coif, clutching a plaid shawl about her shoulders to keep out the dampness of the dungeons, Mary MacKay’s blue eyes never left Mamud’e face. The slave was, and always had been, deathly afraid of the old woman’s light-colored eyes. He felt they saw things that mortal eyes did not She knew what he had done, he thought She waited only for his verbal confirmation and the details.
    Slowly, with care, his toenails were removed with red-hot pincers. Mamud shrieked prayers to his tribal gods as this new pain ripped up his legs, through his thighs, and slammed into his chest almost suffocating him. Rivers of sweat poured down his body.
    He closed his eyes to blot out the pain. When he opened them again, he found that woman standing at his side. Her eyes bored into his, and he felt his little strength ebb away.
    “What hae ye done with my granddaughter? Who has her?”
    He did not want to answer. He wanted to confound and curse the old witch, but he couldn’t Those terrible blue eyes were the strongest magic he had ever encountered.
    “Who has my granddaughter?” she repeated.
    “Captain Venutti,” he heard his own voice croak. “Captain Gian-Carlo Venutti of the Venetian Levant!”
    She touched his chest and he shivered violently.
    “Go, laddie,” she said, and he died.
    Mamud’s confession was substantiated when a ship’s captain putting in from Crete spoke in a tavern of a young, red-haired Christian slave girl to be auctioned within a month. Brought before the duke and the Scots ambassador, the captain repeated his story.
    It was common knowledge in the Mediterranean community, said the seaman. An old trick to excite interest and bring in the top connoisseurs. Yes, Captain Venutti of the Venetian Levant was the slave girl’s current owner. She was booty from a raid, it was said, and rumored to be quite a beauty. Curse Venutti! He had all the luck.
    Patrick Leslie ground his teeth in rage. He would have outfitted a warship and stormed Candia to rescue his daughter, but Duke Sebastian prevailed. Mediterranean-born, he was used to these situations and knew how to handle them He would send his cousin, Pietro di San Lorenzo, to the auction to buy the girl back.
    In that way, if the girl were saved, he would stand high in the Scots king’s favor; if she were lost no one could blame him, and the sticky diplomatic situation that would ensue between his country and Scotland would quickly blow over.
    Perhaps his clever cousin could pull it off and regain the little maiden, but privately he doubted it
    In any case, there could no longer be any possibility of young Lady Janet’s marrying his heir. God only knew what had happened to the girl during her captivity. He was a liberal man, but a duchess of San Lorenzo must be above suspicion. Already there had been a tentative overture concerning a match from Toulouse, and he had made secret inquiries of his own archbishop about annnling the betrothal between his son and the Scots girl; but these thoughts Duke Sebastian kept to himself.
    He turned to his companion. “Come, my friend,” he said to Patrick Leslie. “All will work out well, and as God wills it”
    The earl of Glenkirk, suspecting the wily duke’s thoughts, glowered at him in impotent fury but said nothing.

6
    S EVERAL WEEKS LATER , Janet sat quietly in an alcove off a private auction room. She sat quietly, not because she had suddenly become docile, but because she was still partly in shock. The betrayal of Mamud was more than her young mind could grasp, and the swift trip from San Lorenzo to the auction block in Candia had left her numb.
    She had not been treated unkindly at any time since her abduction. Indeed, every effort had been made to provide for her health and comfort. Captain Venutti had brought her from his ship to the house of Abdul ben Abdul, a purveyor of the best