The Pirate's Defiant Houri

"Lis’Anne Harris’s gorgeous storytelling will sweep you away!"

~ Valerie Bowman, Best-Selling Historical Romance Author

She covered her face with both hands to hide fresh tears. Once we reach your castle in Ireland, you will leave me in Ethan’s care so you will no longer have to spend another moment in my hideous presence.

Joanna. Richard crawled onto the bed. Plucked the cat from her side, avoiding its deadly claws, and set it outside the cabin, quickly shutting the door. It immediately commenced loudly meowing to be let back in. Richard returned to Jo. Pulled her into his arms and held her close. I do not want to be rid of you. I want you.

Want me for what?

In my bed. In my arms. Every night.

She rubbed the space between her brows with an forefinger. I do not understand. I am already in your bed and in your arms almost every night. I am sorry I have become a tiresome burden you must care for through my horrid sickness.

Richard tilted his head away from her crown to suppress his frustrated sigh. You misunderstand. You deserve an honorable gentleman. Not a dirty, filthy pirate to wed and bed you. He pressed his lips to the top of her head wishing he could hold her just this way for the rest of his life. No other woman had ever felt more right.

Wed and bed? How could any man want to wed and bed the person I have become? A total waste of human flesh.

Richard pulled her up so her face was mere inches from his. You have no idea. His flesh tingled at the prospect of pressing his lips to hers. Every jack aboard this ship would wed you in a heartbeat if you so much as gave him a come-hither glance.

She opened her eyes. Green with flecks of gray orbs met his. No. That cannot be true. Her nose wrinkled.

He lowered his mouth to hers and showed her in the only way he knew to prove it to her. Her lips trembled beneath his. Richard’s heart ached for the fresh pain he had caused her. I never again want to taste your tears, my lady. If you will allow it, I will move heaven and hell to bring you nothing but pleasure and ease for the rest of our lives.

Joanna traced her fingertip over his lips. It sent a ripple of desire down his spine. Her eyes began to glaze over. It seemed the opium had taken longer to work this time. You love me?

Love? It was not an emotion he planned to ever fall prey to. Love is for fools.

The Pirate’s Defiant Houri, 2nd Edition

Copyright © 2018, All rights reserved.

by Melissa A. Woolard writing as Lis’Anne Harris

Editors: Nancy Johns & Julie Fisher

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, incidents, and places are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, locales, or actual events is coincidental, save those events and persons known to be of historical relevance.

The Pirate’s Defiant Houri, 2nd Edition © 2018

Print ISBN: 978-1-9809583-2-1

Ebook ISBN: 978-0-4632092-4-0

Sweet Liberation, 1st Edition © 2012 Lis’Anne Harris

Original Print ISBN: 978-0-9850690-4-9

Cover © 2018 Melissa A. Woolard

The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our society. The transcribing/scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without explicit permission is theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use an excerpt from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact lisanne@lisanneharris.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s creative rights.

http://LisAnneHarris.com

Contents

Title Page

Author’s Note

Acknowledgement

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

The Captain’s Dangerous Hoyden, Chapter One

About the Author

Daring Damsels

Book Two

Updated and Revised Edition 2018

The Pirate’s Defiant Houri

Lis’Anne Harris

Author’s Note

Source for historical harem practices in the Turkish Grand Seraglio:

Harem: The World Behind the Veil by Alev Lytle Croutier

Acknowledgement

This one’s for you, Mom. Thanks to you, Aunt Beth, and Lauri, I became a historical romance junkie at a very early age. I am so thankful you gave me the wherewithal to write my own stories. You’ve given me the confidence to put myself out there and supported my every plot and premise no matter how hair-brained or far-fetched. I love you to infinity and beyond!

Chapter One

Bentley House, Mayfair

September 1784

Joanna swung her fist with every ounce of strength she possessed. An electric shock of pain raced through her knuckles. His head snapped back with a grunt. Her spurt of satisfaction was short-lived as another brute wrapped his arms around her waist. She gritted her teeth and tried to twist free of the black-hearted foreigner holding her prisoner.

Panic crawled up her spine.

Her bedside lamp hit the floor as she kicked out. Glass shards skittered across the polished wood. Oil fumes permeated the air.

She dug her teeth into the hand over her mouth, gaining a moment to ground out, Why?

Well, well, Joanna. Her step-brother’s ugly, whiny voice stopped her struggles. Surprising to find you have somewhat of a backbone after all, though little help it does you. His hand whipped dismissively through the air. "Gag and tie her up. It appears my sister is not anxious to meet her intended."

This couldn’t be happening. For the love of God, Horace, tell me why are you doing this to me? Who is my intended?

He turned back, an expression of utter contempt contorted the features of his pock-marked porcine face visible in the glow cast by the flickering hall light. You shall soon find out. His evil laugh shocked her to her core. Your father owed me more than the pittance he left. I am taking my share.

How could you expect to inherit something to which you have no right? A sob of pure terror threatened to choke her.

A jagged streak of lightning split the night sky through the bedchamber window, its earsplitting thunder vibrated within Joanna’s chest. Her step-brother startled at the sudden noise. He wouldn’t answer. He knew she was right.

Horace Pecklewhite narrowed his bulging bloodshot eyes. Her prince awaits. Take her away. He sneered.

Who? What prince? One man shoved a wad of linen sheeting into her mouth and tied a strip of material around her head to hold it in place. The other brute trussed her like an animal. Wild desperation, abject fear, utter despair sank in as they hauled her through the darkened halls and out the stately double doors of Bentley House. Rain soaked her navy-blue riding habit, mixing with the tears trickling down her cheeks.

They tossed her in the waiting coach as if she were nothing more than old luggage. Her back hit the bench; pain radiated down her legs. She struggled to sit up and watched her home disappear from view. None of the servants, sleeping peacefully and tucked away under the eaves on the fourth floor, could’ve heard her brief cries for help before she was silenced.

Lizbeth. Dear God, how she needed her sister. Surely her brother-in-law Robert could put a stop to this, but they had no clue this devious plot was afoot.

Pain screamed through her arms wrenched at an awkward angle behind her back. She slid and bounced on her seat in the hack as it careened wildly through the streets of London. Joanna caught glimpses of the men in the passing street lamps and the last bit of hope of convincing them to free her died.

She eyed them with alarm, noting their odd clothing and turban-wrapped heads. They wore over-long beards and were swarthy complexioned. Unnerved by their blatant disregard, she closed her eyes and laid her head on the cracked leather seat. The moment she had retired for the night and heard the key turn in the lock of her bedchamber door she knew something dreadful was underway. It all made sense now. All the clues to her impending demise had been there if she’d only understood the significance of her step-brother’s newfound preoccupation with all things Turkish.

The ominous clink of the key locking her bedchamber door as Joanna slipped beneath the covers of her bed sent warning bells clanging through her mind. She should’ve left off the dratted stays, the tangled knots of the lacing dug into the small of her back even now. Five minutes more and she would’ve been out her window and down the ivy-covered trellis. Five minutes more and she would’ve had the bit between the teeth of her beloved Annan. A stinking five minutes more and she would’ve been on her way to Lizabeth in Cornwall.

Robert had tried and failed to win the court’s guardianship appointment. Joanna silently railed at the corrupt British judicial system. No doubt her step-brother easily bribed the judge presiding over her stewardship.

She hadn’t a clue what awaited her. A shiver of fear rippled down her back. The stench of rotting fish gagged her behind the rag stuffed in her mouth. The unmistakable sound of lapping water indicated the Thames nearby. She tugged at the rope binding her wrists, but the rough hemp scraped her flesh raw. There had to be some way out, some way to save herself.

The coach came to a rocking halt on its squeaky springs. The smaller man flung the door open and stepped out while the other hauled her from the bench. He slung Joanna over his shoulder and carried her onto a wharf where the masts of large ships loomed like an eerie forest of giant straight-limbed trees. She twisted her head from side to side trying to spy anyone who might help her. None but a few drunken sailors stumbled aimlessly in the rain. Her whimpers were lost in the whipping wind and waves lashing against the hulls.

They carried her onto the deck of a mid-sized ship then down to a dark cabin. Her captor dropped her onto a soft bed. He lit a hurricane lamp swinging on a pivot affixed to the wall. The yellow glow of light illuminated her captor’s black eyes and shaggy beard. She stiffened when his rough hands touched her ankles. A moment of relief flooded through her whilst the rope binding them was cut and he released her bound wrists. The pain of stabbing needles struck when she attempted to bring her numb arms back to her front. Joanna spat on the man the moment he removed her gag. Filthy pig. May you rot in hell for your part in this evil deed.

A lecherous grin, revealing a row of perfect white teeth, split his face. Joanna recoiled. He spun on his heel and left. The cabin door shut and a key turned in the lock. She was left cold, wet, and alone. Within moments the loud clatter of a heavy chain rattled and rocked the ship.

Blood returned to her tortured extremities. Joanna rolled off the bed and tried to lift the door latch, even knowing it was useless. She ran to the bank of windows at the rear of the cabin, opened one pane and stuck her head out. Nausea roiled in her belly at the great distance between her and the water below. ‘Twouldn’t do any good to jump unless she was ready to commit suicide—she didn’t know how to swim. She looked upward and gasped. A row of men stared down at her, no doubt prepared to recover her if she dared to take her chances in the river.

Deflated, Joanna pulled her head in and latched the window. There wasn’t anything for it but to wait until they reached land to find a way off the ship. She curled up on the bench seat below the windows, shocked at how easy it was for her loathsome step-brother to do this to her. If only her father hadn’t died…if only Lizbeth and Robert had succeeded in gaining her guardianship…if only she had thought to eavesdrop on Horace at every opportunity.

If only…

A key jiggling in a lock roused Joanna from semi-wakefulness. The rising sun bathed the cabin in hues of peach. She swung her legs over the edge of the seat and brushed her tangled hair from her eyes. A brightly dressed dark man entered with a large tray. He placed it on a very low table surrounded by cushions set in the center of her prison. The exact opposite of the man last night, this one smiled rather benignly at her.

He bowed low. "Vali Ahad Zevcesi, welcome aboard the Seven Winds. His voice was melodic and heavily accented. I am Akbar. Mahamet, Jani, or I will serve you and see to your needs. Jani will arrive shortly to begin your personal care. Whatever you desire, ask and we will provide—if possible." He bowed then started to back out of the cabin.

Wait. Where are you taking me?

"To the prince, Vali Ahad-i-Sultanat Ahmed. He has provided his private ship and personal cabin for your comfort.

Prince Ahmed? Joanna couldn’t have been more taken aback. I do not understand.

Akbar directed his reply to the floor. "Your guardian has contracted your marriage to the great prense. The ceremony will take place upon your arrival at Topkapi Palace.

Joanna jumped to her feet, choking with outrage. No. I did not agree to this. Horace cannot. He is not my legal guardian.

"I know nothing of the details, Vali Ahad Zevcesi. The man hurriedly bowed his way backwards toward the door again. Please eat while the food is hot." He closed the slab of wood in his face leaving her to fume with impotent rage.

She dashed around a desk and the ridiculously low table to the cabin door. She lifted the latch as quietly as possible and slowly opened it a crack to make sure no one stood on the other side. The dark companionway was deserted. Creeping out, she wasn’t sure which way to go, but up. If she could make it to the rail unseen, jumping into the Thames was her best hope of escape and survival. Surely a fisherman or other vessel could save her before she drowned.

The creaking of the ship hid the sound of the squeaking boards beneath her booted feet. A glimmer of light illuminated the steps to the deck above. She dashed up them, then cautiously pushed the door open to peep her head around. Several Turkish men pulled ropes here and there, but none noticed Joanna. Her navy-blue riding habit helped her to blend in with the waning shadows cast by the yellowish glow of lanterns swinging to and fro on hooks.

Slinking out of the door a little way, she discovered the man behind the great wheel of the ship stood a few feet above her on a higher deck. All he had to do was look down and she was caught. Joanna ducked behind a barrel and bit her lip, her heart about to beat right out of her chest. The lights of London glowed in the distance. She couldn’t see any other vessels near enough to rescue her before she sank like a bar of soap to the bottom of the bath. What she needed was a large enough piece of wood to hang onto to keep her afloat. An oar from one of the boats lying on its side was her only option, but there was no way to reach one without being seen.

She’d have to run, grab, and jump. No hesitation. No second-thoughts as she climbed over the rail.

Joanna took several calming breaths to slow the rate of her pulse. Craned her neck to see the man at the wheel. His attention was diverted by another. She dashed from her hiding place, raced past piles of rope, barrels, and dodged lines running from rails to the sails.

She lifted the oar from the boat, surprised by its weight as she dragged it with her the few steps to the side of the ship. Joanna screamed in holy terror and kicked, dropped the large paddle and clawed at the arm around her waist. Her captor pulled her back, away from escape. He easily hauled her over his shoulder and carried her to her cabin prison. He flung her onto the bed. She bounced and hit her shoulder hard into the wall. Tears of pain and frustration flooded her eyes. The door slammed shut and the sound of the tumbler setting the lock seemed to echo in her ears.

Screams tore from her as she bounded from the bed and destroyed everything she could get her hands on that wasn’t nailed down.

The red and black sheer curtains draping the hideously overcarved built-in bed hung in tatters. Billows of white and blue silk reminiscent of clouds and sky hanging from the ceiling looked like a raging tigress had shredded them. She kicked the tray of food with a spurt of satisfaction and watched the coffee pot sail across the room straight through one of the stern windows. The shatter of glass surely caught the attention of the men on the upper deck.

A wardrobe and a silk privacy screen sat opposite the bed. She ripped her fingernails down the cloth, ruining the sultry scene of naked women lying about a large pool.

The door opened.

She jumped over the pillows scattered on the floor to put the desk between her and whoever entered. If she could find a dagger, she’d use it. Joanna ripped a drawer from the desk and threw it at Akbar and another man approaching her with hands up, placatingly.

Her blood roared in her head, her chest heaved. They said something… Probably words to try to calm her. Make her see reason. Joanna pulled out the other drawer. The bigger man dove across the desk and knocked her into the bench seat at her back. The wind whooshed from her lungs. She gasped for air, eyes wide with fear.

Akbar grabbed her arms and raised them above her head allowing great lungfuls of precious oxygen to fill her chest. The Goliath of a man tied her ankles together with a length of torn silk plucked from the ceiling. In a matter of seconds, she was trussed up once again and lying on the bed.

Hot tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. I will never submit. Never.

Akbar exited the cabin.

Goliath bowed low to her. "I am Mahamet. I have been assigned to your care and training. I am sorry this marriage was not of your choosing. We believe you will change your mind as you come to see how beautiful our way of life is for the wives of Prense Ahmed. Please let us show you the way."

Joanna clamped her teeth so hard it made her cheek hurt. Never.

Mahamet sighed. He bowed again and backed out of the room, leaving the door open. Akbar returned with an odd contraption with several long tubes sticking out of it. He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. "I am sorry, Vali Ahad Zevcesi. You have given us no choice."

He used a stick lit from a lantern to put fire to a small bowl on the side of the etched brass vase-like thing. A sweet curl of smoke rose lazily from what she now realized was some sort of pipe. Akbar drew a mouthful and blew it straight at Joanna’s face. She scrambled to the furthest corner and hid her nose and mouth in her hands, tied at the wrist.

Nooo. Please…no. A strange dizziness swirled in her brain. She didn’t know if it was from holding her breath or the effects of whatever he was forcing her to draw in. Strange feelings crept through her limbs, like her muscles turned to jellied aspic. Joanna’s hands fell away. Her head felt too heavy for her neck to hold up.

The tears she’d held back fell freely as a devastating mixture of fear and freedom enveloped her.

She became peripherally aware of the two men and a young girl stripping her clothes off, placing her in a warm bath. Joanna tried to open her eyes, but it took entirely too much effort. She ineffectually slapped the hands away intimately washing her. Drifting in and out of awareness, she knew they had succeeded in bending her will to theirs. What they planned to do to her she had no clue and really didn’t care.

Yellowish-orange light penetrated the backs of Joanna’s eyelids. It took monumental effort to lift her lashes. Her gaze landed first on the white-washed wooden ceiling. It wasn’t in the least familiar. At whose house had she slept? She didn’t recall leaving home. Joanna wrinkled her brow at the bizarre sleep she’d had. What on earth would make her dream her step-brother had sold her into a Turkish harem?

The smell of coffee permeated her senses, and though she wasn’t fond of the brew, her mouth was so dry she’d happily chug it. The clinking of china turned her head. She attempted to sit up, but her hands were stretched above her head and tied to the bedposts. Dread filled her. She yanked on the pieces of blue silk holding her fast.

Joanna squeezed her eyes shut, praying in earnest for the nightmare to end. Please, please, please, let this all just be a bad dream.

"Good morning, Vali Ahad Zevcesi." She knew that soft voice dripping with honey all too well.

No. She shook her head in denial. This couldn’t be real.

I will untie you if you promise not to fight or destroy everything in the cabin. No trying to escape.

The man looked and sounded pretty bloody real to her. What was she going to do? There had to be a way to gain her freedom. Lizbeth would be sick with worry and fear. Robert, as a viscount, could surely petition the king to demand her return, but how would they even know what had happened to her? How would Horace explain her absence when her sister arrived to take her to their modiste as planned today?

"Vali Ahad Zevcesi…"

Joanna turned her jaundiced gaze to Akbar. She had no choice but to acquiesce lest he drug her again. Part of her wanted those feelings coursing through her veins once more. She’d never been so free and contented in her life. But that was exactly what they wanted. Her docile and incapable of defending her right to control what happened to her own body.

I will not fight or destroy everything, I promise. She forced a fake tear to slip down her temple to prove they had subdued her.

He wore a white turban wrapped about his head. A billowing