Seringapatam, India. 1802.

Major John Stokes was busy with a big, old clock that the Mysore Rajah had given him the previous day. Nice young man the Rajah. England had helped him to get rid of the Tippoo and instead of then invading India they had allowed him to return to his throne. That's why he was always nice to the British lodging in Seringapatam. It wasn't the first time the Rajah had given him one of those clocks, but usually he only had to repair them.

He was still checking the internal mechanism when Sergeant Sharpe entered the armoury.

"The Rajah asked to see you, Sergeant," he said, giving him a half smile. Stokes was always smiling. He wasn't one of those officers who thought it degrading to talk to the tall soldier merely because he could scarcely read and was considered "coarse".

On the contrary, he liked Sharpe and he trusted him. Even if he was curious about that invitation, he didn't want to ask Sharpe about it. It was none of his business anyway, he had to think about his new clock.

Since the Tippoo had been killed, there were bets about who could've achieved that goal. Sure thing was that the soldier should've been mad to admit it. The Tippoo was a rich man, and he loved jewels and gems. The man who'd been able to kill him should be rich by now.

It was common to loot the dead soldiers once the battle was over, and only a fool would admit that he had pearls, rubies and diamonds with him: the East India Company would immediately confiscate it all.

Yet there were soldiers who swore they'd seen Richard Sharpe next to where Tippoo had been killed. Obviously the Sergeant denied it, saying that he'd always been with Lieutenant Lawford, who confirmed his version, even if he blushed every time he had to talk about it. Odd.

Sharpe was nervous. He'd seen the young Rajah only a couple of times, and he remembered thinking that he really seemed kingly in his poise. It was as if the young man was born to be a leader, even after the Tippoo had usurped his throne.

Resisting the urge to walk back to the armoury and to the comforting presence of Major Stokes, Richard Sharpe was waiting for the Rajah in a room he'd seen years before. From the balcony at his right, the Tippoo loved to watch his tigers slaying prisoners or innocent Hindus pursued because of their religion. Not to mention the horrid show of his jettis killing people with their bare hands. That was the room where Sharpe had been tortured while Lawford was watching. They had beaten him on his back, reopening the wounds of his flogging. In the end, Lawford had confessed that they were English spies, only to avoid witnessing those brutes torturing the man he admired.

He was brought back to reality when someone stepped in the room.

Sharpe had been forced to leave his musket and any other "dangerous" object outside: the Rajah wanted to be alone with him and they wanted to be sure that he couldn't do any harm to their leader.

The Rajah was quite young. Sharpe judged from his appearance that he couldn't be older than seventeen. Just like the Tippoo, he was wearing expensive clothes and on his hands there were rings with emeralds and rubies.

"Good morning Sergeant Sharpe" he smiled politely, his voice low and controlled. "Would you like to have a seat ?"

Showing a self assurance he wasn't really feeling, the tall Sergeant lightly bowed his head, thanking him for his offer and sitting down on one of the large cushions scattered here and there on the marble floor.

Forgetting about his rank, the Rajah sat in front of him, a knowing smile on his lips.

"I know you killed the Tippoo" he said quietly, immediately raising one of his hands in an imperious gesture to keep Sharpe from replying. "You don't need to deny it, as I don't want your jewels" the Rajah reassured him, pleased to notice that his last words had helped him to relax a little bit. "I only want to thank you for what you did, and to do this, I'll give you a gift".

As soon as Sharpe nodded, his eyes still veiled with suspicion, the Rajah clapped his hands twice, and his servants opened the doors, escorting a woman inside, then vanishing again when their leader nodded.

Long, black hair framed a lovely face and hung over her shoulders. Her skin wasn't as dark as that of a common bibbi: she seemed more like a white woman who's skin was tanned. She had beautiful eyes of a deep brown colour and full lips curved in a half smile.

Unlikely any other Indian woman Sharpe had seen, she wasn't wearing a sari. A long stripe of golden cloth had been wrapped on her upper body, concealing her breasts and also enveloping her neck. A bizarre skirt left her belly and most of her legs uncovered, and a little, golden chain was fastened to her waist. It had a ruby right on her belly button. Sharpe had to look down to her feet enveloped in soft slippers because his body was already reacting to such a sight.

Misunderstanding his reaction, the Rajah thought he had offended the Sergeant, and he hurried himself to explain. "Her name is Amina and she'll take care of you".

Sharpe opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it again. Never in his life he'd been given a gift, and now that young man was offering him the most wonderful creature he'd ever seen. He didn't need to go to Lali's pleasure house anymore now. The Rajah had given him Amina, who, at first sight, seemed attractive, sexy, enticing and in some way "wild".

Sharpe was also well aware of the fact that he had probably to say something, but he was too proud and sheepish, and probably his mind wasn't working properly: he was trying not to seem dumb or stupid.

"I know that you Catholics don't approve such things but I can assure you that she is willing to do it!" the younger man continued. The longer the English soldier was silent, the more worried he became. The Rajah wasn't waiting for such a reaction, and a sure thing was that he didn't mean to offend Sharpe. "She can speak English, and she'll behave. Her father was Indian, leader of a little tribe. He bought her mother, a white slave, and they had Amina. She was kidnapped by the Tippoo when his men invaded her village. He killed her parents and she's been forced to be part of his harem. Amina has been freed thanks to you, Sharpe. She won't try escape..."

Sergeant Sharpe had been listening to her story, all the while looking right in her eyes. Much to his delight, she never averted her gaze.

Only after some moments, he lightly bowed his head, focusing his attention on the Rajah.

"Thank you, Sir," he said.

Simple, concise. He'd learned how to behave with his superiors a long time ago. Never say too much. Bite your tongue when you're about to give them saucy remarks.

"Well," the Rajah smiled, standing up, imitated by Sharpe. "She's yours, then. I gave her some money, she'll be able to pay for her clothes and food. You don't need to worry about it. And your secret will be always safe with me. Not a word will ever escape my lips".

The way home was strangely quiet, as Sharpe needed to think. Or at least that's what he wanted Amina to believe. In fact he was watching her closely, admiring her lithe body and even the way she walked.

The Sergeant had rented a couple of rooms with the money he'd obtained by selling some little diamonds to a merchant. It wasn't much: a kitchen, a bedroom with a huge bed and a bathroom. There was also a tub, but he seldom used it because he had to warm the water in the kitchen and then carry it to the bathroom. Since the tub was quite large, it took him too long to have a bath and he'd soon grown tired of it.

As soon as they entered the kitchen, Sharpe gallantly helped Amina with her chair, then he sat in front of her. He only had arrak or water, and no food at all. To be honest, he didn't spend much time at home. He was always working with Major Stokes, or out in some tavern or to Lali's.

"Do you want me to clean the house, Sahib?" Amina asked him in a perfect English, making him smile.

"Don't call me that" was his reply, as he leaned forward -- towards her, with his elbows on the table. "I am Richard Sharpe. Just call me Dick".

Smiling back to him, the woman nodded. Yet Sharpe hadn't missed the mischievous light blazing in her eyes. A mean little thing she was. And the best part of it was that he liked it.

"Do you want me to clean the house, Dick?"

"I want you to tell me what you think of all this, Amina" he said, a little grin now replacing the smile.

"What do I think about what?" was her reply, matched with a little smirk.

"The fact that... you're mine. That he gave you to me. I won't keep you here against your will, lass". Sharpe was still smiling, but his words spoke the truth. Not once in his life he'd raped. Not once he'd had a slave. He won't start right now, no matter if the Rajah could be offended.

"You saved me" she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The Tippoo killed my family, and I've been forced to be part of his harem, otherwise he said he'd have one of his jettis kill me. The Rajah is very young and inexperienced, and he doesn't know what to do with us. He never touched me, and then he just gave me to you. I've been lucky, from what I've seen you seem to be a good man."

Embarrassed by such a compliment coming from a charming woman, Sharpe cleared his throat and looked away. No, he decided, she's not unwilling and I'm just a really lucky bastard.

Sharpe was well aware that he should probably feel guilty by thinking of Mary, his ex lover who had married a Hindu the previous year. The Sergeant had asked for her hand, and she accepted. He thought he was in love, but when they'd been apart, he noticed that not once he'd missed her. On the contrary, he'd spent almost every night with Lali, an expensive whore meant for the officers.
When Mary had dumped him without second thoughts, Sharpe hadn't been hurt: it wasn't love, and it'd have been wrong to marry her.

"Don't be so troubled, Dick" she murmured at his ear, and he had to close his eyes, relishing the feeling of her hot breath against his neck. He wasn't troubled, only lost in thought, as often happened to him.

Breath caught in his throat when he opened his eyes: she was dancing right in front of him. The cheeky expression still on her face. Eyes fixed on his.

Good God, she was liking it almost as much as he was enjoying watching her. And she was beautiful. A fine work of art, as Major Stokes would've said.

Amina was moving her hips following an imaginary rhythm. The pelvic movement seemed to affect Sharpe, because to her, Dick seemed like a wild, untamed stallion. He was sitting without moving a single muscle, his eyes glued to her body. From where she was, the woman could see the prominent bulge pressing against the threadbare fabric of his pants. Sharpe was already panting, it was clear that he was fighting an inner battle: should he follow his instinct, or should he behave like a gentleman?

Some indeterminable moments later, Sharpe jumped on his feet, letting the chair fell down on the floor with a loud thump. Then he grabbed Amina's shoulders, decidedly yet not too roughly, and he pressed his lips to hers. Nibbling, biting and licking, his tongue slipping into her mouth. He thought he'd even growled softly as he relished her sweet taste but he wasn't too sure of it.

Always follow your instinct, buddy.

As abruptly as he'd started, Sharpe retreated, still holding her by the shoulders. Just a quick glance and then he turned Amina with her back to him, urging her to rest her hands on the kitchen table.

The woman was grateful for that support when he started to undo the lacings that held her corset in place. When he'd finished, the garment was carelessly abandoned on the floor, and his hands cupped her bare breasts, squeezing and kneading and pinching her nipples hard.

His eager mouth was feasting over her back and neck: when she moaned, Sharpe unintentionally bit her hard. The wicked creature had pushed her hips back and was now brushing her enticing backside against his groin.

Releasing her breasts, Sharpe brought his hands to the hem of her skirt. Seemingly trying to open it. Yet, much to her surprise and delight, Sharpe just ripped it off her. He then hurried to throw his jacket and shirt away and then he opened his pants, letting them slip down onto his boots. There was no time to take them off: he needed her. Now.

Amina wanted him, too, judging from Sharpe's hand busy caressing her sex. She was dripping wet.

A shiver ran through his body when he positioned his shaft at her entrance, yet he didn't push himself forward. Not yet.

"Not wise to challenge me, lass" he murmured at her ear, his voice hoarse and his breathing already laboured. "Not wise".

And then just to teach her a lesson, he pushed himself all the way in with quite a bit of impact. Stifling a growl on the damp skin of her neck.

"Please" she begged him after a few moments, trembling and trying to rock her hips back and forth. But the tall soldier was unmoving, and he even grabbed her waist to still her movements, a grin on his face.

But he wasn’t heartless, was he?

"Your wish is my command," he answered playfully, and he gave her another hard thrust, stopping right after.

By then, he was struggling to keep quiet, trying to make it last. On his back, a thin veil of sweat covered the intricate web of scars left by the over 200 lashes he'd received years before. Amina was the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the chance to see. He had to demonstrate it to her all night long, thus, he started to thrust hard into her body, his hands pinching her nipples and his mouth busy with her earlobes and neck. Amina's position allowed her clitoris to brush against the wooden table, and by then she was loudly moaning and murmuring incoherent phrases in her native tongue.

Sharpe didn't need to understand her words: her tone was enough. Increasing his pace even more, he called her name as if needing something real to cling to.

The climax hit her hard, and Amina actually screamed in pleasure, her inner muscles clenching around Sharpe's shaft.

Right before he started to come inside of her, the Sergeant retreated, spraying his semen all over her back and on her buttocks, softly cursing against her skin.

"It's not over, lass. Not yet" he murmured as soon as he'd regained his breath. And Amina shivered again.

**************************************************

"That bastard...son of a bitch!" Sharpe roared, storming in the house and slamming the door at his back.

"Who?" Amina asked, stepping out of the bathroom, not at all impressed by such an outburst. She was used to his ways by then.
"Obadiah Hakeswill!" was his heated reply. "I should've killed him when I had the chance to do it! Those damned tigers weren't hungry and the bastard went to Colonel McCandless to tell him that I locked him in the tigers cage!"

"But he never listened to him, and now you're a Sergeant" Amina said in a conciliatory tone, gently guiding him towards the bathroom. Quite strangely, Sharpe felt at ease with her, and he'd told her all the truth about his mission with Captain Lawford in Seringapatam.

She undressed him, trying to ignore the curses and threats he was still muttering only thinking of Hakeswill, and she even helped him to enter the tub. The water was warm and her soft hands massaging his muscles washed away all the tension and worries. Of course Hakeswill was still in the back of his mind, but right now Sharpe preferred to think about something else. After all, the bastard had done nothing wrong, yet. He'd just seen him in Seringapatam, and the need to wrap his hands around his throat and strangle him for all the hurt and suffering he'd caused had been almost overwhelming. Amina was always saying that Hakeswill could do him nothing at all if he worked hard with Major Stokes, yet he couldn't help but get angry whenever he had the misfortune to meet his old Serjeant.

Amina... she'd been with him for some months now, and Sharpe was well aware that many soldiers, maybe even some officers, envied him because he had her by his side. Such a lovely creature was a prized possession, but Sharpe never treated her like a trophy. She could leave whenever she wanted, as they'd been talking about it more than once, but Amina always answered that she was glad to stay with him.

Since she'd arrived, his place was always tidy and clean. When he returned home, he could always smell the delicious scent of food coming from the kitchen. Every night he had a bath, because she took care of warming the water and helped him to wash himself, even if at the beginning he had tried to dissuade her by saying that he was able to do it by himself.

She was a passionate lover, a wise counsellor and a good friend to him. Even Major Stokes said that she had a good influence on him.

It was a hot summer night, and after the bath and a dinner consisting of a succulent steak with potatoes, Sharpe stepped out on the balcony. Amina had prepared a couple of mats and some perfumed candles, which kept flies and insects away. The soldier leaned down, clad only in a pair of old trousers. He loved to watch the stars. The sky was a mystery to him, he knew it was the key, he knew there must be some sort of supreme answer in it, but he was still trying to understand what were they trying to tell him.

When he was but a child, he often wandered with his gaze up to the sky. And inescapably his tutors at the orphanage were there to whip him hard to remind him that he had to work. They didn't want him to waste his time by looking up to the sky.

Now that he was a grown man he just wanted to become an officer. He craved to return to Brewhouse Lane with a brand new uniform, a lot of money in his pocket and a wonderful woman by his side.

"Major Sharpe" he softly muttered to himself. Sounded good. It would be perfect. Absolutely perfect. The bastards would call him "Sir" and they would fall on their knees to beg him to have some pity. Perfect.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Amina murmured at his back, nodding towards the stars and leaning down with him, her head resting on his chest.

Sharpe blushed lightly, grateful for the darkness, which concealed that sign of weakness. He didn't know if she'd heard him, but he didn't feel like sharing that dream with her. It was like some sort of a spell, which helped him to go on and fight hard. He knew it could never happen, yet he felt that if he should ever voice it, its "power" would vanish.

As if reading his thoughts, the woman asked nothing at all. She just remained there with him, hugging and touching him tenderly.

Sharpe had to smile now.

Maybe he was falling in love again.