He’d said he had no harem, but he might have a wife.
‘Jasim?’
He was busily spooning rice and chicken on to a plate and looked up. ‘Hmmm?’
Uncertainly, Zorahaida twisted a strand of her hair. She was well versed with what went on inside the Alhambra, other households might be different.
‘There is something I meant to ask you earlier.’
Plate in hand, he came back to the bed and the mattress dipped as he sat on the edge. ‘Go on.’
‘Men of our faith are permitted more than one wife. Do you have other wives?’
He was filling a spoon with the chicken, and his eyebrows lifted. ‘Other wives? Why do you ask?’
Zorahaida felt some of her joy ebb away. Of course he was already married. He might claim to be relatively inexperienced, but a man who knew his way about a woman’s body as well as Jasim was bound to be married. She shrugged, as though the matter was of little import. ‘I was curious, that is all.’
He held out the spoon to her and she allowed him to feed her. When he said nothing more, but kept on feeding her, she eventually held up her hand.
‘Enough, I thank you. Jasim, your other wives...?’
‘My other wives,’ he murmured thoughtfully before breaking into a smile and leaning forward to kiss her cheek. ‘You need have no fear, Zorahaida. You are my princess and as such will outrank all other women.’
Zorahaida swallowed and when he offered her a spoonful of rice, she shook her head. Her appetite had gone.
Jasim was already married. And if life at Madinat Runda was anything like life in the palace she dreaded going there. The intrigues and jealousies between women in a harem were as dark and bitter as the intrigues between her father and uncle.
Jasim was a kind man. He was. He would never be cruel.
Aware of a sudden melancholy, she studied his profile, terribly afraid that kindness on its own meant little. After all, her father had, on many occasions, been kind to her. He overwhelmed her with gifts. He called her his dove. Yet not once had she felt any sense of intimacy with him. Her father’s kindnesses were based on calculation.
She caught her breath. She wanted more than kindness based on calculation from her husband. She and Jasim had been intimate physically, and pleasurable though it had been, she felt as alone as ever.
She wanted more than physical intimacy with Jasim, she wanted a genuine meeting of souls. Was that possible?
* * *
As one day slipped into another, Jasim grew increasingly frustrated. Not physically, there he had no complaints. Each night, he and the Princess came together in a blaze of passion. Zorahaida was the perfect bedmate. Her sensuality amazed him. At night, she was pure delight.
By day, it was another matter. The Princess was too busy to talk to him. She spent hours with her maidservants. Jasim even saw her by one of the bathhouses, talking earnestly to Captain Yusuf ibn Safwan. At his approach, they fell silent. Every blessed time. If Jasim hadn’t known from their wedding day that the Princess had come to him untouched, he might conclude that she and the Captain were indulging in an affair.
Even so, Jasim found himself asking Farid to make a few discreet enquiries. He was startled by the rush of relief when Farid informed him that Captain Yusuf ibn Safwan was happily married, his loyalty to the Princess was purely professional. Thank God.
So why the delays? Each day his wife tested his patience by conjuring a new reason for putting off their departure. Why? Theirs wasn’t a love match, Jasim had no illusions on that score, though he was reasonably certain she liked him. Surely no woman could be so relaxed in bed with a man she didn’t like. Was she afraid she would miss her father? The man had abused her, he was a tyrant. Jasim had assumed she’d be eager to get away, and he’d assured her that she would have more freedom at Madinat Runda. He’d told her that Mondragón Palace, where he lodged with his uncle, was scarcely a hovel. What was the problem?
The Sultan had to be at the root of her reluctance to leave. The human mind was a strange and complicated thing and Zorahaida’s relationship with her father was bound to be conflicted. Jasim recalled his uncle telling a story about a slave in Madinat Runda who had won his freedom. The slave left his master’s house a free man, only to crawl back a few months later, weeping and tearing at his clothes. He’d begged to be taken in, on any terms. He was prepared to work as a servant and, yes, even as a slave. The poor wretch had been part of the household so long; it had become his home. He’d been desperate to return, under any terms.
Well, that wasn’t going to be Zorahaida’s fate, Jasim wouldn’t allow it. When women married, they left their families behind them, irrespective of whether they loved them or loathed them. Nor did it matter what they thought of their husbands. It was the way of the world that women went to live with their husbands.
God had seen fit to give him Zorahaida for his wife. Come what may, she was going to share an apartment with him in Mondragón Palace.
None the less, Jasim was all too conscious that their budding relationship was fragile. He didn’t want to begin his marriage with an argument. He would have to be patient. His wife was a sensual woman, and if he kept that part of her nature satisfied, all should be well. He’d give her another week, though he would warn her their departure would be soon.
* * *
That night, after they had made love, Zorahaida was lying softly in his arms, as she did every night. Her bruises were fading, she was growing more beautiful by the day. He wound a dark strand of perfumed hair round his finger and gazed up at the light flickering over the lacy plasterwork ceiling.
‘My love, we have been married almost a sennight. Are you ready to leave?’
It was impossible to miss the way her body stiffened.
‘Soon, my husband.’ She lifted her head and long-lashed eyes sought his. ‘My clothes, you understand. One or two garments need final adjustments.’
‘We have seamstresses at Mondragón Palace.’
She smiled and lifted herself on her elbow. ‘I am sure you do.’
‘They will be delighted to help.’
She pressed a kiss to Jasim’s chest, and her hair swept across him in a way that never failed to awaken his baser instincts. ‘My father has also promised me a jewelled girdle from a goldsmith in Granada. It is not yet finished.’
Her comment gave Jasim pause. He held back a frown, he hadn’t thought Zorahaida was a woman to place much importance on new clothes and jewelled belts. Then she ran those careful, knowing hands up and down his flanks, a quiet, seductive smile on her lips. She was trying to distract him. He was ruefully aware that she was succeeding. He gritted his teeth against a troublesome surge of desire and pressed on.
‘Madinat Runda has plenty of goldsmiths,’ he said. ‘It is not a wasteland. When we get there, you may have as many jewelled girdles as you wish. If it pleases you, you may design them yourself.’
‘You are generous, my husband.’
Zorahaida’s voice was pure seduction and her hand—her hand moved inexorably, tantalisingly, lower. Then clever fingers closed firmly around him and Jasim’s mind clouded. The subject wasn’t closed, he told himself, surrendering to pleasure. They would discuss it on the morrow.
* * *
Late the following afternoon, Zorahaida and Sama were alone in the bathhouse. As Zorahaida emerged from the water, Sama reached for a drying cloth and began patting her dry.
Zorahaida shook her head and wrapped the cloth firmly about her. ‘Thank you. Sama, but we have important matters to discuss. I shall dress presently. Come, sit beside me.’
She went to the couch at the side of the bathing pool and Sama, who over the years had listened to countless confidences and helped make many plans, took her place beside her.
‘Sama, I hope you know how much I value your counsel.’
Sama dipped her head. ‘
You are kind, Princess, it is my pleasure to serve you.’
Zorahaida gave a crooked smile. ‘I hope it is more than that. Sama, I count you as the dearest of friends.’
Sama’s face lit up. ‘I am honoured. I feel the same.’
Zorahaida hesitated. ‘You must also be aware that I would love you to come with me to Mondragón Palace, but I fear that will not be possible. I need you in the Alhambra, to keep an eye on my father.’
Blinking rapidly, Sama looked swiftly away. ‘I understand,’ she murmured in a choked voice.
‘Sama, I am sorry if my decision comes as a shock.’ Zorahaida reached for Sama’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I would give anything to have you with me, but I can’t risk it. I trust you more than anyone.’
‘And that is why I must stay?’
‘Exactly.’
Sama gave her a puzzled frown. ‘Princess, when you told me that Prince Ghalib witnessed your wedding, I hoped that meant that he and your father...’
‘You think they are reconciled?’ Zorahaida thought of the pink rose and the jewel box her uncle had sent her and shook her head. ‘That is far from true. I suspect my uncle attended to support me, rather than my father. Believe me, the rivalry between them has never been so keen.’
‘You fear more violence?’
‘After what happened to Yamina, I’d say it was a certainty.’ Zorahaida stared blindly at the couch on the other side of the pool. ‘Sama, my husband is impatient to go. I shall take a basket of Imad’s pigeons with me so that I may contact you. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to reply until I have smuggled a basket of Madinat Runda pigeons back to Granada. Yusuf knows my mind on this, he will alert our sentries to allow the Madinat Runda pigeons into the palace.’
Sama nodded. ‘So you and I will use the same method of communication that you have been using with your sisters?’
‘Exactly. When the pigeons from Madinat Runda arrive, please give them to Imad. He will look after them until you need to send me a message. The instant anything goes awry, I’d like to know. I am not sure what I shall be able to do from Mondragón Palace, but I would like to be informed.’
‘Very well.’ Sama frowned and looked her squarely in the eye. ‘Princess, your husband appears to be most understanding, will you tell him—’
‘No.’ Aware she had spoken sharply, Zorahaida moderated her tone. ‘I hardly know him. Later, perhaps, when Jasim and I are no longer strangers.’
‘I understand.’ Sama smiled in her calm way and reached for the box of perfumed massage oils. ‘Come, my Princess. Let us make you ready to greet your husband when he returns to the tower.’
Zorahaida gave Sama’s hand a grateful squeeze. ‘Thank you, my friend.’
* * *
The light had gone, the lamps were lit and there was no sign of Jasim. It was the first time he hadn’t appeared for the evening meal. Zorahaida put her hand on a covered dish. He was so late it was barely warm.
‘My husband is usually here long before this,’ she said, her heart twisting. ‘Maura, do you know where he is?’
‘I am afraid not, Princess.’
Had Jasim tired of playing the ardent suitor? As Zorahaida had told Sama earlier, she hardly knew him. What she hadn’t said was that she longed to know him better. True intimacy must be more than the meeting of two bodies in bed. Had the warmth she had felt been a mirage? Over the past few nights she had begun to wish that one day she and Jasim might share more than physical pleasure.
It was a wish that was taking her into dangerous territory. She wanted Jasim to want her not for political reasons, nor because he found her physically attractive. She wanted him to want her for herself.
If only she didn’t think this way. It was confusing and upsetting and, worst of all, it gave him far too much power. As her husband, he already had power over her person. She would not grant him power over her soul. The problem was she liked him. More than liked him.
A door slammed downstairs and Zorahaida and Maura exchanged glances.
‘Princess?’ Farid called up the stairs. His voice was tight and anxious. ‘Princess, come quickly!’
Zorahaida and Maura flew down the stairs.
Jasim was slumped against the wall by the door. Zorahaida’s breath froze. His face was pale as death and his skin was bathed in sweat.
She reached his side as he lifted his head. His eyes were glassy, he didn’t seem to know her.
‘Farid, what happened?’
‘We were in the barracks, Princess,’ Farid said, even as Jasim began to slide to the floor.
Hastily, the boy put his shoulder beneath his master’s to prop him up. Zorahaida moved to help, and she and Farid edged Jasim to the foot of the stairs. She caught a distinct whiff of wine and her nose wrinkled.
‘Is he drunk?’
They struggled up the first flight of stairs.
‘I doubt it, Princess. The master never over-imbibes.’
‘That is something to be thankful for.’ Jasim’s face was unnaturally pale. It made no sense. ‘He must have eaten something that has disagreed with him. Of late it’s been very warm; the food could have gone bad.’
Farid shook his head. ‘We ate from the same dish. I don’t think it’s that.’
‘Well, it is most odd, he looks as though he’s drunk himself into a stupor.’
Somehow, they manhandled Jasim up to the bedchamber and on to the bed. He lay there groaning, a hand to his belly. Zorahaida picked up his wrist to take his pulse. She was no doctor, but she’d learned a little on her visits to the infirmary and Jasim’s pulse was so weak, she could hardly feel it. Heart in her mouth, she pressed her fingers to his neck and got the same result. He was very sick.
‘Farid, how is this possible? He was strong as an ox this morning.’
Farid looked at her, eyes stricken. ‘I know. Princess, it is most unusual. My master never gets sick.’
He never gets sick.
Zorahaida removed her husband’s headdress and was horrified to find it drenched with sweat. The way he was groaning cut her to her core. He was writhing in pain. What could it be?
‘He was well earlier,’ she muttered, heart cramping as she remembered the way his gaze had softened as he’d bidden her farewell. ‘Come, Farid, help me with his clothes.’
All at once, it was as though her father the Sultan was in her bedchamber, for she heard his voice in her head, repeating what he’d said immediately after the marriage ceremony. He had pinched her chin, and said, ‘Not ready to leave me, Daughter?’
Ideas crowded in on her, grim ideas that pushed all others aside. After the marriage ceremony, Sama had been shocked when Jasim and his squire had moved into the tower. It had been unusual, though Zorahaida hadn’t questioned the change of lodgings. She’d been too busy wondering what it would be like to bed a stranger.
Why had her father suggested the move? The tower was some distance from the other residences; the harems were reached by walking through orange groves and along myrtle-lined pathways, and it was even further to her father’s apartments. As for the palace guest houses, they were close to the barracks, at the other side of the grounds.
Had the Sultan sanctioned Jasim moving into the tower because of its isolation? Had murder been on her father’s mind, even during the marriage ceremony?
If so, her father might have decided the tower was the best place to house him. At the edge of the palace grounds, there would be few, if any, witnesses should anything untoward happen.
My master never gets sick.
The Sultan had encouraged Jasim to move into her tower because he never intended him to return to the west. Zorahaida’s throat dried, she didn’t want to believe it, but the image of little Yamina sinking beneath the water lilies was clear in her mind, and even now she could feel the imprint of her father’s hand on her face.
Her fa
ther was a violent man. Had he ordered Jasim poisoned?
‘Poison,’ she whispered. Jasim had been poisoned.
Maura let out a keening sound.
‘Maura, you don’t think Father—?’
‘Don’t say it, Princess,’ Maura said. ‘Don’t even think it.’
Zorahaida couldn’t think of anything else. The Sultan hadn’t wanted her marriage, he’d only agreed to it because the entire court had witnessed him declaring that the overall champion could take the best gem in his collection for his prize. Zorahaida’s marriage had been forced on him and there was nothing the Sultan disliked more than to be forced into anything.
‘There is no proof,’ she murmured. And then she realised that proof was irrelevant. All that mattered was Jasim. ‘Jasim must not die. We have to leave. Farid, am I right in thinking that the Spanish party set out for Castile this morning?’
‘I believe they did.’
Aghast, she closed her eyes. Her father had been eager to impress the Spanish. Their presence at court must have stayed his hand. That was why he had chosen this moment to strike. This was her fault. If she hadn’t delayed their departure, Jasim would be safely on his way to Mondragón Palace.
Zorahaida clenched her jaw. Her father was not going to kill Jasim. They must escape, and for that to happen, Jasim needed a little doctoring.
‘Maura, I need you to go to my uncle’s harem. Ask for Naima, she is a gifted herbalist.’
Maura’s eyebrows rose. ‘Wouldn’t the palace doctor be better?’
‘No! Maura, we have to be discreet. The doctor would go straight to Father. Besides, Naima is extremely knowledgeable.’
Laying her hand on Jasim’s brow, Zorahaida frowned. He was hotter than before, and his eyes were glazed. He looked to be losing consciousness. She felt his wrist; his pulse was frighteningly uneven. The poison had to be expelled.
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