Silver Angel

by Johanna Lindsey

  Rahine had to rush now to Jamil's apartment, but she had wanted to tell Shahar of the trip herself. She had hoped it would cheer the girl up, the honor of being chosen to accompany the Dey, but apparently it hadn't. At least Shahar had listened this time about Mara. She was intelligent. She wouldn't continue to blame Jamil for Mara's sickness. But she was stubborn, too. For too long she had been the one and only tavorite. The jealousy she had tried to deny was going to fester for a while. And if Jamil grows impatient with her and makes use of Jamila on the ship, that jealousy will magnify, she thought.

  She should mention it to Jamil. She was still thinking about it when she arrived and found him alone in the room. That was unusual. He usually had a half-dozen attendants at hand. But her being here was unusual as well. He hadn't summoned her to his rooms in years. She couldn't even begin to think of a reason for it now, and so hadn't tried to, afraid whatever it was wasn't going to be good.

  To put it off, she went right to the subject that might distract him. "I just came from seeing Shahar to tell her of the trip."

  "How did she take the news?"

  "She knows Jamila is going, too."

  Derek laughed. "So she didn't take it well. No matter, Mother, she will have other things to get in a snit over once we sail."

  There was that heart-stopping "Mother" again. Rahine was so unnerved at hearing it that she almost missed the fact that Jamil was speaking in English. For her benefit? Not likely. He rarely used English except with foreign diplomats who spoke nothing else, the reason being he didn't speak it very well—or at least he didn't used to speak it well. He had obviously mastered the language since the last time she had heard him speak it, when he was a child.

  "Where ... is your destination?" she asked hesitantly. "I haven't been told."

  "To England, and I want you to come with me."

  "I want you to stay, Mother," Jamil said from the garden doorway.

  Rahine looked between the two and said only, "Oh, God," before she started to collapse.

  Derek leaped forward to catch her. "Dammit, Jamil, I thought you were going to give me a few minutes to break it to her gently!"

  "And let you steal her right out from under my nose?" Jamil accused him.

  Derek asked incredulously, "Are we going to fight about this, of all things?"

  "Perhaps," Jamil replied, moving to help Derek get Rahine to the bed. "You don't need her. I do. She keeps peace in my life."

  "Does she know that? Have you ever told her?"

  Jamil answered with anger. "You should have warned me you were going to ask her to return with you. I would never have allowed this meeting."

  "You couldn't have prevented it, Jamil. I never would have left here without seeing her again. The first time didn't count. She thought I was you."

  They got her to the bed, but when Derek tried to stand back, he winced at how tightly Rahine gripped his arm. He glanced down at her to find her emerald eyes fixed on him, wide and shimmering with tears.

  "Kasim—oh, God, Kasim? Is it really—" She looked to Jamil on her other side, then back to Derek. "It is," she said with a catch in her voice. "Oh, God, it really is."

  Derek sat down beside her, putting his arm around her. "You're not supposed to cry about it, Mother."

  In response her crying became quite noisy. She hid her face in her hands, ashamed to have lost control like this, only to cry even louder when Derek wrapped his arms around her.

  "Mother, please don't do this. I thought you would be happy to see me."

  "I am!" she wailed.

  The two brothers exchanged a look of mutual helplessness. Typical of their gender, they could deal with almost any situation—except this one.

  "Can we get you something?" Derek asked gently. "Brandy? Kanyak?"

  "She doesn't drink spirits," Jamil answered for her.

  "How would you know?" Derek snapped back with impatience. "Just because you don't—"

  "You mustn't fight," Rahine interrupted, pushing herself away from Derek's chest. "Brothers must never fight."

  "Were we fighting, Jamil?" Derek grinned.

  "Not at all," Jamil replied with the same grin.

  Rahine tried for an expression of disapproval but couldn't quite manage it. She still doubted her faculties, her sight, her hearing. Kasim here? Jamil showing concern and saying he needed her? Again she looked from one to the other. So identical. So beloved. Her heart felt as if it would burst, it was so full of emotion.

  She swiped impatiently at her tears, then wet Derek's cheek with her fingertips the next moment. "Why? When?"

  "For some time now," he replied, "so Jamil could safely search for Selim without an assassin turning up at every corner. Of course we didn't know it was a pointless endeavor."

  "No, you couldn't know he was already ... Then it was you—ever since—" She tried to think back, but so many things were whirling through her mind, it wasn't easy. "Ever since Shahar was bought . . . no, since you first summoned her. That was when you began acting differently. And I never guessed."

  "You were not supposed to," Jamil said, bending down in front of her to take her other hand in his. "No one knew except Omar, since it was his idea to bring Kasim here to take my place."

  "You didn't even tell Sheelah?"

  "No, not until I returned last night. I thought of telling you—"

  "We both did," Derek interjected.

  "But in order for the deception to work, it was better if no one's behavior deviated in any way."

  "Except your own." She smiled, squeezing his hand in understanding.

  "Yes, well, my behavior was already unpredictable, and had been for months. Any mistakes Kasim made could be attributed to that unpredictability. But even now no one else is to know that he was here. He doesn't want to be resurrected or called on to succeed me should something happen before my sons reach their manhood."

  There was the potent reminder that tore at Rahine's heart. She turned to Kasim, her eyes brimming with tears again.

  "Your life is . . . tolerable, then?"

  "More than tolerable, Mother." He smiled at her. "It suits me admirably."

  Her throat constricted; she did not know whether to believe him or not. "I—I'm so sorry, Kasim," she whispered brokenly. "I regretted sending you away almost as soon as you were gone. I prayed and prayed that you knew it—somehow sensed it. I never thought I would see you again to tell you."

  "I did know it, always," he assured her. "And I understood once I met your father. I came to love him as much as you did. Of course, he's grown rather dictatorial in his old age."

  She smiled at the humor in her son's eyes. "Has he?"

  "I'm to get married or else, don't you know. He's even sent a ship here to fetch me home. Didn't trust me to find my own way." She laughed as he had intended; then he said tenderly, "I have no regrets, Mother, so you mustn't either."

  "I don't deserve your forgiveness. Jamil never—"

  Derek cut in curtly. "Jamil is a pigheaded fool."

  "No, you mustn't say that—"

  Jamil interrupted this time. "He's right, Mother." Rahine's chest swelled with pain as he suddenly buried his head in her lap and she heard his anguished plea: "Can you forgive me?"

  "Please—Jamil—please don't." She was unable to stop the tears spilling down her cheeks again. She lifted his head to her breast. "I understood your hurt and anger. You two were as one, and yet I severed the cord. I had no right, and I certainly never blamed you for hating me."

  "But I did not—I could not. And when I finally understood that, I resented you for the barrier between us that I had created. I was wrong—"

  "But it's all right now, Jamil, truly."

  Derek broke in at this point, saying crossly, "I suppose this means you won't be returning home with me.

  Rahine had to laugh at his tone. "Come now, Kasim, you didn't really think I would. I don't exist there, any more than you do here. Surely I am assumed dead after all these years."

  "The
re was mention of it to account for your long absence," he was forced to admit.

  "There, you see. We have both made different lives for ourselves that are all we want now.''

  "You could make a new life, assume a new identity—see your father again."

  "That's unfair," she scolded gently. "He has you now. He doesn't need me. But Jamil does."

  "Stop arguing with her, Kasim," Jamil snapped irritably. "She's staying."

  Derek gave in gracefully, knowing when he was outnumbered. "Just see that she knows she's appreciated from now on, brother, or I'll take a leaf from the Marquis's book and send a ship back here for her."

  Jamil snorted in response, but later was to assure Derek that Rahine would never want for anything again, emotionally or otherwise.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chantelle lasted several weeks before the boredom got to her. She had thought this voyage would be different from her sea journey into captivity, but it wasn't, not by much. She was still locked in her cabin, denied the sights and sounds of shipboard activity that could have made the slow passage of time more bearable. The little man who brought her meals was English, probably a slave, and disgustingly cheerful about it. The only other person she saw was Jamil, and it was getting more and more difficult for her to put him off when she was starved for company.

  At least on her first voyage she had had Hakeem drilling her with information nearly every waking hour. That and her anxiety for the future hadn't allowed her time to be bored. Now she would even welcome Jamila's company. But they had been parted as soon as they had reached the ship, given separate cabins no doubt so Jamil wouldn't disturb one by visiting the other. And she wasn't about to ask him if she could visit Jamila when she was still barely speaking to him.

  But he was undoubtedly visiting Jamila. Oh, he came by to see Chantelle each evening, but that was no more than courtesy now, for he had stopped trying to talk her out of her pique. What he did after the visit, she had no way of knowing.

  He had changed since they'd set sail. Not only his appearance but his very temperament seemed different. Gone were the robes and tunics she had become used to, even the Turkish pants. He wore lawn shirts an Englishman would envy, and tight buff pants with knee-high boots. All that was missing was a cutaway jacket, but the warm weather could account for its absence.

  She couldn't imagine why he was dressing as a European now, and was too stubborn to ask. His mood change was even more curious, but that, too, she didn't comment on. There were no bursts of anger or frustration over her continued rebuffs. It was as if he were walking on eggshells around her, glad that she had so little to say to him.

  Her dinner arrived right on time as usual, and the little sailor who answered to the name of Peaches was all smiles this evening. "We make port tomorrow for fresh provisions, miss. No sea biscuits and Gundy's 'put anything into it' stew tomorrow night."

  He said this as he set her tray down. Chantelle came forward to note there was a bottle of wine tonight to make the bland fare more palatable. Gundy had stopped providing any variety in the meals a week ago.

  "What's the name of this port we're stopping at, Peaches?"

  "I couldn't pronounce it right even if I tried, miss. It's one of those foreign names. But it's just a little harbor halfway along the coast of Portugal. No place of any importance.''

  Chantelle stared at him incredulously. "Do you mean to say we've actually left the Mediterranean?"

  "Why, that's right, you would’ve missed the Straits, being as we came through in the dead of night. Surprised Sinclair didn't tell you, though."

  "Sinclair?"

  "Why, the gent you're—"

  "If you don't have enough tasks to keep you busy, Peaches," Derek said from the doorway, "perhaps I should have a talk with the captain to rectify that."

  "No need for that, milord. I was just having a little friendly chitchat with the lady."

  "So I heard."

  "Right you are."

  Derek closed the door as soon as Peaches hurried out, then leaned back against it, arms crossed over his chest. Chantelle narrowed her eyes at him.

  "Did my ears just deceive me, or did you speak to him in perfect English, Jamil?"

  "I doubt he would have understood a word of my French."

  "Then you lied to me. You do know English!"

  "Of course," he replied with a careless shrug. "It's Jamil who doesn't speak it, at least not very well."

  "Jamil who doesn't. . . oh, I see. I suppose you've changed identities along with your clothes."

  "Something like that."

  "You could have said something sooner," she replied peevishly. "If you're traveling in secrecy—"

  "Whatever gave you that idea?"

  Her brows drew together suspiciously. "Have you been drinking?"

  "Not at all." He grinned at her.

  "Well, you're not making any sense. If you don't want anyone to know who you are, then this trip must be secret."

  "But it's not, Shahar, and everyone aboard knows who I am. Derek Sinclair, present Earl of Mulbury, at your service."

  "Derek?" The name struck a cord of memory. "Didn't you ask me once to call you . . . wait a minute. I know the name Sinclair. It's the family name of the Marquis of Huntstable, who lives not four miles from my home."

  "My grandfather."

  "Like bloody hell," she snapped. "I'm not a fool, Jamil."

  "Of course you're not. I think your difficulty lies in getting past one simple fact. I'm not Jamil Reshid. I took his place for a while because he needed my help."

  "You're lying again. How could you impersonate someone everyone knows? You would have to be his twin."

  "That did make it easier."

  She could have spit at that point, she was so exasperated. "If you can't be serious, get out! I don't like being toyed with!"

  Derek came away from the door and pulled out a chair at the little table the cabin was equipped with. "Sit down and I'll explain, Shahar. It's time we got this out of the way.''

  She did, and when he had finished, she could only stare at him. "Then you really aren't the Dey of Barikah? You were raised in . . . you're a bloody Englishman?"

  "Yes, if you must put it that way." He was so relieved that she was only surprised, he didn't care what she called him. "You don't mind?"

  "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "I haven't really ... if you aren't Jamil, then you don't own me, do you? In fact, you never did."

  "You were bought for me, Shahar. When I took Jamil's place, his harem was also at my disposal. And since any woman I favored would be married off at his return, you could say he hoped that with a concubine of my own, I wouldn't be tempted by too many of his women, at least those he didn't care to part with. And so I wasn't."

  "Jamila?"

  "I already knew about her before I arrived. I was asked to get her out of Barikah if I could. But because she was one of Jamil's favorite's, there was the chance he wouldn't let her go even if I asked him."

  "So you summoned her to your bed."

  "Actually, I didn't touch her, but I couldn't tell you that at the time. For her to be released, everyone, especially Jamil, had to think she shared my bed."

  "Then you told her who you were?"

  "No. She was rather piqued that she couldn't tempt me. She's a precocious young woman. But I counted on her vanity to keep her from telling anyone that all I wanted was to play chess with her. And she didn't."

  Chantelle frowned as another thought occurred to her. "Just when did you change places with your brother?"

  Derek grinned, reading her mind. "The very day I first summoned you."

  "Then . . . that was Jamil who bought me, not you?"

  He nodded. "That was the only time you saw him."

  "Then you didn't ... it was he who . . . and Mara! It wasn't you!" She shot out of the chair to throw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad! I could never reconcile myself to the cruelty you—he displayed. I couldn't understand how I could—"<
br />
  When she lowered her eyes without finishing, he prompted, "Don't stop there. Could what?"

  "Never mind," she evaded. "What about Sheelah? I haven't forgotten that you—"

  "Not me, Shahar. That was the day Jamil returned, and he went straight to his wife. He does love her, you know."