The couch itself was a square set upon a gilded dais. It had a large feather and down mattress, and was covered in turquoise-and-gold-striped silk. There were wonderful large pillows, both plain and embroidered in several shades of rose, upon the couch. The room also had some nicely designed carved chairs, and two brass tray tables, one large, one small, as well as both hanging and portable lamps in ruby glass, brass, and copper.
As Zada returned she was preceded by several eunuchs who brought in Skye’s beautifully fitted trunks and, at Zada’s instructions, set them about the room.
All the eunuchs but one departed, and Zada introduced the one. “This is Min’da, your personal eunuch, my lady Muna. You see, I told you that you were important to our lord Kedar,” she finished smugly.
Skye lightly slapped Zada’s cheek. “You are overproud, Zada. I am blessed by Allah to have our lord Kedar’s attention. May I always be able to please him. But if Allah should will it otherwise, then may I accept my portion as gracefully as I now accept what he has given me.”
The eunuch, a light-skinned Negro, half smiled. “You are indeed wise, my lady Muna. Dagan says that you will go far, and it may be that he is correct.”
Skye’s eyes met those of the eunuch. He was his master’s man, of that she was certain; and Zada would also be loyal to Kedar. She was truly alone. What if Hamal had decided at the last minute not to help her? What if Niall had finally pushed the princess beyond her endurance, and been killed during the month in which she had been traveling from Algiers to Fez? How could she get word to Osman, and even if she did how could he help her now? Skye was tired, dirty, and under emotional strain. Helpless tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks.
“You, Zada!” Min’da snapped. “Help me to get your mistress to the baths. She is exhausted, and needs to be bathed and then allowed to rest.” He put a strong arm about Skye. “Come now, my lady Muna, and let me help you.”
Skye sagged against the eunuch, relieved for the moment to have an excuse to put her worries from her mind. She did need a bath, and she did need to rest. From the first day she had met Kedar, over two months back, there had not been a night she hadn’t been forced to cater to his whims, except for the few days when her link with the moon was broken and she was considered unclean. She let herself be led off, and within minutes was soaking and steaming all her worries and troubles away.
Min’da was obviously well respected among the bath women, for they did not seem to resent either his presence or his quick orders regarding her comfort. “What is your fragrance?” he asked her quietly.
“Damask rose,” she said softly, and he nodded, his eyes approving.
“It is the perfect fragrance for you. Few can wear its blend of sophistication and innocence well.”
The bath women exclaimed with delight over Skye’s fair skin, fairer than that of any of the other harem women, they said. The Fasi aristocracy prized fair skin, in both men and women alike. They also were lavish in their praise of her hip-length black hair, which they washed gently, lathering a wonderful rose-scented soap into thick suds that gently removed the trail dust from her beautiful tresses. Twice they washed her hair, afterward rinsing it thoroughly, the final rinse a mixture of herbal vinegar and water for shine, the bath mistress said.
Skye was beginning to feel relaxed. She had been washed, pumiced, and denuded of the little body hair they could find on her. Now, while two young slave girls dried and brushed her hair, she lay on her stomach and enjoyed an expert massage. A most soothing rose lotion was smoothed over her skin and rubbed into her body with long, firm strokes. She didn’t even protest when they massaged her breasts and belly.
Skye was but half awake when they stood her up, slipping a white gauze chamber robe over her now clean body. Min’da lifted her in his arms and carried her back from the baths to her room, setting her gently upon her large couch. “That was wonderful,” she murmured at him, and he smiled down at her.
“Are the tears gone now, lady Muna?”
“Yes,” she said and, closing her eyes, appeared to sleep. With a satisfied nod the eunuch left the room, giving instructions to Zada as he went.
“Let her sleep for exactly six hours. I will be ready then with a meal for her, and the master will join her at the eleventh hour tonight. Do you understand?”
“The lord Kedar will visit her tonight? Really?” Zada’s eyes were round with satisfaction, and her smile was a trifle smug.
“I have said it, woman,” the eunuch snapped. “I do not say what I do not know or mean. Remember that in future. If we are to work together for lady Muna’s eventual triumph over the rest of the women then you must obey my instructions and not question me, Zada. I have been in lord Kedar’s harem for seven years now, and I know all there is to know, and more.”
“If you are so important, Min’da,” Zada retorted, “then tell me why it is you have not succeeded with one of your charges before?”
“I almost did two years ago,” was the reply, “but the ungrateful wretch escaped my vigilance, and was caught cuckolding my lord Kedar with one of his guard. The little fool almost destroyed me and had it not been for Dagan’s intervention, I, too, might have died. Dagan, however, convinced my lord Kedar that I was not to blame, and he spared me. I have been used on general duty in the harem ever since, but today Dagan once more gave me my own charge, the lady Muna. I will succeed with her, and if you follow my lead, Zada, you will also find yourself in a place of honor, as personal maid to our lord Kedar’s only wife. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
Zada nodded, now more respectful, but also still curious. “Why is Dagan so good to you?” she asked. “Why should he care if you succeed or not?”
“Dagan is my brother,” Min’da said, and then he haughtily stalked from the room.
Skye had heard it all, and with Min’da’s final words to Zada she again felt depressed. Min’da had obviously been the personal eunuch to the unfortunate girl from Cathay whom Kedar had beaten to death. Now given a second chance, he would be virtually impossible to elude, and if she could not evade his watchfulness how could she aid her beloved Niall? With a little sob Skye turned her face into one of the pillows and wept softly. Niall! she cried in her heart. My darling husband, where are you? Niall! Without even realizing it, she fell into a troubled sleep, a sleep made restless by faceless and frightening images that arose from the depths to haunt her; and while she fought against her tortured dreams Niall Burke fought against a nightmare of another kind.
Skye would have been shocked by his appearance had she seen her husband now. Eight inches taller than his wife, his months in the galleys had hardened his elegant frame, giving him strong muscles where once there had only been their suggestion. Still, he was far too thin.
His big nude body was spread wide upon a large couch, his long arms and legs manacled to prevent his escape. His midnight-colored hair was longer, and his silvery eyes were now the lackluster gray of dirty pewter. The elderly crone who served as his female eunuch had already fed him with the spiced drink that was always ordered for him before these sessions with Turkhan. At first he had refused to drink it, and spit it out when they forced it down his throat. There had been no admonishments on his behavior, but the next time a tube of sheep intestine was jammed down his throat into his stomach, and the liquid poured through it. The third time the cup was again handed to him, but the female eunuchs stood by ready to use the tubing should he prove difficult. Niall Burke had drunk down the potent liquid then, having no doubt in his mind that they would use force again if they had to.
He was already beginning to feel the peculiar euphoria that began shortly after the liquid entered his body, and to his disgust his anxieties were once more melting away as his breathing began to grow slower and more shallow. He seemed to lose control of himself every time they pressed the goblet on him and induced him to drink, and he didn’t understand it; but then as his inhibitions slid away he demanded petulantly of the eunuch, “Rabi
, where are my sweets?”
The old one cackled merrily. “So eager, so eager,” she said. “You are always so eager for the comfits, Ashur. Open your mouth then, and I shall pop them in. You will like them tonight, for they are your favorite—vanilla.”
Obediently Niall opened his mouth, and Rabi fed him the candies. The jellied squares with their bright jewel colors fascinated him. They tasted so good, sweet, and strongly vanilla-flavored. They had never had anything like them at home in Ireland. Ireland! Dear God, would he ever survive to get back there again? He had to survive! That was why he so docilely accepted the spiced drink and the sweets they fed him each time Princess Turkhan wanted him in her bed.
In the beginning he had fought her like a madman, and they had chained him like an animal in her garden until he had regained some measure of sanity. He had welcomed his release from the Turkish galley where he had been incarcerated since his recovery from Darragh’s attack. He had almost lost track of the time, for that was how it was when one’s life was confined to a rower’s bench. When, however, he had learned that he had been purchased to serve as a stud animal to an Eastern princess, he had gone wild. He had tried explaining to Turkhan, who spoke fluent French, their one common language, that he was an aristocrat in his own land; that he was willing to pay whatever ransom she desired; that he had a beautiful wife and two children he longed to return to in Ireland; that he was Lord Niall Burke.
“I shall call you Ashur,” had been her answer. “Do you know what Ashur means, my tall one? It means warlike one, and I can tell,” here she ran her tiny hand slowly over his bulging biceps, “that you are indeed a fierce warrior.”
Nothing he had said had penetrated her brain, he decided, and so he began to explain again. Turkhan had waved her hand impatiently, saying, “I heard you the first time, Ashur, now you will hear me. I am not interested in purchasing captives for ransom. I am a wealthy woman, a connoisseur, a collector of beautiful things; and you are a beautiful thing. Never have I seen such blue eyes, my tall one. I suspect that you are a good lover, and I shall teach you to be an even better one, I promise you.”
“Never!” he spat angrily at her.
Turkhan had laughed, a deep velvet sound, the sound of a woman used to getting her own way. “Do you know to whom you say never, Ashur? I think you do not or you would not be so bold. I will therefore forgive you your mistake, and tell you who I am. I am the daughter of Sultan Selim II of the Ottoman Empire, defender of the true faith and overlord of this city.”
“I don’t give a damn who your father is,” Niall had shouted at her. “I won’t be your stud, woman! I’m an Irishman, not a prize stallion!”
Her eyes had narrowed with annoyance. “Whoever you were, my beautiful Ashur, you are no longer. Whatever was is no longer. Your only reality is what you are now, and that is Ashur, a slave in the harem of Princess Turkhan. Your goal is to please me, your mistress; and Ashur, you will please me, I can promise you. You will please me.”
It gave Niall Burke small satisfaction to know that so far he had not really pleased her. She was beautiful, he had to admit. By any culture’s standards she would have been considered beautiful. She was not a tall woman, standing barely over five feet in height; but she appeared taller, for she had a regal bearing along with long and slender arms and legs. She held her beautiful head high, her flame-colored hair cut straight across her forehead, hanging turned under just below her shoulders. She had an oval face with an aristocratic nose, a lush red mouth, and almond-shaped eyes fringed in thick black lashes that were the amber gold of a lioness. Her body was slim and lithe like a boy’s, except for large, marvelous breasts that thrust proudly from her chest.
He had learned in the year he had been imprisoned in her palace that she was a well-educated and an intelligent woman; but she was proud and stubborn, too. Despite his constant refusals, despite the fact that every time they made love she had to force him to do it, in spite of his atrocious behavior, she had made him her favorite along with the boy, Hamal, who had been in her harem some three years, and was genuinely in love with her.
That was an interesting situation, Niall thought as he lay awaiting Turkhan. Hamal had told him that he had been born a free man also, but that his older brother, a wealthy merchant, had sold him to the princess. Hamal didn’t seem to mind at all, as he cared for his mistress and she obviously cared for him. Niall smiled to himself. Whether Turkhan realized it or not, the boy manipulated her to suit himself; but unfortunately, he had not been able to help Niall. The princess had determined that Niall was to father a child on her; but he was equally determined that she would not have his child. No son of his was going to be mothered and raised by her. Niall had rarely resorted to prayer in his entire lifetime, but he prayed now that the flame-haired bitch who held him captive would not conceive his child. So far his prayers had been heard.
Only Skye had ever given him children, his darling little daughter, Deirdre, and his only son, Padraic. Dear God, the lad had barely been born when he had last ridden off from Burke Castle. What did the boy look like now, Niall wondered, and Deirdre, too. Had Skye mourned him long? Was she still mourning him? Had she remarried? She had never been a woman to be without a man for a long time. He wondered whose wife his wife was now? The thought of her with any other man maddened him beyond reason.
Dear God, Claire O’Flaherty had had her revenge on them all! If he ever got free of Fez, he was going to search the she-witch out himself, and kill her once and for all. He could yet remember awakening aboard a rocking ship to find her standing over him, gloating. He hadn’t understood why she was there, or even how she had gotten there, but he knew he was not dreaming. Before he had even had a chance to question her, he had slipped back into an unconscious state.
“You look so fierce, my beautiful Ashur,” Turkhan murmured as she slid onto the bed next to him. Her little white hands began to slide across his body, caressing and seeking the sensitive places that would arouse him. “What is it you think of, my beautiful one?”
“I think of deceit, and of revenge, my Princess,” he answered her.
Turkhan shivered at the dark depths in his eyes. “I command you to think of passion instead,” she said.
Niall’s harsh laughter rebounded off the walls. “It shall, of course, be as you command, my Princess,” he answered her mockingly.
“Oh, Ashur,” Turkhan whispered, allowing her vulnerability to show for just a brief moment, “is it really so difficult to love me?” She lay her sleek head on his chest, and it occurred to Niall that he had been going about this thing all wrong.
For months he had been fighting her, and it had gained him nothing. What a fool he had been! If he had appeared to give in to her demands from the start he might have gained her trust, and escaped months ago. Instead he had behaved like a violated virgin. What an idiot he was! Skye had always accused him of not seeing the overall picture, of being impulsive and heedless of the havoc his quick actions wrought.
His mind snapped back to the present. Turkhan, having stimulated his manhood to erection, was preparing to mount him as she always did. “Unchain me, my Princess,” he said quietly. “I think it is time I showed you how an Irishman makes love to his woman.”
She looked suspiciously at him. “What game is this you play with me, Ashur?”
“Are you afraid, my Princess?” was his slightly mocking reply.
Her pale skin flushed with the open challenge, and she licked her lips. For months she had been forced to compel his participation, and although he claimed to be the father of children, she could not conceive. She had filled him with opiates and hashish and other well-known aphrodisiacs to insure his potency. Perhaps the secret lay in his being willing.
“Don’t you want to feel my arms about you, Turkhan?” he murmured gently. “Unchain me, lass.”
The tone of his voice made her shiver openly, and Niall knew that he had won. Slowly Turkhan arose from the wide couch, walked across the room, and opened a small c
arved ebony box. Removing the key from the box, she returned to the couch and unlocked the four manacles that had held him prisoner. While she returned the key to its hiding place, Niall Burke sat up, rubbed his wrists, and swung his long legs over the bed. Every movement he made felt exaggerated to him. It was always so after they fed him with the jellies, and the goblet. Still, he realized that he suddenly felt very good. His big body was burning with desire, his erection was yet quite firm, and now as his blue eyes swept over the beautiful and petite creature standing before him he had but one thought: to couple with her. It was what she wanted, and right now it was what he wanted as well.
Reaching out, he pulled her against him and bent low to find her lush mouth. “What an incredibly beautiful little bitch you are,” he said against her lips as he pressed teasing kisses against them; and Turkhan shivered again, her mind half fearful, half thrilled that he was at last yielding himself to her. Niall lifted her tiny frame up in his arms, and set her gently on the soft feather and down mattress, then joined her.
“Oh, love me, my beautiful Ashur!” she whispered frantically.
“I will love you, my Princess, but there is no great hurry. I promised you that I would show you how the men of my land love their women.” He leaned over her, his fingers brushing back her soft hair. “Do you want me, Turkhan?” he asked her.
His gentle touch was destroying her, Turkhan thought, but she could not help herself from gasping, “Yes, Ashur! Allah, yes, I want you!” His satisfied growl of laughter frankly frightened her, but she dared not move lest she break the spell and he revert to the sullen and angry man that he had been until just a few minutes earlier.
While she lay so still, her golden eyes lowered modestly, Niall took the opportunity to examine her closely. Her skin had the same texture and color of the milk-white roses that grew in her garden. He slid his hand across her flat belly, enjoying the softness, and heard her catch her breath. Niall smiled to himself. She was a hot little piece. He moved a hand up to fondle one of her big, cone-shaped breasts, rolling the large coral nipple between his thumb and his forefinger. Turkhan moaned, and catching his head in her two tiny hands, she drew it down to her breasts. He laughed at her impatience, but nonetheless took the offered nipple in his mouth to suck upon it, worrying it faintly with his teeth, and sending tiny darts of delight through her entire body.
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 37