“Let us go to Osman’s house now!” Jamil said eagerly. “It is almost sunset, and he is a hospitable man. I am sure I can get a look at the girl if the family is at the evening meal, and if she is all you say she is, then we will buy her then and there.” He scrambled to his feet. “Help me to dress, Nilak, and then see that the slaves ready my horse.”
As she aided her lover Claire began to grow uneasy. Perhaps she had made a mistake in mentioning the favorite of Osman’s nephew, and her startling resemblance to Skye O’Malley. Jamil was far too eager, and what if this little upstart of a slave were to supplant her in her beloved’s affections? Never! she reassured herself. Let Jamil sate his lusts on the girl. She, Nilak, would be his legal wife in just a short while, and then if the girl grew difficult she would simply disappear. Besides, Jamil would soon grow tired of her as he did of all women but Claire. She smiled to herself, and went to order Jamil’s horse and her palanquin.
It was a simple but filling meal that was served in the house of Osman that night. A whole red-eyed mullet had been poached and was presented upon a bed of greens surrounded by lemons carved to represent seashells. A well-roasted capon stuffed with dried peaches, apricots, and plums sat on its platter of blue Fezware surrounded by matching bowls of saffroned rice and steamed artichokes. One enormous bowl of couscous had been placed midtable, and the marvelous scent of the wheat grains, the lamb chunks, and the many vegetables assaulted the senses of the four diners. An individual loaf of flat bread, warm from the ovens, was placed at each setting as were small kebobs of kid, green and red peppers, and small onions hot from the grill. There was a small bowl of yogurt at each place for dipping, and a large glass dish filled with green and black olives.
When the diners had done justice to the meal, and their profuse compliments had been sent to the cook who waited anxiously in the kitchen, the table was cleared of the main meal, and the fruits, large Seville oranges, dark purple grapes, golden pears, and fat green figs, were brought out, along with delicate gazelle horn pastries and bowls of pistachio nuts. A slave was handing around the delicate porcelain cups of black coffee when Jamil Agha boldly entered the room.
Osman almost swallowed whole the grape he had just popped into his mouth, and Alima gasped audibly. Jamil did not notice. His eyes were glued upon Skye, who was wondering what bad fairy had pushed Jamil back into her life on the very night she had planned her escape from Algiers. Skye knew that her only hope was in being Muna, the slave girl of the lord Kedar, and no one else. Then her eyes moved to the woman who mincingly accompanied Jamil, and she felt her anger well. Claire O’Flaherty! The cursed Claire!
Crossing the room in large, quick strides, Jamil reached Skye and pulled her roughly up. “By the soul of the prophet,” he murmured excitedly, “you are truly a twin to Skye Muna el Khalid! I must have you, and I will!” His hateful hand was cupping her chin.
Angrily Skye yanked her head away from his grasp as Kedar, recovering from his shock, leapt to his feet with a roar of pure outrage and his hand went to his dagger. “You are a dead man!” he hissed. “No one touches what is mine without my permission! You have offended me, whoever you are, and I will have satisfaction!”
Jamil, with another burning look at Skye, reluctantly turned to Osman. “Is this loud fool your nephew, Osman?”
Osman nodded, feeling strangely calm. “My nephew, Kedar ibn Omar, my lord Jamil Agha.”
“For your sake I will forgive him. Tell the fool who I am.”
“Kedar, this is Jamil Agha, retired commandant of the Sultan’s Casbah fortress and, it is rumored, soon to be the new Dey of Algiers.”
“His rank does not give him the right to touch my property without my express permission, and where Muna is concerned you know my feelings, Uncle.” Kedar turned to Jamil. “My lord,” he said, “this woman is my betrothed wife. You have rendered me a fierce insult by your actions. If, however, you will offer me an apology, for the sake of my uncle, who obviously knows you well, I will consider the matter closed. I would be reluctant to come between my uncle and a friend.”
“I want to buy the woman,” Jamil answered.
“What?!” Kedar was astounded.
“I want to buy your slave woman,” Jamil repeated. “Look at her, Osman! Is she not the twin to Khalid el Bey’s wife, Skye? I must have her!”
“She has dark hair and blue eyes like the lady Skye, I will grant you, Jamil Agha, but other than that I see no great resemblance.”
“You must! She is a mirror image of the lady Skye. Nilak, come forward, my love! You know my betrothed wife, the lady Nilak, Osman. She knew the lady Skye in her own land. Is this woman not exactly like her, Nilak, my pet?”
“Exactly, my lord,” Claire answered slowly, aware that the Kedar’s slave girl was fixing her with a murderous gaze. “In fact if I did not know that Skye O’Malley was in Ireland or England at this time I would swear it was she.”
“I fail to see a true resemblance,” Osman said stubbornly.
“I want her!” Jamil said urgently. “Name your price, nephew of Osman! Whatever you desire I will pay, for I must have her!”
“She is not for sale,” Kedar repeated icily. “She is to become my wife shortly.” He stared angrily at Jamil Agha.
“Name your price, Kedar ibn Omar. Everything in this world has a price.”
“She is not for sale, Jamil Agha. Can you not understand me? I am to marry this woman when the fast month is over. She is the one I have chosen to bear my heirs. She is not for sale!” Kedar’s mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes were snapping angrily. Some instinct told him that this Jamil Agha was a great danger to him, and all his senses were poised and alert.
“I must have her,” Jamil repeated almost hypnotically, and seemingly to himself. “I must!” He looked directly at Kedar. “If you will not sell her to me then I must take her. I am a Janissary, and by the Sultan’s own law what I desire is mine. I would not cheat you, Kedar ibn Omar, so I ask you a final time to name your price. If you do not then I shall simply confiscate this slave for myself.”
Kedar felt anger, an incredible raging, burning anger, overcome him in a quick sweep. The blood pounded in his ears and in his head. Then, suddenly, he saw floating in a red mist before his bulging eyes the smug, satisfied face of Jamil Agha. He could almost hear his enemy’s unspoken words. You are helpless. The woman is now mine. There is nothing you can do to prevent me taking her! In his mind’s eye Kedar saw the flawless nudity of Muna writhing beneath the other man, gaining pleasure from him, giving pleasure to him. His control snapped, and with an animal bellow of undiluted rage he swiftly brought his hand up, threw himself at Jamil, and drove his dagger deep into the other man’s throat.
Jamil died in an instant, his eyes wide with surprise as he crumpled to the floor, his dark red blood pumping out to stain both his robes and Kedar’s. Osman stared both shocked and surprised, while Alima and Skye clung to each other, horrified, all three watching as Nilak added to the tragedy by stabbing Kedar in a screaming fury at almost the same moment as Jamil hit the floor. She drove her own dagger into Kedar’s chest, following him down onto the floor to rage and cry as her bloodied weapon descended again and again and yet again until finally Osman pulled her off the already dead body of his nephew and disarmed her.
“Have the servants call the guard,” Osman commanded his shaking wife, and Alima fled the death chamber.
Nilak was silent now, but slowly she raised her eyes and fixed them upon Skye. “It is you, isn’t it?” she said despairingly.
Skye turned away, uncertain as to whether to answer her old enemy.
“Skye O’Malley!” Claire hissed the name. “It is you! I know it! At least tell me I am not mad.”
Skye whirled about. “You have always been touched with madness, Claire, and you destroy everything you come in contact with. You were responsible for the destruction of your brother, and poor Constanza Burke, my husband’s former wife, and now both Jamil Agha and Kedar.”
> “You don’t mention your beloved husband, Niall Burke,” Claire taunted nastily. “Perhaps you don’t know that I was responsible—”
“I know what you were responsible for, Claire! I know that you drove poor Sister Mary Penitent to attempt murder. I know that you saw that my husband was sold into the galleys, but he is free now, Claire! He is safely on board one of my ships, and I join him tonight! In that, Claire, you have failed!”
“I hate you!” Claire snarled venomously. “I have always hated you!”
At that moment the doors to the dining room opened to admit a Janissary Capitan and several of his men. Osman quickly stepped forward, and Skye with incredible instinct moved back into the shadows, slipping behind a tapestry.
“My lord Osman, what has happened here?”
“Praise Allah, Capitan Amhet! There has been a terrible tragedy here. My nephew and Jamil Agha fought over this woman, and when Kedar killed Jamil, she killed Kedar.”
“That is not so!” screamed Claire. “He lies! He lies! There was another woman that my beloved lord Jamil wished to purchase, and this Kedar took offense; and drew his dagger and murdered Jamil Agha!”
Osman shook his head. “As you can see,” he said quietly, “there are but four places at my table. My nephew, myself, this woman, and Jamil Agha ate here tonight. The lady Nilak was betrothed to Jamil Agha, and yet she flirted outrageously with my nephew, who is, as you well know, a connoisseur of beautiful women. He was intrigued and beguiled by her charms, by her immodest and unveiled face and blond fairness. She is the cause of all of this!” Osman’s voice began to rise hysterically. “She is a wicked infidel woman who has caused the deaths of my old friend and my beloved nephew! I demand the Dey’s justice! I demand it now!” Then he broke into harsh sobs that he tried hard to contain, obviously embarrassed to show such a weakness before other men.
The Janissaries looked away in order that Osman might have a moment to collect himself, then Capitan Amhet said, “We will take the woman before the Dey now, my lord Osman. Will you come with us to tell him your tale?”
“He lies!” Claire screamed once more, but she was silenced by a brutal blow to her head from the capitan.
“Silence, infidel bitch! How dare you dispute the word of the famous lord Osman. His honesty is legend.” The Capitan pushed her back into the arms of two of his men. “Hold her and keep her silent,” he commanded.
“It is late,” said Osman, seemingly beginning to recover from his bout with grief. “The Dey is old, and I would hesitate to awaken him at so late an hour. Take the infidel woman with you, and keep her the night. After first prayers at dawn I will appear before the Dey to demand justice.”
Capitan Ahmet let his dark eyes slide over Claire’s full bosom. “My men could use a treat before they must return to the fast in the morning,” he said meaningfully. “I will take your suggestion, my lord Osman. I will see you at the palace directly after first light.” Capitan Ahmet then signaled his men with a wave of his hand, and they half-dragged, half-carried Claire from the chamber.
“Rest well, Capitan,” Osman said softly, and the capitan turned in the doorway and laughed. Osman waited until he heard the main door to his home close and the tramp of the patrol move off down the silent street before he said quietly, “You may come out now, Skye, my daughter.”
“They may kill her with their attentions,” Skye said as she came back into the light of the room. “Then again they may not. Claire was once a famous whore in London.”
“Better she die under the Janissaries’ attentions this night, my daughter, for if she lives, she will not survive the hooks.”
Skye shivered. She knew all about the infamous hooks that were imbedded in the city walls, which served as places of execution for those unfortunate enough to be condemned to them. Claire, having actually murdered one man, and having been accused of being responsible for the murder of another, would most certainly be sentenced to the hooks. Her death would be a most painful one, for the city executioners knew just how to toss a body onto the hooks so that the condemned victim lived in screaming agony for some time—a warning to those tempted to mayhem, an amusement to others. “God have mercy on her,” Skye whispered.
“You pray for such an enemy, my daughter?”
“It is a horrible way to die, Osman, even for Claire.”
He placed a fatherly arm about her. “You must rest now, my daughter. I will send a message to your ship that you will be delayed until morning.”
“No, I would go now,” she said.
“In the morning, my daughter,” he repeated gently. “Trust me, Skye. Have I ever disappointed you?”
“No,” she responded, suddenly feeling totally exhausted as the shock of what had happened began to set in.
Osman led her from the room and put her into the capable hands of his wife. Together the two women moved automatically toward the women’s quarters, where the slaves, not even daring to speak, helped the lady Alima to put Skye to bed.
“I shall not sleep,” Skye insisted, although her eyes were heavy.
“Drink this,” Alima insisted, pushing a small cup of sweetened pomegranate juice on her friend. “There is in it a tiny drop of opium, which will take you quickly to the land of pleasant dreams, dearest friend. Think happy thoughts as you drift away, my lady Skye. You are free of Kedar! Your beloved husband awaits you, and soon you will be reunited. Soon you will be home in your own land with your children.” Her pleasant voice droned into Skye’s consciousness, and Skye soon found herself asleep.
When she awoke she felt just the tiniest bit groggy, but a trip with Alima to the household baths quickly made her mind sharp and quick again. “Where is Osman?” she asked as they returned to Skye’s chamber.
“He has gone to the Dey’s palace to testify against the lady Nilak,” Alima responded.
“If she lived through the night,” Skye remarked.
“She must have, else my husband would be back already. He will be here to escort you safely to your ship, my lady Skye. Do not fear.”
Osman returned close to the noon hour, a grim smile of satisfaction upon his face. The two women hurried to his library, both full of curiosity. “She has been executed upon the hooks,” he told them, “although she will probably live on for several hours. Her goods and wealth have been divided between the Dey’s treasury and Capitan Ahmet. It is over, Skye, my daughter. A door is closed, and another is opening for you once again. Are you ready to depart?”
“I am ready,” Skye said quietly.
Her good-byes to Alima were said swiftly and privately within the library, and then, escorted by Osman, Skye entered the large palanquin with him. This time she felt no sadness in departing the house that had once belonged to Khalid, for it was now so clearly Osman’s house. The bearers lifted the palanquin and began to move easily down the hill with their burden. Skye quickly noticed that they were taking the most direct route to the harbor, where her own flagship waited. As they exited the harbor gate nearest to the Dey’s palace Osman commanded her, “Look back and up a moment, my daughter.”
Skye turned, and the sight greeting her eyes caused her to gasp with horror and pity. She swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down her throat. Above her on the wall, Claire O’Flaherty, also known in her lifetime as Claro and Nilak, writhed weakly and helplessly, one of the vicious hooks securely jabbed through her midsection, another through a shoulder.
“Never again will her evil trouble you, Skye, my daughter. She has met her just end, and you are at last free of her wickedness,” Osman’s voice said quietly. “She will die shortly, and her body will rot there upon the hooks, scavenged by the carrion birds and whipped by the elements until it is no more. A fitting finish for a consummate villainess. Turn away now, Skye, my daughter. It is over.”
“It is a picture I will remember always, Osman,” Skye said feelingly, and she was unable to stop the tears that spilled down her pale cheeks.
“You will forget,” he answered her wi
th certainty. “I did not show you such a sight to distress you, but rather to assure you of your adversary’s end. She will never harm you or yours again, Skye, and I wanted you to be certain of that fact,” He reached out and touched one crystalline tear with a fingertip. “What a magnificent soul is housed in that beautiful body of yours, my daughter! It touches me beyond all that you can weep for so cruel an enemy. She would not have wept for you.”
“Perhaps not, Osman, but her last hours have certainly made up for the evil she created. It saddens me even now that we were so assuredly fated to be enemies.”
He shrugged fatalistically. “It was Allah’s will, Skye, my daughter. One should never question God.”
The palanquin suddenly stopped, and was set down carefully. Osman parted the draperies and stepped out, turning to assist Skye from the vehicle. They were directly before the gangway of her ship. Without a word she walked swiftly aboard, the astrologer following behind. Within the safety of the master cabin she pulled her veil aside. Eyes shining with unshed tears, she caught his hands and raised them up to kiss them fervently.
“Thank you, my dear friend,” she said in a voice filled with emotion. “Thank you for everything. Just over the horizon my dearest husband awaits me, and I should not have gotten him back had it not been for you, Osman, and your family. We are ever in your debt! My children and I will remember you in our prayers each night as long as we live, for you have returned to us the thing most precious to us, a husband and a father.”
Osman hugged her paternally, half in affection, half in concern. It was better that she not see his face at this moment. “Remember, Skye, my daughter, that all that happens is Allah’s will, and with regard to each of us, our chosen destiny. Will you try not to rail against your fate, whatever it may be? Will you trust in the Creator to care for you no matter what? Though sometimes the storm seems dark, and without end, the light will eventually overcome it. That much I can promise you.”
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 46