If he had not been entirely confident that this campaign would fall to the Ottomans' favor, he would never have left Kassandra in Belgrade, he thought, hoisting himself atop a magnificent Persian warhorse and kicking it into a gallop, four mounted guards thundering close behind him. He would have gone on with her to Constantinople, hindrance or not, and deposited her in a harem there. He was no fool!
Chapter 39
Kassandra braced herself against the rough stone wall, her feet balancing on a three-legged brass stool as she peered out the high, narrow window in her chamber. Her eyes piercing the gathering dusk, gazing longingly at the Imperial camp, whose tents spread like a carpet to the south of the Sava. Soon it would be dark and she would be able to see only the glow of scattered fires and the blinding bursts of artillery blasts as the heavy cannon of the fortress began their nightly vigil of holding the besiegers at bay.
She had stood just so at her window every day, every night, since the Imperial army had arrived to lay siege to the fortress. She'd instantly recognized the fluttering banners of the emperor, her heart soaring with hope, knowing Stefan was out there, in one of those long rows of tents.
Yet as the days had turned into weeks, then almost two months, her hope had grown dim. Prince Eugene's army had to be faring badly. They had already retreated once, well over a week ago.
That had been the worst day of her life. She had watched in disbelief as the tents were struck down, thinking they were leaving—oh God!—thinking she was being left behind! She had screamed out to them, calling out her name, calling out to Stefan, but her desperate shouts had been lost to the deafening cannon fire.
But not lost to the white eunuch in charge of the harem. He had rushed in and subdued her easily, despite her thrashing and struggling, and shoved a red opium pill into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but he held her jaw clamped shut and covered her nose with his massive hand until she swallowed, gagging as it slid down her throat. Soon the pill had taken effect, her head falling back limply upon the thick carpet, her limbs awash in languid, drunken sensation, the room spinning like a dizzying whirlpool of color, cannon fire, and the eunuch's pasty white face hovering above her, until she saw no more.
When she had awoken at last, bright morning sunlight streaming in a narrow shaft across her face, it had taken her a moment to remember why she was lying upon the carpeted floor. She had struggled slowly to her feet, the blood rushing in her ears, cold dread seizing her as she stumbled toward the window. Tottering on the stool, she had looked out, expecting to see only a wide, barren plain. But the Imperial camp was still there, pulled back a good ways from the river, but there! She had never felt such incredible joy, not since that day at the river when she told Stefan she loved him . . .
Kassandra leaned her forehead on the stone ledge, shuddering as she willed the poignant splendor of that memory from her mind. There was no use in torturing herself. She and Stefan couldn't be farther apart if a wild ocean separated them. He was out there, thinking she was dead. And she was a prisoner in this dismal fortress, locked within the harem of that fat abomination of a man, Mustapha Pasha.
Bile welled up in her throat at the thought of him, and she had to hold her breath for fear she might gag. It seemed he had gone out of his way to make her life here a nightmare, as if he derived some perverse pleasure from her obvious loathing of him. He had forced her to share interminable meals with him in his bedchamber, a large, ornately decorated room that reeked of debauched excess, though thankfully he had never touched her. He had drugged her whenever she displayed the least hint of rebellion, and had kept her locked away in this chamber without the solace of any other human company besides the vile eunuch who checked on her constantly. On many occasions she had felt Mustapha was somehow watching her, when she was dressing, when she bathed in the morning, as if the very walls had eyes. She had tried to shrug it off, but the niggling feeling had stubbornly persisted.
The hours she had spent in the main baths, she had been alone except for the same two mute female slaves, though the myriad perfumes of other women lingered in the hot, steaming chambers. She was forced several times a week to endure their meticulous and humiliating ministrations. Her skin chafed and burned from their unnatural plucking and shaving, their pummeling and massage a torture she could not endure without feeling the urge to scream. But she had learned early to quell her outbursts, if only to stave off the inevitable opium they forced down her throat if she resisted. If she was ever to escape, she needed to have her wits about her.
A despairing laugh broke from Kassandra's throat. If she was ever to escape . . . An impossible thought! She could no sooner escape her captivity than she could squeeze through this window and fly away, straight into Stefan's arms.
No, her only escape would be a summons from this Halil Pasha, and mercifully it had not yet come. But she knew he'd already arrived with his army from Constantinople, as Frederick had said he would. She couldn't see the Ottoman camp from her window, but the Janissary guard on the ramparts below had more than tripled, and heavy cannon were sounding from the east, firing round after round upon the Imperial camp.
"Guard yourself well, my love," Kassandra whispered fervently, peering out into the darkness at the tiny flickers of light to the south. "Guard yourself well."
A key grated in the lock and she started, jumping down from the stool. She whirled to face the white eunuch as he entered her room, silent as a slithering snake, fattened and bloated from its kill.
He loomed in the doorway, his portly frame swathed in lime-green silk tied with a wide sash around his middle, and stared at her. The veiled expression in his unfathomable pale eyes, devoid of any emotion, unsettled her, and she swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly want. Then he made a slight gesture with his hand and forefinger, indicating for her to follow him.
Kassandra clutched her silver damask tunic tightly about her body, feeling a sudden chill despite the humid warmth of her chamber. She reluctantly followed him into the hallway, lit by torches fitted in polished sconces, past the baths, through a labyrinth of like hallways, up a flight of winding stairs. It felt as if she were being led through a maze, and when she and the eunuch stopped in front of a set of massive double doors, richly carved and painted with erotic scenes of copulation, it finally dawned on her that she was leaving the harem. Blushing hotly at the pictures, she looked away.
The white eunuch picked up an ornamental gold-knobbed cane propped against the wall and struck one of the double doors several times. As they swung open into a vast marble hall, he set down the cane and walked on, once again indicating for Kassandra to follow.
Kassandra took a few tentative steps. She saw a tall man dressed in rich Turkish garb, a white turban upon his head, standing with his back to her next to a sullen Mustapha Pasha and two fierce-looking Janissary guards, who were studying her appraisingly.
What was going on? she wondered wildly, freezing in her tracks. She gasped, her eyes locking with Frederick's ice-blue gaze as he turned to face her, and in that moment she knew she was lost. The summons from Halil Pasha had finally come.
Kassandra turned to flee but stopped abruptly, realizing with a hysterical giggle there was only Mustapha's harem behind her. She was trying to escape one harem by hiding in another! Before she had a chance to attempt another direction, the white eunuch grabbed her arm and wrenched her around, nearly dragging her across the polished floor toward the group of men. The great doors slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud, the wickedly curved scimitars held by the eunuch guards slicing through the air with a terrifying whoosh as they resumed their places.
Frederick could not tear his eyes from Kassandra as she was brought in front of him and forced to her knees, her head down. She was so breathtakingly beautiful! She was thinner, perhaps, than he remembered, the hollows beneath her cheekbones further defining her startling beauty. Her skin glowed with a pale translucence, no doubt the result of long hours spent in the warm steam of the Turkish
baths.
He could not suppress his pity for her when the eunuch whipped several silken scarves from a deep pocket of his pelisse and wrapped one over her mouth, gagging her before she could cry out, another over her eyes, blindfolding her. There was nothing he could do. Not now. He was merely the messenger, the gift bearer.
At least she was free of this repugnant man, Frederick thought, turning back to Mustapha as the eunuch finished tying Kassandra's wrists together with another scarf and whisked a silken cloak around her, covering her in a shimmering shroud.
Frederick bowed, smiling thinly. "My thanks, Sire, for your gracious care of this slave," he murmured formally. "His Grace, Halil Pasha, will be most pleased with his new acquisition."
Mustapha merely nodded, not at all pleased. He had hoped his cousin had conveniently forgotten about her. Ah well, Allah had decreed that it be so. She was but a slave, nothing more. And she had given him many hours of secret pleasure, albeit without her knowledge.
"Give my cousin this message," he answered, brushing off what Frederick had just said. He handed him a rolled slip of parchment paper, sealed and tied with black cord. "I wish an answer tonight."
Frederick took the parchment, and secured it in the folds of his sash. "I will return as quickly as I can," he replied, nodding at the Janissary guards. One of them bent down and hoisted Kassandra over his shoulder, then the small party walked from the hall, Mustapha staring after them.
Kassandra fought to stay calm, knowing it was useless to struggle. Her only power lay in keeping her wits about her. But it was difficult to breathe with the gag tied so thoroughly over her mouth. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths through her nose, her senses acutely attuned to everything that was happening.
Her head bounced lightly against a broad back . . . They were climbing down seemingly hundreds of stairs. She smelled a dankness in the air, a stuffiness that almost caused her to sneeze, then a wooden door creaked open. An eerie silence settled over her captors, and the man who held her ducked and straightened, the door thudding closed.
She smelled fresh air, felt a breeze cooling her skin through the silken cloak as they stepped into the open, where the sounds of the night were all around them . . . chirping crickets, a hooting owl, and the roar of the cannon coming from the fortress ramparts. Pebbles skittered beneath heavy boots, sliding down a slope and plunking into water. A rocking motion dizzied her senses, then she heard the scraping of oars and water lapping at the sides of a boat as it glided across a river.
On the other side there were restless horses, nervous whinnies, new voices, more soldiers. She was grabbed by another man, held for a moment, then lifted high into a saddle and settled against a stocky chest, a muscled arm wrapping around her waist. Her head snapped back as they set off at a hard run, and she closed her eyes to the swamping dizziness of riding blind, the earth moving beneath them, the thundering of hooves in her ears.
They were climbing, climbing, away from the river, horses straining, pulling, voices growing animated, less tense, as they reached familiar ground. She could see glowing light through her blindfold, inhaled the scents of cooking food and wood fires. Low male laughter resounded, the buzz of hundreds, thousands, of voices, soldiers everywhere, the clash of weapons in mock battle drills, and still the roar of the cannon, farther away now, as if from a distant precipice, pummeling the earth below.
They slowed gradually to a trot, then came to an abrupt halt, the horse quivering beneath her. The pressure of her captor's arm disappeared and she was sliding from the saddle, gasping, caught by another's arms, lifted against another chest. Her heart beat fiercely in her breast, cold fear welling up as strong legs carried her forward into a hushed place, the outdoor sounds fading altogether. Faint strains of music, zither and lute, drifted to her from some distance ahead, growing louder, louder, melodic, undulating, her nostrils flaring at the heavy scent of incense and perfume.
Kassandra sharply drew in her breath as whoever held her suddenly knelt and lay her with a slight bump upon a carpeted floor. Hands clutched at the silken cloak, then with a strong tug it was pulled from beneath her and she was sent rolling across the floor, over and over, her head spinning. She came to a stop on her back, her tousled hair streaking across her face and heaving breasts.
"Lady Kassandra Wyndham," she heard Frederick announce, his voice echoing in her mind . . . her name upon his lips a sentence of death.
Chapter 40
Halil Pasha appraised the trembling, long-limbed woman lying at his feet, his black eyes lighting with keen interest. He glanced up at Frederick. "Quite a presentation, Count Althann," he murmured with a low chuckle.
Rubbing his pointed beard, he looked back down at her and stepped over her supine body to study her from a different angle. The sable trim of his black pelisse swept lightly across her chest, and he noted with a smile her raised nipples, hardened and taut, straining against her silver tunic.
She was easily aroused, he mused, intense lust filling him at the thought, centering upon the hot fire flaring in his loins. The sign of a truly passionate woman.
Halil glanced up again, clearing his throat, his narrowed gaze falling upon his Chief Eunuch. Unspoken communication passed between master and slave, a command. The Chief Eunuch walked over to a large chest, ornately wrought in silver and gold, and raised the lid. He pulled out a silk bag, heavy with chinking gold coins, and held it in one huge hand as he moved silently to Frederick. He held out the bag, his broad face expressionless, his bald head glistening in the golden light of myriad candles.
Frederick hesitated, looking from the silk bag to Kassandra's prostrate form. But at Halil's questioning look he seized it from the eunuch's hand, knowing from the bag's weight that it was more gold than he had ever imagined. With this generous reward, and the payments he'd received during the last few months, his wealth and comfort were assured, for life.
"I am pleased with your gift, Count Althann," Halil stated simply, walking around Kassandra to stand at her slippered feet. "If anything, your praise of this woman's . . . Kassandra's . . ." he amended, "beauty was too modest. But now you must leave."
Indeed, Halil thought impatiently. He could hardly wait to divest this Englishwoman of her silken garments, like the petals of a flower, and reveal the fragrant hidden bud.
Frederick started, but quickly recovered. Of course you must leave, fool! he berated himself. Your work is done here. He bowed low at the waist, clutching the silk bag to his chest. Then he remembered the message Mustapha had given him, hidden in his sash. He straightened, pulling out the rolled parchment and handing it to the Chief Eunuch, who inspected it and handed it to Halil.
"A message from His Grace, Mustapha," Frederick said, watching as Halil deftly slit the cord with the jeweled dagger at his waist, broke the seal, and unrolled the slip of parchment, reading quickly. The grand vizier's expression became one of extreme annoyance. Frederick surmised there was no love lost between these two men, bound by blood but little else.
Halil turned abruptly to the Chief Eunuch. "Inscribe a letter. Tell my cousin exactly what was discussed earlier today at the war council. It seems he wonders why I have not ordered an attack upon the Imperialists. Sniveling fool! He grows weak with worry in his fortress, fearing they shall make an unexpected move. Can he not see they are quivering in their tents, the cowards, soon to retreat? They have no chance in heaven against the strength of my army!"
Frederick said nothing. He had not been called upon to answer. He stood silently, waiting as the Chief Eunuch sat down at a nearby writing desk and put pen to parchment, recording his master's words and blowing upon the rich black ink as it slowly dried. At last the letter was completed. The eunuch folded it into a square, affixed the grand vizier's seal, then handed it deferentially to Halil.
"Take this to my cousin, along with this verbal message," Halil said, his black eyes full of anger as he gave the letter to Frederick. "If he wishes to retain his position in Belgrade, he would do well to acquir
e some backbone. It seems he is growing soft, perhaps spending too much time in the company of his women."
Frederick nodded and slid the letter within his sash. "It shall be done, Sire." He stole a last glance at Kassandra, then turned on his heel, his flowing caftan swirling about his long legs as he strode from the inner chamber of the tent, through a vast adjoining antechamber, a shadowed corridor, then once again into the night.
Halil's forehead creased in speculation, watching the heavy folds at the entrance to the tent cascade back into place behind Frederick's tall figure. He had not missed the flicker of guilt in his unsettling blue eyes as he looked for the last time upon the Englishwoman. It was a surprising emotion in such a man. And a liability in a spy.
Perhaps Count Althann's days of service to the Sultan should be drawing to an end, before such an emotion could lead to a fatal misstep. But he dismissed the thought, deciding to wait until morning to take any action. Now there was only pleasure on his mind.
He waved away his Chief Eunuch, who disappeared like a creeping phantom into an adjoining chamber, and turned back to Kassandra, kneeling beside her. She started, panting, as he cut the knotted scarf binding her wrists. He could sense the fear emanating from her like a dense fragrance. It excited him beyond measure.
Kassandra winced at the touch of cold steel against her cheek and the sound of a sharp blade easily swiping through the gag just below her ear. She ran her tongue across her dry lips, not knowing what her simple gesture was doing to the man kneeling over her. Next the blade slit her blindfold in two, the severed scarf falling away from her eyes. She blinked from the sudden flood of light, squinting up into the piercing black gaze of Halil Pasha. Her whole body tensed as he swept the long strands of hair from her face, his fingers lightly brushing her skin.
Halil sucked in his breath, marveling at the wondrous beauty of his new slave. She was perfection, a goddess, just as Count Althann had said.
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