Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  It was a day bright with the promise of spring. The pale-yellow rays of the sun struck down into the narrow streets where already the tread of countless feet and the hooves of laden donkeys and camels was stirring the drying mud into dust. The mild day had brought a great influx of customers into the bazaar. High-caste Moors jostled elbows with villainous looking Turkish sailors and mean-visaged wharf rats, swaggering soldiers with fair skinned Mamelukes in silks and satins. Arab porters abounded, clamoring after everyone who had the look of prosperity. Once Julia was afforded the memorable opportunity of seeing a majestic Tuareg, most lordly of the desert tribes, perched upon the back of his milk-white camel with his handsome, light-skinned face covered by his mask, almost like a veil. Tuaregs were known as the masked men; it had been whispered in the harem that men of this lineage, though calling themselves Mohammedan, ate what they liked, drank what they pleased, including spirits, and prayed when they felt the need. Their women were treated with honor and respect, going for the most part unveiled, allowed to dance and sing and converse before other men, and have a say in the decisions that concerned them. More wondrous than anything else, the lines of inheritance within the tribe were traced through the distaff, surely a most realistic practice.

  The major inconveniences of whining beggars and importuning porters were kept from Julia by the presence of Basim. Carrying a vicious kurbash, he strode beside her litter, while flanking her on either side were the pair of eunuch guards with scimitars at their sides. She was able to enjoy the sights and marvelous smells of the market without worrying that her purchases or her small bag of dinars might be snatched from her.

  On this occasion, Isabel, who was suffering the cramps of menses, had been left behind. Another time, Julia vowed to bring the girl and descend together with her upon the public baths. Then, they might meet other women of their own kind, trusted women and concubines of the great merchants of the city.

  Jawharah lived in a section of the city neither very poor nor very rich. The house of her husband, situated above his shop where fabulous rugs from all over the orient were displayed, was comfortable without being pretentious. Jawharah, her broad face beaming with pleasure at the sight of Julia, gave orders that her entourage were to be served refreshments in the kitchen. That taken care of, she led the way to the sun-warmed roof of their private apartments. Seated on cushions placed so they could overlook the comings and goings in the street below, holding glasses of hot, syrupy mint tea in their hands, the two women caught up on what had happened since they had last met.

  “Are you happy?” Julia asked when she had laughed through the comical story Jawharah made of how her rug dealer had come to the palace, pointed at her, and commanded her to come with him.

  “Beyond my wildest hopes. My man is kind, prudent, and lusty. What more can I ask? Ah, well, he could also be young and rich,” she answered her own question with a shrug, “but one cannot have everything.”

  “No,” Julia agreed solemnly.

  “What is that dangerous-looking ornament you wear at your waist, my dove? Have you taken to going armed like a eunuch guard?”

  “What? My knife? It was a gift.”

  “May I see?” The other took the small dagger in her hand as Julia passed it over. She weighed it for balance, then gave it what appeared to be a casual flip. It flew straight to a pomegranate in a bowl on a table before them and stood quivering in its orange-brown skin.

  “Marvelous,” Julia cried, retrieving the blade.

  “It is a comforting trick to know,” Jawharah agreed. “One I learned some time ago from a camel driver. Shall I teach you?”

  “If you can.”

  “Of course, if you will undertake first to tell me how you came by such a pretty trinket, and what has happened to you since last we parted in the harem.”

  Julia’s tale did not take long. When she had finished, Jawharah shook her head slowly, a look of pity on her face. “So. Your man became a Muslim. It was a brave thing, at his age. Did it hurt him much?”

  “Hurt him?” An arrested expression entered Julia’s eyes. She had been about to fling the knife in imitation of the other woman. Now, she was still.

  “You do not know? He did not return to have you care for him? I know you said he went away to sea at once, but I thought surely—”

  “What do you mean?” Julia asked, her brows drawing together in an anxious frown.

  “Jullanar!” the other woman exclaimed. “Did you not know that, unlike Christian men, Muslims are circumcised?”

  Circumcised. Despite the fact that in the harem there had been much talk of the difference between circumcised and uncircumcised males, and the bit of surgery required to effect the transformation, she had not realized, had not applied the knowledge to Rud. “So, that is why he went away,” she exclaimed.

  “One of the reasons,” Jawharah pointed out. “If Basim said he was sent by the dey, then that also must be so.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Who can say? You must put the question to him when you see him again.”

  “Will it — affect — anything, change him in any way?”

  “It should not,” Jawharah said, beginning to smile, “but that too you must wait until your man returns to discover.”

  Julia nodded, her own lips curving in a rueful, answering smile, and then meeting the other woman’s eyes, she bit her lips, trying not to laugh. The ordeal could not have been funny for Rud; it must have been extremely painful, in fact. Still, she could not help it. In this particular custom, the tables were turned, and it was men who suffered an indignity to this section of their anatomy. The silvery trill of the women’s laughter rose, floating freely toward the gentle blue sky.

  20

  On the day that Rud’s ship sailed back into the harbor, Julia, with Isabel and Basim, was in the bazaar. The palace grapevine had failed her. When she had set out, she had had no idea that he was expected, or that his vessel was approaching the harbor. There had been no particular need that day to be satisfied; she was only bored and in need of mental stimulation. The sun had grown hot in the past weeks, bringing forth smells both pleasant and unpleasant in the narrow streets. The scent of spices and perfumes, the aromas of roasting meats, baking bread flaps, and frying fat, vied heroically with the smells of dung and of offal from the flyblown butcher shops.

  Overcome by the odors, the women turned homeward, bypassing the public baths. It was as they were traversing the streets near the harbor that Julia saw the tall mast of the clipper-style ship standing above the rooftops. She cried out excitedly to Basim, who prodded the bearers of the curtain-enclosed litter to greater speed.

  Rud was nowhere in sight when they entered the gulphor. Disappointment at not finding him there left Isabel unnaturally quiet. Footsteps dragging, she turned in the direction of her own small cubicle, while Julia, dragging the black robe she wore in public off over her head, stepped into the main sleeping chamber.

  As she fought herself free of the suffocating folds and shook out her hair, she heard a small sound like an in drawn breath. She went still, turning toward the sound. Rud stood at the open window. The reflected light slanting across his face gave him a pale and terrible look of grief.

  “Rud,” Julia cried, a lilt of welcome in her voice as she started toward him.

  The flush of sudden anger suffused his face. He reached out and caught her arms, giving her a shake. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I thought you had gone.”

  An instant later, he crushed her against him, his mouth hard on hers and his hands making themselves familiar once more with the soft roundness of her body. His breathing ragged, he turned to the couch and drew her down. He removed her clothing with rough, uncaring haste, flinging it with his own into a corner of the room. His need was great, but so was her own, rising in a heady and dizzying wave to her brain. They pressed together in swift urgency, melting into each other in a desperation of desire. They plumbed the depths of being with an abrupt down
ward plunge like a dream of falling, a descent that brought them finally to rest in each other’s arms. It had been a passage of frightening intensity, but one that reaffirmed the pleasure of being alive. They lay for long moments while their heartbeats slowed and the perspiration dewing their skin dried, and then, they began again more slowly, savoring the closeness, basking in tactile sensation combined with the certain knowledge that nothing could or would prevent them from arriving at the same intense moment of pleasure once more.

  Later, with her head resting on Rud’s arm, and her eyes closed, Julia allowed the corners of her mouth to curl upward. Nothing had changed; everything was the same.

  “What are you smiling about?” Rud asked, his voice lazy with content.

  “Nothing,” she denied, then her eyes flew open. “Are — are you all right?”

  He stared at her a moment before comprehension dawned. One brow shot up. “Why? Any complaints?”

  “No, but are you certain?” she insisted.

  “I am perfectly fine — now.”

  “I am serious,” she said, distrusting his wry grin.

  “So am I,” he answered, moving closer to nuzzle the rose-jasmine-scented curve of her cheek.

  Satisfied, she abandoned the quest for another. “Did you really think I was gone?”

  “What else was I to think?” he asked, the teasing note dying out of his voice. “I returned to find the rooms empty, changed beyond recognition with new furnishing, and none of the old ones in the same place as when I left. Mosaics were on walls I thought had been nothing but stone, and in the kitchen were a trio of the ugliest women I ever beheld, and strangers to boot, who fled screaming at the sight of a male. As if any but a blind man on a dark night could find the heart to rape them!”

  “Would it have mattered?” she asked, ignoring his attempt at humor, waiting, oddly breathless, for his answer.

  “Mattered? After the trouble I have been to establishing you here? If you had put me to the effort of finding you again, I would have wrung your neck the minute I laid eyes on you!”

  That was not precisely the answer she had been seeking. The depth of her disappointment left her querulous.

  “Instead of which, you bedded me the minute you saw me.”

  “A much more satisfactory proceeding, now that I think about it,” he said.

  Julia slanted him a quelling look. “I expect we had better get up before Isabel comes searching for you.”

  His chest moved in a soundless grunt. “Has she missed her lord and master too?”

  “Too?” Julia inquired. “What makes you think I missed you?”

  “I don’t know. The fervor of your welcome?”

  “Conceit!” she declared. “You couldn’t tell your own fervor from mine.”

  “Could I not?”

  “No. I see now where Isabel got her strange ideas.”

  “What kind of ideas?” he asked, ready to be amused.

  “That you were like a god. No doubt you planted the impression in her mind yourself.”

  Rud raised one eyelid. “A charming girl,” he murmured.

  “I am happy you think so. You need not preen yourself unduly, however. She also thinks you have eyes like an afreet, and would be frightened out of her wits if you chanced to summon her to your couch.”

  Rud heaved himself to one elbow. “Is that so. Well, she need not worry.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe she is worrying,” Julia said, laughter beginning to dance in her amber-gold eyes. “She is happy in her virginity, and awaits only the day when she will be called upon to give it away to the great man who will be her kismet.”

  “A great man, huh?”

  Julia gave a decided nod. “Preferably a Moor or a Turk.”

  “She has someone definite in mind?”

  The interest in his tone made Julia uneasy. “You would not mind, would you?”

  “No, not if I thought she would be happy,” he answered. “I can hardly take a slave girl back with me to England, if by some remote chance I have the opportunity to go. Nevertheless, she is my responsibility and must be provided for in some manner.”

  He had mentioned the return to England of his own accord; he had no thought of becoming a Muslim for life, no idea of taking a second wife, or a third or fourth, as allowed by the overgenerous Islamic Code. Reassured, Julia said slowly, “I don’t think Isabel would object to entering the harem of Ali Dey.”

  “You would see her go there, after your experience in the harem of another dey?” he asked, a brooding look in his eyes.

  “Ali Dey is a young man, and as Isabel told me, one of his wives is sickly. It is a sad but opportune fact. In any case, there is as much security for a woman there as in any place in Islam. You pointed that out to me yourself.”

  He did not answer as he absently drew his fingertip down the valley between her breasts, then began to circle one mound like a climber seeking the top of a mountain. He drew in his breath for a moment, and Julia thought he intended to put a question of importance to her. Instead, he lowered his head to her breast and let her feel the warm flick of his tongue.

  “Isabel will be waiting, and Basim,” she reminded him again, her voice not quite steady.

  He did not raise his head. “Let them wait.”

  The mission, which Ali Dey had entrusted to Rud, had been a diplomatic voyage to Morocco and Tripoli. The purpose had been to warn them of the French threat along the North African coast, and to urge a coalition to combat it. The response had been polite interest, many expressions of condolence to Ali Dey for the loss of his uncle, congratulations on his succession to the honors of the August relative, and little else. Gifts of great magnificence had been tendered in recognition of the change in rulership, and Rud had dutifully presented them to Ali Dey. He could not, however, present the assurance that the nearest neighbors of Algeria stood with them against the might of France.

  In spite of this setback, with Rud’s return, the rule of the new dey became more temperate. The indiscriminate arrests stopped, and the nobles and other court officials were soothed and permitted to regain their former influence. This meant that they were able once more to turn their attention to squabbling among themselves and jockeying for the position of adviser to the throne. It did them little good. The place belonged to Rud, by virtue of some odd alchemy between the two men of a kind that arises sometimes between human beings, a brotherhood spanning the differences of race, birth, culture, and creed. Often in the late hours of the night, Ali Dey would seek Rud out in his apartments, and sitting cross-legged on a divan in his gulphor, discuss the events of the day. In these times, they dispensed with formality of titles and obeisance, speaking not as ruler to adviser, but as one friend to another.

  Usually Julia was called upon to serve some form of refreshment to the two men, or to set out water pipes. In the beginning, she sometimes stayed in discreet quiet listening to the men talk of politics, but also of hunting and the terrible glory of war, of the beauty of horses and the grace of ships, of the wonder of poetry such as that of the Persian, Omar Khayyam, and of the timeless grandeur of the stars which guide both ships of the sea and ships of the desert. Occasionally, as they talked, the dark, considering gaze of the dey would drift to where Julia sat, her face and form concealed by barracan and veil. A frown would crease his brow and his eyes would narrow as if he would penetrate the flimsy defenses which kept him from feasting his fill of her beauty. The black glances he sent Rud at these times sent alarm coursing down Julia’s spine, and she soon learned to rouse one of the serving women to serve them, or to place their food and drink before them and withdraw immediately to the sleeping chamber.

  One night, she found Isabel in the kitchen when she went to give the order for sweetmeats and mint tea. Greatly daring, she suggested to the girl that she might don veil and barracan and personally serve the dey of Algiers. The flush, which suffused Isabel’s face, was enough to show Julia that the girl had hoped for such an order. Assuming a stately air that
went well with her size, she bore the prepared tray into the gulphor.

  She returned pale and trembling with excitement, and with actual gooseflesh on her arms. The Illustrious One had actually looked at her with his black and flashing eyes, had probed with them through her barracan to the generous curves it covered. He had even been heard to inquire of Reuben Effendi the particulars of his ownership of such beauty. The compliments he had made to his host indicated extraordinary interest, so much, in fact, that there was scarce any way their master could refuse to present her to Ali Dey without giving offense.

  Her joy was so transparent, her hopes so elevated, that Julia knew a pang of distress, afraid nothing would come of the incident. Rud’s reaction was quite otherwise.

  He slammed into the sleeping chamber and stalked toward Julia as she lay upon the couch. “What in hell do you mean, throwing Isabel at Ali’s head like that? Are you trying to get rid of her? Is that what you want?”

  “No, not exactly,” Julia answered, sitting up. “You said yourself she needed to be settled.”

  “She is only fifteen. There’s no hurry — unless you are so jealous you don’t count the cost to her of getting her out of your hair.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say!” Julia cried, bouncing to her feet!

  “What is so terrible about the truth? You have been at me ever since I came back to do something about her. I should have known two women under the same roof would not work!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I was only trying to help Isabel. She may be no more than fifteen, but by the standards of this part of the world, and her own, she is a woman. She will be much better off where she will be treated like one instead of staying with you as some sort of childish pet for your amusement!”

  “You are jealous,” he said, staring at her with deep-blue eyes.

  Julia felt like slapping him, or screaming at the top of her lungs. Instead, she said through her teeth, “I am not jealous. Isabel and I never have a cross word.”