Panther's Prey

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “What is it?”

  “I wonder if I might leave early. I have a bit of a headache. I’ve checked off all my dances and I’ll say goodbye to Mrs. Ballinger before I go.”

  “Of course, dear, I’m sorry to hear that you’re not feeling well,” Bea replied. “I’ll send James to get your wrap.”

  “May I take the carriage?” Amy asked, holding her breath.

  “Certainly. James and I will get a ride with someone else, or you can send the driver back for us.”

  Amy exhaled as quietly as possible.

  “No need,” Mrs. Lambert interjected. “William and I will drop you off at home, Bea.”

  Amy leaned forward to kiss her aunt and said, “I had a lovely time. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, dear,” her aunt replied.

  Amy found Mrs. Ballinger and had a mercifully brief conversation, and by the time she left the ballroom James was waiting in the embassy foyer with her cape.

  “Maybe I should see you home,” he said, as he dropped the wrap over her shoulders.

  Amy froze. “No, Uncle James. I don’t want you to leave the party. I’ll be quite safe.”

  “Are you sure? If anything else happens to you Beatrice will be quite beside herself.”

  “I’m sure. It’s a short trip and your driver has a pistol.”

  “Very well. But let me at least hand you into the carriage,” James said.

  Amy gritted her teeth but took his proffered arm, aware that if she protested too much James was sure to think something was amiss. She waited as James instructed the driver and then ascended the portable steps, turning to smile at Bea’s husband as he closed the door after her.

  “Good night,” she said, and waved.

  “Good night, Amelia.”

  The driver removed the steps and climbed onto his box. He clucked to the horses as James went back up the steps. Amelia looked around frantically, trying to spot Malik by the light of the gas lamps lining the embassy drive as the horses ambled forward.

  Suddenly both mares reared and the driver yanked on the reins. The coach lurched to a quick stop and the driver jumped down to the ground.

  “What is it?” Amy called to him.

  “Maybe something in the path, miss, not to worry,” the driver called back in his singsong English. “I’ll have a look.” He walked forward, holding his oil lamp aloft.

  At the same instant the coach door opened and Malik bolted through it, flinging himself flat on the floor.

  “What did you do?” Amy hissed, lifting her legs onto the seat to accommodate him.

  “I threw a rock onto the drive to spook the horses,” he said. “Now be quiet and let’s hope the driver doesn’t suspect anything.”

  Amy removed her cape and dropped it over the prone man at her feet. She watched the driver look around and then return to say to her, “Can’t see a thing, miss. Must have been an animal in the bushes that frightened the horses.”

  “All right,” Amy replied. “Thanks for checking. You may proceed.”

  The coachman touched his cap, and then the vehicle rocked as he climbed back up to his seat. When the horses started to walk again she murmured to Malik, “I think we’re all right. Just stay where you are and I’ll get you out somehow when we arrive.”

  There was no reply, but a slim brown hand reached up and squeezed her ankle.

  The trip back to the Woolcott home seemed to increase by several kilometers, and as they traveled through the streets near the house Amy saw the patrolling janissaries Malik had mentioned. She hadn’t been out this late since Malik’s last visit and had not known of their presence. But they knew about her, or rather her family, as well as its mode of transportation. She saw two of the Sultan’s men salute her driver as they passed.

  When the coach finally pulled into the porte cochere next to the house Amy sagged with relief. As the driver came to the door to hand her down she said quickly, “May I ask a favor of you?”

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Could you go into the house and get my heavy gray cape from the entry hall closet? I know it’s only a short walk inside but I’m really quite chilled, possibly feverish, and the one I have here is too light.”

  The driver, an elderly Armenian who had spent his life humoring the baffling whims of rich Westerners in Pera, nodded resignedly. As soon as he walked out of sight Amy pulled her wrap off Malik and said, “Go. Wait outside the flower room entrance and I’ll let you into the house as soon as I can.”

  He scrambled out the door and she saw him run for the shrubbery. When the driver returned with her cape she thanked him effusively, slipping it on as if it were made of ermine.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome, miss.”

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Amy added as she descended from the coach. “You can put up the horses now, as you won’t have to go out again. Good night.”

  “Good night, miss,” he said, leading the mares forward as she went into the house.

  The house was quiet when she entered it; the servants were asleep and Amy hoped that James and Bea would not return for another couple of hours. Amy stood at the kitchen window and saw a light appear in the stable, then waited, watching for the progress of the coachman’s lamp from the stalls and up the outside steps to the room over the barn. When she saw the fuzzy glow stop in one place and she felt sure that the driver was in for the night, she ran to the flower room door and yanked it open joyfully.

  Malik stepped over the threshold and scooped her into his arms.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry it took so long, I had to wait for the coachman to go up to his room,” she said, her words muffled by his shirt. “I was afraid he might see me open the door to you, this side of the house is visible from the stables but not from the window in his room.”

  “It’s all right,” Malik replied, setting her on her feet. “I saw him go, I knew why you were waiting.”

  They looked at one another in the dark kitchen.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he said huskily.

  Amy took his hand and led him through the house and up to the landing, both of them treading lightly, alert to a creak in the floors or any other sound that might signal they were about to have company. They fled along the gallery and into Amy’s room; she felt safe only when she had turned the key in the lock and sought the haven of Malik’s arms once more.

  He kissed her immediately, picking her up and carrying her to the bed. They embraced as fully as possible with Amy trapped in her voluminous gown. Finally Malik, frustrated by the dress, panted, “How do I get this off?”

  She got up from the bed and turned away from him. “There are hooks and eyes down the back,” he said.

  He stood behind her and said, “Hooks and eyes?”

  She pointed over her shoulder.

  He wrestled with the metal closures and finally said, “I can’t do it.”

  “Rip it,” Amy said.

  She heard the sound of cloth tearing, then felt his mouth on her bare shoulder as he pulled the bodice down to her waist. He yanked again and the capacious skirt fell to the floor.

  “And what is all this?” he said, pulling at her strapless, heavily boned corset. He began to laugh. “It must take you an hour to get dressed.”

  “It laces down the back,” Amy told him, ignoring his amusement. “Listak helps me.”

  He made a few swift gestures behind her and the corset fell off into her hands.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “I cut the laces with my knife,” he replied. He turned her to face him and picked her up again, setting her on the bed. He pulled off her step-ins and stockings, discarding the rest of her clothes methodically until she was naked. Then he dropped next to her and said, “I think I’ll take a nap now. I need a rest after all that work.”

  Amy flung herself on top of him and kissed the warm holl
ow of his throat, slipping her hands under his loosened shirt and caressing him.

  “Still feeling tired?” she purred, straddling him.

  “I’m reviving,” he murmured, sucking in his breath as she moved one hand under the waistband of his pants.

  “How about now?” she whispered.

  “I’m revived,” he answered, sighing, closing his eyes as she touched him.

  “So I can tell,” she said. “In fact, this part of your anatomy never seemed tired at all.”

  He seized her shoulders and rolled her under him, switching positions with her in an instant.

  “You’re a quick study,” he said, nibbling the fleshy lobe of her ear.

  “Americans learn fast. But I still feel I need more practice,” she answered, holding his head against her as he turned his attention to her throat, her breasts. A silence fell as he made love to her; when he raised his head again his face was serious. All traces of his teasing mood had vanished.

  “I don’t want anyone else to touch you like this,” he said thickly.

  “No one else has, and no one else will,” she answered him softly.

  “Promise me,” he said, bending to wrap his arms around her waist, his mouth traveling down her supine body, leaving a hot, moist trail. “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” Amy whispered, and then gave herself up to pleasure.

  * * *

  Amy was lying in Malik’s arms, not sleeping, content to feel his body next to hers, when the sound of a carriage on the drive made her sit up and listen. She climbed out of bed, going to her dressing area where the window faced the front of the house.

  “What is it?” Malik asked her, propping himself up on one elbow.

  Amy saw James emerge from the Lamberts’ carriage, then hold up his arms to help Beatrice down to the ground.

  “My aunt and uncle are back home,” Amy said, rejoining Malik. “We’ll have to be very quiet until they’re asleep.”

  “Were we making a lot of noise?” Malik asked, smiling. He held out his arm to enfold her. “I thought I was very quiet when I dismembered your dress.”

  “I’ll have to have that repaired before Beatrice sees it,” Amy replied. “She picked it out for me.”

  “I liked you much better in my camp, with nothing under your gown but you,” he said.

  Amy touched the scar left by the knife wound he got in the bazaar. “This healed nicely,” she said.

  “I had a wonderful nurse,” he said.

  “You have quite a few scars,” Amy observed.

  “And you’re thin,” he answered, tracing her collarbone with his forefinger. “I noticed the last time I was here that you had lost weight.”

  “I’m pining for you,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Are you pining for me?”

  He looked at her, his dark eyes intent.

  “Yes,” he admitted, and her heart turned over at his guileless tone as he said the word.

  “I watched you for a long time through the window tonight,” he added. “I saw you dancing with that Brit.”

  It took Amy a moment to register whom he meant. “Martin Fitzwater?”

  Malik shrugged. “Sandy hair, long nose, weak chin.”

  Amy giggled at his account of the soldier’s appearance. “That’s Martin.”

  “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

  She stared up at him, trying to determine if he were serious. It seemed he was.

  “Malik, you have to be kidding. Martin Fitzwater is the biggest bore in the British army, he means well but all talks about is his family lineage. It’s a fascinating subject to him, maybe, but a little less so to the rest of the world.”

  “You looked good with him. You looked right, you in that gorgeous dress and Fitzwilly in his scarlet uniform, sweeping around the floor together. I could tell he was interested in you.”

  “Malik, don’t start this again. Are you going to ruin the time we have together with this nonsense? I was putting on a performance, for my aunt and all the people there, trying to fit the image they have of what Beatrice’s niece should be.”

  He sat up, clenching his fists, his face dark. “Can you imagine what it’s like for me to be away from you, knowing that in my absence all the young bucks in both garrisons are chasing you down like hounds who are onto your scent? Knowing that your aunt is doing everything possible to encourage them? Knowing that with each passing day your memory of me fades and the pressure on you to conform to her expectations increases? Sometimes I think I’ll go mad just thinking about it.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I trust you. I don’t trust your relatives, or your suitors, or anyone else who wants to separate you from me.”

  “Give me some credit. If they haven’t influenced me so far, why should they in the future?”

  “Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, as the deluded English like to say. It makes the heart forget. Each day that I’m gone makes you wonder if I will ever return. I know this, Amelia. You can’t help but feel that way–it’s human nature.”

  “Then take me with you,” Amy said, pressing her body to his, winding her arms around his neck. “I can endure any hardship, whatever happens.”

  “Are you certain, Amelia? Don’t make an impulsive decision that you will regret.”

  “How can you say that to me?” Amy demanded. “Do you think I’m some two-year-old who doesn’t know her own mind?”

  “I don’t think that,” he replied soothingly. “But you will be leaving your family and friends for a long time if you come with me, perhaps leaving them permanently. Can you stand that?”

  “I can stand it, Malik. I can stand anything. I just want to be with you all the time.”

  His arms came around her convulsively and he said into her ear, “Then you will. You have my word that you will.”

  “But when?”

  “I can’t say just yet. Soon. Pack a bag and hide it so you’ll be ready to go in an instant.”

  “Do you really mean it? You’re not just saying this to appease me?”

  “I mean it. The next time I come here it will be to take you away with me.”

  Amy drew back to kiss him and he began to make love to her again.

  * * *

  Malik left before anyone else in the house was awake, and after Amy saw him out she returned to bed, slipping into the dreamless sleep of a happy and satisfied woman. She rose again after James and Bea had eaten breakfast; her aunt had given orders to Listak to let Amy sleep as long as she wanted.

  The weather was bright and much warmer, inspiring Amy to undertake some fall cleaning. She spent the day in meaningless chores, reliving the past night in her mind as she organized drawers, put away summer clothes and stuffed tissue paper into shoes. She ate lunch from a tray and went back to work, finishing her tasks just as Beatrice returned from an afternoon of shopping.

  Amy was humming under her breath when she joined James and Bea for dinner.

  “You seem fully recovered from last night’s malaise,” Beatrice commented as Amy slipped into her chair.

  “Oh, I feel so much better,” Amy said brightly. “I woke up this morning a different person.”

  “A good night’s sleep will do wonders for almost anybody,” James commented.

  Amy coughed delicately and let that pass.

  James opened the evening paper and scanned the front page, looking up at Amy seconds later. He had a strange expression on his face.

  “Please don’t read the paper at the dinner table, dear,” Beatrice said to him, unfolding her napkin.

  “What is it?” Amy asked James, ignoring her aunt.

  He turned the paper so that Amy could see the headline.

  “MALIK BEY CAPTURED,” it read.

  Chapter 11

  Amy stared at the words, unable to respond, a falling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  “About time, too,” Beatrice said huffily, snapping her napkin into her lap. “That man has been the scourge of t
he country long enough.”

  Amy opened her mouth, but nothing came out of it.

  “I’m sure you’re relieved to know that he’s in custody, dear,” Bea added to Amy.

  James looked at his wife and then back at Amy.

  “Amelia?” he said gently. “Are you all right?”

  Amy swallowed, nodding.

  “You’ve gone quite pale,” Beatrice said to her. “I thought you said you were feeling better.”

  “I am,” Amy replied, finally finding her voice. “It’s just a shock to know that... he... has been arrested.”

  “He won’t last long in the Sultan’s bird cage,” Bea said with satisfaction. “I predict that he’ll be executed on the Feast of the Flowers.”

  “May I be excused?” Amy said suddenly, shoving back her chair and standing.

  “But you haven’t had a thing to eat!” Bea protested.

  “I’ll get something later,” Amy said, turning and then almost running from the room.

  “That’s peculiar,” Bea said, shaking her head. “But who can predict the behavior of adolescent girls?”

  James, who had a little more insight than his wife, and whose cousin Sarah had married her erstwhile captor, said nothing. He followed Amy out of the room with his eyes.

  Amy flew up the stairs, pausing on the landing to put her hand to her mouth and lean against the wall. She felt as if she were going to be ill, but managed to swallow her nausea and make it to her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and hugged herself, rocking, too stunned to cry.

  It had finally happened. Malik had been caught and it was all her fault. She didn’t know the details yet, but for the news to make the evening paper he must have been apprehended soon after he left her house that morning.

  If he hadn’t come into the city to see her he would still be a free man.

  Amy wanted to do something, anything, but her mind refused to yield an idea. The Sultan was not going to release his most wanted criminal under any circumstances. Beatrice was right. He would hold Malik until the Feast of the Flowers and then execute him publicly on the national holiday. Hammid would delight in making an example of Malik, in showing his impressionable subjects what became of anyone who dared to oppose the Sultan’s rule.