by Connie Mason
Dariq pulled out of her and lifted himself from the tub. Water sluiced from his body as he extended his hand to Willow. Her expression was thoughtful as she mounted the marble steps and allowed Dariq to dry her with a soft drying cloth. Then he dried himself and carried her back to his bed.
Willow lay stiff in his arms. How could Dariq be so heartless? Had he no morals, no conscience?
“You’re angry,” Dariq said as he lay down beside her. “What did I say now?”
“Murder is a sin. If I have conceived your child tonight, I will carry the babe to term despite your determination to kill it.” Her voice quivered with disappointment. “I should have known you would be willing to kill your own child in order to continue your vendetta against your brother. Ibrahim might accept a woman who lacked a maidenhead, but not one carrying his brother’s babe.”
She turned away from him.
Dariq didn’t know what to say to that. It was certainly possible that Willow had already conceived his child. He would have Baba watch closely for signs that her woman’s flow had commenced. If fate turned against him, he would confront the problem when the time came, not before.
Sleep eluded him; Willow’s angry words kept echoing through his brain.
Could he terminate Willow’s pregnancy, even if the babe was no larger than a grain of sand and had yet to draw breath?
Dariq prayed he would never have to make that decision.
Chapter Eleven
Willow woke late the following morning. Sunshine slanting through the open windows warmed her skin, while a freshening breeze blowing in from the sea teased her senses. She stretched, moaning when her sore muscles protested. Her moan turned into a wistful smile when she recalled the erotic night she had spent in Dariq’s arms.
But the pleasure they had shared did not change her predicament. Her fate rested with Dariq, and he still intended to give her to Ibrahim.
Startled, Willow realized she was still in Dariq’s bed. She reached over and touched the impression where his head had lain. He must have left hours ago, for his side of the bed was cold. As if she had conjured up his image, Dariq strode through the door. She rose up on her elbow and watched him approach.
He cut an impressive figure this morning in a flowing robe and baggy white trousers stuffed into shiny black boots. The contrast of his suntanned skin against the pristine white robe made his eyes glow like silver ingots. The sight of him caused her breath to catch in her throat. Then she flushed, recalling their erotic play during the long, blissful night. Dariq knew no bounds when it came to loving; he had taught her a great deal about her body, and the pleasure she was capable of giving and receiving.
Dariq smiled at her, his intense gaze traveling over her dishabille. “You look delicious, like a rose opening its petals to the morning sun.” He heaved a regretful sigh. “Unfortunately, I cannot join you in bed. Are you hungry, beauty?”
Willow couldn’t recall eating since before her misadventure the day before.
“Famished.”
“Mustafa is on his way with your breakfast. You had best hurry if you wish to be presentable when he arrives.”
Willow looked about for something to wear.
“Your clothing will arrive soon. I have decided to give you the freedom to go wherever you desire within the seraglio, for I doubt you will try to flee again. You nearly lost your life the last time you attempted to escape.
“Therefore,” he continued, “I have decided to provide you with clothing suitable for an English lady.”
Willow stared at him in disbelief. “How did you acquire clothing fit for a lady?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs in a posture of male arrogance. “I am a pirate, my lady,” Dariq chuckled. “You would be surprised at the things I have taken off ships. For your information, I have trunk upon trunk of women’s clothing, as well as garments suitable for a gentleman of the ton. You may choose gowns from the trunks I have ordered brought to you and wear them until—”
Willow didn’t need to hear the rest of his sentence. “Why are you doing this?”
“You deserve a taste of freedom before joining Ibrahim’s harem.”
“I can dress how I want and go where I please?”
“Within reason.”
“Must I wear an aba?”
“Covering your head with a scarf will suffice. Women on Lipsi dress as they please.” He hesitated before saying, “I am taking you to Pirate Town today. I want you to identify the man Safiye paid to toss you into the sea. The traitorous houri refused to give me his name before she left.”
He found a caftan in his wardrobe and tossed it to her. “Wear this until your clothing arrives. Mustafa will be here soon with breakfast.”
Willow rose naked from the bed and tugged the caftan over her head. It dropped past her hips and settled at her feet.
Dariq watched with hungry eyes as her naked body was lost in the concealing folds. “ ’Tis a pity I have no time to linger.”
“Did you say Safiye has left?” Willow asked, as if suddenly recalling what Dariq had said.
“Aye, she sailed with the morning tide aboard one of my ships. She is going to the slave market in Algiers.”
“Oh.”
Aware of Willow’s tender heart, Dariq said, “Do not fret over her future, my sweet. Safiye always lands on her feet. I’m willing to bet she’ll find a new master worthy of her talents.”
There came a knock on the door.
“Ah, that would be Mustafa. Come in.”
Mustafa entered the chamber carrying a tray laden with bowls and platters. Willow sniffed, appreciative of the delicious aromas.
Mustafa set the tray on a low table surrounded by cushions. “The trunks will arrive shortly.” He sent Willow a speculative look before addressing Dariq. “Think you it is wise, my lord, to allow the lady freedom to come and go as she pleases?”
Dariq didn’t take offense at Mustafa’s words; he knew his friend meant no disrespect. “What harm can it do, my friend? I thought Willow would enjoy a few weeks or days—however long it takes for Ahmed to return—of freedom to dress as she wishes and go where she pleases, within reason, of course. I doubt she will be so foolish as to solicit help for another ill-advised escape attempt.”
Mustafa sent Willow a lingering look of distrust before departing.
“He does not like me,” Willow observed.
“You must forgive Mustafa. He is excessively protective of me and my mother. He wants to see Saliha Sultana safely delivered from harm as much as I do.”
Drawn to the food, Willow plopped down on a fluffy cushion as Dariq removed the covers from various dishes and platters. She helped herself to fruit, a sweet roll dripping with honey, and a helping of hot cereal she didn’t recognize.
Willow chewed thoughtfully on a piece of roll. “Mustafa sees me as an obstacle to your plans.”
Dariq knew that Mustafa feared his growing attachment to Willow, but his friend also knew that Dariq had too much at stake to let his emotions run away with him. Though he had become very fond of Willow—too fond, perhaps, as Mustafa recognized—he could not stray from his original plan to save his mother’s life. Turmoil darkened Dariq’s eyes. How could he balance one woman’s life against another when both were equally dear to him?
Where had that thought come from? Dariq wondered. As a sexual partner, Willow was without equal, but he feared she was more to him than that. Dariq had neither the time nor energy to devote to any emotion other than hatred and revenge. His need to punish Ibrahim for the senseless deaths of his brothers and to bring his mother to safety must take precedence. He could not indulge any tender feelings he might harbor for Willow. She was here for one reason only, and it was not to fulfill his own selfish needs. If he forgot that reason, he could lose his mother.
“Have you nothing to say?” Willow asked without looking up.
Dariq shrugged. “What can I say? Mustafa fears I am becoming obsessed with you.”
She looked up, her eyes luminous. “Are you?”
Dariq swallowed… hard. What could he tell her? That he was obsessed with her? That he loved making love to her, loved teaching her about sex and the pleasures to be had in practicing what she learned? Aye, he could tell her those things, but they would not matter, for her ultimate destination was Ibrahim’s bed.
“You please me,” he said after a long pause. “I would keep you for myself if it were possible.”
Willow set her fork down, her expression grim. “So to ease your conscience, you are allowing me a small taste of freedom. How gallant of you. I should have known better than to expect mercy from a pirate.” She rose and walked away.
Dariq grasped her arm. “Where are you going?”
“To the harem, where I belong. Have the trunks delivered there when they arrive.”
“You’re staying here. We will eat our meals together, make love together and sleep together until you leave my protection.”
“I prefer to be your prisoner. If you want a woman in your bed, find yourself another concubine. I thought… oh, how could I have been so stupid? After last night I assumed … I hoped… You are even more heartless than I thought. Let go of me!”
She twisted free of his grip and glared at him.
Dariq’s mouth thinned. “You are not my prisoner! You are my guest.”
“Guests aren’t treated like chattel.” She turned her back to him.
He whirled her around to face him. “Look at me and tell me you did not enjoy being in my bed. Tell me you hated what we did.”
She refused to raise her eyes to him.
“Look at me, Willow.” His tone brooked no argument. She lifted her chin. Their gazes met and clashed.
“Kiss me, beauty.”
“I think not.”
“What are you afraid of? That you might like it too well? That you will remember my hands and mouth upon your body and crave more of what we experienced last night?”
“I want naught from you but my freedom.”
He sighed regretfully. “I will grant you anything but that.”
The confrontation ended when servants arrived with the promised trunks.
“Choose what you will. I shall return in an hour to escort you to Pirate Town.” He paused at the door. “Make use of my hammam, if you wish.”
Her lips pressed tightly together, Willow fumed in impotent rage. She was a fool to let herself fall in love with … Dear God, what was she thinking? It couldn’t be true! She didn’t love Dariq! He was a pirate, a man without a conscience, without a heart, a man with no soul. She meant no more to him than Safiye, or any other woman. Men of his culture treated women like possessions; they bought and sold them on the open market like sides of beef.
Still angry at her inability to resist Dariq’s sensual seduction, Willow rummaged through the trunks for something decent to wear. Dariq had wanted her amenable to his plans and had used seduction to render her complacent. But she wasn’t complacent. Nor was she going to accept her fate without a fight.
Willow decided not to use Dariq’s hammam. It held too many memories. She washed instead in a basin of tepid water and quickly dressed. She didn’t want to be naked when Dariq returned. She never intended to be naked in his presence again.
When Dariq arrived, Willow was chastely clad in a blue gown that laced up to the neck and hugged her breasts and waist, flowing in liquid lines over her hips to the tips of her slippers.
“I see you’re ready,” he said, looking her over from head to toe. “Did you find a head scarf in any of those trunks?”
“I have it here,” she said, extending her hand.
Dariq took the scarf from her and placed it over her head, winding the ends around her neck so that they trailed down her back.
“Now you are ready to accompany me to Pirate Town. If fortune smiles on us, we shall find the man who tried to drown you.”
“Why? You care naught for me. Except as a bargaining tool, I am worthless to you.”
He stopped her with a look, his eyes dark with an emotion she found difficult to interpret.
“You are only partly right, beauty. I do not know why it should be so, but I do care for you. More than I ought to. More than I have a right to. I would keep you for myself in a heartbeat but for a need greater than my own desire.”
Willow regarded him in disbelief. Dariq cared for her? How easily the lie fell from his lips. He was just saying that to soothe her ruffled feelings; she knew his plans for her future remained unchanged.
Dariq realized his words made little sense, even to himself. While telling Willow he cared, he still intended to give her to Ibrahim. He had fought his desire for Willow and lost. He had made love to her when he should have avoided her. He was engaged in a fierce battle between love for his mother and his growing affection for Willow.
“Pretty words, but lies,” Willow spat.
“Is this a lie?” Dariq asked, bringing her hard against him so she could feel his arousal.
Then he kissed her, deeply, greedily, attempting to prove that he cared by plying her with ardent kisses. He pulled back and searched her face for a hint of what she was feeling. Her closed expression told him she believed none of what he’d just admitted. He squared his shoulders. If he continued to harbor these maudlin sentiments, he might do something he would regret the rest of his days. His mother needed him. He couldn’t be sidetracked by a blond houri who had broken through the protective walls around his heart.
“We should go,” Dariq said. “Kissing you can only lead to one thing, and we haven’t time for that right now. I need to find the man Safiye hired to kill you.
“We will visit the souk in Pirate Town. All but one of my fleet of ships is in port, and most of the seamen will be milling about the marketplace, selling booty and prizes they have no use for. Inform me the moment you recognize the man who tried to kill you.” He sent her a sharp look. “You will recognize him, won’t you?”
She shivered. “I will never forget his face.”
Dariq was pleased with her answer. “It is possible the assassin is not a pirate. You will also have the opportunity to see some of the men from Lipsi Town. They often visit the souk to look over the wares. We are on good terms with the inhabitants of the island; they walk among us without fear.”
He placed her arm in the crook of his elbow and escorted her through the seraglio. Willow was struck anew by the opulence of Dariq’s island home. She walked upon marble floors and past columns trimmed in gold and statues that looked as if they had been wrought by famous sculptors.
Mustafa joined them at the front entrance, following close on their heels. The huge Turk rarely left Dariq’s side.
Willow was surprised to see an elegant carriage and a pair of horses standing on the driveway of crushed shells.
“Wherever did you get a carriage? It seems out of place on this remote island.”
Dariq’s eyes twinkled. “Handsome, is it not? The carriage was in the hold of a ship we intercepted. It was meant for Ibrahim but now is mine. I purchased the pair of matched Arabians in Morocco.”
Willow heard Mustafa chuckle and realized the purloined carriage was cause for merriment between the two men.
Dariq helped Willow into the carriage. She settled back against the luxurious leather seats while Dariq crowded in beside her. Mustafa leapt into the driver’s box and took up the reins. It was a short ride to Pirate Town, and Willow enjoyed every minute of it. Never had she ridden in such a finely sprung carriage, and never with a prince.
Pirate Town was bustling with activity. The souk stretched the entire length of the street bordering the harbor. Dariq helped her down from the carriage and held her arm in a proprietary manner as he guided her from booth to booth.
The variety and quality of goods amazed Willow. It was obvious that pirating was a lucrative business. Dariq had been right when he’d said the residents of Lipsi Town often visited the marketplace, for she saw men, women and children in trad
itional Greek clothing examining the wares.
“ ’Tis such a fine day, and everyone seems to be out and about,” Dariq said. “If you see the man we’re looking for, point him out. Mustafa will handle the matter from there.”
Willow nodded, her attention suddenly caught by a necklace of flawless emeralds. She reached out for it and held it up to the sun, exclaiming over the purity of the stones. Dariq snatched it from her hands and replaced it on the display board.
“Remember why we are here,” he reminded her. “Walk ahead a bit while I speak to Mustafa. Do not worry, for I won’t let you out of my sight.”
Willow strolled at a leisurely pace, enthralled by the scents and sounds around her. Everything from rich silks and satins to precious jewels and artwork was displayed. One booth offered a variety of weaponry, around which a crowd of men had gathered.
Dariq and Mustafa rejoined her. “Have you spotted him yet?” Dariq asked. “Look closely at the men loitering near the weapons.”
Willow took a closer look. Most of the men looked alike with their scruffy beards, mustaches, unkempt hair and turbans. Then she saw him. She’d never forget those eyes. He looked directly at her.
She sensed his fear as he backed away. Willow pointed to him. “There he is!” The man turned and ran.
Mustafa gave chase. Willow had never seen a man his size move so fast. Though the culprit was fleet of foot and tried to lose himself in the crowd, Mustafa soon had him cornered. He dragged the wildly protesting pirate to where Willow and Dariq stood.
The pirate fell to his knees, groveling before Dariq. “Forgive me, my lord,” he wailed. “I meant your lady no harm. I was paid to take her to Greece.”
“By whom, Hamid?”
“Lady Safiye, my lord.”
“How much did she pay you to make sure Lady Willow did not survive the crossing?”
Hamid blanched. “You will order my death if I tell you.”
“I will order your death if you do not.”
Hamid must have known he was doomed whatever he did, for he started shaking uncontrollably. “I cannot betray my lady Safiye.”