by Connie Mason
“The seraglio is just ahead,” Mustafa remarked.
Willow poked her head out the window as the elaborate gate opened for them. The horses clattered into the courtyard and stopped. The carriage door opened, and Willow stepped down onto a patio paved in white marble veined with gold. Marble steps led up to a pair of brass double doors trimmed in gold. Willow decided that the Sultan of Istanbul was a very wealthy man and spared no expense for his own comfort.
Mustafa guided Willow to the front entrance, where a janizary standing outside the door rapped sharply with his scimitar. The door opened immediately. Willow stepped inside, her heart pounding wildly. Then the door closed behind her. She was trapped. Would she ever see the outside world again?
“Follow me,” a guard commanded. “The sultan awaits you in his private chamber.”
Willow’s feet refused to move until Ali Hara gently pushed her forward. She was almost too frightened to notice the opulence of the seraglio; everything seemed a blur to her. One thing she couldn’t ignore, however—the wealth of gold that adorned everything she saw, from the tassels on the drapery, to the statuary, the trim on onyx tables, and the ceiling above her head.
They walked down long marble hallways, passing closed doors as well as elaborately furnished rooms open for display. She gulped back her fear when they reached the end of a long corridor and paused before a set of golden doors more elaborate than any she had seen thus far.
The doors opened.
Willow’s gaze was drawn to a man seated on a chair somewhat less elaborate than a formal throne but impressive nonetheless. The sultan, for he could be no less, was resplendent in a red and gold tunic over baggy white trousers. He wore soft slippers with gold buckles on his feet, and a white turban perched atop thick black hair. Two ebony-hued children standing on either side of him waved feather fans over his head, while several armed guards stood at attention. Ibrahim gestured for Willow and her party to come forward. With Mustafa and Ali Hara all but supporting her, she approached the sultan.
Ibrahim addressed Mustafa directly. “In what language should I address the woman, Mustafa? Does she speak French?”
“I speak both French and Turkish,” Willow said before Mustafa could reply.
The sultan’s dark gaze settled on Willow. Ibrahim was not unhandsome, she decided, but there was a cold emptiness in his eyes that frightened her. His thick eyebrows and neat beard were dark as night, but his eyes were too bright, too cunning. He’d appeared startled when she’d addressed him without asking permission.
“What is your name, lady?”
“I am Lady Willow Foxburn, and I demand that you return me to my father.”
Ibrahim’s eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline. “You may demand naught of me, lady. I paid for you in hard gold coin. You are mine to do with as I please. Henceforth, you will speak only when spoken to.”
“The lady is not yours until you keep your part of the bargain,” Mustafa reminded him.
Ibrahim scowled. “I do not trust you, Mustafa. Were it not for you and Saliha Sultana, my brother would have met the fate I had intended for him. I wish to inspect the woman to make sure I have not been cheated. Remove your aba, lady.”
There was nothing Willow could do to hide her scantily clad form from the sultan. With great reluctance, she removed her aba and dropped it to the floor. She heard the sharp intake of Ibrahim’s breath and met his probing gaze without flinching, refusing to be cowed.
Silence pulsed as Ibrahim stared at her. “Ahhh,” he breathed, “she is lovely. More radiant than the moon and stars.” He uncoiled his long form from the chair and stalked toward her. Only then did Willow flinch.
He was as tall as Dariq but more frightening in manner, though not nearly as broad or muscular as his brother. He stopped in front of Willow and lifted a strand of her hair, winding it around his finger. When he released it, it sprang back to its original shape, as if it possessed a life of its own.
“Your hair is spun gold. I have never Seen the like. You will always wear it down for me when you come to my bed.”
She blinked up at him, the picture his words conveyed too painful to contemplate.
“Your eyes,” Ibrahim continued. “They are like glowing emeralds. You are indeed a treasure and well worth the price.”
“Now that you have seen Lady Willow and approve, you will release Salilha Sultana,” Mustafa demanded.
Ibrahim shifted his gaze from Willow to Mustafa with marked reluctance. “Not yet. Step back several paces so that I might have a private word with the lady.”
Both Mustafa and Ali Hara shuffled backward toward the door. Once they were out of hearing, Ibrahim let his avid, lust-darkened eyes roam over Willow’s scantily clad body.
“You were with my brother a long time, lady.”
His words demanded no answer, so Willow gave none. She knew what he was implying.
His gaze grew more intense, his expression hardening. “Did he take your virginity? Did my brother have you?”
Willow knew that lying would not help her. Her missing maidenhead was tangible proof that she was no longer virginal. Looking directly into Ibrahim’s eyes, she said, “Aye.” A more complicated answer wasn’t necessary.
Ibrahim whirled and paced to his chair. He appeared angry. His shoulders were stiff, his hands fisted at his sides. But he didn’t sit down. He whipped around and strode back to Willow.
“I expected as much. I knew my brother could not resist you. Even so, he took you to defy me. If you had lied to me, I would have known it. My brother is a coward. He did not accompany you to Istanbul because he knew I would have killed him for taking what was mine.”
“You would have killed him anyway,” Willow shot back.
He pushed his hand into her hair, digging his fingers into her scalp. Willow gasped as pain seared through her. Reining in her anger, she blinked away tears forming in her eyes and glared up at him. “If you do not want me, return me to Prince Dariq.”
Seizing her shoulders, Ibrahim snarled, “Never! You are mine. Dariq cannot have you. Think you I don’t know he is planning to kill me and seize my power?”
“Dariq has no plans to seize your power,” Willow argued.
Ibrahim’s hands tightened hurtfully on her shoulders. She winced.
“Do not hurt her, I beg you,” Ali Hara said, rushing to Willow’s defense.
Ibrahim looked past Willow to Ali Hara. “Who are you to speak on behalf of my concubine?” His eyes narrowed. “I remember you now. You are Ali Hara, the eunuch who disappeared from my harem shortly after my brother ran away.”
“Aye, my lord,” Ali Hara admitted. “I now serve Lady Willow. I intend to remain with her, if it pleases you.”
Ibrahim laughed. Willow thought it an ugly sound. “You may remain if you wish, but Kamel’s word is law in the harem.”
“I understand, my lord,” Ali Hara replied. “I merely wish to protect the lady Willow from your concubines. There is bound to be jealousy, and you know how ugly that can get.”
Ibrahim returned his hard gaze to Willow. “Are you with child?”
Willow blanched and took a step backward. “I do not know.”
Ibrahim stomped his foot like a spoiled child. “I will kill my brother for despoiling you! I will not rest until his head is separated from his shoulders, nor will I take you to my bed until I have proof that you are not carrying my brother’s child.”
Willow almost collapsed with relief. It was the reprieve she had prayed for. She lowered her head, docile and accepting, while her mind raced ahead to the possibilities now open to her. At the most, she had a month to plan an escape. If she wished hard enough for a miracle, one might be granted to her, It would be a miracle if Ibrahim forgot she existed.
The sultan seated himself upon his throne and gestured for Ali Hara and Mustafa to approach.
“Where is my brother?” he asked. “Does he remain aboard the Revenge because he is too cowardly to face me?”
“Nay, my
lord,” Mustafa answered. “Prince Dariq is not a coward. He was… tied up and sent me in his stead.”
“Where is his stronghold?” Ibrahim demanded. “I know he has a fleet of ships and a Brotherhood of pirates at his disposal. He has disrupted my shipping and caused me great anguish. He allows little to get through to Istanbul from other ports.”
“The Revenge is our home, my lord. As you well know, ’tis a sturdy ship. There is naught else I can tell you.”
Obviously, Ibrahim didn’t like the answer. “I can deal with you in ways you will not like if you do not tell me what I wish to know.”
“Prince Dariq kept his part of the bargain and expects you to keep yours,” Mustafa said. “You are a great sultan. Is your word not trustworthy? An agreement is an agreement. You promised to release Saliha Sultana if my master delivered the woman to you. Prince Dariq has generously agreed to let your ships pass in peace for the period of one year. Lady Willow stands before you now, and you appear pleased with her. ’Tis time you produced Saliha Sultana. Should you renege, word that Sultan Ibrahim’s honor cannot be trusted will travel throughout the Ottoman Empire and beyond.”
It was a bold speech, and Willow hoped it wouldn’t cost Mustafa his head.
Ibrahim’s burning gaze returned to Willow, the heat of his lust scorching her wherever it touched, and it seemed to touch everywhere. She shuddered and hugged herself, trying to hide as much of her body as she could from his vile gaze.
“Never let it be said that the great Sultan Ibrahim is without honor.” His gaze shifted to a wooden screen at the left of his throne. “You may come out, Saliha Sultana.”
Willow’s breath caught when an older woman clad in a flowing silk caftan stepped out from behind the screen. Small of stature and delicate, with lovely gray hair and undiminished beauty despite her age, she carried herself proudly as she approached Willow.
“I am sorry, my dear,” she said in English. “Had it been my choice, you would not be here. I am an old woman and have lived a full life, while you have yours before you. My son must not have been thinking clearly. You do not belong here.”
Saliha Sultana’s silver-gray eyes were so like her son’s that Willow could have stared into them forever.
“What are you saying?” Ibrahim barked. “I do not understand your heathenish tongue.”
“I was merely welcoming Lady Willow to your seraglio,” Saliha said.
“Watch your back, my lady,” Saliha continued in English. “There is much intrigue in the harem. Kamel will do his best to protect you. Trust him.”
“Leave now with Mustafa, Saliha Sultana,” Ibraham ordered. “And good riddance,” he added sourly.
Mustafa grasped Saliha’s elbow as if to lead her away. Willow grasped the sleeve of her caftan. “A moment, my lady,” she whispered. “Please take good care of Dariq. He is … I… just keep him from harm.”
Saliha’s keen gaze searched Willow’s face. “Oh, dear God. You love my son. How could he do this to you?”
“ ’Twas my choice,” Willow whispered. “I came willingly, my lady. Dariq did not send me, nor was I forced.”
“We must leave, Saliha Sultana,” Mustafa insisted. “I will explain everything to you once we are aboard the Revenge.”
Her silver eyes blurred with tears, Saliha bowed her head and allowed Mustafa to lead her away.
Ali Hara stepped protectively nearer to Willow. She sent him a wobbly smile. His friendly face meant a great deal to her at this moment.
Ibrahim stood. “Fetch Kamel!” he ordered one of the guards. He returned his gaze to Willow. “Turn around, lady, slowly—very slowly.”
She glanced at Ali Hara. When he nodded, she did as Ibrahim asked. She felt like a piece of meat hanging in a market stall as his hot gaze traveled over her.
“Come closer, lady.”
Willow’s steps dragged as she approached Ibrahim.
“Show me your breasts.”
Willow’s head shot up. “Nay!”
Ali Hara stepped between Ibrahim and Willow. “My lady is exhausted, my lord Sultan. It has been a long journey. You will find her willing to accommodate you after she bathes and rests. Perhaps, oh, great one, you will grant her time to become accustomed to her surroundings before you make demands of her.”
Ibrahim sent Ali Hara a fearsome look. “You are too bold, Ali Hara. Are you deliberately trying to thwart me? Since my brother has seen and touched the lady Willow, why should I not have the same privileges?”
Kamel chose that moment to make his appearance. “You sent for me, master?” The eunuch slanted Willow a reassuring smile. “Your new concubine has arrived, I see. Am I to assume Saliha Sultana has been allowed to leave?”
“Aye, she is gone, and good riddance,” Ibrahim said petulantly. “I wish I could rid myself of her son as easily. Dariq is the bane of my existence. For all I know, he is gathering followers as we speak to help him wrest power from me. Turkey is a big country; ’tis impossible to have eyes everywhere.”
“Dariq does not want the sultanate,” Willow repeated. “He wants justice.”
“Silence!” Ibrahim shouted. “Take Lady Willow away, Kamel, and teach her to speak only when spoken to. I do not like bold women. She is here to please me, not to question or judge me. Inform the mistress of the harem she has one month to prepare my new concubine for my bed. Tell Hetice I wish to be informed when Lady Willow’s moon cycle begins. If I learn she is carrying my brother’s child, I will present her to my stableman.” He grinned evilly. “I promise she will like neither her new master nor his harsh ways.”
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Willow and the two eunuchs.
Misery rode Dariq as he stared at the rip that had appeared in one of the sails. Bad luck had plagued him since he boarded the Hunter. He would never reach Istanbul in time to keep Willow from Ibrahim’s bed. Even after the canvas was repaired, he held little hope of his mission’s success. Rage seethed within him. Heads would roll for this. Men he had trusted had deliberately foiled his plans. They had no authority to decide that his life was more important than Willow’s.
For the last two years, Dariq felt he had been living on borrowed time. He should have died with his brothers when Ibrahim committed fratricide.
Even though Mustafa had been instrumental in saving his life on that day of infamy two years ago, Dariq could not forgive him nor his other so-called friends.
“Ship ahoy!” the lookout shouted from the crow’s nest. “Approaching fast from the north.”
“Can you make out her colors?” Dariq shouted.
“Aye. She bears your own flag, prince. ’Tis the Revenge.”
Dariq lifted the spyglass; it took but a brief glance to recognize the Revenge. The spyglass lowered, and with it his spirits. His flag ship was sailing south for one reason only.
It had delivered Willow to Ibrahim and was returning to Lipsi with his mother.
Willow!
He wanted to howl her name.
Chapter Fifteen
Dariq knew Mustafa had seen the Hunter when he saw the Revenge immediately begin hauling in canvas. Dariq ordered the Hunter’s sails furled and paced the deck as he waited for his flagship to approach. He had a few choice words for his former friend and hoped he could contain his temper long enough to say them.
When the Revenge eased up alongside the Hunter, Dariq ordered the boarding planks run out. He was the first man over the side. Mustafa was waiting for him.
“You are no longer counted among my friends!” Dariq spat. “What you did was unforgivable. You were wrong to usurp my authority. What say you, Mustafa?”
Mustafa shrugged but made no effort to defend himself. “I made a promise to your mother. Your life must be spared at all costs.”
“Even if it means the sacrifice of an innocent woman to my brother’s lust?”
“Aye, even then, my lord.”
“I can no longer call you friend,” Dariq snarled. “I will never forgive you for convincing Willow to
sacrifice her life for mine.”
Mustafa did not correct Dariq. Though Willow had left willingly, he knew that was not what Dariq wanted to hear. His friend was far too willful, too angry, to listen to the voice of reason.
“I am taking the Revenge to Istanbul to right the wrong you and your cohorts are responsible for. You are to return to Lipsi on the Hunter.”
“I will not leave you, master,” Mustafa said defiantly.
Saliha Sultana stepped out from the shadows, revealing her presence to her son. “Do not go, Dariq—’tis too late. Mustafa is not entirely to blame. Lady Willow told me herself that she was not forced aboard the Revenge. She went willingly. The lady loves you, my son, and I am grateful for her devotion to you.”
“Mother!” Dariq cried, opening his arms to his beloved parent.
Saliha stepped into his arms and he hugged her fiercely. Then he held her away from him and stared intently at her. “Are you well? Has Ibrahim harmed you?”
“I am well, my son. Ibrahim needed me to lure you to Istanbul so he could kill you. He fears you—fears your power as his only living brother.”
“I have no interest in the sultanate, Mother. I am happy as I am. It was never my intention to seize the throne from my brother.”
Saliha searched his face. “This woman, this Lady Willow—she is special to you, is she not?”
Grasping his mother’s arm, he led her away. The crew was becoming too interested in their conversation. “Come, we will discuss this in private. I will deal with Mustafa later.”
Once they reached the privacy of his cabin, Dariq began pacing.
“You are troubled, my son,” Saliha observed.
Dariq spun on his heel, his expression fierce. “I am not troubled, I am furious. I was betrayed! Held prisoner in my own seraglio while Willow was taken from me and given to a man I cannot abide.”