The Pirate Prince

by Connie Mason

  Dariq sat glumly in the rank straw that served as his bed, wishing he could hold Willow in his arms one last time. Though he refrained from telling Willow, Dariq knew he would die soon. He had lived in the seraglio all of his life and knew of no way out of the dungeon other than the one by which they had entered; escape was virtually impossible.

  At least he and Willow could communicate, but what did one say when there was no hope left? All he could do was tell her he loved her and encourage her to be brave, for she would live even if he would not.

  “I hear footsteps!” Willow hissed through the bars.

  Probably my executioner, Dariq thought. The footsteps stopped outside his cell. He rose lethargically and moved to the door.

  “To what do I owe this visit, brother?” Dariq drawled when he recognized Ibrahim in the dim light.

  “I have come to tell you that you have but two days to repent of your sins,” Ibrahim gloated. “Piracy is punishable by death. You shall die a traitor’s death.”

  A small cry came from Willow’s cell.

  Dariq found the courage to laugh.

  Obviously, it wasn’t the response Ibrahim expected. “How can you laugh in the face of death?”

  “I find it quite amusing. Even if I weren’t a pirate, you would find an excuse to end my life.”

  “So I would, but you are an outlaw and thus made the decision easy for me. In two days, you will be taken to the city square, where you will be executed. I hope you are not too fond of your head. There is no escape this time, brother dear. You have plundered your last ship.”

  Turning on his heel, he stalked away.

  “Do not lose hope,” Willow called to Dariq. “Mustafa will bring the men from your ship.”

  Dariq sighed. “ ’Tis over for me. There aren’t enough men aboard my ship to attempt a rescue.”

  “The execution is to be public; perhaps your men can rescue you while a crowd is gathered to watch. There are all manner of things Mustafa can do to save your life.”

  “Do not get your hopes up, my love. You must accept the inevitable. I have.”

  “I refuse to accept defeat,” Willow cried. “Neither should you.”

  Dariq smiled into the darkness. How dearly he loved his feisty Englishwoman. If she still harbored hope, so should he.

  “You are right, my love. Where there’s life, there’s hope. I shall not accept defeat until the moment my head is separated from my body. Mustafa is naught if not resourceful. Perhaps God will show him a way to save us.”

  * * *

  Willow’s words proved prophetic. Early the next morning the Grand Vizier rushed into Ibrahim’s bedchamber unannounced, his face pale and his robes askew.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ibrahim roared as he rolled away from Umma, his favorite concubine.

  “Three English ships entered the harbor yesterday,” Selim Pasha panted. “The Marquis of Bramston arrived at the seraglio with an armed escort just moments ago. He requests an audience in the name of Queen Elizabeth.” He glanced pointedly at Umma.

  Ibrahim shoved Umma from his bed and pointed toward the door. Umma pulled on her discarded caftan and made a hasty exit.

  Ibrahim rose and pulled on a robe. “You may speak freely, Selim.”

  “The port master thought the ships were here to take on provisions, so he didn’t bother to notify you of their arrival.”

  Ibrahim stroked his bearded chin. “What do you suppose the English queen wants with me?”

  Selim Pasha shrugged. “There is only one way to find out, my lord. It wouldn’t be wise to keep His Lordship waiting.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In the reception chamber, but I think a private meeting would be best. England is a powerful nation, with the most powerful navy in the world. It would not do to rile the queen or her emissary. Our troops are too far-flung at this time to invite war with England.”

  “Very well, I shall grant Lord Bramston an audience. Escort him to my private audience room in thirty minutes. I wish to dress and make myself presentable first.”

  A half hour later, groomed and dressed in royal robes, Ibrahim was waiting in his private audience room when Selim escorted a distinguished-looking gentleman with graying hair into the chamber. The marquis carried himself with proud nobility that lent credit to his title. He bowed slightly, his sharp green eyes wary.

  “As your Grand Vizier probably told you, my lord Sultan, I am the Marquis of Bramston.”

  “Indeed,” Ibrahim replied. “We seldom see British navy ships in our harbor, my lord. Is your mission a peaceful one?”

  “That depends,” Bramston challenged. He paused for effect. “I am going to speak frankly, Majesty. I have come for my daughter. She was carried off my ship by pirates. It has taken many months to trace Willow, but I have good reason to believe you purchased her for your harem.”

  Ibrahim’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think your daughter is here?”

  “I traced her to a slave market in Algiers and spoke to the slave master who sold her to your agent. I have no doubt that Willow is here, and I want her returned to me.”

  “Do I detect a threat in your tone, Lord Bramston?” Ibrahim asked harshly.

  Bramston appeared unruffled. “Take it however you like. Just remember, two English warships besides my own Fairwind have their cannon trained on your city. The guns can do considerable damage should you deny my simple request.”

  “Your daughter never reached Istanbul,” Ibrahim lied.

  “My lord,” Selim Pasha whispered in Ibrahim’s ear. “Perhaps you should honor the marquis’s request. The warships each carry forty guns. They could do considerable damage to our city, even reaching the seraglio. Our own navy has been seriously decimated by your brother, and the bulk of our army is otherwise engaged.”

  “Do you suppose His Lordship will be pleased when he learns his daughter currently resides in my dungeon?”

  “Of a certainty he will not be happy. But the lady has not been harmed.”

  A sly look came over Ibrahim’s face. “Perhaps we can place the blame on Prince Dariq. He did hold Lady Willow hostage and made her his whore before she reached Istanbul.”

  “The English do not condone fratricide.”

  “I did what had to be done to secure the sultanate for my own heirs,” Ibrahim replied.

  “Regardless, we cannot afford war with England. I believe that Lord Bramston will be so happy to get his daughter back, he will forgive your treatment of her. Perhaps the subject of her incarceration in your dungeon won’t even come up until both father and daughter have left our waters.”

  “So be it,” Ibrahim murmured.

  Bramston stood at ease while Ibrahim and his Grand Vizier spoke in hushed tones. He believed the sultan had no choice but to release Willow. Bramston had the full support of Queen Elizabeth, and knew she would approve of whatever he deemed necessary to retrieve Willow.

  Finally Ibrahim turned back to Bramston. “Very well, my lord, I admit I purchased your daughter for my harem, but she was never summoned to my bed.”

  Bramston snorted, his scorn apparent. “Bring her to me immediately.”

  “She will be brought to you, but not immediately. Will you accept my hospitality and join me in a light repast?”

  Bramston began to sputter. “Is this a trick? If it is, I promise you will regret it.”

  “Nay,” Ibrahim protested. “Selim Pasha will fetch Lady Willow, but she will wish to bathe and dress herself appropriately for your reunion. You will see for yourself how well she has been treated.

  “Come, my lord,” he said, rising. “We shall retire to my inner chamber while Selim fetches your daughter.”

  Willow sat slumped on the bench, her back resting against the damp wall. A tray of congealing food sat on the table. Food did not interest her.

  Tomorrow Dariq would die, and her life as she knew it would die with him. The undeniable truth of their fate sent her into deep depression.

 
Willow realized she had been overly optimistic to expect Mustafa and Ali Hara to be of any help. There was little they could do. Despite that knowledge, she still harbored dreams of escape.

  The sound of footsteps brought Willow’s desperate thoughts to a halt.

  “Dariq, someone is coming! What do you suppose they want this timer?”

  “Probably my head,” Dariq muttered.

  Shock slammed through Willow. “No! Not yet. Please God, not yet.”

  “ ’Tis Selim Pasha,” Dariq said.

  The Grand Vizier appeared in the outer chamber accompanied by two janizaries. He walked directly to Willow’s cell, produced a key and opened the door.

  “Come with me, lady.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “The sultan has decided to spare you. He intends to return you to your family.”

  Willow found Selim’s words so difficult to believe that she asked him to repeat them. She was silent a full minute after he obliged, then gave a scream of joy.

  “Willow! What’s happening?” Dariq called out.

  “The sultan is sending me home to my family!” she cried. “We are free!”

  “Nay, lady, only you are free to go. Prince Dariq’s death sentence still stands.”

  Happiness drained from Willow, leaving her white and shaken. Why she and not Dariq?

  “No, that cannot be!” she cried, storming from the cell. “I refuse to leave without Dariq.”

  “Willow, love, you must go. You have your whole life ahead of you in England.”

  “I have no life without you,” Willow vowed. “This cannot be the end. I will not allow it.”

  She reached through the bars to Dariq. He clasped her hands and brought them to his lips. “Go and be happy, love.” Then he released her and stepped back.

  She clung to the bars. It took both guards to pry her loose and drag her away.

  Minutes later, Willow was astounded to find herself back in the harem. Selim placed her in Kamel’s care and took his leave at the door. When she saw Kamel, she burst into tears.

  “Do not cry, lady,” Kamel cajoled. “You are free. Rejoice in your good fortune.”

  “How can I rejoice when Dariq’s life will end tomorrow?”

  “Perhaps all is not lost,” Kamel whispered.

  Willow’s tears ceased immediately. “What are you saying? Does Mustafa have plans to rescue Dariq?”

  “I cannot say for sure, but I would not discount his cunning. He knows the prince is to be executed tomorrow in the city square. If Allah is kind, Mustafa will find a way to rescue our prince.”

  “Why have I been set free?”

  “I know not. I was instructed to see that you are bathed and dressed appropriately. The sultan will summon you when he is ready for you.” He wrinkled his nose. “Come, lady, you are in great need of a bath.”

  Willow followed Kamel to the hammam, her mind working furiously. Why was she allowed to go while Dariq still languished in the dungeon under a death sentence? What had provoked Ibrahim’s change of heart where she was concerned?

  “What are you doing back here?”

  Willow groaned. The last person she wanted to see was Umma. “Apparently, the sultan had a change of heart,” Willow replied.

  “You lie! My master cannot stand the sight of you!” Umma sniffed the air and grimaced. “You smell vile.”

  Willow pushed Umma aside. “You would smell vile too if you had spent time in the dungeon. ’Twas your meddling that put me there.”

  Umma took a menacing step toward Willow, but Kamel stepped between them. “You have caused enough trouble, Lady Umma. Leave Lady Willow alone.”

  “Does Lady Willow’s return to the harem have anything to do with the English ships in the harbor?” Umma asked.

  Willow stopped in her tracks. “English ships? Are you certain?”

  Umma preened for Willow’s benefit. “I was with Ibrahim when he was informed of their arrival.”

  “Father,” Willow whispered beneath her breath.

  “Come along, my lady,” Kamel said, grasping her arm. “You must be ready when the sultan summons you.”

  Willow’s heart flooded with happiness. However impossible it seemed, her father had come for her, and not a moment too soon. How had he found her? Would he demand Dariq’s release if she asked it of him? Would he understand that she loved Dariq and wasn’t ashamed of anything that had happened between them?

  Willow let Kamel undress and bathe her, still stunned by the amazing turn of events. Willow knew that her father was a favorite of the queen, and she should have anticipated that he would use their friendship to get ships and men to come to her rescue. Somehow he had traced her all the way to Ibrahim’s harem.

  After Willow had bathed, Hetice brought her a gown fashioned in the Western style. “Where did this come from?” Willow asked, fingering the fine material of the modest green gown. “It looks like a perfect fit.”

  “I was told the English emissary brought it with him,” Hetice replied. “One of his escorts gave it to a palace guard, and he delivered it while you were bathing.”

  “You may leave,” Kamel ordered Hetice. To Willow he said, “Sit down, my lady, and let me brush your hair. If the emissary is indeed your father, you will want to look your best.”

  “He is my father, Kamel. I knew in my heart he would find me.” She touched her cap of cropped curls. “I hope he will recognize me.”

  “If the man is your father, he will recognize you,” Kamel assured her.

  Willow sighed. “I hope you are right. And I pray he has the authority to demand Dariq’s release along with mine.”

  “What you ask is impossible, my lady. Ibrahim wants the prince’s death, and naught your father can say will sway him.” He stroked his hairless chin. “A diversion at the execution might facilitate his escape, but we cannot be sure Mustafa and Ali Hara can manage it in so a short time.”

  “Mustafa can and will save Dariq,” Willow said with more confidence than she felt.

  Kamel continued brushing Willow’s hair, until Hetice arrived to say that the sultan had summoned Willow to his chamber.

  “I will escort Lady Willow myself,” Kamel said.

  Willow’s knees were shaking as Kamel escorted her from the harem. Two guards fell in behind them, which only increased her nervousness. What if the Englishman wasn’t her father? That thought didn’t bear considering. It had to be her own dear papa come to take her home.

  The door to Ibrahim’s inner chamber loomed before her. Kamel rapped. The door opened immediately. Willow hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw a man rise from a chair and turn to stare at her. A cry left her lips; her father had never looked so handsome … or been so welcome. Tears blurred her vision.

  “Papa!”

  Lord Bramston and Willow started toward each other at the same time.

  “Daughter!”

  Willow broke into a run. Bramston stopped and held out his arms. Willow rushed into them, stifling a sob as his arms closed around her.

  “You came,” Willow choked out.

  “Did you think I would not? It took a while to trace you here, but I refused to give up. Your mother was near despair when I told her the ship carrying you home had been attacked by pirates.”

  Willow drew back, staring into her father’s eyes. “You told Mama?”

  “Aye. I stopped at Marseilles before sailing on to Istanbul. She insisted on coming with me.”

  “Mama is here?”

  “Not in the seraglio, of course, but waiting for us on the Fairwind.”

  “As you can see, your daughter is unharmed,” Ibrahim said, interrupting their reunion.

  Bramston took a long, slow look at Willow and gasped. “What happened to your beautiful hair?”

  Willow’s hand flew to her head. “ ’Tis a long story.”

  Bramston waved his hand dismissively. “ ’Tis not important, my dear. I want to get you aboard ship before
the sultan changes his mind.”

  He turned to Ibrahim. “With your leave, Majesty, I will depart with my daughter.”

  Ibrahim sent Willow a hard glance, then waved them away. “Take her, Lord Bramston. She has caused me naught but trouble.”

  Bramston did not tarry as he bowed, grasped Willow’s elbow and turned with her toward the door and freedom. Willow, however, had other ideas. She wasn’t going anywhere without Dariq.

  “No, Papa, wait!”

  Startled, Bramston shot Willow a puzzled look. “What is it, Willow? Lingering in the palace is not a good idea.”

  “I refuse to leave without Dariq.”

  “Dariq? Who is Dariq? Why is he important to you?”

  Ibrahim gave a nasty snort. “Your daughter is referring to Prince Dariq, my brother and Lady Willow’s lover.”

  “What in blazes are you talking about? I thought you purchased my daughter for your harem. Where does your brother fit into the picture?”

  “My brother is a pirate, a brigand. He currently resides in my dungeon, awaiting execution.”

  “Papa, please do not let them kill Dariq! I cannot bear it.”

  “Is what the sultan said true, Willow? Is Prince Dariq your”—he choked over the word—“lover?”

  Holding her head high, Willow whispered, “I love Dariq and he loves me. Ibrahim wants to kill Dariq to protect his sultanate. Ibrahim killed all his brothers save Dariq, who escaped with the help of his mother and friends loyal to him.”

  The marquis shook his head. “It sounds like we have a great deal to discuss—in private. After we return to the Fairwind, you can explain everything.”

  He steered her toward the door. Willow hung back. “No, Papa, there is no time! Dariq’s execution is to take place tomorrow. I refuse to leave without him.”

  “Try to understand, Willow. I cannot interfere in internal affairs that are none of my business, or England’s,” he explained.

  “Dariq’s mother is English. He is half English. Does that not mean anything?”

  “Your prince has an English mother?”

  “Aye, Papa. Please say you will help save his life. I don’t want him to die.”