Jennifer Horseman

by GnomeWonderland

  Garrett stepped into the dressing room. He stopped and stared, his eyes filling with a strange light as they played over the innocently seductive picture. Her arms were raised to hold up her hair. His gaze left the delicate lines of her face to the long lines of her neck, the slender arch of her bare shoulders and the full thrust of her breasts straining against the silk fabric.

  Under Josephine's guidance, French fashions had taken a dramatic turn. Delicate white silk made the gown, this draped in a sheer layer of aqua-green gossamer and trimmed with exquisite gold embroidery. Slit sleeves fell off her slender shoulders, leaving her thin arms bare, while the bodice barely covered the round fullness of her bosom before falling in swirls of silk and color to the floor.

  He never said anything. Words were inadequate and quite unnecessary, for his eyes spoke his impression loud and clear. He turned around to the chest of drawers and from the gold gilt box on top he withdrew a diamond-studded hairpin, which he expertly put in her hair. Still wordlessly he reached behind her and withdrew from the hanger the matching pale aqua-green overdress. He would not willingly share her beauty.

  Self-conscious and flushed because of it, she slipped into the overdress and buttoned the two gold buttons at top. "Garrett," she mused out loud, "why can't you just ruin the guns somehow? A convenient accident, like a bilge leak?" Her knowledge of ships and sailing was astonishing now. "Wouldn't salt water ruin them? Then you could still use them as your alibi and make a fine show of pretending you're just so sorry. Ho, Ho, Ho!—" she imitated a deep male voice, "don't know how that could have happened, chap! A darn shame, I say! And," she reverted back to her natural voice, "while you'd lose the guns, at least they wouldn't fall into their hands." She set about lifting the skirt to pull up her stockings, then smoothed it again. "Why can't you do something like that?"

  She first heard no response to her suggestion, but then, she never expected one. A ridiculous idea, no doubt . . . "Why," she almost smiled, "are you staring at me like that?"

  Garrett was incredulously searching the pretty innocent face. "My God," was all he said, all he could say. "My dear God . . . Leif-"

  Another cry for help and Leif laughed; already he was laughing. Garrett's laughter joined the hearty sound as he took Juliet by the shoulders and lightly kissed her mouth. A different kind of kiss, chaste and warm, a revelation of his soaring affection.

  Then he rushed out of the room.

  Leif still laughed, a low, soft laugh that somehow managed to convey his disbelief. "Leif," she came shyly out of the dressing room, yet she knew, her smile said everything, "how do I look?"

  "How do you look? Like an angel of salvation and the princess of hope, a warrior at battle and a witch full of tricks." He laughed, "Magnificent, Juliet."

  Garrett and Leif rode alongside the carriage, maneuvering through the crowded streets. Juliet watched from the carriage window. It was like stepping through the centuries; the city seemed taken from biblical times. Wearing long beige cotton turbans, bearded men carried belongings in baskets or in huge earthen jars. Some had a donkey or camel in tow, with wares piled sky-high on the beast of burden. The crowd slowed the carriage's passage to a snail's pace. Shouts in a strange language, the squawks of chickens and the cries of beasts, taken with the dizzying scents, exotic spices, the moist, salty sea and far too many animals—all this transported her to another time, a mysterious place of adventure. The carriage stopped as a small herd of goats crossed the way in front. Impatient, Garrett pointed to another, less crowded byway leading up to the palace.

  Three-story buildings rose on either side of the narrow street. Little sunlight reached the passage and it was dark. The windows and doorways of these homes were small. They passed two veiled women talking to themselves, and like mice in a maze, wide-eyed children popped out to watch the carriage pass. Not far along the carriage came to a halt. Garrett's laughter followed Leifs curse, the carriage driver shouting ahead in Arabic. Juliet stuck her head out. Going the opposite direction, a shepherd herded a dozen sheep ahead of his small caravan pulled by a donkey.

  Garrett dismounted and came to the carriage door. "Juliet, you wouldn't mind riding with me, would you? I can't seem to find the patience it will take to wait the hour or two this mess is going to take."

  Juliet shook her head, smiling as he opened the door and took her hand. Leif handed him the reins of his horse as he mounted. Leaning over, his gloved hands came around her waist, and as if she weighed no more than air he lifted her to the saddle, positioning her in front between his arms.

  Garrett maneuvered easily around the sheep and caravan. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, smiling as he let his hand trace the curve of her hairline over her ear.

  Tiny shivers rushed from the spot. She drew a small sharp breath, nervous and confused. The sensual warmth of his body sparked a tumult inside—her heart, pulse, every nerve straining to greet him. She just couldn't be this close to him . . .

  "Love, you're flushed. Is it my closeness?"

  "No . . . no," she stared straight ahead, trying to control this sweep of confused feelings. "I've . . . I've just never been on a horse before. Except — " She stopped, staring at the sight first with confusion, then horror.

  "Garrett ..."

  Leif positioned his horse between her and the woman laying in the alleyway, crouched against the wall, but it was too late. The woman wore only a transparent sari, worse than naked as every ounce of her worn flesh lay bare for the few passersby. The hopelessness in her dark eyes was enough to question creation itself.

  "An opium addict, love. Tragic and sad, there's naught to be done for her."

  "But she was naked in the street ..." Juliet turned to look behind her as they passed, unable to believe what she saw.

  "She does not care about anything. Opium steals each and every human concern, finally burning out even the desire to live."

  "Oh, but how could that happen?"

  "Who knows? A sad life to start, slavery or prostitution, until finally even that wretched existence was taken from her. All she knows now is hell's own unquenched desire."

  "But if she stopped?"

  "She can't, love. I've never known an addict who could stop. Mercy comes only with death."

  A terrible sadness washed over her. "Oh, Garrett, how sad . . ."

  With sympathy, he whispered into her ear, "You will forget you saw her Juliet."

  Juliet froze, alarmed by something she didn't understand when, as if by magic, the woman vanished from her consciousness and suddenly Garrett began her first riding lesson. Leif watched from the side, teasing her about her newfound horsemanship. All cares were forgotten with laughter as they finally made their way out of the city and up to the mountains.

  The sun was setting over the dry, arid landscape, nothing but burnt grass and scattered bushes. Garrett explained that the passersby stared because she was unveiled, that many had probably never seen a European woman before.

  "Look up there, love."

  Like the tales of the Arabian nights, the Moroccan palace rose at the very height of the mountain. The sun fell over the gold-plated tip of the tallest tower, a round ball with a point on top. "That can't be real gold?"

  "Guess again," Garrett laughed.

  "Oh, my ..."

  At last they reached the top, and Juliet found herself staring at an enormous rectangular fort. Two dozen tur-baned guards stood in line-perfect formation on the outside. Shiny dueling sabers hung from the belts of the dark-skinned men. More guards walked the towers.

  The horses stopped at a heavy wood gate the size of a house. Four men labored to open it. Once it had been opened, they rode into a square courtyard filled with carriages and horses and a half-dozen servants. The surrounding palace appeared to be an intricate maze of different sized and shaped walls: cornices and towers, angles, staircases disappearing into corridors and alcoves, all white-trimmed with heavy gold lines. A palace of exotic mystery . . .

  Tomas would hardly believe when she told
him!

  Three servants rushed to greet them. Garrett swung down before lifting her to the ground and taking her hand to lead her up the stairs. The front doors all but disappeared in intricate gold lattice work. She clasped his hand tightly, excited and nervous in turns, and as the doors opened they ascended the stairs to step into a great entrance hall.

  Darkness made the hall cooler, almost chilly. The rounded ceiling rose two stories high. Juliet could barely make out an intricate tile mural in the darkness. There were no furnishings other than two gold gilt chairs set against either side of a long narrow window. Five different corridors led from the circular room. The square-cut marble of the floor felt hard and cold beneath her slippers as they crossed the room and entered a corridor.

  The corridor looked similar to the round room, minus the ancient murals. They passed long narrow windows made of lattice ironwork. Through one, she saw onto another corridor. It was a maze! They stopped at heavy double doors. A servant jumped to open them and they were ushered into an outer room. The sound of strange music, laughter, and boisterous noise spilled from the court as the servant told them in French they were being announced to the king.

  "They are speaking French," she whispered in that language, teasing, "Do you think I'll pass?"

  Hearing this, Garrett and Leif exchanged approval in a glance. The only thing in the entire world more lovely than her English, Garrett thought, was her French. Absolutely flawless, save for the barest trace of an English accent, which would be explained with the mention of her English mother. Hopefully the French would forgive her.

  The doors opened at last. As was the custom, Garrett and Leif stepped in first as their names were announced. She stood behind them on a white marble floor trimmed in gold like the embroidery of her overdress. Light drew her eyes in an upward arch to see the center of the rounded glass-domed ceiling. The last long arms of the sun filled the space with gold light. To the sides, large stained glass windows threw a dazzling play of color across the space of the room: pinks, violets, and emerald greens.

  Garrett held up his hand, motioning for her to take it. She obediently stepped forward. Nothing in her seventeen years prepared her for the splendor of King Tallihasi's court. Over thirty men, wearing the red and blue uniform of French naval officers, sat cross legged on silk pillows, roughly arranged in five different circles. At least that many heathens sat in the same manner on the floor. With widening eyes, she saw the serving women were half naked! These women carried large trays of food and drink, each wearing sheer pantaloons belted with jewels. Colorful scarfs were wrapped around their bosoms, leaving their midriffs bare for the interested gazes of the men. A number of squirrel monkeys moved freely through the' crowd. Live green trees and plants filled every available space. The incessant chatter of dozens of birds rose and fell, orchestrated, it seemed, by her own rapid breaths. A surge of whispers rose through the crowd as Garrett swept her across the space to present her to the king.

  In the dead center of the room, King Tallihasi sat on an elevated pallet of gold pillows. More uniformed men and a number of his own retainers surrounded him. Two veiled, though half-naked, women sat on either side of him holding giant maroon-colored fans, while three other women sat on pallets behind him.

  Garrett swept her across the floor to stand before him. He and Leif bowed, but Juliet stared in wonder for a good long minute before she fell into a curtsy. She heard Garrett and Leif talking to the king, the sound only a little louder than the whispered interest behind them and her own pounding heart and pulse, conscious as she was that everyone stared at Garrett and her.

  Garrett towered over her, making him appear taller, more handsome, more wickedly ominous than even rumor had supposed. He posed a sharp contrast to the innocent beauty at his side, a beauty donned in the lovely pale silk gown, with a flushed face and wide eyes, filled with worry and wonder both, so obviously taken by these surroundings. A strand of her hair had already escaped the lovely crown, falling down the side of her neck, dropping a good foot past her waist. She leaned against Garrett, and wordlessly he made it perfectly clear she belonged to him—an issue not likely to be contested with his ring on her finger, his hand on her arm, and the infamous reputation that preceded him. With heightened attention, the room waited for her presentation. Those that knew Garrett were nudging those that didn't, "Didn't I tell you? Just look at him! And who is she. . . ?"

  King Tallihasi exuded an air of supreme royalty, saying almost nothing, revealing no emotion beyond mild interest. Despite the aura of royalty, he appeared to be a small man, thin and frail looking. His features revealed a blending of the races: the color of his skin and eyes looked Indian, while his sharp features suggested Arabic. He was completely bald. Like a stamp, a small black dot appeared in the middle of his forehead. He wore a richly designed gold-embroidered white coat, left open at the waist.

  Juliet knew the exact moment the king turned his attention to her. "Your Highness, may I present my wife."

  Hushed whispers followed the stunned silence of the pronouncement of her name. Juliet looked around her for the source of it, finding nothing. One of the king's men leaned over and whispered something in the king's ear. The king almost smiled as he said out loud in broken French, "Your wife, Garrett, is, how do you say? Unsurpassed in beauty. . . . Ah, but we would expect nothing less from you seeing how Christians get only one wife at a time."

  The king remained impassive but the rest of the room laughed, while Juliet's blush remained hidden in her already flushed face. Suddenly the king contorted with a spasm, and with a slight gasp she saw he was in pain. No one else seemed to notice. Yet a woman quickly came to his side and placed a moist cloth over his forehead. He waved her away, addressing Juliet forthrightly, "Madame Juliet, does Garrett let you speak?"

  Does he let her speak? Juliet shot a confused look to Garrett. A slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, giving her courage to reply softly: "Only when I have something to say, your highness."

  More laughter erupted from the crowd of interested onlookers, and the king almost smiled again. Juliet studied him with confusion. Only his eyes gave the impression of smiling, for the hard thin line of his mouth appeared as if braced for bad news. His face contorted again and he gasped. What was wrong with him? With the exception of the veiled women behind him, everyone still pretended not to notice.

  A number of gentlemen stepped forward for introductions. Garrett raised her hand to present her first to Admiral D'Villeneuve, but he tensed, not understanding the curious look in the admiral's gaze. Juliet tensed too, even before she sensed Garrett's discomfiture, for this was the famous admiral, a man who practically held the world's fate in his hands. Names were pronounced, she curtsied. Looking distinguished and utterly French in his fine red and blue uniform, the tall, devastatingly handsome admiral took her hand. "D'Villeneuve is not a brilliant mind," she recalled Garrett saying, "but as tenacious as a wolf tracking a deer, as thorough as the scavengers that follow." She believed this now. Graying dark hair was combed straight back over his prominent forehead, accenting his fine features: thick dark brows over brown eyes, eyes wide rather than large, widely spaced as well, a large beaklike nose, a goatee covering his angular chin, all of which gave the impression of intelligence, intensity, and shrewdness.

  Yet the admiral would not release her hand. Juliet abruptly became aware of the way he studied her, a way that went beyond the mere interest of the others in the lady who had captured Garrett's hand. "Monsieur?" she looked questioningly at his hand on hers.

  "Pardon, madame ... I—" Again he stopped, his gaze still staring, "You look ... so familiar, just like . . . mon dieu, is it possible? Forgive my impudence, but could your mother's name be Anna?"

  Juliet shot a startled, frightened look to Garrett for help.

  Garrett's mind turned a dozen times in the second. A startling coincidence, one that could not jeopardize anyone or anything but Juliet. The admiral had known Juliet's mother, and no doubt the nature of
that relationship would be a shock to her, one he would keep from her at all cost. He'd not have Juliet's idolization of her mother ruined, for it was the last, most precious thing left to her.

  Garrett had, of course, asked about her mother, listening with interest as she spoke in a soft smiling voice of a beautiful lady, of many admirers wherever she went— "She was so beautiful, Garrett, there were times when men could not even be polite with their stares"—and of pretty silk dresses and expensive gifts, and most of all gay, happy times. Yet after having arranged to protect her young daughter with a living arrangement with an elderly woman, her mother maintained she worked in a flower shop.

  "A shop girl . . . ? Did you ever see this flower shop, Juliet?"

  "No, I never did. I wanted to, if only from the window, but her employers, she said, did not like young children. She never could take me there. But she always brought me flowers from the shop, lovely bouquets she had arranged herself. . . ."

  It took no great leap of the imagination to know what a beautiful young lady in a foreign country with no relations or sponsors would find herself doing. No doubt the admiral was by some terrible coincidence one of the gentlemen who had brought those very bouquets.

  Garrett never missed a beat, his smile spoke without words. "Indeed, Juliet's mother had that name. She lived in Paris some time ago." He felt Juliet press her small weight against him as her hand tightened in his, making him aware of her vulnerability, an extreme vulnerability when he abruptly realized King Tallihasi's court was her very first social presentation.

  "Monsieur, did you know my mother?"

  "I can hardly believe I am looking at my dear Anna's daughter but, madame, you are her very image of beauty."

  Emotion filled Juliet's eyes. "Did you know her well, monsieur? Were you a customer at the flower shop?"

  "The flower shop?" He looked to Garrett with a curious smile, as if Garrett would now explain the joke.

  Garrett conveyed the whole picture by simply saying: "The flower shop where her mother worked, admiral."