Chapter Fifteen
Ankara, Turkey
February, 1801
The huge bay stallion flew across the lush green valley, expertly handled by the large man seated firmly in the saddle, his muscles cording and bunching as his thighs tightened to control the magnificent beast. His iron-hard wrists directed the horse, his demands communicated through his masterful grip on the reins. Occasionally, he leaned forward to whisper encouragement into the ears that flicked backwards to catch his sibilant, soft-spoken phrases. The wind whipped through the man's hair and the horse's mane, tangling both into a wild, frothy banner. A loud, exuberant shout of laughter rolled from his throat as he urged his mount faster into the face of the gale.
He was free. Here, in this vast land, he had managed, for a brief span, to forget all his troubles. It had been too long since he had ridden like this. With a gay, mocking taunt for the less experienced riders falling far behind him, Jamal spurred his horse to greater speed, and the massive beast gallantly responded, lengthening its powerful stride to give its all to the superb rider who had tamed it without breaking its spirit.
Jamal rode hard, all his mind and energy focused on the small lake that lay surrounded by a stand of trees at the far edge of the valley, the agreed upon meeting place. He reached it all too soon.
Sliding gracefully off his horse, he breathed praises into the ears of the valiant steed. The bay was only slightly winded, its sides heaving at a measured pace, drawing in vast amounts of air, and blowing it noisily out its widespread nostrils. Jamal removed the saddle and rubbed the sweat off the horse, leading it to the edge of the lake where he hobbled it, allowing it to drink and graze. Untying his cravat, he dipped it into the cool waters, bringing it to his face. The damp neckcloth felt good against his flushed cheeks, for though the day was moderate for these mountainous climes, his exertions had heated him.
Retrieving two apples from his saddlebags, Jamal fed one to the horse for a reward, and tossed the other in his left hand as he sauntered over to a large shady tree. Sitting down at its base, he proceeded to eat the fruit, sinking his strong white teeth into the meat. The apple was crisp and tangy. Sweet juices overflowed his mouth, and Jamal swiped at his chin, catching the trailing liquid before it could drip off, using his fingers to transfer the juice back to his lips. He finished the apple and casually tossed the core in his horse's direction. Having plenty of time, he leaned his head against the tree trunk and composed himself for a short nap, knowing he had left his companions several leagues behind.
The moment he closed his eyes, a face formed against the darkness of his inner lids. Elma. In the last month, she had tried everything in her power to return to his bed. She had bribed servants to deliver messages to him, begging him for an audience. She had even attempted to corrupt Seuliman into championing her cause. But the final straw had been the night he had returned to his rooms from a banquet that had lasted long into the night to find Elma stretched out naked and inviting on his bed. The roar of anger he'd released had brought several palace guards running. With tight-lipped control, Jamal had ordered the woman removed from his chambers, then spent the rest of that night pacing his apartments in pain from the fire that burned in his loins.
He'd prowled the rooms like a caged tiger, circling back and forth while his aching body argued with his aching heart. His one frantic encounter with Elma, though explosively sensual, had taught Jamal he couldn't quench the fire raging within him by having sex with just any woman. Oh, it could be banked, but it smoldered all the hotter for the tamping, clawing at his guts for an exit. He needed only one woman ... and she was out of his grasp. He refused to prostitute his feelings again.
He had gone almost two years without the empty coupling that was all the sex act was without love, and was determined to return to that celibate way of life no matter what temptations were thrown his way. So, he mused, in a sense, Elma was responsible for this hunting trip, for when the eldest son of the Bey of Manisa had approached Jamal with the invitation to join him and five other young nobles, Jamal had jumped at the chance to escape Elma's manipulations.
Ordinarily, he was more decisive and in control in situations like this, yet his guilt regarding this circumstance between himself and Elma had his hands tied. It was not her fault that his desire for her had burned out almost as soon as it had been kindled. By rights, and harem tradition, Elma was not being unreasonable in her demands. A little forward, perhaps, but not out of line.
Normally, if a woman pleased her master, she could expect to be recalled within three nights. And Elma knew she had given Jamal satisfaction. It wasn't something he could have hidden while writhing in the throes of the pounding, pulsating orgasm they had shared.
Before leaving on the hunting trip, Jamal had issued orders to Seuliman. The servant was to see Elma dowered generously and returned to her family home. Perhaps she would marry. Whatever path she chose, she would be safely removed from his quarters.
Far away from temptation, Jamal shook his head, remembering that torrid afternoon. She was a hot little number having been extensively trained to sexually excite any red-blooded male. Elma couldn't help being an innocent pawn in his father's machinations, and in truth, deserved a man who would delight in her sensually outgoing nature, who would gladly satisfy her sexual needs.
Despite his one lapse, Jamal knew he would never be the man for her, nor she the woman for him. He looked forward to returning to quarters that had regained their peaceful aspect.
Feeling much more relaxed, though he had not slept, Jamal arose, dusting off his riding pants and moved over to his placidly grazing horse. He made quick work of resaddling, making sure the girth was nice and tight. The big bay had the evil habit of holding air in so the saddle would appear snug, then gleefully dumping its rider in the dust.. Jamal grunted as he gave the lap strap an extra tug. He had no intention of eating dirt today..
Six riders, trailed distantly by their entourage of servants, thundered up to Jamal, hailing him with loud yells of laughing praise, salted with playful admonitions of his having fed them his dust for so many miles. With an answering laugh, Jamal joined his dismounting companions glad to put aside everything but this pleasure trip.
They had three months before they had to rejoin the court. By then, the Sultan would have moved the government to Istanbul where he spent the mild, spring months each year. It was less opulent and smaller than the palace at Ankara.
Jamal preferred the larger dwelling, as the palace in Istanbul did not have the space for him to have his own rooms. He felt uncomfortable being so close to his father's apartments, which abutted the harem proper, and each year requested he be housed in an apartment in the town. Selim would not hear of it, so Jamal made sure to be absent as often as possible, which was the second reason he had assented to this hunting excursion. He sighed, shaking off his introspective mood. He was here to enjoy himself. Time enough to ponder his problems once he returned to his father's palace.
* * * *
"Praise be to Allah.” Tubal rushed into his master's presence full of excitement, dropping his usual stiff correct demeanor. “They are here. The ship docked early this morning, and the Bey now awaits your pleasure in the ante-chamber."
"Has—"
"It is said he has garnered three magnificent blooms for your delectation, Oh my master."
"Did—"
"Surely with such a bouquet to choose from, the Lord Jamal cannot help but be pleased."
The exhilarated servant did not notice the Sultan trying to interject something between his copious speech. He blithely rushed on, until Selim exploded.
"You chatter like an idle old woman, Tubal..” The Sultan finally shouted, too gratified with the news of the Bey's arrival to be really irritated. “Cease this endless prattle and bring the Bey in to me at once."
Tubal, chagrined at how completely he had abandoned his normal, dignified manner, bowed deeply. “My master has but to speak—” he began.
"And he has
done so, fool.” Selim's voice was no longer a tolerant rumble. It had become an impatient roar. Tubal, reacting instantly to his master's ire, backed, bowing towards the double doors of the divan to flamboyantly fling both wide. In stentorian tones he announced, “Come forth Emil al Hadeem el Bakaar, by Allah's grace and the Sultan's allowance, Bey of Seyhan, to give report to your master.."
Long training had accustomed the Bey to guarding his reactions, so he smothered a smile before moving forward into his Lord's presence. He moved with quick grace coming to a halt a short distance from the man occupying the great Peacock throne. Executing a profound obeisance, he smoothly swept his right hand from head to lips to heart, indicating his loyalty in thought, word and deed. “Behold your obedient servant."
"Your journey lasted longer than was expected, Bey,” the Sultan accused petulantly. “I could not hold Jamal here twirling his thumbs with nothing to do while I waited on you.” Selim's eyes flashed angrily. He did not like having his plans inconvenienced. “He is off on a hunting trip with some of my younger nobles and is not expected back for at least another month. Even should I send for him now, it could take the messenger almost that long to find his party. Tell me,” the Sultan demanded, “was it so difficult to find one or two English women of good mind and pure bodies?"
"Our difficulty was not in obtaining the women, my Lord,” Emil explained matter-of-factly. “Within sight of home shores we encountered a fierce storm that swept us many leagues off course and caused some minor damage to the main mast. We limped to a port where we could effect repairs and replenish our stores and have arrived just today. I have hastened to bring my report to you."
Selim nodded his head graciously, a slight smile on his lips, his earlier, quick anger forgotten as he listened to the Bey's reasonable explanations. “So—,” he leaned back against the high backed throne, “tell me about these women. I hear they are so beautiful they rival the sun.."
The Bey allowed himself a chuckle. “Indeed, Great One, they are magnificent.. All three are singly worthy of a king's ransom. In addition to the vibrant beauty you have heard of, they all possess an abundance of courage and spirit. I believe you would find them suitable as additions to your own harem, should that be your pleasure."
"No, no.” Selim demurred. “I have designated these women for my son's pleasure. I expect one to attach his interests enough that he will become marriage-minded."
Emil shrugged. “I have no doubt that it will be as you wish, Lord,” he stated firmly and positively. “The only difficulty he should have is choosing which blossom to pick."
The Sultan allowed the Bey to see how pleased he was with his service. He rubbed his hands together in glee as he envisioned his plans cementing about his son.
"You have done well, Emil,” he praised, “and will be well rewarded."
"That you are pleased is reward enough for me, my Sultan."
"I should like to view the women—"
"Alas. They are still aboard ship. I hesitated to convey them to the palace without sufficient guards. Men would kill for such as these. If my Lord would see fit to send a company of his eunuchs...?"
"See to it.” Selim snapped his fingers. Knowing his wishes would be instantly set in motion, Selim dismissed everything from his mind except the present conversation. He eagerly returned his attention to Emil. “I would hear of your journey,” he commanded. “No doubt there are several tales you could relate concerning these beauties,” he hinted humorously. “Enlighten me on how you went about obtaining the blossoms soon to grace Jamal's garden, hmm?"
A smile glinted in Emil's dark eyes. “The first has hair the color of the black cherry, its scarlet hidden among the tresses until the light uncovers its brilliance,” he began. “Her eyes are the changing colors of the earth and old grass; sometimes one, sometimes the other, oftimes both at once.. She is like a ripe peach ... all juicy and ready to pick. She was our first acquisition, sold to us by her own brother—"
"Her brother—?” The Sultan shook his head at Emil's affirmative nod. In his experience, high-born Englishmen sold their sisters in the marriage-mart. They did not sell their sisters to a people they considered to be infidels. “This is a puzzle to me,” the Sultan admitted, after pondering the strange act of the Englishman towards the one Allah had placed in his hands to protect and guard.
"To us, also, my Lord,” Emil said. “Perhaps she angered him in some way, and this is her punishment.” He shrugged, indicating his puzzlement in the whys and wherefores of the situation. Whatever her past, the girl Seana was no longer English or high-born. She was now but a slave of the Ottoman Empire.
"But let me tell you of the second girl,” Emil suggested, continuing at the Sultan's nodded permission. “She is light to the first one's darkness. Straight, thick hair falls to beyond her waist, framing a delicate, pink-tinged face. Her eyes are huge; the clear green color of new grass, or the peridot stone. She is slimly built, almost boyish, with delicate curves ... nothing overblown. She is all feminine seduction, understated, muted, but definitely there."
Selim had slid forward in his chair, eyes fixed avidly upon his high-ranking subject. “Your descriptions have my mouth watering. Almost, you make me wish I had not set apart these lovely jewels for Jamal. Perhaps, when he has chosen one, I may indeed taste the nectar from the heart of at least one of these foreign flowers. But continue. Tell me of the third slave.."
"Aah-h-h. Now, the third one is the true prize. If my Lord Jamal is a normal man, he will not be able to resist this one.. She is darkly colored. Her complexion is dusky-rose. Slashing black eyebrows wing across her face, and her hair is a cloud of ebony curls; the dark black coal from which the diamond springs. These curls riot down her back to below her sweetly rounded buttocks. Her lips pout redly, as though they be already kiss-swollen. And her eyes....
My Lord, her eyes glint with challenge and intelligence, yet they are womanly soft and melting. When she is at peace, they are the smooth silky gray of a dove's wing. But when she is angry or excited, then they flash and swirl like the gray sky and turbulent wind-swept waves of a stormy sea. Oh, she is fire and lightening.. Just to look upon her calls forth pictures of rumpled sheets and wild, fierce matings. And she is a giant among women. It will take a giant among men to tame her."
Selim leaned back against his throne, almost panting, more than half-aroused by the Bey's descriptions. While occupied with his own lusts, still Selim's keen eyes missed nothing of the Bey's unconscious animation. Selim had known Emil many years, and seldom, if ever, had the Sultan seen him display such emotion on any subject, let alone the relatively unimportant fate of female captives.
There was something more, though, in his tones when he spoke of this third one. Emil seemed almost enamored of this one. If he spoke not from his infatuation and did not exaggerate her charms and fire of spirit, then this just might be the woman he needed for his son. A duel of the sexes would put Jamal in the right frame of mind making him want to clear his name for his woman, if not for himself...
While the Bey entertained the Sultan with the stories of their acquisition, Seana, Merridyth and Susan anxiously waited for the signal to disembark. They stood on deck watching the bustle and activity of the port, highly aware of being just as avidly watched by the men on shore.
Though they had not thought it possible, they were actually grateful for the concealing folds of the eastern clothes they wore. From head to foot, they were clothed in sheer cream, their faces covered by gauzy veils. They had refused the veils at first, but Shirka, mindful of his responsibilities and noticing how quickly the dock had filled with men of all ages straining to get a closer look at the beauties glimpsed aboard, had insisted on the veils.
Seana had tried to argue that the presence of the guards would keep the men at bay, yet Shirka, knowing the Turks, was not willing to take any chances. He gave his charges a firm ultimatum: either wear the veils or remain out of sight below decks. The girls, having noticed the avid, excited interest they
were garnering from the crowd, gave in. They stoically submitted to the handmaidens’ finicky twitching, their insistence that the concealing raiment fall just so. Indeed, it was not that bad. The thinness of the weave allowed for plentiful airflow while concealing their uneasiness as well as their heated cheeks from any wayward stares.
They were still waiting hours later. When the sun rode just above the water, they went below to eat a light dinner, and then returned to their positions at the ship's railing. Just before true dark, they noticed a wave of disturbance swelling from the back of the dock crowd. At first, they believed it was the Bey, returned from his court appearance and were disappointed to find it was not he. Their disappointment quickly turned to sadness, tinged with dread, when they realized the disturbance was a contingent of soldiers who were obviously intent upon their ship. With pomp and ceremony, the palace guards arrived. After saluting the ship's guards, they relayed the Sultan's commands and demanded immediate obedience.
With stricken looks, Susan and Seana bid tearful farewells to the companions they had come to know during the long four-month ocean voyage, for not even Shirka could accompany them to the palace.
Merri's eyes were dry, her good-byes and thanks restrained. Since first sighting that dark blue strip between sky and sea, and learning it was the land of her captivity, Merri had locked her emotions deep inside. She would allow nothing to touch her, would expose no weakness to her enemies.
Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets Page 12
