"I would prefer neither one,” Merri stated, eyeing the trays askance. “I am ... somewhat bilious—nerves, I think."
"I must insist.” the Sultan said, his tones hardening. “It is considered an insult for a guest to refuse the host's offered hospitality. Earlier, you were anxious to sue for peace. Do you not still wish for an end to the hostility between us?” he asked.
Merri reluctantly nodded.
Selim smiled. “I, too, wish to be at peace with you, kinswoman of my ikbal. If Allah wills it, you may someday be teyze to my children. Once you have eaten or drank at my table, there can no longer be war between us. It is the law of the desert and of the Koran."
As far as she could tell, both the Sultan's gaze and words were sincere. For Susan's sake, Merri could not bring herself to disregard his overtures of peace. With a resigned sigh, she sank into a graceful curtsey before sitting on a plump, oversized cushion. “I will have tea,” she said in resigned tones, “one lump of sugar, please."
The food-taster was an emaciated eunuch. A serving girl presented a sampling of each item of food or drink to the taster on a golden platter. He would eat it, and when—after a few moments—no ill effects were noted, the servant would serve the Sultan and his guests. The tea was poured from one pot into four cups. After the taster had partaken of his, the odalisque proceeded to pass around the hot drink. The Sultan was served first, then Susan, then Merri.
Merri chuckled inwardly. The odalisque certainly knew the new pecking order. Having just been declared the favorite of the motherless Sultan, Susan had risen to the fourth most powerful position in the Ottoman kingdom.
For some reason, her cousin's good spirits made her own rise, and Merri was able to hold a polite conversation with the Sultan as she sipped at her tea. There was no bitter aftertaste, and feeling a bit more confident, she proceeded to drain the cup. The tea helped to settle her jumping nerves, calmed her tummy nicely.
The servant took her empty cup, replacing it on the ravaged tray. Merri did not recall having eaten so many pastries, but between her, the Sultan and Susan, the sweets were all gone.
"Your appetite seems to have improved,” the Sultan noted with a sly smile.
"I suppose so.” Merri answered uncertainly, marveling over how much she had managed to eat.
"I am pleased you were able to partake,” Selim said. “Now, I believe it is time for you to go. My son will be awaiting you."
"Yes,” Merri agreed, rising to her feet as gracefully as possible. “No need putting this off any longer."
The Sultan stood, silently watching as the two women exchanged hugs. Long after Merri had left, he gazed after her, lost in introspection. Then he laughed.
Susan leaned up on her tip-toes to wipe a crumb away from his bottom lip, her body brushing lightly against his. He stilled abruptly, body responding eagerly to her nearness. “What do you find so humorous?” she asked.
"Appetites ... and how they grow.” Selim growled, turning Susan into a tight embrace.
She leaned back against his arms to laugh up into his face. “Would you mind elaborating on that statement since you have me totally confused?"
"My son is going to have an armful of eager woman in less than half an hour.” Selim crowed, twirling Susan about in a circle. “Very eager..."
"How can you possibly know that?” Susan wondered aloud.
"The same way I know you will soon be burning for my caresses."
"I always burn for your touch.” Susan admitted in a shy voice, still uncomfortable with sexy repartee, but more than willing to grow accustomed.
"Yes, you are.” Selim rewarded her with an opened-mouth kiss, visibly pleased with her honest acknowledgment. “However, this time the burning will be a mutual conflagration. There was an aphrodisiac in our cups of tay."
"What?"
"A prized compound here in the east; an agent that greatly heightens sexual desire. One takes it in order to enjoy their partner to the utmost. I partook along with you, as this night, I intend to arouse, and then satisfy your every wanton fantasy and unspoken desire. Come, Kar,” he offered, “sit with me and we will await the affects of the elixir together."
Susan's smile faded from her face, a cold knot forming in her belly. “You didn't. Please, Selim. Tell me you didn't."
"But what is wrong, my Snow? Why are you so upset?"
"You had no right!” Susan cried, tears crystallizing the clear green luminosity of her eyes.
"Right? Right? You forget to whom you are speaking.” His face flushed with ire, his quick anger as great as his lack of understanding.
"How did you do it?” Susan demanded to know. “Is that poor eunuch somewhere burning with desire right now with no way to assuage it?"
"Of course he is not. Our cups were prepared by Tubal before the tray was brought into the room. The drug is strictly controlled for it is highly poisonous in larger doses. The only way to safely administer it is to lightly dust the bowl of the cup, blowing out the excess. That powder is extremely expensive and powerful. I would not waste the pleasure of it on a mere eunuch, though why you should concern yourself with a eunuch is beyond me."
"I couldn't care less about the eunuch,” Susan shouted. “What I care about is the right to make choices of my own. I might have been interested in trying that ... that ... whatever you call it."
"An aphrodisiac,” Selim informed her. “From Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of beauty and sexual love—"
Susan felt like yanking her hair out. On second thought, she decided she'd rather yank out his. “I am not interested. Get me paper and pen. I need to write a note."
Selim bristled. “To whom?"
"I do not have time to cater to your ridiculous jealousy, Selim. Find me something to write with,” she ordered, as imperious as he in her anxious need.
The Sultan sat down and crossed his legs. “I do not believe I wish to assist you in this endeavor,” he said, sulkily.
"Don't be petulant.” Susan begged. “I really do not have much time."
"Time for what?"
"To undo the damage you have caused with your heavy-handed manipulating.” Susan paused and heaved a sigh. He looked so good, sitting there with that childish pout on his handsome face. His lips were very red. They always looked as though he had rouged them, or as if he'd just finished eating berries, or exchanging deep plumbing kisses.
Stop. She closed her eyes against temptation, shaking her head as she caught her imagination up sharply. The drug racing through her system was the cause of her splintered attention. She could almost feel it—liquid lightning—as it coursed its way through every blood vessel, sparking heated responses in every limb. Even her toes had begun to tingle. Time was running out. Soon she would have to satisfy the itch building under her skin, but before that happened, she had to help Merri.
"Selim, try to understand,” she implored. “You did not see the Duke when he brought Merri back to the harem that last time. He was torn asunder by the thought she had taken something to help her ... stomach being with him. But he believes her to be an innocent, unfamiliar with passion. How do you think he will treat her when she acts like a whore with him?"
Selim face froze in an arrested moue. “I had not thought of that.” he conceded shamefacedly, recalling a snippet of a recent conversation with his son. Can you imagine how that would make me feel, Sir? Knowing she was with me on sufferance? Forced into intimacy against her will?
Selim clapped his hands. When an eunuch appeared, he ordered, “Fetch paper and pen for the ikbal. Yibbi. Yibbi."
While they waited for the eunuch to return with the writing materials, Susan and Selim shared another torrid kiss, unable to keep their hands off each other. “The drug works faster the more agitated we become,” he cautioned, cradling her against him in a soothing, calming grip. “Our anger has increased the drug's action within us.” As he held her, he came as close to an apology as he ever would by saying, “I meant no harm by using the drug. It was the girl's reticen
ce that caused the problem last time, and I only meant to make it easier on her ... for your sake."
Susan soothed the hair back off his forehead and planted a forgiving kiss there. “I believe you. I am sorry I became angry and harangued you so."
Selim chuckled and squeezed her tight in a bear-hug, squashing her pliant breasts against his chest. “I like to see you on fire ... even when it is anger directed at me. I will confess that I found your former silence unnerving."
"I did, also.” Susan smiled into his shirt. “Silence is totally unlike my usual behavior, and I warn you ... the day will come when you crave that silence back."
"Never.” A discreet knock signaled the eunuch's return, and Selim reluctantly set Susan aside. “Write your note quickly.” he urged her. “I would be done with this, and on to more important matters.” His fevered glance was full of meaning.
With a knowing smirk, Susan bent to the paper, rapidly scribbling a note. “What is the problem?” she taunted, knowing she played with fire, planning on fanning the flames. “Can it be your ... appetite is up?"
Laughing out loud, Selim came to press his rampant body against her raised derriere, letting her feel his urgent, heavy arousal. “Something is up,” he purred threateningly, “and hungry for you. You may call it anything you like, as long as you feed it."
Chapter Forty-eight
Jared had no appetite. For food. He sighed, restless gaze falling on the silver serving trays filled with tempting hors d'oeurves. They remained as full now as when Seuliman had delivered them. The food, though excellently prepared, did not the tempt him. The dainty arrangements, beautifully laid out, remained untouched and untasted.
He struggled with another, more demanding appetite. Need for Merridyth raged in him. He wanted only her; craved her kisses, her shy, sweetly innocent responses to his ardor.
Tonight! He rejoiced. Tonight I will feast on ambrosia and sip at the fount of youth. I shall enter the portals of heaven and taste the nectar of the gods.
"The hanim has arrived, my Lord.” Seuliman's agitated voice interrupted his musings. Jared looked up to find the servant standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind him to hide his vicarious excitement.
"Escort her to this room, Seuliman. I will see her here."
"Surely not ... uh ... my Lord, are you sure? I have ordered the salon prepared."
"Here, please.” Jared insisted. “I want no reminders of the last catastrophe and this room will be fine for our purposes. Besides, we will end here anyway."
Seuliman covertly scanned the sleeping chamber, his pinched expression making it clear he was appalled at the disorder. “As you wish, my Lord,” he acceded, moving about twitching covers straight and surreptitiously picking up stray articles of clothing—the Prince not being the tidiest of men. “I shall escort the young hanim here at once."
Jared closed his eyes, easing his head back against the low back of the couch and waited for Seuliman to return with Merridyth. Raising his arms above his head, he stretched out the kinks in his long body. He was casually dressed, having recently come in from riding. The almost sheer lawn shirt he wore moved with him, the finely woven material stroking his furred chest. His legs were encased in tight riding breeches, his feet shod in riding boots, the highly polished leather ending at his knees.
His last encounter with Merridyth had ended badly; he was determined such would not be the case a second time. She was coming to him in honesty, honoring her debt to the Sultan, even though the prospect clearly frightened her. She deserved to be treated with all honor. For that reason, he had not planned any elaborate seduction scenes. He'd use no gimmicks or games to entice or entrap her. They would simply talk first. He wished to clear the air, make her aware of several misconceptions. Afterwards, they might decide to—
"Y-Your Grace...?” The timid voice sounded loud in the still room.
Jared's eyes snapped open, and he came to his feet in an abrupt, yet graceful motion. He stood gazing down at the woman who had inhabited his dreams, epitomized his hopes and speeded his heart-rate whenever his thoughts strayed to her. To finally have her here, in the same room.
"Lady Merridyth. Please, come have a seat,” Jared offered his hand to assist her over to the couch.
She hesitated a moment, then took the proffered appendage, settling gently against the cushions that served as back-rests. “Thank you, Your Grace. I feel I should inform you that I am not entitled to be addressed as a ‘Lady'. My father is no Lord."
"On the contrary,” Jared disagreed. “You are gently-bred, intelligent, and honorable. That alone would be grounds for the courtesy. And please, call me Jared."
"That would not be proper, Your Grace,” Merri pointed out dryly. “Of course, this situation I find myself in is not a very proper, lady-like one."
"True,” Jared conceded. “However, a real ‘Lady’ rises above all situations to make them her own."
Merri smiled. “You have a quaint way of turning a phrase. If I say ‘thank you', I am assuming you account me a real Lady. If I demur, you might brand me coy. Either way, I am shown in a bad light; being too proud or too timid."
"I perceive you perfection."
Merri dropped her eyes. “And I detect a master flatterer at work."
"Flattery, my mother was wont to say, are but lies dressed up in truth's clothes; hard to discern and harder to resist."
"A wise woman, your mother."
"She is that. But then, having met her, you would already know that."
"I interacted with her for a moment, only. Our acquaintance was ... fleeting."
"Never-the-less, she was most impressed with your compassionate assistance. She holds you in high regard. Remind me to let you read some of the letters my mother has written while I have been exiled here. You will be surprised at how often your name appears."
"I but did what anyone would have done in the crisis of the moment,” Merri disclaimed modestly, uncomfortable with his praise.
"Not everyone.” Jared said, his face grown hard with bitter memories. “There were not many in that courtroom that showed sympathy for the mother of a traitor."
"We both know I did not deem you to be disloyal."
"And I shall never be able to tell you what that meant to me. You were like a ray of light shining in my darkness."
"More flattery, Your Grace?"
"Not about that. Never about that."
"You put me to the blush."
Jared raised her face with a gentle hand under her chin. “I have never used flattery as a device to advance my cause with a woman.” He looked directly into Merridyth's startled eyes. “You may rest assured that every word out of my mouth is sincere. My mother is not the only one who holds you in high esteem."
Flustered, not knowing how to respond, Merri lowered her gaze. “I thank you,” she whispered. “Please do not ... take offense when I tell you ... I am finding this very difficult. You see, I do not know how I should go on."
Chancing a quick glance upward, she surprised a slight smile tilting the corners of the Duke's wide mouth, his amber eyes hotly intent upon her face; the look in them robbing her of breath.
"I expected no differently,” Jared said, his words bluntly direct. “You are an innocent, inexperienced young woman unsure of what to expect, and therefore feel yourself at a disadvantage.” He pondered his next move for a minute. When next he spoke, he seemed to have come to a decision. “I have planned something that might make things a little easier for you. Will you come with me?” he requested, jumping up from the pillows and extending his hands to help her up.
She took them, gazing up into his face in trusting innocence, her open expression revealing every thought and emotion running through her mind. Jared's heart caught at the look of adoration plainly evident on Merri's guileless face. He determined to do nothing that would wipe that look away.
He led her to a sparsely furnished antechamber where a small man waited. The little man wore a pair of round, wire-framed glasses pe
rched on the end of his nose, and he had to keep pushing them up as they refused to stay perched upon that narrow proboscis. He was seated at a long work-table. At his elbow rested a giant tome; its plain cover of dark brown leather soft with the suppleness of age. The court scribe, for such he was, jumped up when they entered, startled from whatever faraway place his thoughts had been. With much clearing of his throat, he shook his robes about himself and harrumphed a few more times for good measure.
"Harrumph. Well, it is past time ... past time, my Prince. Hhmm. Let's get to it then, shall we?” He riffled the pages of the book, fingers flying over the thin vellum. “Ah. Here we go. Now, name of Prince: mumble, mumble ... name of consort?” He glanced up, a bird-like twist of his head centering his left eye on the two silent people standing in the doorway. “Well? Well? Name of consort? Come on, now. Unlike you two, I haven't got all night."
"Merridyth St. John-Smythe,” Jared replied, trying and failing to hide a smile.
"Harem name?"
His voice growing chill, Jared ordered, “Let the first name suffice."
The small man slammed shut his book to glare at the Emir. “Suffice. Suffice, he says? Do you know nothing of records? I cannot record half the information. I must record all. I must cross-reference this, double record that.” He tapped the top of the weighty tome. “Does this Book of Nights look like a trifling matter? Shall we have half a princely heir nine months from now?"
"What nonsense are you spouting?” Jared asked, no longer amused by the small scribe.
"Half a record, half a prince. Or double the trouble. There are many women in the seraglio who have sons with royal blood, but no record of the official deed. If the mother is not recorded correctly, the child can never ascend the throne.” the scribe warned. “Dire circumstances could come of not being exact ... Dire circumstances."
Merri, who had finally figured out what the scribe and his book was for, smiled with joy. Laying a placating hand over the Duke's, she swallowed back happy tears to say, “It is all right, my Lord.” And to the palace recorder, “My harem name is Simsiyah Gul."
Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets Page 32
