Capture My Heart

by Bobbi Smith

  Glancing at Alex once more, Malik saw the resemblance between woman and child and wondered briefly about the husband she must have left behind. A sting of jealousy darted through him. Disliking the emotion, he denied it, pushing it away. A husband of the Christian faith meant less than nothing. He was the dey, and he wanted her. That was all that was important. His wishes were of primary concern. Many existed just to please him, and this female would be added to their number. Of the boy, he was not so sure. What did he need the child for?

  "You have done well indeed, Muhammed. I will take the woman as my due," he nodded toward Catherine and Alex.

  "As you will, Malik Dey." Muhammed bowed low, gnashing his teeth in fury and frustration as he did so.

  Catherine had suffered through the degrading kidnapping arranged by her brother, then this pirate's capture, and now the arrogant lout's insolent stare without balking, but when they started talking about her as if she were deaf and dumb, a trinket to be owned and traded by them at their will, she grew outraged. Her anger, fueled by her worry over Alex's safety, forced her to the breaking point. She wouldn't tolerate it any longer, no matter what it cost her, for, after all, what would her own life be worth if she lost Alex?

  "And what of my will?" Catherine demanded, stepping forward in a fury, her eyes darkening to deep green as the storm of her temper erupted.

  For a moment, Malik was struck speechless by this outburst from a mere female. "Your will?" he repeated with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow.

  "I would think that I should have some say in what happens to me. I am not a horse to be traded or a piece of meat to be sold at the market. I am Catherine Wakefield, daughter of the Duke of Huntington, and this is Alexander Wakefield, his grandson! I will not stand for us to be treated this way."

  Malik gazed at her for another moment, then threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh. He had never been so challenged by so magnificent a woman before, and he found himself intrigued by her spirit. She was going to be a handful to tame, but them, he'd always enjoyed a challenge. "By Allah, Muhammed, I fear I may have the last regret over what is done."

  "Would you like to change your mind, Your Majesty?" the corsair asked hopefully.

  Catherine's breath caught in her throat, and she had to clasp her trembling hands together so neither man would know of her inner turmoil as she waited to hear their decision.

  "No," Malik answered firmly. "She will remain."

  Again, Muhammed had been thwarted. "You want the boy, as well?"

  Malik saw the way Catherine kept the child protectively at her side and sensed her motherly worry for her son's safety might have been the cause of her outburst. "Yes," he answered. "The child will stay." Ever perceptive, he noticed the momentary look of joy that passed over her perfect features, and he was pleased to find that his intuition had been right again.

  "Then I will take my leave of you." Muhammed retreated from the room with Selim at his heels, hating Malik more passionately in that moment than he ever had before. He had wanted the Englishwoman for his own, and he vowed someday, somehow, to make the dey suffer for taking her from him.

  Malik was pleased with the way things had turned out, but when he faced Catherine once more, his expression was stern.

  "I will not tolerate another outburst from you, Catherine Wakefield. Remember that," he spoke coldly, without feeling, wanting to let her know from the start that he was her master.

  Catherine stayed quiet now that she was assured that Alex would be with her. She felt a little victorious having won that much.

  "I see you do know how to control your tongue," he taunted, testing her. "That is good. It is an important trait in a woman." He clapped his hands twice and a servant appeared in the doorway. "Take the woman to the harem and see that she is taken care of."

  Catherine paled. She had heard whispered stories about harems before . . . about how Arab men kept their women locked up there and only let them out when they needed. She went cold inside and would have cried out for Gerald if she hadn't had such a determined grip on herself. Again, she reminded herself that her own personal safety meant nothing. Alex was the innocent and his protection was foremost on her mind. She was just about to risk Malik's displeasure and ask him about the boy, when the servant spoke up.

  "Yes, Malik Dey. And the child?"

  "Take him to the boys' quarters."

  "Yes, Your Majesty." He directed Catherine and Alex from the room.

  Malik watched as Catherine walked away, and he couldn't help but admire the proud way she carried herself. She was certainly a woman worthy of his affections. As he watched the gentle sway of her hips in fascination, he reminded himself that Faid should be handsomely rewarded for the information he'd brought him about her.

  Chapter Seven

  Edward sat on the edge of his bed in his London townhouse staring morosely down at the toy boat he held carefully on his lap. He had kept the Scimitar with him ever since Alexander's disappearance, for he was unable to part with this one last, cherished reminder of his grandson.

  Edward had always considered himself a man of sharp intellect and steady nerve, but the four endless, miserable weeks that had passed since the ransom had been paid without the return of Catherine and Alexander had rendered him overwrought. His frustration and his misery were complete. There was nothing left for him to do; nowhere left for him to search; no one left to question. He felt completely and utterly helpless. He could do absolutely nothing to help his beautiful daughter and his precious grandson. Holding the toy boat close, he got up and strode to the window to look out at the rain-drenched street below.

  Though Gerald had been a tremendous help to Edward during this time, even he had begun to lose heart as the weeks had passed and there had been no word of Catherine and Alex. Edward realized that the young man's hope of ever seeing his fiancée again was fading, and it saddened him. The younger man's visits had become less and less frequent as the news had become bleaker. Until something turned up, there was little left for either of them to say.

  Edward ran a weary hand over his bloodshot eyes. Even though he understood young Ratcliff's situation, he was determined himself not to let his own faith in their ultimate return die. Still, the pain of not knowing was taking its toll. He had given up eating, having absolutely no taste for food, and had begun to indulge himself with potent Irish whiskey. The powerful liquor gave him the strength he needed to face each new and empty day, but it had done little to ease the ache in his pain-filled heart. His weight had dropped and his eyes bore a haunted look that only Catherine's and Alexander's presence could banish.

  Edward turned away from the window, frowning. He had received a desperate note from Vivienne early in the day requesting an urgent meeting with him, and he was waiting now for her to arrive. A part of him held out a slim hope that she might have some news, but the logical side of him cautioned against getting too encouraged. If his own highly skilled men hadn't been able to find out anything about the kidnapping, why did he think hers might have?

  Edward had firmly believed that Avery and Vivienne were responsible for the whole ordeal, but when his son had unexpectedly disappeared leaving his wife behind, a seed of doubt had been planted. Over the last few weeks, Edward had wondered if he could have been mistaken. He'd had his investigators check to make sure that it wasn't a contrived disappearance to gain his favor, but their report had convinced him that his son might indeed have been a victim of foul play. Was it possible that Avery hadn't set up the kidnapping and ransom demand? Was it possible that he had gone to Catherine and Alexander's rescue, and the same terrible fate had befallen him? Avery in the guise of hero didn't seem realistic, but until Edward could prove positively one way or the other, he wasn't sure just what to think. A knock at the bed room door interrupted his troubled thoughts.

  "Yes? What is it?"

  "Your Grace, Lady Vivienne has arrived and is waiting for you in the front sitting room," Dalton informed him as he entered.

  "Te
ll her I'll be right down," Edward responded and he delayed a moment longer to muster enough control to speak with the woman who had borne Alexander. He placed the Scimitar carefully on the table beside the bed and went directly to the sitting room to greet her.

  Vivienne was waiting anxiously for her audience with the duke. She had been planning this encounter ever since she'd become convinced that Avery would not return. Vivienne didn't know what had gone awry with her husband's carefully laid plans, but she did know something awful must have happened to him. Her sources had told her that he'd boarded the ship and that it had sailed on schedule. Beyond that there was no information. She could only speculate about what had happened once they were at sea, but she believed firmly that Avery would have returned by now if he could have. He loved her madly. Only some unspeakable fate could have kept him from her.

  The thought of Avery's demise annoyed Vivienne. Without him, all the plans she'd made to ensure their ascent to the title were pointless. Without Avery, her entire life's goal was forfeit. She could never become the duchess. Still, as she mourned her lost position in society, the ransom money soothed her, and if she could convince the duke that she was in dire financial straits without her husband and needed his support in her widowhood, things might work out quite well. The duke just might feel sorry for her and come across with some extra funds to help her through these troubled times. She was, after all, still his daughter-in-law, and Avery's unexplained absence provided her with the proof she needed to convince him that she had not been involved in the kidnappings. Vivienne heard footsteps and glanced up as Edward came through the door.

  "Hello, Vivienne," he greeted her with cool restraint.

  "Your Grace, thank you so much for seeing me." Vivienne returned humbly. "I wasn't sure you would after our last encounter, but things have changed so drastically that I had to come to you." Tears glistened in Vivienne's beautiful eyes, and she looked every inch the helpless female. It had taken her nearly an hour of practice before her vanity mirror to perfect this expression, and she was rather proud of the results of her efforts. "You know that Avery is missing . . . that he disappeared the same week as Catherine and Alexander while he was out looking for them?"

  Edward nodded slowly. "I was aware of this, yes."

  "Well, since the day he vanished I've heard nothing from him . . . absolutely nothing. There's been no demand for money or any other kind of contact." Even in her distress, Vivienne looked radiantly lovely.

  "Then you bring no news of any of them?"

  "Not a word," she told him, adding just the right touch of desperation to her voice. "The last place Avery was searching for them was on the docks. I had the men we'd hired earlier check out the area thoroughly, but every lead they followed up turned out to be a dead end."

  "I understand," he replied. "My own investigations told the same story."

  Vivienne affected innocent distress. She and Avery had both known that the duke would stop at nothing to find Catherine and the boy. She was glad now that they'd taken such great care in covering their own trail of deception. "You were investigating?" she asked, stricken. "Then you really did believe . . . Oh, I'd better go. I'm sorry for having bothered you . . . I'll manage somehow . . ."

  "Vivienne . . ." Edward said her name more gently. His doubts about her involvement were growing ever stronger. "Wait. Tell me why you've come."

  She had been starting for the door when he'd spoken, and she hesitated in her exit to make it look as if she'd really planned to leave. She glanced strategically back over her shoulder at him, letting her tear-stained face tell him just how great was the agony she was suffering. "I know what you must think of us . . . of me . . . but you're wrong, Your Grace," she said. "We didn't kidnap Catherine and Alexander. I swear to you, we didn't do it!" We didn't, some hired men did, she told herself.

  Edward sighed, thoroughly convinced at last by the depth of her heartrending emotion. "I believe you, Vivienne, and I apologize for my cruelty that day. I was an angry, desperate man." He let his gaze rest upon her. He'd never cared for her, had resented Avery's marriage to her, but he could certainly understand her misery. He was not a hard-hearted man; he was a gentleman of honor. He couldn't allow Vivienne to suffer.

  "I'm alone in the world now, Your Grace," she told him, her heart pounding. This was the true test of her thespian skills. Would he believe her?

  Edward realized sadly that this woman was the closest thing to family he had left except for a few, very distant cousins with whom he had little or no regular contact. He would have to stand beside her in spite of their past differences. "You're not alone, Vivienne. You're my daughter-in-law. I'll take care of everything."

  Vivienne was hard put to keep the excitement she was feeling from showing on her face. It had worked! He was going to take care of her! Maybe, just maybe, it had been worth losing Avery to gain the duke's favor.

  Catherine sat on a stone bench beside the fountain at the center of the lush, flowering garden watching the water as Almira, the heavyset servant woman who'd been assigned to take care of her needs when she'd come to the harem three days before, brushed out her hair. Had it not been for her fairness, Catherine might have passed for one of the other Arabic women in the women's quarters. She was barefoot and wearing a loose-fitting, turquoise satin brocade underdress with a drape of gold-and-red striped satin over it. She looked completely serene as she stared at the splashing, crystalline waters, but inwardly she was caught up in an emotional turmoil. When she'd first arrived there, her gown and underthings had been taken from her. In their stead, she'd been given the traditional garments of the Barbary women to wear, but she did not like them. The flowing garments that were wrapped around her seemed foreign and left her feeling vulnerable. She'd demanded her dress back, but Almira had refused, telling her that the gown had been ruined and could not be repaired. Catherine hadn't believed her, but there had been little she could do about it, for she was being held a virtual prisoner in the harem.

  Restrictions had been put upon her movements and she was confined there, just as Malik's other women were. Catherine supposed that if she had to consider herself still a captive she was glad to be a captive in a gilded cage, for the harem itself was most pleasant. The rooms were large, airy, and spacious, the accommodations luxurious. The gardens were magnificent and there were fountains and reflecting pools in abundance. Since her arrival, she had been pampered and spoiled, bathed and perfumed.

  Catherine almost enjoyed herself during the last few days, except for the haunting knowledge of the dey's unseen presence and power hovering over her. She had no idea what her future held. Had the Algerian ruler already sent word to her father? Would the ransom be paid soon so they could go home or did he have another fate in store for them . . . for her? Worst of all, she still worried that her brother might be ransomed back by Muhammed before them. She prayed desperately that the duke received word about them quickly and that they would be returned home as soon as possible. She missed Huntington House, her father, and most of all Gerald . . . her love.

  The very first day there, she'd considered escape, but logic and practicality had asserted itself. With Alex living in an area separate from hers and the palace so vast that she had no idea where his room was located, it would have been folly to try. Not to mention the fact that there were guards everywhere, and even if she did manage to get them out, she would still have been an Englishwoman alone in Algiers with a small child. Painfully, she'd admitted to herself that she was going to have to wait for her father to pay the ransom. There was no other way.

  Malik had sent permission for her to have a one-hour visit with Alex each day, and she was grateful for that. The fact that the dey allowed them time together eased her worries a little and made him seem less threatening. For his part, Alex seemed to be adapting rather well to his new surroundings, though he did ask her every day if she'd heard from his grandfather yet. As stifling as their existence now was, it was far better than the fate Avery had had planned fo
r them.

  "You are very beautiful," the servant woman remarked, interrupting her thoughts as she gave Catherine's shining cascade of curls another stroke with the brush.

  "Thank you, Almira," she returned without enthusiasm. She was so upset that she not feel pretty at all.

  Almira heard the subtle misery in her tone. "You are very fortunate, you know," she chided softly.

  "I hardly think so," Catherine replied a bit sarcastically. "If I were fortunate, I'd still be in England."

  "Oh, but you are!" Almira insisted, ignoring her reference to her home. "The others . . ." She jerked her head toward the courtyard area where Malik's three wives and several pretty concubines had gathered. "They all envy you, you know . . . and so do I."

  "Envy me? Whatever for?"

  "Malik has requested that you join him for his evening meal tonight," she said knowingly, her eyes aglow at the thought.

  "They have nothing to envy," Catherine dismissed. "Haven't you told them that I love another and only want to leave here?"

  Almira lifted her shoulders in an expressive gesture. "I told them, but they don't believe me. They think you are a liar."

  Catherine was shocked, and she cast a quick glance toward the group of women only to find their eyes upon her and their expressions less than friendly. She sighed. "I'm no threat to them. Why do they dislike me so?"

  "Jealousy is a way of life here. They all want to be Malik's favorite, but since Lila died, he hasn't shown any one particular woman special attention."

  "Who was Lila?" Catherine couldn't help but ask, her curiosity aroused.

  "She was his first wife, and the one woman it is said he truly loved. She bore him his two children, Hasim, the oldest, a son, and Talitha, a little girl. It was a great tragedy when she died giving birth to Talitha three years ago." Almira paused, her eyes misting with tears as she remembered the gentle but spirited Lila. She then added with venom, spitting out the words, "The others didn't think so. They all wanted to take her place and were glad she was dead."