by Bobbi Smith
"How horrible!"
"We must be careful. Especially if he begins to show preference to you . . ."
"You don't have to worry about that. I'm not interested. The others are welcome to him."
Almira hid a smile as she listened to Catherine's words. She had been in Malik's household for many years now, and she had watched him from afar all that time. She firmly believed that the woman hadn't been born who could resist him. But then again, the dey had never had a woman like Catherine in his harem before.
"Come, we'd better go back to your rooms now and finish getting you ready. He will be sending for you soon," she encouraged.
As they left the gardens, Catherine was torn between looking forward to seeing Malik that night so she could find out if her father had been contacted and dread over what he might be expecting from her. She wanted Gerald, and no one else. She could hardly wait until this nightmare was over and they could be married.
"Here . . . wear this tonight," Almira held up a flowing, white silken garment when they returned to her bedchamber.
"I would prefer something less revealing," she said primly.
"You will look lovely in this."
"I'll wear what I have on."
"That will not please Malik since it is a day habit." Almira refused to give in to her wishes. "You will wear this. It is for evening," Almira carefully laid the white satin aside, then divested Catherine of the turquoise garment.
Catherine said no more, for she knew her only recourse would be to go to him without clothing at all, and that certainly wouldn't do! Fighting down an urge to flee, she allowed Almira to help her into the white costume and then adjust a delicate, gold-link belt about her slender waist. The servant then brought her several gold bracelets and necklaces to wear, added a touch more perfume, and slipped dainty sandals upon her feet. Finally, she stood back to admire her handiwork.
"You are truly beautiful. Malik will be pleased," she announced, noting how the Barbary dress fit her to perfection, clinging ever so lightly to her slim body as she moved, and how the gold jewelry brought out the vibrant color of her hair.
"I'm sure that's most important," Catherine said with sarcasm that was lost on the other woman.
A servant arrived to let it be known that Malik was ready for her, and Almira led Catherine from the harem under the resentful gazes of the other women. They traveled through the palace to the dey's private suite of rooms. "Go in. He is waiting for you."
Catherine was nervous . . . very nervous, but she was resolved to maintain every semblance of control. It had been obvious the day Malik had taken her from Muhammed that he would tolerate no defiance from her, but at the same time, she wasn't about to be completely submissive. She appreciated the fact that she and Alex were being treated fairly, but they were still being held against their will. Giving a stubborn lift of her chin, she took a deep breath to steady her frayed nerves and stepped into Malik's quarters.
"Welcome, Catherine. Please come in," he greeted her from where he sat reclining on cushions in the center of the room. There was a magnificent banquet spread before him on a low marble table that was placed just high enough to serve them from where they would be sitting on the floor.
Catherine thanked Malik and kept her gaze focused on him as she reminded herself that she had to face him without fear. Her sandal-clad feet made barely a whisper of noise as she crossed the highly polished white marble floor toward the dey. She was glad now for all her experience at court, for she could draw upon that discipline to see her through the next few hours.
Malik had been anticipating her arrival. He'd dressed this evening for what was to be a romantic tryst in the privacy of his own quarters, donning fully cut pantaloons, much in the Turkish style, a pair of soft desert boots, and a long, brightly colored vest that hung open leaving his hard-muscled chest and arms bare. Around his neck he wore a heavy gold chain with an amulet on it. He was sitting easily now, leaning slightly to the side on a cushion, one leg drawn casually up, a forearm resting across his knee. Despite his relaxed dress and pose, he still looked a man of power. His aura of command was as much a part of him as the color of his hair and eyes.
As Malik watched Catherine cross the room toward him, his appetite to have her raged. The silken gown she wore seemed to gently caress her sweetly curved body, and he thought surely that he was dreaming. He'd had reports from the harem that she was lovely, but he found her far more gorgeous than he'd ever imagined she would be.
"Join me in my humble abode," he spoke in a deep, mellow voice as he gestured grandly about the room.
Catherine was so tense about this meeting that she paid scant attention to her surroundings. She gave not even a glance at the simply decorated yet very impressive room, concentrating instead on maintaining her self-control and not revealing her fears. Later, she would notice the arched windows that opened onto a terrace overlooking the garden below and the walls decorated in a very masculine design of mosaic tiles and hung with exquisitely patterned tapestries. For now, all that mattered was meeting Malik with dignity and poise intact.
"You look very beautiful tonight," he complimented her as he rose agilely to his feet and extended his hand to her. "Please, sit down."
"Thank you, Malik Dey." Realizing that there was no way to avoid his touch, Catherine put her hand in his to allow him to assist her in sitting down. That simple contact was so electric, that had she been a lesser woman, she would have jerked her hand away. Stunned, she looked up at him expecting to find that he was feeling the same thing. But to her amazement, he seemed undisturbed. Giving herself a mental shake, she steeled herself once again as she settled down on the pillows, and she was tremendously relieved when he released her hand.
"My name is Malik. You may use it without the formalities."
"Malik . . ."
He nodded his approval, liking the sound of his name on her lips. One day soon, he hoped to hear her call his name as he made love to her . . . Annoyed with himself, he jerked his thoughts back away from dangerous territory.
"I have ordered many different foods tonight for your pleasure. I hope you enjoy the meal," Malik told her with a warm smile, his eyes catching and holding hers in an intimate gaze.
She found herself staring into his eyes and thinking they were the most unusual color she'd ever seen. When they'd first met, they seemed amber, but now, they were a dark, dark gold. His graciousness and unthreatening presence were making her a little less nervous, but Catherine still felt she had to be cautious. She returned his smile, but without the warmth of his. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness in this, but I really would like to speak to you about several other things before we eat."
Her request took him aback. He had planned an evening of sensual enjoyment and she wanted to talk? What could they possibly have to talk about? She was a woman. "Such as?" he inquired, hiding his shock and amusement.
"Well, first, I'd like to know if you've sent a message to my father yet. Alex and I are quite anxious to return to England, and I know my father will send the ransom money just as soon as he receives word," she told him in a very businesslike manner.
Malik had realized from the start that Catherine was a very different kind of woman. No woman since Lila had dared to ask him his plans, and this display of spirit in Catherine piqued his already growing interest in her even more. While he was not a man who liked to lie, he did believe in doing things the most expedient way possible. Telling himself that the end was ultimately worth the means, he replied smoothly, "Word has already been sent."
"Good. Do you think it will be very long until we're freed?" she pressed, relieved to know that her father would soon find out they were alive and well.
"It is difficult to say exactly," he hedged. Her reference to being "freed" stung his conscience, but he denied the guilt. She was not his prisoner. She was now one of his women. Hadn't he seen that she was treated well? Hadn't he seen her every reasonable wish met? He wanted this Catherine as he had not wanted a female
since Lila, and he was going to have her. As he sat there facing her now, he noticed how the thin fabric of the white garment caressed the fullness of her bosom just as he wanted to and how her glorious mane fell softly about her shoulders enticing him to run his hands through the golden strands. Forcing his thoughts back to her question, he went on. "Sometimes it can take several months, at least. Now, shall we eat?"
"Malik . . ." she began again, wondering why his gaze suddenly seemed so brooding, "There is something else. I was wondering if . . ."
"Yes?" He was growing a bit exasperated now.
"If it would be possible for me to have my gown back?"
"You find our style of clothing uncomfortable?" He deflected her question with a question of his own as his gaze slid over her, tracing her lithe body beneath the Algerian garment. "It is very practical for our climate, you know. Sometimes it can become very hot here." His words sounded innocuous enough, but his thoughts were far from innocent, for he was again envisioning how she would look stripped of her clothing, lying on the comfort of his wide, soft bed.
"I do not intend to stay here long enough to find out, so I really would prefer to have my own dress back to wear."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Malik answered, rejecting the idea of seeing her in those confining European styles again. "The dress was ruined, so it was burned."
She bit her lip. It had been her only gown, her one connection to home, and now it was gone forever.
Malik saw the flicker of unhappiness in her eyes and felt a pang of guilt. Again, the guilt troubled him. He wondered why he should care that she was unhappy. She was, after all, only a woman . . . "Here, try some of the roast lamb," he said, offering her some of the succulent meat.
Knowing there was nothing left to say, she partook of the food. It was delicious, and as course after course was brought before them, she found herself actually enjoying the tempting fare.
As the hours passed, and Catherine and Malik shared food and drink, he managed to put her at ease and she slowly became less wary of him. To her surprise, she found him an interesting, well-educated man. Their conversation was intelligent and challenging and covered a myriad of topics. He continually intrigued her with his views. By the end of the meal, she had formed a certain respect and even a bit of liking for the man.
While Catherine's opinion of Malik was changing, his of her was being reinforced. The fact that she was a woman who voiced opinions based on education, common sense, and intelligence enthralled him. On some of the subjects they discussed, he thought her brighter than some of his advisers in the divan. This discovery about her pleased him. Now he not only desired her, he had come to respect her. She was a woman with a mind of her own. A woman worth winning. Yet, he realized she wanted nothing more than to leave him and go home. He wondered with some irritation what manner of man her husband was.
"Your home is very beautiful," she remarked some time later when the last of the dishes had been cleared away by the servants.
"Its magnificence pales next to you," he told her gallantly, his tone suggesting that he really meant it.
Catherine felt an unwelcome blush stain her cheeks. "You're too kind."
"You are the first to think so," he said, giving a meaningful chuckle. "There are many who would disagree with you."
"I would have thought you would be well liked by your people. You seem a fair man."
"Every man has enemies. It is important never to trust anyone too fully. That is the best way to stay alive and in power."
She glanced up, seeing then for the first time the chess set on the desk. "You play chess?" The idea fascinated her as yet another facet of his personality was revealed to her.
"Yes."
"So do I . . . a little," she answered.
Malik was astounded by the news that she knew the game and even more astounded to find himself inviting her to play. He'd always regarded chess strictly as a man's game.
An hour later, he'd been proven wrong. Catherine's strategy had been brilliant, and he'd been soundly defeated. No one had ever beaten him before. He frowned. "You're very good." It was a hard admission on his part, but one that added to the respect he was already feeling for her.
"So are you," she answered. It had been a challenging game, and she'd been forced to play to the best of her ability.
"We'll play again soon."
"I'd enjoy that, but I really think I should return to my rooms now." She stood up.
Malik rose from the table, too. His expression was thoughtful as he escorted her to the doorway and then called out for a servant to guide her back to the harem. He'd wanted nothing more than to make love to Catherine, yet here he was allowing her to go back to the harem untouched. He thought himself a madman and questioned his own sanity, for he had never before in his life denied himself a desirable woman.
It was then that Malik realized how much his feelings for Catherine had changed during the course of the evening. She was unlike any woman he'd ever known, and while he desired her strongly, he wanted her to come to him willingly. Tonight, pleasant as it had been, he would still have had to use force to make love to her. Malik knew it would take some time, but he fully intended to have her without coercion.
As they stood in the doorway saying good night, Malik lifted one hand to gently touch her cheek. It was the first physical contact they'd had since he'd held her hand earlier, and the same potent electricity charged through them both. He'd felt it before, but had kept his reaction to her hidden. He did so again now, even as he watched her eyes widen in shock at the ripples of awareness that flowed through her at his touch. He smiled.
"Good night, Catherine."
With that, he turned Catherine over to the servant who was waiting and disappeared back inside his chamber. She suddenly felt quite bereft without him, and as she made her way through the palace, her thoughts were completely centered on Malik and the puzzle he presented her. He'd been a perfect gentleman all night, and she'd actually found that she liked him. Confused, she returned to her bedchamber and sought rest.
Chapter Eight
Malik summoned Catherine to join him many more times during the next several weeks. Each evening was filled with a sumptuous feast, stimulating conversation, and ended with a game of chess. They were well matched in strategies, and Malik found her brave attacks on the chessboard hard to defend against. In all, each won as many as they lost, and they were both pleased with the outcome.
With each visit, Malik's desire for her grew. Any innocent touch they shared sent his passions soaring. He'd managed to control himself so far, but she had become like a fire in his blood. He knew he couldn't wait much longer to have her. An image of Catherine seemed to dance constantly in his mind, taunting him, teasing him, arousing him at the most inopportune times and leaving him useless for other endeavors.
Malik convinced himself that if he could make love to her just once, the hold she had on him would lessen. The trouble was, in the times they'd been together, she hadn't given any sign that she wanted him. She spoke mainly of impersonal things. She seemed more than content with the way things stood between them, and it was driving him to distraction.
Malik realized, as he thought about it now, that despite their hours of conversation, he really knew very little about Catherine. He suddenly grew annoyed with himself. His primary rule for taking up any challenge was to know his adversary thoroughly, and he had failed in that this time. He'd been so beguiled that he had cast his rules to the wind, concentrating only on his passion. He made up his mind, then and there, to find out everything he could about her before they met again that night. Malik knew where to start, too. Her son, Alex, would be able to help him if he handled it right.
With all the confidence befitting a man of his station, Malik left the audience chamber where he'd been sitting and made his way toward the boys' quarters in the palace. There was no way he was going to lose in his battle to win Catherine.
Catherine was sitting in her bedroom when Alm
ira came seeking her out.
"Catherine, Malik has sent word that he wants you to join him again this evening," Almira related, thrilled by the news. She had no use for the other women in the harem and was glad they were being ignored.
At Almira's announcement, Catherine's mood darkened and she didn't respond right away.
"Is something wrong?" the servant asked, seeing how strained she looked. "Are you ill?"
For a moment, Catherine almost lied and said yes so she wouldn't have to go to him, but amazingly, what was troubling her so deeply and what also stopped her from lying was the fact that she was actually looking forward to seeing Malik again. During the time they'd been apart, she'd found herself thinking about him a dozen times and remembering little things he'd said or done during their times together. It was very difficult for her to admit that she had come to care about him in the few weeks she'd known him. She sighed. "No. I'm not sick."
"Then let's go to the baths. We must begin now if we want you to be perfect for Malik. You should be feeling very honored that he wants you again tonight."
Her eagerness to go frightened her. But then, there were many things frightening her lately. Last night, for example, when Malik hadn't sent for her, she'd spent the time alone in her rooms trying to think only of Gerald and the kisses they'd shared the day she'd been kidnapped. She'd managed just fine until she'd fallen asleep, and then instead of her fiancé's face dominating her dreams, Malik had been there. He had intruded on her tender memories and flashed her his triumphant smile as he took her hand in a simple gesture that excited her even in her slumber. She wondered what was happening to her. It was Gerald she loved, not Malik.
"Maybe Malik will take you for his fourth wife . . ." Almira was saying as they left the room.
Her words jarred Catherine to the depths of her soul, and she denied them a little too vehemently—to herself and to Almira, "I have no desire to become his wife! I am in love with another man! Gerald is the only one I'll ever want or need . . ."
