Capture My Heart

by Bobbi Smith

  "But your Gerald is not here, and Malik is. Surely, this Englishman is not as brave or as handsome—" Almira asked.

  "I love Gerald," Catherine insisted, interrupting her. She didn't want to hear her sing Malik's praises. She knew how wonderful he was—how kind, gentle, intelligent . . . Aggravated, she cut him out of her thoughts.

  The servant fell silent as she realized how very little love had to do with anything. She pondered the evening ahead as they made their way to the baths. Earlier, when she had told Catherine that Malik wanted her tonight, she had seen the spark of interest that had shone in the young woman's eyes. Almira wondered how much longer Catherine could deny the truth of her desire to herself.

  Hasim Ibn Malik, the darkly handsome, eleven-year-old son of Malik and his deceased wife, Lila, was busy playing in the gardens with his two friends, Mustapha and Uruj, when Alex came to join them. Hasim glanced up as he heard the younger boy's approach and then immediately looked away. His pride dictated that he act as though Alex's presence was of little consequence to him, but really Hasim greatly resented the youth. His father had never before taken a Christian captive into their home to live as one of them and this action puzzled him. When Uruj had told him that there was a rumor being spread that Alex's mother would soon become Malik's next wife, it all began to make sense and he grew jealous. He didn't want to share his father with anyone, and the thought that this little boy might suddenly become his brother bothered him greatly.

  Alex saw the boys at play and approached them a little cautiously. He had met Hasim and the others and liked them, but they'd seemed to go out of their way to avoid him since he'd come to live in the palace. He probably wouldn't have sought them out now except that he was lonely. The only real company he'd had in the weeks since they'd arrived had been his short visits with Aunt Catherine. So, when he heard the boys playing and sounding like they were having fun, he wanted to join in. As Alex moved nearer, he was aware that they were completely ignoring him, and he didn't understand it since he'd never done anything to make them mad.

  "Can I play, too?" Alex asked, his loneliness goading him bravely onward. It would be good to run and laugh again. The game they were playing seemed a lot like tag, and he had always been good at tag at home.

  "You can't play. You're too young and too slow," Hasim told him bluntly, then turned his back on him in a dismissive gesture.

  "No, I'm not! I'm almost eight, and I bet I can keep up with you!" he countered, ready to show them just how quickly he could run. "Watch!" Forgetting all of his troubles, Alex broke into a run for the sheer joy of it. It suddenly seemed as if eternity had passed since he'd sailed his boat and played in the garden at Huntington House. He charged back toward the three waiting boys, stopped right before them, and planted his hands on his hips. He was panting heavily, but he was smiling as he said, "See!"

  "You're not fast at all," the pudgy Mustapha disparaged.

  "Go back inside, little baby!" Uruj teased.

  "I'm no baby! Let me play. Please?"

  Though Hasim knew that Alex had been far quicker than they'd given him credit for, he could not back down and lose face in front of his friends. He shot him a disdainful look. "You're much too little to keep up with us."

  "No, I'm not. I bet I can beat Mustapha in a race!" Alex challenged. He wanted only to join them, and he was resolved to do whatever was necessary to gain their acceptance. He honestly believed he would have a chance, for though Mustapha was a shade taller than he was, he was also a whole lot heavier.

  "Mustapha? What do you say? Do you want to race this baby? It should be an easy victory for you," Uruj asked tauntingly.

  At being called a baby again, Alex's hands clenched into fists at his sides and his chin took on a stubborn set. The fierce determination that would become so much a part of him as a man manifested itself, and he swore silently that no matter what, he was going to win this race. He said nothing in his own defense, though, as he waited for Mustapha's answer.

  "I'll race him," the older boy agreed. "How far do you think, Hasim?"

  "To the stables and back," he pronounced. He turned to Alex. "You do know where the stables are, don't you?"

  Alex nodded and pointed to the separate building on the far side of the court where the dey kept his three hundred horses. "There."

  "Then go!" Hasim shouted.

  Both boys were surprised at the unexpectedness of the start, and they took off running at top speed after an initial hesitation.

  Hasim and Uruj were surprised when the shorter Alex managed to keep up with Mustapha all the way to the stables. They exchanged amazed looks when their friend's pace began to slow and Alex started to pull ahead. Hasim was impressed by the young boy's fleetness, but he didn't want to admit it out loud. He watched as the two runners came racing back toward them, and he couldn't help but notice that Mustapha was looking very red-faced and exhausted.

  Mustapha was not about to lose to any seven-year-old. When the rock formation that had been chosen as the winning spot came into view and Alex was drawing ahead of him, he knew he had to act and act quickly. In a low, deceitful move, he stuck his foot out and deliberately tripped the younger boy, sending him sprawling in the dirt. Giving a hoot of delight, Mustapha raced on in triumph.

  Alex never knew what happened. One moment he was running at full speed a step ahead of Mustapha and the next he was falling heavily, all the wind knocked out of him. He looked up miserably just as the older boy crossed the winning marker in victory.

  Alex could hear the other boys' jeers and laughs, and fury fired through him as he strained to get his breath. Ignoring the pain in his chest and the tears in his eyes, he charged to his feet. He'd had all the tormenting he could stand. Without a thought to the fact that he was outnumbered three to one and that he was so much younger, he went after them all, his head down, his fists swinging wildly in anger.

  "You cheated!" he cried, several of his untrained punches connecting with the winded Mustapha and retreating Uruj before Hasim managed to grab him and hold him still.

  "You're not only a baby, you're stupid!" Mustapha continued to make sport of him. "You're still an infant, suckling at your mother's breast! Should we call her from the harem so she can tend her little boy?"

  Hasim knew things were getting out of hand and he shot Mustapha a threatening look to silence him. But Alex wasn't about to stop now.

  "She's not my mother, she's my Aunt Catherine!" He twisted free of Hasim's hold and turned angrily on him, knowing he was the leader of the little group. "But she's raised me to be honest and brave, which is something your mothers know nothing about! Your mothers raised a bunch of cheaters and liars!"

  Hasim would never stand for any insult to be directed at his mother and he bristled visibly. "No one cheated, you tripped over your own two feet," he threw back at him, having missed Mustapha's dirty trick.

  "I did not! You're just as bad as those two! You're all alike! You can't win without cheating!" Alex declared. Beyond control in his indignance, he swung out and hit Hasim as hard as he could. He caught the bigger boy off guard, surprising him with the force of his blow.

  Hasim reacted instinctively and with equal violence, hitting him back with all his might. He knew Alex was much younger, but his words had stung, and now his physical attack was too much. He couldn't let him get away with it. Just as he hit back, though, Hasim looked up and caught sight of his father striding toward them with a thunderous look upon his face. A sudden, sickening wave of shame washed over him as he met that condemning glare. Humiliation followed in its wake, but he did not cower. He held himself erect and met his regard without trying to hide what he'd done.

  Malik came up behind Alex and steadied him. "Easy, little one," he said in a soothing deep voice.

  "Don't call me that!" Alex bristled as he tried to shrug off the dey's hand. "Let me go! I want to show them . . ."

  "Show them what? That you don't know when to make a tactical retreat? The mark of a wise man is know
ing when the odds are in his favor—and when they are not. I would say right now, you stand a good chance of losing any fight you may pick with my son. Perhaps in five or ten years you would like to challenge him again."

  "I won't be here in five years!" he replied heatedly, using his forearm to wipe the blood that was flowing from the cut on his rapidly swelling lip.

  "We shall see, Serad. We shall see. No man can know what his future holds," Malik said, a mysterious note to his statement.

  "My name is Alex," he said stubbornly, his chin up, his hands still knotted into fists ready at his sides.

  "From now on you will be called Serad."

  "I don't want to be called anything but Alex."

  "Serad means 'brave one,' Alex. It is truly a name that fits you." He paused to look at his son with pride. "Anyone who dares challenge Hasim must be brave. My son is a very good fighter."

  "Serad?" Alex brightened as he repeated the name slowly, testing it on his tongue.

  Malik nodded his approval. "It suits you."

  While Alex pondered his new name, Malik turned his attention to his son, laying a loving hand upon his shoulder. "Hasim, I am much too proud of you to allow you and your friends to behave in this manner." He looked over at Mustapha, annoyance obvious in his gaze. "And, Mustapha, an honest man never needs to cheat. If you lost any challenge, let it be because the other man was truly better than you, as young Serad was just proving until you deliberately tripped him."

  Mustapha had the grace to look guilty. "Yes, Malik Dey." He and Uruj quickly excused themselves and disappeared from the garden under Malik's censoring gaze. There would be no more playing today.

  Once the boys had gone, Malik smiled down at Alex, now Serad. He met the boy's stormy gray gaze levelly. "Always remember, Serad, to gauge your enemy's strengths and weaknesses before the fight, not after."

  Alex held himself stiffly erect as he listened to his words, and he nodded tightly in understanding. Though his lip was throbbing and he was angry and hurt, he wasn't about to let this man know the depth of his pain.

  Malik, however, read his turbulent emotions. "Do not hate, either, Serad," he instructed. "Hatred is a wasted emotion. Those you hate do not care, and you carry that bitter burden alone. Concentrate, instead, on winning, no matter what the conflict or the prize. The best form of revenge on your enemies is to prove yourself superior to them."

  "Yes, sir," he replied with some difficulty through his puffy lips.

  "Good boy. Now run along and see to your mouth. We'll speak again later. And Serad?"

  Alex looked at him questioningly.

  "Do not worry about the boys. They will give you no more trouble."

  "I'll fight my own battles," he declared, not wanting the dey to protect him.

  "I would have expected no less of you."

  Their gazes locked, and suddenly Alex felt a bond with this man. He saw wisdom and faith and strength in his eyes and knew Malik was a man he could count on, a man like his grandfather. Alex gave him a small, painful smile that turned out to be more of a grimace, then turned and went back inside the palace.

  As he walked, Alex kept repeating his new name Serad to himself. He decided with a sense of pride that he liked it very much.

  Malik watched Serad walk away, and he nodded approvingly to himself. The boy was brave; any man would be proud to have him for his own. When the time came to take the beauteous Catherine as his wife, he would claim Serad, too. That decided, he turned his full attention to his son, who was still standing rigidly by his side.

  "I assume there was a reason for your behavior, so I will not dwell on that. I do want you to know, Hasim, that the boy is no threat to you in any way." There was tenderness in his counsel, and he was pleased when he saw Hasim relax a bit.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good boy. Now run along, but remember the little one is all alone here and needs friends. It would not displease me if you were to be kind to him."

  Hasim understood much then, and while he still felt some resentment at Alex's intrusion into their lives, he knew he had to respect his father's wishes in the matter. "Is he going to be my brother?" he blurted out as he turned to go.

  "It is a possibility, my son, and I would think not a bad choice, if one had to choose brothers. Serad certainly doesn't lack for boldness and daring."

  Hasim nodded, his expression thoughtful as he considered how the little boy had taken on him and his friends without fear. As he ran off, he felt an inkling of respect for Alex growing within him.

  Malik smiled to himself as he watched his son, and that smile broadened as his thoughts shifted to Catherine. He decided that coming here to see the children had been a very wise thing to do, indeed, and he was very sorry that he hadn't done it sooner. Now that he knew the truth about Catherine's relationship to the boy, everything made more sense to him. She was the boy's aunt, not his mother. Though she did profess to love another named Gerald, she had never called him her husband. It delighted Malik to think that she might still be a virgin. All along he had expected her to respond to him as a woman learned in the ways of men and love. The discovery that she most probably was an innocent explained everything.

  Making his way to a bench near the center of the garden, Malik wondered briefly about Serad's parents, but then shrugged the concern off. It didn't really matter. The boy was here now, and he would be staying, just as his aunt would.

  Thinking of Catherine again, Malik decided that tonight would be the night he would have her. He had dallied long enough. The recognition of her possible innocence, though, told him that he would have to plan carefully. She was in need of tutoring in the art of love, and he would be her teacher. The thought sent a rush of unbidden heat through him that surprised him in its intensity. He glanced up at the sky and knew by the position of the sun that already the day grew late. That pleased him, for it meant the hours until Catherine would be with him again were few. He stood and made his way indoors. There was much to be done, and very little time.

  Catherine followed Almira to the privacy of the harem baths, where another servant, Raji, awaited them. Almira, along with Raji, helped her to undress and then handed her down into the sunken marble bathtub. Catherine still found it unsettling to be naked before others, and she quickly sank down into the welcoming, warm water, glad to be away from the servants' prying eyes.

  With Almira looking approvingly on, Raji washed Catherine's hair with the greatest of care and then bathed the rest of her. Catherine had to fight down the urge to relax and enjoy the pampered treatment. She also had to fight down the rising excitement she was feeling over seeing Malik again. When Raji finished, she helped Catherine from the bath and toweled her dry.

  The masseur was a eunuch named Khalil, and he was summoned to them next. On her first night in the harem, when Khalil had come to her, Catherine had balked, for she had never been touched so by a man before. But now after experiencing his skillful ways many times, she found herself looking forward to it. Khalil's manner was so gentle and respectful that, much as with Malik, she grew more at ease with him with every passing day.

  Khalil greeted her pleasantly and then began to work his magic on her body. With an expert touch, he massaged her silken limbs until every inch of her flesh came alive under his touch. Catherine had thought he was finished when he paused, but then he did something different this time, rubbing a deliciously scented oil into her bare skin. Her entire body tingled, and she felt marvelously relaxed when he finally left her.

  It took a major effort for Catherine to force herself to remember why she was there. She told herself that she could not become enchanted with this lifestyle, that she had to get Alex back to England, and then, there was Gerald still waiting for her.

  "You shall be pleased when you see what you are to wear for Malik tonight," Almira told her as she wrapped her in a large towel when Khalil had gone.

  They returned to her bedroom, and there on the bed lay a shimmering length of gold-embroidered turquoise si
lk. There was no preventing the gasp of appreciation that escaped Catherine, and she quickly crossed the room to touch it.

  "It's beautiful," she breathed as she caressed the fine fabric. "The color is exquisite . . ."

  "It's the exact color of your eyes," Almira stated with confidence as she picked it up and held it to the light. "It's going to look lovely on you. But first, we must use the perfume . . ." The servant laid the silk aside and produced the small crystalline bottle that held the dey's favorite scent, a musky, heady mixture. After taking Catherine's towel from her she dabbed it generously at all of her strategic pulse points. "Now . . . the silk . . ."

  Almira lifted the material once more and began to wrap Catherine in it with artful expertise. She finished by fastening the silk with a jeweled clasp on her left shoulder, leaving her right shoulder seductively bare.

  The filmy fabric was a cool, intimate caress against her body, and Catherine couldn't prevent the shiver that trembled through her. She stared down at herself in amazement, and an embarrassed flush stained her cheeks as she noticed that her nipples had hardened against the bodice of the wrapped gown. It was more revealing than any dress or negligee she'd ever seen, and she knew she shouldn't go to Malik this way.

  "You must find something else for me to wear," she demanded. "I can't wear this."

  "Why not?" the servant asked, confused because it looked so perfect on her.

  "It's too . . ." Catherine paused, groping for a word. When she met with no success, she finally just blurted out, "I just can't wear it, that's all."

  Almira's answer, while stated calmly, was unyielding. "Malik sent this to you with his express wish that you wear it tonight. You cannot refuse him."

  "But—"

  "You look wonderful," she cut her off. "You will win his heart."

  "I don't want to win his heart!"

  "You must have the jewelry . . ." Almira completely ignored her. She produced several gold bracelets encrusted with precious stones and slipped them onto her wrists. "Now, you only need sandals and you will be perfect." She retrieved a pair of gold sandals that went with the dress and helped her don them, then stepped back to admire her.