Adora
Page 11
She shook her head. “I do not know. I begged my lord Orkhan to allow me to go with Halil to Nicea—but he will not.”
“He is right,” replied Alexander. “The boy needs to be on his own, else he will never be free of your protective skirts. Remember that in ancient Sparta boys were taken from their mothers at age seven.”
She made a face at him and he chuckled. “Besides, beauty, if I were your husband, I should not want you leaving me.”
“Nonsense. Orkhan has a harem of women, many of whom are far lovelier than I am. He does not need me.”
“Then why return to him? Stay with me, and be my love. I will make it so sweet for you, beauty, that you will never want to leave me.”
She laughed shakily. “I thought you were a man of business, my lord Alexander. If I seriously considered your flattering offer, you would lose a great deal of money. Therefore, I know you cannot possibly be serious.”
He regarded her with his jewel-like eyes and then said quietly, “May I come and play with you again, beauty?” She nodded. “Then I will leave the board and pieces,” he said. And he departed.
She sat, heart pounding, hands tightly clutching each other within the cradle of her lap. He had meant it! He had really meant it! She was the sultan’s wife, and yet he boldly paid her court. What would happen if she accepted him? Would Orkhan really care, surrounded as he was by all those lush young beauties? She shook her head. This was madness! Of course Orkhan would care! Were she the humblest slavegirl he would care, for she was his property. What was the matter with her, to even consider such a thing? She was Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium. She was a wife! A mother! Not some silly girl!
He did not come the next night, but on the following evening they played two games—Theadora winning the first and Alexander winning the second.
“This time,” he teased, “I have studied your method of play.”
“We appear to be well-matched,” she answered him. Then, realizing that he might misunderstand her words, she blushed and hastily added, “in chess.”
“Indeed,” he replied calmly. “If you should find the need for company, please feel free to visit the women of my house. They are all very curious about the sultan’s wife.”
“Perhaps some day,” she answered absently. But as the weeks dragged on she began to feel the need for company. She would go to the harem only once, she decided, for undoubtedly the women of Alexander’s harem would prove as silly and as vicious as those in her husband’s harem.
To her surprise she was greeted cordially by all of the pirate’s women, including his three favorites—all of whom had children by him. They were pretty women with docile dispositions, whose only apparent goals in life were to make their lord and master happy. She found herself wondering if they satisfied the raging passion she had seen lurking behind the well-mannered man. Quickly she brushed the thought away, flushing guiltily.
Alexander’s harem was a place of peaceful pleasures. Everything was a delight to the touch. The air was sweetly scented with exotic flowers. Soft music was played by the skilled fingers of pretty young girls. The food was delicious, and it was served beautifully. What Adora did not know was that the harem’s menu was comprised mainly of foods thought to be aphrodisiacs—and therefore conducive to the subtle arousal of the females.
Theadora did not usually seek the company of other women. But Alexander’s concubines were most kind to her, quite unlike the women of Orkhan’s house. They were overwhelmingly curious about her life in Bursa and in Constantinople as well. It was hard to resist their flattering pleas for stories about her life.
They were also curious about the sexual practices of Ottoman women. Perhaps they hoped to learn something new, something to please their lord. With a dignified skill she had not had occasion to use before, she enlightened them in several areas. They were delighted. Often Theadora found herself breaking into giggles. For the first time in her life, she had friends of her own age. And though they were not her intellectual equals, she enjoyed them. She was having almost as much fun in captivity as her little son was having. Her particular favorite was Cerika, an adorable Circassian girl with a delightful sense of humor and the sweetest nature Theadora had ever encountered in a woman.
Soon she found herself spending her time with them, not only in the harem, but in the baths and at meals as well. It was as if she had joined Alexander’s harem…but for one aspect. As Alexander was a virile man there was not a night that he did not call for one of his women. In the morning there would be much good-natured teasing of the fortunate one, and recently there had been questions regarding whether their new skills were pleasing the master. Caught in this sensual, silken atmosphere, Theadora began to grow edgy. It was easy to deny her own sensuality when she could live a sensible, orderly life, but her life in Alexander’s house was neither.
The weeks went by. The pirate captain knew that his beautiful captive was weakening, but the progress to her capitulation was far slower than he had hoped. She was a very stubborn woman, and though she had relaxed a great deal, she had yet to forget who she was.
The price for her ransom had been agreed upon, and word came from the sultan that he was preparing to send the gold. Now Alexander debated with his conscience—a thing he rarely did. As usual, however, his own desires won out. For, charming as he was, Alexander was a hedonist. He wanted the beautiful Theadora, and he fully intended to have her.
Given more time, she might have allowed her own desires to rule her head—but there was no more time. The sultan’s emissary was less than two weeks away. Alexander knew he must act now or lose his chance. If he did not taste of her charms, and if she returned to Bursa, he would make himself sick with longing. Alexander was a man used to getting his way.
Theadora’s seduction was carefully planned. One evening, Alexander sent his regrets that he would be unable to join her for their chess game. She was disappointed, for the games had become an almost daily pleasure, and she enjoyed them. He sent, by way of apology, a round crystal bowl filled with Gold of Ophir roses, a small flacon of golden Cyprus wine, and a silver dish of green grapes. Theadora, feeling sorry for herself, sent Iris to bed and drank all the wine herself. Then she fell into a deep sleep.
She dreamed a strange dream. Sightless, for she could not seem to see, she was led from her bed. Then, suddenly, she could see again. A silk had been bound about her eyes. Looking about she saw that she was in a windowless square room. The walls and ceiling of the room were black. One quarter of the way up the wall was a gold border in the ancient Greek key-and-scroll design. Above it were beautiful paintings of men with women, women with women, men with men, and men and women with animals—in various attitudes of sexual play. Above the drawings was another gold border.
The room was lit by flickering hanging lamps, burning a musk-scented oil. As Theadora stood there two young women appeared at her side and began to massage her body with a scented cream that left her skin tingling, both hot and cold. Slowly, sensuously, they caressed her until the exquisite sensations assailing her flesh threatened to cause her to faint.
Before her, on a raised and carpeted dais, amid multicolored silk and velvet pillows, reclined the three favorite ladies of Alexander. They were, as was she, completely nude. Smiling, they beckoned her to join them. Moving slowly forward, she allowed them to draw her down among them. They were so kind to her, and it didn’t seem at all strange when they began to caress her body. It was the loveliest dream! Their hands were so soft. They fondled her breasts, kissing and nuzzling at the nipples, then sending a painful ache through her as they sucked hard on the coral points.
Cerika’s hands strayed downward and stroked the insides of Theadora’s thighs, playfully touching at her womanhood. Theadora sighed deeply, trembling when her friend lowered her blonde head and kissed her within the soft, sensitive cleft of her sex. Now the three women held a cup of wine to Adora’s lips, urging her to drink. When she did so her feeling of wellbeing increased.
>
Then, from the darkness, Alexander appeared. Naked, he looked like the marble statue of the ancient God, Apollo. Tall, with well-muscled legs and a flat torso, he was deeply bronzed by the sun. Between his powerful thighs was a triangle of gold hair, and springing forth from the tight gold curls was a long, swollen manroot.
Theadora felt no fear, for she wanted him. And as this was but a delightful dream, she felt free to indulge. Two of the other women spread her legs wide. Smiling, Theadora opened her arms to him. For a moment he stood spread-legged above her, a smile of triumph on his handsome face. Then, kneeling, he straddled her so that he might enjoy the full breasts, and she felt his maleness against her belly. Gently he played with her, pulling the long nipples out, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. She tingled all over with the full pleasure of it, and rubbed her navel against the pulsing muscle that throbbed against her.
He nibbled on her lips, placing little kisses at their corners and on her closed eyelids. For the first time, she heard his voice, and for a moment she was frightened. She did not recall ever hearing a voice in her dreams. But the sensations assailing her were so intense they banished fear. “What do you want me to do, beauty?” he said.
Slowly, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes and said in a sweetly serious voice, “You must make love to me, Alexander. You must make love to me,” and then her eyes slowly closed again.
She could feel his hands grasping her buttocks, and she smiled with delight as she felt him drive deep into her willing body, raising her to the pinnacle of passion. He was enormous. He filled her to overflowing, and she thought she would surely die, for in truth she had never been so satisfied.
But soon the sunlight was in her eyes, and the sound of Iris’ voice woke her from her deep sleep.
Her mouth was sour, and her head ached horribly. She had had such a strange dream…but she could not quite remember it. When she tried to concentrate, her head ached.
“Draw the drapes,” she ordered her servant. “The wine that Alexander sent me last night has come close to assassinating me. God! My head hurts unbearably.”
“You should not have drunk it all, my lady,” scolded Iris. “You are not used to strong wines.”
Theadora nodded regretfully. “I will stay in bed today,” she said, “for to tell the truth I do not think I can get up.” She lay back amid her pillows to doze in the cool, darkened room.
But sleep was restless, with wild and obscene images floating through her troubled mind. A dark room with flickering golden lights. Alexander’s three favorites—nude, caressing her naked body. Cerika kissing her on the mouth and on the— Oh, Christos! No!
Now she lay back, her clear camellia skin a startling white against the rainbow pillows. Above her, the ceiling was of Venetian glass, and she could see Alexander between her spread legs. She moaned desperately, trying to escape the dream, but she could not. In the dream he took her once, then took each of his favorites in turn, dismissing them afterward. She watched with amazement as he performed with his women. The man was a stallion and did not seem to tire. Alone now, he took her a second time, and turning her onto her stomach took her again in that manner.
She struggled to escape these images and woke to find that it was already late afternoon. Her headache had gone but she felt confused and tense. Although her skin was now cool, the sheets were soaked with perspiration and were badly tangled. Again, she knew she had dreamed but she could only remember that it had had something to do with Alexander. They had made love together. She blushed with shame. How absurd!
Shrugging, she called to Iris to bring her a carafe of pomegranate juice and some food. After she had eaten she entered her bath, and the skillful fingers of her slave soothed away the last of her tensions. When Alexander arrived for their chess game she greeted him warmly.
“I missed you last night,” she said. “I enjoy our games. Instead I drank that vicious wine you sent me, and I spent a restless, impossible night. When I awoke today I had a monstrous headache. I have been in bed all day.”
He chuckled. “I should have warned you. The golden wines of Cyprus are deceptive, beauty. They appear to be sweet and mild but in actuality are wicked and potent.”
“Could you not have warned me?” she said somewhat sharply. He chuckled again.
While they played she stole little looks at him from beneath her lowered lashes. He behaved no differently toward her. Surely if what she had imagined had really happened, they would not be carrying on in the usual manner! No! It had been a wild dream, brought on by the strong wine. What was the matter with her, to make her imagine such things? But she knew the answer to that: she longed for a man’s love, and as long as her elderly husband lived, she was not apt to get it. Sighing, she made a careless move and heard her captor say, “Check and mate, beauty!”
She looked down at the board and made a little moue with her mouth. “Oh, Alexander, how stupid of me!”
He laughed at her distress. “It is not like you to give me a game, beauty.” Then in a more serious tone, “What is it that troubles you?”
She shook her head. “Bad dreams, Alexander. Such very frightening bad dreams.”
“Can you tell me? Talking often puts such dreams in their true perspective.”
“No, my friend. It is far too personal. I behaved in a way most unlike myself, and it troubles me. I hope never to have such dreams again!”
He looked at her gravely, and his conscience nagged him painfully. He had drugged her and then seduced her in order to satisfy his own craving for her. She had been absolutely magnificent, for although she did not know it, she was made for a man’s love. She had pleasured and had been pleasured.
His problem now would be to let her go, for he had fallen deeply in love with Theadora during the period of her captivity. One thought consoled him. When the old sultan died, she would be returned to her family in Constantinople. When that happened, he intended to have his father, who was a vassal of the emperor, ask for Theadora for him. His father would be delighted that he finally wished to remarry and give the family legitimate heirs.
“I do not think that you will be troubled further by such dreams, beauty,” he said quietly. “And I have good news for you. Your ransom should be here shortly. Your captivity is almost over.”
Smiling, she leaned across the chessboard and touched his hand. “I have been neither uncomfortable nor sad, my friend. Captivity in your house is very pleasant, and your kindness to my son and me will not be forgotten.”
He rose. “I am sorry, Theadora of Byzantium, that your sense of duty is so strong. Else you might have remained here with me.”
“Had I been childless, Alexander, perhaps I might have been tempted. But though my son can never be sultan, he is an Ottoman. I will not deny him his heritage.”
He nodded with understanding. “You are an admirable woman, beauty. What a pity the men in your world will never really understand or appreciate you.”
She smiled ruefully. “Nevertheless, my friend, I shall survive, and perhaps in the end I shall even triumph.”
He laughed. The big, even teeth seemed a white flash against his bronzed face.
“Yes,” he said. “If any woman was meant to triumph, beauty, I believe it is you.” Still chuckling, he left her.
Chapter Ten
Murad, the third son of Orkan, had ridden hard from the coast. He had left behind his escort several hours earlier, allowing his big black stallion to move as fast as it wished. The horse, barely winded, clattered into the tiled courtyard of Bursa Palace. Sliding from the saddle, the prince flung the reins to a slave and walked quickly into his father’s house.
He was shocked by the old man’s appearance. Orkhan looked his full seventy years. His hair and beard were snow white. His dark eyes were faded. His hand quavered slightly. He seemed to have shrunk, and his body even smelled of age. Yet, Orkhan’s voice was strong.
“Sit down,” he commanded his son. The prince obeyed silently. “Coffee?”
“Theadora and her son have been kidnapped,” said Orkhan. “She took the boy to the Springs of Apollo in Thessaly. Returning home, the ship got caught in a severe storm. Praise Allah that they were saved! But the ship was badly damaged and virtually helpless when it was attacked by pirates. They are being held for ransom in Phocaea by the pirate lord who calls himself Alexander the Great. I want you to take the ransom there and bring my wife and son back safely.”
“I hear and obey, sire,” replied the prince with a calm he did not feel. Orkhan went on to explain the financial arrangements, but Murad heard only a few words.
He had seen Theadora only once since her marriage to his father, and then they had sniped at each other. He had been hurt and had wanted to hurt in return. He grimaced. It was just like her to have gotten herself into this situation. She could not, of course, accept the fact that her son was a cripple. No! She must take the child across wild seas to a supposed healing place.
Murad listened with hidden, impotent rage as his father babbled on about his precious Adora and the importance of her safety. Orkhan spoiled her! She had always been cosseted and spoiled. But if she had been his woman he would have taught her obedience! Suddenly the memory of her swept over him with a force that stunned him. He remembered a lithe young body with soft breasts; a heart-shaped face with amethyst eyes that looked so trustingly up into his; a sweet, kissable mouth that quivered beneath his. Allah! She was a temptress, he thought bitterly. Given the chance, she would probably be a whore like her two scandalous sisters in Constantinople. Sophia had been killed recently with her latest paramour, and the empress Helena openly took lovers. He gritted his teeth and forced his mind back to what his father was saying. “And you will personally escort them back to Bursa, my son. My poor Adora will undoubtedly have suffered greatly. And little Halil, too.”