Pah! thought Murad, sourly. The witch will undoubtedly have been made quite comfortable. All she need do is dazzle the pirate chief with those fabulous eyes. As for my little half brother, he is probably treating this whole thing as great adventure.
It did not help Prince Murad’s temper to find, on his arrival in Phocaea, that his predictions were apparently correct. The sultan’s third wife was quite elegantly housed, and Prince Halil was obviously doted on by his captor. In fact, the pirate seemed on excellent terms with both of his royal captives.
Murad arrived in Phocaea in late afternoon. It would have been impossible to complete the business of ransoming before nightfall. It would have also been an appalling breach of manners not to accept the pirate chief’s hospitality. To Murad’s surprise, this hospitality was not only lavish but in excellent taste.
First, however, he was taken to see that Theadora and Halil were safe, and were being honorably treated. Murad had been troubled all the way from Bursa. He had not seen her in nearly eight years. Had she changed? Probably. Byzantine women could run to fat, and his father liked women with meat on their bones.
It didn’t help Murad’s troubled mind that she was still willow slim, or that when she looked up her eyes were filled with an emotion he did not comprehend.
Then she stood and came toward him, her slim hands outstretched in welcome, her face a polite mask.
“Prince Murad. How very kind of you to come to our rescue. How is my lord Orkhan? I pray we have not distressed him greatly by our unfortunate situation.”
He bowed curtly. “My father is fine. You have been well treated, Your Highness?”
“Lord Alexander has been the soul of courtesy from almost the first moment of our capture,” she replied.
Was there a hint of laughter in her voice? Why did that big blond buffoon who called himself Alexander the Great look so uncomfortable? “I will complete the ransom negotiations tomorrow and come for you and Halil then,” Murad said gruffly. “Be ready.”
It was not, however, as easy as Prince Murad had anticipated. After a marvelous feast, excellent entertainment, and an exquisite blonde Circassian virgin to warm his bed, he awoke to a rainy morning and the realization that his host was adamant in his demands.
“I told your father one hundred thousand gold Venetian ducats, Prince Murad. I am not a merchant to be haggled with. Nor are the princess and her son to be bargained over like yesterday’s melons in the marketplace. I will accept the fifty thousand that you have brought me in exchange for the princess. But the boy must stay here in Phocaea until I receive the other fifty thousand ducats.”
“Why not let the boy go, and hold his mother?”
Alexander laughed. “Because I am not a fool, Prince Murad. Your father has many women to amuse himself with, but few sons. If I let the boy go I might never hear from your father, but Princess Theadora is not going to allow your father to leave her only child in captivity. No, Highness, you may return to Bursa with the princess, but Prince Halil remains until I am paid in full.”
“You do not know her, Alexander. She is stubborn. She will not leave the boy behind.”
“That, Prince Murad, is your problem. But I think it is you who do not know her. She is a highly logical woman, and we Greeks have always valued women of intelligence. She will see the sense in this.”
Murad gritted his teeth and went to tell Theadora that her son was to be left behind because Orkhan had not sent the full ransom. To his surprise she fell into neither hysterics nor a rage. She said quietly, “Your father is a great warrior and ruler, but he is a poor diplomat. Very well. Halil must remain for the present. I will have Iris stay with him, and I will go with you.”
“Allah! What kind of mother are you? Will you not even offer to remain in the child’s place?”
She looked surprised. “Would lord Alexander permit it? I think not, for he is no fool. Your father would surely haggle over my ransom for my only importance to him was Tyzmpe, which is now his. But he will not haggle over money for Halil, for my little son is his pride. In his old age, the boy is proof of Orkhan’s continuing virility. That seems to be important to him.”
Murad was infuriated by her calm, and even angrier that Alexander, on such short aquaintance, seemed to know her better than he did himself. “You hold yourself in low esteem, madame,” he said coldly. “Your husband wept and babbled over your safety.”
“Did he really?” she asked, mildly interested. “How strange. I have not seen him in several years now, except on state occasions.” She shrugged, then said, “I must tell my son of this turn of events. When do you wish to depart?”
“Within the hour.”
“I shall be ready.”
He sat quietly for a few minutes after she left him. She had changed from the innocent, willful girl she had been. She was serene now, but one thing had not changed. She was unable to hide her intelligence and in fact did not even try. He had grown older in the years since their first meeting, and he flattered himself that he had also grown wiser. Yet he still found it hard to accept the fact that Theadora had a mind. It was unnatural in a woman, especially a woman of such beauty. Women, beautiful ones in particular, were meant only for a man’s pleasure, and a man did not want to discuss matters of importance with them. Allah! No!
He laughed aloud and went out into the rainy courtyard to make the final preparations for their departure. He had been forced to leave his escort outside the walls of Phocaea and had arrived alone. Alexander the Great made arrangements for Theadora to travel across the city in a closed litter. Once met by her escort, she would be transferred into a royal Ottoman vehicle, and the pirate’s litter would be returned to him.
Theadora came into the courtyard dressed for travel, accompanied by Iris and Halil. The boy ran eagerly to his elder half brother, and Murad lifted the child up. “So, Halil! You are finally to escape your mother, and be a man!”
“Yes, my brother!” The boy’s eyes were shining with excitement. Then he lowered his voice and whispered confidentially, “I have learned many things of value to you, Murad. Because I am a boy they do not pay much attention to me, and they do not think I understand.” He grinned impishly. “But I do! When you are the sultan I shall be a great help to you, for I have a quick mind.”
“Our brother, Suleiman, is our father’s chosen heir, Halil.”
The boy looked at his older brother with his mother’s violet eyes and said, “That is true, Murad, but will you let him reign?”
“Wise monkeys often get their noses pinched, little brother,” chuckled Prince Murad. As he put the boy down the child again flashed his impudent grin, then ran back to his mother.
Theadora held her son close. “I do not like to leave you, Halil, but if I do not deal with your father personally—” she hesitated. The boy laughed. “I should end up being a grown man with children of my own before you saw me again, Mother,” he finished for her.
Now it was her turn to laugh, and Murad was pained by the sight of their heads, so alike, close together. There was an intimacy between them that he could not penetrate, and he felt almost jealous. “We must go,” he said gruffly. “I want to reach the outside walls before dark.”
She looked across at him, and her gaze was so understanding that he felt himself flushing. Bending, she hugged the boy tightly. “Obey Iris and do not annoy Alexander too greatly, my Halil. I love you, my little darling, and I will eagerly await the day we are reunited.” She kissed him, and then climbed into the waiting litter.
Alexander came into the courtyard and, leaning over, said quietly for her ears alone, “Do not fear, beauty. Your son will be as safe with me as my own sons are.”
She smiled up and pressed his arm with her fingers. “I know you will care for him well, Alexander. But do not spoil him too greatly, I beg of you. You know what a clever little monkey he is—so keep him occupied.”
“I will, beauty, but who will keep me occupied now? I shall regret the loss of our chess games.”
“So shall I. In my world the men do not treat their women with such respect. I shall miss you, Alexander. God keep you. Farewell.”
“Farewell, beauty.” The pirate chief straightened to find Prince Murad’s eyes on him, blazing and angry. Holy Christos! thought Alexander. I wonder if she knows. So I have a rival for her! But I am aware of you, my fine prince, while you cannot really know my intentions. He walked over to where the prince sat mounted on his stallion. “Tell your father, my lord prince, that Prince Halil will remain safe and honored in my house until his ransom is paid.” And without giving Murad a chance to reply, he turned and walked back into his house.
Furiously, the prince pulled at his horse and signaled the others forward. The slaves picked up the litter and moved out of the courtyard into the city. Alexander had provided them with a small but very impressive escort, which accompanied them to the north gates of the city where the sultan’s soldiers were waiting.
It had begun to rain again, and Prince Murad dismounted to carry Theadora from one litter to the other. She looked him full in the face for a moment before modestly lowering her marvelous amethyst eyes. She was soft, and sweet, and her perfume intoxicated him. He stumbled, and she laughed low. He could feel a pounding in his temples. He wanted her! Dear Allah, how he wanted her!
Depositing her roughly within her litter he remounted his stallion. There were still some hours of daylight left, enough to put more miles between them and the city of Phocaea. He rode silently at the head of the cavalcade, and the soldiers accompanying him thought his grim look resulted from his having to leave Halil behind. Murad, Beg of the Ottoman, always prided himself on doing a job well.
But the truth was that the prince was thinking of the woman in the litter. He had never lacked for women, but Theadora Cantacuzene had been the only woman who had ever engaged his heart.
He remembered once telling her that when his father died he would make her his wife. It surprised him to admit to himself that he still wanted her. But not for his wife! No! He shook his head angrily. She was a Byzantine whore like her sisters and wasn’t to be trusted. Look how she had tempted him just a while back and then laughed at his discomfort.
When it was nearly dark Murad gave the order to make camp. The men were used to sleeping in the open, but a tent was set up for Theadora. To her delight it was quite luxurious. As she had left Iris behind to care for her son, she was waited upon by an elderly soldier. He brought her water warmed by the fire for washing, and he flushed and grinned foolishly when she thanked him sweetly.
Her tent had been set upon a wooden platform whose rough boards were covered with colorful, thick wool rugs and sheepskins to keep out the cold and damp. It was not a big tent. There was a large brass tray table set on folding ebony legs, a charcoal brazier for heat, and a bed made of sheepskins covered with a velvet mattress and some silk pillows. Two small glass lamps hung on brass chains from the tent poles.
The old soldier returned bringing her food—small pieces of barbecued lamb with pepper and onions, seasoned with rosemary and a touch of olive oil, and served over a bed of saffroned rice. Accompanying it was a small, flat loaf of bread, just baked in the coals of the fire, a skin of icy water from a nearby stream which had been flavored with orange essence and cinnamon, and two crisp apples. She thanked the soldier. Asking after the prince, she was told that he was eating with his men.
Feeling a little sorry for herself Theodora prepared to eat alone. She had long since gotten over her anger toward Prince Murad. Today, when he had stumbled carrying her, she had felt his heart pounding and had laughed with joy to think he still cared for her. Suddenly all the old feelings rushed to the surface, surprising her with their intensity.
She had not shared Orkhan’s bed for several years, and though her husband had once roused her physically, only her fantasies had kept her from going mad. In his old age, in the desperate attempt to preserve his potency, Orkhan had turned to perversion. The last time she had shared his bed he had included a ten-year-old virgin from the Nile River basin, a gold-skinned child with lovely onyx eyes. Orkhan had forced Theadora to sexually stimulate the girl while he watched and became aroused. He had then brutally deflowered his screaming victim while Theadora vomited the contents of her stomach over the side of the bed. Never again, to her vast relief, was she ever commanded to share her lord’s bed. Had she been asked again, she would have suffered death rather than face another such experience.
Remembering back to the precious hours she had spent with Murad in the orchard, it seemed that was the only time in her life she had ever known any tenderness from a man. Would he be as tender if he were her husband? Would she ever know? Theadora licked her fingers thoughtfully. Then, after rinsing them in a small copper ewer, she picked up an apple and bit into it.
“Did you enjoy your supper?”
Startled, she looked up to find that Murad had entered the tent.
“Yes,” she answered, “but I have been lonely. Why did you not eat with me?”
“A woman? Eat with a woman? Has my father taken to eating with his women?”
“Of course not! But this is different. I am the only woman here, and I have not even a slave to keep me company. You are the only person of rank available to me.”
He chuckled, his good humor restored. “I see. You only want my company because you are a princess and I am a prince. I did not think you were a snob, Adora.”
“No! No! You misunderstand me,” she protested, blushing.
“Then explain it to me,” he teased, kneeling down before her amid the cushions. She raised her lovely face to him. “What I meant was that since our situation is an informal one, I thought you might keep me company while I ate my meal.”
He looked back at her with jet black eyes, and then before she realized what was happening he had caught her to him and was kissing her. The world about her exploded into a million glittering pieces. Oh, God! Oh, God! His mouth was so sweet! The kiss was tender, yet at the same time passionate. For a minute she gave herself up to it completely, savoring the warmth and sweetness of him. It had been so long, so terribly long!
Then as her senses cleared she pulled her head free and whispered frantically, “No, Murad! Please, no! This is wrong!”
His hand moved up her back, tangling itself in her dark hair. “Be silent, my sweet Adora,” he commanded, and his mouth took possession of hers again. This time, however, he kissed her hungrily, his lips searing hers, savagely demanding her complete surrender. Helpless to control the desire welling within her, she slipped her arms up and around his neck, and drew him down among the pillows.
Time lost all meaning for her. She knew that what they did was morally wrong within the precepts of both their religions, yet so great was their need of each other that the raging hunger wiped everything else out of their minds. She knew that he had completely unbuttoned her blouse for his lips now ran riot over her throat, moving downward to her breasts, hungrily sucking on the nipples until they were sore with longing.
He found his way beneath the silk of her full pantaloons, and stroked her between her quavering thighs, finding her already wet with fierce desire. His hand teased deliciously at her, and she squirmed under his touch, a low sob escaping her as he gently thrust two fingers into her body. She arched and strained, desperately seeking a fulfillment that would not, could not, seem to come.
“Easy, my sweet Adora,” he soothed, “do not strive so hard, my love. It will happen.” He was kissing her again, but this time his lips moved to her ear, and he whispered softly, “I want you, Adora, but as a man wants a woman. I don’t want to play lover’s games any longer. I want to be deep within your sweetness, crying for joy of the beautiful thing we will do together.”
She shivered, weakening, and he nibbled at her little earlobe. “Open your legs to me, Adora. I am hot to fuck you, my lovely Byzantine whore. Let me taste the delights you have so willingly given to my besotted father and your Greek pirate lover.”
; She froze, unable to believe what she had just heard.
“I shall be a better lover to you, my dove, than either of them,” he went on, heedless.
Then suddenly he howled with pain as her knee caught him in the groin. She scrambled up, eyes shooting amethyst fire, frantically buttoning her blouse, desperately striving to hold back the tears that were already pouring down her cheeks.
“Though Halil’s the joy of my life, I never went willingly to your father’s bed,” she raged at him. “And though it is none of your business, Alexander was certainly not my lover! Unlike you damned Ottomans who consider a woman’s use to be limited to a man’s bed, the Greeks admire women of intelligence. They are not afraid, as you seem to be, that a woman of learning may render them impotent. And as to my own intelligence, I am beginning to doubt its very existence. Else how could I have believed you still cared for me as you once did?” She was crying hard now, not caring how she looked. “I hate you! Get out of my tent or I shall scream. Your father’s soldiers will not hesitate to kill the rapist of the sultan’s wife!” She turned her back on him.
Slowly, he pulled himself up, using the brass tray table to brace himself. For a moment a wave of dizziness assailed him in echo of the pain, but he breathed slowly, deeply, and his head cleared. “Theadora. I am sorry, my dove.”
“Get out!”
“I have ached for you since the first moment I saw you falling from your convent wall. I was physically ill when you were made my father’s wife. And yesterday I arrived in Phocaea to find that peacock of a pirate openly solicitous of you.”
“So you assumed I had played the whore. I shall never forgive you! Never! Get out!”
“I thought you were like your sisters.”
“Get out!”
“My father is old, Adora. Soon he will join his ancestors, and I will claim you as I promised so long ago.”
“I would die before I ever yielded to you!”
Adora Page 12
