The Pirate Prince

by Connie Mason

  “Why did you not tell me you were here, my lord?” Safiye pouted. She sidled close to him, her full breasts brushing his arm in blatant invitation.

  Dariq glanced at Willow. Her face flushed. Was she jealous? Did he want her to be jealous? The devil inside him made him lower his head and kiss Safiye. He compared her taste to Willow’s and found it lacking. What was the matter with him? Willow was a woman like any other. What hold did she have over him?

  “Please excuse me, I do not wish to intrude,” Willow said, edging past Dariq and his concubine.

  Dariq watched her leave with a sense of loss, wondering what sending her away would do to his emotions. He suspected he would be devastated, though he had difficulty admitting it, for though he loved women, he had never shown partiality.

  “My lord, what is wrong?” Safiye asked. “Why are you so distant? I beg you, do not let the blond houri distract you. She is not worth it.”

  She glanced down at his groin, smiling when she saw his manhood stir restlessly beneath his trousers, unaware that his arousal was the result of his encounter with Willow. “Come to my chamber, my lord.” Her hand slid downward, her fingers curling around his cock.

  Unconsciously Dariq brushed her hand aside. His gaze followed Willow’s swaying hips until she disappeared inside the harem. His cock thickened and hardened. He spit out a curse and turned away from Safiye.

  “I have business elsewhere,” he said gruffly. “I have no time for you now.”

  “You never have time for me. Not since you brought that blond houri here.”

  “You go too far, Safiye,” Dariq warned. “When Willow is gone, everything will return to normal. Meanwhile, you will have to accept things the way they are.” Turning on his heel, he strode away.

  “I will not accept your lack of attention,” Safiye muttered beneath her breath. “And the houri who has taken you from me will soon be gone from your life.”

  Her jaw firm with purpose, Safiye set out to find her rival. She located Willow in her chamber. Willow’s brows rose in surprise when Safiye barged unannounced into her room.

  “ ’Tis time,” Safiye said. “The arrangements have been made. I purchased native Greek clothing and hired a fisherman to carry you across the water to Greece.”

  “Today?” Now that the time had come to leave, Willow felt a strange emptiness. She blamed it on anticipation, even though she knew the sensation had more to do with loss.

  “Tomorrow. The weather promises to be fair, and Ali Hara mentioned that Prince Dariq plans to meet with the captains of his ships. He will be occupied most of the day. I will come for you after breakfast.”

  After Safiye took her leave, Willow sank down on the bed. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Perhaps not what she wanted, but what she had to do. Dariq showed no sign of softening his position about her future as Ibrahim’s concubine, and she resented him for remaining firm despite the intimacy they had shared. So she would leave and not look back, but she would always remember Dariq. Perhaps with fondness, but also as the man who’d stolen her innocence and abandoned her.

  She would also remember him as the man who’d awakened her sensuality and found his way into her heart.

  Chapter Nine

  The minutes dragged by the following morning as Willow waited for Safiye to appear. She’d seen little of the concubine since the day before. Had Safiye lied to her? Time was running out. As soon as word from Ibrahim arrived, she would be sent away. Dariq had left her no option but to flee this intolerable situation.

  The door opened and Safiye slipped inside, her arms filled with a bundle of clothing.

  “ ’Tis time,” the concubine said, thrusting the bundle into Willow’s arms. “Here is the caftan and veil I usually wear when I leave the seraglio. No one will interfere with you as long as you are wearing it. And this,” she said, “is a Greek peasant outfit. Wear it beneath the caftan.”

  Willow shook out the caftan and set it aside while she inspected Safiye’s offering. There were several petticoats, a black skirt, a white blouse with a drawstring closing at the neck, an apron and a white cap. In addition, Safiye had included black slippers and cotton stockings. Apparently she had thought of everything.

  Willow quickly shed her revealing harem outfit and donned the peasant clothing, feeling more comfortable than she had in a long time. She placed the white cap in her pocket until she needed it, then donned the colorful caftan and placed the veil on her head, holding it in place with a thin silver circlet.

  “I’m ready,” she said, drawing a shaky breath.

  Safiye placed a small sack of coins in Willow’s hands, then stepped back to inspect her. “Aye, ’tis perfect. No one will suspect. Listen carefully while I explain what you are to do.”

  Willow leaned close so as not to miss a word of Safiye’s instructions.

  “I will take you to the garden gate and point out the path to a deserted beach, where you will find the fisherman I paid to carry you to Greece.”

  “I do not know how to thank you,” Willow said sincerely.

  A sly smile crept across Safiye’s face, one that should have warned Willow to be on her guard.

  “Your absence from Dariq’s life will be thanks enough.” She opened the door and peered out. “ ’Tis safe—no one is about.”

  Willow released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when Safiye beckoned to her. Making sure her disguise was in place, Willow followed Safiye into the garden.

  Safiye led her to the gate she had already discovered on her own. The concubine pushed open the gate and stood aside as Willow slipped through.

  “The path to the beach begins beyond the orchard,” Safiye pointed out. “Good luck.”

  “Does the fisherman speak Turkish?”

  “A little, but you needn’t worry; he has his instructions.”

  “But what if…”

  Her words stuttered to a halt as Safiye closed the gate in her face. Willow had no choice but to go forward and pray that fate would be kind to her.

  So far so good, Willow thought as she hastened toward the orchard and the path to freedom. She saw no one, a good sign that the path was little used. Still, her relief was heartfelt when she entered the orchard and the protection it offered. The ground beneath the trees was dappled with shadows and sunlight, providing a cool and peaceful sanctuary. But Willow was too intent upon finding the path to notice.

  She came out of the shadows into sunshine and stifled a cry of joy when she saw a narrow dirt track. She followed it only a short distance before she smelled the sea and knew she was close to her destination. She waded through the river of sea grass that stood between her and the water’s edge, oblivious to the stalks of grass that tore at her caftan as she hurried forward.

  Panic raced through her when she couldn’t find the skiff that was supposed to carry her to Greece. And then she saw it, rounding the beachhead. She waved frantically and waited for it to reach her. When the skiff got hung up on a sandbar, she splashed out to it and was dragged inside by the fisherman.

  “Thank you,” she said. The fisherman grunted but did not reply. Willow settled down on the wooden seat and removed her veil and caftan, stashing them under the seat. If all went well, she’d have no further use for them.

  The fisherman, his face obscured by the floppy-brimmed hat he wore, brought the skiff around toward open water.

  A shiver of excitement raced through Willow. Free at last! Never again would she have to look at Dariq’s handsome face and virile body and wish for sinful things. Once she returned home, she would retire to the country and live a spinster’s life, sustained by dreams of her one and only time of being loved by a prince.

  Willow tried to hate Dariq, but couldn’t summon that emotion. The only emotion she felt when she thought about him was… No, she wouldn’t allow herself to think of Dariq as anything but a heartless pirate.

  “How long will it take to reach Greece?” Willow asked in Turkish and then in English when the fisherman
failed to answer. He didn’t even look at her. She’d heard fishermen were a taciturn lot, but this was ridiculous. She didn’t pursue conversation, however. It was enough to know she was on her way to freedom.

  Sweet freedom; she could almost taste it.

  His face wearing a puzzled expression, Ali Hara confronted Safiye when she returned from the garden. “I thought you had left. I saw you leave through the garden gate.”

  Safiye sent Ali Hara a beguiling smile. She’d been so certain no one had seen Willow leave through the gate, she’d been silently congratulating herself for her cleverness in getting rid of the woman who held Dariq’s affection. Safiye wasn’t stupid. Despite his denial, her prince was infatuated with the pale Englishwoman, and Safiye had arranged to get rid of Willow in such a way that no one would ever find her.

  “You must have been imagining things, Ali Hara. As you can see, I am here.”

  Ali Hara did not believe her. He knew Safiye too well and recognized a lie when he heard one. He grasped her shoulders in his thick fingers and gave her a warning shake.

  “You are lying, lady. Do not leave the harem. I go to fetch the master.”

  “Nay, do not!” Safiye pleaded. Her plans were going awry, and there was naught she could do about it except continue to spin a web of lies.

  Ali Hara sent her a look over his shoulder that did not bode well for her as he hurried off.

  Safiye cursed her bad luck. She had been eagerly anticipating her reunion with Prince Dariq, but now she had no choice but to deny all knowledge of Willow’s absence. If she had her way, her prince would spend scant time lamenting his loss. Once Safiye returned to his bed, she would see that he forgot the pale Englishwoman.

  At that moment Dariq charged into the harem with Ali Hara hard on his heels. “What have you done, Safiye?”

  Safiye flinched but held her ground against Dariq’s fury. “I have done naught, master.”

  “Ali Hara informs me otherwise. Where is Willow?”

  She shrugged. “I know not, my lord.”

  “Search the harem, Ali Hara. Find Baba and see if Willow is with her.”

  Dariq fixed Safiye with a piercing look meant to intimidate. “Who left the harem wearing your clothing?”

  “I know not.” She smiled up at him. “Ali Hara lies. What did he tell you? Of what am I accused, master?”

  Ali Hara returned with Baba. “Lady Willow is not in the harem,” the eunuch reported. “I fear she is gone, master. You may lop off my head if you wish, for I have failed you.”

  Dariq made an impatient gesture. “If anyone is to be punished, it’s Safiye. She provided Willow with the means to escape.”

  “Nay, master,” Safiye pleaded. “I had naught to do with Lady Willow’s disappearance. Mayhap she stole my caftan and veil and—”

  “Enough!” Dariq growled. “The truth, Safiye—I will have it from you. If you lie to me, I will beat you.”

  Safiye shuddered. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She hadn’t planned it this way. All she’d wanted was to get rid of Willow … permanently.

  “Fetch the bastinado, Baba,” Darig ordered.

  The bastinado! Safiye began to tremble. She’d heard the pain was unbearable, and that those who were punished in that manner couldn’t walk for weeks. Safiye realized she couldn’t withstand that kind of pain.

  She fell to her knees before Dariq, clutching the hem of his robe. “Please, master, do not beat me. I will tell you everything.” Her words came out in a rush. “Lady Willow was unhappy here, so I offered to help her leave. I gave her clothing and money, showed her the garden gate and set her on the path to the beach. A fisherman was to meet her there and carry her to Greece in his skiff.”

  “I assume you arranged for the skiff,” Dariq bit out.

  “Aye, I did, but only because I felt sorry for Lady Willow. Sultan Ibrahim is not a good man. She would not have fared well in his harem.”

  “Where was the skiff supposed to pick her up?”

  “The north beach. No one ever goes there.”

  Dariq observed Safiye closely. Had she really been concerned about Willow’s welfare? Was compassion the emotion that had driven her to disobey him? Probably jealousy, he decided. As the harem’s sole occupant, Safiye had become spoiled and willful. Still more unsettling was the realization that she wasn’t above committing murder to get her own way. He needed to find Willow before… before what? The direction of his thoughts was too terrifying to consider.

  “Don’t let Safiye out of your sight, Ali Hara,” he ordered as he headed out the door. “I was far too lenient.”

  “Where are you going?” Safiye cried.

  “To find Willow, and you had better start praying that I find her hale and hearty.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Dariq and Mustafa sailed from the harbor in a skiff that belonged to the prince. Dariq set a course for the north beach, praying he would be in time to intercept the skiff carrying Willow away, perhaps to her death.

  The island grew smaller and smaller as the skiff flew with the wind. Willow began to relax and pay more attention to the fisherman. Though he was wearing the garb of a fisherman, something about him bothered her. He studiously avoided eye contact, which wasn’t a good sign.

  “How long will it take to reach the mainland?” Willow asked in Turkish.

  The fisherman grunted.

  “Do you understand anything I am saying?”

  Another grunt.

  Disappointed, Willow returned to her silent ruminations. She felt uneasy about not being able to speak Greek, since Greece was where she was headed. She had no idea how she would manage once she reached her destination, but thanks to Safiye, at least she had money. Idly Willow gazed behind her toward the distant shoreline and gasped aloud when she saw another skiff coming at them at a fast clip.

  “Look!” Willow cried, pointing out the sail to the fisherman.

  Apparently he understood her well enough, for he glanced in the direction in which she was pointing. Then he spat out a curse in a language Willow recognized as Turkish. What was going on here? Why had the fisherman pretended not to understand her?

  The fisherman took a spyglass from somewhere on his person and held it up to his eye. This time he spat a whole string of curses.

  “What is it?” Willow cried.

  “ ’Tis the prince’s skiff,” the fisherman said in perfect Turkish, startling Willow.

  “Who are you?”

  He didn’t answer. She watched in horror as he left the tiller unattended and reached for her.

  Her voice rose on a note of panic. “What are you doing?”

  “I hoped to be farther from land, but this will have to do. If Prince Dariq recognizes me, I am a dead man.”

  When she finally caught a glimpse of his face, Willow knew she had been betrayed. His eyes were dark with desperation beneath thick, bushy eyebrows, and Willow knew immediately that he was a Turk. The fisherman was no fisherman at all; he was a pirate paid to … what? Kill her?

  “Why do you want to kill me?”

  “I was paid a great deal of money… and more. Do not fight it. It must be done quickly, before the prince reaches us.”

  Crowding her against the side of the boat, the pirate pulled a knife from his belt. Willow had no intention of dying without a fight. She cast a hopeful glance at Dariq’s skiff, and her heart sank. There was no way he could reach her in time. She had no one to depend upon but herself. When the pirate came at her with his knife, she could think of only one thing to do. Right or wrong, she flung herself overboard, hitting the icy water with a splash.

  Hampered by her heavy skirts, she sank beneath the water. The last thing she heard was the pirate’s laughter.

  * * *

  Dariq held the spyglass to his eye, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw a struggle taking place on the skiff.

  “What the devil is going on?” Dariq wondered aloud.

  “What is happening?” Mustafa asked.

  “A bun
dle of rags just went overboard,” Dariq replied. A chill of apprehension slid down his spine as he watched the rags slowly sink beneath the water.

  “Dear God!” he cried, invoking his mother’s Christian deity. “The bastard tossed Willow overboard and left her to drown! Allah, fill our sails,” Dariq prayed. “We must reach her before she drowns, Mustafa.”

  “Perhaps it is already too late.”

  Furious, Dariq rounded on him. “Do not say that! I cannot lose her!”

  Willow was an excellent swimmer. She had learned in the lake near her father’s country estate. But the water was so cold, she could barely move her arms to propel herself to the surface. Her lungs bursting, she kicked her legs and made some headway, but her heavy petticoats were dragging her down.

  Somehow desperation and the strong will to live gave her the strength to loosen her petticoats and kick them off. The urge to breathe was so strong, she had to fight it with every last bit of her willpower. But willpower wasn’t good enough; she had to breathe. She dragged in a breath, expecting water to fill her tortured lungs. Instead, she drew in deep gulps of tangy salt-tinged air. She had reached the surface.

  Unencumbered by petticoats, Willow began swimming toward the approaching skiff, praying it would reach her before she froze to death or grew too weary to continue. She swam until her arms grew heavy and her legs felt like lead. A wave washed over her. She swallowed water and choked. And still she swam, until she could no longer feel her body and her lungs burned.

  She was tired—so very tired. How long could she go on before her arms no longer worked and her legs became dead weights? Not nearly long enough, she realized as she began to sink below the surface.

  “Do you see her?” Mustafa asked anxiously.

  “Nay.” A tense silence throbbed between them. “Aye, there she is, floating portside!” Dariq cried. He leaned over the side and reached out to her. “Willow, grab my hand!”

  “She cannot hear you, Prince.”

  “She is sinking! I cannot let her die, Mustafa. Trim the sail; I’m going in.”