Skye cradled Khalid to her breasts crooning to him. This wonderful man who had rescued her from God only knew what horrors, who loved her, had made her his wife and given her a wonderful life was thanking her! She wept with him and her heart swelled with joy.
“I love you! Khalid! Whoever I might have been I cannot remember, but I rejoice in the woman I am now for I am your woman. It is I who should thank you.”
Silence again descended upon the room as the two lovers joined once more, tenderly, and Khalid bent to kiss Skye’s faintly rounded belly. Then they slept, entwined together on the bed, until long after dawn.
It was Skye who rose first to greet the new day. Looking down upon the sleeping Khalid, she let the great love she felt for him sweep over her, leaving her teary. She noted every inch of him. The light sprinkling of silver gray that had begun to touch his dark, wavy hair. The faint scar on his left shoulder left by a wild Bedouin girl’s dagger. The almost boyish look he had when he was asleep. Her blue-green eyes traveled the length of him. Then, shivering, she began to feel as if she were committing his face and body to memory. Shrugging the feeling away, she went to her bath.
Skye would always remember that the day progressed with an easy familiarity that offered no hint of the things to come. She worked with Master Jean on the books of the trading vessels, amazed that Captain Small had done so well. He was due again in Algiers any day now. They had recently received word of his arrival in London, where he had disposed of the last of the Spanish gold. She was looking forward to seeing Captain Small again, knowing how delighted he would be at her happy news.
After the midafternoon prayers, Jean’s Marie brought them a light repast and the news that the bey had gone on his daily inspection rounds early as he wished to spend the entire evening with his wife. Skye blushed happily, then said, “My good Jean, you and your Marie have been true friends to my lord Khalid and me. I shall therefore share with you a secret known only to my husband. I am to have a child in the spring.”
Marie cried, “Oh, madam! So am I! Is it not wonderful!?”
Delighted, the two women sat together and chatted happily while Jean chuckled with amusement. Following his ex-master’s lead, he had, soon after acquiring Marie, legally freed her and then married her. He had learned that she came from a seacoast village located in Southern Brittany near Poitou. It was only rarely that Barbary pirates attacked the region, but on one of those infrequent raids, the fourteen-year-old Marie, a postulant at a local convent, was carried off. The pirate captain had stripped her habit off himself, but when he saw how attractive and how young she was, he locked her in a small cabin with several straw pallets, a bucket, and a tiny barred porthole. Two other pretty young girls quickly joined her, one her own cousin, Celestine.
The three naked girls clung to each other, terrified, through a long night. On the deck above their little prison, the anguished screams, pleadings, and sobbings continued throughout the night as the village women who were unfortunate enough to be married and older, or virgin but not pretty enough, were repeatedly raped and sodomized. At least two girls committed suicide by leaping overboard. Several died of abuse including a ten-year-old girl whose mother was strangled when she tried to knife one of the men attacking her daughter. Finally, toward dawn, the weeping survivors were all herded into an open pen on deck where they stayed for the remainder of the voyage—burned by the sun during the day, cold and wet in the night, and easily accessible to any sailor seeking sport.
In their tiny cabin Marie and her two companions were little better off. The heat during the day made the room an unbearable oven and the damp night air chilled them to the bone. This, coupled with the stink of the one bucket they had for relieving themselves, left them weak and listless. The bucket was emptied every other day. Food was shoved through the grate in the door twice daily. They often had a steaming bowl of a surprisingly tasty concoction of peppercorn- and herb-flavored gravy with tomatoes, onions, eggplant, and a tough, stringy meat that Marie suspected was goat. They had no utensils, but ate with their fingers and the small piece of bread allotted each. A pitcher of water went with the meal, and they quickly learned to conserve it.
When their ship reached Algiers the girls crowded together by the tiny porthole watching as their female relatives and friends were taken off the ship. Then from the bowels of the ship, the village men were brought up, filthy, their newly grown beards matted and lice-ridden. They too were quickly driven off the ship. As the three wondered what was to become of them the cabin door opened and the captain entered carrying something over his arm. Carelessly he flung them each a garment.
“Put ’em on,” he commanded in rough-accented French, and when they obeyed he handed them each a heavy veil. “Pin it to your hoods and follow me,” he said. “Open your yaps once, and I’ll turn the lot of you over to my crew. They’d like that.”
Frightened, they scurried after him up to the deck and down the gangway. On the dock was a large, closed litter.
“Get in,” snarled their captor, and they quickly obeyed. “You’re going to the baths to be cleaned and prettied up,” he explained. “Do whatever they tell you to do. You’ll be sold at auction tonight. Be thankful Allah gave you beauty with your purity or you could have ended up like the others in your village.” He yanked the curtains shut and the litter began to move.
Celestine looked to her cousin Marie. “Shall we kill ourselves?” she whispered fearfully.
“Non, non, chérie,” scolded Marie. “We will pretend to meekly accept our fates, and perhaps later we can escape.”
“But if we are sold we shall be separated,” wailed Renée. She had been the village innkeeper’s only child, and was terribly spoiled, having been raised knowing that her dowry was the largest of any girl’s for fifty miles around. “How could you, a nun, suggest we yield to the infidel?”
“I am not a nun, Renée. I was a postulant for one short month. I do know, however, that God has forbidden us to suicide. Whatever I must endure in His name I shall. We are not in Tour de la Mer any longer, and it is unlikely we’ll ever see it again.”
At the baths the girls were scrubbed, massaged, bathed, denuded of body hair, creamed, and perfumed. Their long beautiful hair was washed, dried, and brushed until it shone. Marie’s rich chestnut curls were appreciated, but the blond locks of Renée and Celestine made them far more valuable. They were garbed in transparent silks and fed a light meal of capon breast and sweet fruit sherbet.
Promptly at moonrise the auction began. As they watched, Marie felt a soft languor steal over her, and realized they had been drugged to insure their cooperation. Helplessly she watched as Renée was sold to a fat black Sudanese merchant whose delight as he bore her off was evident. Renée opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Only her terrified blue eyes told of her fear.
Girl after girl was sold, and then it was Marie’s turn. Khalid el Bey quickly bought her, and because he looked kind she begged him to buy Celestine too. The bey was agreeable, but the eunuch who ran the harem of the captain-governor had marked Celestine for his master. Khalid el Bey was forced by etiquette to withdraw from the bidding for Celestine.
Marie was placed in the House of Felicity and trained as a courtesan. But when the time came for her to make her debut Khalid el Bey chose her to be a gift to Jean.
Celestine was not as fortunate. Her initial resistance to Jamil assured her immediate success with him. But the naive young girl fell in love with the cruel captain-governor, which made his interest wane. When he instructed his eunuch to sell the French girl off, Celestine committed suicide by leaping from the roof of one of the Casbah towers.
Marie had been devastated by her cousin’s tragic death. It seemed especially sad in light of her own good fortune. Jean’s strong love had supported Marie through the worst of it. But the captain-governor had made a bitter enemy in the young Breton girl. Marie did not know how, but she was determined to have her revenge.
Thoughts of vendetta, how
ever, were far from Marie’s mind on this day. She was delighted to know that her mistress was also pregnant. “I can deliver both our babies,” she told Skye proudly. “My mother was the finest midwife in three villages, and I helped her many times.”
“The doctor tells me,” said Skye, “that I have borne more than one child, but of course I do not remember,” she sighed. “I wonder about those children. Are they alive? Are they boys or girls? How old are they?”
“Madam must not fret,” chided Marie.
Skye smiled sadly at the girl who, though several years younger than she, still attempted to mother her. “I cannot help but wonder if my children miss and mourn their mother,” she said. Tears filled Marie’s hazel eyes and Skye felt guilty and hugged the girl. “Now I’ve made you sad, and I did not mean to do so. I have heard that pregnant women are subject to emotional vagaries. Is it not true? I grow morbid, and you weep.” She made a face at herself, and Marie laughed through her tears.
Skye smiled back, then asked, “Master Jean, are we through for the day? If so, Marie and I shall spend the rest of the afternoon luxuriating in the bath.”
The bey’s secretary nodded. As Khalid el Bey was a good, kind, and gentle man, so was his wife a great lady, and Jean was grateful that she extended her friendship to his wife. “Go along, my lady. You have gotten so far ahead of me with the accounts that it will take me at least two days to catch up.” He smiled with contentment as the two women left him. Life was good here in the bey’s household.
In the early evening before the meal was served, Captain Robert Small arrived at the bey’s home, laden with gifts for Skye, shouting lusty greetings. Khalid delighted in the bluff seaman’s thoughtfulness, but Skye was truly touched by the care that had so obviously gone into Small’s choice of gifts. There were several bolts of fine China silk, rare spices, and a long strand of pearls from the East Indies. From the New World Captain Small had brought an intricately carved box of solid gold, lined in white velvet, containing the most magnificent necklace, bracelet, and earrings of Colombian emeralds that Khalid el Bey had ever seen. The emeralds, set in gold, glittered with a blue fire found in only the finest stones. “They reminded me of your eyes,” muttered the captain, flushing with the words.
“Why, Robbie,” smiled Skye, “how observant you are, and how very, very generous.” She bent and kissed his ruddy cheek. “My thanks.”
“You’ll eat with us,” said Khalid. It was not a question. Skye left to inform the cook.
The seaman settled himself on a comfortable divan. “I need not ask, Khalid, for I see the married life suits you well.”
“Very well, Robbie. Do you think fatherhood will suit me also?”
“She isn’t!” A look of sheer delight crossed the Englishman’s face as the bey nodded. “She is! By God, Khalid, you dog! My next trip back I’ll have a fine gift for your son!”
“Or my daughter.”
“Nay, man, a brace of lads first, then a lass to spoil is always best. Do it that way.”
Khalid laughed heartily. “The deed is already done, my friend. We must take what Allah offers, and be grateful.”
The dinner arrived quickly, and Robert Small lowered himself to the table amid the pillows. Skye sat at one end directing the servants. There was a whole leg of baby lamb rubbed with garlic and stuck with sprigs of rosemary set upon a nest of greens and surrounded by tiny roasted white onions. A white bowl held small green artichokes in olive oil and red wine vinegar. Another bowl was filled with fluffy white rice mixed with sesame seeds, sliced black olives, green peppers, and sautéed onions. There were flat dishes of boiled eggs, purple and brown olives, strips of red pimiento, and tender green scallions. A basket of round, flat loaves of warm bread and a silver dish of sweet butter completed the main course of this simple family meal. Discreetly attentive slaves kept the three crystal goblets filled with subtly spiced fresh pomegranate juice.
The main course finished, the slaves removed the plates and brought in silver bowls of warm, scented water and tiny linen towels. Desert consisted of a huge platter of fresh fruits, golden brown dates, round Seville oranges, great black figs, bunches of purple and green grapes, sweet red cherries, and both green and golden pears. A filigreed basket was passed, containing tiny pastry horns filled with a mixture of chopped almonds and honey. Skye brewed the dark rich Turkish coffee.
Afterward, hot steaming towels were offered to cleanse sticky fingers, and water pipes were brought to the gentlemen. Two pretty young girls played and sang softly in the background while the men smoked and talked. Skye noticed that Khalid seemed sleepier than usual, and she teased him. “It is I who should be tired now, my lord, not you.”
Stifling a yawn, he chuckled. “Impending fatherhood is exhausting, my love. I cannot keep my eyes open. I am going to retire now before I fall asleep here. Robbie, stay. Skye has many questions to ask you, I know, and I have not given her a chance.” He rose. Skye rose and stood within the curve of his arm.
“You do not mind if I remain for a bit?”
“No, my Skye. Fill your lovely head with all the things you need to know.” He kissed her tenderly. “Allah, how fair you are! The white silk caftan and gold embroidery sets off Robbie’s emeralds very well. The blue flame in their centers does indeed match your beautiful eyes.” He kissed her again. “Don’t wake me when you come to bed, my love. I’ll sleep through the night.”
She kissed him back. “Sleep well, my darling. I love you!”
He smiled happily at her, touching her cheek in a tender and familiar gesture. Bidding Robert Small a good night, Khalid left the room.
“You’ve been good for him,” remarked the Englishman.
“He is good for me,” she answered.
“You’ve had no return of memory, lass? Not even a glimpse?”
“No, Robbie, nothing. Sometimes a sound or sight has a familiar ring to it, but it is never anything I can put my finger on. And now I don’t really care. I am happy as Khalid el Bey’s wife. I love him dearly.”
They sat talking for some time. At the back of the garden the little wicket gate creaked open to admit a dark, hooded figure. Slowly, carefully, Yasmin made her way across the garden, keeping well into the shadows. She saw two figures talking in the salon. One was garbed in white. It had to be Khalid. He had worn white that afternoon, while making his rounds. She heard a hearty laugh, and recognized it as Captain Small’s. The captain and Khalid were talking and would probably visit for some time.
Yasmin wondered if she should wait until Khalid had gone to bed. The idea of disposing of Skye under Khalid’s very nose was tempting. Yasmin wanted her master back, but she hadn’t forgiven him for marrying Skye.
She crept on past the salon, keeping far enough away to avoid the lights. She heard the low murmur of voices, but could make out nothing of the conversation. No matter, she thought. Slipping into the villa through a long French window, she made her way up the darkened back staircase of the house to the main bedchamber. The door was open and she stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark room.
Yasmin knew the room well. Looking toward the bed, she observed the sheet-swathed figure. She hesitated no longer than a second. Moving purposely across the room, she plunged her dagger again and again into the sleeping figure who groaned once, then lay still. Unbridled joy surged through Yasmin. Dead! Dead! Her rival! Her enemy! Skye was dead! She wanted to scream her happiness.
Then behind her someone did scream, a long piercing wail of terror. Whirling, Yasmin faced a slave woman who was clutching at a crystal carafe of water. The carafe slid from the woman’s hands. Yasmin stood stock still watching the crystal shatter on the tiles, the water mixing with it, spewing a rainbow of shattered droplets across the floor and rugs. Yasmin could not move. She stood frozen as the woman’s screams echoed throughout the house.
At the sound of running feet, Yasmin shook herself back into action. Moving to the door, she shoved the slave woman aside and tried to flee, but
the servant clung to her arm screaming, “Murder! Murder! She has killed the master!”
Allah! What was the woman screaming about? Yasmin wondered. Khalid was downstairs. She had killed Skye. Yasmin yanked her arm free and turned to run. Bumping into another body, she tried to push by, but her shocked eyes locked onto Skye’s.
“Allah! No!” Yasmin gasped.
“She killed the master!” wailed the slave woman again.
“Yasmin! What has happened?” asked Skye fearfully.
Yasmin turned from Skye and stumbled back across the room to the figure on the bed. With icy fingers she pulled the sheet back. Seeing the cold, stiffening form of Khalid el Bey, Yasmin moaned with a pain so great she couldn’t truly feel it all. Her fingers tightened again about the dagger. She whispered her anguish. “Forgive me, Skye!” and swiftly drove the dagger between her own breasts. Yasmin crumpled to the floor.
Skye knelt on one side of the woman, while Captain Small knelt on the other. Yasmin’s ragged breathing was the only sound.
“Why?” whispered Skye. “Why, Yasmin? You loved him!”
The dying woman’s eyes were glazing already. “Forgive me.”
Skye swallowed the bitter hatred rising in her throat. This woman had just stolen her very life from her, and now begged forgiveness. She wanted to shout, no!, but then she heard Robert Small say quietly, “Come lass.” Knowing what he wanted, she said softly, “I forgive you, Yasmin.”
Yasmin sighed. Gathering the last of her strength, she said, “I thought it was you. Jamil p-planned it, but it was all for him, wasn’t it? Jamil wants you. Beware of him.” Then, as if a candle had been blown out, the life fled from her eyes and Yasmin was gone.
Skye stood. The room was bright now, lit by the lamps held by all the household slaves who stood clustered in tight little groups, some of the women beginning to sob. Skye stared at them, fighting to retain her control. She must not go to pieces now, as she had obviously done when she lost her memory. She owed Khalid that much, for he must be revenged. The Turkish captain-governor could not kill her husband and escape judgment. Who had heard Yasmin’s confession? Only she and Captain Small had been close enough to hear the painfully whispered words. The next nearest people had been Jean and Marie. The slaves had all been afraid of coming too close.
Skye O'Malley Page 22
