Skye O'Malley

Chapter 8

The garden of Khalid el Bey had been designed to be a haven
of perfect peace. Rectangular in shape, it lay directly behind
the Bey’s villa, a two-story marble building high atop the city
of Algiers. The view from both garden and villa was mag-
nificent, allowing a panoramic vista of the city below with its recently
built Turkish fort-called the Casbah-and the blue Mediterranean
lapping at its feet.

There were orange and lemon trees in the garden as well as tall,
full pines, and roses of every imaginable color. A T-shaped pool,
its longer bar interspersed with spraying fountains, ran the length
of the garden. The paths held carefully raked light gravel, and small
white marble benches were placed at intervals along them. There
were three distinct sounds in the garden of Khalid el Bey. The
tinkling of fountains, bird songs, and the murmur of the breeze in
the pines. Occasionally, the buzzing of a bee intruded itself.

The only human inhabitant of the garden at this moment was a
beautiful young woman who lay dozing on a portable chaise longue.
She wore a simple pale-blue caftan, and her slim feet were shod in
gold leather sandals. Her skin was very fair with the faintest blush
of pink on her cheeks, her eyelids softly shadowed in blue kohl. Her
thick blue-black hair lay curling in gentle disarray about her shoul-
ders.

Khalid el Bey, who had come into the garden from the villa,
stood silently watching the woman. He was a tall man in early middle years, his dark hair just beginning to silver slightly at the sides. His
skin bore a faint golden tint, which set off his short, black beard.
His amber-gold eyes were fringed in long, thick, dark lashes, unusual
in a man but most attractive. Khalid el Bey was neither fat nor thin,
but possessed a firm, well-muscled body which he exercised regu-
larly. His face was oval, the eyes set well apart, the nose long and
aristocratic, the lips thin but still sensuous.

Now, as he stood gazing quietly down on the lovely woman in
his garden, he knew that his instincts had been correct. She was
indeed a great beauty-though when she had been brought to him
two months before, one would not have known it. She had been thin
then, her hair matted and lank. And she had been suffering from
shock. Still, he had seen a valuable jewel beneath the filth, and
despite Yasmin’s objections had bought her for his House of Felicity.

She had healed slowly. He himself had spooned nourishing
chicken broth between her cracked lips during that first week. His
gentleness had communicated itself to her, and it was to him that
she first spoke.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Khalid el Bey.”

“Where am I?”

“You are at my house in the city of Algiers.”

She became silent again. After a moment she ventured, “How
came I here?”

“You were brought to me by Capitan Rais el Abdul. Tell me
now, my beauty, what is your name?”

“My name is Skye,” she answered him.

“And where do you come from?” he probed.

Her enormous sapphire-blue eyes seemed bewildered, then filled
with tears. “I don’t know,” she sobbed, “I don’t know where I come
from. Surely this Capitan Rais el Abdul must know.”

Khalid el Bey shook his head. “No. You were transferred to his
ship from another. The first vessel was just going out on a voyage
and hailed the Capitan, who was homeward bound.” Then seeing
the fear in her eyes he spoke soothingly. “Do not be frightened,
beautiful Skye, I am sure your memory will return soon. We know
you are European, for we are speaking French, though your accent
is not that of a native Frenchwoman. Rest now. We will talk again.”

But her memory still had not returned. His Moorish physician
had examined her throughly. Her age was between eighteen and
twenty. She was not a virgin. In fact, she had borne more than one
child. She was free of disease, and had all her teeth. Because the
physician could find no evidence of a head injury, he concluded that the memory loss was due to some terrible emotional shock, and that
her mind refused to remember.

Her beautiful blue eyes, which changed from sapphire to blue-
green as her moods changed, opened now and looked at him.

“My lord Khalid.”

He smiled. “How are you feeling, my beautiful one?” Sitting
down beside her, he caressed her dark hair.

“I am ever so much better, my lord.”

“We must talk now, Skye.”

“Of what, my lord?”

“You know that my name is Khalid el Bey. But I have another
name, Skye. I am called the Whoremaster of Algiers. I own many
houses filled with beautiful women whose very reason for existence
is to please the men who come to visit them. I own the women-
as I own you.”

“You do?!” She was incredulous. “You own me?”

“Yes, Capitan Rais el Abdul bought you from the fust Capitan,
and men he sold you to me.”

“Why did you buy me?”

He smiled. Her memory loss had affected so many areas, in-
cluding her knowledge of worldly things. “I bought you, Skye,
because I intend to train you to be the finest courtesan Algiers has
ever known. Then I will place you in my best house, which is called
Felicity.”

“What must I do, my lord?” “Do you remember nothing of lovemaking?” he shook her head.
He sighed. “I will have to have Yasmin instruct you in certain
matters. Then I will personally instruct you. We will begin tomor-
row, for the doctor has assured me that you are well enough.”

“Yasmin does not like me, my lord Khalid.”

“Yasmin is a slave, like you, Skye. She will do as she is told.
If she should distress you in any way you will tell me.”

“Yes, my lord Khalid. And thank you,” she said softly. “I will
endeavor to learn well so you will be pleased.”

He mused later on her answer. If, as he suspected, she was a
highborn European, then she was also a Christian. Yet the loss of
memory had left her free of both her religion and its ethics. If he
could introduce her to the physical delights of lovemaking and make
it pleasant for her, he could make her the most famous courtesan
since Aspasia. It was a magnificent challenge, and one he was
looking forward to with great enthusiasm.

That evening when Khalid el Bey had finished his meal, he dis-
missed bis “laves and, giving orders to his majordomo regarding his
bed partner of the evening, welcomed the woman who oversaw his most famous brothel. When Yasmin sat opposite him he marveled
at her beauty. He knew she was close to forty. Still, she was a
Circassian, and they were famed as the most beautiful slaves in the
world. He had purchased her over twenty years before from a breed-
ing farm. She had been the first of his special women. Thanks to
her, he had been able to place his business above his competitors.

Brothels in Algiers, for the most part, had been confined to the
waterfront and served sailors of all nations. The wealthy residents
of the city had private harems, and needed no such services. But the
flesh peddlers of the city had overlooked one important market.
Algiers, being the chief city on the north African coast, entertained
many wealthy visitors. These had no women available to them.
Khalid el Bey was the fust to meet that need, and he became famous
doing so.

The women in his House of Felicity were the most beautiful, the
most skilled, and the most entertaining in all of Algiers. There were
no two alike, for Khalid el Bey especially prided himself on offering
variety. Though others had tried to imitate him, they had all failed
miserably, leaving him with the undisputed title of “the Whore-
master.” Not only did he own the House of Felicity, he now also
possessed full or part interest in almost every house of prostitution
in the city.

He was admired and respected by the other businessmen for,
though very shrewd, he was scrupulously honest. Still, few men
really knew the man, and his origins were a mystery. Though many
thought him a Moor, he was actually Spanish. He had been born
Diego Indio Goya del Fuentes near the city of Granada, the second
son of an old and noble family. He was well educated for his time,
and might have gone on to marry and lead the circumspect life of
a sixteenth-century Spanish nobleman. Then fate, in the guise of a
beautiful Moorish girl named Noor, had intervened in the young
man’s life. They had been desperately in love, but Noor had been
as firm in her faith, Islam, as any devout Christian was in his.

Diego Goya del Fuentes had long been betrothed. Now his sisters
took malicious delight in teasing his fiancee about Noor. The fiancee,
a prim, religious girl, felt it her moral duty to inform the Inquisition
of the existence of the Moorish maiden. On the day that Noor was
burned at the stake as a heretic, Diego stood helpless on the edge
of the city square, his hooded face wet with tears, watching as the
gentlest, kindest person he had ever known was burned to death.
She was tortured cruelly, yet as the flames licked her graceful body,
her sweet voice lifted in a song of praise to her god, Allah. That
day, Diego Goya del Fuentes disappeared from Spain forever.

He wandered for several years through Europe and the Middle

East, finally settling in the city of Algiers. He changed his name to
Khalid, the title “el Bey” being his by virtue of a journey to the holy
cities of Mecca and Medina. He converted to Islam in honor of
Noor’s memory, though he felt no strong religious leaning.

His feelings for women were ambiguous. On one hand, he re-
membered his lost love and her gentle sweet ways. On the other,
he recalled his sisters’ malice, and the cruelty and ignorance of his
fiancee. Perhaps this explained why, though he enslaved women
into the profession of prostitution, he was a kind and good master.

Skye had touched him as no woman had since Noor. Her help-
lessness appealed to him, and this was why he now carefully in-
structed Yasmin about her care. But Yasmin argued, “Why do you
fuss so over this one girl, my lord? She is like a thousand others.”
The Circassian voice was spiteful, and Khalid el Bey hid a smile.
Yasmin had been in love with him for years but he felt no more for
her than he had for the others. No woman had claimed his heart
since Noor.

“Skye is like a child now,” he explained patiently. “Although she
recalls some things, her loss of memory has wiped out all carnal
knowledge. She knows nothing and has no prejudices. If we handle
her carefully, we may mold her as we desire.” He cleverly empha-
sized the we, and Yasmin leaned forward eagerly.

“This would really please you, my lord?”

“Yes, Yasmin, it would. Skye is not simply a pretty face or body.
I sense a good mind behind those lovely blue eyes, and that is what
her specialty shall be. Like the courtesans of ancient Athens Skye
shall entertain the gentlemen with a skilled body and with her in-
telligence as well. She will not be used for those of our clientele
whose tastes run to the bizarre, but rather for elegant men, men of
culture-such as the Ottoman commandant of the Casbah. Or perhaps the sea captains who come to us from the Italian states, France,
or England. Together, Yasmin, you and I will make Skye an intriguing, exciting, much-sought-after woman.”

“I will do my part, my lord Khalid. I will teach her all I know.
Even certain things I have kept from the others. Skye shall be unique,
and she shall be perfection.”

He smiled his wonderful smile at her. “You have always exceeded
my faith in you, since the very beginning, Yasmin. Thank you.” He
twice clapped his hands sharply, then sent the answering slave for
coffee. Turning back to the woman, he asked, “The women now in
the House of Felicity are satisfactory?”

“Except two. The English girl, Sweet Rose, has fallen in love
with one of her gentlemen, and consequently is balking at her job.

With your permission I can correct that, for the gentleman involved
wants to buy her and add her to his harem.”

“Sell, but accept only the highest price for her. After all, we’re
losing a good investment. What of the other girl?”

‘The gypsy Rhia is not adjusting, my lord. I think I must rec-
ommend severe punishment in her case.”

“Why?”

“I sent her along with two other girls to a party of half a dozen
young Turkish officers. They had requested they be allowed to play
the rape game. We assigned them to the Suite of Clouds. It was
arranged that, as the girls sat at their leisure, the Turks would break
in and ravish them. It is a harmless game, and the officers involved
are regular customers of ours, all highly recommended. While the
other two girls fell in with the spirit of the game, shrieking and
protesting prettily before yielding, Rhia screamed in earnest and
fought wildly, severely scratching two of our guests about the face.
Naturally they subdued her, and I am pleased to say that all six of
them enjoyed her despite her protests. But the other girls, of course,
felt slighted. They were angry that she should draw all the attention
to herself in such a fashion. The officers complained, too, that
afterward she wept as one demented. I finally had to remove her
from their presence, and send in another girl.”

“Has she ever before partaken of this sort of fantasy, Yasmin?”

“No. She was, of course, half wild when she came to us. But
she’s been treated well and has done very well with the gentlemen
individually. I believed her ready for this sort of thing.”

“What is her specialty?”

“Oral gratification, my lord, and I understand she is quite good
at it.”

Khalid el Bey thought a moment. “She was probably raped some-
time in her life. The fantasy in which you placed her brought back
the memory and hence her terror. Do not put her in such a situation
again. Let her do what she is good at.”

“You are too soft, my lord. Rhia offended our guests. When they
ask, what shall I tell them has been done?”

“Do not wait for them to ask. Send a message to the two who
were scratched that the matter has been taken care of, and offer them
each an evening of pleasure at our expense.”

“It shall be as my lord has said,” answered Yasmin.

Khalid el Bey rose from the cushions and helped the Circassian
to rise. “You must return now, I know,” he said quietly, gently
dismissing her. “You will come tomorrow and begin your instruction
of Skye.”

“As my lord commands,” she said, bowing out of the room.

He almost sighed his relief. She was beautiful and loyal, but of
late she had become clinging and presumptuous of their long as-
sociation. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do about her. To free
her would only give her ideas above her situation, for she was a
slave, born of slave parents. He smiled, thinking back to those many
years ago when he had gone to a Circassian breeding farm with an
Egyptian friend. His friend was a slave merchant in Alexandria, a
connoisseur of beautiful young men and women, who preferred
buying directly from the breeder so he might have the best selection.

The owners of the farm had paraded before their valued customer
and his guest a variety of exquisite virgins and youths. Yasmin had
been among them, and Khalid’s friend remarked on her, saying that
they had shown her to him in his two previous visits.

“Alas,” sighed their host, “she is lovelier than an April morning,
but I cannot seem to sell her. I have just about decided to breed her
with our best stud.”

“What are her bloodlines?” asked Khalid’s friend.

“Pythias out of Iris,” came the reply.

“Whew!” exclaimed the Alexandrian admiringly.

Khalid el Bey had no idea what they were talking about, but there
was something touching about the little slave girl. “What is her
age?” he asked.

“Fifteen,” came the reply.

“A bit old. Is she a virgin?”

“Sir!” The farm owner was indignant.

Khalid el Bey laughed. “I will take her, my friend. I simply wish
to know what it is I am buying.”

An outrageous price was named which Khalid el Bey scoffed at,
reminding the slave breeder of the girl’s age and the possibility of
her being barren if he bred her rather than sold her. They haggled
back and forth until finally a price was agreed upon that suited
Khalid el Bey but, according to the merchant, impoverished him.
The money was exchanged, and Khalid el Bey found himself the
owner of a beautiful Circassian slave girl with long blond hair and
Nile green eyes.

When they returned to Alexandria he set about introducing her
to the joys of physical love. She had been taught its many arts but
had never used them. She knew the human body and its sensitive
areas well. Her skillful fingers could bring an impotent man to a
firm and long-lasting erection. She could sing while accompanying
herself on the lute. She danced well. And after several weeks in
Khalid el Bey’s bed, she found that she performed very well there
too.

Then one night Khalid el Bey had several guests in for the eve-
ning, and when the meal was done she danced for the company.
Afterward he sent her to her room, telling her that perhaps one or
two of his guests might visit her and if they did she was to please
them for that would please him. In fact four of Khalid el Bey’s
guests came to her spacious quarters that night, and with each she
was soft and charming and skilled. They left singing her praises,
and Khalid el Bey rewarded his slave girl with a strand of coral
beads. The next night and the night after and almost every other
night after that, Yasmin pleasured her master’s friends. Then another
girl, Alyia, joined their household. Where Yasmin was fair, Alyia
had skin like a dusky rose, thick and waving hair the color of a
raven’s wing, enormous brown eyes, and a pouting red mouth. To
Yasmin’s fury, Alyia shared their master’s bed for several weeks.
But then she too joined the Circassian in entertaining Khalid el Bey’s
friends.

Several months later, Khalid el Bey left his two women in the
hands of his friend, the slave merchant. He made a quick trip, and
returned several weeks later with two more girls. He moved them
all to the city of Algiers.

They were installed in a small, beautifully appointed house, and
every night Khalid el Bey’s women entertained a variety of guests
ranging from wealthy visitors to Turkish officers of the Imperial
Ottoman Army who were stationed in Algiers. Within a year Khalid
el Bey owned twenty beautiful women and a larger house. At the
end of two years he owned fifty beautiful women who lived in two
houses, and he had begun the construction of his present villa. When
the third year drew to a close the villa was finished, and Khalid el
Bey was the undisputed Whoremaster of Algiers. Two things were
constant. Yasmin remained the head of Khalid el Bey’s women,
gradually becoming less of a courtesan and more of an administrator
and manager. And, there was not a girl who entered Khalid el Bey’s
service who was not first tried by him. It gave each of them a close
touch with their master, for during the time they served him per-
sonally he loved and cherished them. He had never used force to
bend a women to his will. Consequently his women all adored him.

With Skye he saw his greatest challenge. With the proper training
she could become the finest whore he’d ever owned. Unlike the
others, who all cherished the secret dream of being bought and
married by one of their customers, Skye would have no such hopes
as she had no knowledge of marriage. And if, as he hoped, she
proved totally uninhibited, she could be taught some more exotic
forms of lovemaking that would command a very high price.

The more he thought of her the more curious he became. Many times he had observed her secretly in the bath and in her bedchamber.
Her figure was as lovely as her coloring, but it was her skin that
intrigued him. It was flawless. Utterly flawless. Smooth, beautiful
skin the color of rich cream, or was it old ivory silk? He longed to
touch it with his sensitive fingers, his lips. Would it be soft? Yes,
undoubtedly it would be soft. Would it be soft and warm beneath
his mouth, or would it be cool and smooth? He shivered in antici-
pation. Although he enjoyed his women, it had been a long time
since he had actually looked forward to one, and it would be several
weeks until he could even consider sampling Skye’s charms. He
sighed, and went to his bedchamber. Perhaps the little houri who
was to be his partner tonight could ease some of his longings.

At midmorning on the following day Yasmin began Skye’s les-
sons in love. She looked with dislike on the young woman she
intuitively knew to be the most serious rival she had ever had for
Khalid’s affections. Still, she reasoned, the sooner Skye was taught
what she needed to know, the sooner she’d be out of Khalid’s villa.
And Skye must be taught well, for then Khalid would be pleased.

“Disrobe for me,” commanded Yasmin, and when Skye quickly
complied, her caftan dropping to the floor, Yasmin scolded, “No!
No! You show all the sensuousness of a donkey! Let me show you.”
And her fingers undid the frog closings on her pink caftan as grace-
fully as if she’d been playing a musical instrument. Turning, she
gently shrugged the garment from her shoulders, exposing her
smooth fair skin. Slowly, slowly, she allowed the garment to slide
downward, revealing the line of her back, her plump round buttocks,
her legs. Then she turned to face Skye. Her breasts were big, but
firm. Sliding to her knees, her head bent to touch the floor and she
murmured huskily, “As my lord commands.”

Then suddenly Yasmin stood up briskly and said matter-of-factly,
”That is how to disrobe properly. You try it.”

Quietly Skye picked up her robe and dressed. Then, imitating
exactly and with equal skill Yasmin’s movements, she removed the
caftan again. Sinking to the floor at last, her dark head bowed, her
soft voice clear and sweet, she said, “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” came the terse reply. “It is fortunate you learn quickly.

“We will now discuss perfumes. Sit down. No, don’t bother
dressing. I must show you the proper places to anoint yourself. A
woman’s body is a work of art, but in order to remain a masterpiece
you must work at it constantly.” She reached into the basket by her
side and then handed Skye some green leaves. “Mint. Chew them.
Your breath should always be fragrant and your teeth clean. All of
our women are perfection. That is what makes them famous, and
justly so. We are not common street trulls to be had for a few sequins.” Yasmin carefully laid out several bottles on the carpet.
”Musk, ambergris, attar of roses. All of our perfumes have one of
these as a base.” She uncorked them and held each out so Skye
might smell. “Which do you prefer?”

“The roses.”

“Good! I would have chosen that one for you myself. Though
my lord Khalid tells me that you are not a virgin, there is an air of
innocence about you that we will concentrate upon. It appeals to
many men. I will use the attar of roses to demonstrate.” She stood
up and, taking the stopper between her thumb and forefinger, stroked
it generously between the deep valley of her breasts. Carefully lifting
each of the heavy globes, she perfumed beneath them. Next the
stopper touched the base of her throat, the back of her neck, the soft
spots behind her ears. Then came her wrists, beneath her arms, and
in the blue-veined hollows of her inner arm. Yasmin dipped the
stopper again and touched it to her navel, the backs of her legs, her
ankles, the arches of her feet, and her Venus mound. “You must go
lightly here,” she explained, “for men sometimes enjoy the sweet
taste of a woman, and that should not be overwhelmed by another
scent.”

Skye appeared puzzled, and Yasmin gazed at her enviously. “You
really don’t remember, do you?” she said. “Allah, how I envy you!
It will be like the first time again for you, but without the pain of
virginity.” Then catching herself, she handed Skye the attar of roses
and said brusquely, “Let me see you do it now.”

Carefully Skye imitated her teacher, and when she had finished
she looked expectantly toward Yasmin.

“You have forgotten one area,” said Yasmin, taking the bottle
stopper from her student. Cupping one of Skye’s breasts, she dotted
the scent beneath it.

“Don’t!”

To the older woman’s surprise, Skye’s face was drained of color,
her body stiff. Her eyes held horror. Yasmin was genuinely fright-
ened. “What is it, Skye?! Are you all right?”

Slowly the fear drained from the younger woman’s eyes, and she
said, bewildered, “I don’t believe I like being touched by another
woman.”

“What do you remember, Skye?”

“Nothing. I remember nothing, but when you touched me…”
She shivered with genuine revulsion.

Yasmin was concerned. What if Skye didn’t like being touched
by men either? She could hardly be a successful whore then, and
Khalid el Bey’s investment would be lost. Normally Yasmin would
not have introduced the subject of male anatomy until a later lesson, but she felt she must know before she went any further. If the girl
was emotionally unstable she should be disposed of now. Yasmin
clapped her hands and said to the answering slave girl, “Fetch my
new eunuch, Ali.”

Then, turning to Skye, she said, “There are two ways to geld a
male. If it is done when they are young, all is removed. But the
mortality rate is high. The other way is to remove the male’s seed
sac, but leave the rod. We buy only that kind of eunuch, for they
are better-natured. They are also invaluable in teaching our girls the
things they must learn about a man’s body. Ah, Ali, come in! Come
in! Skye, this is Ali. Is he not beautiful?”

The young man flushed. Skye let her eyes slide over him. He
was indeed good-looking, tall, with softly golden skin, dark curly
hair, and liquid brown eyes. “He is gorgeous, Yasmin. You are
indeed fortunate.”

Yasmin smiled smugly, then said sharply to the man, “Ali, dis-
robe!” She looked quickly to see the effect this would have on Skye.
Would she faint? Was she fearful? The eunuch undid his long robe
and, removing it, laid it carefully on a chair. Then he stood straight,
awaiting further instruction. Yasmin glanced toward Skye. “What
do you think of him?”

The younger woman looked puzzled. “As I have said, Yasmin,
he is gorgeous.”

“His nakedness does not offend you, or frighten you?”

“No, should it?”

“No, but some women are fearful nonetheless. Now, Skye, I want
you to go to Ali, put your arms about him, and press your body to
his.”

Skye did as Yasmin commanded, sliding her arms around the
eunuch’s neck, rubbing instinctively in a very provocative way
against the young man’s soft body. He shuddered, nuzzled her ear,
squeezed one of her buttocks, then cupped a breast in his hand. Her
eyes grew dark with desire, and she swayed slightly.

“Mistress!” Ali’s voice was pleading, and Yasmin laughed. She
had learned what she needed to know. Skye might dislike a woman’s
touch but she enjoyed a man’s. The lessons could continue. Without
giving Ali another thought, she dismissed him. He fled, gathering
his robe.

“What a funny creature,” Skye observed. “Didn’t he like me?”

Yasmin laughed again. “He liked you very much, and had you
been alone he might have made love to you. I will allow him to do
so when you have more knowledge. We use these young eunuchs
for that purpose, as we can hardly practice technique on our gentlemen.” She looked candidly at Skye. “You’re a good student, but
that is all we will do today. I will come tomorrow at the same time.”

After Yasmin had dressed and gone, Skye sat quietly for a few
minutes. Then her hands crept upward to cup her own breasts. Gently
she caressed her body and was amazed to see her nipples harden.
She thought about what it would be like to have a man stroke her,
and felt a tingling between her legs. It was all so pleasurable. What
other lovely things had her cursed memory wiped away? Sighing,
she stretched naked on the cushions and fell asleep.

That evening Khalid el Bey sent for Skye. She was fresh from
the baths and had just finished perfuming herself. Sliding a light-weight wisteria-colored silk caftan over her body, she ran barefoot
through the short, carpeted hallway that separated her room from
his apartments.

“How lovely you are!” he said as she entered the room. He noted
the sheen of her skin and the way her midnight-colored hair curled
in damp tendrils about her face. “Yasmin tells me your lessons went
well. She feels you have a talent and will progress quickly. She is
pleased with you, and therefore I am pleased.”

Her face became radiant. “I want to please you, my lord Khalid!
Without you I should be nothing.”

His big hand cupped her chin, and his dark eyes looked into her
blue ones. “I do not think so, my little lost bird. I do not think so.”
Then smiling, he asked gently, “What have you learned?”

“Just perfuming, and the proper way to disrobe before a gentle-
man.”

“Disrobe for me,” he commanded, sitting cross-legged amid the
colorful cushions. “Pretend I am to be your gentleman.”

She stood very still before him. Her fingers hardly seemed to
touch the tiny pearl buttons of her robe before it opened. He had not
but the barest glimpse of her breasts when she twirled gracefully.
The silken robe slid with agonizing slowness down the long line of
her back and over the perfect twin moons of her buttocks. She turned
to face him, her eyes modestly lowered. Sinking to the floor, she
said softly but clearly, “As my lord commands.”

For a moment he stared at the gleaming dark head that touched
his slipper. He was amazed not only by her easy skill, but by his
own reaction to it. Beneath his brocaded robe he was swollen and
aching, and he couldn’t quite believe it. He had always maintained
a perfect control over his body.

She raised her head, and their eyes met. “Do I please you, my
lord?” she asked innocently.

“Very much,” he murmured huskily. Don’t! Don’t! his saner self warned him, but he heard himself saying, “Sit next to me, Skye.”
And when she nestled in the curve of his arm he bent over her and
touched her lips. They parted easily beneath his, and he drew her
scented breath into his own mouth. His tongue sought for hers, found
it and they caressed one another with burning softness until he be-
came aware of her hands seeking his, and placing them on her naked
body.

‘Touch me, my lord Khalid!” she whispered urgently. “Please,
please touch me!”

Fighting to control himself, he allowed his hands to slide over
her body. He had never felt such a desire in himself for any woman.
Her skin was softer than anything he had ever known, and when she
moaned with undisguised pleasure he trembled. He slipped his own
robe off. You must not! She is unschooled! You will ruin everything!
warned his saner self, but his lips slid down the pure pillar of her
throat, and his hungry mouth captured a taut nipple, sucking pas-
sionately on it until, with an angry half-cry of desperation, he yielded
to his own desires.

Swinging himself over her burning body, he impatiently parted
her thighs and thrust himself into the welcoming warmth of her. She
sighed and with a deeply rooted feminine instinct, she wrapped
herself about him and moved her lush body to match his frantic
rhythm. Her slender fingers slid down his long, smooth back, knead-
ing his muscled buttocks until he whimpered with pleasure. Within
her own body she felt a tingling tenseness that built with unbelievable
intensity until, cresting, it burst over her like a giant wave lifting
her high and then dashing her down into a swirling darkness.

“Skye! Skye! Ah, my beautiful beloved,” he murmured against
her ear. He caressed her gently.

“I did not remember until now how beautiful making love could
be,” she whispered.

“Do you remember anything else?” he questioned hastily.

“No. Only that I have done before what we just did, and that it
was good.”

“I should not have taken you,” he said. “What if I had frightened
you?”

“You did not frighten me, my lord Khalid, but perhaps I dis-
pleased you with my lack of skill.”

He laughed weakly. “No, Skye, you did not displease me. It is
true you lack the skill of a trained courtesan, but this same lack of
skills has given me a very pleasurable time.”

“Must I continue my lessons with Yasmin, my lord?”

“Yes. Your innocence has charm, my beloved, but there is no harm in your learning our ways. You will learn to pleasure your
gentlemen in a variety of ways. It is your duty as a woman to be
knowledgeable in the arts of love, and as Yasmin teaches you, you
will show me.”

She lay on her back breathing quietly and evenly. He lay on his
side so he might gaze down at her. His fingers traced a delicate
pattern down her breasts and torso. Shivering, she raised her blue
eyes to him. Bending down, he kissed her mouth with great tender-
ness, then her eyelids. “Go to sleep, Skye, and sleep in the knowl-
edge that I will watch over you.”

Her eyes closed. He again wondered who she was and where she
had come from. A noblewoman without a doubt, but from where?
Her coloring ruled out the far north, and he did not believe her to
be either Spanish or French. When she had first regained conscious-
ness he had spoken to her in French and she had answered him, but
he knew her accent was not native to France. Could she be English,
or one of the Celtic races? Unless she regained her memory, they
were unlikely ever to know.

Khalid el Bey was not sure he wanted to know. Somehow this
beautiful creature had insinuated herself into his heart. It had been
a long, long time since he had felt more than just sexual satisfaction
with a woman, but with Skye he suddenly felt something he had
long believed himself immune to. That feeling was a longing for a
real home, and it took a wife and children to make such a home.

He smiled at his fantasies. Surely he was getting old, for the first
sign of age in a man like him was the longing for rest. He gazed
again at the woman by his side. Was it possible? Did he really love
her? What if he married her, and she later regained her memory?
But that was unlikely. She would not regain her memory, or so his
physician said, unless faced with the very thing that had shocked
her in the first place.

Still, he would not move swiftly. He would allow Skye to continue
her lessons. It could do no harm. And later he would make a decision
about their future. He closed his eyes, sighed, and fell asleep.

Chapter 9

Yasmin was shocked. “You took an unskilled woman to your
bed? What on earth possessed you, my lord Khalid?”

He turned on her. “You presume on our long association,
Yasmin. Skye belongs to me, and I will do with her as I
choose. I do not need your approval.”

“I only meant-“

“You are an insolent slave,” he said cuttingly. “I have rarely
found it necessary to use the whip, but you tempt me now, Yasmin.
You tempt me greatly.”

She had gone very white. Flinging herself to the floor, she im-
plored his forgiveness. “Get up,” came the cold reply. “You will
continue Skye’s lessons, Yasmin, and if I should ever hear of your
mistreating her in any way, I will sell you. Go now!”

The Circassian scrambled to her feet and fled the room. Her heart
was thundering. In all their years together he had never spoken to
her that way. Yasmin was deeply frightened. Was he in love? Allah
forbid! The worm of jealousy gnawed at her heart, and Yasmin
began to hate the woman called Skye with an impotent fury.

She dared not act openly against her yet, but once Khalid sent
Skye into the House of Felicity, she would be at Yasmin’s mercy.
Yasmin thought with pleasure of a Syrian merchant who visited them
twice yearly, and whose delight was in watching two women perform
before he took them both. Knowing Skye’s revulsion at another
woman’s touch, Yasmin intended to punish her by forcing her to
participate in such a show. For now, however, Yasmin would bide
her time.

She smiled at Skye as she entered her room and bid her good
day. “Today,” she said, “we will review yesterday’s lessons, and
go on to the study of anatomy, both male and female.”

Skye nodded. Annoyed by her poise, Yasmin sought to shock
her. ‘Tomorrow I will bring a girl from the House of Felicity with
me, and she and Ali will begin to demonstrate to you the various
positions of love.” She stared hard at the younger woman.

“That should be very interesting,” replied Skye with infuriating
calm. “I would learn quickly and well so I may please my lord
Khalid.”

Yasmin had to bite her lip to keep from shrieking. Skye’s lack
of emotion was totally unnerving. Would she be one of those cold
creatures who felt nothing at the height of passion? If that was the
case then she would have to be taught to simulate emotion, for
nothing frustrated or angered a man more than an unresponsive
female. Yasmin realized that it might be harder to train Skye than
she had previously thought. But train her she would, and when she
was through Skye would be the most magnificent creature ever to
grace the House of Felicity. Then Khalid would realize Yasmin’s
great value to him, and finally make her his first wife. She had
waited so long for an opportunity like this, doing his bidding unquestioningly all these years, seeing to his interests.

Catching herself, she ceased daydreaming, called for her eunuch,
Ali, and threw off her silken robe. “A thorough knowledge of both
the male and female body is essential, Skye,” said the naked Yasmin.
”With small-breasted women such as yourself, the breasts are usually
very sensitive, and most women are highly sensitive on the little
button that lies hidden beneath the Venus mound. Demonstrate,
Ali!”

Yasmin lay among the pillows, the young eunuch propped on his
side next to her. Fascinated, Skye watched as he caressed the soft
globes of Yasmin’s breasts, using both his hands and his mouth. He
worked slowly and as Yasmin’s breasts became harder and firmer,
a small moan escaped her. Ali shot Skye a small triumphant smile,
which his partner missed. One hand moved lower to Yasmin’s Venus
mound. A finger probed delicately, rubbing gently, and another soft
cry escaped the writhing woman.

Ali bent his head to touch with his tongue where his finger had
lately been. The woman beneath him cried aloud her passion, and
suddenly Skye closed her eyes and shuddered. In her mind’s eye she
saw a blond man and a blond woman intertwined together on a bed.
It was evil! Her mind strained to remember, but she could not quite
do so, and then a shriek of pleasure from Yasmin brought her back
to the scene before her.

The older woman lay panting, her lush body covered with a fine
sheen of perspiration. The eunuch lay on his back, his eyes closed.
Gradually Yasmin regained her composure. Finally she spoke. “You
have now seen one way in which a woman’s body can give pleasure
and be pleasured, though of course it is more important that you
give pleasure. I will demonstrate mat shortly, but first I want Ali
to caress you as he has just caressed me. It is necessary that I see
how you react in such a situation. Exchange places with me.”

For the second time Skye felt uncomfortable. When Khalid el
Bey had made love to her the other night it had been right, but she didn’t want the sly Ali with his obviously knowing hands and mouth
touching her, and with sudden defiance she said so. Startled at first,
Yasrhin was speechless, but she quickly regained her voice.

“I did not ask you whether you wished to do this thing. I have
commanded you to obey me. How dare you even contemplate dis-
obeying me? Our lord Khalid has put you in my charge, and if you
disobey me I shall have you beaten.”

“You do not dare to mark me,” shot back Skye. “You are a slave
as I am, and my lord Khalid would punish you greatly should you
destroy my value!”

Yasmin smiled nastily. “It will not destroy your beauty should
I have Ali beat the soles of your feet. The bastinado is an extremely
painful but effective punishment for fractious slaves.”

Skye paled, but said evenly, “I will not allow that creature of
yours to touch me, and if you hurt me I shall tell my lord Khalid
of your cruelty.”

“What cruelty do you speak of, my lovely Skye?” Khalid el Bey
stood in the door a moment before entering it. With inborn instinct
Skye flung herself into his arms. “I won’t do it, my lord! Please
don’t make me! Please!” His eyes softened, his arms tightened pro-
tectively about her, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her dark
head.

Yasmin made an exasperated noise. “You tell me to train her in
the arts of love, and when she will not obey me you condone it!”

“I will not allow Ali to touch me in that way!”

“I cannot gauge your sensuality if I cannot see it!”

Khalid el Bey hid a smile and said to Skye, “Will you allow me
to caress you so Yasmin may learn what she needs to know?”

“Yes.” It was said softly. Without another word he slid her caftan
from her body and drew her down amid the cushions. His hands
were incredibly gentle as they cupped and caressed her sweetly
rounded little breasts, and she sighed with delight as he teasingly
skimmed the soft, smooth skin with his skilled fingers. A warm hand
fondled her belly and slid downward to touch that most sensitive of
spots. She cried out her pleasure, and his mouth quickly covered
hers in a burning kiss. As the pleasure faded slowly away, she
opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, a strangely tender
expression lighting his amber eyes. Then he turned his head, and
she was struck by the hawklike beauty of his profile.

“Do you know now what you must, Yasmin?”

The older woman was very still, her green eyes huge and almost
black in her pale face.

“She responds well to a man’s touch, does she not, Yasmin?”

‘To your touch, my lord Khalid,” came the reply.

“From this moment on, Yasmin, you will not force Skye to any-
thing she chooses not to do. You will teach her all you know, and
she will practice her skills on me alone. Only I will correct or chastise
her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” The woman shot Skye a look of pure hatred.

“Then that will be all for today.” Yasmin and Ali were dismissed.
Khalid stood up and, holding out his hand to Skye, said, “Dress
yourself, my sweet. In the garden there is a rose called ‘Love’s
Delight’ that has just come into bloom today. I would show it to
you.”

They were alone. Skye drew on her caftan slowly. She slipped
on her sandals. His deep voice cut the silence surrounding them.
”What was it about your lessons today that disturbed you, my Skye?”

“When I saw Ali making love to Yasmin,” she said, “I became
uncomfortable, my lord. It was as if I had seen… something like
that before, and it was evil. Yet I could not really remember. It
frightened me. The eunuch, despite his state, was so sure of his
power over Yasmin. He smiled at me in such an arrogant way, and
I knew then that I could not bear it if he touched me. Have I
displeased you, my lord Khalid?”

He put an arm about her. “No, Skye, you have not displeased
me. Whatever you may have been in your former life, you were
certainly not a wanton, and that pleases me. I think, perhaps, that
I shall have to change my plans for you. Come now, and see the
roses.”

“You will not send me away?” Her voice was frightened.

“No,” he held her by the shoulders and looked down into her
upturned face. “I shall not send you away, my little lost love.” And
again she was puzzled by the tender look in his eyes.

Alone in the night, Khalid el Bey paced the rooftop terrace of his
house. The sky above was black silk, relieved only by the crystal
blue stars. The air was still, yet it was perfumed by the sweet scent
of night-blooming nicotiana. It had become obvious to him that he
couldn’t make Skye a courtesan. Though her memory was buried,
a strong moral sense remained. He would send a note to Yasmin
tomorrow morning, stopping Skye’s lessons. Whatever he felt she
needed to learn he would teach her himself.

He had to admit to himself now that he was in love with Skye.
Her revulsion toward Ali today was only a part of it. The truth was
that Khalid el Bey did not want her in the House of Felicity pleasuring
a different lover every night. He wanted her in his own house, loving
him, and bearing his children. Yes, he loved her enough to honor
her by making her his wife. He felt like a boy again, and for the
first time since his love for Noor, he felt hope. Perhaps, he thought wryly, there was a god in the heavens, after all. At peace with
himself, he descended the steps to his own quarters.

To his surprise, Skye was asleep on the cushions by his couch.
For a brief moment he watched her, then he bent and dropped a kiss
on her cheek. She stirred, opened her magnificent sapphire eyes,
and sat up.

“I am afraid,” she said in a rush, “I have angered you. And if
you send me away-“ she stopped, trying to gather her thoughts.
”You are all I have, my lord Khalid. I remember nothing before
you, and if you send me away I shall die!”

Tenderly he gathered her into his arms. “I have spent many hours
alone with the night, my sweet Skye, and I have realized something.
I have decided that there is only one fate for you.” She trembled
against him, and he stroked her reassuringly. “Your fate is to be my
wife, beloved. I will love you, care for you, and protect you, my
Skye. I have never before wanted a wife, and it has been many years
since I really loved a woman. It has been my custom to make love,
but not give my heart. Do you understand the difference?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You enjoyed their bodies, but not nec-
essarily the women themselves.”

He smiled in the semidarkness of the room. “You are wise, my
Skye. Now, love, tell me if you are still afraid.”

“No.”

“And are you pleased with my plans for your future? Will you
be happy to be my wife?” “Yes.”

“Sweet Skye, I… I love you, and I want you to be happy. If the
thought of marriage to me displeases you, you must tell me so, for
I would not have you be unhappy.”

“You do me great honor,” she said softly, “but I am not certain
I love you, my lord. Surely you deserve a wife who loves you.”

“The love will come, sweetness. I want you safe.”

She raised her face to him. “Then gladly shall I be your wife, my
lord!” Her blue eyes were shining with trust and even, he thought,
a little happiness. “I promise to make you happy,” she told him
shyly.

“You already make me happy,” he told her, and then his mouth
sought hers, tasting and giving the sweet sensual delights she seemed
to crave from him. His hands caressed the small globes of her breasts,
and then his tongue was torturing the pink nipples to a peak of
excitement, circling round and round the sweetly sensitive flesh until
her breathing became ragged. He lowered her to the cushions and
his hands gently spread her thighs. Tenderly he entered her, taking her there on the floor, delighting in her sigh of pleasure as his pulsing
shaft thrust deep.

Her soft hands began stroking his back, sliding slowly down its
length to cup and fondle his round buttocks. “Khalid! Oh, my
Khalid!” she whispered with a hot little breath against his ear. He
shivered. “Love me, my lord! Oh, love me well, my lord!” She
exhorted him and, catching his rhythm, she moved with him until
both of them were lost in the wildly spinning vortex of their shared
passion.

So great was the desire they aroused in each other that Skye
fainted and Khalid, to his amazement, came close to losing con-
sciousness himself. As his seed thundered into her hidden valley he
shook fiercely with the intensity of his passion. Drained, he rolled
from her and gathered her into his arms, raining kisses on her beau-
tiful face. “Oh God, I adore you! I adore you!” he murmured over
and over again, and as she slowly climbed from the darkness she
heard someone’s voice worshiping her. “Niall,” she murmured
softly. “Niall!”

Khalid stiffened. “Skye, sweetness,” he said gently, “Skye, open
your eyes.” And when she obeyed he said, “Who is Niall, my
beloved?”

Immediately her eyes became clouded and confused. “Niall?” she
asked, puzzled. “I know no Niall.”

He sighed. Whoever Niall was, Khalid envied him very much.
Skye must have loved Niall. Still-it was he, Khalid, who now
possessed her, and he would not lose her, as mis Niall had done.
”Sleep, my love,” he said cradling her against his chest. And slowly
her breathing became even and regular.

He lay awake most of the night struggling with himself. Was it
possible that she was regaining her memory, or was the outcry just
a fluke, never to be repeated? The doctor had said that Skye would
not find herself again unless faced with the identical situation that
had caused her trauma, and the chances of that happening were so
remote as to be impossible. There was no danger of her recovering.
He would marry her! Was he not entitled to some happiness? He
wanted her, and he wanted the children of her loins.

He rose with the first light, and left her sleeping. In his dayroom
his body servant lay sleeping before the door. Gently, Khalid nudged
him with a slippered foot. When the slave’s eyes flew open, Khalid
said, “Fetch my secretary immediately. I will be in the library.”
Stumbling to his feet, the slave hurried off. Drawing his white robe
about him, Khalid el Bey went to his library to await the secretary.
He arrived a few minutes later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I am sorry to bring you from your bed so early, Jean, but there
are some urgent matters.” The secretary nodded, sat, and took up
his pen. A French captive, Jean gave thanks for his monastery ed-
ucation because it made him useful as a secretary. Otherwise, he
would now be in the mines like so many others.

Khalid el Bey spoke. “Draw up manumission papers for the slave
girl known as Skye. I want her legally free. Then draw up a marriage
contract between the freedwoman known as Skye, and myself. Her
bride’s price shall be this house, the estate, and twenty-five thousand
gold dinars. Consult the mullah for the exact wording.

“Then,” he continued, “send for the astrologer, Osman. I wish
a consultation today. Wait! Before anything you must send a message
to the Lady Yasmin telling her that all lessons are postponed until
further notice. Say nothing else. That should get you started. I will
return later.”

As Khalid el Bey left, Jean heard him order a waiting slave, “See
that Jean is sent breakfast immediately,” and the little Frenchman
marveled that his master was so thoughtful. This was not the first
time, either. The bey’s good manners had won his secretary’s loyalty
from the very first.

Jean wondered what was in his master’s mind. He could have
any woman without marriage. Why marriage? And Yasmin would
be very angry. But Jean’s Gallic logic was on the side of his lord’s
decision. It was time he settled down and had children. And besides,
the lady Skye was the fairest woman Jean had seen in years.

Khalid el Bey returned to his bedchamber. Skye was gone, and
he knew she had returned to her own chambers. Following her there,
he heard giggles coming from the bathing room and found Skye and
the pretty twin Ethiopian slave girls all splashing about the scented
pool. He watched for a moment, struck by the vivid contrast of their
wet bodies-ivory and ebony, sleek and shining.

Skye saw him first and, swimming over to the shallow end of the
pool, came partway up the steps and held out her hand in invitation.
She was like a goddess standing there in her nude young beauty,
and he could feel his desire rising. He held his arms out and the two
slave girls scrambled from the pool to remove his robe. Nude, his
desire became visible to all. Skye’s blue eyes twinkled and, throwing
him a saucy look, she dove back into the pool, giving him a delicious
view of her sleek flanks. “Leave us!” he growled to the two girls,
and dove after Skye.

He was amazed to find what a strong swimmer she was. She
laughed mischievously at him and dove beneath the water to emerge
in midpool. His own laughter sounded now. “Where in the name
of the seven djins did you learn to swim like that, you vixen?”

Her blue-green eyes widened innocently, and she shrugged.
”Alas, my lord Khalid. I know not. Are you not afraid to take such
a wife to your bosom? Who knows what else I may know?”

He swam over to her and, gently, with a restrained passion that
she instantly sensed, he took her face between his thumb and fore-
finger. His golden amber eyes regarded her gravely. “I am not afraid
to take such a wife to my bosom, Skye. Whatever surprises are in
store for us will only serve to make our life more piquant. I love
you, my little lost one. I love you!”

Slim white arms slid up around him. Her small round breasts
pressed against the dark furred mat of his chest as she offered him
her lips. “Khalid, be sure, I would not hurt so good a man. You are
all I know, and I should be lost without you, but is that enough for
you? I can offer only myself, and I do not even know very much
about who I am.”

“What is between us is good, Skye. Your lovely body responds
well to mine. We like each other, and more couples than not have
started life together with less. Do not fear, my love. You do not
cheat me. It is a good bargain we make between us. Your concern
for me does you credit. But now, my beautiful one,” he swept her
up in his arms, “I want to make love to you again.”

She wiggled, wet and protesting, against him. “It is morning!”

“A most delightful time,” he agreed, laying her on the sun-
warmed tiles that surrounded the pool. He straddled her.

“Someone will see us, Khalid,” she protested.

“No one would dare to disturb us,” he growled. His staff was
hard and seeking against her thighs. “I want you, Skye. I want your
tempting little body. I want you hot and sweet and yielding beneath
me,” he whispered against her ear. She shivered deliciously as his
tongue explored her ear, and shivered again as he moved downward
along the scented length of her neck, biting gently at her silken
shoulder. Skye soon forgot the bright sunshine. Khalid’s hands were
on her hips, stroking and stroking the fires of her passions. He
suckled at her breasts, drawing a cry of pleasure. “Open your legs
for me, now, my love,” he murmured. “That’s it, my darling, take
me into your fiery sweetness. Ahh… Skye, your little honey-oven
is made for me! Hold me tightly, my love! Ahhh!”

His words aroused her greatly. His hands never stopped loving
her body, and when his great rod entered into her she felt filled to
overflowing with him. His body movement was strong and rhythmic,
each stroke bringing her nearer and nearer to sweet oblivion. She
climbed higher and higher. Then she was caught in a jeweled whirl-
pool, and she heard a long soft woman’s cry mingled with a great
masculine sob.

Her next conscious thought was that the sun was hot on her face,
and she heard water lapping against the tiled sides of the pool. She
opened her eyes, and looked about. He lay on his back, eyes closed,
but his voice brought a furious blush to her cheeks. “You were made
to pleasure a man,” he said, “and I am grateful that that man is me.
After we have breakfast, I shall see Osman the astrologer, and he
will tell me what day this week is most favorable for our marriage.
I am having Jean draw up papers freeing you, Skye.”

She pressed herself into the curve of his arm. “Oh, my Khalid,
you are so kind to me! I swear I shall make you a good wife!”

He smiled and caressed her. “I know you will, my love,” he
answered her.

They breakfasted on yogurt, green figs, and boiling-hot Turkish
coffee. Afterward Skye returned to her own apartments, and Khalid
el Bey welcomed Osman, who greeted him by saying, “So, my old
friend! You have finally fallen in love again.”

Khalid laughed. “I have no secrets from you, do I, Osman?”

“The stars tell me all, my lord. And they tell me some things
about your love that you might be interested in knowing. She comes
from a green and misty land to the north, a land peopled by strong
spirits and great psychic forces. She was born beneath the sign of
the ram which, like all fire signs, is a strong and passionate one.”

Khalid el Bey leaned forward eagerly. “How can you know all
this, Osman?”

“Because, my lord, such a woman has recently appeared in your.
own chart.”

“I want to marry her.”

“I cannot stop you, my lord.”

“You do not sound enthusiastic, Osman. What is it you are not.
telling me?”

“She will not remain with you, Khalid. It is not her fate. Her fate ‘
is back among her own people, and so it. is written in the stars. There
are many men in her life, but she will always steer her own course,
rule her own destiny. One man in particular stands out in her life.
Their paths have crossed before and will most assuredly cross again.
It is with this man that she shares her soul, my friend, not with you.
Can you not just enjoy her while she is with you? Why must it be
marriage?”

He was shaken. The astrologer had always been accurate. “Will
it make any difference if I marry her?”

“No, my lord, it will not.”

“Then I shall marry her. For I love her above all women, and
would place her above all women.”

“And when she leaves you, will you let her go?”

“She will not leave me, Osman. She will not leave me because
of the children she will give me. She is not a woman who would
abandon her babes. She will give me children, won’t she?”

“I cannot be sure, my lord. She will be mother to several children,
but without a comparison of her exact birthday and yours, I cannot
tell you for certain.”

“She will bear me sons!” he said positively, and Osman smiled
faintly.

Still, he was concerned for his friend. The woman brought a
confusion into Khalid el Bey’s chart. There was a dark area now
that Osman could not fathom, and it worried him. Still, if his friend
insisted on marrying her, then at least he would pick the best day.
He scanned his charts carefully, made swift new calculations, and
finally pronounced, “Saturday, at moonrise, you will take her as
your wife.”

“Thank you, my friend. You will come, of course, and celebrate
with us.”

“Yes, I shall come. Is it to be a large celebration, Khalid?”

“No, Osman. Just a half-dozen or so are to be invited-my banker,
the head of the merchant’s guild, the mullah, the Turkish comman-
dant, and my secretary, Jean.”

“What of Yasmin?”

“I think not.”

“Yasmin loves you, Khalid.”

“Yasmin thinks she loves me, Osman, and therefore she will
accept my plans because of her belief in me. Besides, she will have
no further contact with Skye. I cannot allow my wife to associate
with a whore.”

Osman had to laugh. “There, my friend Khalid, speaks both the
Spaniard and the Moslem in you.” He stood up. “Until Saturday,
my lord Bey, and I wish you luck with Yasmin.”

Khalid el Bey sat pondering for a few moments after Osman had
left. The astrologer was right. Yasmin would have to be dealt with,
and the sooner the better. Rising, he called for his horses and, in
the silent midafternoon heat, he rode down to the heart of the city,
to the House of Felicity.

The building in which this famous brothel was housed was built
around a planted courtyard that had a spraying fountain at its center.
The side of the house facing the streets was white and devoid of
windows or any decoration save the double-doored entry of black-
ened oak with polished brass studs. Guarding the doors were two
huge black giants in scarlet satin pantaloons with cloth-of-gold
sashes, turbans, and ridiculously turned-up shoes. Their large bare
chests and muscular arms were oiled so that they gleamed in either sun or torchlight. They smiled broadly with flashing white teeth as
their master rode past them into the courtyard.

Khalid el Bey dismounted, tossing the reins to a pretty young girl
of ten who smiled at him in an adult and provocative fashion. Both
her feet and her budding breasts were bare, and she wore only white
gauze pantaloons that revealed her round little buttocks. A clever
innovation, he thought, for many of his Berber clients liked prepubescent girls best of all.

For a minute he stood and looked about the courtyard with a
proprietary air. Everything was in perfect order. He was pleased.
The brick walks were well swept, the shrubs well trimmed, the
flower beds colorful and fragrant.

“My lord Khalid, you honor us!” Yasmin swept down the steps
to greet him, her black-and-gold silk caftan billowing. An odor of
musk was strong about her, and he could see her vermilion-tinted
nipples through the sheer silk. Her golden hair was plaited with
black pearls, and behind one ear was a creamy gardenia. It contin-
ually amazed him that she always knew of the arrival of an important
guest, and was instantly there to greet him.

“My dear Yasmin, you are as lovely as ever.” He chuckled in-
wardly as she bridled with pleasure. “Come. I wish to talk with
you.” He led the way to her apartments, waiting patiently as she
served him coffee and small honeyed almond cakes.

At length she asked, “How is Skye?”

“That is what I have come to discuss with you,” he answered.
”I have decided she is quite unsuited for this sort of life.”

“Praise Allah! You have come to your senses!”

He smiled faintly. “You do not like Skye, do you?”

“No!”

“Then you shall not be burdened with her any longer, Yasmin.”

“You have sold her?”

“No. I am taking her to wife. The chief mullah of Algiers will
join us on Saturday evening at moonrise.”

Yasmin’s face crumbled. Then, recovering herself as quickly as
she could, she laughed weakly. “You jest, my lord. Gracious-how
you startled me! Ha! Ha!”

“I do not jest,” he said quietly. “Skye is to be my wife.”

“She is a slaver?”

“No, she is not. I have freed her. She was never meant to be a
slave, Yasmin.”

“And I was?”

“You were bom a slave of slave parents, of slave ancestors. It
is your fate.”

“I love you! Does she love you? How can she? She barely knows you. But I know you, Khalid, and I know what pleases you. Let
me!” and she fell groveling at his feet.

He looked down at her with genuine pity. Poor Yasmin with all
her clever Mideastern sexual arts for pleasing a man. Yes, he had
enjoyed them once, but they had also bored him to death. The
Mideastern mode of loving was debasing to the woman. She was
taught to please her master, who lay there, a nonparticipant except
for the automatic ejaculation of his seed. It was up to the woman
to please. The responsibility for his pleasure rested with her, and
if she failed… the bastinado awaited.

How much better, he thought, the European way, where the man
was in charge, his masculinity ruling and subduing his woman, her
climax the most marvelous act of submission. It delighted the senses
and soothed the male pride.

“I love Skye,” he said, “the decision was mine. And you, my
most beautiful and valued slave, have no right to question me.”

“What will happen to me?” she whimpered.

“Nothing. You will continue your duties as before.” After a pause
he asked, “Would you like your freedom, Yasmin? Then I should
pay you for the duties you now perform for me.”

Yasmin was horrified. Her very slavery bound her to Khalid el
Bey. Without it he could cast her off at any time, and now he
probably would.

“Oh, no! No! No, my lord! I do not want my freedom.”

“Very well then, my dear, it shall be as you decree. Now, get
up, Yasmin, and see me out.” He rose. Taking her arm, he raised
her up. “You really are invaluable to me, my dear,” he said in a
kindly fashion, and though she knew it to be a tossed bone, she was
somewhat soothed.

“When may I come and wish the lady Skye happiness?”

“I would prefer you didn’t, Yasmin. Like any sensible man, I
would prefer to keep my wife away from my business. And you,
my dear, are a part of that business.”

“I understand, my lord Khalid,” she said smoothly, and thought
bitterly to herself: Yes, I understand completely. You do not want
your precious wife associating with a whore! And I am a whore!

They walked out into the sunlit courtyard, and the little girl
brought Khalid’s horse to him. The Whoremaster of Algiers chucked
the child underneath the chin, then slipped her a silver piece. “A
nice touch, Yasmin,” he complimented her. Then, mounting the
prancing animal, Khalid el Bey rode away.

Chapter 10

In the next few days the preparations for Khalid el Bey’s
wedding were made. The few invitations were issued, the
feast and entertainment were planned, and the bridal chamber
was decorated. Since Skye’s memory loss prevented her from
having any religious preference, and since she had been a practicing
Moslem since coming under Khalid el Bey’s protection, the chief
mullah of Algiers found no impediment to the marriage.

On the afternoon of the nuptials six virgins from the House of
Felicity arrived at Khalid el Bey’s estate and were housed in the
women’s quarters. Unlike the Turks, who separated the sexes at a
wedding, the inhabitants of Algiers were less formal. Although it
was not necessary for the bride to be in attendance at the religious
ceremony, which would be performed at the neighborhood mosque,
she and other women were invited to the feast. For what was a
celebration without soft and fragrant femininity?

The little French secretary, Jean, had been given his freedom in
honor of his master’s wedding. Jean had, however, elected to remain
in Khalid’s employ rather than return to his native land. He and the
other guests were to be gifted with feminine companionship for the
evening. Khalid and Skye looked over the girls and decided the
pairing. “I think,” he said, “the pretty plump little Provencale with
the black-cherry eyes will do quite nicely for the mullah. He is yet
a young man, but inclined to be overserious and weighed down by
the importance of his position.”

“Has he no wife to ease his travail?”

“No, Skye, he has not, although I know he is not a celibate.”

“Then the choice is an excellent one, my lord, for should she
insinuate herself into his affections she will make him supremely
happy. I see beneath the youth and sensuality a proper housewife
and mother.”

Khalid chuckled. “Bravo, my Skye! I see that also, and should
God will that it be so, think how grateful the mullah will be to me
when his first son is bom! Now… for the head of the merchant’s
guild, and for my banker, the delicious blondes. Each of these
gentlemen is well into middle life. Each has a carping wife and a
houseful of greedy, brawling children and relatives. What is needed here is simple, and quite physical. Maidens whose light-colored eyes
with admiration easily, with big, soft breasts, and feather heads,
ho have only one desire, to please the master.”

Skye examined the two girls. They were fluffy creatures who
would amply fill the bill. “What of Osman and Jean?” she asked.

“The petite creature with the soft hazel eyes and thick, chestnut-
)lored hair comes from his own Brittany. They will be quite a
surprise for each other.”

“Oh, Khalid, how kind of you. The girl looks frightened, but
tan will reassure her nicely, and I will be delighted to have a friend the house.”

“Yes, she will be a friend for you. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Let me guess the others, Khalid! The sweet-faced, grave-looking
girl is for Osman!”

“Yes,” his eyes were amused.

‘Then that leaves that rather fierce-looking creature for the Turkish commandant. God, Khalid! She looks like she could devour a
ian. Is that a wise choice?”

“My love, there are many things you don’t remember about human
nature. The commandant of the Casbah fortress is a regular patron of the House of Felicity. His taste in women is, ah, somewhat
sophisticated. Easy conquest bores him. He enjoys a woman who
fights him. The girl I have chosen for him is half-Moorish, half-
berber. She is a wild little savage, and should delight him greatly.
Now, my love, see that these maidens are bathed and clothed in time
for the feast. The next time I see you, my sweet Skye, you will be
my wife.” His golden amber eyes warmed her. His mouth brushed
hers tenderly, and quickly he turned and was gone.

She sighed. He was so good to her. And she still worried that
she should not be marrying him. Something deep inside her nagged her, yet try as she might, she could not understand what it was.
sometimes in her dreams there was a man, always the same man,
butt she could never see him clearly, she could only sense him crying
out to her. It made no sense.

Sighing, she clapped her hands and the slaves came running. She
gave orders for the six girls to be bathed and perfumed. Then she
went about choosing their garments from the vast wardrobe in the
rem quarters.

For the mullah’s golden-skinned dark-haired Provengale it would apricot silk pantaloons, a gold-embroidered sash, and a boleronged in little gold beads. Because of the heat and the lateness of the feast, she could forego the gauze blouses. The choice for the
two blondes was simple: baby pink for both. For the Breton girl with
her chestnut hair and hazel eyes, apple green was perfect. For the girl chosen for Osman, a sky blue would set off her dark-blond hair.
Lastly, she chose flame-colored silks for the Turk’s maiden. Handing
the clothing to the servants, she gave orders for their distribution
and returned to her own quarters to bathe and change into her own
wedding garments.

At moonrise exactly, the chief mullah of Algiers performed the
simple ceremony uniting Khalid el Bey in marriage with Skye, who
became known from that moment as Skye muna el Khalid-Skye,
the desired of Khalid. Then the groom and his guests returned to his
house through the winding lantern-lit streets of the upper city, led
by dancing, cavorting musicians whose reedy pipes and thumping
drums pierced the dark velvet of the night.

The groom wore white silk pantaloons with silver-and-deep-blue-
embroidered bands that stopped at the knee. His feet were shod in
silver-colored leather boots. His shirt was also of white silk, open
at the neck, with full sleeves and tight cuffs, over which he wore
a white vest, embroidered in silver and blue. It was all topped by
a long white satin cape lined in dark blue. His dark head was bare,
his short black beard had been well barbered.

Behind the closed shutters along his route, maidens and matrons
alike peeped out and sighed with longing. The legendary Whore-
master of Algiers was a fairy-tale prince.

Behind Khalid el Bey walked the Turkish commandant of the
Casbah fortress, Capitan Jamil. As tall as the bey, he was heavier
set, and to the spying female eyes that watched, as sinisterly handsome as the bey was kindly. His face was long, as was.his nose.
His eyes were black and unfathomable, his mouth thin and cruel
below a slim mustache. He was known to be cruel, even brutal, in
his handling of fractious prisoners. Now, however, he strode along
with his host and the other guests, chatting amiably.

“I understand your bride is a captive.”

“Was,” came the reply, “I bought her. Now she is legally free.
And my wife.”

“I had heard you were training her for the House of Felicity. She
must be quite good at whatever she does if you have decided to
marry her.”

Khalid el Bey laughed lightly but he burned inwardly. “Skye has
no memory of her past,” he said. “At first I thought that to train a
women such as she might prove amusing. But she is actually far too
innocent for such a life. I had been considering marrying and siring
sons for some time now. But what respectable father would allow
his daughter to wed the great Whoremaster? Skye is obviously of
the upper class, wherever she comes from, and she is beautiful. Is
that not an ideal choice for my purposes?”

“I am eager to meet your bride. Khalid.”

They had reached the house now, and entered through the wide
doors into the square hall where the bey’s majordomo awaited.
’Felicitations, my lord! Long life and many sons!” he cried, ushering
hem through into the banquet hall. Waiting slaves took the men’s
cloaks, and brought silver-chased basins of rose water and soft linen
towels so they might bathe their hands and faces. Refreshed, they
;at down upon the large plump cushions strewn about the table.

“Gentlemen,” said Khalid el Bey, sitting at the head of the table,
it gives me great pleasure that you are here to share this moment
with me. I would share my happiness with you, and so I present, to each of you, for your many nights of pleasure, a virgin who has
been trained in my own House of Felicity.” He clapped his hands
and the six girls, all dressed in their butterfly colors, entered and
moved swiftly to the gentlemen for whom they were intended.

“By Allah!” swore Capitan Jamil, “you do things with style,
Khalid! Even in Constantinople I never saw such a display of elegant
manners. I shall write the Sultan tomorrow telling him.”

“Many thanks,” said Khalid carelessly. He was more pleased by
he reactions of his other guests. The head of the merchant’s guild
and the banker were pleasantly overcome by the two little blondes.
And Jean was rendered momentarily speechless by the pretty girl
who shyly greeted him not only in his own tongue, but in the dialect
peculiar to Brittany alone. The chief mullah actually had a smile on
lis face-the first time Khalid had ever seen that phenomenon! And
Osman was obviously quite taken by his maiden.

Capitan Jamil paused in his careful inspection of his “gift” to
unquire, “And your bride, Khalid? Where is she?”

As if in answer, the banquet-hall doors opened and four black
laves in red silk breechcloths entered bearing a litter. They carefully
set it down and the majordomo handed out the veiled occupant and
led her forward to sit by the bey.

Her fine silk pantaloons were the soft lavender of early wisteria,
but low. A wide band of deep violet flowers on a gold background
rose to just below her navel. She wore gold slippers embroidered
with pearl violets. Her sleeveless bodice was violet velvet trimmed In gold braid with floral embroidery done in gold and seed pearls.
he wore thin gold bracelets. A single long rope of pearls dangled
from her neck, and great matching pearl tears bobbed in her ears.
Her midnight-black hair was loose, and spinkled with gold dust. A
small mauve veil obscured her face below those marvelous eyes
shadowed in blue kohl.

“Gentlemen, my wife, the lady Skye muna el Khalid,” said Khalid
 Bey as he reached up and undid her veil.

They were momentarily stunned into silence. Everything about
her-her flawless skin, her dark blue eyes, the full red lips, the
delicate, slightly upturned nose-everything was exquisite. Finally
the banker found his voice.

“Khalid, my friend, I have four wives. If you put all of their
beauty together, it would not equal half of your wife’s loveliness.
You are a most damnably fortunate man!”

Khalid el Bey laughed happily. ‘Thank you. Memhet! Your praise
is received with joy.”

Now the servants began bringing in steaming dishes; the gold
goblets were filled with icy juices; musicians played discreetly from
behind a carved screen. A whole baby lamb had been roasted, and
was served now on a mixture of saffroned rice with onions, green
peppers, and tomatoes. There were bowls of yogurt, purple, green,
and black olives, and shelled pistachio nuts. The slaves passed hot
loaves of bread, and placed upon each guest’s plate a small whole
roasted pigeon in a nest of watercress. As the fermented fruit juices
began to relax the guests they became a bit noisier and freer, the
men feeding choice morsels from their lips to the lips of their giggling
companions.

The mullah sat on Khalid’s right, Skye on her husband’s left.
Next to her sat Capitan Jamil, who had been unable to take his eyes
off the bride. “What a pity,” he murmured softly so that only she
might hear him, “that Khalid decided to keep you for himself, my
lovely. He could have made a fortune selling your charms. I would
have paid a king’s ransom to possess you first. Still, it is good to
know the great Whoremaster of Algiers has a weakness.”

A hot flush stole up her neck and cheeks but she said nothing.
He laughed low. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever
seen, bride of Khalid el Bey. Your skin glows like mother-of-pearl.
I shall dream for many nights of your long legs and perfect little
breasts, which are like tender fruits. How I hunger to taste of those
sweet young fruits.” He leaned close to her as he reached for a
handful of olives and his upper arm deliberately rubbed against her.

“How dare you accost me in such a manner!” she hissed angrily.
”Have you no respect for my husband, who is your host? Or are
Turks totally without honor?”

He drew his breath in sharply. “Someday, my beauty, I shall have
you completely at my mercy. And when I do you will pay dearly
for that insult.”

To his annoyance, Skye did not appear frightened. She merely
signaled the servants to clear the table and serve the next course.
The coffeemaker, kneeling at his little table, began to grind the beans
and boil the water. The slaves placed upon the board colored crystal bowls filled with figs, raisins, oranges, green grapes, candied dates,
and rose petals. Silver plates of small honeyed cakes, with matching
tiny bowls of sugared almonds, were put before each guest. Goblets
rere refilled with sweet liquid fruit sherbet chilled by snow brought
from the nearby Atlas Mountains. The bey leaned over to kiss his
rife. “You have planned everything perfectly, my Skye. It is as if
you had been born to the duties of the chatelaine.”

“Perhaps I was,” she answered him softly.

The entertainment began. There were wrestlers, then jugglers,
then an Egyptian fakir who made things appear and disappear. Lastly
came the dancers. There were at least half a dozen of them to begin
nth, but in time only one very voluptuous creature remained, her
senuous body writhing passionately and more suggestively with each
moveraent. Skye became aware of the silence that had overtaken her
guests. Their chatter was gone, and the only sound in the room was
the music-the insistent whine of the pipes, the heavy beat of the
rums, the brass tals upon the dancer’s fingers teasing their challenge the musicians. Skye glanced about her and saw that some of the
redding guests had gone into the garden. Still others had begun to
rake love right there on the cushions. Blushing, she turned to her
husband. With twinkling eyes, he stood and drew her up beside him.

“I believe,” he said, “the time is ripe for us to make our escape.
tome, my love!”

“Where are we to go, Khalid?”

‘To a secret little villa that I own along the seacoast. We shall
send our honeymoon there, free of friends and business.” He hurried
her out into the cool night, stopping only to retrieve his cloak and place one of mauve silk, lined in rabbit fur, about her. Before the
house stood a great white stallion. Khalid el Bey leapt onto its back
and, reaching down, lifted his bride and placed her before him on
the saddle.

They rode down into the city and then to the sea, where they
followed the beach for several miles. The moon dappled the water.
Looking up into the velvety heavens, Skye caught her breath. The
stars seemed so big, so near, and she was tempted to reach out and
-asp a handful. Nestling in Khalid’s arms, her head against his
heart, she felt its sure and steady beat. As they rode she became
aware of a familiarity about the roar of the sea and the salty smell
the cool damp air. For some reason these sensations soothed her,
though she had no idea why they did. Khalid was silent, and she
dared not speak lest she break the spell.

Finally he turned the white stallion from the beach, and she could
see the black outline of a building on one of the bills overlooking
the sea. As they came closer, Skye saw that it was a large round kiosk, There was a pleasant air about it. Large brass lanterns with
hand-blown Venetian globes, their beeswax candles twinking a welcome, hung on either side of the silk-draped entrance.

Khalid el Bey drew rein on his horse, gently deposited his wife
on the lawn, and dismounted. “Welcome, my beloved! Welcome
to the ‘Pearl Kiosk.’ There are three rooms within-our bedchamber,
a bath, and a dayroom. It belongs to you now, Skye, for it is my
wedding gift to you.”

She was astounded. His bride’s price to her had been over-
generous, and now he gifted her with even more. She felt quite
humble in the light of such great love. Skye suddenly felt her heart
contract painfully. Looking up at him, she said, “Khalid, I do care
for you, you know. Were you a poor man I should still feel this
way, for it is your love for me that warms my heart and soothes my
spirit, not the gifts you give me, though I am grateful for them.”

“It is for just mat reason that I enjoy giving you things,” he
answered her. “You are not a greedy little creature. Come now,
sweetness, let us go in, for the night grows cool. Are you not the
least bit curious to see your new gift?”

The doorway of the Pearl Kiosk was hung with multicolored
diaphanous silks and in the entry hall was a long, narrow reflecting
pool. Looking up, Skye caught her breath, for in the roof above the
pool was a glass ceiling that matched the pool in size and shape.
Therefore, the still surface of the pool now appeared to be filled
with twinkling stars. The foyer was lit by gold and crystal lamps
similar to those on the front of the building.

They first moved through a doorway on their left, where Skye
found a beautiful dayroom with a fireplace that blazed merrily, taking
the dampness from the air. The floor was lush with thick rugs.
Colored glass lamps hung on thin chains from the gilded and beamed
ceiling. Overstuffed furniture and pillows were covered in the finest
silks and velvets, the colors like jewels-ruby, sapphire, emerald,
amethyst, and topaz. The windows that faced the landside were small
hand-blown rounds of pale-amber glass. There were low tables of
inlaid mosaic tile and great brass bowls filled with red and yellow
tulips. One small wall had a built-in bookcase filled with leather-
bound volumes, the sight of which brought a glad cry to her lips.

“So,” chuckled Khalid el Bey, “my good secretary, Jean, was not
wrong. You can read. In what languages, my beloved?”

She looked a trifle shamefaced. “Jean seemed so horrified that
I could read that I did not wish you to know. I wandered into your
library one day and, seeing the books, I picked one up and opened
it. It was French. I find that I am also able to read Spanish, Italian,
Latin, and the language Jean calls English.” She hung her head and said hesitantly, “I appear to possess another rather unfeminine trait.
It seems I also write.”

Khalid el Bey burst into laughter. “Marvelous, my Skye! Simply
marvelous! It seems that you are a very intelligent woman, and while
most men might be shocked to find themselves with such a wife,
I am not. The ways of Allah are indeed mysterious. I originally
intended to make you my most famous whore, but now I find you
are educated, so, beloved, I shall instead make you my partner!
When we return to the city I shall teach you myself, and Jean will
aid me. Should anything ever happen to me, no one will ever be
able to cheat you.” He swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly.
”What a delight you are, Skye!” he chuckled, and she felt warm and
safe and very much loved. His amber-gold eyes twinkled. “We have
yet to see our nuptial chamber,” he murmured, carrying her from
the richly appointed dayroom across the foyer. He pushed open the
carved and gilded double doors.

The room into which they now entered had walls painted to
resemble an oasis, with graceful palms, the mysterious desert dunes
beyond, and above, on the ceiling, the wonderful black velvet North
African sky had been recreated, complete with twinkling stars done
in gold luminescent paint. Skye would discover that in the sunlight
the false night sky was actually bright blue and that the stars were
not visible at all. To continue the illusion, the rugs were of thick
gold and cream wool, large potted green palms were placed stra-
tegically around the room, and the bed was partially draped to re-
semble a tent canopy. The room was very softly lit by tall lamps
that resembled lotus flowers and burned scented oils.

Without a word he slid the sleeveless violet bodice from her.
Then his hands pushed the pantaloons over her hips and, when she
had stepped from mem and pushed the little mass of silk away with
her foot, he slid to his knees. She stood still while his elegant hands
fondled her breasts. Then, moving to grasp her by the waist, he
covered her torso in hot kisses. She caught at his head and pressed
it against her wildly fluttering belly. The time for words was long
past. For a moment he simply knelt there enjoying the silken feel
of her wonderful skin, then swiftly standing he stripped off his own
clothes and they walked to the bed.

It was the beginning of an incredible week. Skye had never been
loved so tenderly, so passionately, so expertly, so completely. There
was not a part of her he did not explore and worship, and he en-
couraged her to do the same with his body. Gradually she lost her
shyness, became bold and caressed him in subtle ways that left him
moaning. They made love in the early hours of the dawn, in the heat
of the afternoon, in the dark of night. They swam naked in the foaming azure sea. They hunted antelope from horseback with their
hunting cats, beautifully trained panthers, loping by their sides.
Another discovery had been made by then-Skye could ride astride
quite expertly. Once again he gifted her, this time with an exquisite
golden Arab mare.

In the time they spent at the Pearl Kiosk they were provided for
and waited on by an army of invisible servants who saw to every
need. Delicious meals magically appeared, as did fresh clothes.
When they desired to hunt, their horses and cats awaited them at the
Kiosk front. Hot, scented baths were ready upon their return. Every-
thing was done to make this time together perfect.

On the night before their return she lay half awake, exhausted by
their lovemaking, content to listen to Khalid’s even breathing. Sud-
denly she was aware that she had never been so happy. He surrounded
her with love, security, everything she could want. Why was it,
then, that she could still not give him her heart?

They rode back into the city of Algiers on the following morning.
They were dressed identically in white. The sleek black panthers
were by their sides, leashed, but nonetheless causing a stir as they
moved through the crowded streets of the lower city. That same day,
when they had resettled themselves, Khalid el Bey took his wife into
the library where Jean sat working.

“Ho, Jean! I bring you a pupil.”

The little Frenchman looked up with a smile. “Welcome home,
my lord Khalid! Welcome home, my lady Skye! Who is to be my
pupil, and in what?”

“I want you to teach the lady Skye the intricacies of my business.
Should something ever happen to me she would be helpless without
a thorough knowledge of it. Since she can already read, write, and
speak in four languages it should not prove difficult as long as she
can grasp simple mathematics.”

“What are mathematics?” asked Skye.

“Here, mistress,” Jean wrote a simple sum on a parchment. “If
you take one hundred dinars and add to them another fifty dinars
you have-“

“One hundred and fifty dinars.” replied Skye, “and by the same
token if you have one hundred and fifty dinars and take or subtract
from them seventy-five dinars you will have remaining seventy-
five.”

The two men looked at each other in complete surprise, and Skye
said, “Is that not correct, Khalid? Have I made an error?”

“No, my Skye, you have not made an error. You are quick and
quite correct, is she not, Jean?”

“Indeed, my lord. Indeed!”

The bey laughed. “I think I leave you in good hands, my love.
Do not be too hard on my good Jean, for he is invaluable to me.”
Khalid walked from the room, laughing softly to himself.

Skye seated herself demurely at the library table, looked expec-
tantly at Jean, who was suddenly a little fearful that he had that
rarest of creatures on his hands-an intelligent woman. Drawing a
deep breath, he plunged into the business at hand.

For the next few weeks Skye spent most of her days with Khalid
and Jean, closeted in the library, and she suddenly understood the
true nature of her husband’s business. She was shocked for a while.
Then, realizing that Khalid had not invented prostitution, she ac-
cepted it.

She quickly understood that each house Khalid owned had to be
treated as a separate entity. Those located on the waterfront, serving
sailors of all nations, were provisioned far differently from the House
of Felicity. The waterfront brothels served only beer, but in the
House of Felicity and its two sister houses, the menu was quite
varied. Even the women varied with the different establishments.
On the waterfront, pretty but sturdy peasant girls were the choice,
girls who might easily service two dozen men a day without ill
effect.

Young women bought for Khalid’s more elegant brothels were
all beauties carefully schooled in proper Arabic and French so they
might converse well. They were also taught good manners, hygiene,
and elegant ways of dressing. Their sexual skills were excellent.
The men who bought their company bought it for an entire evening.

All of Khalid el Bey’s waterfront brothels worked their women
five days a week and allowed them rest for two days. This neces-
sitated keeping records on who was working and who was not. Each
of these women received a hundredth portion of the fee collected
for her services each night, and at the end of five years was given
her freedom and the monies accrued. Most married and settled down.
Some, however, took to the streets and were quickly lost. Others
hired themselves out to lesser brothels and quickly found themselves
overworked and disease-ridden. Most brothel keepers were not as
careful with their women as Khalid el Bey, who kept two Moorish
doctors on his staff and had his women checked weekly for the pox.

All of this meant voluminous records, and Skye found herself
becoming very interested in her husband’s business dealings. His
brothels involved not only the care and well-being of people and
property but the provisioning of those people and the upkeep of the
oroperty.

Problems were tripled in the more elegant brothels, for the women
here had to be exquisitely clothed and jeweled. They needed oil baths and wore only the finest perfumes. But despite his vast outlay,
Khalid el Bey was a rich man. Profits far exceeded expenses. And
these profits had to be invested.

This was the thing that interested Skye the most, the investment
of her husband’s funds. Some of the money was placed with a
goldsmith, Judah ben Simon. Some of it had been put into portable
wealth such as loose gem stones. The rest was invested with the
adventure ships belonging to an Englishman called Robert Small.
It was shortly after their return from the Pearl Kiosk that Skye met
this bluff sea captain.

One night as she and Khalid sat listening to love songs sung by
a sweet-voiced slave girl, an uproar ensued from the courtyard of
the house. Her husband leaped to his feet laughing and Skye could
hear a booming voice saying, “Now, laddie, your master may be
a-laying,with one qf his fancy pieces, but believe me, he’ll stop to
see me. Out of my way! Damme, Khalid, you old Moor. Where are
you?” The door to the chamber flew open and’ a tiny-legged man
strode into the room.

He was a most fantastic sight. His colorful clothes included puffed
and slashed red velvet breeches, black silk stockings, a red velvet
doublet embroidered in gold and silver thread, a long cape, and a
flat hat with an egret plume. On a tall man the clothing might not
have been so fantastic, but Robert Small stood only five feet tall.
Powerfully built, he had sandy-brown hair and his eyes were a
snapping blue. His round, weathered face was mischievous and
kindly while also being the homeliest Skye had ever seen. The little
man was as freckled as a thrush’s egg. “Ha! There you be, Khalid,
and as usual you’ve got some rare beauty by your side.”

“Robbie, you’re a wicked old man, and so I’ve no compunction
in springing this surprise on you. The ‘rare beauty’ is my wife!”

“God assoil my soul, Khalid el Bey! True?” The bey nodded, and
the Englishman bowed low to Skye. “My humblest apologies,
madam. I hope you’ll not think ill of me.” Then, realizing he’d
spoken English, he said, “Khalid. I know not what language your
lady speaks. You’ll tell her for me?”

‘There is no need, sir,” said Skye sweetly. “I fully comprehend
you, and am not in the least offended. It’s quite natural you should
think me a whore, considering the nature of my husband’s business.
Now, however, you will excuse me, for I imagine you’ve much to
talk about with my lord.” She rose gracefully and, smiling mis-
chievously, left the room.

The little Englishman chuckled. “How,” he asked, “did a renegade
Spaniard-tumed-Arab end up with an Irish wife?”

“Irish? Skye is Irish?”

“God almighty, man! Didn’t she tell you?”

“She doesn’t know, my old friend. Several months ago I bought
myself a rather bedraggled and frightened waif from a corsair captain.
He had gotten her from an outbound captain who claimed to have
captured her in a skirmish. He knew nothing of her history. When
Skye regained her full senses she had no memory excepting her
name.”

“And so you married her! Lord, man, you’re a romantic at heart.”

“Wrong!” Khalid el Bey poured the Englishman a tiny cup of
sweet Turkish coffee. “I had intended to make her the finest and
most expensive whore the world had ever seen.”

Robert Small sucked his breath in sharply. “Did you indeed,
laddie? And pray tell what stopped you?”

“I fell in love with her, my friend. Not with just her face and
luscious body, but with the woman I began to see emerging. She
is without guile, and generous as well. She is also the least greedy
female I have ever known, and when she looks at me with those
marvelous blue eyes of hers I am lost, Robbie! Very soon, the
thought of anyone other than myself touching her enraged me. I
found that I wanted children and a loving wife, like a normal man.”

“God help you, then, my friend, for you have a weakness now,
and your enemies will use it against you. As long as the great
Whoremaster of Algiers showed no vulnerability he was inviolable.”

“Don’t fret, Robbie, I have no enemies. Even my women respect
me.”

“Don’t be a fool, Khalid!” It was said sharply. “All wealthy and
powerful men have enemies. Look closely to yourself and to that
beauty you’ve married.”

For a few minutes the two men sat silently sipping their coffee,
then Robert Small spoke. “I’ve made you richer again, Khalid. The
ships we sent to the New World have returned laden with precious
metals, jewels, and furs. The ones that traveled south returned with
spices, slaves, and gemstones. I have, as usual, saved the cream of
the female slaves for you to see.”

Khalid el Bey was all business now. “Did we lose any ships or
men?”

“No ships, but three men were lost on the Swan, off the Horn.
It was a particularly bad storm, the captain tells me, but he didn’t
lose one slave.”

“Good! And you, Robbie, how was your voyage?”

The captain chuckled and stretched his short frame out on the
pillows, his hands behind his head. “Ah, Khalid, I wish you’d been
with me. How often you’ve warned me of men’s greed, and the
vulnerability that greed brings in. And you were right! I found us a mine manager in the Spanish Americas who is a younger son with
no hope other than to end his days a rum-soaked wreck. His oldest
brother, their father’s heir, married the girl he loved, and then ar-
ranged for him to be sent from Spain. He burns for vengeance, and
so he has agreed to help us obtain six shiploads of gold for a per-
centage and passage back to Europe. It was a cheap price to pay,
Khalid. We filled three ships this trip, and I’ve already sent three
other ships.”

“And how did this young don cover the theft? And how can we
be sure he’ll not betray us?”

“The first theft was covered by causing a mine to cave in. It’ll
take months to clear it out, by which time we’ll have returned for
the second load from the other mine. It will not matter if the Spaniards
learn then that they have been robbed, for we’ll be all long gone by
that time. The young don has a half-Spanish, half-Indian mistress
he intends to marry and take to Paris with him. He can live quite
well on what we pay him.

“The mines he oversees give up the purest gold I’ve ever seen,
Khalid! The other ships in our fleet have carried back the finest furs
imaginable, along with basketsful of turquoise, coral, jade, ame-
thyst, emeralds, and topaz. I have, as usual, saved a choice selection
of furs and gems for you, along with some excellent Indian pearls
and spices from the Southern fleet. Everything else has been disposed
of through our regular channels, and your monies are already with
your banker.”

“You are generous, Robbie, and quite thorough, as always. Per-
haps you will allow me to do a little something for you now. Your
ship was sighted by friends of mine this morning, and I knew you
would be with me by evening. Go to the House of Felicity, and you
will find a surprise waiting for you.”

The Englishman grinned delightedly. “Ah, Khalid, you didn’t
have to go to any trouble.”

The Whoremaster of Algiers grinned back, “She’s quite to your
liking, Robbie. Go along now so I may rejoin my own lady.”

The captain scrambled to his feet. “If my surprise is that good
I’ll not be seeing you for several days, Khalid,” and he was quickly
gone.

Khalid el Bey stretched his long body in a catlike movement and
called, “Skye!” She appeared immediately from behind a wall hang-
ing, and sat down next to him. “You heard,” said her husband.

“Yes, my lord. If this story is true then you are indeed fortunate
to have such a partner.”

“You can trust Robert Small with your life, my Skye. He is the most honest man I know. He has never cheated me. It is simply not
in his nature.”

“What awaits him at the House of Felicity? Have you found him
some petite creature to soothe and comfort him?”

Khalid laughed. “No! Though Robbie is a bit of a man, he likes
big, tall women. The maiden awaiting him stands six feet and has
breasts like summer melons. I’ve been given to understand that
Robbie’s rod is as big as any man’s, so they will both enjoy them-
selves.”

They laughed together, imagining the little man and his Amazon
mistress locked in sweet combat. Then as easily as they had begun
to laugh they stopped, and she was in his arms again. He kissed her
until she ached for him. His hands slid beneath her sheer pale-blue
silk caftan, his long fingers teasing her nipples until she whimpered.

“Look at me, Skye,” he commanded softly, and she struggled to
raise her heavy-lidded eyes to him. “You are my wife, beloved, and
I love you.”

Now, for the first time, she looked deep into his warm amber
eyes and realized mat she felt deeply toward Khalid. With this
startling realization, the heartache that had assailed her continually
ever since she’d awakened to her new life in Algiers seemed to
dissolve, leaving her feeling as light as a feather. She loved! This
was what love was, and she could remember it! Her eyes filled with
happy tears and she said wonderingly, “Oh, Khalid! I love you, too!
I do! I know that now!” And pulling his dark head down to hers,
she kissed him deeply. He, feeling her certain, unwavering love,
found his passion bursting into an unquenchable flame.

Beneath his eager touch the silk of her robe tore away and bis
hands and mouth began their worshipful adoration of her. He loos-
ened her lovely dark hair and spread it over the apricot velvet pillows.
Then his long fingers gently traced her high cheekbones, moving
down the fine line of her jaw to capture her small chin.

‘Tell me again, Skye,” he said softly.

Her sapphire eyes caught his amber-gold ones and held them
unwaveringly. “I love you, my lord Khalid.” she said firmly. “I love
you!” Then she kissed him again, her little tongue teasing his mouth.
He could feel her small round breasts rubbing against his chest and,
unable to refuse the invitation, he lowered his head and nibbled on
the hard, quivering nipples. His tongue pushed into her little navel
and she eagerly thrust her torso toward him. He moved lower yet,
his mouth seeking that most secret core. Tasting her seashell-like
fragrance, his tongue darted like wildfire over the moist dark pink
flesh. She whimpered, half in agony, half in ecstasy, her fingers catching at the dark hair of his head as he relentlessly pushed her
beyond endurance. Amazingly, she did not shatter into a thousand
pieces. She soared higher than she had ever done before. Then with
great tenderness he kissed the soft inside of her thighs, pulled himself
up over her, and gently took her.

Skye was frantic with unfulfilled passion. She had never known
such love as this. Or had she? Her mind whirled in confusion, but
Khalid’s warm body soon overcame that. What difference did it
make if she had loved before? Khalid was her husband. He loved
her, and she loved him. Why should she torture herself with vague,
flickering memories? All that mattered was now.

“Skye! Skye! Come with me, my darling! Now! Now!”

She met his ardor with her own, soaring as he did. Afterward,
as she lay sated, she said quietly, “I want a child, Khalid.”

He smiled in the darkness. This was further proof of her love.
”I shall endeavor, my love, to give you everything you want-
especially children.”

Suddenly she laughed happily and, propping herself up on an
elbow, looked down into his golden eyes. “I love you, and am loved
in return,” she said. “Whatever has been before in my life can matter
little in the light of this love. If it were important, then surely I
should have remembered it all by now. I know who I am. I am
Skye, the beloved wife of Khalid el Bey, the great Whoremaster of
Algiers.”

Chapter 11

Niall Burke lay weakly back upon the scented linen pillows
and, focusing his silvery eyes clearly for the first time in
weeks, gazed out at the distant blue mountains. The landscape
outside his window was a riot of lush vegetation. Pink and
red hibiscus, cloyingly sweet gardenias, spicy roses, and crisp lav-
ender were all growing in a wild mass that spread upward from the
gardens to the flowering vines that clung to the villa wall. It was
all so vibrant.

Now, totally immersed in the sights and smells, the shrieking of
the darting parrots, Niall knew he would live. And fervently he
wished he were dead.

The carved oak door of his room opened then, admitting a young
girl whose big eyes lit up at the sight of him.

“Ah, Senor Niall. At last you are fully awake. I am Constanza
Maria Alcudia Cuidadela. My papa is the governor of this island,
and you are in his house.” She put a tray on the nearby table.

Feeling like a fool, Niall was forced to ask, “What island is this?”

The girl blushed in pretty pink confusion. “Oh, senor, forgive
me! You are on the island of Mallorca.”

“How did I come to be here?”

“You were brought to us from the fleet in which you traveled by
a Captain MacGuire. He explained you are a great lord.”

Niall forced back a small smile. “Is MacGuire still here, Senorita
Constanza?”

“Si, Senor Niall. Although the rest of your fleet sailed weeks
ago, he refused to leave you. He said his mistress would not forgive
him if he did. Would you like to see him?”

Niall nodded and the girl pulled the embroidered bellpull by his
bed. “Fetch the Irish captain at once, Ana,” she instructed the an-
swering servant, then moved to straighten Niall’s pillows. She wore
a rose fragrance, which caused a sharp pain to tear through Niall.
Constanza poured something from the frosty majollica pitcher into
a silver goblet.

“It is the juice of the oranges from our garden,” she said. “Drink
it. It will give you strength.” She gracefully handed the goblet to
him, then sat and drew a small embroidery frame from a hidden
pocket in her gown and began to stitch.

He drank, and was pleasantly surprised by the cool, tart sweetness
that slid down his parched throat. He studied the seated girl over the
goblet. She was, he decided, about fifteen, and very lovely. She was
quite petite, with a tiny waist and generous breasts. Her skin was
a pale golden shade, her hair a darker gold, and her eyes were the
color of purple pansies.

He let his eyes wander about the room. It was spacious and
pleasant with white walls and a red tile floor. On one wall was a
large dark wood armoire with intricately carved doors, and a long
walnut table stood before the French doors opposite his silk-draped
bed. There were two chairs by the table and an embroidered chaise
Iongue by the bed.

“Is the juice good, Senor Niall? May I pour you more?”

“Thank you,” he answered politely. Dammit to hell, where was
MacGuire? As if in answer to his silent summons, the door flew
open to admit the captain and Inis. With a joyous bark, the dog
leaped onto the bed and lay down beside Niall, his tail thumping
happily.

“So, lad, you’ve decided to remain among the living! Praise be
to God!”

“Skye? Where is she?” MacGuire looked most uncomfortable.

Sighing, he admitted, “We
don’t know where the O’Malley is, my lord. When the infidels shot
you down our first concern was to get you safely aboard. We knew
they couldn’t outrun us. But no sooner had we gotten you back to
the ship man a damned rain squall hit, and we lost the bastards in
a fog bank. We were nearer Mallorca, and so we brought you here.
The rest went on to Algiers, but alas, sir, no trace has been found
yet of the O’Malley.”

For a moment, all was silence. Then Niall said, fiercely and
simply, “I’ll find her! I’ll find her!” And he swung his legs over the
edge of the bed trying to rise. Inis whined.

Constanza Alcudia Cuidadela rose swiftly and sped to his side.
”No, No! Senor Niall. You will reopen your wound. It is still not
totally healed.” She slipped an arm about his back and gently forced
him back to the bed. “Fetch my papa immediately,” she hissed
angrily at the stricken captain. “Ana, help me get the senor back
into bed.” She fussed about him like a little mother hen, puffing
the pillows and smoothing the coverlet, and despite his anxiety he
was amused by this little creature whose concern for him was so
touching. “For shame, senor!” she scolded. “Ana and I have worked
so hard to make you well! Why do you allow your captain to agitate
you? If you cannot remain calm then I will not let him in to see you
again.”

He realized then that, although he was speaking Spanish with
her, he had spoken Gaelic with MacGuire. She hadn’tunderstood.
He felt suddenly weak, but wanted her to understand. “My betrothed
wife was kidnapped when I was injured,” he said. “MacGuire tells
me she has not yet been found.” It was several moments before she
spoke.

“You love her very much, Senor Niall?”

“Yes, Senorita Constanza,” he replied gently. “I love her very
much.”

“Then I shall make a novena to the Holy Virgin that she is found
soon,” the girl said gravely, and Niall thought again how sweet the
child was.

MacGuire quickly returned bringing an older gentleman with him.
The man was of medium height with a short, dark, tailored beard,
dark hair, and the coldest black eyes Niall had ever seen. He was
dressed richly but soberly, his short velvet cape edged in a wide
band of deep brown fur.

“Lord Burke,” the voice was as cold as the eyes. “I am the Conde

Francisco Cuidadela, and I am happy to see you conscious at last.
Captain MacGuire tells me, however, that you are agitated about
your betrothed. It is best that you hear the truth now.”

“Papa!” the girl’s voice was pleading. “Senor Niall is not yet
strong enough.”

“Silence, Constanza! How dare you presume to advise me? You
will come to me after vespers for punishment, and then you are to
spend the night in the chapel meditating on filial respect and obe-
dience.”

The girl hung her head, beaten. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

“Your betrothed wife is lost to you forever, Lord Burke, and the
sooner you are able to accept this the better off you will be. Should
she be found you could not possibly want her back. If she is alive,
she has by now been defiled by the infidel, and no decent Catholic
could live with that.”

“No!”

“Be reasonable, Lord Burke. Captain MacGuire tells me the lady
was a widow. Without the protection of virginity-for purity brings
a very high price among the infidels-she was probably raped by
at least the captain and officers of the ship that kidnapped her. If
she survived that and was beautiful, then rest assured that she was
sold into slavery. If she is still alive, she now graces some pasha’s
bed. It is not possible mat you could want a woman like that back,
even if she could be found. Under these circumstances, the holy
Church would not hold you to your betrothal. The lady is as lost to
you as if she were dead, and in all likelihood she is dead.”

“Get out!”

The Conde bowed from the waist. “Your grief is understandable,
Lord Burke. I shall leave you to it. You will soon see the wisdom
of my words. Come, Constanza!” And he swept from the room, his
daughter meekly behind him.

Niall Burke watched the door close behind the Conde and his
daughter. For a moment the silence hung heavy in the room, then
he said grimly, “All right MacGuire, talk! I’m no child to be whee-
dled, and if I’ve lived this long, you can bloody well be sure I’m
going to survive. Where is the O’Malley fleet, and what’s this non-
sense about Skye being lost forever, and how the hell long have I
been here anyway? Speak up, man, or I’ll tear the tongue from your
head!”

“You’ve been ill six weeks, my lord.”

“Jesu!” swore Niall.

“The fleet went directly to Algiers and we were able to obtain
an immediate audience with the Dey. He was most sympathetic and
sent to every slave merchant in the city, offering a king’s ransom for the O’Malley’s return, or at least information leading to her
return. It was like hollering down a rabbit hole, my lord-not even
an echo. The Dey came to the same conclusion the Conde has. She
never reached Algiers alive. What other answer is there?” Here his
voice broke, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

In truth, MacGuire was more distressed by something he dared
not tell the seriously ill Lord Burke. It seemed that there was one
other possibility about the O’Malley’s fate. The Dey had told him
that Skye might have reached Algiers alive and then been sold pri-
vately. Private sale of captives was strictly illegal because it cheated
several people, including the Dey himself, of their shares in the
purchase price. But private sales were managed, especially sales of
beautiful women. MacGuire reasoned that, if this had happened to
Skye, then the Dey would not be able to trace her.

“I don’t want to believe it, my lord, but if Mistress Skye is alive
then where is she?”

Niall Burke was stunned. Skye dead? No! Not Skye. Not his
vibrant Skye with her Kerry-blue eyes and her proud spirit. No! His
shoulders began to shake as the dry sobs took hold and racked him
mercilessly. Stumbling from the bed, he lurched across the room,
through the French doors and out onto the terrace. All around him
everything throbbed with life and they said his Skye was dead!
Clutching the cool marble balustrade, he howled his frustration and
anger at the unfairness of it all, howled and shouted until his voice
was so hoarse that he made no sounds at all.

He felt an arm about him, heard a soft voice making soothing
sounds he could not comprehend, allowed himself to be led back
inside where he barely reached the bed before he collapsed, uncon-
scious. Constanza Cuidadela shook her head as she drew the covers
over him. She felt his forehead.

“The fever is back, Captain MacGuire. You must sit with him
tonight for my father will not excuse me from my punishment. I will
tell you what to do.”

MacGuire nodded. “He’s not an easy man, your father.”

The girl did not reply. She went quietly about her business, caring
for the unconscious Niall. Smoothing the pillows first, she next
tucked the sheets about her patient and, finally, placed the frosted
pitcher on the bedside table.

“You can do very little, Captain, except to keep him as quiet and
as comfortable as possible. Ana will bring a basin of scented water
shortly, and she’ll come again during the night.” The vespers bells
began to toll, and Constanza said, “I must go. When the fever breaks,
change his nightshirt and the sheets. Ana will help.” And then she
was gone.

MacGuire tended Niall throughout the night. Strangely, Niall was
not restless, but lay ominously quiet as the burning fever consumed
his big body. Diligently the O’Malley captain cared for his charge,
bathing his forehead regularly with the cool, scented water, gently
forcing the sweet juice down his throat. During the night, the servant
woman, Ana, appeared regularly, bringing fresh water and juice for
the sick man. Once she brought a tray for MacGuire with a small
cold chicken, bread, fruit, and a carafe of sweet golden wine.

As she silently placed his tray on the long walnut table, MacGuire
asked, “How is the lass?”

Ana’s black eyes blazed. “She prays in the chapel for your master,
senor,” she said tersely. Then she left.

MacGuire ate hungrily, drank half the carafe, and returned to
Niall’s bedside. Toward dawn he dozed in his chair only to be
startled awake by a great cry of anguish. Lord Burke sat straight up
in the bed, his eyes tightly shut, the tears pouring down his face.
He sobbed bitterly, “Skye! Skye! Don’t leave me, beloved! Come
back! Come back!”

MacGuire was immobilized for a moment by the terrible anguish.
Then he reached out and shook the weeping man gently. “My lord!
My lord! It’s only a bad dream.”

Gradually Niall quieted, and finally he lay back. His forehead
was cool to the touch. Relieved, MacGuire struggled to change his
sleeping friend’s damp nightshirt.

After the first mass of the new day, Constanza appeared to check
on her patient. Ana was with her. Constanza praised the worn cap-
tain. “You have done well, Captain MacGuire. Go and rest. I will
tend to Senor Niall now.”

“But you had no rest either, lass,” protested MacGuire. “You
must sleep. He’s out of danger now. A servant can keep watch.”
He put a fatherly arm about her to lead her toward the door, and
was shocked when she winced. A thin red line began to show through
the sleeve of her gown, and the captain’s eyes widened.

“Aye!” snapped Ana. “The Conde beat my sweet Constanza last
night.”

“Ana!” The girl was flushed with shame. “He is my father, and
it is a father’s duty to chastise an erring child. I challenged his
authority. I was wrong.”

“She is a saint, my nina. The Conde enjoys hurting her!”

“Ana! Please! If you are overheard he will send you away, and
you are all I have.”

The serving woman compressed her lips tightly, sighed, and nod-
ded. MacGuire spoke again. “Has the Conde gone to his duties as
the island’s governor?” The women nodded. “Then, Senorita Constanza, I shall strike a bargain with you. I shall keep watch over
Lord Burke until the afternoon siesta while you sleep upon the chaise
longue. When afternoon comes, I shall go to my own rooms.”

Ana smiled broadly. The captain was muy simpatico to her Constanza.

Therefore, to Ana, he was a good man, a man to be trusted.
A few minutes later she left the young girl sleeping comfortably,
MacGuire guarding both Constanza and Niall.

In the late afternoon when the long mauve shadows were begin-
ning to form and the midday heat to abate, Niall Burke opened his
silvery eyes again. He instantly remembered where he was and the
circumstances that had brought him here. A great burst of sadness
washed through him, and he sighed deeply.

“How do you feel, Senor Niall?”

He looked to the slim girl. “Like the very devil, nina, but I seem
to be alive, so I’d best get on with this business of living.”

“Was she very beautiful, your betrothed?” The directness of the
question was like salt in an open wound, and he winced. Drawing
a deep breath, he replied, “She was the loveliest creature imaginable,
nina. Her hair was like a black storm cloud. Her skin was like a
gardenia flower in texture and color, and her eyes were the wonderful
deep blue of the seas off Ireland. She was kind yet proud. And not
only was she my dearest love, she was also my best friend, and I
shall miss her for all the days of my life.”

Constanza’s eyes were bright with tears. “I can only hope,” she
said softly, “that someday a man will love me like that.”

“I can see no reason why one wouldn’t, nina. I cannot understand
why you are not already married. How old are you?”

“Fifteen, Senor Niall.”

“And have not half the eligible young dons on this island already
sued your father for your hand? Or are they all blind?”

She smiled shyly, then blushed. “There will be no offer for me,
Senor Niall,” she said sadly. “My father long ago destroyed any
chances of marrying I might have had. Last night when he told you
about your betrothed you undoubtedly thought him harsh, but your
plight brought back to him something he would much rather forget.

“Almost sixteen years ago the Moorish pirates raided this island,
and when they left they took my mother as one of their captives.
My father had been deeply in love with her, and he was frantic. He
was able to ransom her six weeks later.

“I was born six months later. Though she swore before the priest
and on every saint in the calendar, even on the Holy Mother’s name,
that the pirates had not touched her, my father could not bring himself
to really believe her. Not ever. As she grew bigger with her preg-
nancy, he grew more distant toward her. She adored him, and it broke her heart. She lived just long enough to give me life, and then
she died like a snuffed-out candle.

“The irony is that I look like her. Every day of my life I have
been a living reproach to my father. In turn, he has held me responsible for my mother’s death and he has cast enough doubt on
my paternity that no decent family on Mallorca would allow their
son to offer for me.

“I am his child, though. That is certain. Ana was my mother’s
servant before she was my nurse. She came with my mother from
Castile when Mother was married to Father. She was with her the
entire time Mother was kidnapped, and she swears to me that my
mother knew no man but my father.”

Suddenly Constanza stopped. She blushed beet-red. Realizing the
cause of her embarrassment, Niall Burke said quietly, “Don’t regret
your words, nina. I have always been the kind of man to whom
women talk. I understand now your father’s words. He is a harsh
man, but he meant to tell me the truth.”

The girl knelt by his bedside, her lovely oval face turned up to
him. “I am so sorry, Senor Niall. I know how sad the loss of your
betrothed wife is to you, but God has willed that you live. We will
both pray for your Skye’s immortal soul, but you must also promise
me that you will now get well.”

Niall Burke was touched by her honest concern. He put his big
hand over her small one. “Very well, Constanzita, I promise, but
you must promise to help me. Will you?”

The hand beneath his trembled slightly, and she flushed a most
becoming pink as her dark-gold lashes brushed her cheeks. “If you
wish it,” she said low.

“I wish it,” he answered, releasing her hand.

In the next few weeks he grew stronger. The fever finally left his
body, and his appetite increased. Eventually he was able to leave
his bed and walk about his room. Then came the day that he ventured
into the gardens. That afternoon was the happiest time he could
remember in many weeks. He and Constanza, chaperoned by Ana,
sat on the grass and picnicked on small meat pastries, juicy green
grapes, and a delicate rose wine. Niall told them stories of his
boyhood in Ireland, and for the first time he heard Constanza laugh,
a sweet trill of genuine mirth, as he told them a particularly amusing
story about his youthful hijinks. He began to sleep again at night,
and the nightmares of seeing Skye struggling in the grasp of the
Barbary pirates began to fade away.

The O’Malley’s fleet put into Mallorca’s capital city of Palma
again. They had spent several months in Algiers seeking their mis-
tress, but in the end they had had to leave without even any information. The Dey, however, had given the O’Malley family rich
concessions in hopes of placating them. It seemed there was no hope
of finding the O’Malley alive. The Irish ships would sail home
shortly under the leadership of Captain MacGuire. Niall, however,
was still not considered strong enough for the voyage.

Niall entrusted Inis to MacGuire and gave the captain a lengthy
letter to his father, pouring out his grief and closing with the ad-
monition, “Make no contracts for me. I will, in time, do my duty
by the family.” Then, with a strange sense of loss, Niall Burke bid
the O’Malley fleet farewell, watching from the terrace of the Conde’s
garden as the ships sailed out to sea.

Niall saw little of his host and was glad, for the cold Spanish don was not a man whose company Niall enjoyed.

One day Constanza suggested that he might feel up to riding, and.
he delightedly agreed. That afternoon he found himself upon a spir-
ited roan red Arabian stallion, cantering through a field of colorful
windflowers and anemones. Constanza rode with him, mounted on
an elegant little white Arabian mare. She was a fine horsewoman
with a good sure seat and gentle but firm hands.

In the heat of the afternoon they stopped in a meadow above the
sea to rest their horses and eat the light luncheon Ana had packed.
Constanza lay a little white cloth over the grass and set out their
luncheon of crusty bread, soft ripe cheese, peaches, pears, and white
wine. Niall unsaddled the horses so that they could rest. A tall, leafy
tree shaded them all, and the air was heavy with the scent of wild
thyme.

They ate in silence. After the meal Constanza spoke, “Soon you
will leave us. Where will you go? Back to your Ireland?”

A small shadow flitted across his face. “Not right away, nina.
I shall travel for a bit before I go back. But go back I must, for I
am my father’s only heir. My first marriage was annulled. My second
never made.”

“You will find happiness, Senor Niall. I pray every night to the
Blessed Mother for you.”

He cupped her face with a warm hand. “What a sweet creature
you are, my Constanzita.”

She blushed and pressed her cheek against his hand. Suddenly
he wanted to kiss her, and he did. Pulling the girl into his arms, he
bent his head down-found her mouth. She was trembling wildly,
but she did not struggle. Emboldened, he gently parted her lips and
plunged into the sweet cavern, seeking, finding, stroking the girl’s
satiny tongue with his own. One arm held her fast as a hand sought
her full, young breasts.

Constanza tore her head away, gasping for air. Frantically she sought his hands. But it wasn’t Niall she feared, it was herself. Niall
Burke was a gentleman, and one word from her would halt him, yet
she could not bring herself to say the word. No man had ever before
kissed or touched her as he was doing. Her heart was pounding and
she feared it might burst. Yet she did not stop him. His mouth was
again on hers, tenderly searing her soul with a passion she had never
even suspected she could feel. His fingers were undoing the laces
of her bodice, gently pulling down her chemise.

Niall was amazed by the girl’s easy acquiescence. He was positive
she was innocent, yet she seemed to welcome his advances. He felt
a momentary guilt but pushed it away. Skye was dead, he was alive,
and Constanza Cuidadela was fresh and sweet. His eyes feasted on
her young breasts, beautiful golden orbs, their proud dark-coral
nipples tight like unopened rosebuds. Almost reverently, he caressed
and kissed them, delighting in her soft cry. Constanza felt an unfamiliar tightness building within her. It
frightened her a little. She did not want him to stop, but suddenly
he did.

“You are a virgin, aren’t you, nina?” Her blush gave him his
answer. “I will not dishonor you, Constanza,” he told her gravely.
”It would not be right if I spoiled you for your future husband,
especially after your kindness to me. I had no right to do what I
have just done. For that I ask your forgiveness and your understand-
ing.”

Constanza sat very still, making no attempt to cover herself. In
the meadow the roan stallion screamed defiantly and brutally
mounted the white mare, biting her silken neck and thrusting his
great organ into her. Constanza rose and deftly shed the rest of her
clothes. They lay in a colorful heap about her trim ankles. She
looked at Niall proudly.

“I want you to do to me what your stallion does to my mare,”
she said softly.

Niall Burke felt the aching hardness in his groin. It would take
a saint to refuse such an invitation, and he was no saint. Still, he
was no rake, either. Then the idea was bom in him. Why not? he
thought. I will have to sooner or later. And so he said, “Will you
be my wife, Constanzita?” “Yes,” she answered. He stood up, towering over her, and slowly
pulled off his own clothes. She watched him, curious. Having no
brothers, she had no certain knowledge of male anatomy. Before her
amazed eyes his masculinity rose proudly like a battle flag. He took
her hand, saying tenderly, ‘Touch it, nina. I promise it won’t bite
you… though it will love you well.”

Her small hand closed about him, gently, virginally curious. He held his breath, afraid of frightening her. Her warm little hand
cradled him, fondling him with innocent expertise, and he could not
restrain an intense groan. Startled, she let go.

“I have hurt you!”

“Nay, lovey, you pleasure me beyond all,” and he drew her into
his arms and kissed her again. Her round breasts, hard now with her
mounting passion, rubbed against his dark furred chest until the little
nipples were raw with desire. Her torso pressed tightly against him
like burning silk, trembling weakly as her legs began to give way.
But her voice was low and strong.

“Take me, my Niall. Take me like the stallion took my mare!”

He lowered her to the ground, then knelt beside her. Her violet
eyes were wide with wonder as he bent his head to catch a little
nipple in his mouth. Slowly he sucked on it, watching with narrowed
silver eyes as her breath came in short little gasps and her hips began
to twitch. A caressing hand moved down her fevered body, and she
jumped as he touched that most secret of places. His finger pushed
through the soft defensive folds, rubbing insistently, and Constanza
thought she was going to faint.

Her heart was leaping about wildly, and she was being buffeted
by a great storm of new feelings, the like of which she’d never
known. Her belly ached, and between her legs where his hand teased
she ached in a different way. When he gently put his long finger
into her she was relieved, but when he withdrew, the ache was worse
and she whimpered.

“All right, lovey,” he said softly, “I will make it better now,”
and he mounted her, parting her trembling thighs, and slowly entered
her. She opened herself to him like a flower. Her eyes never left his
face even when he reached her tight, little virgin shield and pierced
it, swiftly, so as to give her less hurt.

Constanza felt the slow, burning pain spread quickly up her, and
she cried out. His lips covered her protest, his tongue probing her
mouth, matching the rhythm of his throbbing spear. Something won-
derful was happening to her, and she eagerly thrust her hips upward
to meet his fierce downward thrusts. The pain was gone, and she
was soaring like a bird in flight. Her little hands grasped his tight
buttocks to bring him closer, and at the moment of her climax she
tore her head away from him, shrieking her joy. Then she fainted.

Niall Burke lay panting in astounded exhaustion. Never had he
experienced such passion in a virgin, and she had certainly been a
virgin, as the blood on her thighs attested. Now she lay drained and
unconscious. He studied her for a moment, this girl who would be
his wife. She was certainly lovely, and although he wasn’t entirely
sure he liked her excessive passion she would certainly be a better bedsport than poor Darragh had been. The MacWilliam might be
angered momentarily by a surprise bride, but if Niall was lucky he
would bring her home to Ireland with a babe in her belly or at her
breast. In that case, all would be forgiven.

She was barely breathing, and he pulled her into his arms to warm
her, to awaken her. Her eyelids fluttered as she began her slow
return to consciousness. He held her close, murmuring soft little
words of endearment, and as her eyes opened to focus on his face,
she blushed furiously.

“Oh, Niall, what must you think of me? But, oh, it was won-
derful!”

He laughed. “What I think, nina, is that I am a very lucky man.
You were quite magnificent. How do you feel, lovey?”

“I flew, Niall! I really flew! I feel so happy now, and I want to
do it again!”

He chuckled. “We shall fly together again, lovey, but I think
perhaps it would be best now if we returned to Palma. I must ask
your father’s permission to marry you.” He stood up and began to
pull his clothes on, but it was not easy to concentrate when Constanza
lay naked at his feet on her bed of meadow flowers and soft green
grass. He finally managed to return some measure of order to his
garb and, holding out his hand, he said, “Come, madam, and I will
maid you.”

She stood, and he was again enchanted by the perfection of her
slim body. Slowly she pulled on her undergarments, then the dress
skirt, and lastly the dress top which he laced for her, first cupping
the sweet round breasts and fondling them. Leaning back against
him, she murmured contently.

He spanked her bottom fondly. “Pack the luncheon basket, nina,
while I catch the horses and saddle them up.”

They returned to Palma in the late afternoon. One look at Con-
stanza’s face brought a cry of joy from Ana. As Niall dismounted
his horse the older woman grasped his hands and kissed them.
”Gracias, Senor Niall! My Constanza will make you a good wife,
I swear it!”

“Then you think the Conde will give his consent, Ana?”

A crafty look came into the woman’s eyes. “He will at first refuse
you, for he has never forgiven my nina’s birth. If, however, you
tell him that you have dishonored his daughter then he will quickly
consent, for he fears scandal more than anything else.”

“In that case, Ana, I shall speak to him at once,” smiled Niall.

“He is in his library now, my lord.”

Niall bent down and brushed Constanza’s lips. “For luck, Constanzita,” he said, and was gone.

“Aiiieee, my nina! You have at last found a man, and what a
man! He will keep your belly filled for years to come. It is what I
have prayed for, nina. Someone to take you from the Conde, and
his bitterness. Now you will have a good life, a normal life.” She
hugged the girl hard. Then, catching herself, she gasped, “In my
happiness I have forgotten you, my Constanza. You are all right?
He was gentle?”

“He was gentle, nurse, but I am sore and could use a bath.”

“At once, nina! At once!”

And while Constanza bathed herself in a warm, scented tub, Niall
Burke sprawled his long frame in a rather uncomfortable chair in
the Conde’s library. In his big hand he twirled the stem of a small
wine glass. The Conde stared coldly at his guest.

“You are vastly improved in health, Lord Burke.” It was more
a statement than a question. “I expect you will soon, leave jus.”

Niall nodded. “Soon, my lord, and when I go there is something
I would take with me from Mallorca.”

“A souvenir of sorts, Lord Burke?”

Niall could not resist a chuckle. “Of sorts,” he said. “I wish to
marry Constanza. I am formally applying to you for her hand.”

The Conde’s facial expression never wavered. “It is impossible,
Lord Burke.”

“She is previously contracted?”

“No.”

“She is ill with some fatal sickness?”

“No.”

“Then why do you refuse me? I am the only son and heir of a
wealthy and noble man. In my country, my lineage is equal to your
own. You would have grandchildren. And, as my wife, your daugh-
ter would lack for nothing.”

“I do not have to explain myself to you, Lord Burke. I am Con-
stanza’s father, and I have refused your suit. My word is all that
counts.”

Niall drew a deep breath. “Is the reason for your refusal the fact
that you doubt your daughter’s paternity?”

Francisco Cuidadela grew white. “You are impertinent, Lord
Burke. Leave me! I do not choose to discuss it.”

Niall’s silvery eyes narrowed. “Let me tell you how I spent my
afternoon, Conde. I spent it enjoying your daughter’s favors. She
gave herself to me quite willingly, and I am pleased to say that she
was a virgin. At this very moment my seed could be rooting in her
fertile womb. You deliberately destroyed her chances of marriage
here on Mallorca. Now not even a convent will have her. How will
you face your friends when she grows big with my child? You are the last of your line, Conde, and your late wife’s family is also long
gone. There is no place you can send Constanza to hide her shame.
Already I hear the laughter of your friends. And if King Philip should
hear of this scandal you might find yourself rapidly replaced as
governor here.

“On the other hand, if you accept my suit you will be envied your
cleverness for catching such a fine prize as myself. But, of course,
the decision is yours.”

Francisco Cuidadela had gone from white to red and back to white
again as Niall talked. Now the Conde made a strangled sound.

“Does that mean you accept, my lord?” asked Niall politely.

The older man nodded weakly, and Niall smiled, satisfied. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we shall see the bishop and arrange for the first
of the banns to be posted. Have your secretary bring me a copy of
the marriage contract in the morning. I trust that Constanza’s dowry
will be quite ample, as she is your only child. Not that I care,” he
said, “but my father will expect it.”

The Conde sent him a black look. Chuckling softly, Niall left the
library. It was done. Once again he was betrothed, and he hoped
mat, this time, the union would produce children.

Constanza was not Skye, nor would she ever take Skye’s place
in his heart. He laughed ruefully. He had never loved anyone but
Skye. Why had fate been so cruel as to separate them just when they
were so near to marriage? “Skye,” he whispered her name softly.
”Skye O’Malley, my love.” He tasted the words on his tongue. No,
she couldn’t be dead! Would not her spirit have come to him, and
wouldn’t he have felt it if she were? Must he accept that she was
dead when he truly could not believe it was so?

No, he would never love Constanza as he had loved Skye, but
Constanza was sweet and good and deserved, his full attention. She
would have it too, he vowed; but when he closed his eyes to conjure
up her oval face with its violet eyes and halo of golden curls he
instead saw a cloud of black hair framing a heart-shaped face with
laughing blue eyes and a soft red mouth.

“Dammit, Skye O’Malley,” he swore. “I cannot help it that I am
alive, and you are… are… Leave me in peace, my darling, to find
some kind of happiness!”

He found Constanza and announced, “Your father has consented
to our marriage, lovey. Tomorrow we shall have the bishop read the
first banns at mass, and the contracts shall be signed.”

“I cannot believe it,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “How did
you convince him?”

“I told him how we spent the afternoon,” said Niall drily.

Constanza swayed. “Oh! He will beat me!”

Seeing her white face left no doubt in his mind that she did not
exaggerate. “Has he beaten you before, lovey?”

“Of course. He is my papa. He is never an easy man, Niall, but
knowing that I gave myself to you willingly will infuriate him. I am
truly afraid.”

“Don’t be frightened, Constanzita. I will not allow anyone, even
your father, to harm you.”

With a contented sigh she nestled into his arms, and he felt better
than he had in a long time. She loved him, she needed him, and it
would be good between them.

The marriage contracts were signed the following morning and
the first banns were read at the Palma cathedral’s noon mass. By
nightfall felicitations were pouring into the governor’s villa from all
the best families on the island. The Conde was particularly pleased
when one of his friends who had spent time in London and Dublin
congratulated him on obtaining such a fine catch for Constanza.

“Lord Burke’s father is quite wealthy, my dear Francisco, and
dotes on his only son as you have doted on Constanza. What a fine
match! But then, you were always a shrewd devil, eh?” The two
men chuckled conspiratorially, and the Conde began to feel that
perhaps he had the upper hand after all. This tempered his unfriendly
feelings toward Niall.

The banns were read twice again within the month and then on
a bright winter’s morning several days after the Twelfth Night feast
had ended, Constanza Maria Theresa Floreal Alcudia Cuidadela was
joined in holy matrimony to Lord Niall Sean Burke. The bishop of
Mallorca performed the ceremony.

The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the ca-
thedral, making beautiful wavy patterns on the pale-gray stone floors.
The bride was preceded by six little girls in pale-pink silk dresses
over miniature farthingales with short puffed sleeves, wreaths of
rosebuds in their unbound hair. The children carried gilt baskets of
flower petals which they strewed about lavishly.

Constanza clung to her father’s arm, a vision so exquisitely ethe-
real that an audible sigh rose collectively from the guests. Her gown
was a heavy white silk brocade overskirt on a cloth-of-silver un-
derskirt. The upper sleeves of the gown were large puffs of white
brocade, slashed to show the silver interior. The sleeves were edged
in lace just below the elbow. The lower sleeves were thin white silk
that clung tightly to the arm and ended in cuffs of lace. The white
brocade bodice was tight, and began just above the swell of the
bride’s ample bosom. Modesty was preserved by a transparent silk
chiffon insert that had a dainty, virginal, round lace collar.

Constanza’s golden hair was unbound and topped by a wreath of white rosebuds attached by small pearl pins to a sheer cloud of lace
that floated about her. In one hand she carried a bouquet of gardenias
and about her slender neck was a single strand of pearls.

The groom, awaiting her at the altar, was equally elegant. His
silk hose were red-and-gold-striped, his upper legs covered by puffed
and slashed breeches of claret-red velvet. His short, high-collared
doublet was of matching silk and open at the front to show an
embroidered white silk undershirt ruffled at the wrists. Covering his
doublet was an embroidered overjerkin of claret-red velvet, studded
with freshwater pearls and gold beads. His rakish velvet cap was
tilted to show its heavily jeweled underside, and a pink plume
drooped from it. His shoes, tanned from the hide of an unborn calf,
were gilded a pale gold.

Sword and dagger were de rigueur, and both of Niall’s blades
were of the finest Toledo steel. The hilts, however, were gold, and
heavily jeweled in diamonds and rubies. Encircling his neck and
spilling down onto his chest was a heavy gold chain with a large
gold, diamond, and ruby medallion depicting a raised winged grif-
fon.

The women eyed his broad chest and well-turned legs and sighed
behind their fans. How on earth, they wondered, did that meek little
milksop catch such a man? It was said that the couple would remain
on Mallorca for several months before journeying to London and the
court of the young new English queen, Elizabeth. Perhaps in that
time they might have the opportunity to offer their charms to the
handsome Lord Burke? They would show him what an error it was
to wed in haste.

The ceremony ended, and with the bishop’s permission Niall
tenderly brushed the lips of his bride. Her shining eyes and sweet
blush told him how happy she was. Smiling, he tucked her small
hand in his arm and swept her down the aisle of the cathedral, back
across the square, and into the governor’s villa. Soon they were
greeting their guests.

The Conde had spared no expense in the preparation of his only
child’s bridal feast. The tables groaned with sides of beef, whole
young roasted lambs and kids, larded ducks, whole swans in aspic,
lemoned and gingered capons. There were pigeon and lark pies with
their flaky crusts steaming, and huge bowls of paella, red lobster
bits and green olives showing brilliantly against the saffroned yellow
rice. There were platters of boiled shrimp in white wine and herbs,
a tub of raw oysters, platters of new green scallions, and tiny red
love apples. Great loaves of white bread, both lean and long and fat
and round, had been placed at intervals down the board. One whole
table had been set aside for sweets. There were plates of molded jellies in red, green, and gold, dishes of sugared almonds, cakes,
marzipan fruit tarts, and silver bowls of black raisins, purple figs,
green and white grapes, and Seville oranges. Deep-red and golden
wines and heady beer flowed from the villa fountains.

The musicians played lively tunes as they moved among the
guests. At the head table Niall and Constanza sat in the place of
honor receiving congratulations. Neither missed the admiring looks
cast the groom’s way by many of the ladies, and the bride’s purple-
pansy eyes darkened jealously.

“You look like an outraged kitten,” he observed in an amused
tone.

“I was thinking,” she replied, “that the marquesa, for all her low
decolletage and painted face, is at least ten years your senior.”

Niall gave a whoop of laughter and kissed her soundly. “Oh,
nina, what a sharp little tongue you have.” Then his eyes caressed
her, and he said, “Soon I shall teach you to use that naughty tongue
in a sweeter pursuit,” and Constanza felt a strong warmth sweep
over her. Since that afternoon in the meadow he had not known her
intimately. His behavior had been that of any proper gentleman with
his betrothed. It had made her a little afraid, especially after her
monthly show of blood had arrived on time. Perhaps he regretted
his proposal but was too well mannered to withdraw it? Now, how-
ever, his eyes told her that she had been foolish to be afraid. As the
relief flooded through her she felt quite giddy.

The afternoon lengthened and became evening. Finally Ana was
at her elbow, whispering, and Constanza rose discreetly and left the
courtyard. “Come in an hour, my lord,” said the servant woman
softly, and Niall acknowledged the message with a faint nod. Shortly
afterward the Conde slipped into the seat nearest him.

“I did not mention it before, but Constanza’s maternal grand-
mother was English. Part of her dowry was a house on the Strand
in London. It is not large, nor elegant, but it has been kept in good
repair. It came to me through Constanza’s mother, and I have made
it a part of your wife’s dowry. My London agent has already informed
the tenants that they must leave. The house will be staffed and ready
for you when you reach London.”

“My thanks, Don Francisco. The Burkes have long considered
the value of a London house, and the Strand is an excellent location.”
He glanced about the festive courtyard. “My gratitude also for this
day. It has made Constanza so happy.”

“She is my daughter, Don Niall. Oh, I know that old gypsy witch,
Ana, has convinced Constanza that I doubt her paternity and believe
she killed her mother, but it is not so. Constanza was born with a
heart-shaped mole on her right buttock. I have the identical mole, as do my brother, Jamie, our father, and our late grandfather. So
did my two sisters. Any doubts I might have entertained were erad-
icated the moment I first saw my daughter.

“As to Contanza’s mother, Maria Theresa was as frail as she was
proud. The agony of being held all those weeks in the licentious
clutches of the Moors shamed her as greatly as it shamed me. She
died because she could not bear to be whispered about for the rest
of her life. How could a simple peasant like Ana understand some-
thing like that?”

He sighed. “Be good to my Constanza, Don Niall. She is so much
like her mother. When you take her away, it will be like losing
Maria Theresa again.” He then rose quickly, and joined a group of
his friends on the other side of the courtyard.

Niall was astounded by these revelations, and the brief glimpse
he had just had into the Conde’s soul. No wonder he had been so
generous with Constanza’s dowry. It included an estate in Spain,
the villa here on Mallorca, an enormous settlement in gold with the
promise of more to come when the Conde died, and now a London
house. He smiled to himself. The MacWilliam would be quite
pleased, for Niall was certainly bringing home an heiress.

A servant refilled his goblet, and he watched the gypsy dancers
with a growing feeling of peace. Quaffing down the cup, he rose
and went to his room where he found his manservant waiting with
a steaming tub. Silently, he bathed, sniffing appreciatively at the
sandalwood soap. Standing up, he sluiced water down his body, and
was carefully dried.

“Where is my lady?”

“She awaits my lord in the bedchamber next to his own.”

‘Tell Ana I am coming. Tell her to leave my wife. You are
dismissed for the night.”

“Si, my lord.”

Niall examined his naked body in the pier glass and was pleased
by what he saw. His illness and idleness hadn’t put any flab on him.
He turned, picked up a small object from out of a drawer, and entered
the scented candlelit chamber where Constanza lay beneath the cov-
erlet of their bed. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“I sleep this way,” he said by way of explanation.

“So do I, but Ana made me put on a nightdress. She said it was
expected tonight.”

“Shall we shock Mallorcan society, nina?” he asked mischie-
vously. “Stand up quickly,” he commanded, and when she obeyed
he tore the dainty lawn gown from her body and tossed the pieces
across the room. “And now, to assure my honor and proclaim your
purity to all…” He held his hand over the bed and tightly closed his fist. Blood splattered the sheets in the center. Constanza shrieked,
and Niall laughed. “Perfect, my love! Now the wedding guests will
believe your maidenhead successfully breeched.” He wiped his hand
clean of blood and tossed the linen towel in the fire. “It was a piglet’s
bladder filled with chicken blood,” he explained. “Your Ana gave
it to me this morning.”

“Oh,” she answered wide-eyed. “I never thought…” her voice
trailed off.

He laughed. “Neither did I, but your Ana, bless her, did. I am
glad she’s coming with us. Now, you tempting little piece, come
here to me! This last month I’ve gone half mad remembering our
afternoon in the meadow.”

“Oh, I have too!” she confessed. He picked her up and put her
gently on the bed. Then he joined her. “Is that very shocking, Niall?”

“Hell, no, lovey! I’d rather you were eager for me than cold and
retiring.” He pulled her into his arms almost roughly and her belly
fluttered in anticipation. How many times had she dreamed of that
afternoon, Seeing the red stallion thrusting his big penis into the
quivering little white mare, and then seeing Niall looming above
her, lowering his body onto hers, thrusting his own great penis into
her. There had been days when she had writhed on her bed with the
memory half a dozen times.

Now as he buried his face in her warm breasts, she sighed. Her
golden orbs grew hard as his mouth drank first from one and then
from the other. His tongue circled the nipples again and again until
she begged him to take her. He laughed. Niall had recognized the
wanton in her, and now he was curious to see how far he might drive
her.

His warm tongue licked her soft, fragrant skin, moving downward
from her navel, stopping, then moving up each leg from the knee,
stopping again. She thrashed wildly, her blond hair tangling. Fascinated,

Niall let his lips and eyes wander to the soft defenses of her
womanhood. With gentle fingers he parted the plump folds to stare
in fascination as her tender little button grew stiff and throbbing.
His mouth fastened about it, and tasted its sweetness.

“Ohhh, dear God, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

Twice she climaxed under the ministrations of his demanding
mouth. At last, unable to bear much more himself, he drove his root
into her warm and fertile body. She cried out her pleasure, wrapping
her legs tightly around him, moving fiercely with his rhythm, claw-
ing at his back in her passion as he emptied himself into her.

Rolling off her, he saw that she was in a semiconscious state. He
gathered her into his arms gently so that her return would be a warm
and safe one. He was delighted with this marvelous, passionate creature to whom he was wed. It was almost too good to be true,
and yet it was true. He had found the perfect mate, the woman from
whose loins the next generation of Burkes would spring. Constanza
stirred faintly in his arms. “Good-bye, Skye, my dear true love,”
Niall whispered softly, and turned to face his new young wife.

Chapter 12

The wife of Khalid el Bey was the most famous woman in
the city of Algiers. Three nights each week she presided,
unveiled, over her husband’s banquet table. The all-male
guests were shocked at first, but they quickly recovered, for
he lady Skye was charming, witty, and gently spoken. It was said
hat she knew as much about running her husband’s businesses as
he did, but no man gave that rumor serious consideration, for it was
too absurd. Allah had fashioned women for man’s pleasure, and for
birth, but nothing else.

All envied Khalid el Bey his beautiful wife, but none envied him
more than Jamil, the captain of the Casbah fort. The Turkish soldier
had quite a respectable harem, for be was known to be sexually
insatiable. Favors from Captain Jamil were easily bought simply by
›resenting him with a beautiful, skilled slave. Still, Jamil lusted
after Skye, desperate to possess her. She had intrigued him greatly
by refusing his overtures. He bribed the women of Skye’s household
to smuggle in gifts of jewels, flowers, and comfits. All were returned, their wrapping not even opened. Furious, he managed to
separate her from her guests on two occasions, only to be rebuffed,
even insulted. Never in his life had Jamil been refused so strongly,
and the insult rankled. He was determined to possess Skye.

Tonight he lay sprawled on a couch in the House of Felicity,
watching with Yasmin through a two-way mirror. On the other side
of the mirror was one of the city’s most respected merchants, who
lay naked and tied while two lovely young girls serviced him. One
crouched over his head, her plump little pussy rubbing against his
open mouth, while the other sucked frantically on the merchant’s
mall, flaccid manhood. Finally, as their simultaneous efforts resulted in success, the girl at the lower end mounted the man and
ode him to glory.
Jamil laughed heartily. “Poor darlings, he’s not worth their effort.

Send them both to me later and I’ll reward them with a real workout.”

“I thought you intended spending the night with me,” she pouted.
”I do not give my favors to just anyone.”

“Would you deny me an appetizer before a gourmet meal?” he ‘
flattered her.

Yasmin almost purred. She enjoyed Jamil. He was the best lover
she’d ever had-next to Khalid. Khalid, damn him, had ceased his
visits since falling in love with Skye. A look of anger flashed across
her beautiful face. Jamil caught it instantly.

“What is it, my pet?” he queried. “You have been increasingly
irritable of late. Tell Jamil, and he will make it better.”

She hesitated before admitting. “It is my lord Khalid. He is so
changed. I do not know him anymore, and it is all the fault of his
wife.”

“She is quite beautiful,” he said wickedly. “But of course, I do
not know her.”

“I wish to Allah she were dead! Then my lord Khalid would come
to me again.”

“Perhaps,” he mused, “it could be arranged, my dear.” He con-
tinued smoothly despite her startled look. “Of course, I should expect
certain remunerations from you for my help. But what difference
should the death of one woman make to anyone? Especially a woman
with no memory, no powerful connections.”

Yasmin was fascinated in spite of herself. “But, how?” she asked.

“If I wanted someone dead I should chose the time and place
carefully, and then I should wield the blade myself. The fewer people
involved the better, would you not say? Who would suspect you if
we were seen to enter your chambers together on the night in ques-
tion?”

“When, Jamil? When?”

He smiled. Tomorrow night, my dear Yasmin. The sooner the
better. I shall send a message to Khalid el Bey asking that he meet
me at the Casbah fort. Afterward I shall simply deny that I sent any
message. You and I shall be seen entering your rooms. I shall stay
the night. You will slip out and walk to Khalid el Bey’s house. Enter
through the garden. The lady Skye should be alone, possibly even
sleeping. Strike quickly, check to be sure you have succeeded, then
leave.”

“Why are you so willing to help me?” she asked, suddenly sus-
picious.

“We are friends, Yasmin. Khalid’s woman means nothing to me,
but you do. If my plan seems harsh, my dear, you need not act on
it. The choice is yours.”

“No! You are, as always, Jamil, direct and to the point. I will
do it!”

The captain smiled toothily as Yasmin rose. She said, “I will
send the two girls you desire to the baths and then to you. From this
night on, anything you want in the House of Felicity is yours.”

Jamil could not believe either his luck or Yasmin’s gullibility.
He’would have to work quickly now. The slave-spy he had placed
in Khalid el Bey’s house would have to be informed and instructed
in two tasks. The first would be to give the bey a sleeping draught
in his wine so that he would retire early. Then the slave would tell
Skye that a man claiming to know something of her past was at the
front gate asking to see her. This would keep Skye out of the house
while Yasmin entered the darkened sleeping chamber. She would
kill the bey believing it was Skye.

He chuckled wickedly, well pleased with himself. His spy would
be a tongueless mute soon after the murder and could not implicate
him. In fact, he would see the hapless creature sold off. As to
Yasmin… well, the penalty for murder was rather severe. A killer
was tortured first and then thrown from the city walls onto the iron
spikes that studded the walls. Sometimes a prisoner could linger for
several days… Strangely, the women were the longest-lived. It would
be interesting to see how long Yasmin would last.

Naturally, Jamil would offer his strong arm and protection to the
grieving widow. The grieving rich and beautiful young widow, he
amended his thoughts. An idea struck him. Perhaps he would marry
Skye. He need not remain the Sultan’s captain-governor of the Casbah fort forever. He could as easily retire here in Algiers as anywhere
else. Besides, Skye would need someone to run Khalid el Bey’s
various business interests. Jamil had never had a wife, but with the
bey’s wealth in his pocket he could afford four wives as well as a
fine harem. With unlimited money a man might have anything he
desired. Jamil sighed, musing on the pleasure and wealth Khalid el
Bey’s death would bring him. To be sure, he would be losing a good
and interesting friend, but that could not be helped.

His thoughts were interrupted by the entry of the two girls who
had earlier entertained the merchant. Giggling nervously, for they
knew his reputation, they knelt submissively at his feet.

“How may we serve you, lord?” they chorused.

He viewed them through cruelly narrowed eyes. “Let us begin
with the same exercise you performed earlier on your merchant
client,” he said. “We will progress slowly and inventively from
there.”

And across the city, Skye lay awake hugging her happy secret to herself. There was no doubt now. She was with child, and oh!
how happy Khalid would be when she cold him! They had entertained
earlier, and then he had gone off on his customary nighttime rounds
of his houses. When he came back she would surprise him with the
news. Smiling, she imagined the look on his face. She folded her
hands protectively across her belly. It was much too early to feel
any life, but she tried to imagine what the son of Khalid el Bey
would look like.

Hearing his step, she rose and ran to greet him. His strong arms
wrapped about her, and he kissed her very thoroughly. His mouth
inflamed her, and when his hands slipped beneath her gauze gown
to caress her trembling body she almost forgot what she had waited
to tell him.

“Khalid! Stop! I have news.”

“Yes, my love,” he murmured, pulling her robe open to nuzzle
at her pretty breasts. His mouth closed over a pointed nipple; he
sucked hard on it, and she almost fainted. It was no use. She wanted
him as much as he wanted her. Her news would wait. She swayed
against him and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Some-
where along the way their garments were shed.

He put her down on the middle of the mattress, positioning her
body carefully. Then he straddled her just as deliberately, his hairy,
well-muscled legs lying outside her smooth ones. Sitting back on
his haunches, his heels against his tight buttocks, he reached out his
hands to play with her. One moved forward to pinch gently at her
sensitive little nipples, the other moved behind him to tickle the soft
throbbing flesh of her sweet cleft.

Skye’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s and she murmured her pleasure.
”So, my lord husband, you would tease me. Two can play at the
same game.” And she cupped the sac of his manhood in her right
hand, rolling his balls with a provocative rhythm while her left hand
stroked his rod with equal expertise. She elicited a groan of delight
from him.

For several minutes they continued to caress each other until both
had reached a peak of excitement that offered only one satisfaction.
Skye enjoyed pleasuring Khalid as much as he enjoyed pleasuring
her. As always, she felt a thrill of excitement as she watched him
grow big and hard for her.

The bey watched his wife’s growing passion with delight. She
was so beautifully natural, so unlike all the skilled whores he owned.
To have such a wife was a blessing for which he was deeply grateful.
He swung off her body now and said, “Let me play the great desert
stallion tonight, my Skye. Roll over, and be my little wild mare.”

She knelt, her head resting on her arms, her white bottom facing him, ready. Kneeling, he gently inserted himself into her. Then one
hand moved to squeeze and fondle her hanging breasts while, with
the other, he did something he’d never done with her before. As she
approached her climax, he pushed a finger into her anal orifice and
sent her into such a frenzied climax that for one brief and terrifying
moment he thought he’d done her some awful damage. Then, realizing that she had only fainted, he took his own release. It was a
greater climax than usual because of his relief.

Afterward she lay relaxed in his arms and sighed with pleasure.
”I was worrying,” she said, “that our lovemaking would not be as
much fun now, but I see that it can continue to be just as delicious.”

“Why should anything be different, my love?”

“Because, my lord and husband, you are to be a father next
spring. Is that not wonderful?”

The bedchamber was plunged into deep silence. Slowly then,
awareness began to grow, and his face took on a brilliant glow. He
caught her to him.

“You’re sure?” he cried, tearfully, hugging her to him fiercely.

“Yes! Yes!” she gasped, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Oh my Skye! No one has ever given me a greater gift than you
have given me in yourself. And now you will give me a child, too.
It is too much, my love. Far too much. Thank you, thank you!” And
he wept, still holding tightly to her.

Skye cradled Khalid to her breasts crooning to him. This won-
derful 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 re-
member, 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 over-
board. 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 peppercom-
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, cherie,” 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 Renee. 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, Renee. 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 Renee 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 Renee was
sold to a fat black Sudanese merchant whose delight as he bore her
off was evident. Renee 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 cour-
tesan. 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, however, 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 house-
hold.

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 intri-
cately 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 sauteed 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 exhaust-
ing, 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 ob-
served 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. Yas-
min 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 mat
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.

Stepping over Yasmin’s body, Skye moved to the bed and sat
next to the still form of her husband. There was virtually no blood
to be seen. By some twist of fate the dagger had pierced only vital
organs, but no arteries. “I would be with my lord,” she said quietly,
and she heard the shuffle of feet and men the closing door.

Alone, she wept her terrible grief in silent pain, rocking back and
forth, holding herself, as if that would prevent her from shattering.
Her head ached and waves of pain and nausea began to rack her.

Suddenly she heard Robert Small commanding, “Voice it, lass!

Voice your pain or else it will kill both you and his babe. Is that
what you want? If so, take Yasmin’s escape, for it’s quicker.”

She saw the Englishman standing by the door. He had never left
her. Now, crossing the room in three strides, he grasped her by the
shoulders and shook her. “Damn it, lass! Cry! Scream! Curse the
heavens, but in God’s name get it out!”

She sobbed softly once, then stopped. He hit her hard several
times, and suddenly her resistance broke. Opening her mouth, Skye
wailed her grief with such loud and terrible cries that they echoed
throughout the house. The slave women, grieving softly until then,
joined in their mistress’s tragic lamentation and soon the whole house
rang with grief. Shortly the sounds echoed through the entire neigh-
borhood. People began to gather, and it was not long before everyone
knew that Khalid el Bey had been murdered by his jealous slave
woman, Yasmin.

Slowly Skye’s grief eased. Looking a final time on her beloved
husband, she bent and kissed his cold lips. Then, supported by
Robert Small, she left the room and walked downstairs to the bey’s
library. “Get Jean and Marie for me, Robbie. I must be revenged,
and I will need help.”

When the four of them were gathered together in private, Skye
quietly repeated Yasmin’s dying words to Jean and Marie. The
Frenchman was shocked, but his wife sniffed, “I would put nothing
past that evil Turk. Look how he killed my little cousine, Celestine.
He has no real heart, that one!” She began to weep. “He claimed
to be the master’s best friend, and yet he killed him without a second
thought because he wished to possess Madam!” Jean comforted his
wife as best he could.

“We will both be revenged, Marie,” said Skye, “but before we
can be, we must lull Jamil into a sense of security. He must not
even suspect that we know he is responsible for my lord’s murder.
Let him feel safe-and then we will strike!”

“You cannot revenge yourself on the Sultan’s governor and re-
main safely in Algiers,” said Robert Small firmly. “The dey would
be forced to punish you in the Sultan’s name.”

“I cannot remain here under any circumstances, Robbie. The
memories I have of Khalid and our life together would break my
heart. And though I am capable of running the House of Felicity,
who would do business with a woman? Sell everything here in
Algiers, but do it secretly. Have the money transported to our Lon-
don goldsmith.”

“The house also?” asked Jean.

“The house, the seaside kiosk, sell all.”

“What of the slaves?”

“Prepare papers of manumission for them all. I shall give each
of them the price he or she is worth in order that they may all get
started in another life. Those who wish to come with me may do
so, but no one is to be told until we are ready to leave. I hope, Jean,
that you and Marie will come with me. But if you choose to return
to Brittany I will understand.”

“There is nothing for us in Brittany, my lady. Our families are
gone. Marie’s entire village is gone. We would rather stay with you,
for we love you as we loved the bey.”

“Thank you,” said Skye. “I would have been lost without you
both.”

There was a scratching at the door, and when Skye called out,
”Enter,” a slave came in to announce that the captain-governor was
on his way up the driveway.

“Hold him off for a few minutes,” she told Jean. He left the room
immediately. “Robbie, you go too. I shall go upstairs through the
secret passage here in the library. Marie, quickly!”

Skye drew two leather-bound volumes from a shelf and, reaching
into that former space, pulled at a hidden lever. The bookcase swung
open to reveal an interior staircase. “Shut it behind us, Robbie,” she
said, handing him the books. Then the two women were gone. They
hurried up the stairs, which opened out into Skye’s old room.

“I cannot ever go back in there,” she told Marie, referring to the
bedchamber she had shared with Khalid. She quickly stripped off
her white silk caftan. “Get me the azure gauze chamber robe, Marie.”
Marie fetched the gown, smiled with appreciation of Skye’s strategy.

The captain-governor will be so blinded by lust,” she remarked
as Skye dressed, “that he will believe whatever you tell him,
madam.”

Skye nodded. “I must not rouse his suspicions,” she said, “and
I need time. Send my women to me, Marie. The captain-governor
will expect to find the grieving widow surrounded by her weeping
handmaidens, and I must not disappoint him.” A look of physical
pain crossed her face, and suddenly she began to weep uncontrol-
lably, her sobs interspersed with bursts of hysterical laughter. “Oh,
God, Marie! It is too macabre! How Khalid would appreciate the
role I play.”

Marie looked stricken, and the tears spilled from her eyes as she
fled the room to do her mistress’s bidding. Skye flung herself on
the divan, weeping soundlessly now. Khalid, oh, Khalid, she thought
desperately. Please God, please! Let me wake and find him sleeping
safely next to me! But she knew in her heart that her prayers were useless. He was dead, and lost to her. She heard the door open
softly, and then her women were clustering about her like bright
little butterflies, sobbing and clucking with sympathy. Skye didn’t
even look up. She wept harder and soon she heard Marie’s cry of
protest.

“My lord Jamil! You cannot enter my lady’s chamber! Her grief
is too terrible to behold!”

“I was Khalid el Bey’s best friend,” boomed the captain-gover-
nor’s deep voice.

Allah curse him! thought Skye fiercely.

“It is my duty to comfort his widow. Step aside! Khalid would
have done the same for me.”

Allah strike him down this instant, for I do not think I can face
him without betraying my feelings, Skye silently shrieked. But she
breathed deeply and calmed herself. Khalid would be avenged.

The door opened again, and she knew Jamil had entered. There
was a flutter and she realized that her maidens had gone, leaving
her alone with him. She sobbed piteously.

“Skye, my dear, I am so sorry.”

She sobbed louder, fighting not to wince when she felt his arms
about her. One hand imperiously forced her head up, and he stared
into her eyes. He was somewhat taken aback by the depth of her
grief, but he spoke nonetheless.

“Don’t fear, beautiful Skye. I will take care of you as did Khalid.”
Allah, the emeralds she was wearing were worth a king’s ransom!

“I am s-so alone now, Jamil.”

“I will take care of you,” he repeated, his eyes straying to her
breasts. They seemed fuller than he had noticed before. Damn! He
wished he could take her now, but it would hardly do to fuck the
widow when her husband’s corpse lay still warm in the next room.
There would be plenty of time for that later on. If he acted too soon
he chanced losing the juicy plum of her wealth.

She pressed against him, weeping afresh, soaking his silken shirt,
half swooning into his arms. By the teats of Fatima she was a rare
beauty! He could hear the ragged sound of his own breathing as his
hot eyes devoured her lush body. He didn’t want to release her, but
he could hardly go on holding a half-conscious woman. Standing
up, he carried her back to the sleeping couch and gently deposited
her there.

Look your fill, you murdering bastard, she thought as she watched
him through slitted eyes. Dream your lust-filled dreams for dreams
are all you’ll ever have of me.

Finally Jamil sighed reluctantly, and left the room. She lay quietly until Marie joined her, saying drily, “The household has been threat-
ened with severe punishment unless you are properly cared for,
madam.”

Skye sat up. “The presumption of the man! He says he will care
for me as did my lord Khalid! When he touched me it was all I could
do not to vomit! Oh, Marie! Where is the justice in this world? Why
should a man as kind and good as my lord Khalid die, and one as
evil as Jamil live?”

The Frenchwoman’s eyes again filled with tears. “Helas, madam!
Would I could answer you. but I cannot.”

Faithful Marie remained by Skye’s side all night. Neither really
slept. Arrangements for the bey’s funeral were completed in the
morning, for the day was Thursday and unless he was buried by the
sabbath sundown there could be no funeral until Saturday. The body
was first washed, then wrapped in a seamless white shroud. The
shroud had been dipped in Mecca’s sacred Zamzam well when Khalid
el Bey made his pilgrimage to the holy city.

Led by the captain-governor and the bey’s beautiful tragic widow
who was garbed entirely in white, a thin mourning band around her
head, the funeral procession made its way from the villa through the
city to the cemetery, following a careful ritual of lamentations by
the women and readings from the Koran by the men.

The bey’s tomb, a small, domed white marble building, over-
looked the harbor. Carefully the body was laid to rest on its side,
facing the holy city, and final prayers for his safe arrival in Paradise
were said by the young mullah who had married them. Skye had
allowed Yasmin to be buried honorably, and her shrouded body was
placed at her master’s feet in hopes mat she would serve him better
in Paradise. In her grief, Skye attempted to remain in the tomb with
her husband and had to be carried out.

With sundown, Skye was safe from Jamil for twenty-four hours,
and in those twenty-four hours Jean worked feverishly with Robert
Small and Simon ben Judah to put the bey’s affairs in order. The
goldsmith, whose own sabbath followed the Moslem one, knew of
several prospective buyers for the bey’s business. They could not
be approached, however, until Sunday, the first day of the week.

On Saturday morning a slave was dispatched to the Casbah fort,
bearing a message for the captain-governor. Jamil read the neatly
written words twice, as if seeking a hidden meaning.

“My lord Jamil. I am deeply appreciative of your kindness to me.
For the next thirty days I shall be secluded in deepest mourning,
and will receive no visitors. I know you will honor my grief.” It
was signed, “the lady Skye, widow to Khalid el Bey.”

Jamil gritted his teem with annoyed frustration. He was aware mat he could hardly propose marriage to a newly widowed woman,
but he had hoped to sweep her off her feet, thus preventing any other
suitors from courting her. Then a thought struck him, and he smiled.
The thirty days could easily work to his advantage. Skye was young
and used to regular lovemaking. After a month of abstinence, she
should succumb quickly. He smilingly dictated a proper reply to her
letter.

“Lady Skye. Your period of mourning will be honored, though
reluctantly. I shall call upon you thirty-one days from this date.” It
was signed: “Jamil, Captain-Governor of the Casbah Fortress.”

Skye read the message and chuckled with delight. She could sense
the pent-up frustration, and was pleased to hurt him even in this
small way. Within a month Khalid el Bey’s affairs in Algiers would
be settled, and she would have made good her escape.

And as if Khalid’s spirit watched over her, the days sped smoothly
by and everything proceeded toward the sale of the bey’s interests.
Simon ben Judah explained smoothly to prospective buyers that there
were those less reputable than they who might wish to cheat a young
widow, so it was best that negotiations remain strictly secret. Since
none of those involved wished others to know of the bidding, the
secret was kept. When a bargain was finally struck, Skye found
herself twice as rich as Khalid el Bey had left her. The monies, all
in gold coin, were transferred to London. Both the villa and the
seaside kiosk were sold to Osman the astrologer.

Osman was one of the few people she saw during her mourning.
He had come one afternoon to tell her that he wanted the house and
kiosk for himself and his beautiful slave woman, the same girl Khalid
el Bey had given him. She sold to him readily, happy that someone
she knew and liked would live in happiness in the places where she
had been so happy. She and Osman sat in the villa garden and she
served him Turkish coffee and small honey cakes.

“You are with child,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she answered, not in the least surprised. “I had told Khalid
the night before he… He was very happy.”

“You made him very happy, Skye. You were his joy. I warned
him, however, that your fate was not with him. It is back among,
your own people, and you will soon begin that journey back.”

“Oh, Osman! Did I cause Khalid’s death?”

“No, my dear, you did not, and you must never blame yourself.
Khalid el Bey played out his fate as it had been planned since the
beginning of time. Now you must play out yours.”

“Who am I, Osman?”

“I do not know, Skye, but I will tell you what I do know, what
I told your husband before he married you. You were born under the sign of the ram. Your homeland is a green and misty place
peopled by strong spirits and psychic forces. You will always control
your own destiny, Skye, and you will eventually be reunited with
your true mate.”

“Khalid el Bey was my true mate!” she snapped angrily.

“No, Skye, he was not. He loved you deeply, never doubt it. And
I know that you loved him, but there is another man, a stronger
force in your life. He was with you before, and will return to you
in time. Follow your instincts, my dear. They will never fail you.”

“And my child?”

“Will be born safely, Skye, and live to a ripe old age, as will
you.”

“Thank you, Osman. I will always have my memories of Khalid
el Bey, but to have his child is a far dearer thing. Thank you for the
reassurance.”

The astrologer stood up. “I will go now, my dear, and I shall bid
you a final farewell now. Since I was away from the city when
Khalid died, it is understandable that I pay my condolences now.
If, however, the man who watches this villa so carefully for the
captain-governor should see me here again it will certainly seem
curious, and it will arouse suspicions, so I will not return.”

“Jamil has set men to watch my house?” she exclaimed. “How
dare he! The arrogance of the man!”

Osman laughed. “My dear, he fancies himself in Khalid el Bey’s
place and wishes to discourage any other suitors.”

“I would sooner wed a snake.”

“That will not be necessary,” replied the astrologer drily. “You
will easily escape him. He suspects nothing. When do you leave?”

“In two nights. It will be the dark of the moon.”

“Good, but be careful. What of your slaves?”

“I have freed them, and will give them money to start a new life.
Jean and Marie will come with me.”

‘Tell the others that I will employ any who choose to stay. Ask
those who prefer to go to remain here until I come to take possession
of the house in six days. If they go about their business as usual,
the captain-governor’s spies will suspect nothing. That will give you
a four-day start. It should be enough to get you out into the western
sea, and pursuit is virtually impossible then.”

“Oh, Osman, how can I thank you?”

He smiled at her. “By playing out your part as Allah has foretold
it, my dear.”

She walked with him back into the house, bidding him a final
farewell in the atrium. Taking his hand, she pressed it to her lips
and forehead. “Saalam, Osman, my friend.”

“Saalam, Skye, my daughter. Allah go with you.”

During the next few days Skye’s emotions fluctuated wildly. She
was frightened by the unknown awaiting her in the foreign-sounding
town of London. She was elated by the fact she was outwitting
Jamil, though frustrated that she could not inflict a terrible injury
on him in retaliation for Khalid’s murder. She was happy and relieved
that Jean, Marie, and Captain Small would be with her, but sad to
leave such good friends as Osman.

Then the night of her departure arrived, and she stood with Marie
making a final inventory of the few things she would take with her.
Most of her clothing would, of course, remain. This wardrobe was
hardly suitable to a life in England. She would, however, take some
caftans with her to be worn in the privacy of her bedchamber. The
flowing loose robes would be comfortable as her pregnancy went
on. The loose gemstones Khalid had kept, as well as her marvelous
jewelry, were all sewn into the garments for safe transportation. She
would take her wonderful gold brushes and combs, her crystal per-
fume bottles filled with rare and costly essences, and other things
of a sentimental and personal nature. They were all packed carefully
in carved cedarwood chests and passed quietly from servant to ser-
vant and finally to the silent English seaman who waited in the dark
outside the villa’s garden gate. Unaware of the little wicket gate,
Jamil had no one watching it.

Skye climbed to the roof of the house and gazed for one final
time over the city of Algiers. Below her, the night lights twinkled,
and she heard, faintly, the murmur of life as it brawled and sobbed
and laughed. Above her, the velvet heavens gleamed black, and she
stared deeply into them as if trying to pierce through the darkness.

“Oh, Khalid!” she sighed, then jumped, startled by the sound of
her own voice. She had not cried since the day they had buried him,
but now she wept without restraint. She stood in the center of the
roof terrace, her face upturned to the skies, letting her grief pour
over her. And when she had finished she said softly, ‘I shall never
grieve so deeply for you again, Khalid, my love. I have my mem-
ories, and I have our child, whom I regret will never know you.
Now, Khalid, I must leave our home, and I hope you will wish me
Godspeed. I wish you the same.” She stood quietly, and a great
peace flooded through her and she knew that he approved of what
she was doing. “Thank you, my love,” she said. Glancing around
the terrace a final time, she descended to the ground floor of the
house where the servants all waited to bid her good-bye.

She spoke quietly to each in turn, and they thanked her for their
freedom and the money she had given them. For now, they had all
deckled to remain in Osman’s employ. Her farewells over, she joined

Jean and Marie and walked through the gardens and then through
the little back gate.

By prearrangement, a closed litter awaited them. Entering it, they
sat wordless, each wrapped in his own thoughts. The bearers made
their way down into the city and to the docks. Captain Small awaited
them, and no sooner were they aboard his vessel, the Mermaid, than
the gangway and anchor were raised. While the first mate saw the
ship underway, Robert Small escorted his passengers to their quar-
ters.

Skye could not remember her arrival in Algiers, but she would
always remember her departure. On a hill overlooking the harbor
she could pick out the spot where her husband’s tomb stood. Loom-
ing above the city she saw the sinister towers of the Casbah. Marie
smiled grimly.

“We are well revenged, madam. This morning I sent the captain-
governor a plate of sweetmeats in your name. I made them myself.
One of the ingredients was an herb that will render the evil Jamil
impotent for all time. He will never hurt another woman with his
lust again.”

“Marie! It is perfect! Imagine his shock, and then his shame! Oh,
how I wish I might be there to see his agony!”

The two women stood watching in silence as the lights of the city
disappeared in the distance. Then Marie put an arm about Skye and
led her to her cabin where, for the first time in weeks, she slept
soundly. With the tension gone from her life Skye suddenly began
to behave like the pregnant woman she was. She developed peculiari-
ties of appetite and was frequently sleepy. She became queasy and
then seasick when the ship hit rough weather off the Bay of Biscay.

Marie and Jean sat with Captain Small one evening discussing
Skye’s welfare. They all agreed that London was not the place for
a delicate expectant mother.

“It is your country,” said Marie to the little Englishman. “Where
would be a good place for Madam to have her accouchement?”

“There are many pleasant places near London,” replied Captain
Small, “but I would prefer she was someplace far from the city. It’s
not just the child we must worry about. The lady Skye has had the
severe shock of her husband’s murder. She ought to be in a quiet
place. I have set course for my own home port, the town of Bideford
in Devon. I own a fine big house several miles outside the town.
My sister, Cecily, lives there. She will welcome you all, and adore
taking care of the lady Skye. After the babe is born your mistress
may continue on to London. But perhaps by then she will not wish
to go.”

Thus it was that the Mermaid rounded Hartland Point on a fine

October morning to sail into Barnstable Bay and then a little way
up the River Torridge to Bideford. As Skye stood at the ship’s rail.
watching the undulating woodland scenery that sloped down to the
riverbank, she saw with sure instinct that this was a safe haven.
Robert Small had been right. It was here that she would have her
baby in safety. Whatever else came afterward, she would find the
courage to face it.

As Osman had said, Skye was following her destiny.