The Janissary Tree

[ 80 ]

Before Yashim could recover himself, Eugenia had pointed with an imperious finger.

“You could try under the bed,” she said.

Yashim needed no second bidding. He fairly dived for the bed, and wriggled beneath it. He saw Eugenia approach the door in her bare feet; she plucked something from the bed as she passed. A silk peignoir swished through the air and swirled around her ankles.

There was a knock on the door. Yashim strained to hear, but all he could make out was Eugenia’s ‘nyet—nyet’ and a few murmured words. The door closed, and the feet stood again by the edge of the bed. Then the peignoir slid to the floor in a soft cloud, and the feet disappeared.

Eugenia was sitting in bed, right on top of him. She was waiting for her Turk to emerge. She wore a little smile, and nothing else.

Feeling ridiculous, Yashim scrambled to his feet and bowed.

“Forgive me, Excellency,” he said. “I lost my way. I had no idea—”

Eugenia pouted. “No idea, Monsieur Ottomane? You disappoint me. Come.”

She ran her hand down between her breasts. By the jewels, Yashim thought, she is lovely: lovelier than the girls in the sultan’s harem. Such white skin! And her hair—black as shining ebony.

She drew one knee up and the silk sheet rode up, exposing a long, slender thigh.

She wants me, Yashim thought. And I want her. Her skin: he longed to reach out and stroke it. He longed to inhale her strange, foreign fragrance, figure her curves with his own hands, touch her dark lips against his own.

Forbidden. This is the path of passion and regret.

This is where you cannot go. Not if you value your sanity.

“You don’t understand,” said Yashim desperately. “I’m a…a…” What was that word the English boy had used? It came back: “I’m a freelance.”

Eugenia looked puzzled.

“You want me to pay?” She laughed incredulously and shook her curls. Not only her curls. “What if I don’t?”

Yashim was confused. She saw the confusion on his face, and held up her hands.

“Come,” she said.

She put her hands flat on the bed, behind her back. Yashim groaned softly and closed his eyes.

Five minutes later, Eugenia had discovered what Yashim meant by freelance.

“Better and better,” she said, and threw herself back against the pillows. She raised a slender knee.

“So take me, Turk!” she gasped.