Adora (43 page)

“What is she like?”

“Fair, with reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her mother was a Greek. She reads, writes, and speaks Greek. And
she reads and speaks Turkish as well. She is soft-spoken, has been taught all the housewifely virtues, and is faithful in her devotions. She has spent part of her time with us learning the Eastern way of pleasing a husband. I feel you will find her most accomplished.” Theadora’s eyes were sparkling mischievously.

“Am I allowed a glimpse of this paragon, aunt?”

“Go to the window, Manuel, and look out into my garden. The two maidens tossing the ball are your cousin, Janfeda, and your betrothed, Julia.”

“Janfeda, here? I had heard she was to go to Baghdad.”

“She goes soon.”

Manuel Paleaologi studied the girl who played with his pretty cousin. Julia was a pretty little thing. She laughed easily and was good-natured when she missed a catch. His good fortune suddenly overwhelmed him. He had ridden into Bursa expecting not to leave it alive. Instead, he was forgiven his sins and presented with a beautiful bride.

A lesser man might have made the mistake of considering this a sign of weakness on the sultan’s part. Manuel Paleaologi did not make that mistake. His father had been right. Murad was playing the Paleaologi family against one another. It suited him that Manuel take young Julia of Nicea for a wife. A stupid man might have resented this. But Manuel, like his father, saw that the once-great empire of Byzantium had shrunk to nothing. He knew that sooner or later what was left would fall to the Ottoman Turks. In the meantime, he and John would do what they could to preserve what remained of Byzantium. He was his father‘s son, and John Paleaologi could be proud of him. If peace with the Turks meant a wedding with that adorable creature running about the lawn, then Manuel would certainly wed with her.

“When your eyes narrow like that,” came the aunt’s voice, “you look like your father, and I know you are thinking.”

He laughed with good grace. “I was thinking I am a fortunate man. I am alive, and I have a beautiful bride. When am I to wed with the maid?”

“Tomorrow. My lord Murad has brought the metropolitan of Nicea here to Bursa, and he will perform the ceremony at noon.”

“Does the bride know yet?” asked Manuel dryly.

“She will be told this evening,” replied Adora smoothly. “And now, nephew, I will allow you to return to your own quarters. You will want to spend time in prayer and meditation prior to your marriage.”

Her tone was serious, but her eyes teased. He stood, kissed her soft cheek, and left the room. Adora sat for a few minutes, pleased with the day’s work. She liked Manuel. He was so much like his gentle father. When John Paleaologi told his son he would send word ahead, it had been to Adora he had written, not the sultan. The sultan’s favorite wife was not well-acquainted with Manuel, but John had not been half so eloquent when he had spoken of his older son. Manuel’s record as governor was a good one, and his love and loyalty to his father were genuine. Adora had been impressed enough to chance pleading for the young man. Now, having spoken with him, she believed her faith in John’s judgement had been justified.

“Ahh, you are thinking again,” teased Murad as he entered the room. “You will get wrinkles. Too much thought is not good for a woman.”

“Then your harem should be wrinkle-free,” she shot back at him. “There isn’t one whole thought among them all.”

Roaring his laughter, he scooped her up and carried her to her bed. He dumped her on it. Flinging himself down next to her, he kissed her. “Your mouth tastes of grapes, Adora,” he said, loosening her hair from its elegant coronet. The dark, silken mantle fell about her shoulders. Taking a handful, he crushed it between his fingers and sniffed its fragrance. “I have
pardoned your nephew, woman. And I have given him a beautiful bride.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest and felt his strong heartbeat. “I am aware of all this, my lord Murad.”

“Am I not entitled to a reward for my most generous behavior?”

“Yes, my lord, you are. I have almost finished embroidering your new slippers with seed pearls,” she replied gravely.

“Seed pearls? On my slippers?” He was incredulous.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered demurely, but her voice held a funny tremor and her eyes were lowered. “I have pricked my poor fingers most dreadfully, but ‘tis a fine reward for my lord’s generosity.”

He pinioned her beneath him with a smothered oath. “Look at me, woman!”

His command was met by a burst of silvery laughter as she raised her lovely eyes to him. “Do you not want the slippers, my lord?” she asked innocently.

“No! I want you!” he answered fiercely.

She slid her arms around his neck. “Have me then, my lord! I await you!” And she placed a sweet, burning kiss on his mouth.

Her sheer robe melted away under his quick hands, and she was naked to his soft, sure touch.

His own brocade robe opened beneath her skillful fingers. She returned his caresses, running her hands down his long back, cupping the hard roundness of his buttocks in her warm hands.

“Woman,” he murmured against her throat, “if the houris assigned to me in Paradise have hands half as soft, half as clever as yours I shall consider myself blessed.”

She laughed softly and reached down to fondle his manhood. Gently she roused a passion in him so great that only the fierce and swift possession of her body could satisfy it.

Now it was he who was the master, leading her on, holding her back, making her cry out with pleasure. He kissed her again and again until she was almost swooning, and she returned the kisses with a depth and ardor that only increased his passion. Frantically he whispered her name against her ear.
“Adora! Adora! Adora!”
and she answered him softly, “Murad, my beloved!”

Then suddenly he could no longer control his desires. He felt her body reaching the same blazing climax. She shuddered violently several times. Her skin was almost burning to the touch. Groaning, he spilled his milky seed into her soft body and, in a burst of clarity, she realized again that in this constant battle between men and women, it was the woman who emerged victorious in the end. Tenderly she cradled him against her, crooning soft little love words to him.

When she awoke in the morning he was still asleep beside her, looking boyish despite his years. For a moment she lay quietly watching him. Then she dropped a kiss on his brow. The dark eyes that opened and looked upon her were for the briefest moment so filled with love that she was astounded. She knew he loved her but he was not a man given to saying so often. The emotion she had glimpsed made her feel humble. She understood why he hid it from her. Murad would always consider love a weakness. He believed that showing such weakness to a woman lessened him and gave the woman an unfair advantage.

She smothered a chuckle. Would he never trust her love for him? “Arise, my lord, my love! The sun is already up, and this is the day we wed my nephew with the little heiress of Nicea.”

How lovely she still is, he thought, gazing on her camellia-skinned nudity, her long dark hair swirling about her. “Have
we not even a moment to ourselves?” he growled, kissing her round shoulder.

“No,” she teased, rising from their bed. “Would you have the marketplace gossips say that Sultan Murad has grown soft, and lingers within a woman’s arms once the sun is up?”

Laughing, he leapt from the bed and delivered a well-aimed smack to her tempting backside. He was rewarded with a shriek of outrage. “You, my lady Adora, have a wicked tongue.”

Rubbing her injured part, she pouted, “And you, my lord slug-a-bed, have a hard hand.” And catching up a gauze robe she fled to her bath, his appreciative chuckle echoing behind her.

The witch must always have the last word, he thought.

Murad left her suite for his own. He wanted young Manuel bedded as quickly as possible. Although the emperor could have no objection to the girl, he would probably be irritated to find that the sultan had usurped his paternal authority. Murad wanted the little Julia pregnant quickly so there could be no chance of annulment. The girl’s mother had been an excellent breeder. Murad hoped Julia would prove just as fecund, but the girl’s slenderness worried him somewhat.

Murad was not officially part of the religious ceremony. He stood behind a carved screen as the patnarch of Nicea united the young couple. The sultan was amused to see the wide-eyed girl sneaking looks at the stranger to whom she was being married.

Afterward, he joined the newlyweds in a small celebration in Adora’s apartments. Thamar was also there, but more to lobby for her own son than to wish the bride and groom well. Isolating Murad in a corner, she complained, “First your son, Bajazet, is wed to Zubedya of Germiyan. Now you wed your nephew, Manuel, to Julia of Nicea. What of our son, Yakub? Have you no noble bride for him? Is only Theadora’s family dear to you?”

He fixed her with a hard look. She was no longer the slender beauty with the gorgeous golden hair who had fascinated him. She was heavier, her skin had coarsened, her hair was faded. It never occurred to Murad that his absence from her life and her bed was responsible for these changes. He had never been particularly fond of her, and right now she was an irritant.

“Yakub is my younger son. He is not my choice to succeed me. Yakub’s fate rests with his older brother, Bajazet. My father‘s choice was my brother, Suleiman, and therefore I took no fertile favorites, nor spawned children until after his death. It is possible that Yakub will not survive my death by more than a few hours. If such is to be his fate, none of his sons would survive either.”

Her eyes were wide with shock. “What is it you say to me?” she whispered.

“There can be only one sultan,” he said quietly.

“But your own father made his brother Al-addin, his vizir.”

“And I deposed a half brother who was my elder, for there were those who would have put Ibrahim before me and ruled through him.”

“You would condone your own son’s murder?” She was horrified.

“Yes!” he answered her fiercely. “You are a Christian, Thamar, and were raised in a world where mounting a crusade against the ‘infidel’ Turk was daily talk. Your Christian brothers would love nothing better than to cause dissension between two heirs to my kingdom. Therefore, when I die, it is probable that Yakub will follow me shortly. There can be only one sultan. Let us have no more talk of this, or of brides for Yakub.”

“Why then was your half brother, Halil, spared when you became sultan? Was not Theadora’s son by your father a
danger to you also? Or perhaps,” she suggested unpleasantly, “he is really your son and not Orkhan’s child.”

He wanted to hit her, but he would not spoil the party. Instead he fixed her with a look of intense dislike. “My half brother is a cripple. Certainly you know that deformity of any kind is not permitted an Ottoman sultan. And never again abuse Adora by foul innuendo, Thamar, else I will tear your tongue from your head. Her life with my father was an unhappy one.”

“Something like my life with you,” she taunted.

“Your own bitterness is what makes your unhappiness. You became my second wife knowing full well that Theadora claimed all my heart.”

“Did I have any choice?”

“No,” he admitted. “You were bound to obey your father.”

“And you might have refused my father’s offer, but you lusted after me!”

“You could have been happy, Thamar. Adora welcomed you as a sister and tried to smooth your way. You brushed her kindness aside and behaved like a spoiled child.”

“And at the height of your passion on our wedding night you whispered
her
name over and over again like a prayer!”

“I did?” He was shocked by the hatred in her eyes as well as the knowledge she had just imparted. She turned and stalked slowly from the room.

Only Theadora had witnessed the exchange. She had not, of course, heard the words spoken between them, but she had seen Thamar’s hatred. She now sent Murad a puzzled look. But he merely smiled and joined her. She soon forgot the strange scene.

Thamar, however, did not forget. The bitterness that had been growing hidden in her over the years now took a turn toward revenge. Returning to her apartments, she dismissed
her women and flung herself on her bed, weeping. Suddenly she knew she was not alone. Sitting up, she saw a eunuch standing quietly in the corner.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded furiously.

“I thought I might be of service, my lady. It breaks my heart to hear you weep so.”

“Why should you care?” she muttered.

In answer he crossed the room and knelt before her. “Because I dare to love you, my lady,” he murmured.

Shocked, Thamar looked closely at the kneeling eunuch. He was unbelievably beautiful with liquid brown eyes fringed in thick dark lashes, and curly black hair. He was tall and, unlike most eunuchs, muscular and firm.

“I have not seen you before,” she said.

“Yet I was assigned to your service over a year ago,” he answered. “I have seen the look of sadness grow on you, my lady, and I have longed to erase it.”

Thamar was beginning to feel better. This outrageous young eunuch was talking to her as if he truly cared. “What is your name?” she asked at last.

“Demetrios, my lovely lady.”

She hid a smile, trying to sound bored. “Once I was lovely, Demetrios, but no longer.”

“A bit of exercise, a special rinse to return the gold to your hair…and of course, someone to love you.”

“The first two are easily done,” she said, “but the third is impossible.”

“I,” he lowered his voice, “could love you, my dearest lady.” He let his meltingly beautiful brown eyes sweep over her. Thamar felt a flush run from her toes to her head.

“You are a eunuch,” she whispered. Then, fearfully, “Aren’t you?”

“My sweet, innocent lady,” he murmured, taking her hand in his and caressing it. “There are two ways to geld a male. With little boys, all is removed—but with older boys and young men as myself only the sac containing the seeds of life are taken. The mortality rate is less that way.” He stood and dropped his pantaloons. The rod of his manhood hung flaccid. “Caress me, my lady,” he begged. Fascinated, Thamar complied.