All the Sweet Tomorrows (39 page)

“It is you who should take care,” he muttered, and then he held her close against him in a fatherly embrace. “I wish to Heaven you wouldn’t do this thing,” he said, “but I know that you must. God’s bones, lass, come home safely!” Then he quickly released her, and was gone out the door. She was certain she had seen tears in his kindly eyes.

With a sigh Skye turned from the door and walked back to Osman’s study, where the astrologer awaited her. Wordlessly he handed her a tiny porcelain cup of newly made coffee. Slowly she sipped the burning, bitter liquid until at last she felt calm again. Sensing her recovery, Osman spoke.

“There is no one among my slaves who knows who you are. We will therefore begin the charade now. You are Muna, a slave girl whom I have bought to give my nephew, the lord Kedar of Fez. You are a captive, but for beautiful captives like yourself there is no ransom. You were widowed a year ago, and were being sent by your family to marry a wealthy Florentine merchant. You have two babies, but your husband-to-be did not want you to bring your children to this new marriage.

“Just as it entered the Mediterranean, your ship was captured by pirates who brought you to Algiers, where you were placed in a private bagnos. I bought you. You arrived today at the same time my old friend, Captain Small, arrived. I have returned your trunk, by the way, to your ship. I will see that you are clothed properly to entice my nephew.” He thought a moment. “Have I forgotten anything, Muna?”

“No, my lord Osman,” she answered meekly.

He smiled. “Very good, my daughter! Now, for the next two days you must immerse yourself in the character of Muna. Does my history of your past satisfy you?”

“It is fine, my lord, but I would ask one question. You have still not told me how old I am to be.”

“Aiii!” Osman clapped his plump hand to his smooth forehead. Then he nodded at her with a small smile. “You can easily pass for twenty, my daughter. Your skin is so marvelously translucent it makes you seem much younger than your years. One other thing. You must have a potion that will prevent your conceiving a child by my nephew. Such a thing is unthinkable!”

“I have my own potion, Osman, but you have sent it back to the ship along with my trunk,” she laughed.

“It works?”

“I have never conceived a child while I took it,” she answered him.

“I will have it fetched immediately, then,” he said. “There is no use switching potions if yours works. Return to your quarters now, my daughter, and I will send the seamstress to you. She will outfit you completely within the next two days. When Kedar arrives you will be ready for him.”

Skye rose from the silken cushions, bowed low to Osman, and left him. The next two days proved busy ones as the seamstress
and her assistants sewed a lavish wardrobe for the beautiful slave girl Muna. In Osman’s household only his wife, Alima, knew the truth about Muna. The two women spent most of their waking hours together in the garden, surrounded by Alima and Osman’s children. Altogether there were seven of them: five mischievous little boys ranging in age from nine to two; and two little girls, one seven, and one an infant who had been born around the same time as Skye’s son, Padraic. Alima refreshed Skye’s memory on Eastern customs; any other gaps of knowledge would be put down to her status as a slave.

“What is Kedar like?” she asked Alima.

“I know little about him,” came the reply. “Osman is a very jealous man, and does not allow even his male relatives into the women’s part of the house. I have seen him, of course; Kedar is an attractive man, Muna. He stands a few inches taller than you, and is very powerfully built although he is not fat. He is as fair of skin as you are, for when he lifted his arms once and his robe fell open, I could see where the sun had not reached the whiteness of his skin. The first time I met him I was quite curious, and boldly lifted my eyes to his for just a second. He has eyes as powerful as his uncle, my husband. They are hazel in color, and his hair is a dark brown. His features are pleasant, the eyes well spaced, his face narrow, his nose very aquiline, his lips quite sensuous, as they are a bit wide.”

Skye nodded, satisfied. At least the man wasn’t ugly. “Is he intelligent?” she said, wondering if Alima would know what she really meant.

With her shrewd peasant soul, however, Alima understood. “Yes, he is intelligent and very clever. I also suspect he has some of his uncle’s powers, although Osman has said nothing about it. He is very possessive of what is
his
, Muna, so if he decides you please him—and you
must
please him if you are to get to Fez—he will want to own you totally. Beware of him, for I believe he is a dangerous man.”

Again Skye nodded, and then she asked a final question. “What if he decides to sell me, Alima?”

“Do not fear, Muna. Osman intends to ask him to resell you to him for my sake if Kedar should grow tired of you. Kedar cannot refuse that request.”

Alima’s words reassured Skye considerably, particularly when late that very afternoon Kedar arrived. The two women watched from behind the latticed windows of an upper story as Osman greeted his nephew in the gardens of the house. Kedar moved with a sleek grace that reminded Skye of the panthers she and
Khalid el Bey had kept for hunting. Kedar held his head high, and his step was at once light and very assured. The two men embraced, and then Osman, knowing that the two women watched, pushed back the hood of his nephew’s white traveling robes.

“Let me look at you, son of my beloved dead sister,” he said, and Skye could see that the face in profile was arrogant, hawklike, and Arab.

“It is good to see you again, my Uncle,” Kedar replied, and Skye was struck by the very deep timbre of the man’s voice. It was a voice used to giving orders, used to being obeyed.

“Have you seen enough, Muna?” Alima whispered.

“Yes.”

“Let us go then, for Osman will shortly send for you, and I would be certain your garb is perfection.”

Below them, Osman led Kedar into the cool interior of the house to a small salon. The two men settled themselves comfortably upon low, cushioned red velvet divans, and immediately a slave appeared with a silver basin filled with warmed rosewater and a soft linen towel. Kedar washed the dust of his travels from his face and his hands, and dried them carefully. His were the hands of an aristocrat, long and slender with well-tapered nails. When he had finished, and the slave had hurried off with the used towel and the basin, two other slaves entered the room. One carried a plate of gazelle horns, curved pastries made of flour, ground nuts, and honey. The other was the coffeemaker, who immediately set to work grinding beans and then brewing a dark and rich coffee. When he and his nephew had been served Osman waved them from the room, and sat chatting companionably with his nephew. At last, the courtesies all observed and the traveler made comfortable, Osman said, “You know that each year when you visit me I have a gift for you. This year it is something very, very special. Knowing how proud you are of your harem, my nephew, I have purchased an exquisite slave girl for you. It was not at all what I had in mind, Kedar, but I saw the woman by chance, and knew that she was perfect for your collection of rare and unusual beauties. I know that your good manners will force you to take my gift, but should, Allah for-fend, the girl displease you, then allow me to buy her from you when you return to Fez.”

“If you like her so well, my Uncle, then why give her to me?”

“You misunderstand, Kedar. I do not want her for myself, but she and my wife have become good companions in the short time
she has been in my house. I would do it for Alima. I do not think, however, that you will want to sell her to me. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”

“Is she European?”

“Yes. English.”

“A blonde?” Kedar sounded interested.

“No, a brunette. But what a brunette! Her skin is like a gardenia petal! Would you like to see her?”

“Why not, and I thank you for such a delightful surprise, Uncle. As you know, I do not travel with any of my women, and I have been a month in coming from Fez.”

Osman clapped his hands, and instantly a slave appeared. “Fetch the slave girl Muna,” he ordered, and the slave, nodding, bowed himself out of the room.

“Muna,” Kedar smiled. “You have named her Muna? She is
that
beautiful?”

“I do not believe that a man can see her and not desire her,” was Osman’s reply.

Kedar smiled, faintly amused. He had never known his uncle to be a particular connoisseur of female flesh. He could only assume that his aunt by marriage was a pretty woman, for he had never been allowed to see her unveiled; but he had seen her children and they were certainly attractive. Kedar believed that Alima was a Frenchwoman, but he had never asked, for it would have been considered too personal a question and extremely bad manners. He sipped at the dregs of his coffee and nodded at his uncle. “The woman must be memorable if she has impressed you,” he remarked drily.

Osman smiled an almost mischievous smile, and said, “You have but a moment to wait, nephew.”

The sound of his words had barely died when the door to the salon opened and Skye entered. Her head was lowered, and she had barely entered the room when she was on her knees, her head touching the floor in perfect obeisance. In that position Kedar could see little more of her than a rather charmingly rounded section of hip. Osman noted the easy frustration of his nephew, and said, “Rise, Muna.” She stood quickly, silently, her head still lowered. “Raise your head up,” Osman commanded, and Skye slowly, almost shyly lifted her head. Kedar caught his breath audibly as he gazed into a pair of magnificent blue-green eyes, and Osman smiled softly to himself. His nephew was hooked as easily as any foolish fish offered a delectable bit of bait. Truly his weakness was women. “This is your new master, Muna, the lord Kedar.”

“My lord,” she whispered, and he was forced to lean closer to hear her. In doing so he smelled the delicious fragrance of her rose perfume, which he instinctively knew suited her admirably. She was indeed a perfect rose.

“Remove your garments,” Osman commanded sharply, and Skye turned startled eyes to him, a slow blush suffusing her cheeks.

“No, Uncle, it will not be necessary,” Kedar said. His hand reached out to touch Skye’s arm, his fingers caressing the satiny round of her shoulder. “The woman is shy, and I would not force her. Later she will display to me her obviously bounteous charms. Is that not right, my beautiful Muna?” His fingers continued their caressing.

“Yes, my lord,” Skye said low, and then she trembled, unable to control the tiny ripple of fear that rolled over her. This was no fat and lazy merchant prince who could be easily led through his own lust by a beautiful woman. His hazel eyes were too much like Osman’s eyes; knowing and seeking. Why had she ever agreed to this insane plan in the first place? It wasn’t going to work; she was going to be caught like a bird in a net if she went to Fez as this man’s slave! Then in her mind’s eye Skye saw Niall, her beloved Niall; and taking a deep breath, she calmed this flight of nerves that had possessed her.

“Send her to my quarters, Uncle,” Kedar said, then added in a lower, more intimate voice to Skye, “I will not keep you waiting long, my beautiful Muna. Very soon you will be cured of your charming shyness toward me.”

“Go, Muna,” came Osman’s voice. She turned, and with a low bow toward each of them left the room.

“She is exquisite,” Kedar said quietly as the door closed behind Skye. “I suspect, my Uncle, that words alone will not adequately express my gratitude. Tell me, though, how it is she speaks our language if she is a recent captive?”

“The owner of the bagnos in which I saw her brought her from the ship that had taken her captive. Because she was so filthy and disreputable-looking she escaped being chosen by the Dey’s chief eunuch. The fool could not see her beauty beneath all the dirt and rebellion, but the bagnos owner could. She remained full of fight, however, and it took several months to calm her and train her in the simple rudiments of being a slave. I am afraid she is not greatly accomplished, but she was so beautiful I could not resist. The bagnos owner told me that she appears to be intelligent. He was only forced to discipline her twice, and he did go lightly with her. She has not been marked in any way at
all, and she was quick to learn that unruly behavior would only bring on severe chastisement. It was while she was in the bagnos that she learned our language. I have discovered that she speaks several other European languages. She was obviously educated by her family, though why they bothered I do not know. She is only a woman.”

“True,” Kedar replied, “but an intelligent woman, I have found, is usually far more intriguing than the women who can only spread their legs and prattle on about nothing. Her active mind will make her far more interesting, Uncle.”

“I bought her for her beautiful face and body,” Osman said, sounding somewhat aggrieved.

“Those I intend enjoying as soon as possible, my Uncle, but first I would bathe the dust of that long road between Fez and Algiers from my body.”

“Will you eat with me afterward, my nephew?”

“Not tonight, Uncle. Tonight I intend to put to use the magnificent gift you have given me. I have been a full month without a woman. The whores in the roadside caravanserais are not even fit for camel drivers, and besides, they are all diseased. I never touch them.”

“You know your way to the baths, nephew. Alima has seen that the slaves are ready and awaiting your arrival. Enjoy! I shall speak with you tomorrow.”

“As always, Uncle, your hospitality is munificent,” Kedar said, and then withdrew, hurrying down the hallway from the salon to the spacious baths that Osman had added on to the house soon after he had bought it. As his uncle had said, the slave girls who attended the bath were awaiting him, and they quickly had his clothes off. They were pretty black girls, and he knew them all. Merrily they joked back and forth with him as they soaped and scrubbed him down. Their hands were everywhere on his body, caressing and rubbing with practiced and seemingly detached skill. After all, it was their job to wash the master and his family, and anyone else they might be asked to wash. Still, knowing he was a passionate man, and that his forced abstinence had rendered him as randy as a stallion in a herd of mares in season, they teased him gently as his male organ responded to their tender touches. The lord Kedar had been known in the past to ease his hunger upon the humble bath girls, and they were hopeful.