The Mystic Rose (32 page)

Prince Hasan closed the leather-bound book and placed it in her hands.

“Darling Ketmia, if you only knew how much you have already given me. Please, accept it as but a small token of my great esteem and,” he gazed intently into her eyes, “my even greater affection.”

Her heart, filled with tender thoughts of her father, the warmth of the prince's breathtaking generosity, and so many fragile emotions, overflowed in a sudden rush. “Pray excuse me, lord,” she said, pushing the tears away, “but it has been so long since anyone has treated me with such kindness and compassion.”

His gaze softened. Reaching a hand to her cheek, he said, “Oh, my lovely Ketmia, you deserve nothing less. I would that I could give you such gifts always. For although we are but briefly met, I feel as if I have known you all my life.”

Flustered by this admission, Cait stood speechless. Grasping the book, she looked down and rubbed the fallen tears from the leather. In the end, she was saved having to answer the prince's declaration by the sound of a gong ringing in one of the antechambers.

The prince straightened. “I am called away. Come, I will have Jubayar take you back to the women's quarters so that you can rest and ready yourself for this evening.”

The gong sounded again, and the prince led Caitríona back through a long corridor to one of the reception halls, and there commanded the eunuch to conduct her to the women's quarters. She looked for Rognvald, or one of the knights, as they walked back through the interconnecting maze of corridors and passages, but saw none of the other guests.

Mahdi and Pila'i were waiting when she returned. While she rested, they prepared a bath for her, and laid out clothes for the evening. Cait surrendered herself to their ministra
tions, and passed the rest of the day in a pleasant haze of pampered indulgence.

As evening came on, the serving maids dressed her, arranged her hair, and brought out a necklace of jewels for her to wear. And then, when she was ready, the gong sounded, and a few moments later Jubayar arrived to take her to her dinner with the prince. She followed her escort through the covered courtyard, and as they passed the alabaster fountain, she heard a rustling sound and turned in time to see Prince Hasan's sister, Danji, disappearing behind one of the leafy palms. Cait had just a glimpse and then she was gone, but received the distinct impression that the young woman had been trying to attract her attention.

She turned back to find Jubayar watching her, his wide, fleshy lips twisted in a sneer of suspicion and disgust.

C
AITRÍONA DINED ALONE
with Prince Hasan that night. He fed her duckling glazed with a compote of honeyed apricots, boiled rice with cardamom and pine kernels, and baked quail's eggs. He plied her with spiced wine and sweetmeats, and pledged his love for her—not once, but twice. And she had accepted his blandishments.

She returned to her bedchamber slightly dazed and giddy from the heady potion of wine and murmured endearments. With the help of Mahdi and Pila'i, she undressed and went to sleep contemplating the evening in all its glittering grandeur.

Arrayed like an Eastern princess in layer upon layer of costly silks and jewels, she had been escorted by Jubayar to her dinner with the prince. She arrived to find the Peacock Room completely bare of any furnishings whatsoever, and stood for a moment peering into the dim, empty interior, feeling vaguely disappointed; for she had allowed herself to imagine something of the opulence of the previous evening. Her first thought was that the prince had forgotten his promise. Then again, perhaps she had not understood him correctly. As she stood in the center of the turquoise-tiled chamber, trying to think what could have happened, the prince arrived.

Dressed in flowing black robes edged with gold filigree, and wearing a turban of glistening Damascus cloth, he was the very embodiment of princely nobility. Slender and tall, his trim waist wrapped in a wide cloth belt into which had
been bound a long curved dagger with a ruby handle and golden sheath, he swept across the room to her in bold, eager strides, and greeted her with a kiss on both hands.

Sensing her petulance, he smiled with wry amusement, clapped his hands and, in the manner of a sorcerer demonstrating a wonder, cried a word in Arabic which sounded like: “Haydee!”

Doors at the far end of the empty chamber were flung open and a succession of white-turbaned servants appeared. First came four men carrying iron standards, one in each hand; on each standard a candletree burned with ten lit candles. Hard on the heels of these first came four more men, carrying a lengthy roll of scarlet-and-blue figured carpet, which they placed at one end of the room and proceeded to unroll to the other; before they had reached the end, four more serving men appeared bearing enormous satin cushions on their heads, and a smaller carpet roll under their arms. No sooner had the first servants finished, than the second rank unrolled their rug in the center of the carpet, and placed the cushions on it.

Meanwhile, two more servants had entered carrying a low table between them, which they placed before the cushions. Scarcely had these departed when the first returned pushing gigantic pots of hammered brass containing miniature palm trees on wheeled platforms. Additional tables appeared, and more plants and live greenery in beaten brass containers, until the room began to take on the aspect of an Arabian garden. Then followed satin-covered chests and carved wooden boxes of various shapes and sizes; three flaming charcoal braziers and two cauldron-shaped copper incense burners; and a three-panel pierced screen made of rosewood, which was set up behind the bank of cushions; and an enormous brass gong.

Lastly, a canopy of blue silk was placed over the table and the candles arranged around it to bathe the diners in a golden glow of gently flickering light. Cait was captivated by the speed with which the transformation was effected, and by the wonderful result. In her excitement, she kissed the prince lightly on the cheek.

Five musicians appeared, arranged themselves and their instruments at a discreet distance from the canopy, and began to play. As the softly swaying melody filled the air, Hasan lifted his hand and declared, “This is how a true Prince of the Orient lives. Wherever he goes—whether to dine, or sleep, or,” he paused, taking Cait's hand, “to receive his honored guests—the noble Arab has only to command, and his naked word is transmuted into magnificence and splendor.

“But come,” he said, leading her to the bank of cushions, “let us sit and take our ease. I have arranged food and entertainment for your pleasure. Tonight, darling Ketmia, you will sample delicacies to make the angels envious.”

“Will Danji be joining us?” she asked. “Or Rognvald?”

“No, not tonight.” He smiled, his black eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Tonight, my love, we spend together, you and I.”

Cait felt a quiver of illicit excitement at the implications of his declaration, but suddenly the skin at the nape of her neck crawled. A sensation of dread descended over her, and she felt as if she had just seen a snake. At any other time, this reaction would have warned her. Now, however, it irritated her. Where, she demanded of herself, was the danger?

She told herself that Prince Hasan was an admirable and generous host, a thoughtful and trustworthy friend; he was elegant, wealthy, and refined. He had already demonstrated his loyalty to her in his vow to save her sister, and now he spoke his love. No man, until now, had ever called her beautiful; to be thought so thrilled her in a way she could not have imagined. Who else had ever said the things to her that Hasan had said? A woman might search all her life for such a man and never find him. And here he was beside her, bidding her to take her ease and join him in a night of pleasure and delight.

And yet, the prospect, for all its seductive charm, produced not the rapturous warmth of mutual regard, but a thin, icy tingle of danger. She saw Hasan's smile, and it was the corpse-like grin of death.

Why should this be? Why should his loving declaration raise such dread?

As she walked to the table and sank down onto the satin cushions, she determined to ignore the warning sensations and enjoy the evening to the full. Firmly, and with an air of defiant indulgence, she pushed all such unpleasantness from her and willfully embraced the prince's invitation to luxuriate in the warmth of their new-kindled affection.

Folding her legs beneath her, she reclined on an elbow while the prince, taking up a leather-tipped mallet, struck the gong twice. Before the sound had faded, the door opened and serving maids appeared—two of them with trays, one bearing a jar and two gold chalices, and one a selection of silver bowls. While one of the serving maids placed the bowls on the table, the other poured the wine.

“There is good news,” said the prince, watching the dark wine splash into the golden cups. “The storm abated somewhat at midday, so I was able to send Halhuli and some of my men to take word of my offer to the settlements. It will not be long, I think, before we hear word of his whereabouts.”

“Oh, that is good news. Thank you, my lord. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, my sweet Ketmia,” said Hasan, passing her a cup. “Let us drink to a splendid and glorious future together.”

Cait accepted the cup without hesitation and thus began a night of such intimacy and tenderness that when she finally rose to return to her quarters, she felt as if she were leaving part of herself behind.

Now, in the thin morning light, as she lay in bed still floating on the ebullient tide of emotion, she experienced the first faint twinges of regret. Outside, the storm rampaged with renewed vigor. She could hear the gale-driven sleet and snow rattling against the windows, and the wind booming and bellowing as it hurled itself against the walls in waves like a raging ocean swell.

She pushed any thoughts of reproach or misgiving firmly aside and got out of bed. Her serving maids had risen and were waiting to dress her, and adorn her hair. When they
were finished, she went out to find Rognvald to tell him that he need not worry about resuming the search.

She found him, along with Svein, Dag, Yngvar, and the two Spanish knights hurrying across the snowy courtyard to the stables. They were dressed in heavy skins, wool, and leather, and carried bags of provisions on their backs. At her call, the tall knight sent the others on, and returned to hear what she had to say.

“The horses are saddled. We have provisions enough for three days on the trail. With God's help we will return before then.”

“But the storm still rages.”

“And it may continue for several more days before it is finished. We have already lost three days, we dare not waste any more.”

“There is no need,” she said lightly. “The prince has already sent word to the settlements. We have only to wait and Ali Waqqar will soon bring Alethea to us.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but I do not think it wise to abandon the search.”

“Now you are just being stubborn,” she told him.

“And you are being gulled by a man used to having every whim satisfied,” he replied, straining to keep his tone even. “Mark me, a dalliance with a man like Hasan can only end in misery.”

“How dare you come high-handed with me!” she charged, instantly furious with him. “And I will thank you not to speak of our benefactor in that coarse and insinuating way.”

“Benefactor?” Rognvald dismissed the notion with a scornful laugh. “That man only thinks to benefit himself. I should have thought a woman of your discernment would recognize a poisonous snake when she saw one.”

“Take that back!” she snapped. “Hasan has treated me with more respect and esteem than any man I have ever met. He is a prince in both word and deed, and a nobleman worthy of the name.”

“Is he?” the knight challenged. “Is he indeed? Then consider this: do you not think it strange how this
noble
man
seems to know such a great deal about the price of slaves in Tunis?”

“What of that?” Cait countered waspishly. “Even
I
know the ransom price of a pig-headed knight rescued from a Damascus prison.”

Rognvald glared at her, his mouth a firm, hard line, his blue eyes bright with cold fire.

“Nothing else to say, my lord?”

“Sneering does not become a lady.”

“Nor does petty spite and envy appear more seemly in a man,” she retorted. “If you could keep your contemptible observations to yourself, I would count it a blessing.”

Still glaring, he made a curt bow. “As you will. Pray give my regards to your prince; my men and I will resume the search for Abu and your sister.”

“Then go—for all the good it will do!”

He stepped quickly to the door and paused. “I made a vow before God,” he said in solemn earnest, then hurried out into the storm.

Furious still, and determined not to allow him the satisfaction of the last word, she dashed to the open door and shouted after the swiftly retreating figure. “Hasan is twice the man you are!”

Her words were lost in the rattling howl of the wind. Rognvald walked on, and the sleety snow soon took him from view. She turned to the door and, pushing with all her might, slammed it shut with a booming thump; the sound brought the two porters on the run. They admonished her in rapid Arabic, but she paid no heed and stalked off, leaving them to wipe up the puddle of melted sleet on the floor.

Seething inside, she stormed along the deserted corridors of the
al-qazr
, smacking her fist against the wall now and then, and cursing Rognvald's insufferable insolence. She swore on her soul that she had never known a more vexatious and annoying man.

She did not know which was the more irksome—the Norwegian lord himself, or the fact that, impudent as he un
doubtedly was, he was also right: a dalliance with the prince could bring serious, not to say disastrous, consequences.

Not yet ready to admit as much, Cait dismissed the thought from her mind and made her way back to the women's quarters without pausing to summon Jubayar to escort her. Presently, she reached the covered courtyard and paused at the fountain to look at the water lilies and chide herself for being so angry with Rognvald.

She was gazing at her own glum reflection in the water when she heard the soft brush of a light step on the gallery above, and glanced up to see Hasan's sister Danji watching her intently. Forcing a smile, she raised her hand in greeting, and drew breath to speak. Before she could utter a word, however, the young woman silenced her with a frantic gesture, and motioned for her to come up onto the upper gallery.

Glancing around quickly to make certain they were unobserved, Cait hurried up the stairs only to find that Danji had moved on. She was standing a few paces away, and as Cait made to join her she disappeared through a door leading to one of the inner chambers. Uncertain what to do, Cait hesitated, and a moment later Danji's hand appeared, beckoning her on.

Cait hastened to the door, which was open, and stepped inside; the room was cold and dark, the only light coming from a small window covered by a heavy grill. With a look of intrigue that sent a quiver of complicity racing through Cait, the young woman pulled her into the room and closed the door behind her. She then moved to the window and motioned for Cait to follow.

“I must speak to you,” Danji said. “But we must never be seen together.” Her voice trembled, but whether with fright or cold, Cait could not tell. “Promise me you will tell no one.”

“You can speak Latin,” said Cait.

“You must promise,” Danji insisted. “Now. This instant—or I will tell you nothing.”

“I do promise. I will tell no one what passes between us,” she agreed firmly.

“Very well. Do not think me unkind, but you must leave
here at once. It is not safe.” She gripped Cait's arm for emphasis. “You must believe me.”

“Why? What is wrong, Danji?”

Glancing around as if she feared they would be overheard, Danji shook her head. “I can say no more.”

“Why must I leave?”

“You are in danger.” She edged closer to the door.

Cait held her. “Tell me why? Where is the danger?”

“Please, I can say no more. He would kill me if he found out I spoke to you.” Danji moved quickly to the door.

Cait followed. “Who?” she asked, but received no reply. Clearly she would get no more from the frightened woman this way, and decided to try another approach. “No harm will come to you,” she said, trying to reassure her. “I thought Hasan said you could not speak Latin.”