The Panther and The Pearl (30 page)

“Stop being so logical,” Sarah said, irritated. She was throwing on her clothes, pulling pieces of hay out of her hair and turning up her nose at the horsy smell she had recently acquired.

“Just when I think you have gotten over all that Victorian nonsense you have an episode like this,” he said, watching as she stepped into her skirt.

“Blame it on my Puritan ancestors,” she said.

“Who?”

“The Puritans, they came from England and settled in Massachusetts about two hundred years ago. They were very strict about...” She stopped.

“Sex?” he suggested.

“Among other things,” she said, buttoning her blouse.

“And I suppose you have inherited those tendencies?” he said, amused.

“Not inherited. It’s in the atmosphere, in the way you are raised. Like you growing up knowing that you would be the pasha one day and everyone in Bursa would have to obey you.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with your attack of shyness before a bunch of servants.”

“Well, there’s a connection, believe me,” Sarah said, shaking out her hair.

“You must learn to do whatever you want, whenever and wherever you want to do it.”

“That sounds like the philosophy of a spoiled child,” Sarah retorted.

“Or a pashana,” he said.

She looked at him. “What?”

“Never mind. Come to me this evening and I will tell you all about it.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lingeringly. “My finance minister will be waiting for me by now, so I must go. I will see you tonight.”

He left, and the eunuchs escorted Sarah back to the harem, where Memtaz was in a lather. She was going through Sarah’s garments, pulling open drawers and trunks.

“Memtaz, what is going on?” Sarah said from the doorway of her suite.

Memtaz whirled to face her and bowed. Sarah waited for her to straighten up, resigned to the fact that she would never break the Circassian woman of the habit.

“I must make you ready for a special evening, mistress,” she said breathlessly. “I was looking for the blue and silver caftan that looks so well on you.”

“What special evening?”

“I received a message that you are to present yourself in the mabeyn, dressed for a state occasion.”

“A state occasion?” Sarah said. What was this? Why hadn’t Kalid said anything about it?

“Yes, mistress.”

“Memtaz, I’ll wear the caftan but just with a shift. No earrings, no girdle, no cap. I’m tired of wearing twenty pounds of clothes every time I get dressed.”

Memtaz looked distressed.

“All right, we’ll compromise,” Sarah said, relenting. The little maid felt she was not doing her job if Sarah didn’t leave the harem beribboned like a birthday present. “You dress me, and then I’ll take five items off,” Sarah added.

“Five?” Memtaz said.

“Yes.”

Memtaz nodded happily.

By the time Sarah had the evening meal and had bathed and dressed it was time for her to visit Kalid. As per agreement, she had disposed of the jewelry and the ornate girdle Memtaz had selected, but she was still gaudy enough to satisfy the maid that she was satisfactorily attired. She left the harem wondering what Kalid had planned for the night, but he gave no sign as he admitted her to his suite and dismissed the servants.

Sarah watched him turn down the oil lamps and then face her. He was wearing western clothes, as he almost always did now when he was with her, resulting in a curious case of turnabout: she was dressed like an Eastern concubine and he like a London playboy in tweed trousers and an ivory lisle shirt. He gestured for her to sit down and then presented her with a scrolled box sealed at the clasp with yellow wax.

“What is this?” she asked.

He sat at her feet and then reclined on one elbow. “Open it,” he said.

Sarah obeyed, thinking that he was always giving her presents. It was difficult not to get used to it.

The box contained a pair of ornate velvet slippers, trimmed with gold thread and studded with precious gems. She picked up one shoe and studied it, the crystals sparkling in the lamplight.
 

“They’re very beautiful. Are they for me?”

“Of course. I had them made. They were measured from your kid boots.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you understand the significance of this gift?”

“Uh, no.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m asking you to marry me.”

Sarah stared at him, speechless. “By giving me a pair of shoes?” she finally said stupidly.

He smiled. “It is the custom.”

“Why?”

“It signifies that I will be supplying all of your necessaries for the rest of your life. The custom demands slippers for all the members of your household. I had a pair made for Memtaz too.”

Sarah sat holding the shoes, looking down at him.

“What is your answer?” he said.

Sarah was silent.

“You are still free to go back to America, if that is your choice,” he said quietly. “I am asking you to stay here in Bursa with me and be my wife.”

Sarah bent to touch his face, and he pulled her down into his arms.

“Can you leave me?” he asked, cradling her tenderly against his shoulder. “Can you, kourista?”

“No.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“It’s just such a total commitment, abandoning a former life for a completely different new one. I will never see my home again, will I?”

“Perhaps you will. We can take trips.”

“That’s not all, Kalid.”

“What else?”

“I don’t want to be the pashana.”

“I’m afraid there’s no choice about that.”

“But all these people bowing and scraping before me, it makes me nervous. It was bad enough as the ikbal, but as your wife...”

“I could tell them all to spit on you if it makes you feel any better,” he said dryly.

“I don’t think that’s very funny.”

“Sorry.”

“Can’t we just go on as we were?” Sarah asked. “I’ve been so happy, haven’t you?”

“Do you really want to spend your time here as a concubine?” he demanded.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Do you want to see me take another wife? I will have to eventually, for the safety of the title.”

“I could never stand to see you marry anyone else,” she said quietly.
 

“Then you have no choice. I want you to be my wife and have my children. I want you to be the mother of the heir,” he said.

The thought of having Kalid’s children gave her butterflies in her stomach. What would they look like? Would they have his slender body, dark eyes and lustrous black hair? Would they be as beautiful as their father?

“What are you thinking?” he said.

“About the future.”

“I want you to share it with me,” he said.
 

“I never thought, when I met you, that we would be having this conversation,” she said.
 

“I did.”

“You knew you wanted to marry me the moment you saw me?” she asked.

“I knew you would be important in my life. More than that it was impossible to say.”

“I guess I felt the same, but I didn’t want to admit it,” she said softly.

“Then your answer is yes?” he asked, taking her hand and holding it to his cheek.

“Yes, Kalid. I’ll marry you.”

He kissed her forehead lightly. “I’ll make the arrangements right away,” he said.

“What arrangements?”

He smiled. “I am still the pasha of this district, and I must have a formal wedding so that my heir will be recognized.”

“What does a formal wedding involve?”

“Well, let me think. You will arrive at Orchid Palace, heavily veiled and dressed in a red silk wedding gown. Then you will come through a silk tunnel stretching from your carriage to the door. Kosem will lead you to the bridal throne set up on a dais. Once I lift the veil and see you I will throw coins at the spectators to signify my acceptance of you as my bride.”

“Why do you have to accept me?”

“In marriages among commoners the husband often does not see the wife until the wedding day.”

“Oh, no, that’s awful. You mean he can reject her if he doesn’t like the way she looks?”

“Yes.”

“But the wife has no such option.”

“No.”

“Lovely custom. What else?”

“Then there is a feast and after it you are delivered to my room by your male relatives. Since you have none here your escort will be a selection of my halberdiers.”

“And then?”

“Then you enter my bed from the foot to signify that I am your master,” he said, grinning.

“We’ll skip that part. Anything else?”

“In the morning we display the bloody sheet from my balcony,” he said casually.

Sarah stared at him. “We might have a little trouble with that one,” she finally said.

He laughed. “You
were
a virgin bride, kourista. We just didn’t wait for the formal ceremony, and that, to me, is a matter of no consequence.”

“Your subjects might not see it that way.”

“They won’t know. No man touched you before I did, and that is what counts.”

“So what do we do about the sheet?”

“We’ll kill a rooster and then smear the animal’s blood on the bed linen.”

Sarah was speechless, appalled. “I hope that’s a joke,” she eventually managed to whisper.

“No. It’s often done. Virgins are not as plentiful as they once were.”

Sarah closed her eyes. “Kalid, are you making all of this up?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“I am not. In the rural areas if the bloody sheet is not displayed the husband can repudiate the wife.”

“What? Again?”

“Yes.”

“It’s so...”

“Barbaric?” he said, watching her face.

“I know you don’t like that word.”

“But that’s part of my attraction for you, isn’t it?”

Sarah glanced at him but didn’t reply.

“I’m not exactly what you might encounter back home at a tea dance given by the Daughters of the American Renovation.”

“Revolution,” she corrected him.

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

Sarah looked away from him. She did. “How do you know about tea dances?” she said.

“I attended a few of them at Oxford,” he replied, sighing exaggeratedly.

“I gather you found them boring.”

“I found them very…Western. Lots of chit-chat and not much action.”

“You must have caused quite a sensation among the finger sandwiches and canapés.”

“I was a curiosity. I think some of the young ladies expected me to arrive with a knife clasped in my teeth.”

“Or they were hoping,” Sarah said under her breath.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. When will the ceremony take place?”

“In three days.”

“Three days! That doesn’t give me much time.”

“To do what?”

“Well, I have to get ready.”

“And what exactly would that involve, kourista?” he asked, amused.

Sarah considered it. There wasn’t a single human being for her to invite, she had no personal effects other than those at the palace, and everything she needed was there.

“Thinking about it?” she offered lamely.

“I understand. Brides to be always have their dreams. What are yours?”

“To be with you forever,” she said promptly.

“That I can guarantee.”

“To have children as handsome and brave and smart as their father,” she added.

He didn’t say anything, merely took her chin in his hand and ran his thumb lightly over her lips, his dark eyes lambent in the softly lit room.

“And to be your best friend,” she added.

“You
are
my best friend,” he said, his voice catching on the second word. He eased her down onto the carpet and began to undo the outfit Memtaz had so carefully assembled.

“Do you think you will ever tire of me, want to send me back to Boston?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

“You’ll be too old to travel by then,” he replied, and bent his head to kiss her.

“Oh, mistress, there never was such a lovely bride,” Memtaz said, clasping her hands together and staring at Sarah’s reflection in the pier glass.

Sarah looked too, unable to believe that the woman in the mirror was herself. She was dressed in a long sleeved, high necked silk gown with frog closures of golden thread, embroidered all over with golden flowers and cinched with a gold mesh belt. A diamond tiara held a short veil of silk gauze trimmed with gold. Fastened to it was the
abayah
, or long veil, and her earbobs were golden circlets with huge, dangling pearls. Over all she would wear a red velvet feradge when she traveled by coach to enter the palace by the Carriage House gate. It lay on her sleeping couch, a reminder that in an hour she would be the new Pashana of Bursa.