Chapter 20
THEY LEFT THE bagnio behind them. “I almost hate him,” Alex said harshly. She wiped her eyes. “This doesn’t make any sense! Why the hell does he mistrust me so? He doesn’t even want to try to believe me.”
“You’re Jebal’s wife, Alex; worse, you are an American. Can’t you see how that must look from his point of view?”
“No!” But unfortunately, Alex could. “Murad, do you think he is in love with me? And that is why he is so furious with my deception?”
“No,” Murad said sharply, “I do not.”
Alex had to be honest with herself. She was more than hurt, she was frightened and heartbroken. What if Blackwell escaped without her? How could this be happening?
Alex and Murad hurried through the city, down one narrow, twisting dirt street after another, in silence now. The encounter she had just had with Blackwell replayed in her mind. She had to confront a very disturbing thought. What if she was not Blackwell’s destiny?
She shoved the notion aside. If she stopped believing in their love, she was probably doomed, trapped in Tripoli without hope.
What she had to do now was win his trust, win his love, fight for what she believed in.
And she could begin by proving herself his ally.
By helping him escape even without his permission to do so.
The palace’s thick, forty-foot walls suddenly loomed before them. The numerous spires, towers, and minarets of the castle rose up abruptly behind the walls.
Alex and Murad froze. A group of slaves were working on the street in front of the wall where the tunnel’s secret entrance was, guarded by soldiers. Alex’s heart sank.
“We are going to have to go through the front gates,” Murad said tersely.
Alex nodded.
They paused at the front gates before facing the palace guards. “Let me do all of the talking,” Murad said tersely. “Do you understand, Alex?”
Alex nodded, her heart lurching. Reality faced her squarely now in the form of the two heavily armed janissaries who stood by the palace’s closed iron gates.
Each soldier wore a huge, deadly scimitar, as well as a musket, pistol and a foot-long dagger.
In the light of the full moon that shone above their heads, they looked fierce, barbaric, and capable of murder and mayhem.
They were staring coldly at both Alex and Murad.
Alex thought about Blackwell’s wounded back.
She thought about the slaves forced to labor in the quarries.
The Tripolitans could be kind and warm, but they had no respect for human life, and if she dared to think otherwise, then she was a fool.
Until today, she had not witnessed that side of Barbary before.
If these soldiers discovered that she was a woman, she would not be spared either their cruelty or their lust.
“Who goes?” One of the Turks came forward, staring at them through the dark night. Behind him, the courtyard was illuminated with numerous torches but otherwise deserted.
“Murad.” Murad flashed a white smile. “My mistress is Lilli Zohara, second wife to Hammet Jebal. Here is my written permission to have left the palace, and also to return.” Murad held out a piece of parchment.
The Turk took it, grunting, handing it to his comrade. They both eyed the document. Alex fidgeted. Unease assailed her. She and Murad were careful not to look at one another. It was difficult to breathe.
It was also unlikely that either soldier could read.
They both came forward. “Who is the other one?” the second Turk, shorter and far more brutish looking, asked.
“The letter states Ali’s identity. Another slave of our esteemed, beloved, dearly kept mistress.
” Murad smiled briefly, engagingly. He held out his hand and the soldier handed him the letter.
“We were sent to visit a seer,” Murad said.
“Our mistress yearns to know when her husband shall give her their first child.”
Alex almost choked.
Murad nudged her with his toe.
The Turks laughed. “All women are the same, thinking of nothing but pleasing their husbands,” said the first. “She had better pray to Allah for the child to come quickly, before Jebal grows weary of her and divorces her. They say his Italian concubine pleases him mightily—and she is drinking a special herb every day in order to conceive.”
Alex had always thought Paulina especially dumb. But in this matter, she had a sure instinct for survival.
“Really?” Murad said after a single heartbeat. “This is news indeed. May we pass?”
The soldiers had started to debate how long it might take the fifteen-year-old to conceive, yet now they sobered. One opened the high, thick iron gates. “Step into the light. Let us look at you.”
Alex’s heart flipped, hard.
Murad’s hand was suddenly on her elbow, tightly, in warning.
He smiled and moved through the gates, taking Alex with him.
He loosened the kaffiyeh he wore. Alex looked at his handsome, perfect features, unable to breathe, waiting for the Turks to ask her to move directly into the pool of torchlight—waiting to be discovered.
But the first said, “I recognize him. You may go.”
Alex almost fainted with relief. Murad gripped her hand, pulling her forward, away.
“Halt!”
They froze.
The Turk smiled. “But I shall keep the letter. My captain is European and has strange ways. He likes to keep records; he has papers everywhere.” The Turk held out his hand. “What a waste of his time, I say.”
Murad, paler now, handed him the letter. His glance met Alex’s. The Turks turned their backs on them, closing the gates. Alex and Murad hurried into the palace, leaving the evidence of their deception behind them.
Alex and Murad squatted beneath the thick shrubbery where a tunnel ended.
The sun was setting, and the evening had become cool and pleasant.
Murad crept forward, peering through the thick branches, while Alex removed her bedouin robes, donning a simple tunic and gilet.
“No one is about,” he said. He slipped out of the shrubs, Alex following.
“Murad, someone is waiting for us.”
“I see,” Murad said grimly, squinting at the shadow of a man standing on the gallery just outside of Alex’s apartment. “Allah forbid that it is Jebal,” Murad muttered.
Alex’s pulse was racing.
They approached. The overhanging roof suddenly cut off the blinding light. Alex breathed again when she recognized one of Jebal’s slaves, only to realize a moment later why he was waiting for her. Her heart plummeted.
The slave bowed. “My lord wishes your presence immediately, Lilli Zohara.”
“I’ll be right there,” Alex said dryly.
She and Murad slipped into her room. Alex ran right to the mirror. “Do I look okay?”
“Wash your face, kohl your eyes, and put on nicer clothing,” Murad said sharply, already moving to the armoire. “You will be the death of me, Alex. My heart shall stop one of these days because of your antics.”
“I had no idea it was so late,” Alex retorted, rushing into the bedroom. She had to shove all thoughts of Blackwell, her worry and disappointment, aside. She must focus now on soothing Jebal—and whether she would give him what he so clearly wanted.
It was easy to think of sacrificing her body for Blackwell when not faced with the immediate prospect. Now her stomach heaved at the very idea.
Five minutes later Alex had changed, kohled her eyes and rouged her mouth, and was rushing along the corridor in Jebal’s quarters. Alex intended to tell Jebal that she had fallen asleep in the gardens after a hot bath.
Murad suddenly said, low, “I do not like the guards having that letter you forged.”
“I don’t like it either,” Alex said, having read enough thrillers and seen enough suspense-filled movies to understand the dangers posed by a paper trail.
They stopped in front of the huge, solid closed door that led into Jebal’s suite.
“If he ever discovers that I have been outside of the palace, I shall stick to the story that we told the guards—that I went to a seer in order to learn when we would have our first child.”
“It would be more believable if you were sleeping with him, Alex,” Murad murmured.
Alex ignored him, although he was right, and nodded at the pair of slaves standing impassively in front of the door. A moment later she heard Jebal snap. “Enter!”
Alex’s heart was pounding hard. She met Murad’s silver eyes one last time. Although he smiled encouragingly, the anxiety she saw there made her hesitate.
“Enter!” Jebal commanded again.
Alex moved forward, into the spacious high-ceilinged room.
Jebal reclined with Paulina on a pile of multicolored silk and velvet cushions.
An arched doorway led into another chamber behind the first, a private room that Jebal used to entertain his most important guests.
Rich silks and velvets adorned both salons, as did numerous Arabian tapestries.
Male and female slaves hovered about Jebal and Paulina.
Alex stared at the pair of them. She had not expected Jebal to be with another woman, much less Paulina.
Her very first thought was that this was a form of payback.
Yet Alex was vastly relieved that he was not alone.
Both Jebal and Paulina regarded Alex as she approached.
Jebal’s gaze was impossible to read, but Paulina’s was openly smug.
She was half in Jebal’s arms, and hardly clad.
Her young, lush body was openly displayed.
Her body language indicated to Alex that she had probably just made love with Jebal. Which was fine with Alex.
Jebal stood slowly. “I summoned you an hour ago. Where have you been?”
Alex was taken aback, even frightened. There was a glint in his eyes that she had never seen before.
Suddenly she wondered if Murad was right.
That if he caught her violating the laws of the Moslem world, whether by being outside of the harem or by being with Xavier, she would be severely punished—or worse. For a moment, Alex remained motionless.