Chapter 23
MURAD HAD JUST returned to the harem, and Alex could not believe her ears. “Commodore Morris has agreed to aid them?”
Murad nodded, unsmiling. “Word was passed on to Neilsen this morning.”
“How on earth did you ever find out?” Alex cried.
“Alex, don’t you know by now that for you I would move heaven and earth?”
Alex stared. She had asked Murad to learn all that he could about Blackwell’s plans. Murad had paid off several slaves in the bagnio to spy for them. While Alex was not at all pleased to be spying on Xavier, she had no choice. She did not trust him not to leave Tripoli without her.
“Neilsen and Blackwell had another meeting,” Murad said. “It was very brief. I still don’t know the details of the escape. But apparently it is scheduled for two weeks hence, Alex, which would put us in the first week of September.”
“I need to know the exact date. Otherwise I may very well be left behind,” Alex said tersely.
Murad regarded her. “And you would be very unhappy to be left behind, wouldn’t you, Alex?”
Alex nodded. Her pulse was racing. She was still furious with Blackwell for his treatment of her the other night, but she could not bear the thought of their being torn apart for all eternity.
She had traveled through time to find Blackwell, to become his lover, to save him from an execution consigned by fate.
She imagined waking up one morning to the warm Libyan sun, only to discover that he was gone.
She might remain in Tripoli forever, never seeing him again.
A captive to the Barbary pirates, a Moslem prince’s wife.
“Maybe I should go see him again,” Alex mused aloud.
“Maybe he will now bend toward me. Maybe, if I refuse to give up, I can convince him of my sincerity.” She trembled at the thought of seeing him again.
Of course, this time she would not let him touch her.
Allowing him to kiss her had been a major mistake.
No matter how she tried, she could not forget what it had felt like being in his arms.
“Don’t even think of trying,” Murad warned. “He has made himself very clear, not once but a half dozen times. And your going to the bagnio now, on the eve of the escape, is stupid, Alex. You would jeopardize everything, for what? To make him change his mind? Or to assuage your lust?”
“That’s not fair,” Alex said, shocked.
Murad just stared.
Alex averted her eyes. Murad was right. Going to the bagnio now was stupid and selfish, and it could ruin their chances of escape, which were increasing each and every day.
And dammit, he knew her so well. A part of the reason she wanted to visit Blackwell was merely to see him again; she was compelled.
It was incredibly painful, being so close to him, yet so very far away.
But she tried to lift her own spirits by reflecting that, in two weeks time, she and Blackwell might very well be out of Tripoli—beginning not just their journey together to freedom, but the rest of their lives—if she could allay his suspicions of her, if she could convince him that she was not a political spy.
A moment later she sobered. “So much can go wrong.”
Murad was fiddling with his sash. “If anyone can succeed, it is Blackwell—and you.”
“That’s a tremendous compliment.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Unfortunately, I have no faith in Morris. Do you have any idea what his role is in the escape?”
“No. Blackwell is being incredibly closemouthed. He speaks only with Tubbs and the scribe.” Murad sat down on the foot of the bed. “Is he really the inept buffoon everyone claims him to be?”
“Yes,” Alex said, more worried now. “If only Decatur were covering our escape. He becomes a hero during Preble’s assault on Tripoli,” she explained. “Which, as I already told you, happens next summer.”
“I don’t like it when you talk about the future,” Murad said uneasily.
“I’m not a witch, Murad.”
“I know. But you have the vision. I can’t help being frightened by what you can see.”
“It’s not vision. I am from the future.” Alex stared at him. They had not discussed this subject since she had first revealed the truth to him.
“All right, Alex,” Murad said.
He was her best friend, but he did not believe her.
And if he did not believe her, Blackwell never would.
She said, “Morris brought his pregnant wife with him and the squadron. She is due any day. He has avoided Barbary all summer long. He left the blockade of Tripoli to the Vixen and the Siren while the rest of the squadron has pleasantly cruised the Mediterranean. And now, just when the Tripolitans are starting to feel the pinch, when even here in the palace flour and rice are in short supply, he lifts the blockade. He is truly a stupid man.”
“I would imagine that his role in the escape is to pick all of you up on the beach somewhere outside of Tripoli.”
“Yes, I think so too, and any fool can do that.” She gripped her hands. “Ohmygod. In two weeks I will be free, if all goes well, and with Blackwell.”
“Yes, in two short weeks,” Murad said, his tone strange.
Alex turned. He had been sitting on the edge of the bed. Now he stood and walked away and stared out of the open shutters into the bright, blooming gardens.
Alex, ever in tune with him, regarded his rigid back.
She realized what was upsetting him now.
“Oh, Murad,” she said softly, and she quickly approached him from behind.
She only hesitated a heartbeat. She put her arms around him and laid her cheek on his strong, hard back. She felt his body tensing.
“I can’t leave you here,” Alex whispered, releasing him. She walked around him to face him. His silver eyes reflected ancient sadness. “Murad, did you hear me? You must come with us.”
“I don’t think so, Alex.”
Alex was immobilized, then she cried, “Why not!”
He forced a smile. “I want what’s best for you, Alex. I want you to be happy. I know that you are in love with Blackwell, and actually, I’ve seen the way he looks at you—I think he might be in love with you, too.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “You never said a word.”
“I did not want to encourage you.”
She wet her lips. “If he would allow himself to trust me, if he would let down his guard, get to know me, it would be love, Murad, I am sure of it.”
His smile was infinitely sad. “Yes, I am sure of it too. You are the kind of woman every man dreams of loving.”
Speechless, she stared at him. He was two years her junior, but he was not a boy—he had never been a boy.
He was tall, broad shouldered, olive skinned, and gray eyed.
His face was striking in its near perfection—but not at all effeminate.
It was horrible that he had been castrated when he had been born, but that was the fate of boys born to palace slaves.
Otherwise most women would look at him and fall in love at first sight.
And not only was he a stunning man, he was warm, sensitive, loyal, and kind.
His words haunted her now. She was afraid to dwell on their real meaning.
“I can’t leave you behind,” Alex whispered. “Murad, you’re my best friend. I love you. I can’t imagine life without you in it. Murad, you must come with us!”
His eyes brightened a little. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes! Of course I do!”
His chest rose and fell. “Tripoli is my home, I was born here in the palace, I have served Jebal my entire life, now I serve you—my life is here. I know nothing else.”
“Life is far better in America. In America you would be free.”
“There I will be an oddity, Alex,” Murad said flatly.
He was the most astute man she had ever met. “I can’t lie. You are Moslem and a eunuch—I guess to some, you would be different, exotic.” But she knew he was right. He would never be accepted in nineteenth-century Boston. He would be an oddity—a laughingstock.
Alex’s heart broke for him.
“You are softening the truth,” Murad returned.
“Yes, I am softening it. But I don’t want to lose you; I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again. Please come with us, Murad.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“I will free you. You will be a free man,” Alex said, strained and urgent.
“Free to do what? I was born a slave. I only know how to serve. I have no doubt I will die a slave, Alex. That is my fate.”
Alex could not believe her ears. She had the incredible feeling that he had made up his mind—that he was refusing her—that he would remain behind in Tripoli—that she would never see him again.
“Let’s not discuss this now,” Murad said very gently. He smiled, his expression oddly fragile and tender, gentle and sad. “We still have two weeks.”
It struck Alex then with stunning force why he could not remain behind. Why he had to escape with them. “Murad! You will be put to death in our stead! For your participation in our escape! Jebal and the bashaw will see you beheaded! They will seek vengeance upon you!”
His gaze was steady now, both very old and very wise. It was also resigned. “I know,” he said.
Alex watched Zoe leave the large marble swimming pool in the gardens the women shared.
The afternoon was quiet and peaceful, but Alex was disturbed.
All elation she felt at their escape being so near at hand was gone.
She could not stop thinking about Murad, who would surely take the blame for their escape.
She had no doubt he would be tortured and then put to death.
Murad had gone, taking her clothes to the palace laundresses.
Alex sat down on the edge of the pool, lifting up her trousers and kicking off her sandals.
She stuck her feet in the water, which was warm.
Could she force Murad to escape with them?
Or somehow maneuver him into it? Clearly she could not leave him behind to become a martyr for their cause.