Captive

Chapter 33

JEBAL’S GAZE WAS hard and bright and he stared darkly at her.

Panting, Alex stared back.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Alex saw Murad appear behind Jebal. His eyes were wide, frantic. And Zoe was with him, smirking. Alex’s pulse thundered in her ears. She felt that the collapse of her entire world as she had known it these past two years was imminent.

“I was working out,” she said.

Jebal blinked at her.

“I have been working out,” Alex repeated more firmly. “I felt better today. I was doing my jumping jacks.” Her tone was terribly high and terribly loud and clearly defensive.

He nodded, glancing around her room. Alex followed his gaze, praying that there was no visible sign of Xavier anywhere. Then Jebal lifted his eyes, which were piercing. “Why did you send your slave to Neilsen’s this morning?”

Alex gasped. “Wh-what?”

Jebal strode forward. “Were you passing information to Neilsen? To the Americans? Are you a spy, Zohara?”

Alex stepped away from him. “No! I am not a spy!” Her mind raced.

“I gave Neilsen some of my things for safekeeping, Jebal, because of the enemies I have here in the harem.” She glanced bitterly at Zoe, who still smiled serenely.

“Not important things, but personal things of great value to me. Then I decided I wanted everything back. I sent Murad to get my possessions. That is all.”

“That is an incredible excuse,” Jebal said flatly.

“It’s the truth.”

“Show me your things.”

Alex wet her lips. “Murad was ambushed the moment he left Neilsen’s.

Two Turks stole my things. I don’t know who would do such a thing—but perhaps I can take a good guess.

” Again Alex stared at Zoe, aware that she was caught between a rock and a hard place.

If Zoe admitted to the theft, she would have to produce Alex’s passport, and the damning evidence that she was a time traveler would be brought before Jebal.

But surely that was a less serious crime than being a spy, and that less serious than being discovered in Blackwell’s arms.

Jebal also regarded Zoe.

Zoe’s eyes widened innocently and she shrugged. “Why do you always blame me?” she asked Alex sweetly. She glanced at Jebal. “Haven’t you ever thought it strange that Zohara knows so much about boats—especially about the American ones?”

Jebal’s gaze darkened.

“My father was a sailor!” Alex cried.

“Zohara knows the palace intimately. She could provide a detailed plan to Neilsen, Jebal.”

Alex gasped. “I have done no such thing!” But she had included that information in the letter Blackwell had sent to be forwarded to Preble, and Blackwell had detailed all of Tripoli’s defenses.

Rivers of sweat poured down Alex’s body beneath her robes.

“Jebal, Zoe hates me. She wants to destroy me.”

Jebal looked at her and said nothing.

“Would you convict me of these crimes on her word, without proof?” Alex asked desperately.

Still Jebal said nothing. He paced around her room, his strides hard, angry, and then turned and went to the door. He issued a command and Alex felt her legs give way as two janissaries entered her bedchamber. He was going to arrest her.

Instead Jebal said, “Search this room. Thoroughly. I am looking for anything unusual, anything written in English, maps perhaps—evidence that my second wife is in contact with the Americans.”

Alex hugged herself Murad moved to stand beside her.

The Turks began swiftly. One went to the armoire and began discarding its contents, which was all of Alex’s wardobe.

The other went to her bed, stripping it.

Soon all of her clothing was on the floor, along with all of her bedding.

Alex watched, becoming more horrified, as one Turk lifted his scimitar and proceeded to shred the mattress into tiny pieces, and then the velvet and silk hangings.

She began to shake. Murad put his arm around her and held her upright.

The loud cracking of wood caused Alex to jerk. She cried out. The first soldier had been given an ax and was demolishing the armoire. Tears began to stream down Alex’s face. The sides were hacked into pieces, the bottom, the top. Murad tightened his grip on her waist.

Alex turned to watch her pillows being slashed on the other side of the room, one by one.

Their stuffing was strewn everywhere. More wood groaned and cracked.

Murad gripped her hand. The room’s two chests had been emptied of their contents, and were now being viciously axed into numerous pieces and splinters.

Even the small dining table with its inlaid mother-of-pearl top was destroyed.

But no secret hiding compartments were revealed.

And finally, when there was nothing left to destroy, the soldiers began shredding her clothing—as if they might find a secret pocket containing secret papers that way.

Alex was stricken with dread. What if their next move was to search her physically? Her pants were ripped in half, and she was filled with Blackwell’s semen. She began to pant. She felt faint. She met Murad’s eyes and knew he was thinking the exact same thing.

She had to save herself. Alex found her voice; it was hoarse with emotion. “Haven’t you done enough?” she asked Jebal.

He stood like a statue in the center of the room. He turned his hazel eyes on her, and some of the frost-filled coldness seemed to be gone. He stared at her, perhaps with regret.

It was hard to tell. Alex began to cry. “Haven’t you done enough?” she repeated.

“I am sorry,” Jebal said. He turned to the soldiers. “Cease.”

Zoe stepped forward. “She should be searched, Jebal. Perhaps she carries maps and papers on herself? Or even inside herself?” Zoe’s eyes glittered.

And Alex froze. Zoe knew.

“No,” Jebal said heatedly. “Enough has been done today.”

Alex knew she was very close to passing out. She tried to breathe deeply and regain her equilibrium.

But Jebal still addressed her. He said, “You will come to me tonight. And if you do not prove to me that you are my wife in thought as well as deed, in your heart and with your body, then I will continue to assume that you are a traitor and a spy. And I shall act accordingly.”

Alex choked off a moan. Murad held her harder. Jebal strode from the room.

Zoe smiled, shrugged, and followed.

Alex turned and collapsed in Murad’s arms.

Alex sat on the mattress where Murad and Blackwell slept in Murad’s small room. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her cheek resting on one kneecap. Murad was in her bedchamber with three slaves, cleaning up the mess—trying to make her bedchamber habitable.

But it would never be hospitable again. Alex was still shaking, still in shock.

A long shadow fell across the room and Alex tensed, afraid it was Zoe or Jebal. But it was Paulina.

She glanced without interest at the Italian concubine, who remained chubby from her pregnancy, and the small newborn sleeping in her arms. Then she rested her cheek on her knee again.

It was going to take her a long time to recover from the almost disastrous, tremendously draining encounter with Jebal.

“Whatever did you do to cause Jebal to become so angry with you?” Paulina gasped.

“Forget it,” Alex said, not meanly. She could not explain to anyone, much less to Paulina.

“I have never seen such a mess in my entire life,” Paulina exclaimed. She shifted her baby. “Are you all right?”

Alex regarded her. Paulina might not be very clever, but at least her agenda was open and honest—she wished only to please Jebal and become his third wife. “I’m okay.”

“I would be in tears if I were you,” Paulina said with sympathy. “How strong you are, Zohara. I think you had better please Jebal tonight.”

Alex’s shoulders tensed. She could not—must not—think about the upcoming evening. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“We do live together.” Paulina smiled slightly and left the room.

Alex sighed, closing her eyes, vaguely aware of the sounds coming from her bedchamber. Someone was sweeping, new furniture was being moved inside, and Murad was giving tersely whispered orders. Then she felt his presence.

Alex jerked and met Blackwell’s eyes. He stood on the threshold between the two rooms. His gaze was filled with concern. She looked harder—she was not imagining it.

Alex stopped herself from rising and rushing headlong into his arms. But there was no question about it. Instead of being harsh and accusing, his eyes were still strangely gentle.

“Are you all right?” he asked, just as Paulina had.

“What do you think?”

He grimaced but did not move toward her. “It’s a good thing,” he said very softly, “that the Danish ship is due in port any day.”

“Yes.” Alex said. Then she blinked. “You heard?”

“I stayed outside. I heard everything.”

His audacity amazed and frightened her. “What if you had been discovered eavesdropping?”

“It was a chance I had to take.” He gaze never moved from her face.

Alex got to her feet. “Well, now you must know that Jebal thinks me a spy, too.”

“Yes. You are in deep water.”

“To say the least.” She looked him directly in the eye. “Do you still think I am a spy?”

“I know you do not spy for Jebal.”

“You still think the worst.” She despaired.

“I don’t know what to think, he said heavily. And their gazes remained locked.

Zoe paced and paced, at once exultant and impatient.

Zohara was finished. It was only a matter of time.

The seeds of the truth had been planted and Jebal was highly suspicious of her.

Zoe could either sit back and watch Zohara slowly hang herself, with Zoe’s help, of course, or she could, at any time, reveal Blackwell’s presence in the harem.

Either way, Zohara would be destroyed. Zoe was both titillated and triumphant.

“What are you giggling about?”

Zoe whirled and faced Jovar, who eyed her from the doorway of her bedchamber. She had been expecting him, but an hour ago, so now she pouted, but her posture—and single gauze robe—were very suggestive. “Why do you always keep me waiting?”

He strolled into her room, kicking closed her door.

His pale blue eyes raked her nearly nude body, lingering on her big breasts and rouged nipples.

“Because I have a navy full of inept fools to manage, a goddamned war with the Americans to oversee. Because”—he caught her wrist and whipped her close—“it pleases me.”

Zoe wiggled against him; he was growing hard. “Let me go, Peter.”

“Why? You summoned me to fuck you.”

“Maybe I summoned you to talk.” She scowled. But pressed herself against him.

He laughed once, harshly, and released her. “Very well, we’ll fuck later. Let’s talk. Why are you so smug and self-satisfied? What have you been up to today?”

Zoe folded her arms. “Why should I tell you—when you are so mean to me?”

He also crossed his arms, amused. “Because you won’t get what you want from me if you don’t—and I shall give it to someone else, perhaps the German, Hilda.”

Zoe flew at him, fingers extended, her long nails glinting bloodred. Before she could rake her nails down his face, he caught her wrists. She struggled briefly and went still. “Zohara’s days are numbered.”

“Really? So you are poised to destroy your favorite enemy? I never doubted that you would, darling. But why should I care?”

“You should care because it is very likely that she is a spy.” Zoe smiled at him.

“Explain.”

“Her slave is in contact with Neilsen. This morning he went to the Dane and delivered a letter.” Zoe was not going to tell him about the sack.

Just as she was not about to tell him that Zohara might also be a time traveler as well as a spy.

Zoe was uncertain, but she was determined to unravel the puzzle one way or the other.

But Jovar would laugh at her in a very condescending manner if he ever knew that she was even considering the possibility that Zohara was from the future.

“You did not intercept the letter?” he demanded.

“My spies were told to watch only.”

Jovar paced. His blond hair was almost the same color as the moonlight spilling into the bedchamber.

“I am not surprised. We need to learn what Preble is planning. I shall plant spies within the harem as well. After their damned attack on the Philadelphia. I cannot allow him another victory.” Jovar’s jaw flexed.

Zoe knew he was thinking about the public whipping ordered by the bashaw.

He had not been able to sleep with her for two full weeks. “Does Jebal know?”

“He is suspicious, but not completely convinced.” Zoe told Jovar about how Jebal had ordered Zohara’s room searched. “You think she is a spy for the Americans?”

“Of course. Whom else would she be spying for?” Jovar said, pacing restlessly.

Zoe hesitated. She knew what Cameron did not know—that Blackwell was convinced she was the enemy—and spying for someone else. “Peter?”

He turned. “Yes?”

“Blackwell does not agree.”

Jovar started. “What?”

Zoe managed not to smile. “Blackwell. He thinks she is a spy—but not for his country.”

Jovar reached her in a stride and hauled her up against him, shaking her. Zoe cried out. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded viciously. “Blackwell vanished ten months ago!”

“No,” Zoe said breathlessly. “He is here, inside the harem.”

Jovar’s eyes widened. “You are sure? You have seen him?”

“Yes,” Zoe said with a hiss of satisfaction.

Jovar stared, but clearly he did not see Zoe. He was thinking about his dearest enemy. After a long moment, he released her. And he smiled, slowly.