“No, my friend. It is far too personal. I behaved in a way most unlike myself, and it troubles me. I hope never to have such dreams again!”
He looked at her gravely, and his conscience nagged him painfully. He had drugged her and then seduced her in order to satisfy his own craving for her. She had been absolutely magnificent, for although she did not know it, she was made for a man’s love. She had pleasured and had been pleasured.
His problem now would be to let her go, for he had fallen deeply in love with Theadora during the period of her captivity. One thought consoled him. When the old sultan died, she would be returned to her family in Constantinople. When that happened, he intended to have his father, who was a vassal of the emperor, ask for Theadora for him. His father would be delighted that he finally wished to remarry and give the family legitimate heirs.
“I do not think that you will be troubled further by such dreams, beauty,” he said quietly. “And I have good news for you. Your ransom should be here shortly. Your captivity is almost over.”
Smiling, she leaned across the chessboard and touched his hand. “I have been neither uncomfortable nor sad, my friend. Captivity in your house is very pleasant, and your kindness to my son and me will not be forgotten.”
He rose. “I am sorry, Theadora of Byzantium, that your sense of duty is so strong. Else you might have remained here with me.”
“Had I been childless, Alexander, perhaps I might have been tempted. But though my son can never be sultan, he is an Ottoman. I will not deny him his heritage.”
He nodded with understanding. “You are an admirable woman, beauty. What a pity the men in your world will never really understand or appreciate you.”
She smiled ruefully. “Nevertheless, my friend, I shall survive, and perhaps in the end I shall even triumph.”
He laughed. The big, even teeth seemed a white flash against his bronzed face.
“Yes,” he said. “If any woman was meant to triumph, beauty, I believe it is you.” Still chuckling, he left her.
Chapter Ten
Murad, the third son of Orkan, had ridden hard from the coast. He had left behind his escort several hours earlier, allowing his big black stallion to move as fast as it wished. The horse, barely winded, clattered into the tiled courtyard of Bursa Palace. Sliding from the saddle, the prince flung the reins to a slave and walked quickly into his father’s house.
He was shocked by the old man’s appearance. Orkhan looked his full seventy years. His hair and beard were snow white. His dark eyes were faded. His hand quavered slightly. He seemed to have shrunk, and his body even smelled of age. Yet, Orkhan’s voice was strong.
“Sit down,” he commanded his son. The prince obeyed silently. “Coffee?”
“Thank you, Father.” Murad waited, as good manners dictated, for the boiling hot coffee to be poured into the eggshell-thin cups. A slave handed him the coffee which he politely sipped before setting it upon the round brass tray table. “How may I serve you, my father?”
“Theadora and her son have been kidnapped,” said Orkhan. “She took the boy to the Springs of Apollo in Thessaly. Returning home, the ship got caught in a severe storm. Praise Allah that they were saved! But the ship was badly damaged and virtually helpless when it was attacked by pirates. They are being held for ransom in Phocaea by the pirate lord who calls himself Alexander the Great. I want you to take the ransom there and bring my wife and son back safely.”
“I hear and obey, sire,” replied the prince with a calm he did not feel. Orkhan went on to explain the financial arrangements, but Murad heard only a few words.
He had seen Theadora only once since her marriage to his father, and then they had sniped at each other. He had been hurt and had wanted to hurt in return. He grimaced. It was just like her to have gotten herself into this situation. She could not, of course, accept the fact that her son was a cripple. No! She must take the child across wild seas to a supposed healing place.
Murad listened with hidden, impotent rage as his father babbled on about his precious Adora and the importance of her safety. Orkhan spoiled her! She had always been cosseted and spoiled. But if she had been his woman he would have taught her obedience! Suddenly the memory of her swept over him with a force that stunned him. He remembered a lithe young body with soft breasts; a heart-shaped face with amethyst eyes that looked so trustingly up into his; a sweet, kissable mouth that quivered beneath his. Allah! She was a temptress, he thought bitterly. Given the chance, she would probably be a whore like her two scandalous sisters in Constantinople. Sophia had been killed recently with her latest paramour, and the empress Helena openly took lovers. He gritted his teeth and forced his mind back to what his father was saying. “And you will personally escort them back to Bursa, my son. My poor Adora will undoubtedly have suffered greatly. And little Halil, too.”
Pah! thought Murad, sourly. The witch will undoubtedly have been made quite comfortable. All she need do is dazzle the pirate chief with those fabulous eyes. As for my little half brother, he is probably treating this whole thing as great adventure.
It did not help Prince Murad’s temper to find, on his arrival in Phocaea, that his predictions were apparently correct. The sultan’s third wife was quite elegantly housed, and Prince Halil was obviously doted on by his captor. In fact, the pirate seemed on excellent terms with both of his royal captives.
Murad arrived in Phocaea in late afternoon. It would have been impossible to complete the business of ransoming before nightfall. It would have also been an appalling breach of manners not to accept the pirate chief’s hospitality. To Murad’s surprise, this hospitality was not only lavish but in excellent taste.
First, however, he was taken to see that Theadora and Halil were safe, and were being honorably treated. Murad had been troubled all the way from Bursa. He had not seen her in nearly eight years. Had she changed? Probably. Byzantine women could run to fat, and his father liked women with meat on their bones.
It didn’t help Murad’s troubled mind that she was still willow slim, or that when she looked up her eyes were filled with an emotion he did not comprehend.
Then she stood and came toward him, her slim hands outstretched in welcome, her face a polite mask.
“Prince Murad. How very kind of you to come to our rescue. How is my lord Orkhan? I pray we have not distressed him greatly by our unfortunate situation.”
He bowed curtly. “My father is fine. You have been well treated, Your Highness?”
“Lord Alexander has been the soul of courtesy from almost the first moment of our capture,” she replied.
Was there a hint of laughter in her voice? Why did that big blond buffoon who called himself Alexander the Great look so uncomfortable? “I will complete the ransom negotiations tomorrow and come for you and Halil then,” Murad said gruffly. “Be ready.”
It was not, however, as easy as Prince Murad had anticipated. After a marvelous feast, excellent entertainment, and an exquisite blonde Circassian virgin to warm his bed, he awoke to a rainy morning and the realization that his host was adamant in his demands.
“I told your father one hundred thousand gold Venetian ducats, Prince Murad. I am not a merchant to be haggled with. Nor are the princess and her son to be bargained over like yesterday’s melons in the marketplace. I will accept the fifty thousand that you have brought me in exchange for the princess. But the boy must stay here in Phocaea until I receive the other fifty thousand ducats.”
“Why not let the boy go, and hold his mother?”
Alexander laughed. “Because I am not a fool, Prince Murad. Your father has many women to amuse himself with, but few sons. If I let the boy go I might never hear from your father, but Princess Theadora is not going to allow your father to leave her only child in captivity. No, Highness, you may return to Bursa with the princess, but Prince Halil remains until I am paid in full.”