The old soldier returned bringing her food-small pieces of barbecued lamb with pepper and onions, seasoned with rosemary and a touch of olive oil, and served over a bed of saffroned rice. Accompanying it was a small, flat loaf of bread, just baked in the coals of the fire, a skin of icy water from a nearby stream which had been flavored with orange essence and cinnamon, and two crisp apples. She thanked the soldier. Asking after the prince, she was told that he was eating with his men.
Feeling a little sorry for herself Theodora prepared to eat alone. She had long since gotten over her anger toward Prince Murad. Today, when he had stumbled carrying her, she had felt his heart pounding and had laughed with joy to think he still cared for her. Suddenly all the old feelings rushed to the surface, surprising her with their intensity.
She had not shared Orkhan’s bed for several years, and though her husband had once roused her physically, only her fantasies had kept her from going mad. In his old age, in the desperate attempt to preserve his potency, Orkhan had turned to perversion. The last time she had shared his bed he had included a ten-year-old virgin from the Nile River basin, a gold-skinned child with lovely onyx eyes. Orkhan had forced Theadora to sexually stimulate the girl while he watched and became aroused. He had then brutally deflowered his screaming victim while Theadora vomited the contents of her stomach over the side of the bed. Never again, to her vast relief, was she ever commanded to share her lord’s bed. Had she been asked again, she would have suffered death rather than face another such experience.
Remembering back to the precious hours she had spent with Murad in the orchard, it seemed that was the only time in her life she had ever known any tenderness from a man. Would he be as tender if he were her husband? Would she ever know? Theadora licked her fingers thoughtfully. Then, after rinsing them in a small copper ewer, she picked up an apple and bit into it.
“Did you enjoy your supper?”
Startled, she looked up to find that Murad had entered the tent.
“Yes,” she answered, “but I have been lonely. Why did you not eat with me?”
“A woman? Eat with a woman? Has my father taken to eating with his women?”
“Of course not! But this is different. I am the only woman here, and I have not even a slave to keep me company. You are the only person of rank available to me.”
He chuckled, his good humor restored. “I see. You only want my company because you are a princess and I am a prince. I did not think you were a snob, Adora.”
“No! No! You misunderstand me,” she protested, blushing.
“Then explain it to me,” he teased, kneeling down before her amid the cushions. She raised her lovely face to him. “What I meant was that since our situation is an informal one, I thought you might keep me company while I ate my meal.”
He looked back at her with jet black eyes, and then before she realized what was happening he had caught her to him and was kissing her. The world about her exploded into a million glittering pieces. Oh, God! Oh, God! His mouth was so sweet! The kiss was tender, yet at the same time passionate. For a minute she gave herself up to it completely, savoring the warmth and sweetness of him. It had been so long, so terribly long!
Then as her senses cleared she pulled her head free and whispered frantically, “No, Murad! Please, no! This is wrong!”
His hand moved up her back, tangling itself in her dark hair. “Be silent, my sweet Adora,” he commanded, and his mouth took possession of hers again. This time, however, he kissed her hungrily, his lips searing hers, savagely demanding her complete surrender. Helpless to control the desire welling within her, she slipped her arms up and around his neck, and drew him down among the pillows.
Time lost all meaning for her. She knew that what they did was morally wrong within the precepts of both their religions, yet so great was their need of each other that the raging hunger wiped everything else out of their minds. She knew that he had completely unbuttoned her blouse for his lips now ran riot over her throat, moving downward to her breasts, hungrily sucking on the nipples until they were sore with longing.
He found his way beneath the silk of her full pantaloons, and stroked her between her quavering thighs, finding her already wet with fierce desire. His hand teased deliciously at her, and she squirmed under his touch, a low sob escaping her as he gently thrust two fingers into her body. She arched and strained, desperately seeking a fulfillment that would not, could not, seem to come.
“Easy, my sweet Adora,” he soothed, “do not strive so hard, my love. It will happen.” He was kissing her again, but this time his lips moved to her ear, and he whispered softly, “I want you, Adora, but as a man wants a woman. I don’t want to play lover’s games any longer. I want to be deep within your sweetness, crying for joy of the beautiful thing we will do together.”
She shivered, weakening, and he nibbled at her little earlobe. “Open your legs to me, Adora. I am hot to fuck you, my lovely Byzantine whore. Let me taste the delights you have so willingly given to my besotted father and your Greek pirate lover.”
She froze, unable to believe what she had just heard.
“I shall be a better lover to you, my dove, than either of them,” he went on, heedless.
Then suddenly he howled with pain as her knee caught him in the groin. She scrambled up, eyes shooting amethyst fire, frantically buttoning her blouse, desperately striving to hold back the tears that were already pouring down her cheeks.
“Though Halil’s the joy of my life, I never went willingly to your father’s bed,” she raged at him. “And though it is none of your business, Alexander was certainly not my lover! Unlike you damned Ottomans who consider a woman’s use to be limited to a man’s bed, the Greeks admire women of intelligence. They are not afraid, as you seem to be, that a woman of learning may render them impotent. And as to my own intelligence, I am beginning to doubt its very existence. Else how could I have believed you still cared for me as you once did?” She was crying hard now, not caring how she looked. “I hate you! Get out of my tent or I shall scream. Your father’s soldiers will not hesitate to kill the rapist of the sultan’s wife!” She turned her back on him.
Slowly, he pulled himself up, using the brass tray table to brace himself. For a moment a wave of dizziness assailed him in echo of the pain, but he breathed slowly, deeply, and his head cleared. “Theadora. I am sorry, my dove.”
“Get out!”
“I have ached for you since the first moment I saw you falling from your convent wall. I was physically ill when you were made my father’s wife. And yesterday I arrived in Phocaea to find that peacock of a pirate openly solicitous of you.”
“So you assumed I had played the whore. I shall never forgive you! Never! Get out!”
“I thought you were like your sisters.”
“Get out!”
“My father is old, Adora. Soon he will join his ancestors, and I will claim you as I promised so long ago.”
“I would die before I ever yielded to you!”
He laughed harshly. “No, you won’t, my dove. You were like a bitch in heat but a few moments back. You will come when I command it.” And turning on his heel, he walked from the tent.
Theadora clenched her fists tightly. He was right! God curse him, he was right! She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And sinking to the pillows, she wept all her bitter tears.
Chapter Eleven