“No!”
He laughed at her cruelly. “You may have been born a princess, Adora, but you are now my slave. It is time you began to behave like one. It will give me great pleasure to school you properly. Neither of your husbands did. They indulged you, but I will not.”
He turned again to the eunuch. Ali Yahya bowed and departed.
For a moment they stood surveying each other. Her heart was pounding wildly. She looked hard at him, desperately trying to find any sign of the tender young man who had once loved her. He was handsomer than he had ever been. The years he had spent as a soldier had hardened his body. His dark hair showed no sign of gray.
His jet eyes frightened her. There was no warmth in them. They surveyed her coolly, as they would any possession. And suddenly it hit her that that was exactly what she was-his property. She shuddered.
He laughed. It was a mirthless sound. “I will come to you tonight,” he said quietly.
“No,” she could barely speak, and her voice was a whisper.
“Come here to me,” he commanded coldly.
“No!” She defied him.
Suddenly he laughed gently. “In the end,” he said softly, “you will have to obey me, my dove. I can make you, you know.”
Her violet eyes were dark with fright, yet she wordlessly fought with him. Murad was both pleased and amused. Whatever happened between them, he did not want to break her spirit. But she would obey him. Her reluctance surprised him. She was no virgin. And he was not aware that she had loved either of her husbands. Why must she play the reticent widow?
Holding her gaze in his like a wolf with a lamb, he slowly narrowed the space between them. She could not move. Her legs had become paralyzed. His arm reached out and tightened about her. A strong, square hand imperiously lifted her chin up. His mouth swooped down and closed over her lips.
Deep within her he touched a familiar chord. Unable or perhaps unwilling to struggle, she let him claim momentary possession of her very soul. At first his mouth was warm and surprisingly gentle but then his kiss deepened, becoming demanding, almost brutal. With a sudden cry she struggled to escape him, and when she scratched him he swore angrily, “Little bitch! You belong to me now. You’ll soon learn that, Adora! You are mine! Mine!” And he turned furiously and left the tent.
She sank to her knees, shaking uncontrollably. How long she huddled there, clutching herself and sobbing pitifully for Alexander, she did not know. Then strong arms raised her. She saw that a large oaken tub had been brought into her quarters and filled with steaming water and fragrant oils. Her clothes were stripped away and she was lifted into the tub. The slavewomen who served her were all older than she. They treated her gently as they scrubbed the dust of her journey from her body and hair. She was then seated and a pink paste, smelling of roses, was rubbed over the haired areas of her body. Her long, dark hair was rubbed with a linen towel and then brushed and rubbed with silk until it was dry, soft, and shone with reddish-blonde lights.
The depilatory paste was rinsed from her body, her hair was pinned atop her head with jeweled pins, and she was stood in the tub while cool, scented water was sluiced over her. A warm towel was wrapped about her. She was carefully dried, then led to a bench where she was stretched prone and massaged with a pale green cream smelling of nightblooming lilies.
Theadora was weak with shock and the kindly attentions of the bath attendants when Ali Yahya entered the tent carrying a garment. She flushed under his careful scrutiny. Although she should have long been used to these maleless men viewing her nudity, she was not. At a glance from the eunuch, the slavewomen quickly departed.
Ali Yahya shook his head in disbelief as he ran a soft hand over her body. “You are perfection, Highness. Your body is without flaw. Magnificent! The sultan will be very pleased.” He bent and fastened a thin gold chain about her just above the curve of her hips. From this he hung two ankle-length pink gauze veils shot through with silver threads. One covered her buttocks, its mate covered her lower belly and thighs. Kneeling, the eunuch slipped several gold bangles about her ankles. Then he stood and nodded, satisfied.
“The sultan will join you momentarily, Highness,” he said formally. Then, lowering his voice, he said urgently, “If this were not your fate, princess, it would not be happening! Accept it, and climb to greatness.”
“In the sultan’s bed?” she asked scornfully.
“It has been the way of women since the world began. Are you any more or less than other females?”
“I have a mind, Ali Yahya. In my Greek heritage, women of intelligence were sought after, appreciated. Here a woman is a body upon which a man may sate his lust and nothing more. I will not be just a body.”
“You are still very young, my princess,” smiled the eunuch. “What does it matter the road one takes as long as one arrives safely at one’s destination?
“You say you do not wish to be just a body, but what is it you do wish to be? Win the sultan first with your beautiful body, my princess. Then use your intelligence to gain whatever goal it is you seek-if you even know what it is you seek.” He then turned abruptly and left her alone to contemplate his words.
“You look ready to do battle, Adora.”
She whirled about, forgetful of the fact that her breasts were naked. Briefly his eyes caressed the proud high, coral-tipped cones, bringing an unwilling flush to her cheeks. He laughed. “How will you fight me, Adora?” he asked mockingly.
“What kind of a man are you?” she hissed at him. “Knowing that I hate you, you would still take me?”
“Yes, my dove, I would!” His even white teeth flashed in his wind-bronzed face, and he stripped off the red-and-gold-striped robe he wore, baring an equally bronzed chest with its tangled mat of dark hair. Beneath the robe he wore soft white wool pantaloons and dark leather boots. Seating himself on a chair he commanded her, “Take off my boots.”
She looked shocked. “Call a slave to do it. I do not know how.”
“You are my slave,” he said deliberately, his voice even. “I will show you how.” He stuck out his foot. “Turn your back to me, and take my leg between your legs. Then simply pull the boot off.”
Hesitantly she obeyed him, and to her secret delight the boot easily slid off. Confidently, she grasped the other boot and pulled, but this time the sultan mischievously placed the sole of his boot on her pretty bottom and pushed, sending her sprawling into a pile of cushions. She had no time to voice her outrage for, laughing, he was atop her. Quickly turning her over, he kissed her slowly and deliberately until she scrambled to her feet, her eyes large with a mixture of outrage and fear.
She backed away from him. His black eyes narrowed dangerously. Standing up, he stalked her slowly across the tent. The situation was ridiculous. She had no place to run. Sobbing involuntarily, she stood waiting for him to reach her. He towered over her, looking sternly down at her. His hand reached out to snap the thin gold chain above her hips, allowing the gauze to slide to the floor. She was completely naked. The big hand moved up to pluck the jeweled pins from her head, and dark hair swirled about her down to her waist.
Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode across the tent through silken hangings and deposited her on the bed. “If you make any further move to escape me, Adora, I’ll beat you myself.” He began to slip his pantaloons off.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she snarled at him. “You’d like an excuse to beat me!”
He bent and thoughtfully stroked her round bottom. “It’s tempting, I will admit, my dove. But there are other things I would far rather do. Things I’ve waited ten years to do.”
“You’ll have no joy of me, infidel!” she spat.
“I think I will,” he countered. Naked now, he stood over her, a mocking smile on his handsome face.