Ali Yahya cast his eyes skyward and muttered under his breath, “Whoever… Let my plans succeed!”
“He comes, mistress!” whispered the slavewoman excitedly, peering from between the tent flaps.
“Get you gone! All of you! Quickly! Quickly!” commanded Adora. The women fled as Murad entered.
Allah, but she was lovely. Quickly he caught himself before he showed any sign of weakness. She wore a loose robe of pale lilac silk, similar to his but much simpler. It closed with a row of little gold knots beginning at the valley of her breasts. He noted with satisfaction that her eyes were slightly red-rimmed.
He said nothing, and she stood defiantly looking at him for a moment. Then her lower lip trembled. She caught at it with her little white teeth, hastily wiping away two large tears that slid quickly down her pale cheeks.
“My lord,” her voice was a whisper. “Oh, my lord, I do not know how- I-I ask your-” Without warning she flung herself at him, and he found his arms automatically tightening about her. She wept softly against him, wetting his robe through to his chest.
He was delighted but dared not show it. He had expected fury at his treatment of her this afternoon, yet here she was, all soft and feminine, seeking to apologize to him. “Look at me, Adora.” Without hesitation she raised her face to him. Her lovely amethyst eyes were bright with tears, the black lashes matted. Unable to restrain himself, he bent to kiss the soft, inviting red mouth. To his surprise, her arms twined about his neck and her lips opened willingly-Allah!-eagerly, beneath his. She was kissing him back, and then she was murmuring, “Oh, Murad! I have been such a fool! Please, please forgive me!”
He was at a loss for words.
“It was my pride, my lord,” she said, drawing him down onto a pile of soft cushions, “surely you understand that, for yours is as great as mine, and I have a wicked temper. And both our fathers spoiled me terribly.” Kneeling, she drew off his slippers. Then she cuddled next to him.
“Your behavior has been almost unforgivable,” he said gruffly.
She raised herself up on one elbow and leaned forward just enough that he was treated to a generous view of her breasts. “But you will forgive this humble slave,” she begged prettily. When he looked sharply at her he saw her mouth trembling with suppressed mirth.
Relieved that her spirit wasn’t completely broken, he laughed and pulled her into his arms. “I do not believe you are really repentant at all,” he teased.
Her eyes grew serious. “But I do apologize, my lord. I do! I would not blame you if you sent me away.” She held her breath.
“Do you want to go?” he asked.
There was only the briefest pause. “No. Do not send me from you, Murad. Those years I lived as your father’s wife were a living hell for me. I maintained my sanity only by believing in the promise you once made to me in a moonlit garden: that one day I should be your wife. When you told me the other night that you would take no wife, but only keep a harem…” She paused, then said, “I am only a woman, my lord, and easily hurt. You know how hard it will be for me to accept your decision. My religion views an unmarried concubine as lower than a creature of the streets.”
“But my religion puts you above all women, Adora. I did not mean to hurt you, beloved. Understand me, my dove, I did not tell you I would not take a wife to sadden or shame you. For the last several generations the Ottomans have been forced to contract political marriages to aid them with their conquests. I do not believe we need do this any longer. We are at the very gates of Constantinople. When we conquer it, we will make it our own capital before moving out into Europe itself. The virgin daughters, sisters, nieces, and wards of those in our path will not be enough to bribe us-for we are stronger.
“Perhaps we Turks do treat our woman differently from the way the Greeks treat theirs, but we revere them for the one thing that only they can do. Only the female can accept and nurture the seed of life within her body. Only the female can bear that life safely, give it nourishment and care. It is his woman who provides a man’s immortality by giving him sons.
“You have a fine son, Adora. Can you honestly tell me that you have made any greater accomplishment in your lifetime than to give Halil life?”
She was amazed at the depth of his thoughts. And then she realized how little she actually knew the man. They had never really talked as they were doing now. She wondered whether he was aware of the sweet victory this was for her. It mattered not! For now, it was enough for her.
She smiled up at him and said quietly, “I suppose Halil has been my greatest accomplishment, and my life would have been very empty without him.”
“Give me a son!” he said fiercely. Her heart quickened at the passion in his gaze.
She could not tear her eyes from his. She felt strangely weak, held a half-willing captive of those dark eyes that burned with little red and gold flames deep within. His fingers slipped the row of little gold knots that held her robe together and she felt the big hands gently stroking the swell of her breasts. For the first time she did not resist him, and a delicious, languorous feeling began to creep over her. His hands were those of a warrior, large and square, the fingernails cut short. The skin of his palms and fingers were neither rough nor smooth, but rather a combination of both, and the touch of it on her silken flesh made her shiver. He caught a hard little nipple between his finger and thumb and rubbed, delighting in her gasp of pleasure.
To his surprise, she opened his robe and placed her warm palms against him. Her slim fingers began to tease the hair on his chest, twining amid the soft, tight curls, pulling gently. Her eyes were soft with a growing desire.
He stood up and let his robe drop to the floor, pulling her after him. He drew the lilac-colored silk from her. Standing for a moment, they openly admired each other’s bodies. His hand reached out and gently caressed her. She returned the caress. Stepping forward, he gathered her up into his arms, her head nestled against his shoulder, and carried her slowly to their couch. Tenderly he placed her on the silken sheets, standing above her a moment. Then he eagerly joined her as she opened her arms to him.
His fingers removed the tortoise shell pins from her hair. Then he pulled the thick, lily-scented cloud down about the two of them. Only then did he seek her mouth, and she shivered for his kisses were sweet with remembrance, and spiced with expectation.
“You are perfection, my Adora,” he murmured softly. “And so there will never again be a misunderstanding between us, let me tell you plainly that I love you, my darling. The sultan of the Ottomans lays his heart at your slim, white feet, beloved, and humbly asks that you be the mother of his sons. I would fight with you no longer. Let me plant my seed deep within your fertile garden. Let me cherish you-and the new life that will grow within you.”
She was silent a moment. Then she asked, “And if I said ‘No’, my lord-what then?”
“I would send you from me, my dove, probably back to Constantinople. For I cannot remain near you and not want to make love to you.”
“You will not grow angry with me, as your father did, because I like to study and read?”
“No.”
“Then come, my beloved lord. The spring is almost upon us, and if we are to harvest a good crop before the year is out, we must begin.”
He was stunned by her frankness. Her laughter was mischievous. “Oh, Murad, you great fool! I love you! I admit to it, though I am not at all sure I should. I have always loved you. You were my first love, and now it seems you are to be my last. My now and forever love. And so it was written in the stars before either of us even took root in our mothers’ wombs. So Ali Yahya assures me.”