“I have my studies, Prince Murad,” she answered.
“No friends? Poor little princess.”
She snatched her hand away. “I do not need anyone’s pity. Least of all yours!”
The moon had risen. It was very round and very full; its bright light cast a silvery glow on the fat, golden peaches that hung like perfect globes from the heavy branches. It touched the fair-skinned face of Theadora Cantacuzene, and Murad saw that her look was proud, though she fought to keep tears from filling her amethyst eyes.
“I do not pity you, dove,” he said. “I merely regret that someone as alive as you are should be wed to an old man and incarcerated in a convent. You were made for a young man’s passionate caresses.”
“I am a princess of Byzantium,” she said coldly. “I was born to the title, even before my father became emperor. It is the duty of a princess to wed where she may do her family the most good. It was my father the emperor’s wish that I wed the sultan. As a good Christian daughter it was not my place to question his wish.”
“Your filial devotion is to be commended, Adora, but you speak like the child you are. If you had ever known love you would not be so stiff and unyielding.”
“My family loves me,” she retorted, outraged.
“Do they? Your father bartered you into marriage with a man old enough to be your grandfather, simply so he can call upon the sultan’s armies to help him keep his stolen throne,” said Murad. “He gave your sister in marriage to his rival, the boy emperor. At least she has a husband only three years her senior. And should the young John overcome the old John eventually, your father‘s life would still be safe because his daughter would then be empress! But what of you? Do you know that your sister, Helena, recently gave birth to her first child, a son? She preaches a holy war against the ‘infidel’! Helena obviously has great love for you. She is aided in her endeavors by your half sister, Sophia, whose piety is second only to her sexual excesses, which are the scandal of Constantinople. When was the last time either of them communicated with you? And what of your brother, Matthew, who is now to become a monk? Has he written to you? These are the people who love you?”
“My father did what was best for the empire,” she said angrily. “He is a great ruler! As to my sisters, Sophia was already a woman when I was yet a child. I barely know her. Helena and I have always been rivals. She may talk of holy wars,” and here Adora’s voice became scornful, “but it will never be. The empire can barely defend itself, let alone do battle against the sultan.” Her grasp of that particular political truth impressed him. “My mother,” she continued, “keeps me fully informed. Though we have not seen each other since I left Constantinople, she writes to me each week. And my lord Orkhan has a special messenger, for me alone, who brings my letters directly from the coast and returns with my replies. My half brother John was killed in battle a few months after I came here, and she sent me word of his death immediately, so that I could pray for his soul. My mother cannot visit me. You surely know that travel is dangerous. And the wife of the emperor of Byzantium would make a fine prize for pirates and robbers! But I am very much loved, Prince Murad! I am!”
“You know nothing of love,” he said fiercely, pulling her into his lap, holding her firmly.
“You remember only the vague affection of a child for its family. No one has ever truly touched you, or stirred your proud, cold little heart. But I will, Adora! I will awaken you to life…to love…to yourself!”
“You have no right,” she spat angrily at him, struggling to break his grip on her. “I am your father’s wife! Is this how you honor the Koran? What of your promise not to seduce me?”
He smiled grimly. “I will keep that promise, my innocent little virgin. There are a hundred ways I can pleasure you without robbing you of your maidenhead. We will commence lessons now!”
But as he bent toward her, she put her hands against his chest to hold him off. “Your father…“
“My father,” he said, loosening the ties of her cloak, “will never call you to him. When he dies, Adora, and I am sultan, I shall arrange with whoever is emperor of Byzantium for you to be my bride. In the meantime, I will school you in the arts of loving.”
And before she could protest further he had found her mouth. She could not struggle, for he held her far too tightly. She could barely breathe. Her heart was thumping wildly and she could feel his, beneath the flattened palms of her bands, matching the rhythm of her own. She tried to turn her head away, but one hand wound itself within the scented, silken tangle of her hair. He held her fast.
The mouth on hers was warm and firm, but surprisingly tender. The kiss was more frighteningly wonderful than it had been the first time, and once again she felt her resistance wearing away. As she relaxed, his kiss deepened, and she felt herself growing weak. Her young breasts grew strangely tight and the nipples ached.
His grip on her eased, and he released her mouth from its sweet captivity. She was speechless and lay unresisting across his lap. Smiling down at her, he traced a gentle line down her cheek with his finger. Her mouth felt dry. Her pulse raced. Her head was giddy, yet somehow she managed to find her voice.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want you,” he said quietly, and she trembled at the intensity in his voice. Again his mouth found hers, but this time he kissed not only her lips, but her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, forehead, and chin. These gentle kisses sent small shivers of hot and cold through her all at once. Eyes closed, she sighed with unconcealed pleasure.
His black eyes twinkled. “You like it,” he accused, laughing softly. “You like being kissed!”
“No!” Oh, lord! What was she thinking of to act this way! Again she tried to escape his grasp, but again he found her mouth, and now she felt his tongue running lightly over her tightly closed lips. Pushing insistently against her clenched teeth he murmured against her mouth, “Open to me, Adora. You cannot deny me, dove, or yourself.”
Her lips parted, and his tongue thrust inside. He stroked and caressed until she was close to fainting with the intensity of it. The feeling grew, and she trembled.
Removing his mouth from hers he held her tenderly, looking down at her through half-closed eyes. Her young breasts rose and fell swiftly, the nipples showing clearly through the thin silk of her shift like little buds. His heart beat fiercely with an exultation such as he had never before experienced. He longed to touch those tempting little peaks, but he refrained. It was much too soon to subject her further to her own sensual nature.
He had not believed such innocence existed. In his world a woman came to a man fully trained to please him. She might be a virgin, but she had been carefully taught to give pleasure and to receive it. Yet this lovely creature was untouched by man or woman. She would be his! He would allow no one else to ever possess her. He would mold her, teach her to please him. No one would ever know of her sweetness but him.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her face was very pale, and her beautiful eyes were like large violets in the snow.
“It’s all right, my sweet,” he said gently. “We have concluded the lesson for tonight.” Then he teased, “It pleases me, however, that you like my kisses.”
“I did not!” she hissed. “I hate you! You had no right to do that to me!”
He continued as if she had not spoken. “Tomorrow night we shall proceed further. Your education as a woman is just beginning.”
She sat up. “Tomorrow night? Are you mad? There will be no tomorrow night! I will never see you again! Never!”
“You will meet me here in the orchard as long as it pleases me, Adora! If you do not, I will appear at the convent gate demanding to see you.”