Beneath his swarthy skin, the Turk was pale. “If he remains inside the palace, my lord, we shall find him, I swear to Allah the Great.”
Jebal seethed. “If you do not find him by noon, you will hang by your feet.”
The Turk turned white.
“Get out!” Jebal shouted.
The captain fled.
“Drink this,” Neilsen said.
Murad took the cup of water, his hand shaking. He gulped it down. He sat on Neilsen’s European-style sofa, drenched with sweat. Upon exiting the tunnel he had encountered a group of soldiers, and he had run for his life. He had been born and raised in Tripoli, inside of the palace, and he knew what Jebal intended for him without being told: imprisonment and death.
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Allah save her, bless her, protect her, for there is no real other hope.”
Neilsen stared at his bowed head. “You are right. Mrs. Thornton is doomed. Suspicion of adultery is far worse than suspicion of treason to the male Moslem mind. Jebal will never forgive this, or forget. I imagine he will drown her in a matter of days.”
Murad rose abruptly. “We must try to save her!”
“And how the hell shall we do that?” Neilsen cried. “She is locked up under guard inside of the palace. We cannot rescue her, Murad. It is impossible.”
Murad stared. His silver eyes were wild. “Perhaps I can rescue her. I need a few men to overcome the guards, that is all.”
Neilsen held up a hand. “You would fail, and we both know it. Alarms would go up immediately. We must rescue Blackwell. We cannot, in good conscience, allow a heroic man like that to be murdered by these villains, and he does have a slim chance of success. I have already heard rumors that he will be executed tomorrow morning at dawn.”
Murad found it difficult to breathe—to think.Alex could not die.It was practically the only thought that he could focus on. Now he knew just how much he loved her. “They behead traitors and male adulterers in the public square behind thebedestan,”he said mechanically.
“I shall organize a group of mercenaries to rescue him from the beheading block,” Neilsen said decisively. “Paid soldiers on horseback. They can take him to theOlga.If they can outrace the bashaw’s men, and if I can convince the captain of theOlgato participate in the rescue, then, perhaps, we might have a very small chance of saving him.” Neilsen was grim. “If only theOlgawere armed.”
“But what about Alex?” Murad cried.
“There is nothing we can do about Mrs. Thornton,” Neilsen said firmly. “But I suggest you leave Tripoli with Blackwell.”
“No.” Murad would not even consider it. Again he thought,Alex cannot, must not, die.
36
ALEX WANTED TOsee Blackwell. Desperately.
She paced her bedchamber, praying now for another visit from Zoe. She would sell her soul to the devil, or the other woman, if a visit could be arranged.
The day was passing with agonizing slowness. Alex hadn’t slept a wink, and she was aware of being incredibly exhausted—but she also knew she could not sleep, no matter how she might try. Too much was at stake. Blackwell’s life was at stake.
Alex found it very difficult to believe that she had traveled back in time in order to find Blackwell—only to witness his death.
Her door opened. Alex knew deep inside her heart that it would not be Zoe, and it was not. It was Jebal. “Come with me,” he said, two soldiers standing behind him, another two guarding her door.
Alex was frozen with dread. “Where are we going?”
His eyes were hard and bright. “My father wishes to speak with you.”
Briefly Alex closed her eyes, paralyzed.
“Come,” Jebal snapped.
Alex had no choice but to obey. She was still wearing her torn crimson clothing from the night before, and she slowly crossed the room. Jebal turned and marched down the corridor. Alex following. The two armed Turks fell into step behind her.
They left the women’s quarters. Jebal’s section of the palace seemed unnaturally still and silent, as if everyone were deeply in mourning. Alex was aware of panic trying to form in her breast. Stolidly she kept tamping it down. She needed all of her wits about her now.
