“Let me speak with him,” Alex begged impulsively. She and Jebal were marching through the palace at a rapid pace. Jebal had not said a word to her since they had left the bashaw’s presence. Now he whirled.
“Treacherous bitch!” he shouted.
“Tomorrow he will die. He is my friend. Please, allow me to speak with him!” Alex cried. She was clinging to Jebal’s arms.
He shook her off. “He has lied to protect you, but he will not succeed! It is clear to me that you are in love with him. I will never,ever,forgive you for this betrayal.”
Alex shrank. “All right! I do love him! I loved him before I ever came to Tripoli!”
He backhanded her.
Alex was thrown against the opposite wall. For the second time that day she hit her head and saw white, exploding lights. Something wet trickled down the nape of her neck.
As she slid to the floor, the wind knocked out of her, her head exploding with pain, Jebal loomed over her, his face a mask of hatred. “You will regret your words, Zohara. The next few years will be torture for you. I shall make sure of it. You will remain a prisoner. You will have no rights. None. And know this. If you are not with child, you will die as soon as that has been determined. If you are with child, you shall live, but only until the child is old enough for me to decide whether it is mine or not. And if the child is his—it will die with you.”
Alex moaned.
Jebal turned. “Take her back to her room,” he snapped.
The guards dragged her to her feet. Jebal strode away. And Alex was propelled roughly forward.
Murad hid in the shrubs that crept along the edges of the galleria just outside of Alex’s bedchamber. By now he knew that a terrific search had been mounted for him. He was terrified, but he had to be reassured that Alex was unharmed. Even more important. Murad was determined that Alex somehow escape, with or without Blackwell.
Yet he could not figure out how this could be accomplished. Alex was locked up and under guard. He had no accomplices to assist him in freeing her. But if he could somehow get her to the square at dawn tomorrow, surely she could be rescued with Blackwell.
Suddenly she appeared in the window.
It was shuttered, the shutters obviously locked, but through the latticework Murad saw her as clear as day. His heart flipped hard. He saw how pale she was, how disheveled, could just make out the ugly bruises on her face, and the dark circles under her eyes. What had they done to her?
He was by nature a caregiver. He had taken care of her for two years. He loved her, far more than as a friend. He yearned to go to her now and take care of her yet again.
But he could not.
He hesitated, glancing around, still crouching and concealed by the shrubbery. Two women were wandering down the path in the gardens behind him—he dared not slip across the galleria and try to alert her to his presence.
She turned away from the window. Murad saw a dark, matted section of hair on her head, and realized that, at some point, her head had been bleeding.
He was enraged. How he wished he could kill Jebal. It struck him then that he would kill Jebal if Alex died. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
She was walking away. He had to take a chance now. Murad stood. In his hand were a dozen pebbles. He tossed them at the wall beside the window. They hit the stucco loudly, scattering onto the galleria. But Alex had disappeared from his view—she had not heard.
Murad shrank back down beneath the shrubs, despairing and desperate. This was not the way to communicate with Alex, and he was fully aware of it. And then he had an idea.
In fact, he had two ideas.
Pauline was nursing her baby in her bedchamber when a hand clamped on her mouth from behind. She stiffened with surprise and fright.
“It is only I,” Murad whispered, moving around to stand in front of her.
“Murad!” Paulina gasped, paling. And then, as it always did when he came near, her heart raced with excitement.
She could not look at Murad without thinking about sex—and the many passionate moments they had shared.
Ignoring her, he went to her door and bolted it. Paulina stood, cradling her son, who still suckled her nipple. They were alone. He must have entered her room through one of the windows on the opposite side.
Warmth flooding her, Paulina whispered. “Murad, you should not be here! Jebal seeks to have you arrested. I think he intends to put you to death because he is so angry with Zohara.”
“I know,” Murad said grimly. “Will you betray me?” he asked.
