Paulina blushed, glancing down at the floor. When she lifted her eyes she was smiling slightly. “Of course not. We have shared far too much, you and I.” Her soft gaze held his. “I have been worried about you.”
He smiled, but it was fleeting. “Will you help me, Paulina?”
She tensed, and the baby released her nipple, wailing. Quickly Paulina rocked her son, guiding her nipple back to his mouth. “I will do anything you ask me to do,” she whispered now, but she was frightened.
Murad was satisfied. “I want you to do two things for me,” he said. And then he explained.
Alex did not expect another visitor. She was sinking rapidly into a deep depression, one born of despair and defeat. She did not rise when Paulina entered her room. All she could think about was that it was noon now, and that at dawn tomorrow Xavier’s head was going to be chopped off.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She hated history, she hated fate.
“May I speak to you?”
“I am not allowed visitors.” Alex did not look up.
“Jebal has given me permission,” Paulina said, coming forward.
“That is a surprise,” Alex said with uncharacteristic bitterness. Still she did not regard Paulina.
Paulina moved swiftly then, and sat down beside her. “I am so sorry he has locked you up.”
Alex nodded.
“Do you think you are with child?”
“I do not know. Hopefully not,” Alex said. She would go insane if she was pregnant, not knowing who the father was. She could not stand the thought of bearing Jebal’s son while Xavier was buried in some anonymous grave, murdered practically by Jebal’s own hand.
Paulina lowered her voice so the two guards standing in the open doorway could not hear. “Murad sent me.”
Alex jerked. Her gaze flew to Paulina’s. “He is all right?” she whispered back.
“Yes. But he is hiding. He asked me to give you this.” Paulina withdrew a scrap of paper from her robes. Her cheeks were burning with guilt.
Alex opened it and read it immediately. It was written in English, which Paulina could not read.Be prepared to escape tomorrow at dawn from the execution square.
Alex looked up, swallowing, her pulse racing wildly. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Paulina stood quickly. “I know nothing. I do not know what that note says. He merely asked me to give it to you—and he asked me to speak with Jebal as well.”
Alex also stood. “What did you say to Jebal?”
Paulina hesitated.“Imerely told him that he should make you watch Blackwell die.”
And Alex understood.
He wasn’t afraid. Not for himself.
Xavier stood beside the stone block where he would kneel and place his head, his wrists manacled behind his back, four soldiers surrounding him. It was the crack of dawn. The sky was gray, the sun a rising orange ball on the horizon. The square was already filled with restless, jeering people. The children laughed at him, shouting dirty names at him in Arabic; the women hissed and booed. Xavier remained oblivious—in fact, he did not even hear them.
Alexandra’s image remained in his mind, at once comforting and disturbing. She might be a spy. It no longer mattered. He only knew that he had never felt such frighteningly intense feelings for anyone as he did for her—a combination of love and lust, of joy and sadness, of fear and hope, of utter, bitter regret.
He did not care about dying himself. All men must die. He had had his revenge. Preble would destroy the city and the palace with the information Xavier had passed along. The United States would win this silly war. The bashaw would not be able to terrorize the seas, to bribe and blackmail and thieve. Robert’s soul could cease haunting Sarah and Blackwell House. He could go comfortably to heaven now.
But he did not want Alexandra to die. And he did not want her to remain in Tripoli, damn it, a captive and Jebal’s wife. And what if she was with child? What if she carriedhischild?
Xavier would be overjoyed, as he had never known joy before—and he would be triply frightened for her. Dear God, was there no way out?
