Xavier understood. The alternative was to remain in captivity, to become enslaved. For how long could he put the bashaw off? And in the interim, could he accomplish what he must—a ransom for his men and any Intelligence gathering that would help his country destroy Tripoli’s sea power? And how could he engender his own release—or escape? “I understand,” Xavier said.
“Good,” Jovar laughed.
“Now there will be music and dancing,” the bashaw said, clapping his hands loudly.
Xavier’s eyes widened as two beautiful girls entered the room. They were no more than thirteen or fourteen, olive skinned with long black hair, their bodies slim and coltish. He could not help but stare. They were more naked than clothed. Each wore transparent gauze trousers and small, beaded vests. An opaque triangle of cloth hid their loins, but barely, from public view, and they began to sway to the strains of a stringed instrument.
He forced his expression to remain neutral. Whores who were little more than children existed all over the world, but he found it appalling.
All the men at the table were watching the two dancers. Jebal leaned across the table and touched Xavier’s arm. “They are slaves. But eager to please. We can send one to warm you tonight, or both of them if you prefer.”
“No, thank you.”
“You wish to choose a different woman?” Jebal asked, his smile friendly.
Xavier waited a moment before responding. “In my country, we do not lie with women so young. It is forbidden.”
“Really?” Jebal laughed. “Here a virgin is a great prize—the greatest prize, actually, A man will pay much gold to lie with one.”
“Virgins have no skill,” Xavier remarked.
“A good point,” Jebal laughed.
Farouk interjected, “Let him choose whom he wants.”
Xavier looked up and met Farouk’s black eyes. How opaque they were.
“Unless you do not wish a woman,” Farouk said blandly.
“Perhaps he prefers boys,” Jebal laughed. “Shall we send you a boy, Blackwell?”
He thought again about the Moslem woman who had been disguised as a bedouin in the slave market. “I do not like boys. Although I understand that here many men prefer boys—and guard their male lovers more jealously than their wives.”
Jovar stiffened. “In some cases that is true. I myself have four concubines—all of them young and female.”
“How good for you,” Xavier said coolly.
“Please, this bickering is unseemly,” Jebal cried.
“Enough, Jovar,” the bashaw growled. His fist hit the table, knocking over a glass, which broke. A slave hurried forward to repair the mess. The bashaw said, “Send him women. Let him choose. We are giving you new quarters, Captain Blackwell. I want you to be pleased.”
Xavier bowed his head.
11
ALEX PACED HERchamber. Her heart was in her throat. She had watched the entire feast in the bashaw’s hall from the women’s room and she was frantic.
The bashaw was sending slave girls to his chamber even now. And Blackwell was going to choose one of them.
It should be her. It could be her—if she dared to disguise herself as a slave girl and go.
But Alex was terrified.
She was finally facing reality. He was a strong, virile male, a nineteenth-century man, and he might have made eye contact with her in thebedestan,but he did not know that she was his destiny—that she had traveled through time in order to find him. She wanted to be with him, she did. She had waited for this moment for a very long time. She had traveled back in time almost two hundred years in order to do so. But various scenarios were flipping rapidly through Alex’s mind. He would think her a mere slave girl. Would he make love to her on the spot?
Alex hugged herself. They hadn’t exchanged a single word—she wasn’t quite sure she was ready.
Yet she loved him. And she had to meet him—he was her destiny. If she didn’t go, he would choose someone else. Alex was almost certain. He was too virile and too much a nineteenth-century man not to take what was so readily provided.
