Her chamber door opened and closed as Murad slipped inside.
“What am I going to do?” she cried.
“I have discovered where his rooms are,” Murad said unhappily. “Please, Alex, please don’t tell me that you are planning on doing what I think you are.”
“Right now, as we speak, there is a parade of young, perfect slave girls taking place in his room. Damn it! How can I not go?” she asked, sinking down on her bed. “If I don’t go, he’ll choose another. I’ve waited so long for him, Murad, and I’m supposed to remain here? I can’t, not now, not after everything I’ve done to find him.”
Murad stared. “I don’t understand. You speak in riddles. What have you done to find him? What do you mean, you’ve waited so long to be with him?”
Alex hesitated. If ever there was a time to confess who she really was, and where she was really from, it was now. Now, when she was filled with panic—when she was desperate.
“What are you hiding, Alex?”
She bit her lower lip. “What would you do if I told you I was from the future?”
He smiled briefly. “I would laugh, of course. Be serious, please. You said you trusted me.”
There was no time to convince Murad of the truth. “I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. She inhaled, sucking up courage. “Help me dress. I have Vera’s clothes. Then you can take me to his rooms.” Vera was a slave girl who frequently attended Alex.
Murad gripped her upper arm, halting her in her tracks. “You are mad! You shall be discovered! You cannot go to him now.”
“I have no choice.”
“You have every choice!”
Alex began to dress. She felt naked in the loose trousers and simple vest. She turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She supposed that she looked like one of the slaves. “I’m ready. At least, as ready as I’ll ever be.” Alex reached for the door.
“Are you ready to die?” Murad gripped both of her wrists, his eyes wide with fear. “Alex, listen to me. Please. You have lived amongst us long enough now to know the penalty for what you intend to do. You cannot take him as a lover. You will both be put to death instantly.”
Alex swallowed. She thought about the fate Xavier was predestined for. To be executed for sleeping with the bashaw’s daughter-in-law—which was herself. Dear God. But surely they would not be discovered tonight. “You will have to keep watch. Look, Jebal is not going to casually visit Blackwell in the middle of the night when he is with a concubine.”
“Someone might see you coming—or going.”
“I’ll keep my head down. Murad, we are running out of time.”
“We are talking about your life, Alex,” Murad almost shouted.
“I’m going to try to hold him off,” Alex cried, close to tears. “I don’t plan on sleeping with him tonight—if I can avoid it!”
“The whole point is to give him a bedmate. He is expecting a slave girl to satisfy his lust. Or will you tell him that you are Jebal’s wife?”
She wet her lips. “I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter whether the two of you fornicate or not,” he said hotly. “If you are discovered together alone, you are both finished—do you hear me?” When Alex did not answer, Murad shook her harshly. “They will behead him or burn him alive, Alex. You, they will drown in a sack. Now do you see reason?”
Alex shook her head. Her eyes glistened. “I am going to his apartment. I cannot stay away, even if you are right. You can come with me and guard the door to warn me if anyone comes—to protect me, as is your duty, Murad—or you can stay here.” She turned, shaking him off. But fear filled her.
Murad smashed his hand against the wall. His silver eyes glistened with tears.
But an instant later he ran after her, down the dark, endless hall.
Although Xavier was now the bashaw’s guest, the bashaw was not taking any chances. Two heavily armed Turks stood sentinel outside the door to the two chambers Xavier had been given.
One chamber was a bedroom, replete with an elaborately carved bed. Numerous silk, damask, and velvet pillows graced the bedstead, which was covered with a purple velvet coverlet. White gauze draperies, attached to the ceiling over the bed, were pulled back, but could be closed to keep out flies and mosquitoes. Colorful Arabian rugs were scattered about the floor. Plush cushions and low wood tables were in two corners of the room, providing pleasant sitting areas. On each table were decanters of aqua vitae, and platters of fresh fruit, cheeses, and breads.
The first room was similar to the bedroom except that it lacked a bed and contained a backless sofa and writing table instead.
Xavier paced. He had just rejected a half dozen slave girls. Not that he wasn’t a virile man. But he preferred to know the woman he was with. In Boston he kept a mistress. He was faithful to her. Faithful, and discreet.
