Prologue
Damascus, Syria
Summer, 1253
"He comes, my mistress."
Majida'ssimple wordselicited a nervous fluttering of excitement in EveGervais'sbreast. She ceased her gentle crooning and glanced at the strikingCircassianodalisque, a slave woman who had been purchasedfrom the teeming Damascus slave market on the same day as she, six months ago.Majida'slithe, broad-shouldered frame filled the narrowarchway leading from Eve's private apartments.
"Is all in readiness,Majida?"Eve asked quietly, careful lest she wake the baby sleeping so peacefully in herarms. She watched asMajidacrossed the shadedcourtyard on strong, silent feet and knelt beside the marble couch where shewas sitting.
"Yes, mistress. All is prepared."
He comes, Eve thought.SinjarAl-Aziz. Her master. Her protector. He had spent every third night with hersince she had been brought to this house; long, passionate nights she had oncedreaded. Now she yearned for those nights as she yearned for him, this man whowould become her husband in a week's time.
Eve felt a moment's panic, and raw guilt constrictedher throat.
Forgive me, William!
"How sweetly she sleeps,"Majidawhispered, oblivious to Eve's distress. The odalisque's large gray eyes weresoft as she gazed upon the baby. She reached out and lovingly caressed a plumplimb. "Her skin is like the finest pearl, O my mistress," she said inhushed admiration. "White as the full moon and delicate as a dove's satinwing."
Distracted by the husky, soothing quality ofMajida'svoice, Eve smiled faintly as the odalisque benther head and kissed the baby's curled fist. "You will spoil her with suchtalk,Majida," she said, gently reproaching her."'Tisa good thing Leila is only seven monthsold and does not yet understand your many compliments."
"Ah, she knows,"Majidainsisted softly, sitting back on her haunches and looking solemnly at Eve."She hears, she smiles.She listens to her devotedMajida." The odalisque raised her hand, shielding thebaby's face from the dappled late afternoon sunlight. "Leila," sheintoned, "dark as night. Your ebony hair vies with the raven's gloss. Youreyes sparkle like twin amethyst jewels, fit for a sultan. Perhaps one day itmight even be said your beauty rivals that of your fair mother."
"Then I will be the most fortunate of men to havea wife and a daughter blessed so richly by Allah."
Majidagasped slightly andbowed low to the floor, her indigo silk caftan splaying in shimmering foldsaround her. She touched her forehead to the cool paving stones asSinjarAl-Aziz, at thirty years of age the wealthiest andmost respected physician inDamascus,entered thecourtyard. "O master, I have a foolish and flapping tongue—"
"Not foolish if one speaks the truth,"Sinjarinterrupted pleasantly as he strode toward them. "Risenow, woman, and leave us. I wish to be alone with mybeloved."
AsMajidascrambled to herfeet, Eve's face grew warm at the stirring sight of her Arab lord.
He was so darkly handsome, his features finely etchedbeneath a short, carefully barbered beard, his body strong and virile beneathhis flowing robes . . . a body she knew as intimately as her own. His lastwords were like a forbidden caress upon her skin; they burned into her mind.
"Go,Majida, and takethe child," she said, her heart thundering as she feltSinjar'sgaze drift over her in a manner that never failed to unnerve and excite her.She lifted her daughter intoMajida'soutstretchedarms. "See that my lord and I are not disturbed, yet remain close at handin case I have need of you."
"Yes, my mistress." Hugging Leila to herchest,Majidahurried pastSinjarwith her head lowered and eyes downcast, and disappeared through the archway.
A tense silence ensued, mocked by splashing fountainsand sweet birdsong.
Overcome bySinjar'spresence, Eve bowed her head and stared at the small, man-made stream gurglingthrough the square courtyard. Lifeblood to the fruit trees and flowers bloomingin colorful profusion around her, the stream was fed by theBarada,the Cool River, which flowed just beyond these thick, ivy-covered walls andsupplied the water for the entire city.
Damascus. The original Garden of Eden, or so theDamascenes called their ancient home. A land of trees and rivers, fruits andbirds, rising up like a verdant miracle from the desert.
A paradise.
A prison. Eve's prison . . . and Leila's. An opulentprison filled with every luxury, every comfort—even love if she would onlyaccept it from the man who had found such favor in his Christian concubine thathe had made her his favorite, and soon his third wife.
A small, plaintive sigh escaped Eve's lips. Once shewas married she would be a free woman, but not so free that she could everleave the confines of the city walls unescorted. She would still be a prisoner,trapped by tragic circumstances and a fierce, burgeoning love that wasthreatening to envelop her completely.
Six months ago she had wanted desperately to escape, toreturn with her infant daughter to the nine-year-old son she and William hadleft behind in England last summer when they began their pilgrimage to the HolyLand. Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to escape. She was certain of only onething; of the terrible guilt festering within her like a living, breathingpresence.
Eve closed her eyes tightly against the sudden tearswelling there.
Oh, William, my dearest husband, why did you have todie? Why did you abandon me to the vile slave trader who murdered you and thenbrought me here to Damascus, selling me to this man who has the power to makeme feel again . . . make me love again? I would rather be suffering a thousandtorments than betray you in my heart. But I am helpless against it. Pleaseforgive me!
"Eve."
