Captive (28 page)

Five minutes later Alex had changed, kohled her eyes and rouged her mouth, and was rushing along the corridor in Jebal’s quarters. Alex intended to tell Jebal that she had fallen asleep in the gardens after a hot bath.

Murad suddenly said, low, “I do not like the guards having that letter you forged.”

“I don’t like it either,” Alex said, having read enough thrillers and seen enough suspense-filled movies to understand
the dangers posed by a paper trail. They stopped in front of the huge, solid closed door that led into Jebal’s suite. “If he ever discovers that I have been outside of the palace, I shall stick to the story that we told the guards—that I went to a seer in order to learn when we would have our first child.”

“It would be more believable if you were sleeping with him, Alex,” Murad murmured.

Alex ignored him, although he was right, and nodded at the pair of slaves standing impassively in front of the door. A moment later she heard Jebal snap. “Enter!”

Alex’s heart was pounding hard. She met Murad’s silver eyes one last time. Although he smiled encouragingly, the anxiety she saw there made her hesitate.

“Enter!” Jebal commanded again.

Alex moved forward, into the spacious high-ceilinged room.

Jebal reclined with Paulina on a pile of multicolored silk and velvet cushions. An arched doorway led into another chamber behind the first, a private room that Jebal used to entertain his most important guests. Rich silks and velvets adorned both salons, as did numerous Arabian tapestries. Male and female slaves hovered about Jebal and Paulina. Alex stared at the pair of them. She had not expected Jebal to be with another woman, much less Paulina. Her very first thought was that this was a form of payback. Yet Alex was vastly relieved that he was not alone.

Both Jebal and Paulina regarded Alex as she approached. Jebal’s gaze was impossible to read, but Paulina’s was openly smug. She was half in Jebal’s arms, and hardly clad. Her young, lush body was openly displayed. Her body language indicated to Alex that she had probably just made love with Jebal. Which was fine with Alex.

Jebal stood slowly. “I summoned you an hour ago. Where have you been?”

Alex was taken aback, even frightened. There was a glint in his eyes that she had never seen before. Suddenly she wondered if Murad was right. That if he caught her violating the laws of the Moslem world, whether by being outside of the harem or by being with Xavier, she would be severely punished—or worse. For a moment, Alex remained motionless.

“Where have you been?” Jebal repeated sharply.

Alex reacted with a timeless instinct for self-preservation—with Murad’s advice and warning ringing in her ears. Very sincerely she said, “I am sorry. I beg your forgiveness for being so tardy. I fell asleep in the gardens after sending Murad away after my bath. That is why no one could find me.”

Jebal stared.

Alex waited.

Jebal’s expression softened fractionally and he nodded. “Very well, you are forgiven.”

Alex inhaled, not looking at Paulina. They still had last night to discuss.

Jebal turned to Paulina and reached down and lifted her to her feet. The beautiful Italian instantly pressed against him. Her breasts were all but spilling from the tiny beaded vest she wore. Her expression was amorous.

“You may go now, Paulina,” Jebal said, his tone soft. “You have pleased me greatly today.”

Paulina smiled, obviously happy. “Are you certain that you wish to send me away?” she asked archly.

Jebal’s gaze flickered down her body. “In truth, I have no wish to send you away, but my second wife needs to be chastised.”

Alex was already stricken with tension. Now her mouth became completely dry.

Paulina gave Alex an odd look. It was partly sympathetic—and partly triumphant. “Good night, then, my love. I
eagerly
await your next summons, Jebal.”

Jebal smiled, obviously taken in by Paulina, and watched her strut to the door. When she was gone his smile disappeared. He folded his arms and stared coolly at Alex.

“You aren’t wearing the necklace I gave you last night,” he remarked abruptly.

Alex jerked, her hand flying to her throat. “I was in a rush,” she managed. “There was no time.”

“I expect you to wear it whenever you come to me,” he said.

Alex wet her lips. Glass and paste. Tomorrow she would have a replica made. “Yes, of course, as you wish.”

Jebal faced his sumptuous private gardens through the grand stone archway leading to them. Beyond his motionless figure, a single star had popped out in the fading blue sky. A final
band of pink arched over the sparkling, ink-colored sea. In a few more minutes night would have descended, black and sparkling. “There was an accident at the quarries today. Many slaves were killed,” Jebal said abruptly, facing Alex.

Alex froze. She was taken by surprise, Jebal had changed the subject so swiftly—raising a topic that she would have never expected. “I heard,” she finally said slowly.

He stared at her. “An American was killed.”

One of the
Pearl’s
crew. This Alex also knew. Her pulse pounded. “I heard that, as well. You know how fast news travels in the palace.” She licked her lips, well aware of how closely Jebal was regarding her. Was he testing her? Did he know something? Was he suspicious of her loyalty? Alex chose her next words as carefully as she could. “It is wrong, Jebal, for those innocent men to be incarcerated like animals, and cruelly worked to death.”

“It is our way. Someone has to labor in the quarries. Should we send our own people? Or the captives?” he demanded.

“You have sent my people,” Alex whispered, then instantly regretted her words.

He strode to her, seized her arm.
“Your people?
This is the second time you have said such a thing to me! But are you not one of us now, Zohara? Are you not my wife?”

“Yes,” Alex whispered. If he exerted any more pressure, he would bruise her. “I embraced Islam, I made my wedding vows, I am your wife,” she cried.

He flung her off. “Is it the Americans you are so concerned for, or their captain, Blackwell?”

Alex was terrified. She kept her face expressionless but was afraid the fear showed in her eyes. “I am concerned for every captive in Tripoli.”

“Such a warm woman. And did you enjoy our special celebration last night?” Jebal demanded with heavy sarcasm.

Alex was frozen. Was this the same man she had known this entire past year? Whom she had dined with, laughed with, and entertained with stories? His gaze was cold and almost cruel. He was very angry.

“You know I did not,” Alex said softly, very shaken by his unrelenting tone. “Jebal, I know you are angry, but …”

“I am very angry,” Jebal interrupted. “Angry enough to have considered divorcing you.”

Alex was stunned. And when her mind began to function again, she tried to decide if this would be in her best interest. She would wind up a concubine or a slave—sold to God knew whom. And she and Murad would be separated. She would not have any power, or Murad as an ally, and Blackwell would escape without her … Dear God. She would be left behind in Tripoli, a captive without means, never to see Blackwell again.

“Please don’t,” Alex heard herself say tersely.

Jebal stared.

Her entire fate seemed to hang in the balance. Alex spoke carefully. “I care for you, Jebal, I do. You have been very good to me, and very kind. But I am an American woman. Americans give their women more freedom to chose whom they wish to wed. It has been so hard for me becoming a Moslem, and a wife here in Tripoli.
I
still yearn for my first husband.” She was aware of how forcefully her pulse was pounding. “I want to become a good wife to you, I do,” Alex concluded, lying desperately through her teeth. One thought loomed in the back of her mind,
escape.
She had to escape very shortly. Otherwise she was caught between a rock and a hard place, trapped there by Jebal.

Jebal did not respond.

Alex swallowed hard. “Last night wasn’t my fault,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone slipped some potion into my tea. A sleeping potion. Murad recalls that there was an odor in the cup, which seemed odd. I was poisoned, Jebal. Poisoned! Someone hates me and doesn’t wish for me to be with you!”

Jebal regarded her searchingly. His mouth seemed to have eased very slightly. “And I assume that you have a good idea of who this enemy might be?”

Jebal was no fool, Alex thought quickly. She had, until now, mistaken his superficial gentility and his almost effeminate looks for a weak character. “Zoe hates me. She has hated me from the moment you announced your intention to marry me.”

Jebal eyed her, then walked forward. Alex did not move. She hoped that he would not notice that she was breathless, perspiring, and trembling with nervous tension and fear. He
cupped her chin. “If you are telling me the truth, then you are forgiven, Zohara.”

Alex nodded anxiously.

“And if you are lying, I will discover the truth,” he added harshly.

“I’m telling the truth,” Alex lied, praying she would not flush.

“Let us hope so,” Jebal said, releasing her chin.

Alex breathed easier.

“And if Zoe is the culprit here, than she shall be severely punished.” Jebal paced the room. “I am tired of her harem intrigues in general. Perhaps I even tire of her,”

Ohmygod, Alex thought. What can of worms had she now opened?

He confronted her. “In the interim, you have fallen into my disfavor.”

Alex stared. “What does this mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, ennunciating his every word with care, “that you had better conduct yourself with the utmost propriety and the utmost caution.”

Alex was breathless. She nodded.
He knew.

“Now go,” Jebal said.

X
AVIER STOOD SLOWLY.
His body no longer hurt as badly as it had the first week he had labored in the quarries. Somehow his muscles had adjusted to the grueling labor he had to perform and the minimal rations the slaves received and were expected to subsist upon. And every evening he was given extra food, arranged, he knew now, by Alexandra, but Xavier refused to partake of it in spite of Pierre Quixande’s advice and warning. He had Tubbs distribute it to the most needy.

Xavier had been resting with the scribe just outside of the scribe’s cubbyhole room. Both men had seen Kadar enter the courtyard on the far side with a European man. Xavier tensed. “Do you know who that is?” he asked the Frenchman.

The blond European was overdressed in a frock coat, waistcoat, breeches and stockings, and a tricorn hat because it was still very hot out in spite of the twilight hour. He was starting to make his way through the sleeping slaves.

“That is the Danish consul,” Quixande returned. “Sven Neilsen.”

Xavier’s heart leapt. He was disbelieving. How had Neilsen managed to gain admission to see him? In the past week, Xavier had lost hope.

Xavier smiled as Neilsen extended his hand. The two men shook. “Thank you for coming.”

“I would have come sooner if I could have,” the Dane said seriously, “but I was denied permission to visit you and your men repeatedly. You have Mrs. Thornton to thank for bribing the guards so thoroughly that I was allowed admittance here. However, this is dangerous and I cannot linger.”

Mrs. Thornton had bribed the guards so Neilsen could get in. Briefly Xavier was frozen. He agreed with Quixande, she was a spy, planted here in Tripoli, but by whom? His stomach curdled whenever he thought of her, which was often. She had to be damnably brave and damnably clever, to marry Jebal and carry out her mission from behind enemy lines. It was almost incredible.

But there was no other explanation for the fact that she did not have a husband who had died on Gibraltar, and that no one had ever discovered which ship had brought her to Tripoli. It made further sense when he thought of how she had secretly come to him the moment he had arrived in Tripoli. But whom was she working for? Only one thing was clear: She was not working for the Americans.

Unfortunately, his conviction of her treacherous nature did little to abate the disturbing dreams that visited him each and every night. In his dreams they were racing together on foot through Tripoli, which was ablaze. Xavier was determined to protect them both, determined that they would reach freedom. But janissaries were on their heels. They were not going to make it.

And then the dream would change. Suddenly she lay beneath him restlessly, her lush body naked and hot. Her green eyes, holding his, smoldered. And he would start to move over her, to take her … and then she began to drift away. Fading before his very eyes. Slipping, physically, from his grasp.

He would wake up sweating, shouting her name. Only to realize it was the damnable dream again.

She was a beautiful, dangerous spy. He must not forget it for an instant.

Xavier lowered his eyes. Surely Neilsen guessed the truth? He looked up. “I have a small room. It it hot and airless, but what we must discuss requires absolute privacy.”

Neilsen nodded. The two men began to tum. And then Xavier saw two bedouins crossing the compound. Kadar stood at
the arched entrance, where he had just allowed them to pass within, staring at them all.

Xavier could not believe his eyes.

“What is it?” Neilsen asked.

“I do believe it is Mrs. Thornton,” Xavier said tersely.

Neilsen started. “Surely you are wrong! She would not dare! My God, Jebal would kill her in the blink of an eye if he ever found her in here!”

Alexandra raced up to them, Murad on her heels. Her face was flushed beneath the kaffiyeh, but her eyes were bright. There was a challenge in her gaze.

Despite his knowledge of who and what she was, seeing her again was very much like receiving an unexpected blow in the abdomen. It was a moment before he could speak. “I cannot fathom you,” Xavier finally said softly. He was glad she was dressed as a man. It reduced, just slightly, her sensuality, which he could not seem to remain oblivious to.

“That is obvious.” She stared at Xavier while gesturing at the consul. “I did it. I brought you Neilsen. Have I proved myself? Am I redeemed?”