All the Sweet Tomorrows (47 page)

Skye gave a soft sigh of relief. She was furious at herself for
not having realized that she was being drugged. Now her mouth felt dry, but at least her heart rate was beginning to slow down from its fevered pitch of a few minutes ago. She rose from their bed, and went across the alcove to pour herself some freshly squeezed fruit juice. As she drank it thirstily, she vowed she would never be given hashish again. She would flatter Kedar into believing that it was an insult to him to feed her the stuff; she did not need such things to increase her ardor and natural passion for him. With a small giggle Skye drank another goblet of the fruit juice. Then, suddenly beginning to feel very relaxed, she returned to the mattress, where she quickly fell asleep.

In the early morning as they sat eating sticky sweet figs, and drinking boiling, bitter coffee, Skye said slyly, “I am glad that you are not angry with Dagan and Zada, my lord. They only did it in their efforts to please you.”

“Did what, my jewel?” Kedar was instantly alert.

“Fed me the hashish in an effort to stimulate my senses.” She laughed a tinkling, light laugh. “As if I needed any other stimulation than your look, or touch, my lord; but then they did not mean to be offensive to your manhood. They only meant to please you.” She licked her fingers delicately. “I will go and dress, my lord, so I do not keep the caravan waiting.” With a sweet smile to him, Skye arose and began to pull on her clothing.

“Dagan!” Kedar’s voice was sharp, and Skye hid a smile. Her barb had obviously found its mark.

“My lord?” Dagan appeared from the other side of the tent.

“Did you feed Muna hashish last night?”

“Yes, my lord. I made her the jellied confections so dearly loved by the ladies of your harem. Since she had earlier defied my master I hoped to make her more willing to dance. I would not allow her to disgrace you, my lord.”

“Your motives were good,” Kedar said, “but never feed Muna any of your little potions again, Dagan. Giving her the drug implies that I am not man enough to inspire her. You did not mean that now,
did you?
” Kedar’s voice had grown menacing.

“No, no, my lord!” Dagan had felt Kedar’s lash too often to court his anger now. He fell to his knees. “Pardon, my lord! I only sought to please you!”

“Only the fact that we cannot tarry in this place saves both you and that busybody Zada from a beating. Be grateful for my mercy, and do not rouse my displeasure again.”

“Thank you, master, thank you!” Dagan babbled, backing from the alcove.

Kedar turned to Skye. Her expression was bland and totally disinterested. Demurely she raised up the pale-blue hood of her djellabah. Walking over to her, he tipped her face up to him. “There, my jewel,” he said quietly, “Dagan will not feed you any of his little tasties again, but if you had simply asked me, my fair Muna, I would have happily seen to it. It was not necessary to suggest any lack of masculinity on my part. You are beautiful, and I am discovering you are clever, but you cannot hope ever to deceive me.” He lightly slapped her cheek with his riding glove, holding her sapphire eyes prisoner with his strange hazel ones. “You will remember that, my jewel, won’t you?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, refusing to flinch or lower her eyes to him.

Kedar smiled. “Good!” he said. “Now put on your yashmak and get to the cart.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He watched her go, a half-smile on his face. She was quite a puzzle, his fair Muna. Woman incarnate, she could drive him to heights he had never before attained with any other, and yet he knew that he had seen only a part of her. She had been wonderfully uninhibited last night, but that had only been the drug. He had instantly sensed when she had become aware of herself again and withdrawn from him, although she had worked very hard to conceal it. There was far more to her than she had revealed to him, and as much as he had enjoyed her lack of inhibitions last night he wanted her to have those same feelings for him within her heart and soul.

Kedar had inherited a little of his uncle’s second sight, though he had never sought to develop it. Such development would have taken too much self-discipline, and he did not have the time to devote to it. Still, now and then he could accurately sense certain things or feelings in people or events. There was something special about Muna, his hidden senses told him, and he longed to know her secret. Then he laughed at himself for a fool. Muna was a totally exquisite creature whose sole reason for being was to give him pleasure. Allah had created her to be a houri on earth, and he, Kedar, was the fortunate man gifted with her. There was no more.

Outside he could hear the activity of the camp almost ready to depart. He strode from the tent so they might strike it. Immediately several men swarmed in to dismantle the shelter while
both Dagan and Zada hurried out with the tent’s scant furnishings packed in small trunks. Walking over to the cart where Muna had already settled herself, Kedar climbed into the vehicle.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “My lord?” she questioned him.

Settling himself next to her, Kedar reached up and loosened one side of her veil, exposing her face. His hand then reached up to cup her head and draw her toward him. He saw the pulse in her slender throat leap, and then his mouth descended upon hers. His kiss was a searing one that demanded her surrender, and her lips softened beneath his. She was breathless when he released her.

“See that your performance tonight outshines the one you offered me last night, my jewel,” he said softly as he refastened her veil. Then he vaulted from the wagon, the gauze draperies fluttering lightly with his passage.

B
EFORE
them the city of Fez nestled and clung to a cuplike valley, descending from Fez Eldjid, the newer town on the heights of the hills, to the crowded rabbit warrens that made up the most ancient part of the city at the bottom of the valley along the river. At first approach Skye could see only a long line of tall towers and walls surrounding the city, which was seemingly invisible behind the ramparts. She shivered, wondering if once she was behind that seemingly impenetrable barrier she would be able to escape.

As they passed through a huge horseshoe gate into Fez Skye saw that, unlike the cities along the coast, Fez was a dour place. Its buildings were a dirty white with green tile roofs, and from the street the plainness of their walls was broken only by doors. There were no windows visible anywhere, and the facelessness of the structures was rather frightening. Throughout the city stands of trees—cypress, ilex, date palms, and various fruit trees—were welcome green islands dotting the hillsides that tumbled downward into the old city.

Skye would quickly discover that though none of Fez’s homes had windows on the street side, the beauty and luxury of their interiors were astounding. She would also find that the wealthy now built their homes in Fez Eldjid escaping the overcrowding of the old city where the magnificent Qarawiyin Mosque, the
university where Osman had taught, and all the main bazaars and markets including the famous Quaisarya, the silk market, were also located. For now, however, all that mattered was the fact that she was in Fez, and somewhere in the city Niall Burke was held. She wondered how long it would be before Kedar’s young brother, Hamal, would contact her.

Kedar’s home was a marvel of several connecting structures built around flowering and fountained courtyards and lush gardens. From the street it was as anonymous as all the other buildings around it, but once inside she found herself in a paradise of incredible beauty. The floors were all laid with small black and white tiles in a geometric pattern. Some of the floors were covered with thick, lush rugs in reds, blues, and golds, or blues, golds, and dark green. The walls were partially tiled in yellow, white, and black, and whitewashed above the tile except in the public rooms where the walls above the tiles had designs carved into their stone. The ceilings in all the rooms were painted magnificently in various colors, in incredible geometric patterns and designs.

Dagan had escorted Skye and Zada to the women’s quarters of the house, a separate wing consisting of baths, kitchens, gardens and terraces, salons, dormitorylike bedchambers, and private bedchambers.

“How many women are there in the master’s harem, Dagan?” Skye asked as they had hurried along behind him.

“I am not certain of the correct number, my lady Muna, but it is over forty, I know.”

Two coal-black eunuchs pulled open a gilded wrought-iron double gate, allowing them entry into the harem area. Dagan brought them to the main salon, where at this time of day most of the women were settled chattering, sewing, playing musical instruments, or reading. At their entrance there was immediate silence and hostile eyes swung toward Skye, assessing her beauty and her worth to Kedar, and instantly classing her an enemy.

Dagan grinned delightedly to discomfit them. “The master sends you all his greetings upon his return, ladies. This lovely creature by my side is the lady Muna, a gift to our lord Kedar from his uncle in Algiers. She is in his favor.”

“Perhaps along the trail, where the only other choices were diseased nomad wenches, sheep, and camels,” said a voluptuous blonde with almond-shaped black eyes. She looked insolently at Skye, and popped a small apricot into her mouth.

“How do you keep your hair
that
color, my dear?” Skye asked in flawless Arabic. “In my own country I had a brace of hunting dogs with fur that same hue.” Her look was bold and it dared the other woman to retaliate. In a harem of this size Skye knew that only the very strong survived.

The blonde gasped and scrambled to her feet. “How dare you!” she shrieked as she leapt the small distance between Skye and herself, her fists upraised.

Skye didn’t wait. Hooking her fingers into the blonde’s hair she grasped hard, and flung her opponent across the room. “How dare you!” she replied. “In my own land I am a great lady. Here I have found favor with my lord Kedar. We need not be friends, but you will treat me with the respect due my station. I am not, like you, some peasant wench thrust into a better situation. You will remember that in the future.”

The blonde sprawled among a pile of pillows, arms and legs akimbo, her mouth open in complete surprise. The room was deathly still, and then there was a throaty, amused laugh as a tall, very elegant woman stepped forward from among a group of women. “Welcome to Fez,” she said. “I am the lady Talitha, now only occasionally in our lord Kedar’s favor, praise be to Allah.” Talitha’s skin was the color of molten gold, her black hair cut short so that it clung caplike to her skull in kinky curls. Her eyes were a wonderful shade of light green. With a smile she turned to Dagan. “Is she to have a private chamber?”

“Yes, lady, and you will see that none of the others mark her. He is adoring of her flawless skin.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Talitha said. “Don’t worry, Dagan, I will care for her as if she were my own child.” She then turned her gaze upon the other women in the room. “You heard,” she said in a suddenly hard voice. “Anyone who touches Muna will answer first to me and then to our lord Kedar. Frankly I don’t believe any of you soft, overripe bitches are capable of taking on this one, but be warned nonetheless.”

“You will be safe now,” Dagan said, and then he left Skye and Zada.

“Come with me,” Talitha said, and they followed her from the salon. “There is a lovely room available overlooking the mares’ meadow and the mountains beyond the city walls.”

“Are you in charge of the harem?” Skye asked.

“I have the honor and the burden of being Kedar’s harem mistress,” Talitha replied drily. “I was the first woman he ever
bought. I have two daughters by him, but as his appetite has grown his need for me is less.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, but I am grateful to him. I was born in a brothel in Rabat. My mother was a whore of Berber and Negro origin. My father was her French lover. I know that for certain because my mother did not enter the brothel until after my father left her, and she was already pregnant with me. She was a beautiful woman, and so she went to the finest brothel in Rabat and offered to sell herself to them if they would wait until she had borne her child. They gave her the gold on which to live comfortably until I was born, and then she joined them. I was raised there, and Kedar bought me from the brothel owner who felt that, at twenty, I was a bit too long in the tooth to satisfy his customers. I am therefore grateful to the master. I have a good home. My children are safe, and I am respected. Ah, here we are.” She flung open a beautifully paneled wooden door, and they entered into a lovely bright room. “What about you, Muna?”

“I am a captive,” she said. “The lord Osman bought me to give to the lord Kedar.”

“For a captive you speak our language quite well,” Talitha remarked.

“I was in the bagnos for several months, and I fortunately have an ear for other tongues.”

“Were you ill that you were kept in the bagnos, or,” here she cocked her head, “were you, as I suspect, loath to accept your portion.”