Skye O'Malley (20 page)

Alone in the night, Khalid el Bey paced the rooftop terrace of his house. The sky above was black silk, relieved only by the crystal blue stars. The air was still, yet it was perfumed by the sweet scent of night-blooming nicotiana. It had become obvious to him that he couldn’t make Skye a courtesan. Though her memory was buried, a strong moral sense remained. He would send a note to Yasmin tomorrow morning, stopping Skye’s lessons. Whatever he felt she needed to learn he would teach her himself.

He had to admit to himself now that he was in love with Skye. Her revulsion toward Ali today was only a part of it. The truth was that Khalid el Bey did not want her in the House of Felicity pleasuring a different lover every night. He wanted her in his own house, loving him, and bearing his children. Yes, he loved her enough to honor her by making her his wife. He felt like a boy again, and for the first time since his love for Noor, he felt hope. Perhaps, he thought wryly, there was a god in the heavens, after all. At peace with himself, he descended the steps to his own quarters.

To his surprise, Skye was asleep on the cushions by his couch. For a brief moment he watched her, then he bent and dropped a kiss on her cheek. She stirred, opened her magnificent sapphire eyes, and sat up.

“I am afraid,” she said in a rush, “I have angered you. And if you send me away—” she stopped, trying to gather her thoughts. “You are all I have, my lord Khalid. I remember nothing before you, and if you send me away I shall die!”

Tenderly he gathered her into his arms. “I have spent many hours alone with the night, my sweet Skye, and I have realized something. I have decided that there is only one fate for you.” She trembled against him, and he stroked her reassuringly. “Your fate is to be my wife, beloved. I will love you, care for you, and protect you, my Skye. I have never before wanted a wife, and it has been many years since I really loved a woman. It has been my custom to make love, but not give my heart. Do you understand the difference?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You enjoyed their bodies, but not necessarily the women themselves.”

He smiled in the semidarkness of the room. “You are wise, my Skye. Now, love, tell me if you are still afraid.”

“No.”

“And are you pleased with my plans for your future? Will you be happy to be my wife?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet Skye, I … I love you, and I want you to be happy. If the thought of marriage to me displeases you, you must tell me so, for I would not have you be unhappy.”

“You do me great honor,” she said softly, “but I am not certain I love you, my lord. Surely you deserve a wife who loves you.”

“The love will come, sweetness. I want you safe.”

She raised her face to him. “Then gladly shall I be your wife, my lord!” Her blue eyes were shining with trust and even, he thought, a little happiness. “I promise to make you happy,” she told him shyly.

“You already make me happy,” he told her, and then his mouth sought hers, tasting and giving the sweet sensual delights she seemed to crave from him. His hands caressed the small globes of her breasts, and then his tongue was torturing the pink nipples to a peak of excitement, circling round and round the sweetly sensitive flesh until her breathing became ragged. He lowered her to the cushions and his hands gently spread her thighs. Tenderly he entered her, taking her there on the floor, delighting in her sigh of pleasure as his pulsing shaft thrust deep.

Her soft hands began stroking his back, sliding slowly down its length to cup and fondle his round buttocks. “Khalid! Oh, my Khalid!” she whispered with a hot little breath against his ear. He shivered. “Love me, my lord! Oh, love me well, my lord!” She exhorted him and, catching his rhythm, she moved with him until both of them were lost in the wildly spinning vortex of their shared passion.

So great was the desire they aroused in each other that Skye fainted and Khalid, to his amazement, came close to losing consciousness himself. As his seed thundered into her hidden valley he shook fiercely with the intensity of his passion. Drained, he rolled from her and gathered her into his arms, raining kisses on her beautiful face. “Oh God, I adore you! I adore you!” he murmured over and over again, and as she slowly climbed from the darkness she heard someone’s voice worshiping her. “Niall,” she murmured softly. “Niall!”

Khalid stiffened. “Skye, sweetness,” he said gently, “Skye, open your eyes.” And when she obeyed he said, “Who is Niall, my beloved?”

Immediately her eyes became clouded and confused. “Niall?” she asked, puzzled. “I know no Niall.”

He sighed. Whoever Niall was, Khalid envied him very much. Skye must have loved Niall. Still—it was he, Khalid, who now possessed her, and he would not lose her, as this Niall had done. “Sleep, my love,” he said cradling her against his chest. And slowly her breathing became even and regular.

He lay awake most of the night struggling with himself. Was it possible that she was regaining her memory, or was the outcry just a fluke, never to be repeated? The doctor had said that Skye would not find herself again unless faced with the identical situation that had caused her trauma, and the chances of that happening were so remote as to be impossible. There was no danger of her recovering. He
would
marry her! Was he not entitled to some happiness? He wanted her, and he wanted the children of her loins.

He rose with the first light, and left her sleeping. In his dayroom his body servant lay sleeping before the door. Gently, Khalid nudged him with a slippered foot. When the slave’s eyes flew open, Khalid said, “Fetch my secretary immediately. I will be in the library.” Stumbling to his feet, the slave hurried off. Drawing his white robe about him, Khalid el Bey went to his library to await the secretary. He arrived a few minutes later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I am sorry to bring you from your bed so early, Jean, but there are some urgent matters.” The secretary nodded, sat, and took up his pen. A French captive, Jean gave thanks for his monastery education because it made him useful as a secretary. Otherwise, he would now be in the mines like so many others.

Khalid el Bey spoke. “Draw up manumission papers for the slave girl known as Skye. I want her legally free. Then draw up a marriage contract between the freedwoman known as Skye, and myself. Her bride’s price shall be this house, the estate, and twenty-five thousand gold dinars. Consult the mullah for the exact wording.

“Then,” he continued, “send for the astrologer, Osman. I wish a consultation today. Wait! Before anything you must send a message to the Lady Yasmin telling her that all lessons are postponed until further notice. Say nothing else. That should get you started. I will return later.”

As Khalid el Bey left, Jean heard him order a waiting slave, “See that Jean is sent breakfast immediately,” and the little Frenchman marveled that his master was so thoughtful. This was not the first time, either. The bey’s good manners had won his secretary’s loyalty from the very first.

Jean wondered what was in his master’s mind. He could have any woman without marriage. Why marriage? And Yasmin would be very angry. But Jean’s Gallic logic was on the side of his lord’s decision. It was time he settled down and had children. And besides, the lady Skye was the fairest woman Jean had seen in years.

Khalid el Bey returned to his bedchamber. Skye was gone, and he knew she had returned to her own chambers. Following her there, he heard giggles coming from the bathing room and found Skye and the pretty twin Ethiopian slave girls all splashing about the scented pool. He watched for a moment, struck by the vivid contrast of their wet bodies—ivory and ebony, sleek and shining.

Skye saw him first and, swimming over to the shallow end of the pool, came partway up the steps and held out her hand in invitation. She was like a goddess standing there in her nude young beauty, and he could feel his desire rising. He held his arms out and the two slave girls scrambled from the pool to remove his robe. Nude, his desire became visible to all. Skye’s blue eyes twinkled and, throwing him a saucy look, she dove back into the pool, giving him a delicious view of her sleek flanks. “Leave us!” he growled to the two girls, and dove after Skye.

He was amazed to find what a strong swimmer she was. She laughed mischievously at him and dove beneath the water to emerge in midpool. His own laughter sounded now. “Where in the name of the seven djins did you learn to swim like that, you vixen?”

Her blue-green eyes widened innocently, and she shrugged. “Alas, my lord Khalid. I know not. Are you not afraid to take such a wife to your bosom? Who knows what else I may know?”

He swam over to her and, gently, with a restrained passion that she instantly sensed, he took her face between his thumb and forefinger. His golden amber eyes regarded her gravely. “I am not afraid to take such a wife to my bosom, Skye. Whatever surprises are in store for us will only serve to make our life more piquant. I love you, my little lost one. I love you!”

Slim white arms slid up around him. Her small round breasts pressed against the dark furred mat of his chest as she offered him her lips. “Khalid, be sure, I would not hurt so good a man. You are all I know, and I should be lost without you, but is that enough for
you? I can offer only myself, and I do not even know very much about who I am.”

“What is between us is good, Skye. Your lovely body responds well to mine. We like each other, and more couples than not have started life together with less. Do not fear, my love. You do not cheat me. It is a good bargain we make between us. Your concern for me does you credit. But now, my beautiful one,” he swept her up in his arms, “I want to make love to you again.”

She wiggled, wet and protesting, against him. “It is morning!”

“A most delightful time,” he agreed, laying her on the sun-warmed tiles that surrounded the pool. He straddled her.

“Someone will see us, Khalid,” she protested.

“No one would dare to disturb us,” he growled. His staff was hard and seeking against her thighs. “I want you, Skye. I want your tempting little body. I want you hot and sweet and yielding beneath me,” he whispered against her ear. She shivered deliciously as his tongue explored her ear, and shivered again as he moved downward along the scented length of her neck, biting gently at her silken shoulder. Skye soon forgot the bright sunshine. Khalid’s hands were on her hips, stroking and stroking the fires of her passions. He suckled at her breasts, drawing a cry of pleasure. “Open your legs for me, now, my love,” he murmured. “That’s it, my darling, take me into your fiery sweetness. Ahh … Skye, your little honey-oven is made for me! Hold me tightly, my love! Ahhh!”

His words aroused her greatly. His hands never stopped loving her body, and when his great rod entered into her she felt filled to overflowing with him. His body movement was strong and rhythmic, each stroke bringing her nearer and nearer to sweet oblivion. She climbed higher and higher. Then she was caught in a jeweled whirlpool, and she heard a long soft woman’s cry mingled with a great masculine sob.

Her next conscious thought was that the sun was hot on her face, and she heard water lapping against the tiled sides of the pool. She opened her eyes, and looked about. He lay on his back, eyes closed, but his voice brought a furious blush to her cheeks. “You were made to pleasure a man,” he said, “and I am grateful that that man is me. After we have breakfast, I shall see Osman the astrologer, and he will tell me what day this week is most favorable for our marriage. I am having Jean draw up papers freeing you, Skye.”

She pressed herself into the curve of his arm. “Oh, my Khalid, you are so kind to me! I swear I shall make you a good wife!”

He smiled and caressed her. “I know you will, my love,” he answered her.

They breakfasted on yogurt, green figs, and boiling-hot Turkish coffee. Afterward Skye returned to her own apartments, and Khalid el Bey welcomed Osman, who greeted him by saying, “So, my old friend! You have finally fallen in love again.”

Khalid laughed. “I have no secrets from you, do I, Osman?”

“The stars tell me all, my lord. And they tell me some things about your love that you might be interested in knowing. She comes from a green and misty land to the north, a land peopled by strong spirits and great psychic forces. She was born beneath the sign of the ram which, like all fire signs, is a strong and passionate one.”

Khalid el Bey leaned forward eagerly. “How can you know all this, Osman?”

“Because, my lord, such a woman has recently appeared in your own chart.”

“I want to marry her.”

“I cannot stop you, my lord.”

“You do not sound enthusiastic, Osman. What is it you are not telling me?”

“She will not remain with you, Khalid. It is not her fate. Her fate is back among her own people, and so it is written in the stars. There are many men in her life, but she will always steer her own course, rule her own destiny. One man in particular stands out in her life. Their paths have crossed before and will most assuredly cross again. It is with this man that she shares her soul, my friend, not with you. Can you not just enjoy her while she is with you? Why must it be marriage?”

He was shaken. The astrologer had always been accurate. “Will it make any difference if I marry her?”

“No, my lord, it will not.”

“Then I shall marry her. For I love her above all women, and would place her above all women.”

“And when she leaves you, will you let her go?”

“She will not leave me, Osman. She will not leave me because of the children she will give me. She is not a woman who would abandon her babes. She will give me children, won’t she?”

“I cannot be sure, my lord. She will be mother to several children, but without a comparison of her exact birthday and yours, I cannot tell you for certain.”

“She will bear me sons!” he said positively, and Osman smiled faintly.

Still, he was concerned for his friend. The woman brought a confusion into Khalid el Bey’s chart. There was a dark area now that Osman could not fathom, and it worried him. Still, if his friend insisted on marrying her, then at least he would pick the best day. He scanned his charts carefully, made swift new calculations, and finally pronounced, “Saturday, at moonrise, you will take her as your wife.”