The Pirate Prince (15 page)

Dariq poured tea into his cup and held the pot suspended above hers. “Will you have tea?”

“Juice, I think,” Willow replied.

Dariq poured juice from a pitcher into her goblet. Between kisses, they fed each other morsels of chicken, lamb and beef and nibbled on tender vegetables and pieces of flatbread. Willow watched closely as Dariq drank his tea and refilled his cup. She sipped her juice,
her eyes lowered as she waited for his response to the drug Baba had infused in the tea.

Willow found it difficult to maintain her composure, for she knew the outcome of this night. She became so quiet and introspective that Dariq asked, “Is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

She sent him a tremulous smile. “I am fine, but I cannot eat another bite.”

“Nor I,” Dariq said. “The night is still young. If this is to be our last, I want to make the most of it.” He held out his hand.

Willow felt like a traitor as she placed her hand in his and let him lead her to the bed. Once he awakened, would Dariq realize that she and his faithful friends had plotted against him? Would he forget about her when she was gone? Or would he follow her to Istanbul after he was freed? She hoped not, for it would be too late; she would already be ensconced in the sultan’s harem with his other concubines.

Willow hoped Dariq would accept her gift of life and remember her fondly. She could do no less for him, since he was willing to die for her. The hope still existed that her father would rescue her, and that fragile hope gave her the courage she needed to see Mustafa’s plan through.

“We will make love slowly this time,” Dariq said, interrupting her mental musings.

As they began to make love, Willow wondered if Baba’s drug had been potent enough, for he did make love to her slowly, very, very slowly. When it ended, Willow lay limp in his arms, her eyes shut, her chest heaving.

“After I rest a moment, we will make love again,” Dariq murmured. His words were slurred, his eyes hazy even as he spoke.

Willow smiled at him. His eyelids fluttered as he returned her smile.

“I must be getting old,” he muttered sheepishly.

She stroked his forehead. “Go to sleep, my prince. You have earned your rest.” Her voice caught on a sob. “Forgive me, my love; please forgive me.”

His eyes opened with difficulty. “What have you done?”

For one desperate moment Willow thought the drug wasn’t going to work. But when he tried to rise up on his elbows, they collapsed beneath him.

“Forgive me,” Willow repeated. “I love you.”

His fingers curled around her shoulders, bringing her face close to his. The accusation in his eyes revealed the precise moment he realized what was happening to him.

“What… have … you … done?”

Then his hands fell away, his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.

Willow slumped back against the mattress. It was done. She was sad but not remorseful. Because of her, Dariq would live. She was frightened, however. She had no idea what to expect as one of the sultan’s concubines, or what the future held for her, but she could and would pray for a miracle.

There came a discreet knock on the door. Baba cracked it open and peeked inside. “Is it done, my lady? Is the prince sleeping?”

Willow sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her breasts. “Aye, ’tis done. What happens now?”

Baba approached the bed, pulled back Dariq’s eyelids and peered into his eyes. There was no visible response. “He will sleep until well after your ship has departed,” Baba predicted. “I will summon Mustafa while you dress. Allah protect you, my lady.”

“Please take good care of Prince Dariq,” Willow whispered.

Baba departed. Willow washed, dressed in one of the gowns Dariq had given her and coiled her hair atop her head. She was ready when Mustafa came for her, but somewhat surprised to see Ali Hara with him. Had he come to bid her goodbye?

“The ship is ready to sail on the morning tide,” Mustafa said after a brief glance at Dariq. “You did well, lady. I am grateful. Follow me.”

Mustafa led the way out the door. Willow turned back to Dariq and pressed her lips to his. Tears streaming down her face, she hurried after Mustafa, pausing at the door for one last look at her love.

The three of them moved through the silent seraglio and into the night. A carriage awaited them in the courtyard. Mustafa climbed into the driver’s box. Ali Hara handed Willow inside and followed in her wake.

“I am going with you, lady,” the eunuch said.

“What? Does Mustafa know?”

“I insisted, and Mustafa agreed. My master would want me to protect you. Kamel and I will do our utmost to keep you safe.”

“Who is Kamel?”

“He is Ibrahim’s chief eunuch and master of the harem. We were friends before I joined Prince Dariq in exile. I suspect the reason Saliha Sultana still lives is because of the power Kamel wields.”

Willow was overcome with gratitude. The knowledge that she would have someone she knew in the sultan’s seraglio raised her spirits. “I thank you, Ali Hara, and welcome your company.”

The
Revenge
loomed large in the harbor. The crew was preparing the ship for immediate departure when Willow,
Mustafa and Ali Hara boarded. Willow was escorted to the captain’s cabin, the same one she had occupied the last time she had sailed aboard the
Revenge
as Dariq’s prisoner.

Despite her sense of doing the right thing, Willow began to have second thoughts. Had she acted rashly? There were so many things that could go wrong, she began to wonder why she had let Mustafa talk her into betraying Dariq. Even though she was saving Dariq’s life, she knew he would be furious. And not just with her. Mustafa and all those involved would suffer his wrath; she didn’t envy them.

Exhausted after a night of no sleep, Willow walked to the bed and sat down. She glanced out the window and saw the first purple streaks of dawn. Then she felt the ship slip from her moorings and move slowly away from the harbor.

Willow’s hand flew to her mouth, as if suddenly realizing where she was going and why. She ran to the door and paused with her hand on the latch. Then she turned back. It was too late for second thoughts. The deed was done. She would gladly suffer the consequences for Dariq’s sake. He would live. As for herself, she would survive.

Dariq awoke slowly, surprised that the room was flooded with sunshine and painfully aware of a splitting headache. He cracked both eyes open and turned his head, battling the pain the movement caused. He was in his bed… alone. It took a moment of concentration to realize that something was terribly wrong.

There was somewhere he was supposed to be, but he couldn’t remember where. Groaning, he attempted to lift his hand to his forehead and was annoyed when he couldn’t move his arm, or any part of his body. What in
damnation was the matter with him? He glanced down at himself and loosed a string of curses when he realized his arms and legs were bound to the bed posts.

“You are awake.”

Dariq glanced up and saw Baba sitting in a chair beside the bed. “What in Allah’s name is going on?” Suddenly the clouds in his mind parted and he recalled that he should have been aboard the
Revenge
hours ago.

“What have you done? Release me and summon Mustafa at once!”

Baba approached the bed. “I cannot do that, my lord.”

“You can and you will!” Dariq thundered. “Fetch Mustafa!”

“Mustafa is not here, my lord.”

A horrifying thought came hard on the heels of Baba’s words. “Where is Willow?”

Baba backed away from the bed. “Gone, my lord.”

Dariq pulled on the ropes. They refused to give. His head throbbed with pain and he grimaced, trying to make sense out of the nightmare into which he had awakened.

Mustafa was gone and so was Willow.

“Does your head hurt, my lord?” Baba asked. “I will fetch something to soothe it.”

“Nay, I want no more of your evil brews. You drugged me,” he accused. “Mustafa planned this, didn’t he? Once I had succumbed to the drug, he forced Willow aboard the
Revenge
. Did you drug Willow?”

Baba shook her head, carefully keeping her distance. “Lady Willow went willingly aboard the
Revenge
. She agreed with Mustafa that your life must be spared.”

“Damn you all to the darkest pit of hell! Who is in charge here?”

“Captain Juad. I will fetch him for you and mix something to ease your pain.” She hurried out the door.

Fury rose to a wild crescendo inside Dariq. Mustafa had no right to countermand his orders. Heads would roll for this … this travesty. Willow would not have agreed to go to Ibrahim willingly, would she? Nay, she would have fought tooth and nail to remain free. Abruptly he recalled something Willow had said before he succumbed to the drug. She said she loved him and asked forgiveness.

The door opened and Captain Juad entered. “You sent for me, my lord?”

“I did,” Dariq spat. “Free me.”

“I cannot, my lord. Not until tomorrow.”

“On whose orders?”

“Mustafa’s. He could not let you go to your death, and I agreed with him. All will be well,” he continued. “Mustafa will bring Saliha Sultana to you without the loss of your life.”

“What about Lady Willow? Does her life mean naught to any of you?”

“Ibrahim won’t harm her. She is too beautiful, and he has waited too long for her. Did Baba not inform you that she went willingly aboard the
Revenge
?”

“Aye, she told me, though it makes little difference. Why do you think I intended to exchange my life for my mother’s? I could not bear the thought of Willow in Ibrahim’s bed. Untie me now and perhaps I can still catch the
Revenge
. There must be at least one ship in my fleet anchored in the harbor.”

“I will release you tomorrow,” Juad promised, “but you should have no illusions about catching the
Revenge
. No ship afloat is swifter than your flagship. By the time you reach Istanbul, it will be too late.”

“Why are you doing this? I could have sunk your ship and killed you and your crew, but I chose to let you live.”

“Now I choose to let you live, my lord Prince. No
woman is worth your life, not even the lovely Lady Willow.”

“If you will not free me, get out of my sight,” Dariq spat from between clenched teeth.

“Very well.” He sighed and turned to leave.

“Wait, Juad,” Dariq bit out. “Once I am free, if you wish to keep your head on your shoulders, there had better be a ship provisioned and waiting for me.”

Juad’s face turned a deathly shade of green as he let himself out the door.

Dariq fumed in impotent rage, unable to think clearly for the pain in his head. He could not believe that Willow had boarded the
Revenge
willingly.

A cry left his throat when his murky mind grasped the magnitude of that knowledge. If Willow had gone willingly to Ibrahim, she must love Dariq. Loved him enough to commit herself to a life of sexual servitude to his brother.

Overwhelmed by grief, he closed his eyes so he could think more clearly. As soon as he was free, he intended to sail to Istanbul. If he failed to catch the
Revenge
, he would find another way to rescue Willow.

Dariq slept, awakening sometime later to sounds in his chamber. He turned his head toward the door, grateful to find that the ache in his head had subsided and he was able to think clearly again.

“I bring food for you, my lord,” Baba said as she shuffled toward the bed. She set the tray on the nightstand and pulled up a chair. “I brought tea, too. It should refresh you. Are you still in pain?”

Dariq grimaced at the steaming cup Baba offered him and turned his head away. “I want no more of your foul concoctions.”

“You must be thirsty,” Baba coaxed. “I promise the tea is untainted.”

“If you are lying, you will suffer.”

“I do not lie, master. Please drink.”

She held the cup to his lips. Dariq took a tentative sip, and then another. Then he let her feed him. He would need his strength once he was set free.

Dariq was released after the dinner hour the following day. As soon as he was free, he stormed through the seraglio in a murderous rage, fuming all the way to the harbor. Captain Juad was waiting for him.

“Has a ship been provisioned?” he asked in a voice crisp with displeasure.

“Aye, my lord Prince. You are welcome to take my ship; it has been repaired and provisioned. May Allah go with you.”

It would take more than Allah, Dariq feared, to rescue Willow from Ibrahim’s clutches.

Chapter Fourteen

Fair weather and cloudless days and nights followed the
Revenge
to Istanbul. The ship scudded before the wind as if it had wings. Willow would have wished for a storm if she thought it would delay the inevitable, but none appeared. Despite Ali Hara’s company, Willow’s mood was far from cheerful. She missed Dariq.

Dariq had been willing to die for her.

What more could a woman ask of her lover?

Willow was standing at the rail, staring morosely at the blue-green waves breaking below the ship when Ali Hara joined her.

“I share your sadness, mistress.”

Willow sighed. “No one can possibly know how I feel, but thank you for your concern. Will we reach Istanbul soon?”

“Lipsi is very close to the southern coast of Turkey but a greater distance from Istanbul in the north. ’Tis at least a seven-day journey to Istanbul.”

“Do you think Prince Dariq can catch the
Revenge
if he decides to follow?”

“ ’Tis highly unlikely, mistress. There is no ship swifter than the
Revenge
. Mustafa hopes the prince will realize it would be futile and not attempt the journey.”

“As do I,” Willow whispered. If Dariq followed her to Istanbul, all their sacrifices on his behalf would be for naught. He would be seized and executed the moment he stepped ashore.

As if reading her mind, Ali Hara said, “He will not be so foolish as to enter the city once you are delivered to Ibrahim. It would be senseless, for his mother would already be aboard the
Revenge
. ’Tis likely he will encounter the
Revenge
on her return journey and reunite with his mother on the high seas.”

“He will forget me,” Willow murmured, turning her head so Ali Hara would not see her tears.

“I cannot know what is in my master’s heart, but I do not believe he will forget you.”

Willow savored those words. She feared they were all she had to hold on to for the rest of her life.

Dariq cursed the tides that were still too low to allow the newly named
Hunter
to leave the harbor. Later, he cursed the lines that fouled as the ship slipped her moorings, swearing that the gods were against him. Then he cursed the wind for not filling the sails fast enough. How could he hope to catch the
Revenge
if the wind and the tides refused to cooperate?

Dariq motioned for Ahmed to take the wheel while he helped to untangle the lines. He was grateful to have Ahmed with him. He trusted Ahmed almost as much as he trusted Mustafa. Nay, that was not true. He no longer trusted Mustafa. He didn’t know whom to trust anymore. He wanted to spare Willow a terrible fate, but his friends had betrayed him.

Dariq hated to believe that Willow had not been coerced or forced aboard the
Revenge
. If she had gone willingly, it was because Mustafa had convinced her that Dariq’s life was worth the sacrifice.

I love you. Please forgive me
. Those were her last words to him. Was it true? Did she really love him? He needed to hear her say those words again, without his brain befuddled by drugs. But the wind and tide were against him. The newly repaired
Hunter
was not capable of the kind of speed Dariq demanded. At this rate, Willow would be in Ibrahim’s bed before Dariq reached Istanbul.

Willow was standing at her usual place at the ship’s rail when Mustafa told her they would enter the Bosporus the following day and reach Istanbul the day after that. Thus far the journey had been uneventful. Each day, Willow searched the horizon for signs of a ship following in their wake, but none appeared.

Though she had no good reason to believe Dariq cared enough for her to try to overtake the
Revenge
, still she feared he might attempt it—despite the fact that Mustafa had told her no ship afloat could match the
Revenge’s
speed. Willow’s fanciful heart hoped Dariq would catch up with the
Revenge
, but her more practical mind prayed he would not. It would be not only foolish but disastrous for Dariq to enter Istanbul.

During those empty days at sea, Willow had too much time to think about her new life. Was Ibrahim as cruel as Dariq described him? How would she fare in a harem inhabited by his wives and concubines? Would they be jealous of her?

Ali Hara vowed to protect her, but could he? She had already experienced the evil machinations of a jealous
concubine. Her encounter with Safiye had taught her to trust no one.

When Willow’s thoughts turned to Ibrahim, it was with a frisson of dread. If there was a way to stay out of his bed, she vowed to find it.

Two days later, the
Revenge
entered Istanbul harbor and dropped anchor a short distance from shore. Mustafa joined Willow at the rail and informed her that they would not dock at one of the long stone piers because a hasty departure might be necessary.

“I plan to row ashore tomorrow morning and seek an audience with Ibrahim,” Mustafa explained. “I shall tell him the
Revenge
has arrived with its treasure. He will know to what I am referring.”

Willow nodded but offered no reply. Mustafa bowed curtly and left. Willow appreciated the short reprieve, though apprehension made for a sleepless night.

Morning arrived too soon. Shortly after sunrise, Willow watched as a rowboat was lowered into the water. Mustafa, accompanied by several crewmen, scampered over the side and climbed down a rope ladder into the boat. Two men picked up the oars and rowed toward shore. Willow wondered how long she would have to wait before Mustafa returned. A long time, she hoped.

She returned to her cabin after the rowboat shoved off, wanting to be alone while she gathered her composure and found the courage within herself to face the sultan. She wasn’t as brave as she pretended. Fear of the unknown was tearing her apart. Her only consolation was that her sacrifice would make it possible for Dariq and his mother to live. Nevertheless, Willow knew her knees would be shaking when she faced Ibrahim for the first time.

The day dragged on. Day turned into night without a
sign of Mustafa. Had he failed to convince the sultan to trade Saliha Sultana for Willow? Had Mustafa been imprisoned? Or worse? The suspense was killing her.

Late afternoon of the following day, Willow was lying on her bed half asleep when Ali Hara burst into the cabin.

“Mustafa has returned! He will report to you shortly.”

Willow’s sluggishness fell away. “Oh, Ali Hara, I am so frightened. You are the only one I can admit that to.”

Ali Hara grasped her hands and squeezed. “I will be with you, mistress. I will let no one harm you.”

Willow swallowed the lump growing in her throat. “Can you help me stay out of Ibrahim’s bed?”

Ali Hara’s dark eyes filled with compassion. “If such a thing is possible, I will do all in my limited power to make it so.”

Willow dashed away a tear. “I can ask no more of you than that.”

There came a brief knock on the door; Mustafa entered. His fierce expression eased as he gazed at Willow.

“ ’Tis done, lady. The bargain has been struck with Ibrahim.”

“He still wants me?” Willow whispered.

“Most assuredly, lady. But he wishes to see you before he releases Saliha Sultana. You are to attend him in his private chamber tonight. Ali Hara will fetch the clothing you are to wear and help you prepare for your audience. I implore you to say naught that will make Ibrahim change his mind.”

Unable to find words, Willow nodded mutely.

“I will fetch your garments,” Ali Hara said after Mustafa departed. “I carried them aboard before we left Lipsi. While I am gone, use the cream Baba gave you to remove your body hair. If your skin is not smooth and free
of hair when you are presented to the sultan, he will be repulsed. When I return, I will fashion your hair in a becoming style.”

With heavy heart, Willow did as Ali Hara instructed. It seemed ludicrous to remove hair from her body, but she did it because she didn’t want to cause trouble… yet. She had just finished her toilette when Ali Hara arrived with the clothing she was to wear for her initial meeting with Ibrahim.

He left again to find an aba while she donned the short jeweled vest and multilayered skirts sheer enough to show the outline of her legs. A wide jeweled girdle and soft slippers completed the outfit. Once she was dressed, Willow grimaced at her image. She looked like a slave girl out of
Arabian Nights
, which indeed she would be once she entered the sultan’s seraglio.

A shudder passed through her.
A sex slave
.

Ali Hara returned, placed the aba on the bed and picked up a hairbrush. “Sit, my lady, while I brush your hair. Ibrahim will not be able to resist your beauty. Your hair is like spun gold, and your skin smooth as porcelain. If you please Ibrahim, he might make you his wife.”

Willow gasped in revulsion. “God help me, for He alone knows I do not aspire to that title. I would be happy if I were left to languish in the harem, ignored and unclaimed by the sultan.”

“That will not happen, lady,” Ali Hara averred. “No man in his right mind would ignore you once he sees you.”

Disheartened, Willow allowed Ali Hara to brush her hair. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind of everything but Dariq and their erotic nights together. She recalled how they had made love in the
hammam
and playfully fed each other morsels of food. She relived the
times they had made love on the floor amid a tumble of pillows, and in his bed.

“Your hair should be worn down. It looks best tumbling past your shoulders to your waist,” Ali Hara decided, setting down the brush. “I can do naught to enhance its natural beauty. You are ready, lady.”

Willow swallowed hard. She would never be ready. But she had agreed to Mustafa’s plan and would follow through. It wasn’t as if she weren’t resourceful. As long as her mind worked, she could plot and scheme, and perhaps even escape.

“Are you ready, lady?” Mustafa called through the door.

Willow’s breath hissed from her throat. “Aye, I am ready.”

Ali Hara helped her don the aba and opened the door. The afternoon sun was fading into a golden twilight as Willow stepped out onto the deck. Mustafa grasped her elbow and escorted her to the rail.

“Can you climb down the rope ladder to the rowboat, lady? ’Tis not a great distance. I will help you.”

Willow looked down. It seemed like a great distance to her, but she would do what had to be done for Dariq’s sake. Mustafa went first in order to help guide her down. Ali Hara lifted her over the rail. Willow placed her foot on the first rung and slowly descended, cursing the aba, which hindered her progress. Slowly but surely she reached the bottom, where Mustafa waited. He handed her into the rocking boat as Ali Hara nimbly scampered down after her.

Two sailors picked up the oars and rowed to shore. They reached the dock far too soon for Willow’s peace of mind. The sailors held the boat steady while Mustafa and Ali Hara scrambled onto the dock and helped Willow.

“There’s the sultan’s carriage,” Mustafa said, indicating
an elaborate equipage trimmed in gold harnessed to a pair of matched blacks. “Hurry—we mustn’t keep Ibrahim waiting.”

As far as Willow was concerned, the sultan could wait forever. But she had left Lipsi with the knowledge of what her fate was to be and was determined to face it with courage. Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the carriage. A servant in black and gold livery held the door open as Mustafa handed her inside. Then Mustafa and Ali Hara climbed in beside her. The servant closed the door, and the carriage jolted forward.

What little Willow could see of the exotic city through the window was fascinating. Nothing she saw looked in any way familiar. The sounds, the sights, the mingled scents of spices and flowers were a feast for the senses. The men appeared much taller and broader than the ordinary Englishman, and the women, she noted, wore abas covering all but their faces.

“The seraglio is just ahead,” Mustafa remarked.

Willow poked her head out the window as the elaborate gate opened for them. The horses clattered into the courtyard and stopped. The carriage door opened, and Willow stepped down onto a patio paved in white marble veined with gold. Marble steps led up to a pair of brass double doors trimmed in gold. Willow decided that the Sultan of Istanbul was a very wealthy man and spared no expense for his own comfort.

Mustafa guided Willow to the front entrance, where a janizary standing outside the door rapped sharply with his scimitar. The door opened immediately. Willow stepped inside, her heart pounding wildly. Then the door closed behind her. She was trapped. Would she ever see the outside world again?

“Follow me,” a guard commanded. “The sultan awaits you in his private chamber.”

Willow’s feet refused to move until Ali Hara gently pushed her forward. She was almost too frightened to notice the opulence of the seraglio; everything seemed a blur to her. One thing she couldn’t ignore, however—the wealth of gold that adorned everything she saw, from the tassels on the drapery, to the statuary, the trim on onyx tables, and the ceiling above her head.

They walked down long marble hallways, passing closed doors as well as elaborately furnished rooms open for display. She gulped back her fear when they reached the end of a long corridor and paused before a set of golden doors more elaborate than any she had seen thus far.

The doors opened.

Willow’s gaze was drawn to a man seated on a chair somewhat less elaborate than a formal throne but impressive nonetheless. The sultan, for he could be no less, was resplendent in a red and gold tunic over baggy white trousers. He wore soft slippers with gold buckles on his feet, and a white turban perched atop thick black hair. Two ebony-hued children standing on either side of him waved feather fans over his head, while several armed guards stood at attention. Ibrahim gestured for Willow and her party to come forward. With Mustafa and Ali Hara all but supporting her, she approached the sultan.

Ibrahim addressed Mustafa directly. “In what language should I address the woman, Mustafa? Does she speak French?”