Caversham’s Bride

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Two days later, Lia clipped blooms from the fragrant damask rose bushes in the garden, leaving stems long enough so she could later place them in a vase along with the rest of her cuttings. She carried the armload of flowers back into her room and laid them carefully on the round table in the corner. Maysun returned with a large crystal vase, and a servant behind her carried a pitcher of water.

“Thank you, Maysun.” Lia took the container from her. “This should be perfect.”

“There is someone waiting outside to see you, Kamilah.” Maysun glanced toward the closed door.

“The prince?” Lia smoothed her unruly hair, then began doing the same with her kaftan.

Maysun smiled. “No, not our prince. The royal physician would like to see how you are doing.”

Lia knew she had to convince the physician that she was well. Only then would the prince come to her. Perhaps even tonight. The sooner she saw him, the sooner she could ask him to send someone after her brother and Maura.

“Send him in,” she replied in a calm voice that belied her real emotion.

The massive oak door opened quietly, and the royal physician entered followed by a servant. Lia recognized him as the one who tended her while she was recovering from the drug. A kind man, with gentle brown eyes and a ready smile, he always spoke in a soft voice, and appeared genuinely concerned for her well-being.

With Maysun as a translator, the physician asked Lia questions about how she felt, and if she was sleeping well at night. Lia told the man everything she thought he wanted to hear. She hid the nightmares from him, though Maysun caught this and questioned her in Italian so the doctor couldn’t understand.

“You should not keep information from him,” Maysun scolded.

“If I told him of the nightmares, the prince will think I am still ill and may not come to me until he,” Lia nodded toward the physician, “feels I am well. And no one knows when, or even if, the nightmares will go away.”

The interview lasted only a few more minutes, and at the end he proclaimed Kamilah to be in fine health. Ready, he said, to meet her master.

“Do you know when that will be?” Lia asked eagerly.

“He said he would come to you tomorrow,” Maysun translated.

Tomorrow! Lia’s heart leaped in her chest. Tomorrow she would ask him. She turned away, hiding her excitement by feigning interest in her work.

The physician turned to leave, and almost as an afterthought, turned and began to ask Maysun a few questions in Arabic. Lia continued arranging her flowers in the vase and was nearly done when the physician spoke to her in a familiar, but foreign, tongue.

“You speak English, Kamilah?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Lia smiled. “Yes, and several other languages as well.” Embarrassment burned in her cheeks, unsure if intelligence in a woman was a desirable trait in this culture. “I am also learned in classic literature, maths and sciences.”

“You are an educated woman?” The man seemed astonished at that fact.

Maysun excused herself from the room, leaving a servant as chaperon with Lia and the physician.

“Both my parents were scholars.” Lia felt a knot form in her throat, and tears begin to burn her eyes, but she fought the weakness. Her tears were saved only for her solitude. She would not allow anyone to feel sorry for her—least of all a potential new friend. “It was the profession I wanted to follow as well.”

“I, too, followed my father’s footsteps,” replied the physician.

Lia rearranged some of the blooms, breaking several and discarding them completely in her agitation. “Do you think the fact that I am educated will upset my master?”

“Not at all. In fact, this is wonderful. It will make your life with him much easier.”

“You mean the prince will not be repulsed by me?”

“Definitely not! I believe that if your master does not want you, the prince will keep you for his own.” At her questioning look, he replied in a quiet voice, “You did not know this, did you?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement of fact.

Lia dropped the flowers on the table and lowered herself into the nearby chair. “Prince Hakim is not my master?”

He shook his head.

She dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, Dio! Come fare ora?” Lia whispered.

“What?” the physician asked.

“Nothing,” Lia lied, and he looked at her curiously. “I said a prayer for strength.”

The physician nodded.

“Who is the man I am to call master?” She had been prepared to meet the prince, and even knew what to expect of his temperament and reactions. She had spent the last few days talking with the other women and acting the nervous virgin to learn how he might respond to a personal request.

“I am not at liberty to say,” the physician said. “Though I can tell you it is not Prince Hakim.”

“When can I meet this man?” For Lia, the plan stayed the same. It was the person she had to ask for help that was different now.

“Tomorrow. But you have nothing to worry about, I assure you. You are a lovely young woman, and I am certain you will charm him as you have me and all the women in the harim.”

He walked out, and the servant followed behind. Lia could do nothing until tomorrow.

“Hold on, Luchino, stai venento,” she whispered to her empty room. “I am coming!”

Lia stretched and yawned. Her eyes were still closed, but she was gloriously awake. The sounds of birds chirping and singing drifted to her on the light breeze from the garden. This spring morning signified more than just rebirth and a new beginning. Lia smiled because last night, for the first time since she’d been abducted, the nightmare had not come. In fact, she dreamed that she, Luchino, and Maura were reunited and living in a grand home with hundreds of servants. A home as enormous and grand as the palazzo belonging to King Ferdinand.

In her dream, she and Luchino ran through a meticulously tended garden and played hide-and-seek in a sculpted hedgerow maze. They picnicked, as they’d often done with their parents, near a lake within sight of her dream home. She heard his little-boy laugh as clearly in her dream as when her parents were still alive. This was definitely a good omen. She felt it, and believed it with all her heart.

Sitting up, she let the sheet fall as her serving woman held out a robe for her to slip into. Lia pulled her mussed hair back, wrapped it into a loose knot, then secured it with a pair of polished, thin sticks, getting it out of her way as Maysun had taught her. Another servant entered carrying her breakfast of fruit, bread, and a pot of coffee, leaving the tray on her round table. She had just taken her first bite of melon, when someone knocked at her door.

“Entra,” she called out, her mouth full.

Maysun entered, her brown eyes glowing with happiness. “Well, my friend, it seems you will get your wish. I have received orders to ready both of us for this evening. You and I will dine with our prince and his guest.”

Lia swallowed. “Who is this guest?”

“All I know is that he is an old friend of the prince.”

“How old is old?”

“I do not know.” Maysun took a seat next to her, “Since coming here, I have never seen a man other than my prince or the physician, this guest will be the first. Why do you ask?”

Lia pushed the fruit around on her plate, then separated them into sections. “Yesterday the physician revealed that another man, not the prince, purchased me, but he would say nothing more. All he said was that I would meet this man today.”

“This would be the one,” Maysun muttered pensively. Raising solemn brown eyes to Lia, she added. “I wish you good luck, Kamilah, but remember what I have told you. If you continue to live with the pain of the past shielding your heart, you keep the sorrow in, and the happiness out.”

“Is that how you have become so content and serene here, even though you know your family yet lives?”

“It was someone in my family who did this to me,” Maysun said wistfully. “I am content because I know one day they will have to atone to our God for their actions, and I live knowing that they will pay for what they have done.”

Maysun took a deep breath and continued. “Meanwhile, I live in a palace, with Prince Hakim of Morocco as my lover. He cares for me and treats me well. The best any of my sisters could hope for is a local peasant farmer who didn’t beat her. I ask you, who came out ahead?”

Lia wished she were as strong as her friend. The two women sat in silence for awhile. Then Maysun stood, holding out a hand to her. “We, my friend, have a big day ahead of us,” she said, then began telling Lia of the preparations to be done before their dinner.

The two women followed a servant to the palace’s enormous main courtyard. There they waited near the fountain for the prince and his guest to arrive. Lia gazed in awe at the intricate lace-like patterns carved into the stucco walls and arches. Mosaic tiling in greens, blues and black were arranged in fine geometric patterns on the floor throughout the entire courtyard.

In the center of the outdoor garden stood a massive triple-tiered marble water fountain. The large round base caught the water that cascaded over the edges of the two smaller sections above it, and the top section had a plume of water spraying upward out of its center.

“I thought the courtyard in the harim was the most beautiful I had ever seen,” Lia said in an awed whisper. “Until now.”

“When I first came here, I thought surely this was heaven,” Maysun replied, “for only God would have a garden such as this.”

Lia dipped her hand into the cool water, cupping some, then letting it trickle through her fingers into the immense marble basin at her feet. She heard footsteps echoing in the courtyard and suddenly became frightened at what was about to take place. Her heart beat faster, and she took a deep, calming breath before she lifted her gaze.

When she did, she saw two men approaching. Prince Hakim was easily recognized, wearing a purple and gold kaftan with a bejeweled gold turban. Dark, handsome, and lean of build, his white teeth gleamed through his genuine smile.

The man with him was slightly taller than the prince, but much larger in build. Casually dressed, he wore European style men’s clothing under a gold, sleeveless banyan, with no waistcoat or cravat. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing tanned skin and a sprinkling of fine black hairs. He wore no turban, so he wasn’t Muslim. Nor Arabic either, as his skin did not have the dusky tone of the Arabs. The only feature he had in common with the men of this country was the black hair.

“Lower your eyes!” Maysun hissed. “We are not to look upon the prince until he addresses us.”

Lia obeyed, standing still, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. As the men drew nearer, she saw that the second man had big feet, and that his tall black boots shone to perfection, fitting his well-formed calves like a glove. Her eyes darted upward, as far as his chest, where his pristine white linen shirt parted in an unbuttoned V. She glanced at the light dusting of dark curls which sprung out from above the opening. She lowered her eyes quickly, afraid of the consequences of being caught.

The two men continued their conversation in hushed tones. In English, she noted. While she waited to be spoken to, Lia cautiously continued her examination of this man’s lower body. With bowed head, she allowed her eyes to take in his buff-colored breeches which hugged massive, muscular thighs. Above that… Lia turned away, afraid of being caught inspecting the man who was perhaps her new master.

Not until arriving at Ashraf’s compound, where she began her education in the art of pleasure, had she been forced to notice this part of the male physique. She supposed it was because she had always been allowed to look a man in the eye, and hadn’t been forced to spend so much time looking below his waist. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her mind to other, much safer topics, such as the wonderful weather and the gentle sound of the water as it cascaded down the glorious fountain.

Ren walked with Hakim across the courtyard, and noticed the two women standing on the opposite side of the fountain. One woman had her dark hair pulled up and wore a simple blue and silver tunic with no jewels. The other wore a white tunic with pantalettes and pearls, her hair falling in loose, soft curls around her waist.

Was this Kamilah?

His breath caught in his chest. She was even lovelier than he’d remembered. She turned away, pretending interest in the fountain while Hakim spoke to his woman in Arabic. Ren didn’t understand all of what they said, although he heard them mention Kamilah’s name several times. He used this time to re-examine her.

She was a beauty. He already knew this from the night two weeks ago. But tonight she was radiant in a tunic that skimmed over her shapely form. While her eyes were still downcast, he studied her closely. Her olive skin, lighter than he remembered, held none of the sickly ashen color she’d had before. She had a straight, delicate nose, with no upward tilt at the tip. Her lips were full and rosy, and when she brought the tip of her tongue out to moisten them, he felt a stirring in his groin.

The woman in blue spoke to Kamilah in Italian.

Lia turned when Maysun called her name. “Kamilah, I would like to introduce you to Prince Hakim Omar Makin of Morocco. My prince, this is the lady Kamilah.”

Lia curtsied low to the ground before the prince, then took his outstretched hand and kissed his ring, as she’d been earlier instructed. “I am honored, your highness.” The prince signaled her to rise, and she looked into his kind, smiling face.

“My royal physician tells me you speak English, Kamilah.”

Lia nodded.

“This is good,” the prince continued, “for I would like you to meet my good friend, His Grace, the Duke of Caversham.”

She curtsied before him as well, not taking his hand because he didn’t offer it. Standing erect, Lia guessed that the top of her head was as tall as the Englishman’s chin, and he possessed a very broad chest.

Looking up, she gazed upon the face of the man whose lower body she had already inspected quite thoroughly. Combed straight back, his wavy black hair was wet, as if he’d just come from a bath. He had a strong jaw over a clean-shaven face, with dark brows arching inquisitively above his penetrating hot-silver gaze. Firm lips, parted sensuously above his chin.

He revealed no outward emotion as he, too, studied her face and body, his gaze finally returning to hers. This man was entirely too bold, arrogant even, and the way he looked at her caused her insides to tremble unlike anything she’d ever known before.

What was she to do now? What did this man have in mind for her? And how would this change her well-thought-out plans? One thing was certain, she would not let him stop her from rescuing her brother and their elderly nurse. She would save them. Or die trying.

Prince Hakim cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the two others standing next to them.

“I apologize, Majesty,” Lia closed her eyes and bowed her head, “for my rude behavior to your honored guest.”

“Think nothing of it.” He took Maysun’s arm and led the way into the dining hall. He chuckled, then spoke to Maysun in Arabic, and for once Lia wished she knew what was being said for she felt it concerned her.

The Englishman offered his arm, and she accepted it. Together, they followed behind the other couple.

“Well, Kamilah, you appear to be in better health than when we last met.”

“My name is Angelia Serena Gualtiero, and I believe you are mistaken, Your Grace, for I have no memory of ever meeting you.”

“Oh, but we did meet. Two weeks ago.”

Lia felt another hot wave of embarrassment rise in her face, scalding her cheeks.

“How do you think I came to purchase you, Kamilah?”

She bit her tongue. The cur refused to use her given name, and continued to call her by the Arabic name Ashraf had given her. “It was explained to me that representatives are sent from those interested parties to…” She trailed off unable to continue, the subject making her uncomfortable.

“I sent no representative,” he said. “I was there.”

She was shocked speechless as she grasped his meaning. Lia tried to pull her hand from his arm, but he reached across and held it firmly in place. He stopped her and looked down at her, smiling.

How dare he find her humiliation amusing?

She turned her face and tried to pull away, but he held her in place with his hand over hers on his forearm. “There is much you do not know about me, Your Grace.”

Glancing up to his face, she noticed his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We shall remedy that, and discuss the future after dinner, my little waif.”

He kept his hand on hers as they walked through the dining hall to their seats. The work-roughened hand moved over her sensitive skin, sending a river of warm sensations flowing through her body, collecting in the vicinity of her lower belly, causing heat to rise to her cheeks from embarrassment. This man caused her to feel and think things she hadn’t experienced before.

Throughout the meal, all Ren could think of was What was he going to do with her? The idea of taking this woman to his bed was very appealing, though definitely something he hadn’t expected to feel when he thought back to the morning after he purchased her. He remembered the words the physician had told him, and now realized he owed the man an apology.

Ismael was right, the woman before him now was a completely different person. This was a desirable, young woman, ripe for the plucking. There was no mistaking her reaction to the palace’s interior. He noticed her eyes widen in amazement at the opulent surroundings. The combination of genuine wonder, and her ability to stir his senses as no other ever had, caused him to scramble for thought, a plan, an idea of some sort to facilitate keeping her. She stirred a strange mix of possessive and s****l feelings in him that he wanted to explore.

No one had ever known her before. Call it a twist of fate, or his good fortune, but she was his now and he didn’t know what to do with her. Make her a mistress, or wife?

There was no doubt he desired her, and as the evening wore on, he began to wish they’d met under different circumstance, and that she was of a suitable background. God help him if she were, because this one could easily get under his skin. His mind wandered back to the night he brought her to the palace. Though Ren had never touched her naked body that night, he remembered well her silken skin and her fragrant scent. There were so many things he’d wanted to do that night.

Tonight he could make them all come true.

But, what of your intent to free her? his conscience interjected. To return her to her family?

Yes, he must return her. That would be the right thing to do. Then again, suppose what Ismael said was true? Suppose she had no family to go home to?

If that was the case, he would leave the choice to her. Of course, he would do his best to convince her of the benefit of remaining with him for he had much to offer her as his wife. Certainly they could come to some arrangement. An heir for her freedom. He didn’t know of a woman alive who wouldn’t agree to a bargain such as what he was considering. A marriage of convenience, to beget the necessary offspring. He would set her up comfortably, and she would never want for a thing as long as she lived. After seeing to the duty of siring the heir, he could take a mistress again if necessary and they both would be satisfied.

All through dinner their hands frequently bumped when they reached into their communal serving bowl, arousing his senses. He wondered if it affected her as it did him. Sometimes she seemed impatient, other times unsettled, and once he thought her hand lingered on top of his as she replied to something Hakim said to her.

Each time she turned those dark green eyes to him, he could feel the tightening in his breeches. He recalled the vision he’d had of her that first night, at the auction, where she turned to look up at him with that expressive emerald gaze he’d caught a glimpse of in the souk. In that vision, she’d worn an ivory gown. Other than the style of clothing, the only difference there was between that vision and this night was the necklace. Where he had envisioned her wearing his mother’s diamonds, tonight she wore pearls. He had the feeling then, as he did now, of permanence and stability.

Or maybe it was just that he wanted both to such a degree that he projected it on this woman he didn’t know at all, but felt an attraction to.

Finally, the dinner bowls were carried away and the entertainment began. Kamilah seemed to enjoy watching the dancers and listening to the musicians, so he stayed for two sets before he could wait no longer. There was a great deal he had to discuss with her—arrangements to be made, either to return her to her home, or not.

Hopefully not.

“I am sure you understand my wish to retire, Hakim. Kamilah and I have much to talk about. If you will excuse us, we will see you both tomorrow.” He held out a hand to help Kamilah stand.

Ren watched as her gaze flew to Maysun’s as though she sought help from her friend. The other woman did not understand English, but the meaning behind his outstretched hand was obvious. Hakim and Maysun put their heads together and the concubine smiled as she listened to the prince say something to her in Arabic.

Maysun looked at Kamilah. “Buona fortuna,” she said, waving at them as they walked away.