Lost Love Found (33 page)

“Did you visit the temple?” he asked gruffly.

“Aye,” she answered. “ ’Tis a little jewel of a building, white marble, with pillars all about it, open on all sides. Inside is a marvelous great statue of Aphrodite herself and the altar is a shell at her feet! Oh, I wish you could have seen it! The top of the island is a large field, and it was filled with poppies, all scarlet, purple, and white. The temple sits amid all that splendor. Tom and I gathered poppies and laid them on the goddess’s altar. Then we gathered these for you.”

She was speaking too quickly. Too brightly. A sign that she had something to hide, he thought. His glance flicked to Thomas Ashburne, and the earl’s gray eyes met Padraic Burke’s calmly, telling him nothing yet saying everything. Damn the bastard! Damn him!

“You might have brought me some of that fresh meat I can smell even from here,” Lord Burke lashed out.

“We did, little brother,” replied Murrough, calmly taking it all in. These three on his peaceful ship were a storm waiting to break.

Valentina glared at Padraic, her anger rising. How dared he behave like this? Even if she had made love with Tom, it was none of Padraic’s business! Did he seek her approval when he had taken that Gypsy slut to his bed in San Lorenzo? He had not!

“Let me escort you to your cabin, divinity,” the earl said.

“Don’t you mean her
bed
?” growled Lord Burke.

“No, he does not!” Valentina raged, “and how dare you even suggest such a thing?” Furiously she flung her armful of flowers at him as she stormed off.

He almost fell over backwards onto the deck, and covered in brightly colored poppies Lord Burke made a most comical sight. His two companions began to laugh.

Struggling to his feet, Padraic exploded, “Damn her! She’s driving me mad!” He winced at the pain in his ankle, and seeing it, the two other men slipped on either side of him, and helped him to his cabin.

“If it will make you feel any better,” said Tom Ashburne, “I did indeed attempt to make love to Val, but she would not have it.”

“
She wouldn’t?
” The lilt in his brother’s voice was almost pitiful thought Murrough.

“She said passion without love was not something with which she was comfortable. That she would make no decision on our suits until after this quest of hers is over. I would not tell you this but that you are injured, and I do not want you doing something foolish, my friend. You are, God help you, like me. A man in love! Now, I will bid you good night,” said the earl, and he withdrew.

Having helped his younger brother to disrobe, Murrough said quietly to Padraic, “You don’t own her, Padraic, and you’re going to lose her if you don’t begin behaving like a man. For God’s sake, you’re past thirty! If you had spoken up in the first place you might have had her to wife long ago. But you did not, so now you will simply have to play out your combined fates.”

“I made love to her once,” Lord Burke said softly to his sibling.

“What?” Murrough was surprised.

“Aye, I did. ’Twas last autumn. I couldn’t help myself. I thought perhaps if I did she would send Tom away, and forget this mad quest of hers. Marry me. Even as I took her she told me that it made no difference, that she would not be forced to the altar.” Padraic ran an impatient hand through his dark hair. “God, Murrough, I love her! The thought that she might choose Tom drives me mad!” He sighed deeply. “Are all men such fools over the women they love?”

Murrough thought for a long moment on Padraic’s question. He and his elder brother, Ewan, were separated in age by barely ten months. Their mother had betrothed them when they were little boys to her third husband’s twin daughters from his first marriage. Murrough and Ewan had wed their wives when they were seventeen and eighteen respectively, in the same ceremony. There had never been anyone else for Murrough but Joan, nor had there been anyone else for Joan but Murrough. Sweet Joan, his little English wren with her pretty golden-brown hair. If he were in the same position as Padraic and Joan were the lady in question, would he be making a fool of himself? Aye, he decided, he would, for he loved his Joan as his younger brother loved Valentina.

“I suppose,” he said to Padraic, “that we are all fools when it comes to love. But that does not change matters. Valentina is no child. She’s a grown woman, and like all the females born into this family, she has a strong will. She will have her way, brother, and ye’ll have to learn to bend before her breeze, or ye’ll not survive this sickness called love that afflicts you so badly.” Murrough put a hand on his sibling’s shoulder. “Good night, Padraic,” he said. “God grant ye the woman ye love.” He departed.

Padraic Burke lay restless in his bed. The port was open, and through it he could see the moon glowing brightly. The air was warm, and there was a faint elusive perfume upon the gentle winds that filled
Archangel’s
sails. He could feel the smooth, deep swell of the sea beneath the ship as it glided along over the waves. Suddenly the door to his cabin opened and closed. “Who’s there?” he demanded of the shadow that had glided so quickly inside.

“ ’Tis I,” Valentina said crossing the little room to seat herself on the edge of his bed. “Has your temper cooled yet, Padraic?”

“Aye,” he chuckled feeling a sudden warmth at her presence.

“Then if you are all right, I shall seek my own bed,” she said quietly rising to go.

“Val!” His hand caught at her night rail. “Tom told me that nothing happened.”

“I told you that nothing happened, Padraic,” she said, and her voice was cool.

“I cannot help myself, hinny love! I desire you so greatly!”

“You
desire
me, Padraic?” There was a dangerous edge to her tone. “If all you seek of me is
that
, then have me!” She pushed the night rail over her shoulders, and it slid with a silken sound to the floor to puddle around her ankles.

There she stood, naked before him, the moon silvering her lush form, looking for all the world like some primitive goddess. He could feel his body reacting to the sight as any man would react to such a sight. “
Val!
” His voice was ragged.

“What, sir? You no longer
desire
me?” she mocked him.

“Cloth yourself, damnit! This instant, madam! You shame us both with your behavior,” he hissed.

Valentina stretched slowly, raising her arms above her head so he might gain a fuller view of her magnificent breasts. Then with a taunting smile, she bent and drew her night rail back up, slipping her arms into the full, long sleeves, and tying it shut at the neck with its pink ribbons. “I am my own mistress, Padraic Burke,” she said. “Even should I consent one day to be your wife, I will not be any man’s possession. Remember that!” The door opened and shut once again, and he was alone.

Archangel
plowed on through the moonlit night, gliding smoothly across the satin seas to enter the Dardanelles just as, to their starboard, the skies beyond the dark hills of Asia Minor began to glow with the crimson stain of dawn. By late afternoon they had entered the Sea of Marmara, and along either side of the dark blue waters, on both shores, Turkish forts were visible. The following day Valentina sat on the deck of the ship beneath a canvas awning that protected her fair skin from the bright sunlight. She watched with amazement the many ships moving up and down the Marmara. There were great vessels of the royal Ottoman navy and ships belonging to their vassals, the corsairs of the Barbary Coast. Merchantmen from London, Marseilles, Genoa, Amalfi, Malta, Toulon, Algiers, Tangier, Alexandria, and the Venetian Levant swept by in a never-ending procession. It was a very busy waterway.

Valentina awoke before dawn the following morning. She had slept restlessly all night long and could no longer bear to be cooped up in her cabin. Quietly she dressed in green split-legged skirt and silk cream shirt, pulling her stockings and boots on quickly and clasping a wide leather belt around her waist. Impatiently she brushed the tangles from her long hair and braided it into a single braid, wrapping a rose-colored ribbon around it to hold it. She crept softly from the cabin so as not to wake Nelda.

She found Murrough on deck. “Do you never sleep?” she demanded.

“Of course I sleep,” he said, chuckling, “but a ship’s master must by virtue of his great responsibility sleep the least of all aboard his ship. Actually I’ve gotten more sleep these past two nights than in quite some time.”

“How near are we to Istanbul?”

“In a few minutes it will be dawn,” he told her, “and you will see the towers and walls of the city. Wait here for me and I shall identify for you some of the more interesting places, but first I must give my mate his orders.”

She peered into the gray mists of early morning until he returned. “Will the mist lift?” she asked.

“There is usually a wind at dawn that blows the mists away. To have your first glimpse of Istanbul in this way is very exciting. I have been here many times, but it always thrills me to see the city at dawn.”

As Murrough had predicted, a breeze sprang up, tearing the silken mist to tatters and filling their sails with new life. The city appeared suddenly on their port side, rising from behind the ancient walls that surrounded it on the sea side, to climb its seven hills in an unending procession of splendor. As gold and scarlet light reached out to gild the domes and soaring minarets, the call of the city’s many muezzins rose as one voice over Istanbul.

“It is wonderful!” cried Valentina. “It
is
like nothing I have ever seen before!”

Murrough nodded. “Aye,” he agreed. “It
is
like nothing you have ever seen.”

“What are all those buildings over there?” Valentina pointed.

“That, cousin, is the Yeni Serai, the new palace, where your mother was once imprisoned. It is quite a gilded cage, I am told, with various palaces, treasuries, mosques, and gardens. The sultan and his family live there, and ’tis where you will meet his mother, the Sultan Valide. You will have more to tell me once that has happened than I can tell you now,” Murrough said.

“Will we be docked near it?”

“No, we will be docked in the Golden Horn below the Jewish quarter of the city which is called Balata. Most merchantmen have sought their dockage there since the days of Constantine despite the fact that, even in ancient times, there were many other harbors around the city.”

“May I leave the ship?” Valentina inquired.

“Only, cousin, under certain restrictions. This is Islam, Val, and you are a Christian woman. Unless you obey the laws of Islam, you could be vulnerable to public ridicule or insults at the very least, bodily harm at the worst. If you leave the ship, you must be accompanied by Nelda and several men who will be your bodyguards. You must travel in a closed litter. No respectable woman of the upper classes would do otherwise. And you must wear a yashmak. Nelda, too. Only with these precautions will you be able to move about the city in safety.”

“What is a yashmak?” Valentina demanded.

“It is an outdoor garment that will cover you from your head to your feet, and you must be veiled as well.”

“Veiled? Am I some harem girl to be veiled?” Valentina said irritably. “Really, Murrough, are these precautions necessary?”

“And,” continued her cousin, “you will keep your eyes lowered modestly at all times. No decent woman looks a man in the eye when she is out in the streets.”

“God’s foot!” Valentina swore. “It is ridiculous! It is demeaning! I am an Englishwoman, not some downtrodden slave girl!”

“You will not go ashore, Val, unless you obey my instructions absolutely. My mother has charged me with your safety, and knowing what you do of Islam from both our mothers, you would be wise to heed me,” Murrough said severely. “You gave my mother your word that you would obey my orders.”

Valentina was anxious to meet with the elderly matriarch of the Kira family, the venerable Esther. The old lady had been unable to leave her home for several years, which was not surprising, considering her vast age. But if her body was failing her, Esther Kira’s mind was as sharp and quick as it had ever been.

“When can we see Esther Kira?” Valentina demanded of her cousin at midmorning.

“This is Istanbul, Val, and things are done according to a set protocol here, even among those who are not royal.” Murrough chuckled. “You must be patient.”

At noon word came that Esther Kira would be pleased to receive them at two o’clock that afternoon.

In her cabin Valentina tried on the yashmak that Murrough had presented her with, grumbling, “It was not made to fit over a gown like mine. I will die of the heat! Nelda, call my cousin, the captain, and tell him it is impossible!” She had spent over an hour dressing in her finest gown in order to honor Esther Kira, and now she couldn’t wear it!

Nelda disappeared, returning a few moments later with Geoff, who was carrying a small leather-bound trunk. “The captain’s compliments, Cousin Valentina,” said Geoff. “He apologizes for not giving ye this sooner, but he forgot. My grandmother ordered it put aboard for you. If ye will open it, ye will find the solution to all yer problems.”

Valentina lifted the lid. Within were a half dozen garments in various lovely colors, all carefully packed. Drawing one forth, she asked, “What are these?”

“They are caftans, Cousin Valentina, the proper garb of Istanbul. Yer yashmak will fit quite nicely over them. My father says ye’ll be cooler.” The boy bowed, then hurried from the cabin.

“Lord, m’lady, they’re lovely!” Nelda told her, moving closer for a better look. “Oh, do wear the rose-pink gown. ’Tis ever so flattering to your coloring!”

“This silk is magnificent,” Valentina murmured, “and look at the embroidery and beading on this, Nelda. Why, I believe these must have once belonged to my Aunt Skye!” She removed her gown and peeled her petticoats away.

The young servant lowered the caftan over her mistress’s head, and it slipped down to fall gracefully at Valentina’s shoulders, flowing to her ankles. The V neckline was embroidered in pink-gold metallic threads and mauve crystal beads, as were the caftan’s wide cuffs. With a chortle of delight, Nelda drew forth matching slippers. They fit Valentina’s feet perfectly. The tiring woman brushed out her mistress’s long dark hair and, braiding it again, fastened the single braid with a rose-colored ribbon embroidered with tiny white pearls.