Taming Charlotte (24 page)

Patrick studied her thoughtfully for a while. Charlotte waited for him to say he loved her, or even that he hated to leave, but in the end, he did neither. He took her into his arms and kissed her, and then he left, without offering any other farewell.

For Charlotte, Patrick’s departure was a painful tearing away, but she was determined not to wilt like some fragile spring flower. Being Charlotte meant being strong, and she could not lose her courage without sacrificing her self as well.

Still, with Rashad keeping watch over Khalif, she lingered at an upstairs window of the palace, watching forlornly as Patrick and his party of men set out across a twilightshadowed desert.

Charlotte had heard somewhere that it was bad luck to watch loved ones until they were out of sight, but she kept
wanting one more moment to look at Patrick, and then another. When he rode onto a high dune and turned to raise a hand to bid her good-bye, her heart surged into her throat and a soft sob escaped her.

She returned his wave, whirled, and rushed into the palace.

Khalif awakened about an hour later. His fever had risen and he seemed disoriented, but Charlotte coaxed him to swallow a few spoonfuls of broth and some cool water. After that, he rested fitfully.

Rashad startled Charlotte out of a half doze by materializing behind her and laying one hand on her shoulder. “Go and get some rest, Mrs. Trevarren,” he said. “I’ll wake you if there is any change.”

Charlotte was tired, and she had to think of her baby’s well-being in addition to her own. She nodded and left the sultan’s chamber, but before retiring, she made her way to the seaward side of the palace to look out on the moonwashed water.

The dark ship still rode the shadowy waves, and as she studied it, Charlotte felt a chill, despite the warmth of the night.
Fishermen,
she insisted to herself, remembering that Patrick and Mr. Cochran had met with the strangers and been convinced there was no danger.

Although her stomach was still flat, Charlotte had already developed the habit of laying her hand against it, as a way of communing with the tiny life growing inside her. She took a last look at the vessel, shivered again, and then reminded herself that pregnant women were full of strange fears and fancies.

Her baby was safe, they were all safe, for even if the fishermen
were
really pirates, or clever military enemies of Khalif’s, the sultan had more than enough trustworthy men guarding the palace.

Charlotte finally retired to the bedchamber—how lonely and vast it seemed without Patrick—where she quickly washed, polished her teeth, and collapsed. She dreamed of horsemen crossing the desert, the moon lighting their way, and her heart followed even if the rest of her had to stay behind.

In the morning Khalif was better, though still very weak.

Charlotte read aloud to him, badgered him to drink cup after cup of spring water, and told him stories about her father and uncle and her sister and brothers. When the sultan slept in the early afternoon, Rashad came to take his turn at keeping the vigil.

He was clearly ill at ease.

“What is it?” Charlotte demanded in a whisper.

To her surprise, Rashad did not try to evade her question. “It’s that ship,” he reflected, frowning. “They have the water they needed. There is no good reason for them to linger.”

“Surely Khalif’s men are keeping an eye out.”

Rashad nodded. “Still, I don’t like this. Ahmed has powerful friends, for all his treachery—inside the palace as well as out.”

The fine hairs at Charlotte’s nape seemed to bristle. She had disliked the sultan’s half brother in the first place, because he was a scoundrel and a boor. Now that she had seen the evidence of his brutality—Khalif’s injuries—she knew Ahmed was a fiend in the bargain.

“We’ll just have to be vigilant,” she said finally.

Wanting the company of women, even though some members of the harem weren’t particularly friendly, Charlotte set out for the part of the palace where only females, eunuchs, and Khalif himself were permitted.

As soon as she entered the
hamam,
however, Charlotte found herself surrounded by the sultan’s women. All were eager to know how Khalif fared, though many were plainly resentful and envious of Charlotte’s privileges as well.

Alev translated, then quickly shuffled the visitor outside, into the private courtyard where the great elm tree grew.

Charlotte touched its rough bark fondly, remembering her daring escape. Of course, some would call the enterprise a failure, but at least she’d
tried
to reach freedom, instead of just sitting about bemoaning her fate.

With surprising strength, Alev clutched her arm. “It is said that you are Khalif’s favorite now, that you no longer live in the harem because you’re sharing his bed. Is this true?”

Outrage stung Charlotte’s heart and spread through her like venom. “I am married to Captain Trevarren,” she pointed out, “and I’m a faithful wife. I have been staying in the room Patrick and I shared.”

Alev blinked, then had the good grace to look embarrassed. After a moment, however, she put the awkwardness behind her and went on. “Will you take a message to the sultan for me? Will you tell him his sons are fine and strong, and that I beg to come to his rooms to see for myself that he is recovering?”

Charlotte’s anger softened. If Patrick had been the one to be so grievously injured, she would hate being kept from him. “I’ll give him your message,” she agreed gently. “But Rashad will allow no one to visit Khalif except Patrick and me. He seems to have made up his mind on the matter.”

Alev’s blue eyes flashed. “Rashad is too full of himself,” she fumed. “He is a eunuch, a slave, and I am a favorite—soon to be a
kadin
—the mother of two of the sultan’s sons! Khalif will permit me to come to his chamber if you ask him personally.”

Charlotte simply nodded and averted her eyes, knowing Alev’s request would be refused and feeling nothing but sympathy for the other woman.

That afternoon Charlotte bathed in scented water, put on a clean robe provided by Alev, ate chocolate and sweetmeats with the others. One of the concubines played a beautiful melody on a harp, while another sang an accompaniment in sad, haunting notes.

It was the forlorn song of a wild creature captured, and Charlotte’s heart ached as she listened.

C
HARLOTTE WAS SITTING WITH KHALIF, THREE MORNINGS
later, when the roar of cannons firing echoed through the palace. Servants and soldiers alike rushed along the passageway outside, but although Charlotte was very worried, she did not feel compelled to run after them and investigate. The strange ship was still at anchor in the harbor; plainly, its captain had finally made a hostile move.

Khalif did not react so calmly. In fact, he bolted upright, nearly displacing the embossed silk sheet that covered the lower half of his body. “Rashad!” he shouted. “Get me my sword!”

From the first volley of cannon fire, Rashad had been looming in the doorway like Gibraltar, knife at the ready. He turned at the sultan’s words, a protest brewing in his eyes, but in the end he did not dare defy his master.

With furious reluctance visible in his every motion, Rashad found the requested weapon and brought it to Khalif.

Charlotte was not so intimidated. “Are you mad?” she demanded of the sultan as he accepted the brass-handled
sword and, at the same time, swayed with weakness. “Go back to bed and let your men defend the palace!”

Khalif was practically naked, clad only in a loincloth, but he was either unaware of the fact or unconcerned with it. His dark eyes glittered with annoyance as he glared at Charlotte. “Enough!” he shouted. “I do not take orders from women!”

Rashad tried to intervene, although his attitudes toward the female gender were no more enlightened than the sultan’s. It was obvious that he feared for Khalif’s safety and well-being. “Your Majesty—”

Not to be shunted aside, Charlotte shook her finger in Khalif’s face. “You’ll never reach the outer courtyard, let alone the beach,” she warned. “Your injuries have left you weak!”

The sultan’s complexion had already turned gray, and he glistened with sweat just from the rigors of rising from his bed and taking up his sword. “Silence!” he bellowed, wavering again, then blinking his eyes rapidly as if his vision had clouded.

Charlotte folded her arms and maintained a stubborn stance. “Don’t raise your voice to me,” she said tersely. “I won’t put up with it.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rashad staring at her in dumb wonder, and the cannons continued to thunder in the dense heat of the morning.

“Take her to the harem,” Khalif told his slave, seething. Then he reached for a robe, which was lying across a bench at the foot of his couch, and nearly collapsed.

Rashad hesitated, then reached out to help the sultan, only to be bellowed at for his trouble.

“Be gone—you have your orders!” Khalif shouted, obviously struggling to hold himself upright. “Unless you wish to join my half brother and his companions in the dungeon, you will do as I say!”

The eunuch glared at Charlotte, grabbed her arm, and hustled her out into the passageway.

“I cannot leave him unguarded,” the angry slave rasped. “Do as the sultan wishes and go to the harem. You will be safer there.”

Something struck the outside wall of the palace with a
reverberating impact, and Charlotte swallowed the refusal she’d already formulated in her mind. The harem was the last place she wanted to be, especially if the attackers managed to breach the walls, but arguing would be a waste of precious time.

She nodded curtly and set out in the proper direction. As soon as she was beyond Rashad’s range of sight, however, she turned and hurried toward the seaward side of the palace.

Patches of fire flared orange from the gunwales of the ship, while Khalif’s men fought back with cannon of their own. As Charlotte stood watching at a window that was ten times her height, skiffs were lowered to the turquoise water, bobbing, fragile as leaves on a storm-struck pond.

In the next instant, the invading vessel swayed drunkenly, her stern tilting, and then began to sink.

It all seemed to happen so slowly. The men on the balconies and parapets of the palace continued to fire, and some of the skiffs went under, taking their passengers with them.

Charlotte recalled the sharks that populated the harbor and closed her eyes for a moment, imagining them circling under the small boats, waiting, darting to the surface with vicious grace…

The men in the remaining skiffs fought back with rifles and pistols, and miraculously, some of them made it through the rain of cannonballs and bullets to the shore. Charlotte decided she’d seen enough and raced through the palace to the harem.

Alev rushed toward her, holding one of her babies. Khalif had not allowed the woman to visit him when Charlotte had relayed Alev’s frantic request, probably because he did not want her to see him in a state of weakness.

“What is happening?” she cried, almost accusingly, her face pale with fear. The other women clustered around too, voices buzzing.

Charlotte attempted to steady Alev by grasping her upper arms. The young servant girl, Pakize, stood nearby, carrying the second of Alev’s newborn twins. “There is an attack under way, but the sultan’s men have already sunk the
pirates’ ship. The battle will be over at any moment, I’m sure.”

Although Alev translated Charlotte’s words to the others, she did not seem reassured, and neither did the rest. Just then another devastating blast shook the ancient walls, and the women rushed in every direction, screaming.

“Dynamite?” Charlotte speculated aloud as Alev grabbed her arm with one hand and started dragging her toward the inner part of the
hamam.

“Come!” the other woman cried, panicked. “The enemy has surely gained the inner courtyards—we must hide!” She addressed the others as well, but in their own tongue. An elder wife, who had her own apartments and was seldom seen in the harem, flattened both hands against one of the inner walls and pushed, revealing an opening.

Charlotte and all the rest of them passed through the chasm inside, and the panel closed again, with a fierce grinding sound. They were in a stone cubicle, and bars of dusty light fell from narrow openings in the roof, two stories above.

“Fascinating,” Charlotte said. She’d read about secret rooms, but she’d never seen one, even when touring castles in England and Scotland.

Alev gave her a quelling look and patted the fitful bundle resting against her shoulder, but said nothing.

Charlotte was unfazed. “This must be where the
sultana valide
hid the princes when Ahmed took over the palace,” she speculated.

Her friend nodded, shuddered at the memory.

All around, babies and small children were crying, and their nervous mothers tried in vain to calm them. Gently Charlotte took the infant prince from Alev’s arms and held him while her friend struggled to keep her composure.

“Does anyone else in the palace know about this room?” Charlotte asked, raising her voice above the snuffles and wails. It seemed unlikely to her that anyone would hear the noises, since the walls were so thick, and yet she wished they would all be quiet for a moment.