she climbed back up to the top of the wall.
The wall, however, was old, and worn away in several places. Its only traffic for many years had been the cats of the city who frequently courted the privacy of the convent gardens. Flushed with her success, Theadora did not watch her footing and suddenly she found herself falling. But, to her surprise, she did not hit the ground. Instead, she fell-shrieking-into the strong arms of a laughing young man.
The arms cradled her, gently but firmly, and seemed in no hurry to release her. Jet-black eyes looked her over thoroughly, admiringly. “Are you a thief? Or merely a naughty little nun?” he asked.
“Neither.” She was amazed to find she still had a voice. “Please put me down, sir.”
“Not until I learn your identity, violet eyes. You are not veiled, so you cannot be Turkish. Who are you?”
Theadora had never been this close to a man other than her father. It was not unpleasant. The man’s chest was hard, somehow reassuring, and he smelled of sunshine.
“Have you lost your tongue, little one?” he queried softly.
She blushed and bit her lip in vexation. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what she had been thinking. “I am a student at the convent,” she said. “Please, sir, would you help me back up onto the wall? If they find me gone, I shall be scolded.”
Setting her down, he quickly climbed onto the wall. Leaning over, he pulled her up onto the wall. Then, leaping lightly into the convent garden, he held out his arms to her. “Jump, violet eyes.” He caught her easily and set her on her feet. “Now you won’t be scolded,” he chuckled. “What on earth made you climb the wall?”
Feeling more secure now, she looked up at him mischievously. Reaching into a pocket of her tunic dress, Theadora drew out a peach. “I wanted one,” she said simply, biting into it. The juice ran down her chin. “The gate was locked, so I climbed the wall.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Yes, but I do not usually want very much,” she answered.
He laughed. “My name is Murad. What’s yours?”
“Theadora.”
“Too formal. I shall call you Adora, for you’re a most adorable creature.”
She blushed, then gasped in surprise as he bent and kissed her. “Oh! How dare you, sir? You must
The black eyes twinkled. “Yet, Adora, I will wager that was your first kiss.” She flushed again and tried to turn away from him, but he gently caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “And,” he continued, “I will also wager that you’re wed to an old man. No young man with blood in his veins would leave you languishing in a convent. You are quite outrageously fair.”
She raised her eyes to him, and he saw with amazement that in the sunlight they shone an amethyst color. “It is true that I have not seen my husband for several years, but you must not speak thusly to me. He is a good man. Please go now, sir. If you were caught here, it would not go well for you.”
He made no move to leave. “Tomorrow night begins the week of the full moon. I shall wait for you in the orchard.”
“I will certainly not come!”
“Are you afraid of me, Adora?” he taunted.
“No!”
“Then prove it-and come.” Reaching out he caught her to him, kissing her slowly with a gentle, controlled passion. For the briefest moment she yielded to him, and all the things she and her classmates had discussed with regard to kissing flashed through her mind, and she realized that they knew nothing of the truth. This was sweetness beyond belief, ecstasy beyond her wildest imaginings, and honeyed fire poured through her loins, making her weak.
Releasing her mouth, he held her gently to him Their eyes met for a moment in a strange understanding. Then, suddenly terrified by her response to him, Theadora tore herself free and fled down the neat gravel path. His mocking laughter followed her. She heard his voice. “Tomorrow, Adora.”
Gaining the sanctuary first of her house, and then of her bedchamber, she collapsed on her bed, trembling violently, ignoring the peaches that spilled from her pockets and bumped across the floor.
She had not known that a kiss could be so-she sought for the right word-so powerful! So intimate! That was certainly what it had been. Intimate! An invasion of her person. And yet-a little smile played about her lips-and yet she had liked it.
Murad had been correct in assuming that she had never been kissed. In fact, Theadora knew nothing of what happened between a man and a woman for she had spent all but four years of her young life behind convent walls. When she had been married Zoe had wisely refrained from discussing the duties of the marriage bed with a child years away from puberty. Consequently, the sultan’s youngest wife was a total innocent.
Now she wondered about the handsome young man whose strong arms had saved her from serious injury. Tall and tanned, she knew he was as fair as she, for where his black hair had been newly cropped, his skin was quite light. His jet dark eyes had been caressingly, even boldly, warm; his smile, which had revealed straight white teeth, very impudent.
Of course she would not see him again. It was simply unthinkable. Still, she wondered if he really would come tomorrow night. Would he actually be bold enough to climb the convent’s orchard wall again?
There was only one way to find out. She must hide herself in the orchard before dark and watch. When he came-
She giggled, imagining his chagrin. He obviously thought himself quite irresistible if he expected a respectable girl to sneak out and meet him. He would soon learn differently.
Chapter Two
Murad had been amused by his encounter with the girl, Theadora. He was a grown man, experienced in the amatory arts. Her sweetness, her unaffected innocence, enchanted him.
Legally, she was his father’s third wife. But he felt there was virtually no chance that Sultan Orkhan would ever bring her into his palace, let alone his bed. The little princess was merely a political pawn. Murad felt no remorse over dallying with her. He was an honorable man and had no intention of seducing her.
Murad Beg was the youngest of the sultan’s three sons. He had a full brother, Suleiman, and a half brother, Ibrahim. Ibrahim’s mother was the daughter of a Byzantine nobleman who was distantly related to Theadora. Her name was Anastatia, and she looked with haughty disdain upon Murad’s mother, who was the daughter of a Georgian hetman. Anastatia was the sultan’s first wife, but Murad’s mother, who was called Nilufer, was the sultan’s favorite. Her sons were the most beloved of their father.
Murad’s half brother, Ibrahim, was the eldest of the sultan’s sons, but he had been dropped on his head as a baby and had not been right since. He lived in his own palace, lovingly tended to by his slaves and by his women, who were all sterile. Prince Ibrahim alternated between normality and periods of wild insanity. Still, his mother hoped he would follow his father as sultan, and she slyly worked toward this goal.
Prince Suleiman also kept his own palace, but he had sired two sons and several daughters. Murad had no children. His women were, by his choice, incapable of childbearing. The youngest son of Orkhan knew that his father’s choice for successor was Suleiman.
Though Murad loved his older brother, he intended to fight him for the empire when their father died. But there was always the chance that he might lose-and that would mean not only his own death but the deaths of all his family. So Murad chose not to have children until he was sultan and his sons could be born into relative safety.
Mere chance had brought him past the Convent of St. Catherine that afternoon. He had been visiting a charming and delightful widow who lived in a nearby neighborhood. He had passed the convent just in time to catch Adora. He chuckled. What a minx! She had wanted peaches, and she had gone after what she wanted. What a worthy wife she would be for some man. He stopped, a smile lighting his face. Muslim law decreed that a man might take any of his dead father‘s wives for his own, provided there was no incest committed. How much longer could Orkhan live?
