one another. It suited him that Manuel take young Julia of Nicea for a wife. A stupid man might have resented this. But Manuel, like his father, saw that the once-great empire of Byzantium had shrunk to nothing. He knew that sooner or later what was left would fall to the Ottoman Turks. In the meantime, he and John would do what they could to preserve what remained of Byzantium. He was his father‘s son, and John Paleaologi could be proud of him. If peace with the Turks meant a wedding with that adorable creature running about the lawn, then Manuel would certainly wed with her.
“When your eyes narrow like that,” came the aunt’s voice, “you look like your father, and I know you are thinking.”
He laughed with good grace. “I was thinking I am a fortunate man. I am alive, and I have a beautiful bride. When am I to wed with the maid?”
“Tomorrow. My lord Murad has brought the metropolitan of Nicea here to Bursa, and he will perform the ceremony at noon.”
“Does the bride know yet?” asked Manuel dryly.
“She will be told this evening,” replied Adora smoothly. “And now, nephew, I will allow you to return to your own quarters. You will want to spend time in prayer and meditation prior to your marriage.”
Her tone was serious, but her eyes teased. He stood, kissed her soft cheek, and left the room. Adora sat for a few minutes, pleased with the day’s work. She liked Manuel. He was so much like his gentle father. When John Paleaologi told his son he would send word ahead, it had been to Adora he had written, not the sultan. The sultan’s favorite wife was not well-acquainted with Manuel, but John had not been half so eloquent when he had spoken of his older son. Manuel’s record as governor was a good one, and his love and loyalty to his father were genuine. Adora had been impressed enough to chance pleading for the young man. Now, having spoken with him, she believed her faith in John’s judgement had been justified.
“Ahh, you are thinking again,” teased Murad as he entered the room. “You will get wrinkles. Too much thought is not good for a woman.”
“Then your harem should be wrinkle-free,” she shot back at him. “There isn’t one whole thought among them all.”
Roaring his laughter, he scooped her up and carried her to her bed. He dumped her on it. Flinging himself down next to her, he kissed her. “Your mouth tastes of grapes, Adora,” he said, loosening her hair from its elegant coronet. The dark, silken mantle fell about her shoulders. Taking a handful, he crushed it between his fingers and sniffed its fragrance. “I have pardoned your nephew, woman. And I have given him a beautiful bride.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest and felt his strong heartbeat. “I am aware of all this, my lord Murad.”
“Am I not entitled to a reward for my most generous behavior?”
“Yes, my lord, you are. I have almost finished embroidering your new slippers with seed pearls,” she replied gravely.
“Seed pearls? On my slippers?” He was incredulous.
“Yes, my lord,” she answered demurely, but her voice held a funny tremor and her eyes were lowered. “I have pricked my poor fingers most dreadfully, but ‘tis a fine reward for my lord’s generosity.”
He pinioned her beneath him with a smothered oath. “Look at me, woman!”
His command was met by a burst of silvery laughter as she raised her lovely eyes to him. “Do you not want the slippers, my lord?” she asked innocently.
“No! I want you!” he answered fiercely.
She slid her arms around his neck. “Have me then, my lord! I await you!” And she placed a sweet, burning kiss on his mouth.
Her sheer robe melted away under his quick hands, and she was naked to his soft, sure touch.
His own brocade robe opened beneath her skillful fingers. She returned his caresses, running her hands down his long back, cupping the hard roundness of his buttocks in her warm hands.
“Woman,” he murmured against her throat, “if the houris assigned to me in Paradise have hands half as soft, half as clever as yours I shall consider myself blessed.”
She laughed softly and reached down to fondle his manhood. Gently she roused a passion in him so great that only the fierce and swift possession of her body could satisfy it.
Now it was he who was the master, leading her on, holding her back, making her cry out with pleasure. He kissed her again and again until she was almost swooning, and she returned the kisses with a depth and ardor that only increased his passion. Frantically he whispered her name against her ear.
Then suddenly he could no longer control his desires. He felt her body reaching the same blazing climax. She shuddered violently several times. Her skin was almost burning to the touch. Groaning, he spilled his milky seed into her soft body and, in a burst of clarity, she realized again that in this constant battle between men and women, it was the woman who emerged victorious in the end. Tenderly she cradled him against her, crooning soft little love words to him.
When she awoke in the morning he was still asleep beside her, looking boyish despite his years. For a moment she lay quietly watching him. Then she dropped a kiss on his brow. The dark eyes that opened and looked upon her were for the briefest moment so filled with love that she was astounded. She knew he loved her but he was not a man given to saying so often. The emotion she had glimpsed made her feel humble. She understood why he hid it from her. Murad would always consider love a weakness. He believed that showing such weakness to a woman lessened him and gave the woman an unfair advantage.
She smothered a chuckle. Would he never trust her love for him? “Arise, my lord, my love! The sun is already up, and this is the day we wed my nephew with the little heiress of Nicea.”
How lovely she still is, he thought, gazing on her camellia-skinned nudity, her long dark hair swirling about her. “Have we not even a moment to ourselves?” he growled, kissing her round shoulder.
“No,” she teased, rising from their bed. “Would you have the marketplace gossips say that Sultan Murad has grown soft, and lingers within a woman’s arms once the sun is up?”
Laughing, he leapt from the bed and delivered a well-aimed smack to her tempting backside. He was rewarded with a shriek of outrage. “You, my lady Adora, have a wicked tongue.”
Rubbing her injured part, she pouted, “And you, my lord slug-a-bed, have a hard hand.” And catching up a gauze robe she fled to her bath, his appreciative chuckle echoing behind her.
The witch must always have the last word, he thought.
Murad left her suite for his own. He wanted young Manuel bedded as quickly as possible. Although the emperor could have no objection to the girl, he would probably be irritated to find that the sultan had usurped his paternal authority. Murad wanted the little Julia pregnant quickly so there could be no chance of annulment. The girl’s mother had been an excellent breeder. Murad hoped Julia would prove just as fecund, but the girl’s slenderness worried him somewhat.
Murad was not officially part of the religious ceremony. He stood behind a carved screen as the patnarch of Nicea united the young couple. The sultan was amused to see the wide-eyed girl sneaking looks at the stranger to whom she was being married.
Afterward, he joined the newlyweds in a small celebration in Adora’s apartments. Thamar was also there, but more to lobby for her own son than to wish the bride and groom well. Isolating Murad in a corner, she complained, “First your son, Bajazet, is wed to Zubedya of Germiyan. Now you wed your nephew, Manuel, to Julia of Nicea. What of our son, Yakub? Have you no noble bride for him? Is only Theadora’s family dear to you?”
He fixed her with a hard look. She was no longer the slender beauty with the gorgeous golden hair who had fascinated him. She was heavier, her skin had coarsened, her hair was faded. It never occurred to Murad that his absence from her life and her bed was responsible for these changes. He had never been particularly fond of her, and right now she was an irritant.
“Yakub is my younger son. He is not my choice to succeed me. Yakub’s fate rests with his older brother, Bajazet. My father‘s choice was my brother, Suleiman, and therefore I took no fertile favorites, nor spawned children until after his death. It is possible that Yakub will not survive my death by more than a few hours. If such is to be his fate, none of his sons would survive either.”
Her eyes were wide with shock. “What is it you say to me?” she whispered.
“There can be only one sultan,” he said quietly.
