no trouble, as they have their own staff, and I will wager that Dame Cecily adores having them.'
'Let me stay at least until you leave for Fez,' Robbie begged.
'No,' she answered. 'If I am to convince Kedar that I am nothing more than a captive slave girl I must be totally cut off from my real life. It is going to be hard enough to be subservient, Robbie!' Her blue-green eyes were laughing at him now, and he guffawed loudly.
'Aye,' he said, 'I suppose it is best I leave you alone to prepare for your role. It wouldn't do to have you telling this great merchant of Fez how to run his business. I don't think that that is quite what he's going to expect of you.' Then he grew serious. “You'll take care of yourself, lass? You'll not take chances?'
'I am taking a chance when I travel to Fez as Kedar's slave,' she said softly. “There is no escaping the danger, Robbie, but I am mindful of it. I am not afraid.' She leaned over and kissed him.
No, she wasn't afraid, he could see it. Her belief that she could find Niall and escape back to safety shone like a silvery aura about her. Robert Small prayed silently that that faith be justified. She had so very much to lose.
He rose slowly to his feet and drew her up. 'All right, then,' he said, 'I’ll be on my way. Walk me to the door, and we'll say our farewells there.' He turned. 'Osman, my friend, will you come also?'
'No, Captain. I will bid you farewell here. We will meet again, I know; and believe me that all will go well, my friend. May Allah watch over you.'
Robbie nodded. 'I've never known you to be wrong, Osman,' he said. 'I know that I can trust you.'
Together Skye and Robbie walked to the main entry of Osman's house. There was really nothing left for them to discuss, so she simply hugged him, and said, 'Take care, my dearest friend.'
'It is you who should take care,' he muttered, and then he held her close against him in a fatherly embrace. 'I wish to Heaven you wouldn't do this thing,' he said, 'but I know that you must. God's bones, lass, come home safely!' Then he quickly released her, and was gone out the door. She was certain she had seen tears in his kindly eyes.
With a sigh Skye turned from the door and walked back to Osman's study, where the astrologer awaited her. Wordlessly he handed her a tiny porcelain cup of newly made coffee. Slowly she sipped the burning, bitter liquid until at last she felt calm again. Sensing her recovery, Osman spoke.
“There is no one among my slaves who knows who you are. We will therefore begin the charade now. You are Muna, a slave girl whom I have bought to give my nephew, the lord Kedar of Fez. You are a captive, but for beautiful captives like yourself there is no ransom. You were widowed a year ago, and were being sent by your family to marry a wealthy Florentine merchant. You have two babies, but your husband-to-be did not want you to bring your children to this new marriage.
'Just as it entered the Mediterranean, your ship was captured by pirates who brought you to Algiers, where you were placed in a private bagnos. I bought you. You arrived today at the same time my old friend, Captain Small, arrived. I have returned your trunk, by the way, to your ship. I will see that you are clothed properly to entice my nephew.' He thought a moment. 'Have I forgotten anything, Muna?'
'No, my lord Osman,' she answered meekly.
He smiled. 'Very good, my daughter! Now, for the next two days you must immerse yourself in the character of Muna. Does my history of your past satisfy you?'
'It is fine, my lord, but I would ask one question. You have still not told me how old I am to be.'
'Aiii!' Osman clapped his plump hand to his smooth forehead. Then he nodded at her with a small smile. 'You can easily pass for twenty, my daughter. Your skin is so marvelously translucent it makes you seem much younger than your years. One other thing. You must have a potion that will prevent your conceiving a child by my nephew. Such a thing is unthinkable!'
'I have my own potion, Osman, but you have sent it back to the ship along with my trunk,' she laughed.
'It works?'
'I have never conceived a child while I took it,' she answered him.
'I will have it fetched immediately, then,' he said. 'There is no use switching potions if yours works. Return to your quarters now, my daughter, and I will send the seamstress to you. She will outfit you completely within the next two days. When Kedar arrives you will be ready for him.'
Skye rose from the silken cushions, bowed low to Osman, and left him. The next two days proved busy ones as the seamstress and her assistants sewed a lavish wardrobe for the beautiful slave girl Muna. In Osman's household only his wife, Alima, knew the truth about Muna. The two women spent most of their waking hours together in the garden, surrounded by Alima and Osman's children. Altogether there were seven of them: five mischievous little boys ranging in age from nine to two; and two little girls, one seven, and one an infant who had been born around the same time as Skye's son, Padraic. Alima refreshed Skye's memory on Eastern customs; any other gaps of knowledge would be put down to her status as a slave.
'What is Kedar like?' she asked Alima.
'I know little about him,' came the reply. 'Osman is a very jealous man, and does not allow even his male relatives into the women's part of the house. I have seen him, of course; Kedar is an attractive man, Muna. He stands a few inches taller than you, and is very powerfully built although he is not fat. He is as fair of skin as you are, for when he lifted his arms once and his robe fell open, I could see where the sun had not reached the whiteness of his skin. The first time I met him I was quite curious, and boldly lifted my eyes to his for just a second. He has eyes as powerful as his uncle, my husband. They are hazel in color, and his hair is a dark brown. His features are pleasant, the eyes well spaced, his face narrow, his nose very aquiline, his lips quite sensuous, as they are a bit wide.'
Skye nodded, satisfied. At least the man wasn't ugly. 'Is he intelligent?' she said, wondering if Alima would know what she really meant.
With her shrewd peasant soul, however, Alima understood. 'Yes, he is intelligent and very clever. I also suspect he has some of his uncle's powers, although Osman has said nothing about it. He is very possessive of what is
Again Skye nodded, and then she asked a final question. 'What if he decides to sell me, Alima?'
'Do not fear, Muna. Osman intends to ask him to resell you to him for my sake if Kedar should grow tired of you. Kedar cannot refuse that request.'
Alima's words reassured Skye considerably, particularly when late that very afternoon Kedar arrived. The two women watched from behind the latticed windows of an upper story as Osman greeted his nephew in the gardens of the house. Kedar moved with a sleek grace that reminded Skye of the panthers she and Khalid el Bey had kept for hunting. Kedar held his head high, and his step was at once light and very assured. The two men embraced, and then Osman, knowing that the two women watched, pushed back the hood of his nephew's white traveling robes.
'Let me look at you, son of my beloved dead sister,' he said, and Skye could see that the face in profile was arrogant, hawklike, and Arab.
'It is good to see you again, my Uncle,' Kedar replied, and Skye was struck by the very deep timbre of the man's voice. It was a voice used to giving orders, used to being obeyed.
'Have you seen enough, Muna?' Alima whispered.
'Yes.'
'Let us go then, for Osman will shortly send for you, and I would be certain your garb is perfection.'
Below them, Osman led Kedar into the cool interior of the house to a small salon. The two men settled themselves comfortably upon low, cushioned red velvet divans, and immediately a slave appeared with a silver basin filled with warmed rosewater and a soft linen towel. Kedar washed the dust of his travels from his face and his hands, and dried them carefully. His were the hands of an aristocrat, long and slender with well-tapered nails. When he had finished, and the slave had hurried off with the used towel and the basin, two other slaves entered the room. One carried a plate of gazelle horns, curved pastries made of flour, ground nuts, and honey. The other was the coffeemaker, who immediately set to work grinding beans and then brewing a dark and rich coffee. When he and his nephew had been served Osman waved them from the room, and sat chatting companionably with his nephew. At last, the courtesies all observed and the traveler made comfortable, Osman said, 'You know that each year when you visit me I have a gift for you. This year it is something very, very special. Knowing how proud you are
