the urge to scream. Furious, she wondered how her great-grandmother had managed to live so many years in a Muslim world. So neither her permission nor even her knowledge had been necessary for marriage to take place! Now she knew why Hammid had insisted on her quick conversion to Islam.
He had pretended to be her friend, lulling her into a false sense of security in order to aid his master. She would never trust him again. But she would play the game-her way, this time-and Hammid would not know it. For the time being she would be the adoring second wife of the vizier. She would not allow outrage to betray her. She would make them all think she had been pacified and tamed.
The caique was approaching the island quay, and Cat could smell flowers. 'My lord Cica,' she said softly, 'we near our destination. I would rearrange my blouse lest the slaves see what they should not.'
Sighing, he raised his head. 'I could stay like this forever, beloved.'
'We will soon be in our bridal chamber, my lord, and then you may resume your dozing,' she teased playfully.
'Neither of us will rest this night, my wife.' His voice thickened with passion, and she shivered.
The caique bumped the quay, and the vizier leaped from the vessel to tie it fast. 'We will not need you until morning,' he told the oarmaster. 'See the rowers are made comfortable, but do not unchain them. The temptation to escape would be too great.' Reaching down, he took her hand and drew her out of the boat. 'I regret we must walk, my love, but I did not wish on this night of nights to be burdened with slaves.'
'My lord Cica forgets that I am no pampered Eastern beauty. In my country women not only walk but ride horses too. Lead on, my lord, I follow.'
They ascended the island, climbing up a flight of stairs cut into the side of the cliff, and it seemed to Cat that the island was no more than a tall rock. However, when they had reached the top, she was surprised to find herself in a beautiful, carefully tended garden in the center of which was a marble kiosk. The moonlight was so bright now that she could easily see and identify many of the flowers. There were damask roses, Gold of Ophir roses, sultan's balsam, bougainvillea, lilies, sweet night-blooming nicotiana, and moonflowers. There were trees heavy with ripening peaches and pears, and cypress, pine, and other ornamental trees were set among the small bubbling fountains.
'It's exquisite,' she said honestly. 'Never have I seen such a beautiful garden.'
'I laid it out myself,' he told her proudly. She had not discerned this side of his nature. 'Like my master, the sultan, I have learned a trade. He took her hand and led her down the white gravel path towards the kiosk, set in the center of an oval reflecting pool.
The kiosk, rectangular, was of cream-colored marble, with a small pillared porch. Crossing a narrow latticework bridge, they entered the kiosk through an open wooden door studded in brass nails. Cat was stunned by the room.
Directly across from her, a wall of leaded windows looked beyond the pool, across the garden, to the moonlit sea beyond. Beneath her feet was an enormous Medallion rug woven in red, green, gold, and varying blues. On the wall to her right a silk hanging depicted a Persian garden. On the wall to her left was a door, and next to it was another silk carpet, this one showing a pair of lovers seated in their garden. In one corner of the room was a low round brass table surrounded by pillows. Gold and silver lamps burning scented oil hung from the painted and beamed ceiling.
But the major piece of furniture in the room was an enormous square bed set upon a carpeted dais in the very center of the room. It had neither a head nor a foot. Nor were there any hangings. It was simply a square platform with silken sheets and a down coverlet. On the dais near it were several small low tables of ebony, inlaid with bits of colored mosaic or iridescent mother-of-pearl. Upon the tables were carafes of golden liquid and bowls of fruit, olives, and sugared almonds.
Coming silently up behind her, he put an arm around her, one hand cupping her breast while bis thumb rubbed the nipple. 'Do you like it, beloved?'
'It is all unbelievably beautiful,' she answered sincerely.
'Look above the bed,' he said, and she glanced up to see the ceiling roll back to reveal a glass dome, giving a magnificent view of the night sky.
She gasped. 'I have never seen anything like that! How it is done?'
'By a process far too complicated for your sweet little head to comprehend, my dove,' he answered, spinning her about and kissing the tip of her nose.
Cat's temper rose, but she quickly swallowed it and tipped her face up to him, inviting him to kiss her again. He brushed his mouth lightly against hers and then said, 'Let us to bed, my beloved.'
'May I valet you, my lord?' She moved behind him to remove the sleeveless red-and-gold brocade robe. Beneath it he wore a silk shirt embroidered in gold and silver thread, blue pantaloons trimmed with silver, a jeweled blue sash, and red leather boots. She helped him with each item of his wardrobe, unable to keep her hands from straying to the broad hairy chest. None of her lovers had been particularly hirsute, and she was fascinated by his hairiness.
Naked, he sprawled on the bed. 'Disrobe for me now,' he commanded her, 'and do it with grace.'
The leaf-green eyes looked intently at him, and he felt a tingle go through his limp member. Then her fingers gently peeled back the sleeveless jacket until she was able to shrug it off. Her fingers moved to the rose gauze blouse, loosened it, and then stopped. Instead, she removed her sash. A delightful smile lit his features as she kicked her little kid slippers off. Then, turning her back to him, she slid the blouse off. She could hear his breath becoming faster, and ragged. Loosening the drawstring on her silk pantaloons, she let them slip slowly to the rug and, stepping away from them, she turned quickly to face him.
He smiled again. “The carafe with the gold liquid, Incili. Pour us each a goblet.'
She caught the scent of rich wine. Puzzled, she looked to him. 'I thought liquor was forbidden the Muslim.'
'The sultan drinks,' he answered, 'and the mufti has ruled that when a sultan takes to drink it is permissible for all to do the same, and for poets to celebrate it. In general I hold with the Koran. I neither drink nor allow it in my household. But this night, beloved, is our wedding night. We will toast each other in the sweet wines of Cyprus.' He raised his goblet and said, 'To you Incili, my wife. Though you be second in my house, you are first in my heart.' Looking directly at her, he drained his goblet.
Cat knew she was expected to reply in kind. Raising her own goblet, she spoke softly. 'To you, my lord Cica. As long as it pleases Allah that I be your wife, I will endeavor to please you.' And she drank her goblet empty.
'It is not necessary for you to call me smy lord' in the privacy of our bedchamber, beloved. You will call me Cica, or husband. Yes! Call me husband! I have yet to hear you say it to me. Say it, Incili! Say husband!'
Silently Cat prayed,
His eyes burned into hers, and she felt heat sweeping over her body. He smiled at her. 'You can feel the heat, can you not? Do not be afraid. Hammid has put something into the wine that will enable us to prolong our pleasure. We will go on and on this night.' She shivered, terrified at the meaning behind his words. Then he stood, commanding her to kneel before him. She obeyed him, and her heart hammered wildly when he said, 'Taste of me, my sweet, as I will soon taste of you.'
Before her his manhood lay limp, nesting within the wiry black hair. 'Obey me!' His voice demanded sharply. With trembling hand she lifted the drooping member and kissed its tip. Knowing she had no other choice, she placed it in her warm mouth, and sucked. 'Allah! Allah!' he groaned with delight. After a few minutes he reached down and pulled her up. They fell onto the bed, Cat on her back. His mouth found hers, and as his kiss deepened in passion, Cat felt the burning heat pouring through her body. His touch was inflaming her and she was losing control. She suddenly wanted him desperately, and she wiggled beneath him moaning her pleasure at the long skillful fingers that teased her desire, begging him to increase his efforts, allowing him complete and unchecked freedom with her body. Hammid's posthypnotic suggestion that she obey the dictates of her body and the powerful aphrodisiac was combining to drive her to a frenzy.
As he looked down at her she whispered, 'You are like a bull, my husband! A mighty black bull!'
The gray-blue eyes glittered, and he answered, 'And you, beloved, are the bull's mate-a sweet little golden
