closed. Her whole being rebelled at this sensuous man who called her 'wife,' yet treated her solely as an object for his pleasure.
'Open your eyes, Incili.'
She obeyed, keeping her lashes modestly lowered lest he see the terrible mixture of fear and repulsion she felt.
'It is time for you to bathe me, Incili.'
'Yes, my lord Cica,' she answered. Rising from the bed, she walked across the room to the bath. She was amazed that her legs could hold up. At her call the eunuch came and the bath was made ready. Her slim fingers decanted the bottles holding the both oils. She sniffed each, finally choosing an attar of roses. Pouring it into the tub, she dismissed the eunuch and called to the vizier, 'Your bath is ready, my lord.'
Naked, Cicalazade Pasha came into the bath, where Cat waited to serve him. He stood quietly while she laved his body with warm water. Now her hands were gently rubbing a soft soap over his broad chest and back. Kneeling, she soaped his legs, and his genitals quivered. She quickly caught up a boar's-bristle brush and scrubbed him down, sluicing him once more with warm, fresh water.
'There, my lord,' she said briskly, 'you may now soak in your tub.'
The voice that answered her was amused. 'Thank you, my love. Wash quickly, and join me,' and he submerged himself in the large square green-tiled pool.
Slowly she soaped herself, putting off the moment when she must join him in the bath. He watched her from beneath hooded eyelids, knowing almost precisely what she was thinking and thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. He kept her nude and forced her to these menial duties in an attempt to tame her. Too, her helplessness gave him a delicious feeling of power. The pleasure he gained from this constant battle between them was far better than the easy conquest of a dozen other beautiful women.
Finally, unable to delay any longer, she was forced to enter the heavily scented tub. He immediately reached out and drew her against him, her soft breasts straining against his chest, the tender nipples irritated by the dark furry mat of his chest. His mouth closed over hers for the first time that evening, his probing tongue almost gagging her. He drew her arms around his neck. Then his hands slid beneath the water to cup her buttocks and, pressing her against the back of the tile tub wall, he raised her up and impaled her on his hardness. She gasped her surprise, but the sound was muffled by his lips. Pressing fierce little thrusts into her, he released his passion, and then held her more tenderly, for she was half-fainting.
Chuckling happily at his sense of dominance, he vaulted quickly from the water and, reaching down, drew her out. Weakened by the warm water and the vizier's lovemaking, but still obedient to her duties, she picked up a warmed towel from the top of the tile stove and wrapped it about him. Taking a second towel, she sat him down and dried him, careful to rub the dampness from between his toes. Stretching him out face down on a marble bath bench, she massaged his muscled body with body cream smelling of roses. As her hands skillfully kneaded the firm body, he rumbled contentment like a large, sleek cat.
Finally he called, 'Enough,' and rose up to reveal a once again engorged organ. Laughing at the look on her face, he said, 'The night has just begun, Incili, and I have yet to get enough of you. I must somehow cool the fires you create in my loins if we are to be parted for several months.'
She was shaking. Holding out her hands, she pleaded with him, 'Please, my lord husband, no more! Not just yet!'
It was if she had not spoken. Catching her hands, he forced her facedown onto the same marble bench and, straddling her, he parted her thighs and entered her gently from behind. His hands raised her a little so he could fondle her breasts. He crushed the warm flesh in his big hands, reveling in its softness, pinching the nipples so that she cried out.
In that moment Cat's tolerance of Cicalazade Pasha vanished. He was using her like an animal, without any thought for her at all. Only the knowledge that she would soon be free of him kept her from shrieking her fury. As it was, her temples had begun to throb.
Grunting with pleasure, he finally loosed her and rose up, exclaiming, 'I have labored hard so far this evening, and I am thirsty. Fetch me a sherbet, my dove!'
She stood for a moment on trembling legs, then left the bath and crossed the bedchamber to the table where the sherbet decanters stood. Mixing his favorites together, she looked carefully to see where he was, and found him sprawled on the bed looking up through the glass dome at the night sky. With a thumbnail she carefully flicked open the top of her turquoise ring and dropped a pinch of white powder into his cup. Esther Kira had given her the sleeping potion, but she had never dared use it before. Tonight, however, she could take no more, and she knew that the aphrodisiacs he had consumed would confuse him anyway.
She smilingly crossed the room and presented him with the cup. He drank it down thirstily and, carelessly flinging the cup to the floor, pulled her onto the bed. 'You are so beautiful,' he said. 'How you please me, Incili! You please me greatly. Did you know that, my jewel? I treasure you above all my women. Never has a mere female delighted me so much.'
She pressed her face into his shoulder so he might not see it. 'It makes me happy that I pleasure you, my lord husband,' she lied smoothly.
He groped for her breasts, fumbling at her, his movements beginning to become clumsy. Then suddenly she heard him snore lightly. She eased herself out of his grasp and lay apart from him, waiting to see whether he missed her. He was sound asleep, drugged by the white powder she had slipped into his sherbet. In the morning she would add a different powder to his coffee, one which would counteract the effect of the aphrodisiacs and render him almost desireless. That should keep her safe for at least part of the day.
Rising from the rumpled bed, she returned to the bath. Filling and refilling the silver ewer, she laved herself over and over, washing away all evidence of the past hour. The bath was the one aspect of Turkish life she truly enjoyed. Dry again, she slipped a sheer nightgar-ment over her head. When he awoke he would object and demand its removal. But for now she would have some protection from the cool night air.
Laying herself at the farthest edge of the bed, she wrapped herself in a light wool blanket and immediately fell asleep.
When she awoke the sun was already rising. Cicalazade Pasha lay sprawled on his back snoring mightily, much as she had left him last night. She stretched and, unrolling herself from the blanket, got up. The air was chilly, so she lifted from her trunk a soft white wool caftan and slid it over her nightgown. She slipped her feet into a pair of wool-lined slippers and, checking again to be sure the vizier was asleep, she ran out into the garden.
The wet grass glistened diamondlike in the early sunlight, and the beds of tulips and narcissus were just beginning to open and perfume the air. A faint silvery haze hung just above the dark sea, and the surrounding hillsides were bright-green with spring growth. For a few minutes she was free again, and she reveled in it. If she could get through the next two days and could convince Cica to let her remain on the island, the Kiras would liberate her. Obviously it would be easier to free her from the island than from Cicalazade's palace. She was sorry she had not been able to say goodbye to Lateefa. When she was safe again she would send her kindly cousin a message through the Kiras…
Suddenly a smile lit Cat's face. She had just thought how she could convince the vizier to leave her on the island for a few days. She would use his masculine pride against him to gain her own ends. It would serve the bastard right!
It bothered Cicalazade that she had not become pregnant. He knew she had borne nine living children and he had sired Lateefa's children and forty on the harem women besides. He longed for a child of her body and, not knowing of the potion she took to prevent conception, could not understand why she had not swelled with his fruit.
She would tell him she believed she was pregnant. Pleading the strange fancies of a breeding woman, she would beg to remain a few extra days on the island. Should he refuse her she would weep and pout to gain her way. He would expect it, as he had no view of women other than as soft, foolish creatures.
A little breeze had sprung up, and Cat shivered in anticipation. She always enjoyed mapping battle strategy. Laughing to herself, she wondered which side of her ancestry was asserting itself-the Scots or the Turkish?
Chapter 56
