"Yes, Hammid. I will try hard to please him."

"I am happy with you, Incili, and I want you to be happy. You have only to follow the dictates of your body, my beauty. Let your lovely body overrule your quick intellect. Lord Cicalazade loves you deeply. You have affected Mm as no woman ever has. Will you not give Mm the satisfaction of knowing that he has pleasured you?"

For a moment she was silent, as if struggling with her emotions, then her soft voice said, "Yes, Hammid, I will yield myself to my lord Cica."

The eunuch smiled, satisfied. "Thank you, my dear. I am content that you will both be very happy. One other thing, however. You must not mention to the vizier that we have had this conversation."

"I will not."

"Very well, Incili. On the count of three you will awaken refreshed, and ready to spend a night pleasing your lord, One… two. „. three."

Cat's eyes opened. "Fascinating," she said. "I slept, yet I heard you clearly, and I feel ever so much more at ease. Hammid. Thank you."

The eunuch smiled again. "Are you ready to join the vizier now?"

"Yes."

"And again tonight I compliment you on your cos-tone."

Cat smiled. She enjoyed wearing the luxurious clothing of a priveleged woman, and she took great pains with her appearance. Tonight she wore pale-pink silk shot with silver threads. Her gauze blouse was rose, her jacket edged In silver and bits of blue lapis. Her hip sash and slippers bore alternating stripes of silver and turquoise. She wore silver baubles on her arms and large drop earrings of carved turquoise.

Susan had done Cat's hair in a new fashion. Drawn back and up, the honey-colored mass was woven into one large braid with turquoise ribbons and a string of tiny seed pearls. Across the beautiful face, Hammid fastened a veil of rose gauze.

She settled herself comfortably in the litter, almost bouncing with excitement in anticipation of her outing. The bearers moved quickly through the harem corridors, out across the gardens, and down to the private marble quay where the vizier's caique awaited.

It was a graceful vessel, completely gilded, with a red lacquer design along the sides. The oars were alternately pale-blue enamel and silver, and the slaves who pulled those oars were all coal-black. Those who pulled on the silver oars wore blue satin pantaloons sashed in silver. Those Who pulled on the pale-blue oars were garbed in blue-sashed silver cloth pantaloons. The awning of the vessel was stripped in red, gold, blue, and silver, and held up by four gilded posts carved around with flowers and leaves. The silk curtains were scarlet and gold gauze, and the deck was.polished rosewood. Beneath the awning was an enormous assortment of multicolored pillows, where Cicalazade Pasha awaited.

Hammid carefully handed her from the litter into the caique. Reclining comfortably on her side, she raised her eyes to him and said in a low sultry voice, "Good evening, my lord.''

A smile lit his face. "Good evening, Incili." Turning to the oarmaster, he nodded. The caique began to pull slowly away from the quay, moving directly into the Bosporus in the direction of the Black Sea. The sun had not yet set, and she could see the sammer-green hills tumbling into the water. Behind them the sky was a riot of pinks, golds, mauves, corals, and deep purple against blue.

Cat breathed deeply and the vizier laughed. "Do not tell me that the air outside my garden smells better, beloved."

"‘Tis the smell of freedom, my lord."

His eyes were troubled, and then he said quietly, "Do not chafe so, my beautiful captive dove. Today I have changed your humble status. My wife, Lateefa Sultan, is an Ottoman princess, and I may not have other wives except with her permission."

"I thought Muslim men were allowed four wives."

"All except those wed to imperial princesses. This afternoon, however, with Lateefa's permission, I took you as my second wife." Her eyes widened. Pleased, he continued, "You are, I know, wondering how this can be. Under Muslim law neither your knowledge nor your permission was necessary. You are no longer a slave, my precious one. Are you not happy?" His face radiated pleasure as he looked expectantly at her.

The blood was pounding angrily in her ears. It took tremendous effort but she quickly caught hold of her emotions. Speaking so softly that he was forced to bend to hear her, she said, "You do me an incredible honor, my lord." She was unable to say any more for fear of betraying herself.

It was enough. He drew her into his arms, kissing the mouth that opened easily beneath his. He covered the upturned face with kisses, moving to the slim pillar of her throat and down to her breasts. Eagerly he pulled the rose gauze blouse open, tearing it in his haste. Hungrily he sucked at her nipples, each in turn, and then, laying his head against her heart, he sighed contentedly, sure that he had won her over completely.

"Tonight we begin anew, my precious Incili." His deep voice vibrated with emotion. "The past is dead, my beautiful bride. Only the present and the future will concern us. Look! The full moon is rising, and above it, Venus, the planet of the Goddess of Love! Soon we will be at the Island of a Thousand Flowers, and there in the Starlight Kiosk we will spend a night of rapture." Raising his head from her breasts, he gazed at her, little gold lights dancing in his gray-blue eyes.

She was speechless. Drawing his head back down to her breasts so he could not see her face, she suppressed 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, "Forgie me, Bothwell," and then, looking at Cicalazade Pasha, she said, "Husband."