Captive (31 page)

But he gripped her shoulders, trying to think, trying to get a grip on the powerful emotions that had been somehow, inadvertently, unleashed. It was very hard to do. Because somehow he had turned her, pressing her back against the wall. Reflexively his loins rocked against her. When he did not kiss her back, she pulled away an inch and gazed up at him.

“This is meant to be,” she said.

The sounds of the bagnio started to drift to him. Soldiers whispering in Turkish, the captives murmuring in the lingua franca, the wind whistling in the chimes. He recalled Timmy’s gruesome death. “Who are you, really?”

She tensed. He was holding her and he felt it. “I am not a spy.”

His jaw tightened. His disappointment was vast. “I want you to leave.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed with dismay. “And if I refuse?”

His laughter was bitter. He pushed her away, releasing her, turning his back on her.

But dear God, he could not recall ever being this aroused— or ever being this unhappy.

“How do I prove myself to you?”

Xavier glanced at her.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

“Do not bother,” he finally said.

She brushed her fist against her eyes.

“Are you all right?” he said cautiously. Was she crying because of the inexcusable way he had manhandled her? He had the terrible feeling that she was not acting now.

“No. I am not all right. I am very upset.”

“I’m sorry.” He realized that he meant it. She was a woman, in spite of everything, and no woman deserved such treatment. “I am sorry.”

“It’s too late,” she said.

“Alexandra …”

“No!” She faced him, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. A single tear rolled down one cheek. “I don’t even know you! I have no idea why I even like you—or want you! A single paragraph in a history book and look at me, I am a stupid, besotted idiot! Well, I think I just figured out that this is not a romance novel. You’re a typical chauvinistic son of a bitch, aren’t you?” She swiped at her eyes. “I think I hate you.”

Her words frightened him even more than his reaction to having held her in his arms. For a moment he was unmoving. He should not care if she despised him, but he did.

“I am not coming to visit you again. You can rot for all that I care.” She shoved past him and outside of his small cubicle.

He did not know how to respond, so he just stood there, staring. Feeling far more grief than before.

Giving him another bitter glance, she strode toward the stairs and down them to the courtyard, where Murad was waiting for her. The torchlight outside played over the strands of her very red hair, which were escaping the loosened ends of her headdress.

He watched her marching with long, hard, not particularly feminine strides across the courtyard. Many slaves were sleeping, but others were turning to look at her. Xavier grimaced, filled with unease. She had not fixed the ends of the kaffiyeh upon leaving his cubicle. She was crossing the courtyard with her features visible for all to see.

Murad reached her, pulling the ends of the long headdress up and around her face. He was berating her, Xavier could tell. His heart beat thickly.

Then Xavier watched her lean against Murad, burying her face in the crook where his neck met his shoulder. Murad put his arms around her and held her. They stood unmoving in one another’s embrace like that for a long moment. Xavier thought that she was weeping.

He was ashamed of himself. He was consumed with guilt. And he was supicious—jealous—of the slave.

He watched them break apart and leave.

“I have been looking for you,” Zoe said.

Alex had just changed. Zoe had not knocked. She had barged right into Alex’s room, and now stood glaring at Alex from the threshold. Alex was alone. Murad had left to get her something to eat and drink—although Alex had no real appetite, not unless it was for a gallon of Columbo fudge swirl.

She was overwhelmed with what had happened in the bagnio. She was furious, hurt, and shaken to the quick. One thing was clear. Xavier was a macho bastard—and he lusted after her the way the heroes lusted after the heroines in Alex’s romance novels. But that was all. He had no feelings, was incapable of emotions, of love.

And she did not think she could take much more of this predestined
love
affair.

Alex needed to see Zoe now like she needed a hole in the head. “Really? Don’t you believe in knocking, Zoe?”

“Where have you been this evening, Zohara?” Zoe asked in a falsely sweet voice. She sauntered into Alex’s room, not responding to Alex’s question. “Hmm?”

Alex was filled with dread. “What I do is none of your business.”

“Do you have something to hide?”

“Of course not,” Alex said tersely. “Zoe, I am tired. Please leave. If you want to speak to me, we can do so in the morning. Although I can’t imagine what we could possibly have to talk about.” But Alex knew exactly what was on Zoe’s mind. Yesterday Alex had accused Zoe of drugging her.

“I can.” Zoe paced forward, her eyes blazing. “You lied. You lied to Jebal. We both know that I did not poison your tea and put you to sleep on your anniversary!”

Alex wet her lips. She tried to keep her face impassive. “I don’t know that, Zoe. Someone drugged me. Let’s be honest, shall we? We both know how much you hate me. Who else would want to keep Jebal and myself apart?”

“I did not drug you,” Zoe almost shouted. “I told Jebal as much!”

Alex’s pulse raced. “And did he believe you?”

Zoe smiled, not nicely. “Now, why would I reveal that to you?”

Alex stood straighter. “Fine, Zoe. The battle lines are drawn.”

“You can’t outwit and outmaneuver me,” Zoe said, sneering.

“I’d rather not fight at all,” Alex said truthfully. She had the uneasy feeling that Zoe was right. Because Zoe had been raised in Tripoli, she was a product of the harem with all of its infernal, eternal intrigue, and she was a prime Joan Collins-Alexis Carrington kind of bitch. Alex knew that she herself did not have the right mentality to go up against Zoe and win.

“It’s too late,” Zoe said with another smile. “The moment you arrived here and somehow turned Jebal’s head, we became enemies, my dear little sister.”

“I did nothing to entice Jebal.”

Zoe stared. “So where is Murad?”

“He is getting me something to eat.” What little had been left of Alex’s appetite was now gone.

“Really? I was under the impression that he was outside of the palace tonight.”

Alex stood very still, her pulse positively rioting.

“Did you send him on an errand, sister dear?”

Alex thought frantically. “No.”

“No? Then did he leave without your permission? He should receive the bastinado for that. And wasn’t he outside of the palace another night recently, as well? With another slave?”

“Murad was with me all night tonight,” Alex said harshly. “He is always with me, and no one—I repeat, no one—shall punish my slave.”

Zoe’s smile widened. “My, how protective you are of him. But then, the whole palace has remarked how close the two of you are.”

Alex realized she was hugging herself and she forced herself to drop her arms. “What’s the point?”

“Is he your lover?”

“What?!” Alex gasped, genuinely shocked. “He’s a eunuch.”

“Eunuchs often make the very best lovers—you didn’t know?”

Alex could only stare.

“So the two of you are not lovers—what a shame. He is so very handsome. Hmmm. But you are friends—and you
don’t want him harmed. See—I have already discovered another one of your weaknesses, sister dear.”

“Leave Murad out of this.”

Zoe laughed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know what you are hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“You are an accomplished liar, are you not?”

“Get out.”

“Don’t you want to know what I am referring to?” Zoe said slyly.

Alex did—and she did not. “I think you had better leave.”

“Fine. But not without telling you that I know about
all
of your lies, Zohara.” She sauntered to the door.

Alex stared after her. Perspiring. “What are you talking about?”

“We both know you never married a diplomat named Thornton. Am I correct?”

Alex was stunned. “No, you are wrong.”

“And I suspect Murad has been running errands for you outside of the palace. Now, what errands could he possibly be performing? He is either receiving, or taking. It is either physical, as in some kind of object, or intangible. Perhaps in the form of a message. In any case, he is some kind of go-between.” Zoe smiled broadly. “How am I doing?”

Alex was frozen. “You’re mad. Crazy. Off your rocker.”

“What are you hiding? Who are you, really?” Zoe asked with malicious delight. “Uncovering the truth—all of it—is going to be so amusing.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Alex managed. “You have a very wild imagination.”

“I don’t think so.” Zoe laughed. “I am going to expose you for the liar you are, Zohara, dear.” She turned, gripping the brass door handle, then she eyed Alex. “And I do not think Jebal will be quite so fond of you then.” Zoe left.

Alex swallowed, beginning to shake. She found her way to the bed and sat down hard. She could hardly think. She was very frightened.

M
URAD HAD JUST
returned to the harem, and Alex could not believe her ears. “Commodore Morris has agreed to aid them?”

Murad nodded, unsmiling. “Word was passed on to Neilsen this morning.”

“How on earth did you ever find out?” Alex cried.

“Alex, don’t you know by now that for you I would move heaven and earth?”

Alex stared. She had asked Murad to learn all that he could about Blackwell’s plans. Murad had paid off several slaves in the bagnio to spy for them. While Alex was not at all pleased to be spying on Xavier, she had no choice. She did not trust him not to leave Tripoli without her.

“Neilsen and Blackwell had another meeting,” Murad said. “It was very brief. I still don’t know the details of the escape. But apparently it is scheduled for two weeks hence, Alex, which would put us in the first week of September.”

“I need to know the exact date. Otherwise I may very well be left behind,” Alex said tersely.

Murad regarded her. “And you would be very unhappy to be left behind, wouldn’t you, Alex?”

Alex nodded. Her pulse was racing. She was still furious with Blackwell for his treatment of her the other night, but she could not bear the thought of their being torn apart for all
eternity. She had traveled through time to find Blackwell, to become his lover, to save him from an execution consigned by fate. She imagined waking up one morning to the warm Libyan sun, only to discover that he was gone. She might remain in Tripoli forever, never seeing him again. A captive to the Barbary pirates, a Moslem prince’s wife.

“Maybe I should go see him again,” Alex mused aloud. “Maybe he will now bend toward me. Maybe, if I refuse to give up, I can convince him of my sincerity.” She trembled at the thought of seeing him again. Of course, this time she would not let him touch her. Allowing him to kiss her had been a major mistake. No matter how she tried, she could not forget what it had felt like being in his arms.

“Don’t even think of trying,” Murad warned. “He has made himself very clear, not once but a half dozen times. And your going to the bagnio now, on the eve of the escape, is stupid, Alex. You would jeopardize everything, for what? To make him change his mind? Or to assuage your lust?”

“That’s not fair,” Alex said, shocked.

Murad just stared.

Alex averted her eyes. Murad was right. Going to the bagnio now was stupid and selfish, and it could ruin their chances of escape, which were increasing each and every day. And dammit, he knew her so well. A part of the reason she wanted to visit Blackwell was merely to see him again; she was compelled.

It was incredibly painful, being so close to him, yet so very far away.

But she tried to lift her own spirits by reflecting that, in two weeks time, she and Blackwell might very well be out of Tripoli—beginning not just their journey together to freedom, but the rest of their lives—if she could allay his suspicions of her, if she could convince him that she was not a political spy.

A moment later she sobered. “So much can go wrong.”

Murad was fiddling with his sash. “If anyone can succeed, it is Blackwell—and you.”

“That’s a tremendous compliment.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Unfortunately, I have no faith in Morris. Do you have any idea what his role is in the escape?”

“No. Blackwell is being incredibly closemouthed. He
speaks only with Tubbs and the scribe.” Murad sat down on the foot of the bed. “Is he really the inept buffoon everyone claims him to be?”

“Yes,” Alex said, more worried now. “If only Decatur were covering our escape. He becomes a hero during Preble’s assault on Tripoli,” she explained. “Which, as I already told you, happens next summer.”

“I don’t like it when you talk about the future,” Murad said uneasily.

“I’m not a witch, Murad.”

“I know. But you have the vision. I can’t help being frightened by what you can see.”

“It’s not vision. I
am
from the future.” Alex stared at him. They had not discussed this subject since she had first revealed the truth to him.

“All right, Alex,” Murad said.

He was her best friend, but he did not believe her. And if he did not believe her, Blackwell never would. She said, “Morris brought his pregnant wife with him and the squadron. She is due any day. He has avoided Barbary all summer long. He left the blockade of Tripoli to the
Vixen
and the
Siren
while the rest of the squadron has pleasantly cruised the Mediterranean. And now, just when the Tripolitans are starting to feel the pinch, when even here in the palace flour and rice are in short supply, he lifts the blockade. He is truly a stupid man.”

“I would imagine that his role in the escape is to pick all of you up on the beach somewhere outside of Tripoli.”

“Yes, I think so too, and any fool can do that.” She gripped her hands. “Ohmygod. In two weeks I will be free, if all goes well, and with Blackwell.”