Captive (46 page)

The soldiers pounded into the bedroom. And then Jovar stood on the threshold of the bathing room. He ignored Alex and Murad—he had eyes only for Blackwell. A wolflike grin spread across his thin face.

In that instant. Alex knew. History was being faithful to itself. They had been discovered. There would be no escape. And Blackwell would die.

“Arrest him,” Jovar snapped.

Five Turks swarmed all over Blackwell, who did not move. His gaze locked with Alex’s as his wrists were jerked behind his back, manacles slapped on and locked.

“Not” Automatically Alex started toward him, her arms outstretched.

Murad rushed to her, jerked her hard backward, against his side. She had thought that she had already experienced the most crushing anguish possible, but she had not. “No!” Alex cried.

Blackwell glanced at her, their eyes locking. “Don’t worry about me, Alexandra,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

“I love you,” Alex heard herself cry in a raw, soblike whisper.

“Take him away,” Jovar said.

T
HEY HAD TAKEN
him away. What if she never saw him again?

Alex hardly had time to assimilate this horrible thought The soldiers had left, with Blackwell in chains, Jovar following, and now Jebal stormed into the room. Zoe was on his heels.

Discovery.
That single-word refrain drummed in Alex’s numbed brain. She stood unmoving, facing her husband, who approached her rapidly, his countenance set in lines of fury. Before Alex knew what was happening, he had struck her across the face, so hard that her head snapped backward and she stumbled, almost falling. Tears of pain stung her eyes. His blow had been vicious and cruel.

“Come here,” Jebal shouted.

Alex cringed. Murad stood behind Jebal, as frightened as she, as agonized.

“Come here, whore!” he shouted again.

Alex slowly approached. Jebal’s hand cracked across her face again, and this time Alex landed on her buttocks and back on the hard floor. The air was knocked out of her lungs. For one instant she lay unmoving and afraid. It was the third time she had been struck by him that evening.

“Please, my lord, have mercy on her, she has done nothing wrong,” Murad cried, kneeling beside Alex and reaching for her.

Alex knew she had to think and she forced herself to sit upright, the left side of her face throbbing badly. “Murad, leave me and my husband,” she gasped. She did not want Murad to suffer her fate. She wanted to remove him from the scene.

His eyes were agonized. She read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud:
I cannot.

“Murad.” She spoke more firmly, her chest heaving, her lungs still seeking air. “Leave us, now.”

Murad turned reluctantly. Jebal did not even look at him as he left. His gold-flecked eyes were focused solely on Alex, and they continued to burn.

Alex knew that her life was at stake. “There has been a mistake,” she said.

“You have betrayed me,” Jebal spat.

“I have not betrayed you,” Alex lied, and she knew she did not blush. The desire to live gave her words the ringing tone of utter conviction, of absolute truth. “When I saw Blackwell in the
bedestan
he was near death. Yes, I knew it was he. I was sickened, Jebal, sickened, by the cruelty of your countrymen!”

“Do not dare cast aspersions on me or mine.”

“I saved his life,” Alex almost shouted. She wiped her running nose with her hand and realized that it was bleeding. “You hit me, curse me, for saving a man’s life?”

“He is your lover,” Jebal cried. His entire body shook. Alex did not know how she could not have recognized long ago that he could be, if provoked, every bit as cruel as the bashaw. “Together the two of you have been spying on me and my family!”

“No!” Alex shook her head. “We are not spies. And he is not my lover,” she said firmly. “I saved his life, nothing more.”

Zoe stepped forward. “She is lying, Jebal. Even Jovar thinks she is a spy. And Jovar says Blackwell rendezvoused with a bedouin in the bagnio last year—a lover. I myself have seen her in bedouin robes but stupidly believed her excuses. Bring her before Farouk and your father. They are intelligent men. They will be able to determine the truth.
All
of the truth.”

“I am not a spy,” Alex repeated, growing frantic. She did
not want to be interrogated by the bashaw, Jovar, and Farouk. Those men would break her, destroy her—she was certain of it. “I am not Blackwell’s lover.”

“There is one thing I like about my wife—her utter loyalty,” Jebal said harshly, and they all knew he referred to Zoe. “She is also clever—as you are, Zohara.” Jebal began to shake. “I seem to recall that last year, the night the
Pearl
was destroyed by Blackwell, there was a bedouin involved, a bedouin who disappeared and could not be found.”

Alex felt faint. “I know nothing of that,” she whispered.

“Bedouin robes are a wonderful disguise,” Zoe remarked.

Jebal’s face was grim. “Have you worn bedouin robes, Zohara?”

Alex managed to shake her head.

“Are you a spy? Did you aid Blackwell in destroying the
Pearl?.
Did you go to him in the bagnio? Have the two of you been cuckolding me beneath my very own roof?” Jebal shouted.

Alex shook her head wildly. “No,” she whispered.
“No.”

“I believe an early morning meeting can be arranged. My father is not the gentle man that I am.” His tone had become deceptively, dangerously, soft.

Alex was terrified. “I am a time traveler,” she said faintly.

But Jebal did not hear her, because Zoe was speaking. “Her slave surely knows everything. They are very close. Torture him, Jebal, now, and by sunrise you will have all the proof you need.” She turned her wildly glittering eyes upon Alex. Alex now understood the real meaning of the term “bloodlust.”

“No!” Alex fought for calm. It was good that Jebal hadn’t understood her, because he would never believe that she was from the twentieth century, and that only explained some of her actions—it did not remove suspicion from her and Blackwell. “All men will tell their torturers whatever it is they want to hear to stop the torture, Jebal; surely you know that.”

Jebal stared, his eyes glittering as brilliantly as Zoe’s.

Alex hugged herself but could not stop trembling. “Please don’t hurt Murad. If anyone is innocent of wrongdoing, it is he.”

“So now you admit your guilt?” Jebal advanced a pace toward her.

Alex cried, “No!” Then, wetting her lips, she said in a rush, “If you hurt Murad, I will never forgive you.”

He spat, “Do you think I care?”

Alex hesitated. “Zoe is wrong. I did not betray you. I am your wife. We have an entire lifetime together. Unless you allow Zoe’s lies and my rescuing a dying man to interfere.”

Jebal glanced at Zoe.

“And what if I am pregnant?” Alex asked desperately.

Jebal jerked.

“You have no legitimate sons. What if I carry your eldest, your heir?”

“Jebal,” Zoe protested.

“Quiet,” Jebal roared. He confronted Alex, gripping her arm. Alex winced. “I no longer trust you, Zohara. I must think. In the meantime, you shall remain here, locked up, a prisoner.”

“A prisoner?” Alex cried.

“Yes. This chamber is now your prison, until I decide otherwise.”

Alex could not move.

Zoe smiled widely and preceded Jebal out.

“Wait!” Alex cried, running forward. She could not stop herself from asking the question that, undoubtedly, would seal her fate. “What will happen to Blackwell?”

Jebal’s eyes widened, and then his expression became savage. “Why, he will die, of course. Spies are beheaded, Zohara—as are all Christian men who dare to lie with Moslem women like yourself.”

History hadn’t lied.

Alex sat with her face in her hands. Blackwell was going to die. She herself would most likely meet the very same fate. But if he died, she did not think she cared to live.

She hugged her knees. She wondered where he was incarcerated. Was he thinking about her? Did he finally realize that he loved her? Did he have regrets? God, it wasn’t fair! They had only just found one another—and now they would both die.

Alex wiped her eyes. Crying wasn’t going to help. But the anguish in her heart and soul was impossible to ignore. She
could not ever remember feeling such intense, deep pain or such cold, bloodcurdling fear.

When did they intend to kill him? She prayed it wasn’t that morning.

If only she could get word to Murad. But he had to be imprisoned, too. Alex had lived long enough within the Moslem world to know that loyal slaves suffered the same fates as their masters. Alex did not think that she was allowed any visitors.

Alex became aware of voices outside of her door. She stiffened, because one was female—and it sounded as if it belonged to Zoe.

Alex stood. She had no wish to see Zoe—unless it was to rip every single strand of hair from her head. Her door opened.

Alex grimaced as Zoe appeared. “Get lost,” she growled, clenching her fists.

Zoe laughed. “I have won, dear Zohara; your fate is death.”

Alex froze. It was a moment before she could speak. “Jebal has ordered my execution?”

Zoe laughed again. “Not yet. But he will. And if he doesn’t, his father will, I am sure of it.” Her gaze turned sly. “Of course, now they will wait to see if you are pregnant. They will wait, and if you are carrying his child, they will allow you to live long enough to bear it into this world.”

Alex was so horrified that she could not speak.

“Of course, we both know it is far more likely that the child belongs to Blackwell.”

Alex was stunned. It was difficult to force her thoughts away from the gruesome scenario of delivering a baby and then being abruptly murdered. She began to breathe again. It was exceedingly unlikely that she was pregnant. The odds were highly against it. She could not worry about that now. She must only use the slim possibility to stay alive. “No.”

Zoe smiled broadly. “You can deny it if you wish. Jovar
knows
about your rendezvous in the bagnio last year. He has spies everywhere.”

Alex could not believe her ears. “If he knows, then why hasn’t he said something?”

“Because Jebal would never forgive him for having such information and not revealing it. Because Jebal would become his enemy forever—and one day Jebal will be the bashaw.”

Alex managed to breathe. Her secret might still be safe—for a while.

“Did you really think Jebal would believe that absurd story about your being from the future?”

Alex tensed. How much did Zoe herself know? How much did she herself believe? She faced Zoe. Staring.

“I have everything. That strange document—the little blue book—the passport.” Zoe smiled. “Your
birth
date.” Her eyes gleamed. “I had everything translated.”

Alex thought frantically. If she could convince Jebal that she was from the future, he would no longer think her a spy, even though she had been spying—and she would be halfway home.
If
she could convince him of the truth. But Zoe possessed the evidence.

Zoe smiled. “I didn’t believe it, at first. But you are too smart to make up such a stupid lie, to forge such a document.”

Alex did not reply. It flashed through her mind then that they could all escape to the future together if she could regain the lamp,
if it
could work that way: she, Blackwell, and Murad. But could it even transport her back to the present, much less herself and the two men? And how could she get Zoe to return the lamp?

It was as if Zoe read her mind. “I also have that strange blue oil lamp. You know, the one which causes you to act so oddly at times.” Zoe regarded her closely.

“It was a gift. It has special meaning to me.”

“You are the worst liar! That lamp is vitally important to you, but I cannot figure out why. Maybe it contains some sort of secret message. Plans of war, perhaps?”

“I am not a spy.”

“Save it for Jebal.” Zoe turned, then paused at the door. “I am going to destroy everything. Just in case you think to escape the present somehow. And Jebal will never learn who you really are, where you’re really from.” Zoe smiled. “An adulteress and a spy. You really aren’t very clever after all, sister dear.”

Alex watched her leave.

Jebal was in disbelief. “What do you mean?” he demanded of the captain of his regiment of janissaries.

The bowlegged Turk bowed his head, shifting uneasily. “We cannot locate the slave.”

“You cannot find Murad!” Jebal’s face turned red. “This is unforgivable, Kamel. I demand that you locate—and arrest—the eunuch now. He has to be somewhere inside of this palace. There is no way he could get out—I ordered the gates closed the moment I left my second wife’s rooms.”

Beneath his swarthy skin, the Turk was pale. “If he remains inside the palace, my lord, we shall find him, I swear to Allah the Great.”

Jebal seethed. “If you do not find him by noon, you will hang by your feet.”

The Turk turned white.

“Get out!” Jebal shouted.

The captain fled.

“Drink this,” Neilsen said.

Murad took the cup of water, his hand shaking. He gulped it down. He sat on Neilsen’s European-style sofa, drenched with sweat. Upon exiting the tunnel he had encountered a group of soldiers, and he had run for his life. He had been born and raised in Tripoli, inside of the palace, and he knew what Jebal intended for him without being told: imprisonment and death.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Allah save her, bless her, protect her, for there is no real other hope.”

Neilsen stared at his bowed head. “You are right. Mrs. Thornton is doomed. Suspicion of adultery is far worse than suspicion of treason to the male Moslem mind. Jebal will never forgive this, or forget. I imagine he will drown her in a matter of days.”

Murad rose abruptly. “We must try to save her!”

“And how the hell shall we do that?” Neilsen cried. “She is locked up under guard inside of the palace. We cannot rescue her, Murad. It is impossible.”