This Heart of Mine (53 page)

She rose from her table to face him, realizing as she did that he was no more than an inch taller than she. She could look directly into his dark eyes. “I am much better,” she answered, “and if you have the time I should like to speak with you on a serious matter.”

He held up his hand, and she fell silent. “Before you do let me ask you, is it true that the noblewomen of Europe ride horses?”

“Yes, my lord, it is.”

“Do you ride horses, my Rose?”

“Yes, my lord, I do. I can ride both sidesaddle, which is considered correct for ladies, and astride, which is thought of as somewhat hoydenish but is far more comfortable in my own estimation. Since my mother agrees with me, I usually ride astride. Why do you ask?”

“Would you like to ride with me later? I ride when the sun is low, just before the sunset.”

“Oh, yes, my lord! I should very much like to ride with you, but is such a thing permitted?”

“You will have to dress like a young Rajput prince to disguise yourself, my Rose, but it shall be arranged.”

“Thank you, my lord! I was so afraid I should not be able to have my freedom. The women of my land are used to roaming at will.”

“I understand that, my Rose, and so I will try to see that you do not feel confined, but you will still not be able to move about as easily here as in England. The reason, however, is because this is a far more savage land than your green island. You might be set upon by bandits or wild animals.” He smiled at her. “I will return for you in an hour,” he said, and then was gone from the chamber.

It wasn’t until he had left that she realized that she had not spoken to him about returning her to her own people when Pansy was once again able to travel. I shall do it when we ride, she thought.

Shortly after Akbar had departed from her presence there was a soft knock upon the door, which was quickly answered by Rohana. A eunuch placed in the maidservant’s hands a white bundle, which, unwrapped, turned out to be Velvet’s disguise. Delightedly she dressed herself in the white silk trousers and knee-length tunic. There were soft, red leather boots that amazingly fit her like a glove, and she wondered how that had been managed, but then had the sandals not also fit her perfectly?

Toramalli carefully pinned up Velvet’s long auburn curls, and Adali wound a small turban about her head, little puckers of worry and disapproval upon his face. He did not know whether to rejoice that she was to be alone with the emperor or to weep because should word of this adventure be made public his princess would surely be disgraced.

Confused, he could say nothing, and Velvet was too excited to even notice his distress. When she was finally ready he led her out onto her terrace and pointed to a narrow staircase in the corner that she hadn’t even noticed before.

“Our lord Akbar awaits you at the bottom, my princess,” Adali told her.

“I shall want to bathe when I return,” she told him. “I’ll stink of horses after a ride in this heat.” Then she bounded off down the staircase, leaving him to shudder with disapproval behind her.

Akbar was prompt and awaiting her as Adali had promised. He looked at her, his eyes admiring. “You make a most fetching prince, my Rose.”

“I did not stop to look at myself in a mirror.” She laughed into his face. “I was far too anxious to ride. I would have sold my soul a hundred times over during our trek from Bombay to have
had a mount beneath me. As it is I do not think my feet will ever be the same again, and I fear my dancing days are over once I return to England.”

From the shadows a groom appeared leading two horses, one a big-boned white stallion, the other a dainty golden mare. The stallion snorted and pranced and attempted to reach over to nip at the mare, who danced skillfully out of his reach, almost pulling the groom in two.

Akbar chuckled. “The age-old battle between male and female,” he noted. “He would take, but she is not yet ready to give, and he will not have her until she is.” He offered Velvet his cupped hands as a mounting block, and, putting her foot up, she vaulted easily into the saddle and gathered up the reins.

“Where do we ride, my lord?” she asked.

“Just outside the city along the Agra road,” he answered her, then mounted the stallion.

She saw that they were alone and was puzzled. “Do we ride without an escort, my lord?”

“There is no need for an escort, my Rose. You will be safe with me.”

Velvet was amazed. She had never known a king or great lord who dared to ride his lands without some sort of escort. She said nothing further, but followed him from the courtyard out through the city, her eyes wide at all that she saw, for the day before as the caravan had arrived in the city she had not been of a mind to really look about her. Now, however, she could not refrain from turning her head this way and that, each moment that passed bringing a wonderful new sight.

The thing that struck her as the strangest was that the city was so very quiet, unlike any city she had ever known. She realized this was because few people actually lived here anymore, and that was the most peculiar thing of all, for the city seemed to be in perfect condition. Still, she could see it was really a royal city with no place for the common people. Only Akbar and his court had inhabited it, and so when they had left it to move to Lahore, Fatehpur-Sikri had become truly deserted, having no merchants and beggars to remain and keep it alive. The city was like a sleeping princess waiting only for the return of her prince to bring her back to life. Akbar’s small entourage now visiting it simply wasn’t enough. Velvet found that rather sad.

The city was beautiful in a stark, yet highly decorative way. It was built entirely of native sandstone. The broad streets and squares were paved with wide square blocks of it. All the buildings were built of it, from the former seat of government, the Diwan-i-Khass, to the Great Mosque, to the various palaces, to the Panch
Mahal, an amusing structure of no particular use. Most of the pillars were carved, some with vines and leaves, some with flowers, others fluted, yet others with great whorls that entwined themselves seemingly without end around the columns. The buildings contained porches and domes, latticed windows and carved panels, all as perfect as the day their creators had finished them. The entire city was like that, and it gave Velvet an eerie feeling.

They rode through one of the city’s gates out onto the Agra road, and Velvet took this opportunity to broach the subject of her return with Akbar. “Knowing how I came here,” she began, “and knowing that the Portuguese kidnapped me, will you not arrange for my return to my own people, my lord?”

“I cannot, my Rose,” he said quietly. “To do so would be to insult the Portuguese, and I will not do that.”

“Then send me back overland by caravan. The Portuguese need never know.”

He shook his head. “It is much too dangerous. You would likely end up in some slave market, or worse, in some Mongol hetman’s yurt. No, my Rose, the fates decreed that your path bring you to me. I will take care of you. Besides, what is there for you to return to now that your husband is dead?”

“I have my family …” she began.

“Your family,” he interrupted, “would arrange another marriage for you and send you from them. Your fate would be the same as what has actually transpired. You will be safe and cared for with me, my Rose.”

“I want to go home,” she said, her voice wavering.

“This land is now your home,” he replied. “Do you know how to hunt?” he asked, changing the subject. “Would you like to go on a tiger hunt with me?”

The matter, she realized, was closed. For a moment she stared ahead in shock as she comprehended her situation. He had no intention of allowing her to go. There was no way in which she might flee. They were hundreds of miles from the coast, and even if she could surmount that hurdle, the O’Malley fleet would not be there waiting for her. How would she get home?
There was no way.
Suddenly angry and frustrated by a fate not of her own making, Velvet kicked her mare into a headlong gallop, careening blindly down the road in a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming reality of the situation.

Akbar galloped after her. He was not afraid of her escaping him—he actually understood her anguish—but the road was no longer the best, and he was worried that the mare might stumble and throw her.

She saw nothing through her tears. It was over. Her life was
finished and over. Alex was dead. Never again would she see her beloved parents. Murrough, Ewan, Robin, Willow, Padraic, and Deirdre were all lost to her! Like a child suddenly finding herself alone in an empty and strange room, Velvet could see nothing familiar in her future and despaired bitterly. Her sobs shook her entire body, and when the mare did stumble she was totally unprepared for it, tumbling headlong from her saddle.

By some miracle she was not hurt. Indeed she lurched to her feet and continued her flight, running down the Agra road, totally unaware of where she was and what she was doing.

Akbar raced after her. As he passed the mare his Mongol soul was relieved to note that she was not injured. He galloped on and, controlling his stallion with his strong legs, reached out to catch Velvet up into his arms. Suddenly conscious of him she struggled wildly, flailing at him with her fists, hitting out blindly in an effort to exorcise her pain. He cradled her body against his, her head held firmly against his broad chest.

“Shh, my Rose,” he soothed her over and over again. “Shh, shh. It will be all right. It will be all right, I promise you.”

Velvet began to cry in earnest now, weeping huge, salty tears that streamed down her face making dirty ribbons through the dust on her cheeks. She sobbed and sobbed until he thought his heart would break for her, so piteous was the sound of her keening. He had never heard such grief. It was total and lonely beyond all, and, slowing his horse to a walk, he let her wear herself out crying. He continued to walk his stallion until she finally quieted, and only then did he turn the animal back toward Fatehpur-Sikri.

Velvet realized suddenly where she was; that she had not only dirtied his silk tunic but wet it clear through. Beneath her ear his heartbeat thumped with steady monotony, and the manly smell of him filled her nostrils with the warm fragrance of sandalwood. She was very aware of him in all his maleness, and her own thoughts startled her greatly.

“Is the mare all right?” she ventured softly, embarrassed and almost wishing the earth would open and swallow her whole.

“The mare is fine and awaits us just up ahead. You will, of course, want to ride her back to the city.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do you feel better now?’ ” he asked.

“The shock is over,” she answered thoughtfully, “but I shall never stop wanting to return to England.”

“What is there for you now, my Rose?” he asked again.

“I have my memories,” she said quietly. “Would you take them from me?”

“Look at me,” he commanded fiercely, and, startled, she
obeyed him, her emerald eyes gazing up into his face. “I will make you new memories, my Rose,” he said. “I cannot take your old memories from you, nor would I want to, but I can make you new memories, and I intend to, my beautiful English Rose.”

Velvet felt her pulse leap. He could not have made his intentions any clearer. “I cannot be your concubine,” she said. “I simply cannot.”

“I have not suggested such a thing,” he returned. “Though I know that is why the Portuguese governor sent you to me. For some reason he wished to debase you, and, given your background, gifting me with you as a concubine would do just that, I understood that once I learned your history. In my un-Christian and evil barbarian lust I was supposed to fall on you not even suspecting his motives. I have learned a great deal about the Portuguese. They, fortunately, have not learned a great deal about me, possibly because they have not even bothered to try. They have two interests here in India: to convert as many of my people to their religion as they can, and to remove my country’s riches to their land. For both I am expected to be grateful.” He chuckled. “I only wish I might be a fly on the wall when Don Cesar Affonso Marinha-Grande receives my message informing that I was so delighted with his gift that I immediately did him honor by marrying her. He is quite apt to have an apoplectic fit.”

“You have not married me,” Velvet said.

“But I have,” came Akbar’s startling answer.

“What?”
her voice squeaked. “How could you have married me when I knew nothing about it?”

“I was born to the faith of Islam, my Rose, and although I long ago realized that no one faith is the only true faith, I do marry my wives, and you are the fortieth, in either Islam’s faith or that of the Hindus. I felt that since Islam is closest to Christianity you would prefer it. In the Muslim faith it is neither necessary to have the bride’s consent nor to have the bride at the wedding. Only the consent of a woman’s guardian is needed, and in this case it is me. We were wed this morning.”

She was stunned, and, remembering the comedy of her four weddings to Alex, she almost laughed. She had refused to acknowledge that they were married until they had been wed in a church; and now here she was once again being told that she was a married woman. But this time she knew there would be no Catholic ceremony. “If you have wed other women in their own faith, why can you not wed me, if you must wed me, in
my
own faith, my lord? There are Jesuits here, I have been told.” God’s bones, I am so calm, she thought.

“This is India, my Rose, and I am considered a Moslem ruler.

I have already outraged half my subjects by marrying my Rajput wives in their Hindu faith. If I wed a woman in a Christian ceremony I could easily start a civil war. I have fought hard to unite this land, and not even you are worth its dissolution. Besides, such a Christian union would be considered my only legal marriage by your Christian Jesuits, and I would have trouble from that quarter as well.”

Why did I even suggest it, she thought. His answer was the only one he could give in such a situation. Was she losing her wits in all this heat?