The lady of a sultan, p.4
The Lady of a Sultan, page 4
“I am,” she replied as she nodded.
“Her?” he asked, pointing to Parma.
“My lady’s maid.”
He scratched his forehead. “Where is the gold?”
Inhaling deeply, Charlotte said, “There is no gold, sir. At least, none that I know of. I was told not to travel with valuables.” She held up her tied hands and spread her fingers. “No jewels, either.”
Scrubbing his stubbled face with his hand, he rolled his eyes. “Have to sell you then.”
Charlotte blinked. “Sell me?”
He crossed his arms and started to lean against the door jamb, but when the wood gave way, he nearly stumbled backwards. A string of curses in what Charlotte realized was Arabic filled the cabin for a moment.
“Are you a Barbary pirate?” Charlotte asked, pretending awe. It wasn’t hard. At the mention she would be have to be sold, an intense fear had gripped her stomach, one she hadn’t felt since the morning she had learned Joshua had nearly burned to death.
The pirate narrowed his eyes. “If I am?”
Charlotte’s eyes rounded with feigned delight. “I was warned about Barbary pirates,” she claimed. “Oh, how exciting! How do I address you?”
Staring at her in disbelief, the pirate scoffed. “I am called Aukmed.”
“Do you often capture ships?”
“Often enough,” he replied. Then he straightened. “What have you heard?”
Realizing she would have to come up with a story, Charlotte shrugged. “All my friends in England. When they heard I was going to Greece on holiday, every one of them said my ship would be invaded by pirates. And here I thought they were exaggerating,” she claimed. “What will you do with the ship?”
He lifted his chin, apparently confused by her response. “Haven’t decided. Might sell it. Might scuttle it.”
“Oh, sir, but that would be a shame,” Charlotte said. “It’s quite new. It was built on the island of Syros only last year.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Was it now?” Aukmed asked, once again scrubbing his dark-bearded face with a hand. “And how might you know this?”
Charlotte lifted a shoulder. “I asked the captain, of course. I didn’t wish to get on board until I knew it was seaworthy. I’ve never been on a merchant vessel before.” Truth be told, before this attempt at a holiday, she hadn’t been on any sea-faring ship in her entire life.
Frowning, the pirate narrowed his eyes. “You are educated?”
Straightening, Charlotte said, “I am a graduate of Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School in London. I can read, write, speak French, dance, paint, draw, play the piano forté, plan a ball and...” She glanced up at the ceiling again. “Do arithmetic.”
The swarthy man narrowed his eyes. “So you’re worth a good deal of gold to someone,” he murmured.
“Uh... possibly,” Charlotte hedged, resisting the urge to swallow. She didn’t want him paying witness to her panic.
He chuckled. “Well, I guess we’re about to find out,” he said in his heavily-accented English. He pointed down at the trunks. “Are those all your clothes?” He made a cursory glance of the entire cabin, as if he expected to find more traveling trunks or valises despite the tight quarters.
She nodded. “I would have brought more, but I was told not to.”
Growling, he murmured something in his native language, gave some instructions to the first man, and took his leave. Charlotte heard him climb the gangway ladder, his voice adding to a chorus of shouts that had started when the ship seemed to collide with something. The first pirate tossed the clothes from the floor back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. Then he hefted it onto a shoulder and left. A moment later, another pirate entered and took the second trunk from the floor before he, too, disappeared through the broken doorway.
“Oh, my lady, what’s to become of us?” Parma whispered.
Charlotte huffed a sigh. “I’ve no idea, but if we are to be sold...” She clamped her mouth shut at the reappearance of Aukmed. She realized he was the one in charge. The others seemed to follow his orders.
“Time to go,” he said, waving a hand.
Parma waited to stand up until Charlotte had done so. The two made their way out of the cabin, the pirate following behind. At the base of the gangway stairs, Charlotte stopped. In order to climb them, she had to gather her skirts into her hands, but with her hands tied together at the wrists, she had a hard time gripping the rail given all the fabric of her bell skirt. With a huff, she dropped her skirts, held out her wrists and said, “Untie me, sir.”
Giving her a quelling glance, Aukmed merely bent down and lifted her over one shoulder. Charlotte let out an “oomph” when she ended up hanging over his shoulder, some of her hair coming loose from its pins.
“Let me down,” she demanded as the pirate climbed the thin stairs.
“Quit wiggling, or I’ll drop you,” he warned.
Charlotte immediately stilled, and although her face was already red from her being held upside down, she felt it heat even more when they emerged onto the deck to a round of hoots and hollers.
“Hadi!” he shouted.
The other pirates immediately quieted, turning back to whatever they’d been doing to secure the ship to a dock. From her position, Charlotte could see Parma had made it up the gangway without assistance, and she was following close behind. The sound of wood falling onto wood turned out to be the ramp lowering to the dock, and the next thing Charlotte knew, she was standing rather unsteadily next to a cart, a lock of hair hanging in front of her eyes. Parma rushed up to her. “Are you all—?’”
“I’m fine,” Charlotte replied, not wanting Parma to use her honorific. If the pirates didn’t know she was a duchess, things might go better for them.
Her gaze went to the ship. Captain Popodopolos and his crew weren’t visible from her vantage, and she winced at the thought that they might have been killed by the pirates and tossed overboard.
The men charged with the trunks were next over the ramp, and the two wooden boxes landed with a thud in the back of the cart.
That’s when she noticed the driver.
He couldn’t have been more than twelve, his head adorned with a dark red fez. The rest of him was covered with light-colored clothes that appeared to be appropriate for sleeping.
Aukmed pointed up a curved dirt road that led to a huge stone building. “Start walking,” he said, pointing in the direction of what could have been a castle if it had any crenelations. He turned and seemed to shout more instructions to his crew before he hopped onto the cart next to the boy. The two that had carried their trunks sat on the back of the cart, their legs dangling over the edge.
“Where are we?” Charlotte asked, her gaze sweeping over the turquoise water and then the land as she began to make her way up the road. She winced at the thought of her slippers being ruined. The least they could have done was allow her to put on a pair of half-boots for the journey.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Aukmed replied, the cart moving ahead of her and Parma.
Charlotte glanced behind her, thinking perhaps she and Parma could get away by running toward the dock and making an appeal to another crew. But the Greek ship was the only vessel anchored to the dock. Other smaller fishing boats were pulled up to the rocky coast, but they had been abandoned, their owners having taken their catches with them earlier that day.
To the north, Charlotte could barely make out the whitewashed square buildings of a village where the land jutted into the water. To the south, the rocky beach continued without interruption. There were no buildings, no other villages or towns nearby.
After they had been climbing for about five minutes, Charlotte turned to stare down at the dock, realizing it only existed to serve the huge building before them. Appearing nearly gold in the late afternoon sun, it featured unusual but decorative architecture. A number of openings were visible along the tall walls—balconies, she supposed—and a horizontal band halfway up the wall suggested an exterior corridor wrapped around the building.
She struggled to catch her breath and attempted to push the lock of hair to one side so it wouldn’t impede her vision. At the sound of a shout, she turned around to discover one of the pirates on the back of the cart was about to come for her, so she quickened her steps to catch up to Parma.
“I fear for you,” Parma said, her own gaze locked on the sandstone building.
Charlotte put on a brave face. “But not for yourself?”
“I have always been a servant,” Parma said.
Giving a start, Charlotte realized what her lady’s maid meant. If they were to be sold, Charlotte would probably end up working in service. Doing what, she had no idea.
In this place, whatever it was.
She had a passing thought of what might happen should anyone pay witness to the scar on her back. The horse whip her father had employed in a fit of anger would make it appear as if she had been a slave to someone. Only a few of her dinner gowns were cut low enough in the back to expose the wound, the track of stitches Dr. Regan had used to close it barely faded after twenty-five years. Otherwise, it was always hidden under her clothes.
As bad as Joshua’s burn scars had been, she had always believed her whip scar far worse. She had earned it, she supposed, for having gone against her father’s wishes. For not having married the man he had chosen for her. Her friend Hannah was married to that man, the epitome of a fairy princess a far better fit for the Earl of Gisborn than Charlotte ever would have been.
Charlotte had always been destined to marry Joshua Wainwright. Despite his horrendous scars, she had been happy to be his wife. His duchess.
She fought back the urge to weep. To shed more tears at having lost the love of her life.
With the sun beginning to set in the west, the golden sandstone structure fairly glowed. Glints of color reflected off the windows, which she could now see were stained glass. From the way the windows were stacked at regular intervals, she surmised the building was three stories tall.
If anyone occupied one of the balconies, they were hidden from her vantage.
At least until a figure appeared in the middle of one of them.
Charlotte gave a start. A man stood staring down at them from a balcony on the third story.
Wondering who watched her with such an intense gaze—she couldn’t make out the details of his facial features, but she knew he was staring back at her—Charlotte slowed to a halt. She would have continued the staring match, but one of the pirates gave a shout that sounded like a curse. The cart was about to go around the corner of the building.
“Coming!” she called out, hurrying to catch up. When she rounded the corner, she gasped, as did Parma.
From this vantage, it was evident they were about to enter a palace. A magnificent foreign palace.
Lush gardens lined the paved path leading to a pair of doors made of metal latticework. Colorful tiles outlined the archway and the windows that flanked the doors. Two guards armed with swords stood with their weapons drawn, their stances indicating these visitors were not welcome.
A verbal exchange commenced as the donkey that had been pulling the cart began to bray in complaint. Some sort of agreement was met, and Charlotte’s arm was grabbed by one of the men while Parma was taken by the other.
“Ouch!” Charlotte complained, attempting to free herself from the annoying pirate. When he lifted a hand as if he intended to hit her, she dipped her head and did her best to keep up with his larger steps.
They climbed a set of marble stairs and passed through the massive doors. In the atrium, which seemed to be as high as the building, sconces were lit along the tile-decorated walls, and a continuous row of colorful large cushions lined the facing walls.
Another guard met them and led them down a wide corridor. If not for the lit sconces, Charlotte was sure it would have been too dark to see. They walked for what seemed the length of two streets in London before they paused in front of another pair of doors guarded by men wearing fez hats and strange clothes. Their swords were still sheathed in curved scabbards.
The babble of foreign tongues had Charlotte frowning. She couldn’t begin to make out what was being said, but she soon noticed Parma was staring at her with wide eyes.
“What?” she mouthed, sure her escort wanted her to remain quiet.
“We’re in the Ottoman Empire,” Parma whispered.
Charlotte swallowed as she attempted to remember the map of the Mediterranean Sea the captain had shown her. The Ottoman Empire bordered the sea in several places, but she had no idea where the ship had docked with respect to the mainland of Greece.
Her reverie was interrupted when the doors were opened by the guards and she and Parma were shoved into one of the most opulent rooms Charlotte had ever seen.
She blinked. She attempted to study the gilt and mosaic ceiling above and the Turkish carpeting below, the colored glass windows on one side and the frescoed wall opposite. Attempted, because she was shoved forward and then forced to kneel, her petticoats barely providing a soft landing for her knees. The loose lock of hair once again fell over one eye, leaving her unable to see anything to her right.
Anger flashed through her, and she was about to scold the pirate who had pushed her down when her gaze was caught by another.
The man who had been staring at her from the balcony.
Charlotte blinked again. She dared a glance to the left, thinking she would see a doorway to a balcony, but there was no opening in the wall.
She knew from Parma’s slight whimper that her maid was to her right, and she said a quiet “shush” in an attempt to calm her. All the while, she kept her fiery gaze on the silver-eyed man.
He was dressed in finery far more expensive than anything Prinny had worn in court. His hands bore several rings made of gold and silver, each one sporting large gemstones. A turban made of fabric suitable for a ballgown was wrapped around his head. Despite his long beard, it was easy to see that his otherwise perfectly sculpted face was marred on one cheek. Given Charlotte’s experience with her late husband, she was careful not to stare.
Seated in a throne made of shimmering gold mounted atop a dais that spanned the width of the room, it was apparent he was a ruler, at least in this room. When he suddenly stood, he began shouting in a voice filled with anger and rebuke.
About to state her case, Charlotte realized she probably wouldn’t be understood. He was speaking in a language that was sometimes guttural and sometimes singsong. Aukmed obviously understood, for he answered, his tone more reasonable.
The two continued to trade responses—Charlotte had expected a negotiation but didn’t have the sense they were coming to any sort of agreement—until suddenly the man in charge shouted and raised a fist.
The entire room fell silent. She held her breath in anticipation of what was about to happen next. Continued to hold it when the man stepped down from his dais and stopped directly in front of her.
Charlotte lowered her eyes, unable to keep up the staring match.
He said something in his language and she glanced back up, giving her head a shake. “Apologies, sir, but I do not understand,” she said in a clipped tone. It was at that moment she could make out the details of the scars on one of his cheeks, just above the line of his long beard. They appeared to have been made by a blade, the three slashes deep. None of the cuts reached his dark-lined eyes, however.
Aukmed apparently stepped forward with the intent of hitting or kicking her, for the next thing Charlotte knew, the man in charge had a sword drawn and was holding it to the pirate’s neck.
Awestruck, Charlotte remembered to close her mouth, but her eyes remained wide as Aukmed slowly retreated. A scuffle behind her followed by a muffled curse had her wondering what was happening, but she dared not move. After a moment, she knew the three Barbary pirates were no longer in the throne room.
The sultan moved to stand before her and she watched in horror as he lowered the sword between the front of her body and her tied hands. A flick of his wrist, and a second later, the rope fell away from her wrists.
“I am Sultan Ziyaeddin the First,” the man stated. “You are now in my possession.”
Charlotte inhaled sharply.
Possession?
Although she was relieved to be free of the pirates, she now wondered if she was any better off than she was before.
Despite all her years as a member of the British aristocracy, she had no idea how to address a sultan. “Your Highness,” she finally replied, lowering her head in a bow. Had she been standing, she would have curtsied.
Her response obviously pleased the sultan, for a grin lightened his face and made him appear at least a decade younger.
“Highness,” he repeated softly before he chuckled. He used the sword to slice through Parma’s bindings, and she dipped her head in thanks.
“Is there a more appropriate honorific, Sultan Ziyaeddin?” Charlotte asked meekly, thinking ‘Your Eminence’ wasn’t royal enough. It was then she remembered hearing his name. Seeing it in print. She couldn’t give it more consideration at that moment, though, for he was regarding her with the most curious expression.
Ziyaeddin shook his head before he lifted a hand and waved a finger. “Highness is good,” he responded, his smirk reappearing. In his own language, he called out instructions. Within a few moments, two women appeared next to Charlotte and Parma to help them to stand and take them from the throne room, both bowing several times as they backed out of the chamber.
Charlotte’s gaze caught the sultan’s just once before the doors closed. She had hoped to determine his intent, but the humor he had shown only the moment before had been replaced with an impassive expression.
The memory of his gaze stayed with her for the entire time she and Parma were escorted down another long corridor and into a stone-walled chamber dimly lit with several oil lamps. A small dressing table and taller cushion were pushed up against one wall, and two long cushions looked as if they were intended to be used as beds. Brightly woven blankets were stacked at the end of one of them, and Parma inhaled softly as she unfurled one of them. That was when Charlotte noticed the patterned Turkish carpet that covered the floor.
