“Why, Robbie,” smiled Skye, “how observant you are, and how very, very generous.” She bent and kissed his ruddy cheek. “My thanks.”
“You’ll eat with us,” said Khalid. It was not a question. Skye left to inform the cook.
The seaman settled himself on a comfortable divan. “I need not ask, Khalid, for I see the married life suits you well.”
“Very well, Robbie. Do you think fatherhood will suit me also?”
“She isn’t!” A look of sheer delight crossed the Englishman’s face as the bey nodded. “She is! By God, Khalid, you dog! My next trip back I’ll have a fine gift for your son!”
“Or my daughter.”
“Nay, man, a brace of lads first, then a lass to spoil is always best. Do it that way.”
Khalid laughed heartily. “The deed is already done, my friend. We must take what Allah offers, and be grateful.”
The dinner arrived quickly, and Robert Small lowered himself to the table amid the pillows. Skye sat at one end directing the servants. There was a whole leg of baby lamb rubbed with garlic and stuck with sprigs of rosemary set upon a nest of greens and surrounded by tiny roasted white onions. A white bowl held small green artichokes in olive oil and red wine vinegar. Another bowl was filled with fluffy white rice mixed with sesame seeds, sliced black olives, green peppers, and sauteed onions. There were flat dishes of boiled eggs, purple and brown olives, strips of red pimiento, and tender green scallions. A basket of round, flat loaves of warm bread and a silver dish of sweet butter completed the main course of this simple family meal. Discreetly attentive slaves kept the three crystal goblets filled with subtly spiced fresh pomegranate juice.
The main course finished, the slaves removed the plates and brought in silver bowls of warm, scented water and tiny linen towels. Desert consisted of a huge platter of fresh fruits, golden brown dates, round Seville oranges, great black figs, bunches of purple and green grapes, sweet red cherries, and both green and golden pears. A filigreed basket was passed, containing tiny pastry horns filled with a mixture of chopped almonds and honey. Skye brewed the dark rich Turkish coffee.
Afterward, hot steaming towels were offered to cleanse sticky fingers, and water pipes were brought to the gentlemen. Two pretty young girls played and sang softly in the background while the men smoked and talked. Skye noticed that Khalid seemed sleepier than usual, and she teased him. “It is I who should be tired now. my lord, not you.”
Stifling a yawn, he chuckled. “Impending fatherhood is exhaust- ing, my love. I cannot keep my eyes open. I am going to retire now before I fall asleep here. Robbie, stay. Skye has many questions to ask you, I know, and I have not given her a chance.” He rose. Skye rose and stood within the curve of his arm.
“You do not mind if I remain for a bit?”
“No, my Skye. Fill your lovely head with all the things you need to know.” He kissed her tenderly. “Allah, how fair you are! The white silk caftan and gold embroidery sets off Robbie’s emeralds very well. The blue flame in their centers does indeed match your beautiful eyes.” He kissed her again. “Don’t wake me when you come to bed, my love. I’ll sleep through the night.”
She kissed him back. “Sleep well, my darling. I love you!”
He smiled happily at her, touching her cheek in a tender and familiar gesture. Bidding Robert Small a good night, Khalid left the room.
“You’ve been good for him,” remarked the Englishman.
“He is good for me,” she answered.
“You’ve had no return of memory, lass? Not even a glimpse?*’
“No, Robbie, nothing. Sometimes a sound or sight has a familiar ring to it, but it is never anything I can put my finger on. And now I don’t really care. I am happy as Khalid el Bey’s wife. I love him dearly.”
They sat talking for some time. At the back of the garden the little wicket gate creaked open to admit a dark, hooded figure. Slowly, carefully, Yasmin made her way across the garden, keeping well into the shadows. She saw two figures talking in the salon. One was garbed in white. It had to be Khalid. He had worn white that afternoon, while making his rounds. She heard a hearty laugh, and recognized it as Captain Small’s. The captain and Khalid were talking and would probably visit for some time.
Yasmin wondered if she should wait until Khalid had gone to bed. The idea of disposing of Skye under Khalid’s very nose was tempting. Yasmin wanted her master back, but she hadn’t forgiven him for marrying Skye.
She crept on past the salon, keeping far enough away to avoid the lights. She heard the low murmur of voices, but could make out nothing of the conversation. No matter, she thought. Slipping into the villa through a long French window, she made her way up the darkened back staircase of the house to the main bedchamber. The door was open and she stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark room.
Yasmin knew the room well. Looking toward the bed, she ob- served the sheet-swathed figure. She hesitated no longer than a second. Moving purposely across the room, she plunged her dagger again and again into the sleeping figure who groaned once, then lay still. Unbridled joy surged through Yasmin. Dead! Dead! Her rival! Her enemy! Skye was dead! She wanted to scream her happiness.
Then behind her someone did scream, a long piercing wail of terror. Whirling, Yasmin faced a slave woman who was clutching at a crystal carafe of water. The carafe slid from the woman’s hands. Yasmin stood stock still watching the crystal shatter on the tiles, the water mixing with it, spewing a rainbow of shattered droplets across the floor and rugs. Yasmin could not move. She stood frozen as the woman’s screams echoed throughout the house.
At the sound of running feet, Yasmin shook herself back into action. Moving to the door, she shoved the slave woman aside and tried to flee, but the servant clung to her arm screaming, “Murder! Murder! She has killed the master!”
Allah! What was the woman screaming about? Yasmin wondered. Khalid was downstairs. She had killed Skye. Yasmin yanked her arm free and turned to run. Bumping into another body, she tried to push by, but her shocked eyes locked onto Skye’s.
“Allah! No!” Yasmin gasped.
“She killed the master!” wailed the slave woman again.
“Yasmin! What has happened?” asked Skye fearfully.
Yasmin turned from Skye and stumbled back across the room to the figure on the bed. With icy fingers she pulled the sheet back. Seeing the cold, stiffening form of Khalid el Bey, Yasmin moaned with a pain so great she couldn’t truly feel it all. Her fingers tightened again about the dagger. She whispered her anguish. “Forgive me, Skye!” and swiftly drove the dagger between her own breasts. Yas- min crumpled to the floor.
Skye knelt on one side of the woman, while Captain Small knelt on the other. Yasmin’s ragged breathing was the only sound.
“Why?” whispered Skye. “Why, Yasmin? You loved him!”
The dying woman’s eyes were glazing already. “Forgive me.”
Skye swallowed the bitter hatred rising in her throat. This woman had just stolen her very life from her, and now begged forgiveness. She wanted to shout, no!, but then she heard Robert Small say quietly, “Come lass.” Knowing what he wanted, she said softly, ”I forgive you, Yasmin.”