“Don’t fear, beautiful Skye. I will take care of you as did Khalid.” Allah, the emeralds she was wearing were worth a king’s ransom!
“I am s-so alone now, Jamil.”
“I will take care of you,” he repeated, his eyes straying to her breasts. They seemed fuller than he had noticed before. Damn! He wished he could take her now, but it would hardly do to fuck the widow when her husband’s corpse lay still warm in the next room. There would be plenty of time for that later on. If he acted too soon he chanced losing the juicy plum of her wealth.
She pressed against him, weeping afresh, soaking his silken shirt, half swooning into his arms. By the teats of Fatima she was a rare beauty! He could hear the ragged sound of his own breathing as his hot eyes devoured her lush body. He didn’t want to release her, but he could hardly go on holding a half-conscious woman. Standing up, he carried her back to the sleeping couch and gently deposited her there.
Look your fill, you murdering bastard, she thought as she watched him through slitted eyes. Dream your lust-filled dreams for dreams are all you’ll ever have of me.
Finally Jamil sighed reluctantly, and left the room. She lay quietly until Marie joined her, saying drily, “The household has been threat- ened with severe punishment unless you are properly cared for, madam.”
Skye sat up. “The presumption of the man! He says he will care for me as did my lord Khalid! When he touched me it was all I could do not to vomit! Oh, Marie! Where is the justice in this world? Why should a man as kind and good as my lord Khalid die, and one as evil as Jamil live?”
The Frenchwoman’s eyes again filled with tears. “Helas, madam! Would I could answer you. but I cannot.”
Faithful Marie remained by Skye’s side all night. Neither really slept. Arrangements for the bey’s funeral were completed in the morning, for the day was Thursday and unless he was buried by the sabbath sundown there could be no funeral until Saturday. The body was first washed, then wrapped in a seamless white shroud. The shroud had been dipped in Mecca’s sacred Zamzam well when Khalid el Bey made his pilgrimage to the holy city.
Led by the captain-governor and the bey’s beautiful tragic widow who was garbed entirely in white, a thin mourning band around her head, the funeral procession made its way from the villa through the city to the cemetery, following a careful ritual of lamentations by the women and readings from the Koran by the men.
The bey’s tomb, a small, domed white marble building, over- looked the harbor. Carefully the body was laid to rest on its side, facing the holy city, and final prayers for his safe arrival in Paradise were said by the young mullah who had married them. Skye had allowed Yasmin to be buried honorably, and her shrouded body was placed at her master’s feet in hopes mat she would serve him better in Paradise. In her grief, Skye attempted to remain in the tomb with her husband and had to be carried out.
With sundown, Skye was safe from Jamil for twenty-four hours, and in those twenty-four hours Jean worked feverishly with Robert Small and Simon ben Judah to put the bey’s affairs in order. The goldsmith, whose own sabbath followed the Moslem one, knew of several prospective buyers for the bey’s business. They could not be approached, however, until Sunday, the first day of the week.
On Saturday morning a slave was dispatched to the Casbah fort, bearing a message for the captain-governor. Jamil read the neatly written words twice, as if seeking a hidden meaning.
“My lord Jamil. I am deeply appreciative of your kindness to me. For the next thirty days I shall be secluded in deepest mourning, and will receive no visitors. I know you will honor my grief.” It was signed, “the lady Skye, widow to Khalid el Bey.”
Jamil gritted his teem with annoyed frustration. He was aware mat he could hardly propose marriage to a newly widowed woman, but he had hoped to sweep her off her feet, thus preventing any other suitors from courting her. Then a thought struck him, and he smiled. The thirty days could easily work to his advantage. Skye was young and used to regular lovemaking. After a month of abstinence, she should succumb quickly. He smilingly dictated a proper reply to her letter.
“Lady Skye. Your period of mourning will be honored, though reluctantly. I shall call upon you thirty-one days from this date.” It was signed: “Jamil, Captain-Governor of the Casbah Fortress.”
Skye read the message and chuckled with delight. She could sense the pent-up frustration, and was pleased to hurt him even in this small way. Within a month Khalid el Bey’s affairs in Algiers would be settled, and she would have made good her escape.
And as if Khalid’s spirit watched over her, the days sped smoothly by and everything proceeded toward the sale of the bey’s interests. Simon ben Judah explained smoothly to prospective buyers that there were those less reputable than they who might wish to cheat a young widow, so it was best that negotiations remain strictly secret. Since none of those involved wished others to know of the bidding, the secret was kept. When a bargain was finally struck, Skye found herself twice as rich as Khalid el Bey had left her. The monies, all in gold coin, were transferred to London. Both the villa and the seaside kiosk were sold to Osman the astrologer.
Osman was one of the few people she saw during her mourning. He had come one afternoon to tell her that he wanted the house and kiosk for himself and his beautiful slave woman, the same girl Khalid el Bey had given him. She sold to him readily, happy that someone she knew and liked would live in happiness in the places where she had been so happy. She and Osman sat in the villa garden and she served him Turkish coffee and small honey cakes.
“You are with child,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she answered, not in the least surprised. “I had told Khalid the night before he… He was very happy.”
“You made him very happy, Skye. You were his joy. I warned him, however, that your fate was not with him. It is back among, your own people, and you will soon begin that journey back.”
“Oh, Osman! Did I cause Khalid’s death?”
“No, my dear, you did not, and you must never blame yourself. Khalid el Bey played out his fate as it had been planned since the beginning of time. Now you must play out yours.”
“Who am I, Osman?”
“I do not know, Skye, but I will tell you what I do know, what I told your husband before he married you. You were born under the sign of the ram. Your homeland is a green and misty place peopled by strong spirits and psychic forces. You will always control your own destiny, Skye, and you will eventually be reunited with your true mate.”
“Khalid el Bey was my true mate!” she snapped angrily.
“No, Skye, he was not. He loved you deeply, never doubt it. And I know that you loved him, but there is another man, a stronger force in your life. He was with you before, and will return to you in time. Follow your instincts, my dear. They will never fail you.”
“And my child?”
“Will be born safely, Skye, and live to a ripe old age, as will you.”
“Thank you, Osman. I will always have my memories of Khalid el Bey, but to have his child is a far dearer thing. Thank you for the reassurance.”
The astrologer stood up. “I will go now, my dear, and I shall bid you a final farewell now. Since I was away from the city when Khalid died, it is understandable that I pay my condolences now. If, however, the man who watches this villa so carefully for the captain-governor should see me here again it will certainly seem curious, and it will arouse suspicions, so I will not return.”