The Kadin - Bertrice Small [158]
“Ah, my lady, you are the wisest of women! A pure jewel among stones!”
Cyra laughed again. “Esther, Esther! What would I do without you?”
The Jewess sniffed, and without further ado, announced, “I bring news from Charles Leslie.”
Cyra sat down and eagerly beckoned her friend to do BO. Tell me.”
“He is well and has been knighted by his king. He is now Sir Charles Leslie. He also writes that he is betrothed to his cousin Fiona, your brother’s daughter.”
Cyra frowned. “I have never liked these marriages between first cousins.”
“Rest easy, my lady. The girl Fiona is not your brother’s blood child, but his adopted daughter. She was born to your distant cousins, the Abernethys. Charles writes all of this. When she was orphaned, your brother took her into his own house. He says her hair is red-gold like yours, but not so lovely.
“Ah, madam. For thirteen years he has been separated from you, and yet he remembers you with love. How fortunate you are to have such a son!”
The valideh’s face became sad. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am the most fortunate of women.”
Esther Kira said nothing more.
The months passed, and Cyra began to notice a subtle change in Khurrem’s attitude toward her. Nothing had been said by either woman regarding the incident of the poison, but invisible battle lines had been drawn. As Cyra had noticed years before, Khurrem never forgave those who punished her. The Russian felt that by inducing Suleiman to take other maidens to his bed, the valideh had chastised her unfairly. Khurrem had lived too long in her own world to become Turkish. Though she professed the faith of Mohammed, she was still an Orthodox Christian at heart, and she did not willingly share her man with others. She considered herself the sultan’s legal wife, discounting Gulbehar with a logic that defied all reason. Though Suleiman had other favorites now, she still remained on top of the pack. He frequently visited her bed, but, nevertheless, the situation nettled Khurrem. This was Cyra’s fault, and the Russian kadin would repay her in kind.
But Khurrem had not reckoned with the valideh’s iron will. Cyra Hafise was made of far stronger stuff than Khurrem—or any other woman, for that matter. The Scotswoman had not survived thirty-nine years in the House of Osman on luck alone, but the years were going faster now, and Cyra wondered if she really wanted to continue the battle. She had known such happiness and love that for her it would last through eternity. She had known complete fulfillment and had wielded great power. Now all Cyra wanted was to live out her portion in peace.
Khurrem’s very existence made this impossible, and the valideh was faced with a painful decision. To dispose of Khurrem or to expose her crimes to Suleiman would break her son’s heart Besides, Cyra Hafise had never liked being responsible for the taking of life. She could, of course, retire to her own serai away from Constantinople, but that would not really solve the problem, Suleiman, she realized, was still far too attached to her. Death, therefore, was the only answer—and as she was in good health, that seemed unlikely. Her will to live was far stronger than her will to die.
Then one day a greatly agitated Esther Kira came to the palace asking to see the valideh privately. Once again they walked in the gardens where they could not be overheard.
Esther began by asking a question. “Your brother is the earl of Glenkirk?” Cyra nodded.
“A man perhaps four or five years younger than yourself?”
“Four years, Esther.”
“Is he a great gawk of a man with reddish hair and a stubborn nature?”
“Esther, how would I know that? I have not seen Adam since he was nine years old.”
“But, my lady—if you met