The Kadin - Bertrice Small [56]
Her mood was infectious, and slowly a grin spread over his face. “By Allah, I am truly a fool! Can you forgive me, Cyra? How could I ever have doubted you or the other girls?”
“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. You have lived in danger for so long that you are naturally suspicious of everyone, but you need not fear me or the others. We are loyal.” Resting her red-gold head on his shoulder, she nestled against him. “I have a terrible temper, my lord Selim. Will you forgive this worthless slave?” She looked up and fluttered her kohl-darkened lashes at him.
His laughter was low. “You must pay the penalty for your bad temper, my little fire-eater. Unskilled I may be in the devices of women, but not in their ways.” Slipping his hand beneath her fur-lined pelisse, he fondled her familiar body. She moved so that his hand cupped her breast and rubbed teasingly against him.
His lips found the soft hollow between her neck and her shoulder, and his voice murmuring her name over and over again communicated his urgency. Turning her to face him, he found her sweet moist lips. His lips still clinging to hers, he carried her indoors to the couch.
That night their lovemaking was sweeter than it would ever be again, and when in the split second of eternity their souls touched, Cyra wept for the joy of it
She lay awake in the night, and in the dim light of the chamber gazed at the man beside her. In sleep, the cares and fears stripped away, he was vulnerable and seemed like a boy, though he was eleven years older than she. His fair skin was slightly darkened by the winter wind and sun. With his dark-gray eyes closed, the thick fringe of his lashes were like smudges of soot against his cheeks. His nose was straight and proud, and the lips that covered his even white teeth were generous despite their thinness. Unlike his brothers, he wore no beard, for once, when he was younger, he had grown one, and so regal was his look that his mother had made him shave it off lest he draw attention to himself. He had vowed never to wear a beard again until he was sultan. Stirring, he stretched his body to its full length, and Cyra thought he was at least as tall as her father.
His voice pierced her thoughts. “Why aren’t you sleeping, my little houri?”
“I am too happy.”
He buried his face in her marvelous hair.
“I cannot come to you again, Selim.”
Sitting up sharply, he looked at her.
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I am with child, dearest lord.”
Staring at her, the sleep gone from his eyes, he whispered, “You are sure?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Late summer. As the wheat ripens, so shall I Zuleika says it is a boy and he will be born under the sign of the Lion. She also says he will be a great sultan.”
“A son,” he murmured. “A son!” He crushed her in his arms and asked, “Who else knows of this?”
“Only Lady Refet”
“No one eke must know until—”
“Selim!”
“Until I have provided you with a food taster and two personal bodyguards. Once it becomes known you are with child, Besma will stop at nothing. She has been known to use poison before.”
Cyra whitened.
“Do not be frightened, sweetheart No harm will come to yon or the child. I shall go into Constantinople myself in the morning and personally purchase the slaves.”
“Let Hadji Bey help you, Selim. His instincts are infallible.”
“If I am seen at the Eski Serai, it will arouse suspicion.”
“I can send a message to Hadji Bey at dawn. He will await you in Constantinople.”
“Another secret, Cyra?”
She giggled. “We have several pigeons in the dovecote. They are a gift from Hadji Bey. Loose them, and they fly straight to his dovecote at the palace.”
“By the beard of the Prophet, the agha Mslar is a wily old devill Send your message.” He smiled and drew her down to the couch. “Our last night, eh?”
“Until the child is born.”
Then let us make the most of it When I return from the city, I shall have to go about the boring business of deflowering and teaching another frightened virgin.”
She grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked The prince roared in amused outrage.