Page 7 of Silver Angel

“I know only that there have been attempts made on his life, that he rarely leaves the palace now.”

“Do they know who is trying to kill him?”

Ali shrugged. “I am not from the palace. That is why I was sure I could succeed in coming here, after so many others had failed. I don’t know what goes on inside.”

Derek smiled. “You did well, my friend. Now, what am I to do with you for six months?”

“Lock me—”

“I doubt that will be necessary, but you can stay here on the estate. I’m sure we can find something to keep you occupied. What do you do?”

“I’m a sherbet seller.”

Derek chuckled. “A sherbet seller succeeding where trained soldiers failed. Well done. If only you could speak a little English.”

“A little.” Ali was finally able to smile, his relief overwhelming. Allah was still watching over him.

“Splendid,” the Earl replied, and stood up just as a maid knocked, then entered with his morning tray.

The girl was pretty, and Ali supposed he would have to get used to seeing women unveiled in this foreign land, as they all seemed to be. The men here must not mind if other men gazed on their women. This girl obviously belonged to Derek Sinclair, for the sensual look she gave him as she set the tray down was extremely intimate.

“Coffee?” the Earl asked.

Ali nodded; then, after the girl left, he asked hesitantly, “She is part of your harem?”

Derek smiled, sipping the beverage he had acquired a taste for in his youth. “We don’t keep harems here, more’s the pity,” he answered. “But if we did, I suppose you could say she would be a part of mine. However, she’s not for my exclusive use, if you know what I mean.”

“You have strange ways here.”

“Strange to you, yes, but you’ll get used to them. All things become natural after a while.”

The Earl remained behind in the little parlor after Ali was led away by Mr. Walmsley. He sat behind the desk, staring thoughtfully at the letter lying open before him. Three short sentences in a bold Turkish scrawl, easy to read, since Turkish was as familiar to him as Arabic and French. In fact, English had been the last language he had learned, though he spoke it now as if he had been born to it.

His first reaction on reading the letter had been relief. No one had died. But after what Ali had told him, he had to admit: Not yet.

Three short sentences:

I offer greetings. Need I say more? You are remembered.

A child’s code, designed by boys who liked to confound their teachers and servants. He remembered fondly the time he had read an essay aloud and no one had understood why Jamil found it so funny. But Jamil had heard the code, and the message only for him: I would rather be eating pomegranates and spying on the Dey. What about you?

This message was much shorter. Three sentences, three words, the three first words of each sentence.I need you. Of course Derek couldn’t ignore such a message. There had been letters through the years, but sent through normal channels. This one had cost lives. This was no simple letter.I need you. Derek would go.

He should have gone two months ago, when Marshall had asked him to, but that had been for a different reason, one that hadn’t been important enough to make him postpone his wedding, or break his word to his grandfather. Locating and ransoming some English girl, known to be in Barikah, was nothing to him. She had already been in captivity for three months, so it was highly unlikely that she was still a virgin, and thus he could see no need to intervene.

It was the English consul’s job to handle the ransoming of slaves. It would just take a little longer for the consul to free the girl, if she could be freed. Few women were, at least pretty women, and Marshall had assured him the girl was pretty. She was also related to some powerful nobleman, which was why Marshall had become involved. But it still meant nothing to Derek. Only now that he was going to Barikah, he might as well agree to rescue the girl. That way, he could question Marshall about what was going on in Barikah without revealing why he wanted to know.

Kismet. This was meant to happen, at this time, in this way. It was the Muslim philosophy, on which he was raised. After nearly nineteen years in England, he was meant to go home. Why, he wouldn’t know until it was over.

Chapter Five

Beneath the woolen blanket, Chantelle lay shivering. It was a condition she had no control over, and it wouldn’t stop. Her hair had dried hours ago. The cabin was warm. It was her fear that was causing the trembling, and twice had made her sick to her stomach.

Dear God, she had come so close to escaping the corsairs. Her feet had actually touched bottom when the small boat bumped into her, pushing her under the water. When she came up for air, hands immediately hauled her inside the boat, and she knew she wouldn’t get another chance to escape.

She was brought back to the ship, carried back into this cabin. Only this time two men had stayed to see her stripped down to nothing. Too exhausted from her bid for freedom, she had been unable to stop them. But they hadn’t touched her otherwise. They had left her alone in the dark cabin, taking her wet clothes with them. She had eventually found the pillows and fur rug she remembered seeing from before, and the blanket to cover herself with. She had crawled into a tight ball, and the shivering had begun as she wondered what would happen next, afraid she knew.

She didn’t sleep, terrified of being caught by surprise. Morning came, and with it light from one small window, and still she was left alone. She would rather have gotten it over with, whatever they would do to her next, than to lie here thinking about it. She was certain she would be raped by the crew, certain that if she survived that, she would then be sold into slavery. Both prospects were so inconceivable that she couldn’t bear thinking of them, and so there was just the fear of being hurt and abused.