Chuckling happily at his sense of dominance, he vaulted quickly from the water and, reaching down, drew her out. Weakened by the warm water and the vizier's lovemaking, but still obedient to her duties, she picked up a warmed towel from the top of the tile stove and wrapped it about him. Taking a second towel, she sat him down and dried him, careful to rub the dampness from between his toes. Stretching him out face down on a marble bath bench, she massaged his muscled body with body cream smelling of roses. As her hands skillfully kneaded the firm body, he rumbled contentment like a large, sleek cat.

Finally he called, "Enough," and rose up to reveal a once again engorged organ. Laughing at the look on her face, he said, "The night has just begun, Incili, and I have yet to get enough of you. I must somehow cool the fires you create in my loins if we are to be parted for several months."

She was shaking. Holding out her hands, she pleaded with him, "Please, my lord husband, no more! Not just yet!"

It was if she had not spoken. Catching her hands, he forced her facedown onto the same marble bench and, straddling her, he parted her thighs and entered her gently from behind. His hands raised her a little so he could fondle her breasts. He crushed the warm flesh in his big hands, reveling in its softness, pinching the nipples so that she cried out.

In that moment Cat's tolerance of Cicalazade Pasha vanished. He was using her like an animal, without any thought for her at all. Only the knowledge that she would soon be free of him kept her from shrieking her fury. As it was, her temples had begun to throb.

Grunting with pleasure, he finally loosed her and rose up, exclaiming, "I have labored hard so far this evening, and I am thirsty. Fetch me a sherbet, my dove!"

She stood for a moment on trembling legs, then left the bath and crossed the bedchamber to the table where the sherbet decanters stood. Mixing his favorites together, she looked carefully to see where he was, and found him sprawled on the bed looking up through the glass dome at the night sky. With a thumbnail she carefully flicked open the top of her turquoise ring and dropped a pinch of white powder into his cup. Esther Kira had given her the sleeping potion, but she had never dared use it before. Tonight, however, she could take no more, and she knew that the aphrodisiacs he had consumed would confuse him anyway.

She smilingly crossed the room and presented him with the cup. He drank it down thirstily and, carelessly flinging the cup to the floor, pulled her onto the bed. 'You are so beautiful," he said. "How you please me, Incili! You please me greatly. Did you know that, my jewel? I treasure you above all my women. Never has a mere female delighted me so much."

She pressed her face into his shoulder so he might not see it. "It makes me happy that I pleasure you, my lord husband," she lied smoothly.

He groped for her breasts, fumbling at her, his movements beginning to become clumsy. Then suddenly she heard him snore lightly. She eased herself out of his grasp and lay apart from him, waiting to see whether he missed her. He was sound asleep, drugged by the white powder she had slipped into his sherbet. In the morning she would add a different powder to his coffee, one which would counteract the effect of the aphrodisiacs and render him almost desireless. That should keep her safe for at least part of the day.

Rising from the rumpled bed, she returned to the bath. Filling and refilling the silver ewer, she laved herself over and over, washing away all evidence of the past hour. The bath was the one aspect of Turkish life she truly enjoyed. Dry again, she slipped a sheer nightgar-ment over her head. When he awoke he would object and demand its removal. But for now she would have some protection from the cool night air.

Laying herself at the farthest edge of the bed, she wrapped herself in a light wool blanket and immediately fell asleep.

When she awoke the sun was already rising. Cicalazade Pasha lay sprawled on his back snoring mightily, much as she had left him last night. She stretched and, unrolling herself from the blanket, got up. The air was chilly, so she lifted from her trunk a soft white wool caftan and slid it over her nightgown. She slipped her feet into a pair of wool-lined slippers and, checking again to be sure the vizier was asleep, she ran out into the garden.

The wet grass glistened diamondlike in the early sunlight, and the beds of tulips and narcissus were just beginning to open and perfume the air. A faint silvery haze hung just above the dark sea, and the surrounding hillsides were bright-green with spring growth. For a few minutes she was free again, and she reveled in it. If she could get through the next two days and could convince Cica to let her remain on the island, the Kiras would liberate her. Obviously it would be easier to free her from the island than from Cicalazade's palace. She was sorry she had not been able to say goodbye to Lateefa. When she was safe again she would send her kindly cousin a message through the Kiras…

Suddenly a smile lit Cat's face. She had just thought how she could convince the vizier to leave her on the island for a few days. She would use his masculine pride against him to gain her own ends. It would serve the bastard right!

It bothered Cicalazade that she had not become pregnant. He knew she had borne nine living children and he had sired Lateefa's children and forty on the harem women besides. He longed for a child of her body and, not knowing of the potion she took to prevent conception, could not understand why she had not swelled with his fruit.

She would tell him she believed she was pregnant. Pleading the strange fancies of a breeding woman, she would beg to remain a few extra days on the island. Should he refuse her she would weep and pout to gain her way. He would expect it, as he had no view of women other than as soft, foolish creatures.

A little breeze had sprung up, and Cat shivered in anticipation. She always enjoyed mapping battle strategy. Laughing to herself, she wondered which side of her ancestry was asserting itself-the Scots or the Turkish?

Chapter 56

NO!" said the vizier firmly. "I will not allow it, Incili."

She burst into tears. "You do not love me," she sobbed. "You have stolen me from my husband and used me like an animal! You care nothing for me! Would that the child and I were dead!"

"Child?" His mouth fell open. "What child?"

She raised a teary face to him. "I am not completely sure, my lord, for it is a trifle too early to be entirely sure, but there is a strong possibility that I am with child."

A look of incredulous delight passed over his face, and she nearly allowed herself a twinge of guilt. "A child," he breathed. "Then, my dove, there can be no question of your remaining here. I will not endanger my son."

She forced a fresh torrent of tears from her eyes. "I cannot bear to be penned within the harem right now, my lord husband! It is so pleasant and peaceful here." She lowered her voice so that he was forced to bend down in order to hear her. It also allowed him a wonderful view of her swelling breasts. The seductive scent that issued from the valley between those glorious bills was deliriously overpowering to the vizier.

"We have spent so many joyous hours here, my husband. It is the one place I do not have to share with anyone, even my dear Lateefa." She caught at his arm and pressed it meaningfully. "We have yet another wonderful day ahead of us and-" her lashes fanned down over her pink cheeks-"another wonderful night. Let me remain here dreaming but a few days after you leave me. I need a few more days to be completely sure. It would make me so happy. Don't you want me to be happy, my husband?" And her green eyes filled with tears that threatened to overflow while her soft mouth pouted.

He was tolerantly amused by the obviousness of her approach. She was so typically, predictably feminine, and it delighted him. The look she cast up at him bespoke a night of incredible pleasures should he consent to her wishes, and he could honestly see no harm in allowing her to have her way in this. She was no girl swelling with her first child. She was a successful and a proven breeder. He knew that pregnant women had strange whims which should be indulged whenever possible. She would be perfectly safe on his island with her female servant for companionship. But he intended sending back Osman and half a dozen others so there would be protection-not that anyone would dare to intrude on his island.

He tried to look stern and thoughtful, and she knew she had won. "Very well," he said. "I will allow you to remain for a week, but Osman will come to guard you."

"Of course, my lord," she answered him demurely. He pulled her across his lap into his arms. "Do I not get a reward, my dove?" She pulled his head down and kissed him deeply and convincingly, beginning another session of sensuality.

In the morning he left the island in his caique and was rowed back down the Bosporus to his palace in the city, where he made arrangements for Cat's stay on the island.


She stood on the stone quay waving him goodbye, but no sooner was he out of hearing than she whirled about with joy, shouting in her own language, "Goodbye, my lord vizier! Farewell forever!"

Susan was astounded at Cat's behavior. "My lady, are you all right?"

"Better than I have been in almost a year, my girl," laughed Cat. "Now that he is gone I dare tell ye. My beloved Francis is near, and yer Uncle Conall too! I dinna know when, but we'll be rescued in a few days at the most!"

"Thank God," breathed Susan fervently.

" 'Twill nae be easy," Cat warned her. "We hae a long and dangerous journey ahead of us. But I should rather die wi Bothwell than spend my days a pampered wife of Cicalazade Pasha!"