She wiggled, wet and protesting, against him. “It is morning!”

“A most delightful time,” he agreed, laying her on the sun-
warmed tiles that surrounded the pool. He straddled her.

“Someone will see us, Khalid,” she protested.

“No one would dare to disturb us,” he growled. His staff was
hard and seeking against her thighs. “I want you, Skye. I want your
tempting little body. I want you hot and sweet and yielding beneath
me,” he whispered against her ear. She shivered deliciously as his
tongue explored her ear, and shivered again as he moved downward
along the scented length of her neck, biting gently at her silken
shoulder. Skye soon forgot the bright sunshine. Khalid’s hands were
on her hips, stroking and stroking the fires of her passions. He
suckled at her breasts, drawing a cry of pleasure. “Open your legs
for me, now, my love,” he murmured. “That’s it, my darling, take
me into your fiery sweetness. Ahh… Skye, your little honey-oven
is made for me! Hold me tightly, my love! Ahhh!”

His words aroused her greatly. His hands never stopped loving
her body, and when his great rod entered into her she felt filled to
overflowing with him. His body movement was strong and rhythmic,
each stroke bringing her nearer and nearer to sweet oblivion. She
climbed higher and higher. Then she was caught in a jeweled whirl-
pool, and she heard a long soft woman’s cry mingled with a great
masculine sob.

Her next conscious thought was that the sun was hot on her face,
and she heard water lapping against the tiled sides of the pool. She
opened her eyes, and looked about. He lay on his back, eyes closed,
but his voice brought a furious blush to her cheeks. “You were made
to pleasure a man,” he said, “and I am grateful that that man is me.
After we have breakfast, I shall see Osman the astrologer, and he
will tell me what day this week is most favorable for our marriage.
I am having Jean draw up papers freeing you, Skye.”

She pressed herself into the curve of his arm. “Oh, my Khalid,
you are so kind to me! I swear I shall make you a good wife!”

He smiled and caressed her. “I know you will, my love,” he
answered her.

They breakfasted on yogurt, green figs, and boiling-hot Turkish
coffee. Afterward Skye returned to her own apartments, and Khalid
el Bey welcomed Osman, who greeted him by saying, “So, my old
friend! You have finally fallen in love again.”

Khalid laughed. “I have no secrets from you, do I, Osman?”

“The stars tell me all, my lord. And they tell me some things
about your love that you might be interested in knowing. She comes
from a green and misty land to the north, a land peopled by strong
spirits and great psychic forces. She was born beneath the sign of
the ram which, like all fire signs, is a strong and passionate one.”

Khalid el Bey leaned forward eagerly. “How can you know all
this, Osman?”

“Because, my lord, such a woman has recently appeared in your.
own chart.”

“I want to marry her.”

“I cannot stop you, my lord.”

“You do not sound enthusiastic, Osman. What is it you are not.
telling me?”

“She will not remain with you, Khalid. It is not her fate. Her fate ‘
is back among her own people, and so it. is written in the stars. There
are many men in her life, but she will always steer her own course,
rule her own destiny. One man in particular stands out in her life.
Their paths have crossed before and will most assuredly cross again.
It is with this man that she shares her soul, my friend, not with you.
Can you not just enjoy her while she is with you? Why must it be
marriage?”

He was shaken. The astrologer had always been accurate. “Will
it make any difference if I marry her?”

“No, my lord, it will not.”

“Then I shall marry her. For I love her above all women, and
would place her above all women.”

“And when she leaves you, will you let her go?”

“She will not leave me, Osman. She will not leave me because
of the children she will give me. She is not a woman who would
abandon her babes. She will give me children, won’t she?”

“I cannot be sure, my lord. She will be mother to several children,
but without a comparison of her exact birthday and yours, I cannot
tell you for certain.”

“She will bear me sons!” he said positively, and Osman smiled
faintly.

Still, he was concerned for his friend. The woman brought a
confusion into Khalid el Bey’s chart. There was a dark area now
that Osman could not fathom, and it worried him. Still, if his friend
insisted on marrying her, then at least he would pick the best day.
He scanned his charts carefully, made swift new calculations, and
finally pronounced, “Saturday, at moonrise, you will take her as
your wife.”

“Thank you, my friend. You will come, of course, and celebrate
with us.”

“Yes, I shall come. Is it to be a large celebration, Khalid?”

“No, Osman. Just a half-dozen or so are to be invited-my banker,
the head of the merchant’s guild, the mullah, the Turkish comman-
dant, and my secretary, Jean.”

“What of Yasmin?”

“I think not.”

“Yasmin loves you, Khalid.”

“Yasmin thinks she loves me, Osman, and therefore she will
accept my plans because of her belief in me. Besides, she will have
no further contact with Skye. I cannot allow my wife to associate
with a whore.”

Osman had to laugh. “There, my friend Khalid, speaks both the
Spaniard and the Moslem in you.” He stood up. “Until Saturday,
my lord Bey, and I wish you luck with Yasmin.”

Khalid el Bey sat pondering for a few moments after Osman had
left. The astrologer was right. Yasmin would have to be dealt with,
and the sooner the better. Rising, he called for his horses and, in
the silent midafternoon heat, he rode down to the heart of the city,
to the House of Felicity.

The building in which this famous brothel was housed was built
around a planted courtyard that had a spraying fountain at its center.
The side of the house facing the streets was white and devoid of
windows or any decoration save the double-doored entry of black-
ened oak with polished brass studs. Guarding the doors were two
huge black giants in scarlet satin pantaloons with cloth-of-gold
sashes, turbans, and ridiculously turned-up shoes. Their large bare
chests and muscular arms were oiled so that they gleamed in either sun or torchlight. They smiled broadly with flashing white teeth as
their master rode past them into the courtyard.

Khalid el Bey dismounted, tossing the reins to a pretty young girl
of ten who smiled at him in an adult and provocative fashion. Both
her feet and her budding breasts were bare, and she wore only white
gauze pantaloons that revealed her round little buttocks. A clever
innovation, he thought, for many of his Berber clients liked prepubescent girls best of all.

For a minute he stood and looked about the courtyard with a
proprietary air. Everything was in perfect order. He was pleased.
The brick walks were well swept, the shrubs well trimmed, the
flower beds colorful and fragrant.

“My lord Khalid, you honor us!” Yasmin swept down the steps
to greet him, her black-and-gold silk caftan billowing. An odor of
musk was strong about her, and he could see her vermilion-tinted
nipples through the sheer silk. Her golden hair was plaited with
black pearls, and behind one ear was a creamy gardenia. It contin-
ually amazed him that she always knew of the arrival of an important
guest, and was instantly there to greet him.

“My dear Yasmin, you are as lovely as ever.” He chuckled in-
wardly as she bridled with pleasure. “Come. I wish to talk with
you.” He led the way to her apartments, waiting patiently as she
served him coffee and small honeyed almond cakes.

At length she asked, “How is Skye?”

“That is what I have come to discuss with you,” he answered.
”I have decided she is quite unsuited for this sort of life.”

“Praise Allah! You have come to your senses!”

He smiled faintly. “You do not like Skye, do you?”

“No!”

“Then you shall not be burdened with her any longer, Yasmin.”

“You have sold her?”

“No. I am taking her to wife. The chief mullah of Algiers will
join us on Saturday evening at moonrise.”

Yasmin’s face crumbled. Then, recovering herself as quickly as
she could, she laughed weakly. “You jest, my lord. Gracious-how
you startled me! Ha! Ha!”

“I do not jest,” he said quietly. “Skye is to be my wife.”

“She is a slaver?”

“No, she is not. I have freed her. She was never meant to be a
slave, Yasmin.”

“And I was?”

“You were bom a slave of slave parents, of slave ancestors. It
is your fate.”

“I love you! Does she love you? How can she? She barely knows you. But I know you, Khalid, and I know what pleases you. Let
me!” and she fell groveling at his feet.

He looked down at her with genuine pity. Poor Yasmin with all
her clever Mideastern sexual arts for pleasing a man. Yes, he had
enjoyed them once, but they had also bored him to death. The
Mideastern mode of loving was debasing to the woman. She was
taught to please her master, who lay there, a nonparticipant except
for the automatic ejaculation of his seed. It was up to the woman
to please. The responsibility for his pleasure rested with her, and
if she failed… the bastinado awaited.

How much better, he thought, the European way, where the man
was in charge, his masculinity ruling and subduing his woman, her
climax the most marvelous act of submission. It delighted the senses
and soothed the male pride.

“I love Skye,” he said, “the decision was mine. And you, my
most beautiful and valued slave, have no right to question me.”

“What will happen to me?” she whimpered.

“Nothing. You will continue your duties as before.” After a pause
he asked, “Would you like your freedom, Yasmin? Then I should
pay you for the duties you now perform for me.”