Stolen Splendor (41 page)

If he had not been entirely confident that this
campaign would fall to the Ottomans' favor, he would never have left Kassandra
in Belgrade, he thought, hoisting himself atop a magnificent Persian warhorse
and kicking it into a gallop, four mounted guards thundering close behind him.
He would have gone on with her to Constantinople, hindrance or not, and
deposited her in a harem there. He was no fool!

Chapter 39

Kassandra braced herself against the rough stone wall,
her feet balancing on a three-legged brass stool as she peered out the high,
narrow window in her chamber. Her eyes piercing the gathering dusk, gazing
longingly at the Imperial camp, whose tents spread like a carpet to the south
of the Sava. Soon it would be dark and she would be able to see only the glow
of scattered fires and the blinding bursts of artillery blasts as the heavy
cannon of the fortress began their nightly vigil of holding the besiegers at
bay.

She had stood just so at her window every day, every
night, since the Imperial army had arrived to lay siege to the fortress. She'd
instantly recognized the fluttering banners of the emperor, her heart soaring
with hope, knowing Stefan was out there, in one of those long rows of tents.

Yet as the days had turned into weeks, then almost two
months, her hope had grown dim. Prince Eugene's army had to be faring badly.
They had already retreated once, well over a week ago.

That had been the worst day of her life. She had
watched in disbelief as the tents were struck down, thinking they were
leaving—oh God!—thinking she was being left behind! She had screamed out to
them, calling out her name, calling out to Stefan, but her desperate shouts had
been lost to the deafening cannon fire.

But not lost to the white eunuch in charge of the
harem. He had rushed in and subdued her easily, despite her thrashing and
struggling, and shoved a red opium pill into her mouth. She tried to spit it
out, but he held her jaw clamped shut and covered her nose with his massive
hand until she swallowed, gagging as it slid down her throat. Soon the pill had
taken effect, her head falling back limply upon the thick carpet, her limbs
awash in languid, drunken sensation, the room spinning like a dizzying
whirlpool of color, cannon fire, and the eunuch's pasty white face hovering
above her, until she saw no more.

When she had awoken at last, bright morning sunlight
streaming in a narrow shaft across her face, it had taken her a moment to
remember why she was lying upon the carpeted floor. She had struggled slowly to
her feet, the blood rushing in her ears, cold dread seizing her as she stumbled
toward the window. Tottering on the stool, she had looked out, expecting to see
only a wide, barren plain. But the Imperial camp was still there, pulled back a
good ways from the river, but there! She had never felt such incredible joy,
not since that day at the river when she told Stefan she loved him . . .

Kassandra leaned her forehead on the stone ledge,
shuddering as she willed the poignant splendor of that memory from her mind.
There was no use in torturing herself. She and Stefan couldn't be farther apart
if a wild ocean separated them. He was out there, thinking she was dead. And
she was a prisoner in this dismal fortress, locked within the harem of that fat
abomination of a man, Mustapha Pasha.

Bile welled up in her throat at the thought of him, and
she had to hold her breath for fear she might gag. It seemed he had gone out of
his way to make her life here a nightmare, as if he derived some perverse
pleasure from her obvious loathing of him. He had forced her to share
interminable meals with him in his bedchamber, a large, ornately decorated room
that reeked of debauched excess, though thankfully he had never touched her. He
had drugged her whenever she displayed the least hint of rebellion, and had
kept her locked away in this chamber without the solace of any other human
company besides the vile eunuch who checked on her constantly. On many
occasions she had felt Mustapha was somehow watching her, when she was
dressing, when she bathed in the morning, as if the very walls had eyes. She
had tried to shrug it off, but the niggling feeling had stubbornly persisted.

The hours she had spent in the main baths, she had been
alone except for the same two mute female slaves, though the myriad perfumes of
other women lingered in the hot, steaming chambers. She was forced several
times a week to endure their meticulous and humiliating ministrations. Her
skin chafed and burned from their unnatural plucking and shaving,
their pummeling and massage
a torture she could not endure without
feeling the urge to scream. But she had learned early to quell her outbursts,
if only to stave off the inevitable opium they forced down her throat if she
resisted. If she was ever to escape, she needed to have her wits about her.

A despairing laugh broke from Kassandra's throat. If
she was ever to escape . . . An impossible thought! She could no sooner escape her
captivity than she could squeeze through this window and fly away, straight
into Stefan's arms.

No, her only escape would be a summons from this Halil
Pasha, and mercifully it had not yet come. But she knew he'd already arrived
with his army from Constantinople, as Frederick had said he would. She couldn't
see the Ottoman camp from her window, but the Janissary guard on the ramparts
below had more than tripled, and heavy cannon were sounding from the east,
firing round after round upon the Imperial camp.

"Guard
yourself
well, my
love," Kassandra whispered fervently, peering out into the darkness at the
tiny flickers of light to the south. "Guard yourself well."

A key grated in the lock and she started, jumping down
from the stool. She whirled to face the white eunuch as he entered her room,
silent as a slithering snake, fattened and bloated from its kill.

He loomed in the doorway, his portly frame swathed in
lime-green silk tied with a wide sash around his middle, and stared at her. The
veiled expression in his unfathomable pale eyes, devoid of any emotion,
unsettled her, and she swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly want.
Then he made a slight gesture with his hand and forefinger, indicating for her
to follow him.

Kassandra clutched her silver damask tunic tightly
about her body, feeling a sudden chill despite the humid warmth of her chamber.
She reluctantly followed him into the hallway, lit by torches fitted in
polished sconces, past the baths, through a labyrinth of like hallways, up a
flight of winding stairs. It felt as if she were being led through a maze, and
when she and the eunuch stopped in front of a set of massive double doors,
richly carved and painted with erotic scenes of copulation, it finally dawned
on her that she was leaving the harem. Blushing hotly at the pictures, she
looked away.

The white eunuch picked up an ornamental gold-knobbed
cane propped against the wall and struck one of the double doors several times.
As they swung open into a vast marble hall, he set down the cane and walked on,
once again indicating for Kassandra to follow.

Kassandra took a few tentative steps. She saw a tall
man dressed in rich Turkish garb, a white turban upon his head, standing with
his back to her next to a sullen Mustapha Pasha and two fierce-looking
Janissary guards, who were studying her appraisingly.

What was going on?
she
wondered wildly, freezing in her tracks. She gasped, her eyes locking with
Frederick's ice-blue gaze as he turned to face her, and in that moment she knew
she was lost. The summons from Halil Pasha had finally come.

Kassandra turned to flee but stopped abruptly,
realizing with a hysterical giggle there was only Mustapha's harem behind her.
She was trying to escape one harem by hiding in another! Before she had a
chance to attempt another direction, the white eunuch grabbed her arm and
wrenched her around, nearly dragging her across the polished floor toward the
group of men. The great doors slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud,
the wickedly curved scimitars held by the eunuch guards slicing through the air
with a terrifying whoosh as they resumed their places.

Frederick could not tear his eyes from Kassandra as she
was brought in front of him and forced to her knees, her head down. She was so
breathtakingly beautiful! She was thinner, perhaps, than he remembered, the
hollows beneath her cheekbones further defining her startling beauty. Her skin
glowed with a pale translucence, no doubt the result of long hours spent in the
warm steam of the Turkish baths.

He could not suppress his pity for her when the eunuch
whipped several silken scarves from a deep pocket of his pelisse and wrapped
one over her mouth, gagging her before she could cry out, another over her
eyes, blindfolding her. There was nothing he could do. Not now. He was merely
the messenger, the gift bearer.

At least she was free of this repugnant man, Frederick
thought, turning back to Mustapha as the eunuch finished tying Kassandra's
wrists together with another scarf and whisked a silken cloak around her, covering
her in a shimmering shroud.

Frederick bowed, smiling thinly. "My
thanks,
Sire, for your gracious care of this slave," he
murmured formally. "His Grace, Halil Pasha, will be most pleased with his
new acquisition."

Mustapha merely nodded, not at all pleased. He had
hoped his cousin had conveniently forgotten about her. Ah well, Allah had
decreed that it be so. She was but a slave, nothing more. And she had given him
many hours of secret pleasure, albeit without her knowledge.

"Give my cousin this message," he answered,
brushing off what Frederick had just said. He handed him a rolled slip of
parchment paper, sealed and tied with black cord. "I wish an answer
tonight."

Frederick took the parchment, and secured it in the
folds of his sash. "I will return as quickly as I can," he replied,
nodding at the Janissary guards. One of them bent down and hoisted Kassandra
over his shoulder,
then
the small party walked from
the hall, Mustapha staring after them.

Kassandra fought to stay calm, knowing it was useless
to struggle. Her only power lay in keeping her wits about her. But it was
difficult to breathe with the gag tied so thoroughly over her mouth. She forced
herself to take slow, deep breaths through her nose, her senses acutely attuned
to everything that was happening.

Her head bounced lightly against a broad back . . .
They were climbing down seemingly hundreds of stairs. She smelled
a dankness
in the air, a stuffiness that almost caused her
to sneeze, then a wooden door creaked open. An eerie silence settled over her
captors, and the man who held her ducked and straightened, the door thudding
closed.

She smelled fresh air, felt a breeze cooling her skin
through the silken cloak as they stepped into the open, where the sounds of the
night were all around them . . . chirping crickets, a hooting owl, and the roar
of the cannon coming from the fortress ramparts. Pebbles skittered beneath
heavy boots, sliding down a slope and plunking into water. A rocking motion
dizzied her senses,
then
she heard the scraping of
oars and water lapping at the sides of a boat as it glided across a river.

On the other side there were restless horses, nervous
whinnies, new voices, more soldiers. She was grabbed by another man, held for a
moment, then lifted high into a saddle and settled against a stocky chest, a
muscled arm wrapping around her waist. Her head snapped back as they set off at
a hard run, and she closed her eyes to the swamping dizziness of riding blind,
the earth moving beneath them, the thundering of hooves in her ears.

They were climbing, climbing, away from the river,
horses straining, pulling, voices growing animated, less tense, as they reached
familiar ground. She could see glowing light through her blindfold, inhaled the
scents of cooking food and wood fires. Low male laughter resounded, the buzz of
hundreds, thousands, of voices, soldiers everywhere, the clash of weapons in
mock battle drills, and still the roar of the cannon, farther away now, as if
from a distant precipice, pummeling the earth below.

They slowed gradually to a trot,
then
came to an abrupt halt, the horse quivering beneath her. The pressure of her
captor's arm disappeared and she was sliding from the saddle, gasping, caught
by another's arms, lifted against another chest. Her heart beat fiercely in her
breast, cold fear welling up as strong legs carried her forward into a hushed
place, the outdoor sounds fading altogether. Faint strains of music, zither and
lute, drifted to her from some distance ahead, growing louder, louder, melodic,
undulating, her nostrils flaring at the heavy scent of incense and perfume.

Kassandra sharply drew in her breath as whoever held
her suddenly knelt and lay her with a slight bump upon a carpeted floor. Hands
clutched at the silken cloak, then with a strong tug it was pulled from beneath
her and she was sent rolling across the floor, over and over, her head
spinning. She came to a stop on her back, her tousled hair streaking across her
face and heaving breasts.

"Lady Kassandra Wyndham," she heard Frederick
announce, his voice echoing in her mind . . . her name upon his lips a sentence
of death.

Chapter 40

Halil Pasha appraised the trembling, long-limbed woman
lying at his feet, his black eyes lighting with keen interest. He glanced up at
Frederick. "Quite a presentation, Count Althann," he murmured with a
low chuckle.

Rubbing his pointed beard, he looked back down at her
and stepped over her supine body to study her from a different angle. The sable
trim of his black pelisse swept lightly across her chest, and he noted with a
smile her raised nipples, hardened and taut, straining against her silver
tunic.