Page 33 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“Yes,”

the priest returned. “Three months ago.”

There was a small smile upon his thin lips. “Your mother is a formidable woman, Captain. As you know, we imprisoned the bulk of her crew, leaving only a small force aboard to repair the ship. Nonetheless, she somehow managed to gain freedom for her entire crew, overpower those soldiers guarding her vessel, and escape to the open sea. His Excellency, the governor, is most unhappy.”

“I’ve not a doubt he is,”

said Murrough, a huge grin splitting his face.

“There is much, however, to be said for your honor, Captain, in returning here to pay the ransom nonetheless,”

murmured Father Ourique.

“Ah, now, Padre,”

said Murrough, “I see no reason to pay for something you don’t have.”

He was immensely tickled that his mother had scored such a coup over the Portuguese. This would make grand telling back in England, and if he could return with the entire ransom intact, there might even be a knighthood in it for him. Sir Murrough O’Flaherty! Aye, his Joan would like that!

“A bargain was made,”

said the priest.

“Nay,”

returned Murrough. “Your governor, disregarding all the laws of hospitality, did unlawfully seize my mother, her husband, and their disabled ship when they entered this harbor in search of aid. Then he demanded ransom like a common pirate. A bargain with a pirate is not one that need be honored.”

“I am sorry you feel that way, Captain, for half the monies are marked for the church’s work here in India, and I cannot see it lost. As a faithful son of the church you must understand that.”

“There is nothing that you can do to prevent it, Padre,”

came Murrough’s quiet reply.

“But there is,”

returned the Jesuit, languidly raising his hand.

Murrough’s eyes followed the direction in which the hand waved, and to his horror he suddenly found his ship surrounded and being boarded by a large force of Portuguese soldiers who must have been waiting in the shadows of the buildings on the docks. “You’re wasting your time, Padre,”

he said in an attempted bluff. “There is no gold upon my ship.”

“I cannot believe you returned without the ransom,”

said Father Ourique. “If there is no gold upon this ship, then it is upon the ships you undoubtedly have awaiting your signal just beyond the horizon, Captain.”

“That, Padre, you’ll never know, for I shall say neither yea or nay upon the subject.”

“You will not object then if we search the ship,”

was the reply.

Murrough shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

Velvet slid from her hiding place and slipped back into her brother’s large cabin to tell Pansy the news. She felt as elated as her brother at their mother’s cleverness.

Pansy was delighted as well, but for other reasons. “Then we’ll not have to stay here, m’lady? We can turn right around and go home? Good! Lord, this heat is killing me. I wouldn’t last a month here.”

“Poor Pansy,”

Velvet sympathized. “This has not been an easy trip for you, seasick the first few months and now this heat. I will ask Murrough to obtain for us some fresh fruit and vegetables before we sail. We haven’t had any in some weeks.”

“Aye, ’twould be nice, m’lady. Maybe it’s the salt air, but I do have a fancy for fruits. I wonder how me dad bears it being at sea for months at a time year after year.”

“He was home long enough to get all those children with your mother,”

teased Velvet.

Pansy giggled back. “Aye, and that’s a truth! Still, I don’t know how he or any other sailor bears it. If it hadn’t been for that route your brother took, sailing just off the coast of Africa, going ashore every now and then for water and fresh foods, I don’t think I could have stood it, m’lady. I hope you’ve not developed a taste for travel like your ma.”

“Nay, Pansy, I haven’t. I will be glad to get home to England. The shock of Alex’s death has now worn off, although I shall never forget him, and I will spend my days mourning him. ’Twill be a quiet life we’ll lead, Pansy, for I do not want to return to court or see London again. I will spend my days at Queen’s Malvern with my parents, caring for them as they enter their old age.”

Practical Pansy swallowed her laughter, for it would not do for her to make mock of her mistress. Velvet might think she was going to spend her life a widow, but Pansy suspected she would eventually remarry, for she was far too alive a person to remain alone and unloved. As for Master Adam and Mistress Skye gaining their old age! Those two will never be old, thought Pansy. “Aye, m’lady,”

she answered simply, “ ’twill be good to get home.”

Her words had not even died away when the door to the cabin burst open, and the room was filled with soldiers who began to poke and pry into everything, opening chests and pulling out garments.

“How dare you!”

Velvet cried. “Stop at once! Get out of my cabin!”

They did not understand her words, and so continued on with their mission. Velvet, however, attempted to stop them physically, pushing at them, yanking back her garments from their hands, the outrage plain upon her lovely face. The soldiers began to grin as they recognized her womanly fury, though it became obvious that there was no gold hidden in the captain’s cabin. European women were very few here, and surely their superiors would not deny them a few moments’ sport with this heretic Englishwoman.

Pansy, seeing their change in mood, slipped from the cabin and ran quickly to find Murrough.

With a roar of outrage Murrough rushed to his cabin, followed by Father Ourique. Velvet, however, was defending herself quite well against the governor’s soldiers. She had flung a perfume bottle at one, hitting her target squarely in the middle of his forehead and rendering him unconscious. About him his comrades clustered worriedly.

“Who is this angry young woman?”

demanded the Jesuit.

“My sister, Velvet Gordon, the Countess of BrocCairn,”

said Murrough with a relieved chuckle. “Velvet, poppet, may I present to you Father Esteban Ruy Ourique, the governor’s aide.”

“Mon père , your men are unruly and have made an unholy disaster of my trunks. Not only that, but they have made rather obscene advances to me. Although I do not understand your language, I most certainly understood their intent. I am shocked! I am a most respectable Catholic gentlewoman, a widow in mourning.”

“You have my apologies, madame, and those of His Excellency for whom I speak. I can only say that women of our race are rare in these climes, and my men in their enthusiasm at seeing a beautiful European woman were overzealous in their admiration.”

Velvet laughed, a clear, sweet sound. “Padre, I have never before met a Jesuit, but you do their reputation for diplomacy great honor.”

“I see much of your mother in you, madame,”

came Father Ourique’s reply, and he smiled thinly. Then he turned to Murrough. “Such a long voyage has undoubtedly been hard on your sister, Captain. She and her servant must be the governor’s guests for the next few days until our business is completed.”

“My sister is quite comfortable here, Padre, and, besides, we have no further business,”

said Murrough.

“Ah, but we do, Captain O’Flaherty. Just beyond our horizon lies your fleet, and until it anchors here in Bombay and disgorges its cargo to us, Lady Gordon will remain our guest.”

“I cannot allow that,”

said Murrough tersely.

“But I insist,”

came the Jesuit’s steely reply. “You really have no choice, Captain. My soldiers far outnumber your crew.”

“This is outright piracy, Padre!”

protested Murrough.

“To whom will you complain, Captain?”

mocked the Jesuit. “The Portuguese government will not chastize us for extracting monies from those who seek to dislodge us from our place here in India. Neither can you, as the good Catholic you are, deny the church a contribution for its work here.”

“Padre, I think you should know that my sister is the queen’s godchild. She is particularly dear to Elizabeth Tudor.”

“The English queen means nothing to us, heretic that she is.”

“My sister’s other godmother is France’s queen,”

was Murrough’s quick reply. “She is also cherished by that lady. I am sure if England’s queen is naught to you, France’s must be, for that is where, if memory serves me, the Jesuits have their headquarters. I might also remind you that our uncle is a bishop.”

“You need have no fears, Captain. We mean your sister no harm, but we do need some sort of bond for your good behavior as you have shown yourself to be impetuous,”

Father Ourique insisted.

“I will complain to the queen when we return to England, Padre!”

said Murrough angrily.

“Of course,”

murmured the priest smoothly, and then he turned to Velvet. “Take only a minimum of personal necessities, madame. I do not expect you will be with us long.”

“You’re damned right she won’t be!”

exploded Murrough.

“Don’t fret, Murrough,”

said Velvet calmly. “There is nothing we can do about this situation. I am merely surprised that Mother could not get some sort of message to you before

we reached Bombay. It was inevitable that once we reached here the ransom would have to be paid.”

The Jesuit smiled coldly, but his eyes were beaming with approval. “Your sister understands the game, Captain O’Flaherty,”

he said, “far better than you do.”

Velvet smiled back at Father Ourique. “Will you see that my cabin is cleared of your men, Padre, so that my tiring woman and I may pack? We will not be very long.”

“There is time, Countess. I will send for a carriage to transport you.”

He bowed, and then with a paucity of motion shooed the soldiers from the cabin, leaving Pansy, Murrough, and Velvet alone.

“You mustn’t be frightened,”

began Murrough.

“I’m not,”

said Velvet. “It will give me a chance to see the city, and then I shall have something to talk about when we return to England.”

“You surprise me more every day,”

said Murrough quietly. “What happened to the hysterical young woman who boarded my ship five months ago?”

“She grew up a little more, brother. Alex’s death was a terrible shock to me for many reasons, but perhaps mostly because it was so unnecessary. Being away from everyone and everything, out on the sea with only the elements for companions, I have been able to come to terms with myself, for I really have only myself to rely on in the end. I will never forget my marriage, short though it was. I will never forget Alex. I, however, am alive, and I must go on for whatever purpose God intends. When we return home, I will retire to Queen’s Malvern and spend the rest of my days there with Mama and Papa. They were my life before Alex, and so shall they be once again.”

“There will be someone else for you one day, poppet,”

Murrough said. “Has not Robin found new happiness with Angel? And our mother? Did not life treat her harshly time after time until she wed with your father?”

“There will be no one else for me,”

said Velvet with all the dramatic certainty of a sixteen-year-old, and Murrough, knowing better, did not bother to argue with her further. One day another man would come along who would capture her heart.

“I will go on deck and arrange for the water casks to be refilled so that we may set sail for the fleet as quickly as possible after you’ve left the ship,”

he told her.

She stepped forward and hugged her brother hard. She loved him greatly, and he had been so good to her.

Remembering it now, in Akbar’s zenana, fresh tears began to slide down Velvet’s face. Until this moment she had not realized how painful the memory was.

“I see now how you came to India,”

said Akbar, “but there is more. I would not distress you, but you must finish your story for me.”

“I’ll be all right.”

Velvet sniffed. “It was just that I was thinking of my brother. I love him very much. Are you sure, my lord, that I do not bore you with my taie?”

He smiled warmly at her. “No, you do not bore me. I feel very much like Sultan Schariar with his Scheherazade.”

“Who were Sultan Schariar and Scheherazade?”

asked Velvet.

“Schariar was a ruler of Persia many centuries ago who, having been deceived by his wife, executed her in accordance with the laws of his land, and then decided that all women were wicked as she had been. Vowing never to be deluded again, he ordered that a new bride be brought to him each night and on each following morning he had her executed.

“Up until then Schariar had been much loved by his people, but now they feared him, and they feared for their daughters. Finally the elder daughter of the sultan’s grand vizier, a maiden named Scheherazade, was determined to put a stop to the tragedy and, despite her father’s distress, offered herself as the sultan’s bride.

“That evening Scheherazade begged the sultan to allow her sister, Dinarzade, to spend the night with her as it was her last night on earth. The sultan acquiesced, which was fortunate since Scheherazade’s plan required her sister’s cooperation. An hour before the dawn, Dinarzade awoke and begged her sister to tell one of her fabulous stories as it would be the last time she ever heard one. With the sultan’s permission Scheherazade began her tale. At daybreak she ceased speaking, though the tale was nowhere near finished, but she knew the sultan arose at dawn to attend his council. Dinarzade protested, and the sultan, who at this point was very much caught up in the story himself, delayed Scheherazade’s execution for a day.

“Each night for a thousand and one nights Scheherazade told the sultan fabulous tales of geniis, ghouls, and jinns; of peris, who are fairies; of princesses who worked magic spells; and of handsome princes, flying carpets, and horses that flew. In the end the sultan fell in love with her, made her his sultana, and when his reign of terror stopped, he was once more loved by his people as was Scheherazade.”

Velvet was intrigued by his story. “Will you order me executed after I have finished my tale?”

she said with a little smile.

Akbar’s black eyes fixed themselves on her face, and he said in his deep, satiny voice, “I could never destroy such rare beauty as yours, I am more likely to make you one of my queens.”

Velvet’s cheeks pinked prettily. “You have many queens, I am told,”

she said pertly.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Continue your tale, my Scheherazade,”

he said, thinking again that he liked her spirit.

“I was transported to the Portuguese governor’s house late that afternoon,”

she began, remembering as she spoke the terrible, damp heat of Bombay that left her feeling totally limp. Beside her in the stuffy, closed carriage, Pansy was looking green again.

“Lord, m’lady, first ’tis the sea that makes me sick, and then no sooner am I upon dry land than I feel even worse. God help us, but I will be glad to go home.”

Secretly, Velvet agreed with her young tiring woman, but it was up to her now to keep their spirits up. “I’m sure that once we get to the governor’s house we will be able to have something cool to drink, and that should help.”

Pansy didn’t look particularly convinced, but she grew quiet again, and Velvet couldn’t decide which was worse, the silence or her maid’s complaints. The governor’s residence looked promising, a two-story white-brick building built around a large, flowering courtyard. They were settled into an airy suite of rooms overlooking the courtyard and given cool, scented baths, which after the months at sea was a great treat, but it was not until evening that Velvet met the governor, Don Cesar Affonso Marinha-Grande.

He was a tall, spare man, his skin bronzed by the relentless Indian sun, his eyes cold and flat, and his hair dark. He had a beautifully barbered small beard and a narrow moustache. To her amazement he was dressed in the height of fashion, in black velvet and white lace, which she couldn’t help thinking must be very warm considering the heat of the day. She herself had chosen to wear a simple brown silk gown with an open neckline in order to be as cool as possible.

Father Ourique moved to introduce Velvet as she entered the dining chamber. “Your Excellency, may I present Velvet Gordon, the Countess of BrocCairn, who will be your guest until her brother returns to complete our business. She is the only child of Lord and Lady de Marisco.”

Velvet curtsied politely. “Your Excellency,” she said.

He bowed, but his eyes were instantly fastened upon her breasts. “You are a widow, madame?”

was his greeting.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Children?”

“No, m’lord. We were not blessed, and our union was short.”

“You remind me of your mother, though you don’t really look like her,”

the governor said. “A most beautiful woman, Lady de Marisco.”

“My father is her equal, for he is the most handsome man I have ever known,”

said Velvet proudly.

“A troublesome man, your father, madame, but then your mother for all her beauty is a troublesome woman.”

The dinner was served. Velvet ate automatically, not even remembering what it was she consumed. The governor spoke no more to her, instead conversing in his own language with the Jesuit. When the meal was over, she politely bid the two good night and, escorted by a servant, turned to make her way to her chambers. She could feel the governor’s eyes boring into her back as she left the room.

Pansy was feeling better, having stuffed herself with fresh fruit. “I haven’t got the foggiest notion what half of them was, m’lady.”

She laughed. “But it all tasted delicious, and I decided if they brought it for you, it must be all right.”

Both the young women were exhausted, so they retired early, Velvet sleeping on the bed and Pansy on the trundle.

Velvet didn’t know exactly what it was that woke her during the night, but she suddenly came wide awake and saw Don Cesar standing over her bed, flanked by several of his native servants. Before she could cry out, she was pulled up from the bed. Her first reaction was one of anger. How dare they lay hands upon her! But the anger turned to fear when the governor calmly reached out and ripped the thin silk of her night rail from her. Her eyes widened, and her throat tensed in a shocked scream of outrage and embarrassment.

“Beautiful,”

he murmured almost worshipfully, ignoring her cry. He stood before her, cupping her breasts, and then his hands smoothed down to fit the curve of her waist. “I hope you realize that I am denying myself greatly by sending you to the emperor, madame. He has never, to my knowledge, had a fair-skinned European woman in his harem, and you shall be the first.”

He ran his hand across her belly, and then slid it around to fondle one of her buttocks. “Glorious! Absolutely glorious! What tender, young skin you have!”

He fingered her freshly washed auburn hair. “How soft it is,”

he said, almost to himself, “and perfection with your emerald eyes. You are really quite magnificent, madame, perhaps even more beautiful than your bitch of a mother.”

Velvet stiffened angrily. “How dare you, my lord! How dare you speak of my mama in such a fashion!”

“Your mama!”

He hissed, and at the corner of his lips a tiny foam of spittle appeared. “I offered your mama the honor of my protection. Unlike your father and his heretic crew, whom I housed in my dungeons, I brought your mama here to my palace and put her in rooms next to my own apartments.

“She flaunted her beauty before me in lascivious fashion, taunting and tempting me beyond reason.”

His dark eyes were haunted by the memory and filled with pain. His face grew almost frenzied with his hatred. “I desired her, and she refused me! She said I was incapable of true desire, a poor excuse for a man, that she would rather be in a filthy prison than with me! The bitch! She dared to spit in my face!”