Page 34 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“Good for Mama!”

Velvet cried out bravely, and Pansy silently cheered her mistress.

Outraged by this echo of her mother’s defiance, the governor slapped Velvet across the face as if to gain some measure of revenge on Skye. Then he smiled, showing small, pointed, yellowed teeth. “Perhaps such a show of spirit will intrigue the Grand Mughal, my dear.”

“Are you mad, sir?”

she demanded. “How dare you enter my chamber and behave as you are doing!”

The governor laughed. “You English! Always so cool in a crisis. Have you not heard a word I have said to you?

“Tonight you will begin a journey across this incredible land to Lahore, the capital of Akbar, the Grand Mughal himself,”

Don Cesar told her. “You are a gift to him from me. He has several thousand concubines in his harem, but if you are lucky you will attract him. Akbar, has, I am told, a great appetite for beautiful women. He has never had a European concubine before. What a rarity you will be for him! He will be in my debt, thanks to you! And I will have settled my score with your shameless mother.”

Velvet was shocked by the governor’s words. “You are mad, sir!”

she cried out to him. “I am under the protection of the church. You cannot do this!”

Cesar Affonso Marinha-Grande laughed heartily. “I can do whatever I want for I am the governor here. No one, not even Padre Ourique, will know what I have done with you until your unsuspecting brother has paid the ransom. Do you think the Jesuit will ride after you then, after he learns what I have done? Do not be foolish, madame! The Jesuit only seeks the gold your brother brings. His share will help him to do great things among the heretics, and perhaps in time word of it will get to Paris and he will be recalled with honors to civilization. No, he will not help you. As for your brother, he will not be able to go after you. What does he know of this land? He will be expelled immediately upon his delivery of the ransom. You are no virgin to weep and whine. Resign yourself to your fate, madame!”

Velvet was horrified, and then her eyes met Pansy’s frightened ones. “At least leave my servant here to return with my brother to England. This heat will be her death, sir.”

“No! The girl goes with you! Or else she dies!”

He reached for the dagger at his waist.

“No!”

Velvet cried, thinking, we are at the mercy of a madman!

“Then you must both make ready to leave. My caravan of gifts departs within the hour. The moon will light your way, and it is cooler traveling at night. Unfortunately, there will be no palanquin for you. You will travel faster on your own two feet. I will send a woman to you who will show you how to dress so that your skin will not be marred by exposure to the sun. Farewell.”

“Please, sir!”

Velvet called after him, and he turned back to her. “Why are you doing this? Think on it! I am the godchild of two queens, not some poor, defenseless girl with no family. Cease your actions now and I will say nothing, and neither will Pansy.”

Suddenly his face went dark with rage, and he almost spat the words at her. “You are just like your mother,”

he said venomously. “A proud, defiant wench. Well, we will see how defiant you are after a year in the Grand Mughal’s harem!”

Then, whirling, he was gone with his servants, and a dark-skinned woman in native dress was entering the room.

“I am Zerlinda,”

she said. “The governor has sent me with garments for you and your servant.”

“Zerlinda! You must help us!”

said Velvet desperately. “I am the Countess of BrocCairn. I am under the protection of the Jesuits. What the governor is doing is wrong. Help me and I will reward you well. My brother will give you whatever you want!”

“What I want is to be the wife of Don Cesar, and he has promised me that if I help him,”

came the woman’s frightening reply. “I have loved him for three years, but what chance did I, a half-caste of Portuguese-Jewish-Indian blood, have to be his wife? There is nothing that you can give me, madame, to aid you. After tonight I will have everything!”

She handed Velvet and Pansy enveloping robes that covered them from neck to ankle. The garments were of cotton gauze and striped in several colors. After they had put them on, Zerlinda said, “I have hooded capes for you also. The nights are sometimes cool, and if it should rain you will need them. Be sure you take sturdy shoes. It is a long trek to Lahore. You will be on the road well over a month.”

Numbly Velvet donned her cape. She could not believe what was happening to her. Suddenly she grew very angry. “I am not going to be kidnapped like this!”

she said. “Neither my servant nor I will leave this room until we have seen Father Ourique. He will not permit this outrage!”

Zerlinda said nothing. Instead she opened the door and spoke quickly in Portuguese to the soldier who waited outside. He entered the room, and, walking swiftly up to Velvet, he hit her on the jaw, catching her as she collapsed unconscious into his arms.

“Get shoes for yourself and your mistress, and any other small thing you can carry that will make her comfortable,”

said Zerlinda. “I will wait outside, but be quick.”

Pansy gathered up Velvet’s hairbrush, some hairpins, ribbons, handkerchiefs, a tiny jeweled gold mirror, and a small silver paring knife that Velvet carried on a delicate matching chain. Carefully Pansy wrapped the whole bundle in a large silk square. Sturdy shoes, Zerlinda had said. Pansy almost laughed. Sturdy shoes were all she possessed, but her lady was another matter. All she had were silken slippers. Sighing, Pansy unwrapped her bundle and, adding three pair of the delicate footwear, retied it. Then hoisting it into her arms she left the room.

Pansy followed Zerlinda down into the courtyard where a formidable-looking caravan was assembled. “Your mistress is there,”

said Zerlinda, pointing at a cart. “This entire caravan is made up of gifts for the emperor. It is well protected. Neither you nor your mistress will come to any harm. The caravan master understands that your mistress is a special gift for the emperor himself.”

Then as an afterthought Zerlinda said, “Tell your mistress that the lord Akbar is a kind and good man well loved by his people.”

Pansy clambered into the cart where her mistress lay. Gently she fingered Velvet’s jaw. Thank God there would be no bruise, and that was a miracle for the brute had hit her hard enough.

The caravan departed the governor’s palace and wound through the silent streets of the city onto the northwest highway. A bright moon shone down on them, illuminating their way.

It wasn’t until morning that Velvet began to rouse. By then the caravan was well north of the city. Pansy, who had been walking next to the cart that carried Velvet, was glad to see her mistress awake and apparently unharmed.

With the sun came the heat, and finally toward midmorning they made camp in the shelter of some large rocks. Water and fruits were passed around, the animals cared for, and then everyone but those guarding the caravan fell asleep.

“I know you’ve slept all the night, m’lady, but you’d best sleep today as well. Tonight you’ll be walking, and you’re not used to it,”

Pansy said.

“I feel awful,”

Velvet admitted, “my head hurts.”

“I’m not surprised,”

the tiring woman fussed as she braced her mistress’s shoulders and gently fed her some brackish water. When Velvet had sipped her fill, Pansy offered her slices of a soft, reddish fruit with a sweet taste. “I ain’t got no idea what it is, but it tastes good,” she said.

Velvet laughed weakly, but she nibbled on the fruit eagerly.

They slept the day away in the stifling heat, which toward mid-afternoon was broken for a short time by a rainstorm. Huddling in a small, open cave made by two large rocks, they were better protected with their hooded capes than the others.

Then in the late afternoon as the rain ceased several cookfires sprang up, and a lamb was butchered and roasted. Together the two women waited their turn as the meat was finally carved, and were given pieces of lamb and a ladleful each of rice on a tin plate. There were no utensils, and so, following the lead of their captors, they used their three middle fingers to scoop up the rice. The meal over, the trek began again as soon as the campfires were put out and everything packed away.

It was in the middle of the third week of their trek that Pansy fell ill of a fever. What caused it Velvet did not know, but when the tiring woman could walk no farther and collapsed onto the road, the caravan master was for leaving her. Frantically Velvet clung to her servant, her friend. “No! I won’t let you,”

she protested, her green eyes filling with tears.

Angrily, the caravan master shouted at her and tried to pull her away, but Velvet clung to Pansy like moss to a rock. “No!”

She sobbed desperately, and then suddenly an idea struck her. Falling to her knees, she frantically scrabbled through the bundle Pansy had hastily packed at the governor’s palace. Finding what she sought, she stood and held it out with one hand while pointing first to Pansy and then to the cart with the other.

The caravan master’s eyes grew round with greed at the sight of the dainty, bejeweled gold mirror. There was a girl in Lahore that he was courting, and this was a finer gift than anything he could ordinarily give her. He reached for the mirror, but Velvet shook her head and pointed again at the cart. The caravan master nodded and reached out once more, but Velvet dropped again to her knees and began to draw in the dirt with her finger. Fascinated, he watched her, and when she gestured him over he knelt to see a rather crude rendition of the cart, a long road, and finally a city. When his eye had reached the end of her message, she laid the mirror down on the city portion and looked at him.

He gazed at her, wondering if he could trust her and admiring her cleverness in bargaining with him despite the language barrier. As if she sensed his thoughts, Velvet detached the filigreed gold chain she used to hang the mirror from her belt and offered it to him. Taking it from her, he nodded his agreement. The chain now, the mirror when they reached their destination, and in return the sick girl could ride in a cart. He gave the order, and Pansy was lifted from her place upon the ground and into the cart beneath which they had been sleeping at night.

Velvet breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing that the caravan master fully expected that Pansy would be dead long before they reached Lahore. She might have been, too, had word not come that Akbar was at Fatehpur-Sikri and the caravan altered its route. In the meantime Velvet worked frantically nursing her servant, terrified lest she lose her friend and her last link with England. She knew very little of what to do, for the herbal medicine she had learned from her mother and Dame Cecily involved herbs and roots that she had no idea how to obtain here in this unfamiliar place. If only she could find some fennel leaves, which, brewed as a tea, would help to lower Pansy’s fever. Violet tea was another decoction that could help, but she suspected that violets were not native to this hot land. How could she find marrows, another fever remedy? She simply didn’t know, and her inability to help Pansy fully was both frightening and frustrating. The most Velvet could do was to bathe her servant’s hands and head, and to get water, mashed fruit, and juices into her, a task that became increasingly difficult as Pansy spent more and more time unconscious.

By the time the caravan reached Fatehpur-Sikri, Velvet was terrified both of Pansy’s fate and of the unknown fate that awaited her.

“And does your fate seem so awful now, my Scheherezade?”

Akbar asked her as she stopped speaking.

“I do not know what my fate is to be yet, sire,”

Velvet answered him.

He looked at her a long moment, and then said, “I think you do know.”

Again her cheeks filled with color, and she lowered her eyes. Velvet was no fool, and she knew quite well why the Portuguese governor had sent her to the Grand Mughal. She was not a virgin, yet still she was afraid. In her mind she yet remained Alex’s wife.

“And Pansy?”

she said, finding her voice and attempting to change the subject. “Has your physician been able to determine what is wrong with her?”

“It took some time, I am told, to bathe her in her unconscious state. The physician should be with her now. Would you like to go and see?”

He rose easily from his seated position on the bed and held out his hand to her.

Shyly she put her hand in his and stood to go with him. He led her from her chamber, down the corridor to another smaller room. Within, Velvet saw a very pale Pansy lying on a bed, an elderly, bearded gentleman standing over her. The physician turned as they entered the room and, bowing, spoke to Akbar.

“My lord, I have been able to render a diagnosis. It is really quite simple. The woman is suffering from the effect of our heat to which she is obviously not accustomed, and from a swelling of her hands and feet, which have been brought on by her advanced state of pregnancy. She should deliver her child within a month to six weeks. She must remain in bed until that time. I have prescribed a diuretic, which should reduce the swelling. With rest, shelter from the sun, and cool baths her fever will shortly abate. Should the swelling not go down within the next few days I will induce her labor. Delivery of the child will cure her if nothing else will.”

“Thank you, Zafar Singh. This lady is the woman’s mistress, and she loves her servant dearly. She will be greatly relieved.”

“What is it?”

Velvet asked anxiously, for the conversation had been held in Akbar’s native tongue. “Will Pansy live?”

“Most likely,”

he said, and then, “Are you aware that your servant is expecting a child?”

“What?”

Velvet was astounded. Pansy enceinte? “It isn’t possible,”

she said, but in the back of her mind she knew that if it were Dugald was the father.

“Will you ask the physician if he is certain, my lord?” she said.

“He is most certain. Your servant will deliver within a month or so.”

“When can I speak with her? She has been unconscious these last few days.”

Velvet gazed worriedly down at Pansy’s drawn features.

“When will the girl be able to speak? She has been unconscious for several days,”

Akbar demanded of the doctor.

“Her rest is a natural one now, my lord. She should awaken tomorrow.”

“You should be able to speak with your servant tomorrow,”

Akbar relayed to Velvet. “Her sleep is now a natural one.”

“Thank God!”

He was touched by her emotion. He found her concern for her servant charming. Taking her again by the hand, he led her back to her own quarters.

“She doesn’t look enceinte,”

Velvet mused. “When we left England my sister-in-law was with child, and not as near to term, yet she was big. I hope Pansy’s baby is all right.”

“Each woman carries her child in a different fashion. Some grow large early, others late, and some not at all. Some women carry high, some low. She seems a hardy girl.”

“She is.”

Velvet looked at him and smiled. “You are so very kind, sire. Tell me how it is you know so much about babies.”

“I should. I have fathered enough.”

He smiled sadly. “Only six, however, have lived. I have three sons and three daughters.”

They stood awkwardly silent for a few moments. Then Akbar said, “You will want to rest now. I will come tomorrow and see you. Good night, my English Rose. Sleep well.”

Adali arose from the corner where he had been awaiting her. “Aiyee! You have pleased him, my princess! Yes! Yes, I could tell it! He is pleased with you!”

Velvet shook her head. “He is simply a kind man, Adali. Tomorrow I will ask him to return me to my own land.”

The eunuch said nothing further. He knew that Akbar would do no such thing. He had seen the look in his emperor’s eyes as they caressed his new mistress. It had been many years since the Grand Mughal had looked with passion upon a woman. Most of his liaisons were either out of political necessity or physical need. This, however, was a different matter.

Adali remembered the story of Akbar and one of his wives, the beauteous Almira. Almira had been thirteen when she had caught the eye of the Grand Mughal. Unfortunately she was the wife of the elderly Shaikh Abdul Wasi. Akbar, however, desired her greatly, and Almira was equally enamored of the emperor. Since neither could control their passions, Akbar forced the shaikh to divorce his wife so that he might have her. Almira was the mother of Akbar’s second son, Prince Murad.

It was the only time Adali knew of that his master had wed out of his own desire and not expediency. The eunuch himself had not been with the court then, being just a small boy in Cambay, but the tale was a famous one. After Adali had joined the Mughal’s court he had learned that Akbar was fond of all his wives; the mother of his heir, Prince Salim, Princess Jodh Bai, being highest in his esteem. Never, however, had Adali ever heard it said that the emperor was in love. Adali believed, though, that this was about to change. Akbar desired the foreign princess, his mistress, that much was plain, but there was more to it than that. The eunuch could tell by the emperor’s patience and gentleness to the woman that Akbar thought her special. She was very different, and the emperor knew it. Had he not instructed Adali to keep her from the others lest they change her? Adali realized that by virtue of his French father he had just taken a giant step forward in the hierarchy of the household eunuchs. If his mistress could hold the Grand Mughal’s heart, his fortune was made. To that end he intended to work.

“You must rest now,”

he said. “It has been a frightening time for you, but you are safe here.”

He turned her about and pulled open the ribbons that held her little blouse closed.

“What are you doing?”

Velvet cried.

“You must prepare for sleep,”

he answered her. “Here we sleep without garments.”

“You cannot undress me,”

exclaimed Velvet in a shocked tone.

“I am your servant,”

he answered.

“You are a man,”

she replied.

Adali laughed. “No I am not, princess. I am a eunuch. Oh, I resemble a man, and I was born a male, but when I was gelded I ceased to be a man.”

He whisked her blouse off and reached to loosen her skirtband. “I have none of the feelings and desires of a normal man.”

The skirt slipped to the floor, and Velvet automatically stepped from the silken circle as Adali bent to pick up the garment.

Realizing that she was naked, Velvet quickly climbed onto her bed and drew a silken coverlet over herself. “I am really quite capable of undressing myself,”

she said in a small voice.