Chapter 8

I t was a hot afternoon, and Jalal-ud Din Muhammad Akbar, emperor of the Mughal empire, sat upon his throne conducting his country's business. He was feeling bored and irritable. The air in the audience chamber of the Diwan was heavy with humidity, and from the rumblings outside the building another storm was due soon. He sighed as a bead of perspiration rolled down the side of his face from beneath his small, tightly rolled white turban, which had been fashioned to combine both the Muslim and the Hindu modes. It was the season of the monsoon. He could feel the dampness on his wheat-colored skin even through his peacock blue sarcenet trousers, and his gold tunic, which was called a cabaya, was limp. His personal bodyslave leaned over and wiped the moisture from his face. The emperor smiled his thanks to the man, even as he longed for a bath and a cool breeze.

"And now, Most High, a final item," said Ramesh, the khan-i-saman of his household. "Today there is newly arrived a train of gifts from the Portuguese governor in Bombay. They were routed to your capital in Lahore, but learning that you were visiting here in Fatehpur-Sikri they came directly to you."

Akbar raised his expressive, fine dark eyes heavenward. "Let me guess," he said, somewhat wryly. "Several just passable horses, a few second-rate fighting elephants, at least one brace of moth-eaten hunting cats, another painting of some Christian saint or martyr, and a pouch of inferior gemstones." He sighed deeply. "Why do the Portuguese insist on sending me bad fighting elephants and worse gemstones, Ramesh? They have absolutely no taste in either. Am I right, old friend?"

Ramesh, the lord high steward, smiled affectionately at his master. "You are correct, Most High, but this time the Portuguese have added two additional gifts. One should please you, but as for the other …" He shrugged.

"There is more?" Akbar was surprised, for Portuguese generosity toward him was generally scant. The Portuguese were far more interested in what they could take from India than in what they could give to it. "Well, Ramesh," he said, "what have the Portuguese added to their caravan of delights this time to please and amuse this barbarian king?"

"What will please you, Most High, is a jeweled clock that chimes the hour," was the lord high steward's reply.

Akbar's eyes lit with pleasure, for he very much enjoyed mechanical objects. "And?" he queried.

Ramesh's face grew concerned. "The Portuguese have sent you a woman, Most High."

"A woman?" The emperor was astounded. "Do the Portuguese think my zenana is not full enough?" Then he grew curious. "What kind of a woman, Ramesh? Have they sent me one of their dwarfs for my amusement or perhaps some other female freak of nature?"

"I think she is a European, Most High. She is certainly not of our land or from Cathay," the lord high steward replied.

"What frets you about her, Ramesh?"

The lord high steward hesitated a moment, and then said, "I believe that the Portuguese meant to please you, but this woman is, I am absolutely convinced, stark, raving mad. I question that she has not been sent here to assassinate Your Majesty, and I fear for your safety."

Akbar's interest was piqued, and he found that he was much less bored. During this whole afternoon in the oppressive heat of the monsoon season he had sat patiently listening to various, long-winded complaints from his subjects and mediating delicate disputes between the many fiery factions, both religious and political, that made up his realm. He needed a diversion, and here, at last, was something different.

"Have the woman brought to me," he commanded. "I would see her now."

"My lord," protested Ramesh, "I fear for you, and, besides, I promise you she is like the gemstones and the elephants, nothing special. Her skin is very white but for her hands, face, and feet, which have been sunburned in the trek from the coast. The Portuguese governor did not even think enough of her to provide her with an elephant or a camel or even a simple litter. I cannot make out the color of her hair because it is so dirty—I suspect it is filled with lice and fleas. Her eyes seem to be of a light hue. I have never seen anything like them before. She is an ugly creature. Let me send her to the kitchens. Perhaps they can make use of her."

Akbar laughed. "I cannot send a gift from the Portuguese to the kitchens," he said. "At the very least I must see her, and then she shall be sent to my zenana. Now stop fussing like an old woman, Ramesh, and bring me this female!"

The khan-i-saman signaled to one of his underlings, who hurried from the audience chamber. A few moments later an unearthly shriek rent the air, startling all within the steaming chamber. They could hear a woman's voice angrily raging, a sound that drew nearer and nearer until the double doors to the audience chamber burst open and two servants dragged in a naked, struggling creature who screamed and fought them wildly, her heavy, lank hair thrashing about her body.

"Take your filthy hands from me, you evil baboons!" she angrily shouted, but they no more understood her protests than she comprehended their sharp commands.

"Kneel, woman! You are in the presence of the emperor!" They attempted to force her to her knees, but the woman, in a most surprising maneuver, broke free and, snatching a cape from one of the servants who was trying to restrain her, attempted to cover her nudity. Then with her bare foot she kicked out at the other servant, catching him in a most vulnerable and tender spot.

"Arrrrgh!" cried the wounded one, falling to the floor and clutching at himself.

In the chaos that followed the woman bent and swiftly relieved her victim of his dagger, then, turning, she backed quickly into a corner, pointing the weapon outward toward her tormentors.

"Come near me, any of you, and I swear I'll kill you!" she threatened.

"Aiyee!" wailed the khan-i-saman, rolling his head from side to side. "I knew this creature would bring disaster upon us all! She has the evil eye, I am sure! Call out the guard lest she harm the emperor!"

"Remain in your places, all of you!" Akbar sharply commanded. "Can none of you see? The woman is terrified." He himself felt no fear. Watching the drama unfolding before him, he found he was rather fascinated and curious as to what the woman looked like beneath her many layers of dirt. He had never seen a European woman before, and he couldn't tell a great deal at the moment about the filthy, crouching female. "Has anyone tried to speak reasonably with her?" he asked.

"No one can understand her barbarian tongue, Most High," quavered Ramesh.

"How like the Portuguese not to teach her even a few words of our language," murmured the emperor. "But then, knowing their lack of subtlety of intellect, they probably assumed the simple Mughal would find no need to speak with the woman. He would simply fall upon her and sate his lust."

"Do you think she is Portuguese?" wondered Ramesh.

Akbar shook his head. "It is doubtful they would send one of their own women to me," he said.

"The holy fathers taught you their tongues, Most High. Could you not speak to this woman in them?"

"Yes, my old friend," said the emperor. "I have learned two languages from the holy fathers. If this woman understands one of them, then perhaps we can calm her fears."

"What can she possibly be afraid of?" fussed the lord high steward in a somewhat aggrieved tone of voice. "This is a civilized land. Our cultures—Moslem, Buddhist, even Hindu with its caste system—are ancient and venerable. Older, in many instances, than the Europeans, and certainly more civilized.

Akbar smiled. "Yes," he agreed, "but do the Europeans know it, Ramesh?" He turned to the woman who was still crouched defensively in her corner. None of the others had noticed, but he could see that she was trembling slightly. Still, she gave no other indication of her fear and that intrigued him. Although he knew of brave women by reputation, he had never before faced one. Her eyes—intelligent eyes, he noted—had been following the conversation between himself and Ramesh as she attempted to ascertain some indication of her fate.

"Are you Portuguese, senhora?" he inquired of her in that tongue. She stared blankly at him.

"êtes-vous fran?ais, mademoiselle?" he asked, switching to the French language. He could see relief wash over her in that moment.

"Non, monseigneur, je ne suis pas fran?ais, mais je parle fran?ais comme ma grandmère est une Fran?aise," came the woman's reply. Then uncontrolled tears began to slide down her oval face, making dirty runnels in her skin as they went. For a moment she was in a quandary as to what to do. One hand held the dagger, the other the cape that covered her. Finally she reached up with her weaponed hand and brushed her tears away with the heel of her palm, further smudging the dust on her face.

"Why do you weep?" Akbar asked softly, finding that desperate, feminine gesture both charming and vulnerable.

"Because, monseigneur," she sobbed, "this is the first time in weeks that someone has spoken to me in a tongue that I could understand. Your accent is heavy, but I can comprehend you. Have you any idea what it is like to be in a strange place, unable to communicate with the people around you, not knowing what is going to happen to you?"

"No," he said quietly, "I do not, but if I found myself in such a position I think I would be afraid." The emperor could see that the woman was near the breaking point, and not wishing to frighten her further he asked gently, "Would you like it if I sent all these people away, mademoiselle?"

She nodded, saying, "Can you do that? Are you the lord of this place?"

"I am."

"What are you called, monseigneur? How shall I address you?"

"I am Akbar, called the Grand Mughal. I am the emperor of this land, mademoiselle. Who are you?"

She drew herself up in a proud little gesture, and he was surprised by her height. "I am the Countess of BrocCairn, monseigneur. I am Velvet Gordon."

"Are you hungry, my lady? Thirsty, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes, my lord! I am both hungry and thirsty. It is so very hot."

The emperor turned back to his people. "Leave us," he said to them, "but, Ramesh, see that a servant brings cool wine and some fruit. This woman is not quite the villainess you imagined. From what I can gather so far, she is a noblewoman in her own land. I suspect treachery on the part of the Portuguese, and this poor creature has been their victim."

"Is she Portuguese then, Most High?"

"No, my friend. I do not yet know her native land, but she is able to speak with me in the tongue of the Franks. I shall soon learn all, and you need not fear for me. She is no danger."

Ramesh nodded. The emperor had a magic about him when it came to dealing with people. Had he not virtually single-handedly united this great land, which for years had been divided by warring factions that set family against family? Neighbor against neighbor? Was he not the first Moslem emperor to bring Hindus into the government and the army? Ramesh nodded again to himself and, leading the way for the others, he left the room.

Velvet relaxed a tiny bit now and quickly studied the man who sat calm and cross-legged amid colorful pillows upon the raised dais before her. She suspected that when he stood he would be of medium height for a man, and not a great deal taller than she was herself, but then she was considered tall for a woman. He was beautifully dressed and jeweled. Beneath the sheer fabric of his tunic she could see his broad, smooth, muscled chest tapering down to a narrow waist. He had a golden complexion, and was clean shaven but for a closely trimmed, small, dark moustache. His brows were thin and black; his bright eyes were also black but despite their narrow shape, which revealed the Mongolian strain in his blood, they shimmered and danced in the light. His forehead was broad, his nose somewhat short though slender, and between the left nostril and his upper lip was a mole about the size of a small pea. The emperor's mouth was a sensual one, but his expression was serene and full of dignity.

Akbar gave her a moment to collect herself, and then said, "I would reassure you, my lady, that no one here means you any harm. Will you come and sit on the steps beneath me here? You would be far more comfortable than you are now in that corner."

"I will not give up my weapon," she replied.

"If it will make you feel more secure, then keep it." He smiled in a kindly fashion at her. "Come," he said, holding out his hand.

Instinctively Velvet trusted him, though she knew not why, and so she slowly came forward from her refuge and sat gingerly upon a long comfortable pillow that was set on the marble step just below the emperor's throne. "Thank you, my lord," she said simply.

A servant silently entered the room bearing a tray upon which were two goblets of frosty wine and a plate of a juicy, sliced fruit that Velvet could not identify. Bowing low, he offered the contents of the tray first to Akbar and then to Velvet.

"What is that fruit?" she questioned him. It was pale orange in color and looked very good.

"It is melon," Akbar answered. "It is very good and very sweet. I have these particular melons brought down from my capital of Lahore in the north. Try a slice," he suggested and took one himself.

Following his lead, she took a piece and bit into it. It was delicious and, along with the cool, light wine, revived her spirits.

When she had eaten half of the melon and drunk part of her wine, he began to question her gently. "Tell me, my lady," he began, "you are not Portuguese and you say you are not French, though you speak that language. What then is your native land?"

"I am English, my lord," she answered him, daintily licking the juice from the melon off her grimy fingers and suddenly becoming aware of just how dirty her hands were, particularly her nails.

Akbar was not a man to miss anything, and it amused him to see such a typically female reaction come over her in the midst of all her troubles. He could still not tell a great deal about her looks beneath the dirt and the mass of lank hair, but the one thing he could see as she glanced up at him was that her features were fine and that her eyes were the color of emeralds. "You are English," he repeated, and she nodded. "I had some Englishmen here several years back. They brought me a letter from your queen. Does she still reign?"

"Yes, my lord, Queen Elizabeth yet reigns, and will continue to do so, God willing. The queen is my godmother, my lord! The expedition you speak of was that of Master John Newbery and Master William Hawkins. They and their assistants, a jeweler named Leedes and James Story, a painter, along with a friend of my mother's, a London merchant named Ralph Fitch, left England when I was twelve. Nothing was heard of them after they landed in Goa. In England it was thought that they died," Velvet told him.

"Three of them reached my court a few years ago at just this time. The artist had married a half-caste girl and remained in Goa, but the others I knew. The jeweler I took into my service, and he served me well until he died of a fever. The other two departed Fatehpur-Sikri to return to their homeland and I never heard from them again."

"They had not returned to England when I left several months ago, my lord," Velvet said.

"It was unusual that three Englishmen reached my court at all," said Akbar. "Tell me now how it is that you find yourself here, my lady. Where is your family? Why have the Portuguese taken it upon themselves to deliver you to me? You do understand that they have sent you to me as a gift? Why did you not arrive as befits your state in a jeweled palanquin?"

"The Portuguese have not the right to ‘gift' you with me, my lord. I am a great noblewoman in my own land! I stand high in the queen's favor!" Velvet's voice rang out angrily with her indignation.

Fascinating, he thought. In his whole life only his mother had ever raised her voice at him. The Englishwoman was different from the women he knew, and he was becoming more and more intrigued. "Do not be angry," he soothed her. "I merely seek to learn how you came here and in such a frankly disgraceful state."

"There was no jeweled palanquin, my lord, for as I was told before we left Bombay, the caravan master wished to travel quickly before the rains set in. I was made to walk, and my only shelter was beneath a cart at night. Two weeks ago my tiring woman became ill, and they wanted to leave her behind. I do not speak Portuguese, and I do not speak your language, but I conveyed to the leader of the caravan my distress at being separated from Pansy. I screamed and I cried and I clung to her, all the while shaking my head and saying ‘no.' Finally I offered the caravan master my jeweled mirror as a bribe, and they put her in one of the carts. I have been nursing her ever since, but she is very sick, my lord. Have you a doctor who can make her well? She is all I have." Velvet's voice quavered at this last.

Akbar clapped his hands twice, and a servant materialized seemingly from nowhere. The emperor spoke quickly and firmly to the man who, when his master had finished speaking, bowed low and hurried from the chamber.

"Your servant will be well cared for now, my lady," Akbar said. "I have given instructions that the physician see to her. He will report to me as soon as he has made his examination and can render a diagnosis."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, smiling at him.

Allah! he thought. Beneath all that dirt she is pretty. He was suddenly even more curious than before to learn just how pretty. "Your journey of the last several weeks has been long, and hard" he said, "and I do not doubt that you are exhausted. Let me have Ramesh take you to a comfortable place where you can bathe and eat. Then I will come, and you will tell me of your travels and how it is you have come to Fatehpur-Sikri."

"You are kind, my lord, and I thank you," said Velvet. She had been very frightened, but now her fears had lessened for this king did not seem a cruel man.

Once more the emperor clapped his hands, and then ordered the answering servant to fetch Ramesh. Then he turned back to Velvet. "Ramesh is the khan-i-saman of my household. You would call him a lord high steward. You need not fear him, and he will see that you are made comfortable."

His words were barely finished when Ramesh hurried into the audience chamber and bowed before Akbar. "How may I serve you, Most High?"

"The woman is English, Ramesh, and I suspect the Portuguese have done something that they ought not have by sending her to me. Still, she is here now, and she has suffered. I have already given orders that her beloved servant who is ill be cared for, and now I would have you take her to the women's quarters so that she may bathe and eat. Give her her own room and be sure she is kindly treated, for I do not want her frightened further. Then see if you can find someone among my servants who can speak the tongue of the Franks. If there be a eunuch or maidservant who knows it, then transfer them from their current duties to serve this woman. I will visit her later to learn her full history."

"It will be as you desire, Most High," replied Ramesh, bowing low again. He looked at Velvet and gestured her to follow him.

"Go with him," said Akbar. "He has been ordered to treat you gently." He smiled reassuringly at her, showing strong, very white teeth.

Velvet stood and, clutching her cape about her, followed Ramesh from the room. She followed him down a wide corridor and out into the hot, cloudy afternoon, then across the square to a beautiful, two-storied, carved sandstone building. Ramesh gestured her inside. Velvet hurried through the doors. It had now begun to rain.

I wonder where I am, she thought. Thanks to the emperor she knew that the name of this town was Fatehpur-Sikri, but was it a town? There didn't seem to be any townspeople in evidence. What was this building to which she had been escorted? To her amazement she saw that there were women soldiers guarding it. As she followed Ramesh up a flight of stairs and through the building, she caught glimpses of other women and at least one small child, a little girl with big dark eyes who seemed startled at Velvet's appearance. The building did not have windows as she knew them, but rather arches, some fitted with carved screens and some open, through which she could see the rain falling in sheets across the great square.

Ramesh stopped before a door and, opening it, gestured for her to enter through it. For a moment Velvet hesitated. Why was he not entering the chamber? Then as she fought back her rising panic she remembered Akbar's promise that Ramesh would treat her gently. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she entered the room and heard the door close behind her. Turning, she saw that she was alone, and, frightened again, she ran to the door and tried the handle. It turned. With a sigh of relief she left it shut and set about to explore her new surroundings.

It was a large single room, the walls of which were painted with wonderful scenes of Indian court life. There were hunting scenes that showed the king upon an elephant, with all his court, the beaters fanning out in the tall grass to ferret out the tiger, a wonderful creature of fierce proportions who hid not too successfully from them. There were scenes showing dancing girls performing before the king, their colorful skirts whirling gracefully so that their brown legs showed. Then there was the king upon a horse, his hunting cats loping by his side; the king upon his dais listening to petitioners; and the king seated with his women about him. The colors were bright and fresh upon the sandstone walls.

The rest of the chamber was just as lovely. Upon a red-painted platform with square gilt feet was a mattress covered in sky blue silk, and above it, held up by delicate, twisted red posts at each corner of the platform, was a blue and gold canopy. There were colorful pillows strewn at one end of the bed, which had been placed in the center of the room to catch the breezes. Beyond the platform was an open doorway that led out on to a veranda that was filled with plants of all descriptions, including two red rose trees. The greenery grew in crockery planters of all sizes and shapes. Velvet could only stand and look at it through the gauze curtains as the rain was heavy.

Turning back to the room after a moment, she saw that there was a large, engraved brass table, actually an enormous tray that was set upon wooden supports. About it were more pillows. Other than that and the bed the room was empty.

The door opened, and a woman beckoned her toward the hallway with an impatient motion. Without even thinking twice, Velvet followed her. She had no other choice, and she was once more beginning to feel frustrated by her lack of ability to communicate. The woman, obviously an upper servant, led her to what she quickly realized were the baths. As more women hurried forward to aid her, Velvet blushed at their nudity. Her cape was taken from her, and the women immediately set about to make her presentable once again.

For a brief moment the bath mistress stared at Velvet as if she couldn't decide where to start. Then with a sharp order to her helpers she pointed to Velvet's head, and they mercilessly went to work washing her hair and scrubbing her scalp until she feared that they meant to make her bald. One washing was not sufficient, nor was two. Not until they had soaped, scrubbed, and rinsed her head three times did the bath mistress evince any sign of satisfaction. Next Velvet found her skin being washed vigorously, and before she could protest a rose-colored paste smelling of almonds was smeared beneath her arms, on her arms and legs, and, to her mortification, upon her Venus mont, which she had been unable to pluck free of hair these last weeks.

By means of hand signals they indicated to her that she was to stand still, and while she did a girl began to towel her hair damp-dry. When the bath mistress deemed it time, the almond paste was rinsed from her skin, and to her surprise she found her entire body now hairless. Velvet was quite fascinated, for although she had never thought to denude her arms and legs of their body hair, it was a tiresome chore to pluck her Venus mont free of its silky growth. Still, Mama had always said that no lady would allow such a growth upon her private person.

Once again she was washed, but this time they scrubbed her gently, using soft cloths and scented soap. Nothing was overlooked, and several times Velvet found herself reddening with embarrassment, but protests were useless. They could not comprehend her words, nor could she understand them. In the end she bore the treatment stoically.

Afterwards she was led to a marble bench and gestured to sit. While one girl cleaned and pared her fingernails, another, kneeling before her, sighed and tsked over the condition of Velvet's feet as she pumiced and cut the calluses from them, then finally cleaned and pared the toenails.

Smiling now, the bath mistress herself led Velvet into another room that contained a large pool. Gesturing her toward the wide steps that led down into the pool, she waved her into the water. Velvet gladly complied and to her delight found the pool both warm and deliciously scented. "Oh." She sighed, her pleasure evident, and the bath women giggled behind their hands, happy that she was pleased with their treatment of her. Feeling better than she had felt in months, Velvet swam and paddled about the bathing pool like a little girl released from tedious lessons.

Above her, hidden behind a carved screen, Akbar watched her frolic, gaining pleasure from the sight of her firm, young breasts, her sleek flanks, and wonderfully long legs. "Well, Ramesh," he said to the steward who stood by his side, "what do you think of the Portuguese gift now? The woman is beautiful! Look at that skin! It is as white as the snows of Kashmir! I want her kept from the sun, and see that lemons are brought from the bazaars in Agra to bleach her hands and feet and face. Never have I seen a woman so fair! Never have I possessed a woman so fair, but possess her I shall!"

"She will not be easy to win over, Most High," observed the lord high steward. "She is a European and not familiar with our ways."

"I want her kept from the other women for the time being," said Akbar. "I don't want her becoming like them. Her value to me is in her very difference. See that every effort is made to cure her servant, for if she remains lonely she will be easy prey for the other women of the zenana for a woman needs another woman to talk with. In the meantime, is there anyone in my service who can speak the tongue of the Franks?"

"When you asked me, Most High, I thought you had set me an impossible task, but I have actually found someone. He is a young eunuch of the lowest rank. His mother was a girl of Cambay and his father a French sailor. The boy is one of many children, and in the last famine was sold into service and gelded for a eunuch. His name is Adali. He claims to speak good French."

"Bring him to me and we will see. I do not want to send him to the woman only to disappoint her. She is very brave, but I do not think she can take much more."

Ramesh nodded. "The eunuch could be merely seeking to advance himself. If he has lied I will personally see that he is flayed alive."

"Let us hope he has not," returned Akbar, and then with a final glance down at the bathing pool he regretfully turned away and hurried from the zenana, Ramesh at his heels.

Because the emperor would not trust himself to test the eunuch personally, a French Jesuit who traveled with the court was sent for to speak with Adali. "His French, Majesty, is of the lower classes, but intelligible," the Jesuit announced and was thanked for his trouble.

Akbar looked at the eunuch. Adali was short and already plump as many were in his position, but his brown eyes were intelligent. "You have been chosen for a very special assignment," said the emperor. "You are to care for a European lady who has entered my zenana and cannot speak our language. Answer all her questions and be loyal to her. She has a female servant, but the girl is ill at this time, and the lady has had no one to speak with during most of her trek from Bombay. She is still fearful, and you will reassure her that no one here will harm her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Most High," the eunuch said.

The emperor turned to Ramesh. "Take him to the English woman's quarters."

Velvet had been fed a light meal of tender baby lamb, saffroned rice, melon, and a light fruity wine. She was slightly uncomfortable in her new clothes, which consisted of a pale green skirt, its hem edged in gold, which hung to her ankles and a matching blouselike top. When the women had put the blouse on her she had at first thought the garment too short, for despite its modest, high, round neckline, it fit her tightly and only covered the tops of her breasts to the nipples, leaving the fullness of her lower breasts bare. The bath women had laughed, however, and putting on their own blouses had shown her that the garment was as it should be.

Velvet sighed at the strangeness of it all, but meekly followed one of the women back to her own chamber where, to her surprise, a short, plump little man in white Turkish trousers and a sleeveless white vest awaited her.

"I am Adali," he said in careful French. "I have been assigned to serve you, princess."

"I am not a princess," said Velvet.

"You must be," said the smiling eunuch, "for I could only serve a princess."

"I am Velvet Gordon, the Countess of BrocCairn, Adali."

"I do not know what a comtesse is," he returned, "but I do know what a princess is, and you are as beautiful as any princess I have ever seen. You must therefore be a princess."

Velvet laughed. She liked this fat little man with his snapping, merry brown eyes. "And how many princesses have you seen in your life, Adali?"

"Well," he considered, "there is the Amber Princess who is the emperor's favorite wife. Then there is the Princess of Khandesh, the Princess of Bikaner, the Princess of Jaisalmer, the Princess of Puragadh, to mention but a few of the lord Akbar's other wives. It seems that every time a king makes a treaty of peace with another king there is a nubile princess involved in the transaction! Now why was I not born a king also?" He gave a watery chuckle that was so infectious in its mirth that Velvet laughed again.

She settled herself in the middle of the pillows upon the bed and looked at Adali. "Your French is terrible!" she scolded him. "Where on earth did you ever learn it? I am going to have to teach you to speak properly, Adali."

"Oh, yes, princess! I should very much like to learn whatever you can teach me. My father was a simple sailor from Brittany who married my mother, who is a Muslim, and settled in the city of Cambay. They own a small shop on the waterfront where they repair sails. It is from my father and his sailor friends that I learned to speak the tongue of the Franks. They are simple men, princess."

For a moment Velvet felt ashamed at having teased him. She was fortunate that Adali spoke French at all. "Forgive me, Adali," she said humbly. "I have been unkind, and the truth is that I am very grateful you can speak to me."

"It is nothing, princess," he answered her graciously. "I am your slave, and you may do with me as you will." Her honest apology had won him, and he would serve her with loyalty always.

Velvet found his words rather startling. She had never owned a slave before. To cover her confusion she said, "Sit down and answer the many questions that I have, Adali. What is this place, this Fatehpur-Sikri? It seems a city, and yet it does not."

A smile split his round face. "When the rains stop I shall show you Fatehpur-Sikri," he said, "for it is indeed a city. It was built by the lord Akbar, and for over ten years it was his capital. He abandoned it five years ago in favor of Lahore to the north. Many say it was because Sheikh Salim, the holy man who lives here and who predicted the birth of the lord Akbar's three sons, disliked the bustle and noise of the capital. It disturbed his meditations, they say.

"That, however, is not so. The lord Akbar abandoned Fatehpur-Sikri because of a water shortage. We are on the edge of the great Indian desert here, and as there are not enough natural springs to supply a city we have to depend upon reservoirs and catch basins. And it does not rain enough here except in this the monsoon season. There isn't really enough water to supply the city, to keep the gardens, and to supply the fountains. That is why the lord Akbar left Fatehpur-Sikri. Still, it is his favorite place, and occasionally he cannot resist returning. The last time was over three years ago."

"So that is why it seems deserted," said Velvet.

Adali nodded. "There is no longer a large population here," he replied.

"Does the lord Akbar's whole court travel with him like our English queen's does?"

Adali chuckled. "Sometimes and sometimes not. This is one of those times when the lord Akbar wished to be by himself for a short while." The eunuch grew somber and lowered his voice. "It has not been a good year for my master. His eldest son, Prince Salim, is now twenty and chafes against his father's control. His two half brothers are nineteen and seventeen. They are the princes Murad and Daniyal. They, too, resent their father, but they resent each other as well. The two younger sons have too great an addiction for sweet wines, and it is said that Prince Salim is an opium-eater as well. None of them are really like their father. He loves them, but I think they sadden him.

"He is a great king, the lord Akbar. Under him almost all of India is now united. The laws, the judgments, and the taxes are finally fair. The roads are safe to travel. He loves and encourages musicians and artisans. He is a man of great intellect and curiosity. He built a house here in Fatehpur-Sikri and then invited priests of all religions, including the Christians, to come here and discourse with him and with each other. He holds no prejudices like our past rulers. He even lifted the special tax from the Rajputs! He is a wonderful and good man, but he has not been well, and so he has come to Fatehpur-Sikri once again to regain his strength."

"Tell me of his wife," said Velvet innocently, forgetting the eunuch's reference to Akbar's many princesses.

"Wives , princess! The lord Akbar has thirty-nine wives at last count, and several hundred concubines. In all, the zenana of my master contains close to five thousand women, including female relatives, slaves, and others!" He chuckled. "Wife! Ha! Ha!" Then he turned serious. "You, my princess, I suspect, shall be the lord Akbar's new favorite. You do not look like our women, but you are very, very beautiful. He cannot fail to love you."

Velvet looked positively shocked. "I was a married woman, Adali," she said seriously. "I am only here because the Portuguese kidnapped me!"

Before the eunuch could reply, the door to the chamber opened and Akbar entered the room. Adali threw himself to the floor in a gesture of total and complete obeisance. "Rise, Adali," said the emperor, "and fetch us refreshment."

The slave scrambled to his feet and scampered out the door. Then to Velvet's surprise the emperor settled himself upon the bed facing her. He studied her carefully for a long moment, bringing a deep blush to her cheeks.

"I do not mean to embarrass you," he apologized, "but you are incredibly fair. Never have I seen such exquisite beauty in any woman, and I have certainly seen many beauties in my lifetime. I have never, however, seen eyes like emeralds or hair the rich reddish color of newly turned earth."

"Most of the women in my land have fair skin, sire," Velvet replied, "and many, though not all, have light-colored eyes. My mother's eyes are the blue of the sea."

"And your mother, does she have hair the color of yours?"

"Oh, no, sire. My parents both have dark hair. I have inherited my hair color from my grandmère , the Comtesse de Saville."

He smiled at her. "Tell me about your homeland, your England."

"It is a cool, green land of hills, orchards, and fields, lakes and rivers, and a great city called London. The queen is most wonderful, and the wisest and bravest of rulers. All the kings of Europe stand in awe of her."

"Not the Portuguese." Akbar chuckled.

"The Portuguese!" Velvet sniffed, outraged. "Lackeys of Philip of Spain who would usurp our queen's rightful place. A place even her sister, Queen Mary, who was King Philip's wife would not deny."

He was enchanted; enchanted by her obvious intelligence, her quick speech, and the way her straight, little nose wrinkled in scornful distaste of the Portuguese. He wanted to know more about her; a great deal more. "You love your England, I can see. Tell me then how it is you came to India."

Adali reentered the room, bringing with him wine and cakes, which he placed on a small footed tray by the bed. Then he tactfully departed.

Velvet's face had grown sad. Where could she begin? she wondered. She took a deep breath. "The queen very much wants to trade with India, sire. When the Newbery-Hawkins expedition did not return after a reasonable time, Her Majesty asked my mother if she would send some of her vessels to Cambay. My mother, who in her youth amassed a great trading empire, and my father mounted an expedition and set sail. As they neared the end of their journey they were blown off course in a brief but fierce storm and, losing their rudder, were forced to land at Bombay. There the Portuguese took them and my older brother into custody, and were my family not members of the holy mother church, they would surely have been killed. Instead, the Portuguese demanded a heavy ransom, which my mother and father agreed to pay. My brother sailed back to England to raise the ransom, and when he returned here I came with him."

"Why?" demanded the emperor. "Was such a trip not dangerous for you?"

"Sire, my husband had just died, and I could not bear to stay at court with all its reminders of my Alex." A single, bright tear slipped down her face, and without realizing the intimacy of the act he reached out and brushed it from her cheek.

"Don't weep," he said quietly.

"It was a useless death, sire. My husband was killed in a duel of honor that neither he nor his opponent wished to fight. He came from a country to our north, Scotland. We had only been married a few months and had no children. Because of me his line has died, and I must live with that the rest of my life!" Her beautiful eyes brimmed with tears, and, unable to contain himself, Akbar reached out and took her hand in an attempt to soothe her.

"It was not the will of God, else your husband would have left you with a child in your womb," he comforted her.

Velvet was too overwrought and ashamed to admit to him why she had not conceived, and so, regaining control of her emotions, she continued her tale. "We did not follow the route the Portuguese usually take in their sea travel to India," she said. "My mother's ships are protected in their southern travel by the Dey of Algiers, and so we were able to hug the coast of Africa without fear. It cuts a month off the voyage, you know. We were a fleet of several ships, and we sailed under most favorable conditions. The storms we encountered were mild, and we reached Bombay easily.

"Murrough, my brother, is a very clever man, and he had our fleet wait just over the horizon while we entered Bombay on the flagship to be certain that Mother and Father had not been harmed and were alive before we handed over all that gold to the Portuguese."

"Do you know how much gold?" asked the emperor casually.

"It was, my brother told me, two hundred and fifty thousand coins' worth of pure gold. It was distributed among the fleet so unless you had all the ships, you didn't have all the gold." Velvet smiled a small smile. "Murrough is very clever," she said. "He is very like our mother in that."

"What happened when you got to Bombay?" asked Akbar.

Velvet shivered despite the heat. "Before we even docked," she said, "we could see a small group of Portuguese soldiers upon the docks …"

Her eyes clouded with the memory. The day had been incredibly hot, and the bright sun mirrored the heat of the busy harbor. The noise and the smells were varied and overwhelming as virtually naked, sweating men secured the heavy lines from the ship to the pier.

"You're to stay in the cabin," Murrough had warned her. "I'll not have the Portuguese seeing you. There aren't too many European women here. I want to make sure Mother and Adam are safe before I signal the others to come ashore."

"We'll die of the heat in here," Velvet protested. "Why can't I go with you? I want to see Mother and Father!"

"There will be some hard bargaining first, poppet, and Adam would have my hide if I put you in any danger. I want you and Pansy safe."

"Very well." She sighed. "If we must stay here, then we must. Get the chess set out again, Pansy, and we'll play a game while we wait."

"Yes, m'lady," replied Pansy. "Would it be safe for us to open the bow windows, Master Murrough? Perhaps there might be a breeze. Lord almighty, I've never felt such heat before. I feel positively weak in me knees."

"Aye," Murrough agreed with her. " 'Tis debilitating, lass, and that's a truth. Open the windows, and it will help, I promise. Now that we're landed you can drink all the water you want, too." He smiled at both women as they reluctantly settled themselves, and then hurried from the cabin. When he was gone, Velvet rose and crossed quickly to slip out after him. Once on deck, she hid behind a barrel that gave her a good vantage point.

The ship had been made firmly secure and the gangway lowered so that the severely correct Jesuit priest might board.

"You have returned quickly, Captain O'Flaherty," said Esteban Ruy Ourique, the governor's personal advisor, as he gained the deck.

"Where are my mother and her husband?" demanded Murrough. "That was part of the bargain, that they would be awaiting me on the docks of this pesthole so that I might be certain that they were alive and safe. I do not see them anywhere."

"There has been some difficulty," began the Jesuit smoothly, "but did I not personally give you the church's word that no harm would come to them, Captain?"

"Then where are they, Father Ourique?" Murrough's gaze swept the pier and as it did something suddenly struck him. When he had sailed for England his mother's damaged vessel had been moored at this very dock. Now it was nowhere to be seen. In a flash he knew what had happened. They had escaped! His mother and Adam had seen some opportunity and had seized it! "They are gone!" he said triumphantly.

"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!"

"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.

"You are a princess," he answered, "and it is my duty to serve you. You will be used to me in a few days." He chuckled. "And then you will think nothing of my presence." Taking a hairbrush from his pantaloons, he sat down next to her and began to brush out her luxuriant hair quite expertly, gently but firmly removing the tangles. When he had finished, he replaced the brush within the voluminous folds of his pantaloons and walked to the door. Turning, he smiled and said, "I will sleep outside in the hallway. Should you need me you have but to call."

"Where are you taking my clothes?" she asked. "They are all I have."

"I must give them to the laundress to wash," he said. "Do not worry. In the morning there will be a trunkful of beautiful garments for you, I promise. Good night."

She was alone. Alone for the first time in many months. For some minutes she sat in the middle of the silken bed staring through the open arch that led to the terrace. Her eyes were not really focused on anything, but her mind was very active. She was hundreds of miles from a coast that separated her by thousands of miles of water from her own land. It was a sobering thought. Would her family—could her family—ever find her? And if they did, what was really left for her in England? In the months following Alex's death she had consoled herself with the thought of caring for her aging parents, but the truth was that neither Adam nor Skye would ever be old in a conventional sense, and they had each other. She had no one. Even Pansy had Dugald, and that was something that she had to think seriously about now.

The baby that Pansy carried was certainly Dugald's, and he had just as much right to his child as she did. Pansy was eventually going to have to be returned to England with her child to be reunited with Dugald. It was only right. Velvet was relieved, however, to realize that it would be many months before Pansy could even consider going.

Velvet sighed deeply and stretched out, flinging the silken coverlet off her. There was the tiniest of breezes coming through the arch, but it was warm and scented with a hauntingly sweet fragrance that was not familiar to her. She wondered what it was and decided to ask Adali tomorrow. What is to happen to me? she thought. The Portuguese have attempted to curry favor with the Grand Mughal by sending me to grace his bed. He is a kind man, but is he a patient one? How can I submit to him? How can I be his concubine? I am so afraid. They were disturbing thoughts that swirled around in her brain, but despite the distress they caused, Velvet, exhausted both emotionally and physically by her travails of the last month, without realizing it fell into a deep sleep.

The moon rose and silvered the landscape of Fatehpur-Sikri, preening itself vainly in the city's artificial lake and fountains. The reddish-and-white sandstone glistened as the moonlight touched the whimsical domes, turned columns, and the carved sandstone panels on the exterior of the palaces. All was still and quiet, but for the occasional cackle of a hyena out scavenging beyond the city's walls.

In the emperor's zenana the female guards, nodding sleepily at their posts, straightened momentarily as Akbar moved by them. He paused before Velvet's doorway, and instantly Adali was on his feet quietly opening the portal to him. Silently Akbar moved into the chamber and, standing before the bed, gazed down at the sleeping girl. Slowly his eyes traveled the length of her, taking in the delicacy of her fine bone structure; her lovely, smooth, round breasts; lithe waistline; long, slim legs; and slender feet. In the moonlight her creamy skin was faultless. She had spread her hair over the pillow before falling asleep in order to be cooler, and, reaching out, he fingered a silky curl. Then he sighed. She was flawless, a perfect beauty, and he longed to possess her body. Yet there was more.

The women of his land were taught meekness from the cradle, and though some were strong of character, few would go against their breeding. Those who did generally did it for their sons or husbands who were either young or weak, or both. Indian women did not converse intelligently with men, considering such behavior forward and rude. In the privacy of the bedchamber a woman spoke of love, or of her children, or worried about her lord's health.

This young woman, however, was vastly different. It was apparent from the moment she was dragged, shrieking, into his presence. An Indian woman would have submitted meekly, but not this English rose. She was highly educated, he could see, for her French was even better than that of the Jesuit who had taught him.

Akbar, though he could neither read nor write, was a highly educated man. In his youth he had escaped his tutors for hunting and riding, pursuits he far preferred, but because he was infinitely curious, he now had scholars of all subjects surrounding him, reading to him, discoursing with him, lecturing to him. There was very little of the world's knowledge that he did not know, and he was forever seeking to learn more.

This girl who lay here in her innocent, troubled sleep could be something more to him than simply a beautiful body to enjoy, to slake his desires upon. She could be his companion and his friend as well. It was a novel idea, and he pondered it as he turned away from Velvet and exited her chamber to return to his own. It was a thought he would never share with anyone else, for his friends would be shocked and amused and the women of his household would be horrified.

The English woman was going to ask him, he knew, to return her to her own people. It was something he could not do for many reasons but mainly because he would not offend the Portuguese. He was going to have to work very hard to make Velvet happy so that she would want to stay with him, so that she would not pine for her own people. He found it an interesting challenge.

In the morning as Velvet sat wrapped in the silk coverlet on her bed eating something cool, tart, and smooth that Adali called yogurt, sipping a pungent hot drink he told her was tea, a knock came upon the door. Opening it, Adali gave a small cry of delight and stepped back to allow entry to a line of slaves who entered the room carrying all manner of things.

"What is this?" Velvet's eyes widened.

"Just the beginning, my princess," said the eunuch. "The lord Akbar honors you with gifts. Did I not tell you that you had caught his eye?"

She watched as two men carried in and out onto the rooftop terrace a large, stuffed, silk-upholstered piece of furniture. It was shaped in a semicircle with a medium-high back and rolled arms. Upon its seat they placed many cushions. Next to it went a small table inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

"What on earth is that for?" she asked Adali.

"For reclining," he answered her.

"It is very big," she replied.

"Big enough for two." He smiled broadly.

"Oh!"

"Aiyee! Look, my princess! Look!" Adali was almost dancing with delight as two matching trunks—each painted with exquisite designs of pink, blue, and red flowers with yellow centers and green leaves upon a shiny, black-lacquered background, and bound with bright polished brass bands—were brought into the room. He did not wait for the trunks to be opened by the bearers, instead eagerly lifting the lid on the one nearest to hand himself to reveal that it was filled with clothing, a rainbow of skirts and dainty blouses that he lifted out with tiny exclamations of pleasure. They were all of the finest, softest silk: some decorated with gold or silver designs, some bejeweled, some plain. The colors were bright, but only those shades that would flatter her: blues, greens, pinks, mauves, purples, tawny oranges, and creams.

Velvet was honestly stunned by this unexpected bounty and, looking at Adali, said, "Why?"

"Foolish woman," he answered her in a scolding tone, "I keep telling you that you have found favor with the lord Akbar."

"I have done nothing," she said, bewildered.

"He is wooing you, my princess. Have you never been wooed?"

She shook her head, realizing that she and Alex had fought and battled through their courtship, but never had he wooed her in a traditional sense. He had loved her, but he had certainly never courted her. Velvet's female soul was touched.

"Open the other trunk," she commanded the eunuch, and when he had she stared in surprise at its contents. There were carved jade bottles containing lotions and scents all with the same fragrance that Adali identified as jasmine.

"Is that what is growing outside on my terrace?" she questioned him.

He nodded. "Jasmine is a flower of love, my princess."

Velvet said nothing, instead looking farther into the second trunk to find a lovely, pearl-studded, gold brush for her hair and a miniature of the larger trunk filled with hair ornaments made from both precious metals and jewels. There was another box carved from a solid piece of lavender jade, mounted with silver hinges and a silver-filigreed lock that, when opened, revealed a small fortune in jewels. If there was one thing Velvet knew it was precious gems, for her mother had one of the most incredible collections of jewelry in all of Europe. As a child she had delighted in playing with the sparkling gemstones and Skye had explained to her child what each stone was and where the finest examples of each came from. In the jade box were Ceylon sapphires, Burmese rubies, Indian Ocean pearls, incredible yellow diamonds, fine, deep purple amethysts, light blue aquamarines, emeralds, olive green peridots from the Red Sea, and honey-colored zircons. They were set in necklaces, chains, earbobs, and rings; and there wasn't a flawed stone among them.

Adali was almost beside himself with joy. He doubted that his master had done more than hold the English woman's hand so far, and yet he was already showering her with valuables. While Velvet sat stunned, gazing at the contents of the lavender jade box, the eunuch directed the parade of slaves that continued to enter the room bearing more gifts. Magnificent red and blue wool rugs were spread upon the floors; tall, brass vases filled with flowers were placed upon the floor throughout the chamber; several small tables were placed strategically, and then lamps of silver studded with colorful gemstones were brought and put on the tables. Finally twin girls of approximately ten years of age, with long, straight black hair, expressive dark eyes, and golden skin, entered and prostrated themselves before Velvet. Behind them came Ramesh, who spoke quickly to the eunuch, handed him a small, covered reed basket, and then left.

Adali's eyes grew round with importance. "The lord high steward brings you greetings from our master, the lord Akbar. The little girls are to be your handmaidens. They are identical but for one thing. Toramalli has a birthmark by the corner of her right eye, and Rohana has the mark by the corner of her left eye."

He was positively puffed up with new importance, Velvet noted with amusement.

Shooing everyone but the handmaidens from the room, he presented Velvet with the reed basket. "This is something that the lord Akbar thought you might particularly enjoy," Adali said.

Velvet lifted the lid of the basket, and then her mouth formed a small O of delight. "It's a kitten!" she said, smiling delightedly. "Oh, Adali, look! A kitten!" She lifted from the basket a tiny, long-haired black kitten with just the teeniest bit of white at the very tip of its tail. "Is it a male or a female?" she asked the eunuch.

"It is a gentleman cat, I am told, my princess."

For a moment the kitten looked about, wide-eyed, at his new surroundings, then he leaped from the bed, and with his tiny tail swishing gracefully set about to explore the room.

"I shall call him Banner," Velvet said, "for his little tail with its white tip is just like a floating banner."

The eunuch nodded with a smile. "Perfect," he agreed.

Suddenly Velvet realized that it was close to midmorning, and she had not yet been to visit poor Pansy. How frightened and confused her faithful tiring woman would be waking up in this palace and not knowing where she was. "Adali! My poor maid will wonder where I am. Give me something to wear! I must go immediately to her!"

As Adali had predicted, Velvet on this her second day in Fatehpur-Sikri was no longer concerned about his gender or rather lack of it. Her mind was on Pansy, and, leaping from the bed, she accepted the clothing he handed her, slipping her feet into the delicate sandals Toramalli and Rohana held out for her. Then with Adali bustling after her she hurried from her chamber and down the corridor to Pansy's quarters.

As Velvet entered the room Pansy's eyes lit up with relief, and she smiled weakly. "M'lady! Oh, thank God!"

Velvet bent to hug her maid, and then sat down on the edge of the girl's bed. "Pansy, why didn't you tell me that you were with child? It's Dugald's child, isn't it?"

Pansy looked very shamefaced. "How did you find out, m'lady?"

"The physician who examined you to determine your illness told me. You'll have to remain in bed for a while, for it is the babe and the heat that have caused your fever and the swelling. You'll both be all right, however, if you'll abide by the physician's instructions."

Pansy looked relieved. "That's a mercy," she said, and then, "I didn't tell you because I didn't know until we were well at sea that I was with child. At first I didn't believe it myself, for Dugald and me was only together once, on Twelfth Night. In the beginning when me moon link was broken I thought that it was perhaps because of the great upset we suffered leaving England. By the time I realized that it wasn't that at all, I was too ashamed to tell you, and I didn't seem to be showing so I kept it to myself."

"Did I not warn you about Dugald, Pansy? Your mother and father will not be very happy when they learn about this. I thought you meant to save yourself until you and Dugald were married. A man will not buy the cow if he can obtain the cream for free, as Dame Cecily has so often said," Velvet scolded.

"Dugald and me pledged ourselves in handfast before the earl's men on Twelfth Night, m'lady. He said that in Scotland 'twas legal, and since you and the earl had done it, and we were going to live in Scotland, too, 'twould be all right. He promised me a church wedding when we got to Dun Broc. I was only with him that one time, for it seemed a shame to deny him his wedding night, but afterwards I told him we'd cuddle and grope no more until we had stood before a proper preacher."

Velvet sighed. That devil, Dugald! she thought. Well, there was no help for it now, and she didn't want to fret Pansy about it further. She patted her tiring woman's hand. "It will be all right, and our main concern must now be your safety and the baby's."

The tension drained from Pansy's face. "Where are we?" she said.

"We are in the royal city of Fatehpur-Sikri, Pansy, and I have met the Grand Mughal himself. He is a kind and good man."

"How long have we been here, m'lady?"

"Just since yesterday," Velvet answered. "When Zafar Singh, the physician, says you are well enough, you must come with me to my apartment. It is only one room, but it is enormous, and there is a lovely terrace that is mine. The Mughal has given me a eunuch named Adali, who is kind and funny, and two dear little girls, Toramalli and Rohana, for maidservants."

Pansy looked somewhat put out. "There'll not be much for me to do then, will there, m'lady, with all your new servants."

"Oh, Pansy, no one can take care of me like you!" Velvet protested. "As Daisy is to my mother, so are you to me, but don't forget that in less than two months you'll have a child to care for, and then you'll have little time for me."

"You're me mistress," said Pansy in an aggrieved tone. "I'll nurse my babe, but I'll let one of the others care for it so that I may care for you. 'Tis my duty, and me ma would have my head if I acted otherwise!"

"We'll all take turns with the baby, Pansy," soothed Velvet.

"What's to become of us, m'lady?" Pansy suddenly asked. "Will we ever go home? This place is so very, very hot. Does it never get cool?"

"I don't know if it ever does," was Velvet's answer. "I am trying not to think about it. I'll ask Adali about the weather. Surely it won't be this stifling all the year round." She smiled encouragingly at Pansy.

"But when are we going home?" Pansy repeated.

"I don't know," said Velvet. "I have not had the opportunity to speak with the lord Akbar about it, but I will. You can't leave now, Pansy. You must first finish your confinement, and then we must be certain that the baby is strong enough to make such a long trip. I am afraid that it will be several months before we can even consider leaving India."

Pansy nodded, beginning to look tired again.

Velvet arose from her sitting position. "I will return later, Pansy," she said. "Rest, and do not fear. We are safe here, I promise you." Bending, she kissed Pansy's brow. The tiring woman's eyes were already shut.

"Your servant is better?" inquired Adali as she exited the little room.

"Yes, I believe so," said Velvet. "I will want to see her again later."

"Of course, my princess. You are free to see her at any time." As they reentered Velvet's chamber, he continued, "Now, however, our schedule calls for a trip to the baths."

There was no protest from Velvet. She had to admit that she enjoyed all the pampering that seemed to go on here. With Adali walking ahead, and flanked by Toramalli and Rohana, she made her way through the zenana to the baths. The little maids carried fresh clothing for her and a basket of lotions and perfumes. As they entered the baths a party of women was exiting. One, a tiny elegant woman with the most beautiful, long dark hair Velvet had ever seen and wonderfully expressive golden-brown eyes, stopped a fraction of a second to stare quite openly at her. The woman's glance was without malice. It was simply curious. Some deep instinct told Velvet that this dignified lady was of great importance, and she bowed her head politely. A small smile touched the woman's lips, and she gave a little nod in return before passing on out of the baths.

"Who was that?" Velvet demanded of Adali.

"That was the Princess Jodh Bai, mother of the heir and a favorite of our lord Akbar. You did well to make your obeisance, my princess. She was, I could tell, well pleased by your good manners."

The bath mistress greeted Velvet effusively. Zenana gossip had already informed her of the train of gifts that had arrived at the foreign woman's chambers this morning. Gifts! And the lord Akbar had not even slept with her yet! The bath mistress had also seen Velvet's modest and correct behavior toward Jodh Bai, who was a great favorite within the zenana. She hummed with approval as she supervised Velvet's morning ablutions.

"She has pretty manners, the foreign woman. You have fallen into a pot of honey, Adali." She chuckled.

"Of course she has fine manners, Raokhshna. She is a princess in her own land." The eunuch lowered his voice and confided in the bath mistress, "Our lord Akbar calls her his ‘Rose.' Have you ever seen such rare beauty before?"

Roakhshna nodded in agreement. "She is wonderfully fair, and her temper seems pleasant enough. If she becomes his favorite, your fortune will be made. If she bears him a child, you will be a rich man, Adali. I hope you will remember old Roakhshna then, eh?" She poked him playfully.

"Help me to make her the most beautiful woman he has ever possessed, and I promise not to forget you in my good fortune," he assured her.

Velvet listened to them chattering back and forth and suspected that she was their topic of conversation. She wished she knew what it was they spoke of, but she would not ask in this instance. After she had been scrubbed, pumiced, bathed, and lotioned she was led to a padded bench and placed facedown. For the next hour Adali's skillful fingers massaged every inch of her body until she was so relaxed that it was an effort to stay awake. Then dressed in fresh garments she was led back to her chamber where she did indeed fall asleep, her soothed body and spirit unable to resist in the heat of the day.

Toward late afternoon she awakened and was brought more yogurt, fruit, and tea that had been minted. She was wet with the heat, and it all tasted very good to her. She had just finished her meal when her chamber door opened, and Akbar entered the room.

"You are feeling more rested?" he asked.

She rose from her table to face him, realizing as she did that he was no more than an inch taller than she. She could look directly into his dark eyes. "I am much better," she answered, "and if you have the time I should like to speak with you on a serious matter."

He held up his hand, and she fell silent. "Before you do let me ask you, is it true that the noblewomen of Europe ride horses?"

"Yes, my lord, it is."

"Do you ride horses, my Rose?"

"Yes, my lord, I do. I can ride both sidesaddle, which is considered correct for ladies, and astride, which is thought of as somewhat hoydenish but is far more comfortable in my own estimation. Since my mother agrees with me, I usually ride astride. Why do you ask?"

"Would you like to ride with me later? I ride when the sun is low, just before the sunset."

"Oh, yes, my lord! I should very much like to ride with you, but is such a thing permitted?"

"You will have to dress like a young Rajput prince to disguise yourself, my Rose, but it shall be arranged."

"Thank you, my lord! I was so afraid I should not be able to have my freedom. The women of my land are used to roaming at will."

"I understand that, my Rose, and so I will try to see that you do not feel confined, but you will still not be able to move about as easily here as in England. The reason, however, is because this is a far more savage land than your green island. You might be set upon by bandits or wild animals." He smiled at her. "I will return for you in an hour," he said, and then was gone from the chamber.

It wasn't until he had left that she realized that she had not spoken to him about returning her to her own people when Pansy was once again able to travel. I shall do it when we ride, she thought.

Shortly after Akbar had departed from her presence there was a soft knock upon the door, which was quickly answered by Rohana. A eunuch placed in the maidservant's hands a white bundle, which, unwrapped, turned out to be Velvet's disguise. Delightedly she dressed herself in the white silk trousers and knee-length tunic. There were soft, red leather boots that amazingly fit her like a glove, and she wondered how that had been managed, but then had the sandals not also fit her perfectly?

Toramalli carefully pinned up Velvet's long auburn curls, and Adali wound a small turban about her head, little puckers of worry and disapproval upon his face. He did not know whether to rejoice that she was to be alone with the emperor or to weep because should word of this adventure be made public his princess would surely be disgraced.

Confused, he could say nothing, and Velvet was too excited to even notice his distress. When she was finally ready he led her out onto her terrace and pointed to a narrow staircase in the corner that she hadn't even noticed before.

"Our lord Akbar awaits you at the bottom, my princess," Adali told her.

"I shall want to bathe when I return," she told him. "I'll stink of horses after a ride in this heat." Then she bounded off down the staircase, leaving him to shudder with disapproval behind her.

Akbar was prompt and awaiting her as Adali had promised. He looked at her, his eyes admiring. "You make a most fetching prince, my Rose."

"I did not stop to look at myself in a mirror." She laughed into his face. "I was far too anxious to ride. I would have sold my soul a hundred times over during our trek from Bombay to have had a mount beneath me. As it is I do not think my feet will ever be the same again, and I fear my dancing days are over once I return to England."

From the shadows a groom appeared leading two horses, one a big-boned white stallion, the other a dainty golden mare. The stallion snorted and pranced and attempted to reach over to nip at the mare, who danced skillfully out of his reach, almost pulling the groom in two.

Akbar chuckled. "The age-old battle between male and female," he noted. "He would take, but she is not yet ready to give, and he will not have her until she is." He offered Velvet his cupped hands as a mounting block, and, putting her foot up, she vaulted easily into the saddle and gathered up the reins.

"Where do we ride, my lord?" she asked.

"Just outside the city along the Agra road," he answered her, then mounted the stallion.

She saw that they were alone and was puzzled. "Do we ride without an escort, my lord?"

"There is no need for an escort, my Rose. You will be safe with me."

Velvet was amazed. She had never known a king or great lord who dared to ride his lands without some sort of escort. She said nothing further, but followed him from the courtyard out through the city, her eyes wide at all that she saw, for the day before as the caravan had arrived in the city she had not been of a mind to really look about her. Now, however, she could not refrain from turning her head this way and that, each moment that passed bringing a wonderful new sight.

The thing that struck her as the strangest was that the city was so very quiet, unlike any city she had ever known. She realized this was because few people actually lived here anymore, and that was the most peculiar thing of all, for the city seemed to be in perfect condition. Still, she could see it was really a royal city with no place for the common people. Only Akbar and his court had inhabited it, and so when they had left it to move to Lahore, Fatehpur-Sikri had become truly deserted, having no merchants and beggars to remain and keep it alive. The city was like a sleeping princess waiting only for the return of her prince to bring her back to life. Akbar's small entourage now visiting it simply wasn't enough. Velvet found that rather sad.

The city was beautiful in a stark, yet highly decorative way. It was built entirely of native sandstone. The broad streets and squares were paved with wide square blocks of it. All the buildings were built of it, from the former seat of government, the Diwan-i-Khass, to the Great Mosque, to the various palaces, to the Panch Mahal, an amusing structure of no particular use. Most of the pillars were carved, some with vines and leaves, some with flowers, others fluted, yet others with great whorls that entwined themselves seemingly without end around the columns. The buildings contained porches and domes, latticed windows and carved panels, all as perfect as the day their creators had finished them. The entire city was like that, and it gave Velvet an eerie feeling.

They rode through one of the city's gates out onto the Agra road, and Velvet took this opportunity to broach the subject of her return with Akbar. "Knowing how I came here," she began, "and knowing that the Portuguese kidnapped me, will you not arrange for my return to my own people, my lord?"

"I cannot, my Rose," he said quietly. "To do so would be to insult the Portuguese, and I will not do that."

"Then send me back overland by caravan. The Portuguese need never know."

He shook his head. "It is much too dangerous. You would likely end up in some slave market, or worse, in some Mongol hetman's yurt. No, my Rose, the fates decreed that your path bring you to me. I will take care of you. Besides, what is there for you to return to now that your husband is dead?"

"I have my family …" she began.

"Your family," he interrupted, "would arrange another marriage for you and send you from them. Your fate would be the same as what has actually transpired. You will be safe and cared for with me, my Rose."

"I want to go home," she said, her voice wavering.

"This land is now your home," he replied. "Do you know how to hunt?" he asked, changing the subject. "Would you like to go on a tiger hunt with me?"

The matter, she realized, was closed. For a moment she stared ahead in shock as she comprehended her situation. He had no intention of allowing her to go. There was no way in which she might flee. They were hundreds of miles from the coast, and even if she could surmount that hurdle, the O'Malley fleet would not be there waiting for her. How would she get home? There was no way. Suddenly angry and frustrated by a fate not of her own making, Velvet kicked her mare into a headlong gallop, careening blindly down the road in a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming reality of the situation.

Akbar galloped after her. He was not afraid of her escaping him—he actually understood her anguish—but the road was no longer the best, and he was worried that the mare might stumble and throw her.

She saw nothing through her tears. It was over. Her life was finished and over. Alex was dead. Never again would she see her beloved parents. Murrough, Ewan, Robin, Willow, Padraic, and Deirdre were all lost to her! Like a child suddenly finding herself alone in an empty and strange room, Velvet could see nothing familiar in her future and despaired bitterly. Her sobs shook her entire body, and when the mare did stumble she was totally unprepared for it, tumbling headlong from her saddle.

By some miracle she was not hurt. Indeed she lurched to her feet and continued her flight, running down the Agra road, totally unaware of where she was and what she was doing.

Akbar raced after her. As he passed the mare his Mongol soul was relieved to note that she was not injured. He galloped on and, controlling his stallion with his strong legs, reached out to catch Velvet up into his arms. Suddenly conscious of him she struggled wildly, flailing at him with her fists, hitting out blindly in an effort to exorcise her pain. He cradled her body against his, her head held firmly against his broad chest.

"Shh, my Rose," he soothed her over and over again. "Shh, shh. It will be all right. It will be all right, I promise you."

Velvet began to cry in earnest now, weeping huge, salty tears that streamed down her face making dirty ribbons through the dust on her cheeks. She sobbed and sobbed until he thought his heart would break for her, so piteous was the sound of her keening. He had never heard such grief. It was total and lonely beyond all, and, slowing his horse to a walk, he let her wear herself out crying. He continued to walk his stallion until she finally quieted, and only then did he turn the animal back toward Fatehpur-Sikri.

Velvet realized suddenly where she was; that she had not only dirtied his silk tunic but wet it clear through. Beneath her ear his heartbeat thumped with steady monotony, and the manly smell of him filled her nostrils with the warm fragrance of sandalwood. She was very aware of him in all his maleness, and her own thoughts startled her greatly.

"Is the mare all right?" she ventured softly, embarrassed and almost wishing the earth would open and swallow her whole.

"The mare is fine and awaits us just up ahead. You will, of course, want to ride her back to the city."

"Yes, my lord."

"Do you feel better now?' " he asked.

"The shock is over," she answered thoughtfully, "but I shall never stop wanting to return to England."

"What is there for you now, my Rose?" he asked again.

"I have my memories," she said quietly. "Would you take them from me?"

"Look at me," he commanded fiercely, and, startled, she obeyed him, her emerald eyes gazing up into his face. "I will make you new memories, my Rose," he said. "I cannot take your old memories from you, nor would I want to, but I can make you new memories, and I intend to, my beautiful English Rose."

Velvet felt her pulse leap. He could not have made his intentions any clearer. "I cannot be your concubine," she said. "I simply cannot."

"I have not suggested such a thing," he returned. "Though I know that is why the Portuguese governor sent you to me. For some reason he wished to debase you, and, given your background, gifting me with you as a concubine would do just that, I understood that once I learned your history. In my un-Christian and evil barbarian lust I was supposed to fall on you not even suspecting his motives. I have learned a great deal about the Portuguese. They, fortunately, have not learned a great deal about me, possibly because they have not even bothered to try. They have two interests here in India: to convert as many of my people to their religion as they can, and to remove my country's riches to their land. For both I am expected to be grateful." He chuckled. "I only wish I might be a fly on the wall when Don Cesar Affonso Marinha-Grande receives my message informing that I was so delighted with his gift that I immediately did him honor by marrying her. He is quite apt to have an apoplectic fit."

"You have not married me," Velvet said.

"But I have," came Akbar's startling answer.

"What?" her voice squeaked. "How could you have married me when I knew nothing about it?"

"I was born to the faith of Islam, my Rose, and although I long ago realized that no one faith is the only true faith, I do marry my wives, and you are the fortieth, in either Islam's faith or that of the Hindus. I felt that since Islam is closest to Christianity you would prefer it. In the Muslim faith it is neither necessary to have the bride's consent nor to have the bride at the wedding. Only the consent of a woman's guardian is needed, and in this case it is me. We were wed this morning."

She was stunned, and, remembering the comedy of her four weddings to Alex, she almost laughed. She had refused to acknowledge that they were married until they had been wed in a church; and now here she was once again being told that she was a married woman. But this time she knew there would be no Catholic ceremony. "If you have wed other women in their own faith, why can you not wed me, if you must wed me, in my own faith, my lord? There are Jesuits here, I have been told." God's bones, I am so calm, she thought.

"This is India, my Rose, and I am considered a Moslem ruler.

I have already outraged half my subjects by marrying my Rajput wives in their Hindu faith. If I wed a woman in a Christian ceremony I could easily start a civil war. I have fought hard to unite this land, and not even you are worth its dissolution. Besides, such a Christian union would be considered my only legal marriage by your Christian Jesuits, and I would have trouble from that quarter as well."

Why did I even suggest it, she thought. His answer was the only one he could give in such a situation. Was she losing her wits in all this heat?

They had reached the place where her own mount waited, and with strong arms he lifted her from his mount back into her own saddle. Taking up her reins, she rode by his side again. "I will need time," she said, "to adjust myself to this situation. It is all a great deal to face." What an understatement! She almost laughed at herself again. What was the matter with her? Why was she so calm? Then it came to her that her intelligence had already accepted what her emotions had not.

"You may have time," he said. "I am not some animal who will ravish you. I have a zenana filled with willing women. I have no need to resort to force. I want you, but I will wait."

"It is all so strange to me," she said. "I never imagined a life like this existed. And I was not wed to my husband very long."

"How long?" he asked.

"Two and a half months," she said softly. "There was so little time. He was my parents' choice, and until we met I knew no man."

"We have much time," Akbar said. "It is foretold that I shall live a long life, even as it was foretold that I should have only three living sons. I believe you are here to bring me happiness in my last years, as Jodh Bai brought me happiness in my youth. In turn I shall endeavor to make you happy, my Rose. No woman will be as cherished or as loved as you shall be, O youngest and fairest of my wives."

"My lord, you barely know me," she ventured.

"What man ever really knows a woman, my Rose? I know that you are intelligent, beautiful, and brave. Each is a fine attribute, but for one woman to possess all three is a miracle, and you are truly a miracle coming into my life when I thought there was nothing left for me but the long road into infinity."

They were once again passing through the city gates and back into Fatehpur-Sikri. Velvet was touched and amazed by the words that the Grand Mughal had spoken to her. A tiny flame of hope was kindled deep within her heart, and she realized that perhaps life was not so unbearable after all. After all, she was her mother's daughter, and the desire for survival burned strongly within her. She had come through the several weeks' trek from Bombay to the interior, and without knowledge of the language she had successfully bargained for Pansy's life. Her fate had been to attract the loving attention of a great ruler. If she must remain in this fierce and hot land, then there were worse fates than the one she was living.

I am young, Velvet thought, and it is true, I am beautiful. I want to live! This man offers me life. He offers me love. Has my mother not always told me that when one door closes another opens?

"You are so kind, my lord, but I do not know you. I will learn about you, though, and I will learn how to please you." She turned her head and smiled tentatively at him.

"You please me now, my Rose. Do not change, for it is your very uniqueness from other women that intrigues and fascinates me. Be yourself, nothing more. Once the wheel of love has been set in motion, there is no absolute rule." He reached out and took one of her hands, turning it over to place a kiss upon the palm.

"I will make you happy," he promised, and in that moment Velvet knew that he would.