The main course finished, the slaves removed the plates and
brought in silver bowls of warm, scented water and tiny linen towels.
Desert consisted of a huge platter of fresh fruits, golden brown dates,
round Seville oranges, great black figs, bunches of purple and green
grapes, sweet red cherries, and both green and golden pears. A
filigreed basket was passed, containing tiny pastry horns filled with
a mixture of chopped almonds and honey. Skye brewed the dark rich
Turkish coffee.

Afterward, hot steaming towels were offered to cleanse sticky
fingers, and water pipes were brought to the gentlemen. Two pretty
young girls played and sang softly in the background while the men
smoked and talked. Skye noticed that Khalid seemed sleepier than
usual, and she teased him. “It is I who should be tired now. my
lord, not you.”

Stifling a yawn, he chuckled. “Impending fatherhood is exhaust-
ing, my love. I cannot keep my eyes open. I am going to retire now
before I fall asleep here. Robbie, stay. Skye has many questions to
ask you, I know, and I have not given her a chance.” He rose. Skye
rose and stood within the curve of his arm.

“You do not mind if I remain for a bit?”

“No, my Skye. Fill your lovely head with all the things you need
to know.” He kissed her tenderly. “Allah, how fair you are! The
white silk caftan and gold embroidery sets off Robbie’s emeralds
very well. The blue flame in their centers does indeed match your
beautiful eyes.” He kissed her again. “Don’t wake me when you
come to bed, my love. I’ll sleep through the night.”

She kissed him back. “Sleep well, my darling. I love you!”

He smiled happily at her, touching her cheek in a tender and
familiar gesture. Bidding Robert Small a good night, Khalid left the
room.

“You’ve been good for him,” remarked the Englishman.

“He is good for me,” she answered.

“You’ve had no return of memory, lass? Not even a glimpse?*’

“No, Robbie, nothing. Sometimes a sound or sight has a familiar
ring to it, but it is never anything I can put my finger on. And now
I don’t really care. I am happy as Khalid el Bey’s wife. I love him
dearly.”

They sat talking for some time. At the back of the garden the
little wicket gate creaked open to admit a dark, hooded figure.
Slowly, carefully, Yasmin made her way across the garden, keeping
well into the shadows. She saw two figures talking in the salon. One
was garbed in white. It had to be Khalid. He had worn white that
afternoon, while making his rounds. She heard a hearty laugh, and
recognized it as Captain Small’s. The captain and Khalid were talking
and would probably visit for some time.

Yasmin wondered if she should wait until Khalid had gone to
bed. The idea of disposing of Skye under Khalid’s very nose was
tempting. Yasmin wanted her master back, but she hadn’t forgiven
him for marrying Skye.

She crept on past the salon, keeping far enough away to avoid
the lights. She heard the low murmur of voices, but could make out
nothing of the conversation. No matter, she thought. Slipping into
the villa through a long French window, she made her way up the
darkened back staircase of the house to the main bedchamber. The
door was open and she stood still for a moment, letting her eyes
adjust to the dark room.

Yasmin knew the room well. Looking toward the bed, she ob-
served the sheet-swathed figure. She hesitated no longer than a
second. Moving purposely across the room, she plunged her dagger
again and again into the sleeping figure who groaned once, then lay
still. Unbridled joy surged through Yasmin. Dead! Dead! Her rival!
Her enemy! Skye was dead! She wanted to scream her happiness.

Then behind her someone did scream, a long piercing wail of
terror. Whirling, Yasmin faced a slave woman who was clutching
at a crystal carafe of water. The carafe slid from the woman’s hands.
Yasmin stood stock still watching the crystal shatter on the tiles, the
water mixing with it, spewing a rainbow of shattered droplets across
the floor and rugs. Yasmin could not move. She stood frozen as the
woman’s screams echoed throughout the house.

At the sound of running feet, Yasmin shook herself back into
action. Moving to the door, she shoved the slave woman aside and
tried to flee, but the servant clung to her arm screaming, “Murder!
Murder! She has killed the master!”

Allah! What was the woman screaming about? Yasmin wondered.
Khalid was downstairs. She had killed Skye. Yasmin yanked her
arm free and turned to run. Bumping into another body, she tried
to push by, but her shocked eyes locked onto Skye’s.

“Allah! No!” Yasmin gasped.

“She killed the master!” wailed the slave woman again.

“Yasmin! What has happened?” asked Skye fearfully.

Yasmin turned from Skye and stumbled back across the room to
the figure on the bed. With icy fingers she pulled the sheet back.
Seeing the cold, stiffening form of Khalid el Bey, Yasmin moaned
with a pain so great she couldn’t truly feel it all. Her fingers tightened
again about the dagger. She whispered her anguish. “Forgive me,
Skye!” and swiftly drove the dagger between her own breasts. Yas-
min crumpled to the floor.

Skye knelt on one side of the woman, while Captain Small knelt
on the other. Yasmin’s ragged breathing was the only sound.

“Why?” whispered Skye. “Why, Yasmin? You loved him!”

The dying woman’s eyes were glazing already. “Forgive me.”

Skye swallowed the bitter hatred rising in her throat. This woman
had just stolen her very life from her, and now begged forgiveness.
She wanted to shout, no!, but then she heard Robert Small say
quietly, “Come lass.” Knowing what he wanted, she said softly,
”I forgive you, Yasmin.”

Yasmin sighed. Gathering the last of her strength, she said, “I
thought it was you. Jamil p-planned it, but it was all for him, wasn’t
it? Jamil wants you. Beware of him.” Then, as if a candle had been
blown out, the life fled from her eyes and Yasmin was gone.

Skye stood. The room was bright now, lit by the lamps held by
all the household slaves who stood clustered in tight little groups,
some of the women beginning to sob. Skye stared at them, fighting
to retain her control. She must not go to pieces now. as she had
obviously done when she lost her memory. She owed Khalid mat
much, for he must be revenged. The Turkish captain-governor could
not kill her husband and escape judgment. Who had heard Yasmin’s
confession? Only she and Captain Small had been close enough to
hear the painfully whispered words. The next nearest people had
been Jean and Marie. The slaves had all been afraid of coming too
close.

Stepping over Yasmin’s body, Skye moved to the bed and sat
next to the still form of her husband. There was virtually no blood
to be seen. By some twist of fate the dagger had pierced only vital
organs, but no arteries. “I would be with my lord,” she said quietly,
and she heard the shuffle of feet and men the closing door.

Alone, she wept her terrible grief in silent pain, rocking back and
forth, holding herself, as if that would prevent her from shattering.
Her head ached and waves of pain and nausea began to rack her.

Suddenly she heard Robert Small commanding, “Voice it, lass!

Voice your pain or else it will kill both you and his babe. Is that
what you want? If so, take Yasmin’s escape, for it’s quicker.”

She saw the Englishman standing by the door. He had never left
her. Now, crossing the room in three strides, he grasped her by the
shoulders and shook her. “Damn it, lass! Cry! Scream! Curse the
heavens, but in God’s name get it out!”

She sobbed softly once, then stopped. He hit her hard several
times, and suddenly her resistance broke. Opening her mouth, Skye
wailed her grief with such loud and terrible cries that they echoed
throughout the house. The slave women, grieving softly until then,
joined in their mistress’s tragic lamentation and soon the whole house
rang with grief. Shortly the sounds echoed through the entire neigh-
borhood. People began to gather, and it was not long before everyone
knew that Khalid el Bey had been murdered by his jealous slave
woman, Yasmin.

Slowly Skye’s grief eased. Looking a final time on her beloved
husband, she bent and kissed his cold lips. Then, supported by
Robert Small, she left the room and walked downstairs to the bey’s
library. “Get Jean and Marie for me, Robbie. I must be revenged,
and I will need help.”

When the four of them were gathered together in private, Skye
quietly repeated Yasmin’s dying words to Jean and Marie. The
Frenchman was shocked, but his wife sniffed, “I would put nothing
past that evil Turk. Look how he killed my little cousine, Celestine.
He has no real heart, that one!” She began to weep. “He claimed
to be the master’s best friend, and yet he killed him without a second
thought because he wished to possess Madam!” Jean comforted his
wife as best he could.

“We will both be revenged, Marie,” said Skye, “but before we
can be, we must lull Jamil into a sense of security. He must not
even suspect that we know he is responsible for my lord’s murder.
Let him feel safe-and then we will strike!”

“You cannot revenge yourself on the Sultan’s governor and re-
main safely in Algiers,” said Robert Small firmly. “The dey would
be forced to punish you in the Sultan’s name.”

“I cannot remain here under any circumstances, Robbie. The
memories I have of Khalid and our life together would break my
heart. And though I am capable of running the House of Felicity,
who would do business with a woman? Sell everything here in
Algiers, but do it secretly. Have the money transported to our Lon-
don goldsmith.”

“The house also?” asked Jean.

“The house, the seaside kiosk, sell all.”

“What of the slaves?”

“Prepare papers of manumission for them all. I shall give each
of them the price he or she is worth in order that they may all get
started in another life. Those who wish to come with me may do
so, but no one is to be told until we are ready to leave. I hope, Jean,
that you and Marie will come with me. But if you choose to return
to Brittany I will understand.”