Taming Charlotte by Linda Lael Miller

together, all the women of the harem, and—”
    Alev interrupted with a roll of her eyes and an impatient sigh. “You Americans are such rabble-rousers. You have no concept of tradition. Well, let me tell you something: If I could snap my fingers and be back in England in the next instant, I wouldn’t do it.” She took Charlotte’s sleeve and tugged her away into a quiet corner of the courtyard. “You mustn’t ever speak of rebellion again,” she warned, in deadly earnest. “If the sultana hears of it, she will have you punished. Here, we do as we are told.”
    “If you do as you’re told,” Charlotte countered, “why do you need a eunuch to keep the peace?”
    Alev’s nose was within inches of Charlotte’s, and her breath smelled of sweet spices. “Those who do not behave themselves are soon sorry for it,” she said, and then she turned in a whirl of robes and walked away.
    Charlotte stared after her for a few moments, feeling a confusing mixture of liking for the other woman and anger, and then turned her gaze back to the tall elm tree next to the wall.
    Patrick sat cross-legged on a thick cushion in Khalif’s quarters, his second cup of
boza
in one hand. The tangy, slightly fermented drink was one of the many things Patrick enjoyed about visiting the palace.
    “So she was originally to be sold to Raheem,” Khalif said, frowning. He wore ordinary clothes, much like Patrick’s, instead of the robes and turban a stranger might expect, and his dark hair was cropped. His black eyes showed concern.
    Patrick nodded, then smiled. It seemed he smiled whenever he thought of Charlotte, provided she wasn’t there to see. “One of my men won her, gambling, and presented her to me as a gift.”
    Khalif sighed and came to sit facing Patrick on another colorful, fringed cushion. “Do you know of Raheem, my friend?”
    “I’ve never met him,” Patrick responded, with a shrug. He knew Raheem was a pirate and a no-good in general, but in this part of the world, those traits were common.
    Khalif still looked worried, distracted. “He is a very brutal and vengeful man,” he reflected, apparently saddened by the pirate’s shortcomings. “If his men took your Charlotte from the
souk,
it was probably because Raheem had ordered them to bring him a light-skinned woman. No doubt he is furious that his desires have been thwarted.”
    Patrick frowned and set aside his cup. It wasn’t like Khalif to be troubled about such matters; he had a kingdom to rule and he took his responsibilities seriously. Although the sultan was by no means a cruel man, he simply didn’t have the time or energy to concern himself with every kidnapping that took place in his domain.
    “Are you afraid of this man?” Patrick asked, and hesmiled when, in the next instant, he saw rage kindle and then blaze in Khalif’s eyes.
    Khalif muttered an Arabic curse, one of the many he had taught Patrick when they were rooming together at Westhaven School for Boys just outside of London. “I fear no one,” he glowered, “and least of all an ignorant pirate such as Raheem. But I can see that you care about this girl you speak of, and I must warn you as a friend. Raheem will stop at nothing to avenge what he surely sees as an injustice. He would not be above slitting the woman’s throat and having her remains delivered to you in a basket.”
    Like Khalif, Patrick feared no other man—not, at least, for himself. Charlotte had added a disturbing new dimension by her appearance in his life, however; she had endeared herself to him just enough to become a liability. “I’ll protect her,” he said angrily, all his masculine instincts roused. He even laid his hand on the hilt of the knife he carried in a leather scabbard attached to his belt.
    Khalif raised his eyebrows. “Yes, if you are with her when Raheem strikes. But you are often busy with your trading, Patrick—can you drag a woman with you wherever you go and watch over her