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never see you again!
Never!”
    “You will meet me here in the orchard as long as it pleases me, Adora! If you do not, I will appear at the convent gate demanding to see you.”
    “You would not dare!” But her eyes were filled with doubt.
    “I would dare almost anything to see you again, dove.” He stood, drawing her up with him. Gently wrapping her cloak about her, he walked silently with her to the orchard door. “Until tomorrow night, Adora. Dream of me.” And then, vaulting up, he disappeared over the top of the wall into the night.
    With trembling fingers she unlocked the door, went through, relocked it, and then fled through the gardens to her own house. Within the comparative safety of her bedchamber she relived in her mind the scene in the orchard. She realized that, though he had kissed her most thoroughly, he had not touched her otherwise. And yet she ached! Her entire body ached with a longing she did not understand. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples sore. Her belly felt tight, and the secret woman’s place between her legs was throbbing. If this was being a woman, she wasn’t sure she liked it.
    But the greater problem was Prince Murad’s threat to appear at the convent gate. His rank would make the nuns obedient. Why should they refuse the sultan’s son permission to visit his stepmother? They might even believe that the sultan himself had sent him. When the truth was learned, the innocent little religious community would be punished and disgraced.
    If she refused to see the prince, and told Mother Marie Josepha the truth, then Murad might be punished—perhaps even killed for his boldness. Theadora did not believe she could live with a death on her conscience. She was trapped. She would meet him tomorrow night.
    Yet, as she lay in her chaste bed she remembered his deep voice saying, “My father will never call you to him. When he dies and I am sultan, I shall arrange for you to be my bride.” She trembled. Were men always so intense?
    Was it possible that he might be her lord some day? It was a tantalizing thought. He was very handsome—with his jet black eyes, dark, wavy hair, tanned face, and the white teeth flashing that impudent smile.
    She shivered again. The mere memory of his kisses made her giddy, and that was wrong! Very wrong! Even if Sultan Orkhan never called her to him, she was still his wife.
    She could not sleep that night, and in the morning she was irritable. She could not concentrate on her book. She tangled her embroidery threads and angrily threw the linen to the floor. Her slaves were astonished, and when an older woman questioned her, fearing she was becoming ill, Adora boxed her ears and then burst into tears.
    Iris, the slavewoman, was wise enough to pursue the matter. She was relieved when the princess sobbingly confided that she had not slept well. Immediately the woman prepared a warm bath for her young charge and, after Theadora had been bathed and massaged, Iris tucked her into bed. She was then fed a cup of warm spiced wine into which the slavewoman had put a mild sleeping potion.
    When Theadora awoke, the last rays of the sun were staining the western sky, and the purple mountains about the city were already crowned with faint silver stars. Iris brought the princess a small, roasted pigeon, the skin crisp and golden. The tray also held new lettuce, a honeycomb, and a carafe of white wine. Theadora ate slowly, her thoughts sorting themselves.
    The prince had given his word not to tamper with her virginity. And if he spoke the truth, she was not likely to ever see the sultan again. It was entirely possible that Prince Murad would one day be her true husband.
    The night darkened. Finishing her meal, Theadora washed her hands in a silver basin filled with rose water. Her good humor had been restored by the sleep. She dismissed her slaves for the evening. Unlike the majority of women of her class, she was capable of dressing and undressing herself. She despised the