Devil's Daughter by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online

two eunuchs bowed low to him and opened the gates.
    A central courtyard opened before him, lined with full-branched willow trees, their narrow leaves and tassellike spikes of flowers drooping downward. A fountain and pool stood in its center, decorated with flowers, marble benches, and at least a dozen of his harem girls. They were all young and lovely, dressed in a rainbow of color. Their tinkling conversation and laughter blended with the lapping of the fountain. Directly beyond the courtyard through high-arched doorways were the harem suites.
    The courtyard was suddenly silent. The women had seen him, and were watching him in awed, wide-eyedconsternation. He was not expected. He nodded toward them, and they dropped their eyes from him. Several of the girls were unfamiliar to him, girls who had likely shared Hamil’s bed.
    “Highness.”
    Raj, his head eunuch, waddled toward him, shooing away the girls. Kamal was not displeased to see them disperse.
    “You should have told me when you intended to come.”
    Kamal smiled at Raj, an older man of mammoth girth, baby-smooth cheeks, and a head as bald as an egg, shaved, Kamal suspected, to lend him more dignity. He knew Raj to be as intelligent as he was loyal. He ran the harem with a minimum of fuss, and dealt well even with Kamal’s mother.
    “I know my way, Raj,” he said. Still, Raj walked at his side toward his mother’s suite of rooms, rooms as royally appointed as were his own. Raj stopped in the doorway and bowed deeply toward Giovanna.
    “His highness,” the huge eunuch said.
    Kamal glanced about at his mother’s apartment. She had made many changes in the last six months that had left the chamber an odd mixture of Arab and European. The far wall was hung with a dark green velvet tapestry, ornamented with colored silk damask flowers. The doorway was inlaid with the finest Italian marble. Choice china and crystal encircled the room on a molding near the ceiling, with large looking-glasses framed with gold placed beneath. The floor was matted and covered with thick woolen carpets. Familiar loose cushions were on the floor, but his mother had added several curved-armed Italian chairs. Onanother wall there were numerous paintings, anathema to Muslims. His mother was seated in one of her chairs, but quickly rose when Kamal strode toward her.
    “My son,” she said softly. “I am delighted you wished to join me for my evening meal.”
    “It is my pleasure, madam.” He lightly kissed her proffered cheek.
    “You are kind to your lonely mother.”
    “You have no reason for loneliness,” Kamal said.
    His mother did not reply, but nodded to Raj, and he, in turn, clapped his hands softly. Three slave girls carried in covered silver dishes and laid them on the low table. Fine bone china, napkins, forks and knives were already set upon the table, another European custom Muslims disdained.
    The meal was a refreshing change to Kamal. He enjoyed the rare steak and the stewed potatoes, but drank none of the wine. They spoke little until he sat back, his belly comfortably filled, and accepted a cup of coffee served in a small cup from China, placed in a gold filigree bowl. A slave handed him a peeled pomegranate on a silver plate. He watched his mother wave dismissal to the slaves and daintily sip at her wine. Muslims were forbidden to drink wine, particularly women. But his mother was Italian, after all, even though she had accepted Islam to become his father’s second wife.
    Giovanna eyed her son over the edge of her crystal wineglass. She regretted that he looked like his father, that rutting old stud. But Alessandro was her son as well, and she had ensured that he would be every bitas Italian as he was Muslim. But she did not know him well.
    “Alessandro,” she said in her soft Italian, “I must ask you for a favor.”
    Kamal held up his hand. “Before you ask me anything, Mother, there is a matter I must broach with you. You will tell me why you used my seal and