Taming Charlotte by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

and there were definite mysteries attached. “Happy?” she squeaked, curious even though she knew it was rude to pry.
    “You will see,” Alev said, with a look of wicked mischief in her eyes. “When you lie with Khalif, he will show you what a glorious thing it is to be a woman.”
    Charlotte was hardly comforted by these words; no matterhow appealing Khalif might be, she had no desire to “lie” with him. She’d never thought of any man in those terms, except, of course, for Patrick. She clenched her fingers tightly to her palms. Had the captain been untruthful in promising to take Charlotte with him when he sailed away from Riz?
    “You are hungry,” Alev observed, quite rightly. “Things will not seem so hopeless when your stomach has been filled.” At this, she clapped her hands together smartly, and a young, dark-eyed girl appeared.
    Alev spoke to the woman-child in rapid Arabic, and she scuttled off to obey the command. Like Alev and the other women Charlotte had seen, the servant wore simple, airy robes.
    “Pakize will bring refreshment,” said the future
kadin.
“Now, tell me—how did you come to be taken captive?”
    Charlotte swallowed a rush of protests at Alev’s choice of words; after all, she
had
been abducted in the marketplace that ill-fated day when she had so arrogantly chosen to ignore the warnings of her elders. Briefly, and with searing guilt, she thought of Bettina, and wondered how the poor creature was faring.
    Folding her hands on top of the blanket that still cosseted her otherwise naked person, Charlotte explained that she’d been on her way home from Paris, in the company of family friends, and that the Richardsons had decided on a side trip to Riz at the last moment. Shame-faced, she admitted that she’d all but dragged poor Bettina to the
souk
one morning, and there the two of them had been seized. Later—and just the memory of this was such an affront to Charlotte’s pride that it brought bile rushing into her throat—she’d either been sold or given to Patrick Trevarren like a cigar or a glass of wine.
    Alev barely reacted to the story; no doubt she had heard similar ones many times before. Her own history, after all, was no less dramatic. “You were an American, then,” she said. “I thought so, by your speech.”
    “I
am
an American,” Charlotte corrected. “I’m going back there, and when I get off the mail boat at Quade’sHarbor, I swear I’ll kiss the ground and never think of the place as boring and provincial again.”
    Alev simply patted Charlotte’s hand, as if to say it was a nice fantasy that would soon be discarded in favor of reality.
    The servant girl returned, carrying a brass tray loaded with sliced fruit, melons and bananas and a few things Charlotte didn’t recognize, along with an assortment of cheeses, a small bowl of olives, and a dish of sherbet made from some purple berry. Setting the food on a small table near Charlotte’s couch, Pakize took an ornately decorated cup from the tray and extended it.
    “That is
boza,
“ Alev explained. “It’s made from barley, and it’s very sour—-deliciously so.”
    Reluctantly Charlotte accepted the chalice, nodded her thanks. The drink was cool enough that a mist had formed on the cup, and she smelled cinnamon as she lifted it to her lips. She took a cautious sip and found the tartness of the
boza
very refreshing.
    After her thirst had been satisfied—Pakize immediately refilled the chalice from a matching carafe—Charlotte consumed sherbet, fruit, and cheese with exuberance. Alev had been right; she was hungry. Once the nourishment began to reach her bloodstream, she was again certain that everything would turn out all right in the end. Patrick would not leave without her; indeed, he would see that she got home to Washington Territory.
    Once Charlotte had finished eating, a golden robe of the same delicate fabric the others wore was brought to her, along with wooden sandals Alev called