not bring herself to regret the sensations—no matter how much pain it would probably bring her.
“Assad’s mother had poisoned the sultan’s oldest two sons. She’d been careless and over a dozen people died.”
His words made her forget all about the pulsing sensation in her sex.
“My God. What happened?”
“To Isabella?”
“Was that Assad’s mother?”
“Mm-hmm. She was an Italian lady of good birth. She’d given the sultan six children—two of them boys. For years she reigned supreme—until my mother had me.”
“What happened to her—Isabella?”
“The sultan found out she was behind the poisoning and beheaded her.” Drusilla gasped, and he frowned. “I think it was too good for her. The poison she used was not a kind one and her victims suffered. Isabella had not been a well-liked woman. Assad’s mother was vicious to all the children except her own. None of the other wives would leave their children alone with her—especially not their sons.” He shrugged. “The sultan decided her son would not profit by her crimes, so I was raised up and Assad humiliated. It was the end of my relationship with the brother I loved so much.”
Drusilla could imagine.
“To make a long story much shorter, it turned out Fatima’s father was in league with Assad, and I barely escaped the palace with my hide. If her father had known what I was doing with his daughter—” He shook his head. “Let us just say I doubt he would have had the nerve to offer a soiled dove to Assad. As for Fatima? Well, she had no say in her future; she would marry whoever her father ordered her to marry.”
“Oh, Gabriel,” she said.
He turned and smiled at her, running the knuckles of one hand down her jaw. “Oh, Drusilla,” he teased.
“You are making light of it, but you must have been heartbroken.”
“I was. And it was fuel on the fire of my anger against my brother. Ever since he’d been disgraced, my mother had warned me to take steps against Assad, but I could never bring myself to do such a thing. Even though he’d certainly eliminated any of our siblings he believed might cause him trouble—some of our more assertive sisters in addition to our unfortunate brother Malik.”
She stared, the horror of what he was saying sinking in. “Steps? You mean your mother wanted you to—”
“Do not judge her, Drusilla. It was a different world where we lived.”
“I would not presume to judge. It’s just that—”
“She is so small and seems so loving and affectionate?”
“Well, yes.”
“She can afford to be soft now. But all the years I was growing up, she was alone and foreign and had given the sultan a son. Such a coup made for uncertain relations in the harem. My mother had always to be vigilant.”
What a horrible, horrible life. Something suddenly occurred to her. “Your son—you said Fatima married your brother?”
“Yes, they were married immediately after Assad secured my father’s palace in Oran and drove me and my small band of men into hiding.” He frowned. “I’m ashamed to say that did not take him very long.”
“So Fatima married him quickly after you left?”
He nodded. “I can see you understand.”
“You don’t—”
“I do not know which of us is Samir’s father.”
She raised her hand to her mouth. “Do you think your brother ever suspected?”
“No. Fatima would have suffered a dreadful punishment if he’d known. She must have taken steps on their wedding night to fool him. And if the child happened to come early? Well, that could always be explained away.”
Drusilla had no idea what to say.
“Samir’s mother was killed when Oran was bombarded. Perhaps you heard something of it?”
She frowned in thought. “Yes. Yes, of course. It happened some months after the navy attacked Algiers, did it not?”
“Three months later.”
“And the casualties were considerably less?”
He hesitated and then said, “Yes, they were. Unfortunately, Assad, Samir’s mother, and another of their children were among those killed.”
“Oh, Gabriel.”
“Samir was the only one of the royal sons who survived, and he had no family nearby. So I brought him back with the intention of finding his grandparents or any of his aunts or uncles on his mother’s side who might take him.”
Drusilla gaped. “But . . . wait—you were there?”
He paused, took a deep breath, and sighed heavily. “I was there—right before the siege and right after.”
“But—but—wasn’t that dangerous?” She shook her head, as if trying to shake away cobwebs. “Didn’t the navy go with the intention of taking the city—as they had done in Algiers? Why would you