Captive by Brenda Joyce Page B

and a large, pearl-handled pistol. His smile remained fixed in his permanently sunburned face. “I do not believe we have had the pleasure, madam.”
    Alex’s mind was racing. She clutched the veil tightly, but he had already seen her face, for she had been wearing itnegligently. “I am not allowed to speak with you, sir, and you know it.”
    His eyes glinted. “You must be Jebal’s American wife. The one so grief-stricken that she does not allow him into her bed. Your reputation precedes you, madam.”
    Alex wanted to back up, but Murad stood behind her, crowding her. How on earth did he know such a thing?
    His eyes roamed her face. Disrespectfully—Jebal would kill him if he saw. “Red-haired and green-eyed. Exotic and beautiful. Now I see for myself why Jebal is such a fool.”
    Alex found her tongue while Murad lifted the veil even higher, so only her eyes remained uncovered. “He will kill you if he finds us speaking.”
    Jovar threw back his head and laughed. “No, madam, he will kill you!” He continued to chuckle, and then abruptly his laughter died. “Does your oh-so-dangerous husband know that you have a fondness for political discussion?”
    Alex wet her lips. “I was bored. I did not understand what you were talking about. I thought there was a feast or some such other entertainment. I had no idea it would be a silly argument among men about stupid ships.”
    Jovar’s mouth quirked. “Well done—little liar.” His eyes smoldered with hatred.
    Alex shrank. Murad stepped forward, gripping her wrist. “We should go, Lilli Zohara.
Now.”
    Alex allowed him to propel her past Jovar, who did not move out of their path. Alex was forced to brush his body with her arms and hips. She felt ill at making such physical contact. She thought that he laughed. Alex flung a look at him over her shoulder. His eyes glinted as he stared after her very piercingly. And then she and Murad were almost running down the hall.
    In her apartments, he slammed and bolted her chamber door closed. “I told you!” he shouted.
    “Will Jovar tell Jebal that he found me eavesdropping?” Alex asked, very worried.
    “I do not know,” Murad gritted. Then he threw his hands up in despair. “You are impossibly willful, Alex. He saw your face!”
    But Alex was not listening. She could not undo what had happened, but she could try to do her duty. She had to try towarn the American navy of Tripoli’s plans. She moved to the large wooden chest, heavily engraved and encrusted with gems, that sat at the foot of her bed.
    “Allah bless her, what are you doing?” Murad cried.
    Alex flung open the chest, withdrawing the white robes and headdress of a bedouin man. She did not look up as she shed her bracelets, her earrings and necklace.
    “No.” Murad came forward. His silver eyes blazed. “Absolutely not.”
    But Alex had already shed both sleeveless vests, and now her floor-length tunic followed. His eyes widened, but not because she stood topless before him, for he had dressed, undressed, and bathed her hundreds of times. “Alex! You are insane!”
    Alex sat, taking off both silver ankle bracelets, and then she shimmied out of her pale, flowing trousers and reached for the bedouin garments.
    Murad stared, then his lashes flickered down. “He shall kill us both for this.”
    “I don’t think so,” Alex said, donning the disguise.
    “I
know
so.”
    She smiled at him as she tossed him another set of bedouin clothes. “Then we shall just have to make sure we are very,
very
careful not to be caught disguised as bedouins while outside the palace walls.”
    “Moslem women are not free. They belong to their husbands. Jebal is your master, just as you are my mistress.”
    Alex sighed as she and Murad hurried down one of Tripoli’s narrow, twisting streets. The odor of garbage was everywhere. “Murad, do not worry so. We are only going out for a walk, or so we shall maintain if we are discovered—which we shall not