`I think, Turqeya, that his heart belongs to the desert.'
`Is it possible, Lorna, that your heart belongs to Kasim?'
`My cool British reserve was not proof against his charm,' Lorna admitted. 'At first I thought him a despot, and then I found that he could be strangely kind. Only a few days ago he dared a desert storm in order to look for me when I—ran away from him '
`A woman sometimes runs from what she cannot help loving.' Turqeya lowered her long lashes. 'Sometimes a man retreats from what he cannot have.'
As Lorna pondered the words, Turqeya hid her exotic little face behind her filmy veil, as if she had a secret to hide. Lorna recalled what Zahra had said about the Shaikh, that he had taken it upon himself to choose the man he thought worthy of Turqeya. Suddenly with a tinkling of anklets the pretty thing uncurled from the sofa and ran to throw her arms about the tall figure just entering the room.
He held her and kissed her cheeks and his eyes were warm. 'You grow more delectable each time I see you, little one.'
`Kasim, you are so brown and fit—so strong that I am afraid you will break me in half !'
'Child, it seems but yesterday that you played hide and seek in the palm grooves, now you have kohl on your eyes.' He shook his head at her. 'Cosmetics hide a fresh young skin, and I would advise you to wash off the paint.'
She pouted up at him. 'You stay so long in the desert that you become old-fashioned, brother. Here in the city a girl likes to look chic.'
`Chic?' he teased. 'Cleopatra used kohl on her eyes and paint on her face.' He put his thumb against the beauty spot on Turqeya's cheekbone and erased it. `My little sister, you don't need the tricks of a Nile dancer to make you attractive.'
`You are a brute, Kasim !' Turqeya lightly slapped his hard brown cheek. 'If I were Lorna I would run away from you!'
He flashed a look at Lorna and his eyes glinted as he took in the blue gown that she wore. The lustrous material matched her eyes and glowed against her fair skin and shining hair
`How did you find your father?' she asked him.
`He seems to be regaining strength and was able to talk to me about things which have been worrying him.'
`He has wanted you to come home—oh, so much, Kasim!' Turqeya ran a hand along her brother's broad shoulder. 'You must promise not to go away again.'
He was gazing over his sister's head and Lorna alone saw the bleak look that came into his tawny eyes. It distressed her that he should look like that. His longing for the desert was a yearning she could not hope to assuage. The desert was the love of his life . she was but an interlude.
Turqeya stayed talking to them for about an hour, and then she left them to dine alone. As in their desert tent, their meal was brought to them by Hassan, who had returned to Sidi Kebir with his master.
`Do you like what you have so far seen of the palace?' The Shaikh spoke as he ate, as if with an effort.
`It's like something out of an Arabian fable,' she said. 'I would treasure so many antique and lovely things if it were my home.'
She felt his quick glance, but he continued to eat in silence and she was glad when the meal came to an end.
`Would you like to go to the roof terrace and see the city by moonlight?' He drew her to her feet and it was a subtle torment to be so close to him after an entire day that had held them apart.
`Very much,' she said.
He held her and gazed down into her eyes, a rather searching light in his own eyes. 'I will fetch you a cloak. Our sunshine is hot, but our moonlight is cold.'
He strode into the adjoining room and she awaited his return with a pensive, uncertain air about her. In the desert she had known hell and heaven with him ... but nothing could touch the subtle torture of being with him in the house of his boyhood. Lorna glanced about her, as if seeking the slender woman who seemed to haunt these rooms ... watching as Kasim came to her and fastened about her shoulders a cloak of thick glossy silk, its silvery sheen that of the moonlight he wished to share with her.
They left the apartment through a sculptured doorway and went along the fretted gallery to a stairway, narrow and winding, and leading to the rooftop that overlooked the shadow and mystery of Sidi Kebir.
The luminous light of the new moon seemed to intensify the stillness of the night. Far below lay the walled gardens and narrow streets, wending their way into the heart of the city. Strange vibrations could be felt, spicy aromas hung on the air, and wicked deeds of the past could still be felt in this timeless land. The drifting sound of Arabian music added to the enchantment.
`It's like a black and silver tapestry,' Lorna murmured, and the scents of the night, the air of the forbidden, sapped from her the will to move away from the Shaikh. She felt him beside her, so tall and lithe in his kaftan and narrow trousers. Her heart beat fast, His slightest touch thrilled through her like tiny, exquisitely painful arrows.
`The moonlight is in your hair,' he said quietly. `You are part of the mystery and the tapestry.'
As his breath stirred her hair, she wanted in a panic of love to run from him, and at the same time she wanted to lay her head against his shoulder and ask him to love her in return.
If only he loved her, how wonderful the night, how fearless the future.
`Tomorrow I take you to see the Emir.' His hand touched her shoulder. 'He has expressed a wish to see you.'
A little shiver of apprehension ran through her.
palaceWhat if the Emir objected to her presence at the
? What if he told Kasim to send her away?
Kasha had hinted that he was a man of absolute authority, and Turqeya spoke of him with admiration rather than the affection of a daughter.
Lorna gazed down upon the moonlit city and thought of her own love for her own dear father. How he would have enjoyed painting a city such as Sidi Kebir, its domes and minarets would have pleased his artistic eye so much.
She looked at Kasim and saw how stern his face was in the moonlight. It was obvious that he had something on his mind, something he wouldn't tell her.
`Perhaps it would have been better if I had chosen to go to Yraa,' she said. 'I don't wish to complicate life for you, Kasim. Not with your father lying ill.'
`You have a gentle heart, Lorna.' His arms stole round her and held her against the indented wall. `And I could not be as heartless as to set you free without making amends for stealing you.'
`Amends?' she whispered, and she couldn't tell if it was her heart or his that beat so furiously. Even the moonlight could not have come between them as he held her by the parapet and the night wind blew her hair into a soft cloud.
`Tomorrow,' his eyes held hers, 'you will know, petite.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LORNA ran quietly down the stairs that led to the gardens of the palace. It was still very early and she had a need to be alone for a while.
An arched doorway framed her slim figure, and then she was out under an arcade and facing a rose garden damp with dew. She took a deep breath of the fresh, scented air and very soon had lost herself among the trees with their deep red flowers piled high and festooning downwards in fragrant clusters.
She wandered beneath tunnels of blue jasmine and into the groves of palm and cypress. She glimpsed a sunbird, whose plumage was a dazzling mixture of blue and green. When she came to a small walled patio she paused to admire a fountain in which the water tumbled from basin to basin, creating a waterfall effect. She sat down on a tiled bench and was so still, so tranced, that birds came unafraid to drink at the fountain and to flap their feathers in the water.
A transient peace stole over Lorna, though her pulses fluttered in time with the butterflies each time she thought of the morning ahead of her, and the meeting Kasim had arranged between her and his formidable father.
Her gaze dwelt on the oleander bushes, whose glossy leaves harboured a poisonous sap. Sun and
shadow made arabesques ... even here the bitter mingled with the sweetness of petal and scent.
&n
bsp; A sigh escaped her. How nice to be a bird who could take wing and fly away and leave no shadow, only a memory of having lingered awhile.
She could not fathom what Kasim had meant when he talked last night of making amends today. After they had left the roof terrace he had gone to wish his father a good night, and he had not returned to her.
A butterfly hovered on the petals of a sunflower close by. It was golden, like the flash of gold through the dark lashes of Kasim's eyes. Her heart quivered like the wings of the butterfly. Her heart clutched for a reason why she should love a man who had made her his toy.
She would never betray herself by telling him of her own feelings. If the time had come for them to part . . . she crushed a rose she had plucked and her pain was made physical as a thorn sharply pierced her. She sucked the tiny wound. If only her parting from the Shaikh could be so swift a pain.
As the sun arose and shone through the palm trees, she left the peaceful little patio and wandered back beneath the tunnels of jasmine, burning blue in the sunlight, and saw cowled figures working among the trees of the groves. The air had grown honey-warm and the sun was opening the roses. The petals were soundless as they fell ... a rose died as a memory died, in silence and without visible pain. The heart held its pain as the thorny bush held the last of the rose.
As she reached the cool arcade that led into the
palace, a snowy Persian kitten detached itself from the shadows and came to wind itself about Lorna's ankles. She knelt on the warmth of the tiles to play with it, charmed by its emerald green eyes and its purring friendliness. 'You darling!' Lorna laughed her delight as the kitten rolled over and nuzzled her fingers with its tiny damp nose.
She was absorbed in her play with the kitten when footsteps paused on the tiles of the arcade. She glanced up and found Kasim watching her. He stood very still, etched in sunlight and shadow. He wore a dark burnous embroidered with gold, and leather knee-boots moulded to his feet and legs. His eyes were very still, and they held an expression she had never seen in them before . . . one of pain.
`What is the matter?' She scrambled to her feet and the kitten darted away in alarm. 'Is your father not so well today?'
`Yes . . . he makes progress.' In a couple of strides Kasim came to her and took hold of her hands. He studied them, and then he looked into her eyes.
`You looked but a child playing with that kitten,' he said.
She didn't feel like a child . . . no woman ever could with Kasim. He was too much a man, so tall and somehow stern in the immaculate robes that suited him so well. Shaikh el Arabe. She loved him for all the reasons that in the beginning had made her afraid of him
`We are to go to the Emir in one hour.' He pressed her hands encouragingly. 'Tell Kasha that you are to be dressed in something very charming'
`I am nervous,' she admitted. 'What will he think of me?'
`My dear,' his smile was whimsical, 'an Arabian such as the Emir does not look beyond the face of a woman. He will think you quite lovely.'
Then he lifted her hands and kissed them briefly. `Go to Kasha,' he smiled.
Lorna gazed after him as he strode towards another section of the palace. The folds of his burnous were sculptured around his tall figure. There was an air of gravity about him that perplexed her ... it intensified her feeling that this meeting with his father was a prelude to her departure.
When she reached her apartment she found Kasha waiting to help her dress, but first she took a cool dip in the sunken bath and emerged feeling fresh and ready for her encounter with the Emir.
Kasha brushed her hair until it shone, and then she was attired in a long silk dress overlaid by a diaphanous tunic with embroidered sleeves that fell away at the bend of the elbow. A little jewelled cap was placed upon her head and the veiling was pinned by a jewel to the shoulder of her dress. She slipped her feet into pearl-coloured shoes, and when she turned to face her reflection in the painted mirror, she caught her breath.
`The lella is indeed the pearl of the Sidi Kasim.' Kasha straightened the yards of veiling and smiled with satisfaction. 'Within his blood his mother's love of beauty, within his very bones his devil of a father, it is no wonder that he took you for his own.'
`I am to meet his father and I am very nervous, Kasha.'
The old lady stared into Lorna's eyes in the mirror, and then with a smile she touched a strand of Lorna's fair hair. 'The Emir is not the stern man he was before his illness. You need not fear him.'
But Lorna feared his power. She was quite certain that he was going to tell her that she must part from his son.
Kasim came for her, and she wore over the silk dress the cloak in which she had shared last night's moonlight with him. They traversed the long corridors of the palace, decorated with the many carved and gilded archways of an Arabian dwelling. At last they came to a massive door in which a golden crescent was set.
They entered a reception room of much grandeur, in which a Sultan of old might have lounged on a divan to drink sherbet and listen to music with a favourite kadin beside him.
Lorna glanced at Kasim and her blue eyes were large with questions. He looked very princely, quickening her heart in his black and gold, his head cloth encircled by the gold ropes of his important position. His attire, combined with his upright bearing and his look of sternness, made her feel a stranger to him.
`Please tell me !' The words could be held in no longer. 'I know I am to be sent away !'
His eyes dwelt on her and there was a flare to his nostrils, as if he rebelled against the idea of losing her. As if he still wanted her companionship as much as he had in the desert. He opened his lips as if to speak, but in that moment a white-clad servant appeared and they were asked politely to follow him.
A moment more and they were in the presence of the Emir Hussayn ben Mansour beni Saadi, head of the great Arabian clan who traced their beginnings beyond the Crusades.
He had great blazing eyes and the hard features of a ruler. A proud old pasha with pillows banked behind his head as he lay in a bed with an immense canopy that reached to the ceiling.
He gazed for a long moment at Lorna, who looked lost and lovely in her Arabian finery. His gaze dwelt on the veil she clutched with her fingers but did not hide behind. Then he looked slowly at Kasim, who stood tall, dark, and silent at the foot of the great bed. There were other people in the room who stood equally silent, officials in flowing robes.
`So, my son,' the Emir began slowly to smile and at once there seemed a lessening of tension in the room. `So this is the fair roumia you would take as a wife, eh?'
There was it seemed to Lorna a clap of thunder, and then an intense silence. She glanced dazedly at Kasim. It couldn't be true ! She must be having a dream ... a wildly impossible dream!
Then she saw a faintly sardonic smile curve on his lips as he caught her look. 'My father wishes me to take a wife and I have chosen to take you,' he said deliberately.
She stood speechless, and was aware that everyone in the room was looking at her. The Shaikh had spoken last night of making amends and this was it!
The amende honorable and nothing less!
A ceiling fan purred hypnotically, and now she knew why she was dressed in silk and veiling . . . the marriage was to take place here, the vows were to be spoken over the imperial bed of the Emir !
Lorna wanted to protest, to cry out no, not like this, without love or tenderness or any hope of a lasting happiness ! There could be no joy or happiness without Kasim's love. It was the giving of his heart that she longed for.
But even as protest clamoured in her, she recalled unforgettable moments with him. Their rides across the desert sands beneath the dawn sky . . . sharing the danger of the sandstorm with him and being taken for a boy by the friendly nomads.
The power and mystery of him held her in thrall. If this was what he wanted, then she could not fight his will.
She bowed her head to let all of them know that she was willing to become his bride. In a daze
she heard the Arabic words spoken by a robed official, and she touched the exquisite lettering of the Koran. Her eyes were dazzled by the jewelled scimitar which was poised over her head, symbol of the authority of her Arabian husband. Yes, just a few words and he became her husband!
After the brief ceremony the Emir beckoned to her and she went to the bedside. The bed was so high that she was on a level with him as he dropped over her head a shimmering necklace. 'You are now of the beni Saadi, my daughter. It is a grave moment, eh?' He smiled, but she saw the weariness in his face that was
like a mask of bronze battered by the years. He took her hands into his and she felt their frailty. It was for the Emir's sake that Kasim had married her !
`This marriage has my blessing,' he said tiredly, `and I hope that it will be many times blessed for the beni Saadi.'
`Thank you, my lord,' she murmured, and then she was ushered into the adjoining room and was swathed in a sumptuous cloak and carried in a litter from the father's section of the palace to that of the son's.
The news of the marriage was speedily announced from minarets all over the city. Lorna, resting alone in her apartment, heard the cries of Allah akbar, and soon afterwards there was a sound of fireworks as the people flocked into the streets to celebrate the marriage.
She was still in a dream state and couldn't fully arouse from it even when Turqeya came to tell her that a party of women had arrived to give their good wishes to the bride. Lorna could hear them laughing and chattering in the adjoining room, and she shrank from going among them and putting on the mask of a happy bride.
`What is it, my sister?' Turqeya's smile died away as she caught the look of quiet despair in Lorna's eyes. `I thought you loved Kasim ! To marry him was surely your greatest desire?'
`To marry him knowing I had his love.' Lorna played restlessly with his star-sapphire ring. 'You are a woman, Turqeya. You must know how I feel.'
`Yes.' Turqeya's eyes brooded on the sapphire that burned blue like Lorna's eyes. 'As an Arabian girl I live with the fear that I will be made to marry against my will. How could I marry anyone else when for years, since I was a child of twelve, I have had a place in my heart for only one man. He is not a prince, nor is he rich, but I love him with all my heart.'
Blue Jasmine Page 13