by Kristi Gold
“That isn’t necessary. I’ve traveled the terrain many times and I have yet to encounter any trouble. I also travel with a firearm should I need it.”
His grin arrived slowly. “Do you know how to use it?”
She returned his smile. “I’m certain I could shoot straight should the situation arise. So rest assured, as long as you are with me, your royal body will be safe.”
“You are willing to take my royal body into your own hands?”
Ignoring the suggestive words, she pointed at the clothes. “Dress, Your Majesty. I’ll meet you at the back entrance to the house.”
His smile disappeared. “And I will drive.”
“No, you will not.”
With that, she flipped her hair over one shoulder and left the room to prepare for the journey. With a reluctant king in tow, it could prove to be quite an adventure.
* * *
Rafiq had always known Maysa to have an adventurous spirit. He had seen her take risks most women would not dare undertake. Yet he had never seen her dressed as she was now. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse covered by a white laboratory coat, as well as khaki pants and a pair of heavy boots. Her official apparel concealed her feminine attributes, yet her absence of makeup did not take away from her natural beauty. He knew exactly what existed beneath the clothing—full breasts, round bottom, soft skin.
While Rafiq’s discomfort began to grow, Maysa looked entirely comfortable behind the wheel of the Hummer, navigating the rugged terrain with practiced ease. He, on the other hand, was sweltering due to the August sun and in part due to his inability to take his eyes off Maysa. Since last evening, he had not been able to escape the memory of her kiss. Could not erase the images of what he wanted to do with her. To her. But he also could not forget her reaction to his touch, as if she had been somewhat repulsed.
He streaked a hand over his forehead and took a drink of water from the canteen she had brought along. “How much farther?”
“We’re almost there,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on the dirt road. “Over the mountain.”
As soon as they topped the rise, Maysa continued down the incline past a tribesman herding sheep and several young boys playing barefoot along the path. Once they arrived in the primitive town, she pulled in front of a large canvas tent where several people had gathered around the opening.
After Maysa shut off the ignition and climbed out, Rafiq remained seated to observe the interaction between doctor and villagers. Women, men and children converged upon her, shouting greetings and presenting smiles that she returned.
After a time, she managed to make her way to the passenger door to address him. “Keep your sunglasses on at all times,” she said in a low voice. “I will tell everyone you’re from the States and you do not speak Arabic. In fact, it’s best if you do not speak at all.”
That could take effort. “If that is what you wish.”
She favored him with a smile. “And by the way, I like you better clean-shaven.”
His hand immediately went to his bare chin. “Be that as it may, I will begin growing it back as soon as we are finished with this adventure. Otherwise, someone might mistake me for my brother.”
She pulled a stethoscope from the pocket of the lab coat and draped it around her neck. “Do what you will, Rafiq, but take it from a woman. Kissing a man with a beard is not always comfortable.” With that, she rounded the SUV while Rafiq remained to ponder her words. Did she intend to let him kiss her again? One could always hope.
Rafiq slid out of the Hummer and joined Maysa at the rear to haul the large supply trunk into the tent while she carried a smaller medical kit. She signaled him to be seated in a rattan chair in the corner of the tent and pressed a fingertip to her lips, reminding him to be silent, as if he were an errant schoolboy. She then went to work, tending to the villagers with both speed and skill. She periodically handed out treats to the children and advice to worried mothers. Several men stood nearby, eyeing Rafiq with suspicion and occasionally watching Maysa with lust. He could not blame them though he did not care for their leers. Yet defending the physician’s honor would most likely incur the physician’s wrath.
As Rafiq continued to witness Maysa deliver her expert ministrations, he experienced a sense of pride, though he had no right. He had never discouraged her from entering the medical field, but he had not encouraged her, either. He had always believed she would be destined to abandon her dreams for the life of a sultan’s wife. But she had bravely defied convention and custom, and had suffered severe consequences for her choices.
Watching her care for these downtrodden people, receiving their adoration and appreciation, Rafiq realized that perhaps she had not suffered as much as one would believe. Perhaps she was living the life she was meant to live. A life without him.
A commotion coming from the tent’s entrance drew his attention. A young man elbowed his way through the awaiting crowd, shouting, “Tâbeeb!”
When he rushed toward Maysa, Rafiq immediately shot to his feet to intervene. Maysa gave him a quelling look as she took the farmer aside and spoke to him quietly.
He could not hear most of the conversation, but he understood the gravity of the situation from the concerned look in Maysa’s eyes. She turned and addressed the woman who’d been assisting her and instructed her to do what she could until she returned. Then she gestured Rafiq to follow her out of the tent. Once they were back in the SUV, Maysa followed a truck out of the village and toward the mountains.
“Where are we going?” Rafiq asked as Maysa made one hairpin turn without braking.
“There is a woman in labor,” she said. “She’s having difficulty delivering.”
“Her first child?”
“Fourth, and that’s what concerns me.”
The man had not looked old enough to father four offspring. But he did not have time to voice his opinion as Maysa pulled into a drive leading to an earthen hut. She had stopped the vehicle, retrieved the smallest medical kit and had arrived at the front door before he had barely left the passenger seat.
Rafiq made haste and entered the house to see Maysa disappearing through a door to the right of the living area. He discovered three children sitting on the low blue sofas, their eyes wide with fear. The oldest could not have been more than six years old, the second perhaps four and the youngest about two years of age. He surveyed the room to find it absent of any adult and assumed the father had chosen to be at his wife’s side.
When he claimed another smaller sofa to wait, the oldest little girl came to her feet and crossed the room to stand before him.
He remembered Maysa’s insistence he not speak, yet he could not pretend he was not concerned over the child’s well-being. “Shu esmek?”
She twirled a lock of dark hair around her tiny finger. “Aini.”
The name suited her, he decided. With her dark curls and equally dark eyes, she was as pretty as a spring flower. He remembered Elena once saying that children only wanted to be fed, clothed and to feel safe. Aini was clothed, she did not appear undernourished, yet he imagined she did not feel secure at the moment.
For that reason, Rafiq began to recite a story about a lost sheep in search of its mother, a tale he had learned from his own mother. One by one, the other children gathered around and listened intently. When they looked at him with complete trust, he realized, though he had been born to royalty, he had never felt quite as important as he did now. He also experienced a fierce need to protect them. The protection he had not afforded his unborn child.
The sound of mournful moans began to filter from the adjacent room, thrusting away the regret. Rafiq waved the children onto the sofa beside him and set the youngest in his lap. He raised his voice in an attempt to muffle the scream that made his blood run cold. He could only imagine what these innocents were feeling at the moment�
�hearing their mother in such abject pain.
Maysa emerged from the chamber holding a bundle in her arms, a cap of dark hair showing from beneath the white blanket. To Rafiq, she looked completely natural holding a baby, and in one fleeting moment, he imagined her holding his child.
She approached the sofa and smiled. “Here is your baby brother,” she said to the children in Arabic, followed by, “The baby was breech,” in English, directed at Rafiq. “The mother has lost a lot of blood and needs a hospital.”
While the two oldest children slid off the sofa to view their new sibling, Rafiq moved the youngest child from his lap and stood. “Is the mother in danger?”
“Yes.”
Her somber tone demonstrated to Rafiq the gravity of the situation. “How much time does she have?”
“I fear not long enough to make the three-hour drive, but we have no choice.”
Rafiq would give her another choice. “Is there a telephone?”
Maysa looked around the room and pointed at an ancient handset hanging from the wall. “There, though I cannot guarantee it works.”
He would soon find out. Fortunately, the telephone was operable, though it took several attempts to connect with the palace, and another two to convince the staff he was in fact the king. Finally, he managed to reach his brother. “Adan, I need your immediate assistance.”
“You have bedded Maysa and you need to know how to proceed?”
He was in no mood to put up with Adan’s questionable comments. “I need a medevac helicopter sent to Diya immediately. Make certain to have medics onboard, and that it arrives in less than fifteen minutes.”
“What is this about, Rafiq?”
“A woman’s life is at stake,” he said. “We have only a small window of time to deliver her to the hospital.”
“I will do the best that I can on such short notice.”
“You will do exactly what I say, and you will be expedient!”
“Calm down, Rafiq. I will have the helicopter there in ten minutes, even if I must fly it myself.”
“Good. I am counting on you, Adan.”
As soon as he hung up, Rafiq recognized his heart had been racing at breakneck speed. He had done what he could and hoped that it would be enough. He had not been able to save his own wife, but perhaps he could save this one.
* * *
Even after she’d treated the last remaining patient in the tent, Maysa could not recall feeling so utterly helpless. A few hours ago, she’d watched the helicopter fly away while she stayed behind since there hadn’t been room for her and the woman’s husband. “I should have left for the hospital hours ago.”
Rafiq came up behind her and rested his palms on her shoulders. “She is in competent hands,” he said. “The hospital was prepared to receive them immediately. I am certain all will be well.”
If only she could feel so confident. “I hope so,” she said as she gathered supplies and put them in the kit. “I cannot imagine how her poor husband would feel if he lost his wife, not to mention having to raise four children on his own.”
“It is not something you would wish to imagine,” he said. “So do not.”
Maysa understood all too well what Rafiq was probably feeling at that moment—his own loss. “I hope we receive some news soon.”
“Adan said he would find a way to get word to us when there was news to report.”
Maysa was grateful Rafiq had been there to offer support, and thankful that his position had opened doors she would not have been able to open herself. She turned with a smile and handed him the kit. “Please put this in the Hummer and we’ll be on our way.”
“We cannot leave now.”
He couldn’t be serious. She was so tired she could barely stand. “Why would we wish to stay any longer? I’ve finished with my work here for the week.”
He smiled. “I have been told the villagers have arranged a feast in honor of the Tâbeeb and her American friend.”
As much as Maysa would like to attend, she was simply too tired for a celebration. “As it stands now, we won’t be home until midnight.”
“You have not eaten all day.”
“I had some goat cheese and lahvash.”
He frowned. “Would you insult those who have prepared a fine meal in your honor?”
Before Maysa could respond, “I wouldn’t if I were you, Dr. Barad” came from behind her.
She glanced back to see a tall, lanky, sandy-haired man with a full beard approaching. A familiar face she hadn’t seen in quite some time.
As soon as he came to her side, Maysa drew him into an embrace. “It is so good to see you, Jerome.”
He set her back and surveyed her face. “It’s good to see you, too, Maysa. It’s been at least a month.”
“Longer,” she said with a smile. “I assumed you returned to Canada.”
“I did for a time, but I didn’t stay long. After making a few stops, I’m back in Diya to finish my work.”
After Maysa heard Rafiq clear his throat, she faced him again. “Jerome Forte, this is…” She struggled to come up with a proper—and false—introduction. “This is Rafe.”
Jerome presented a cynical smile. “No. This is Rafiq Mehdi, ruling king of Bajul.”
She should have known she wouldn’t be able to put anything over on the photographer. “You’re right, but I prefer you keep his identity to yourself.”
“You may count on my absolute discretion,” he said before he regarded Rafiq once more. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”
Rafiq stared at Jerome’s extended hand for a few moments before accepting the gesture. “What brings you to this part of the world, Mr. Forte?”
“Please, it’s Jerome.” He wrapped an arm around Maysa’s waist, much to her chagrin. “I’ve been photographing the area for an international magazine. Not only did Maysa suggest the region, she has been instrumental in convincing the villagers here to allow me to take their pictures.”
Rafiq looked as though he might throw a punch. “Is that all she’s been assisting you with?”
She moved away from Jerome and frowned. “Yes, that is all. Jerome and I have been friends for several years.”
“Yes, we have,” Jerome said as he smiled down on her. “And I’ve missed our talks.”
“We must decide whether we are staying or going,” Rafiq said, a definite edge in his tone. “If you choose to leave, then we must do so now.”
He suddenly sounded as if he wanted to leave. “We should stay for a while,” she said. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful.”
Rafiq moved beside her and possessively took her arm. “If you will excuse us, Mr. Forte, we have a celebration to attend.”
“As do I,” Jerome said. “The party is being held a block away. We can all walk together.”
Considering the disapproving look on Rafiq’s face, Maysa was somewhat concerned that accompanying Jerome could lead to trouble. She would certainly hate to have to intervene, though she would. She did not appreciate male posturing in any form or fashion. “Then I suppose we should be going before the sun has completely set.”
The trio walked the brick streets of the village, Maysa flanked by the men. While Rafiq remained stoic and silent, Jerome chatted nonstop about his recent travels to Tunisia. Fortunately they arrived at the expansive field without incident.
Several fires blazed throughout the area, providing the means to cook the fare for the feast, including spits with roasting lamb. She’d never cared for that delicacy due to her fondness for baby sheep. But tonight she would sample everything to avoid appearing unappreciative.
As they wove their way through the throngs of people, Maysa answered each greeting with one of her own as Rafiq and Jerome hung back. The village men wore summer-we
ight bishts, their heads covered by mashadahs, while the women wore the usual hijab. She, Rafiq and Jerome seemed out of place in their civilian clothes, yet no one seemed to notice—except for a group of young women who stood to the side of the banquet table, giggling behind their hands when the men walked up to fill their plates.
Maysa leaned toward Rafiq and whispered, “You are making quite an impression on the female population here. Perhaps you could find a suitable wife among them.”
“Perhaps you have discovered a suitable lover in your Canadian friend.”
She found the jealousy in his voice somewhat amusing. “As I have told you, Jerome is only a friend. Nothing more.”
He kept filling a bowl full of ogdat until the stew almost overflowed from the vessel. “He would like more. He would like to have you all to himself.”
“Don’t be foolish, Rafiq. If you’ll look to your left you’ll notice he is preoccupied with a young woman as we speak.”
Rafiq followed Maysa’s gaze to where Jerome was standing near one of the fire pits, charming a pretty young woman who seemed to be hanging on his every word, as well as his arm. “She does not appear to be more than a teenager,” he said.
“I predict she is well over the age of consent,” she said. “And interested in Jerome. I’ve seen them together before.”
Rafiq frowned. “Her parents approve of this liaison with a foreigner?”
She sighed. “I have no idea, and it is not any of my concern. Now let’s eat so we can leave as soon as possible.”
Maysa followed Rafiq to the nearest fire and sat beside him on the ground. They ate their meal in silence, then afterward watched several men perform the dabke in their honor. As badly as she wanted to leave, she felt it would be impolite to depart during the dance. A dance that seemed to go on and on for an eternity.
By the time the group had finished, and the applause had died down, Maysa worried she could fall asleep and land face-forward in the fire. “We should go now, otherwise I might be forced to let you drive.”
Rafiq regarded his watch. “It is late. Perhaps we should find lodging here for the night.”