by Penny Jordan
'Claire.' He murmured her name against her lips as his tongue teased their moist curves; her fingers were trembling as they investigated the opening of his robe, following the shape of his shoulders, lost in a daze of mute pleasure. She had never dreamed that the mere touch of skin beneath her fingers could convey such a kaleidoscope of delight. Raoul's mouth brushed against her own, and finding it softly closed, hardened demandingly, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue stroking persuasively against it until her mouth opened and fierce sparks of pleasure shot through her body as his tongue slid moistly against hers, exploring and enticing, until she was moaning softly into his mouth, half delirious with the pleasure he was giving her.
The reason she was in his arms was forgotten, her body offering its own incitement as it arched and stroked against him. The low groan that came from deep in his throat as his hands swept upwards towards her breasts offered further excitement, her body abandoned in its response to the desire she could feel building in his. Once again Claire felt her breasts swell and harden beneath his touch, but this time it wasn't just the hard pad of his thumb that brushed her sensitive flesh. His mouth lifting from hers, Raoul bent his head, the lamplight revealing to her the dark flush staining his cheekbones and the feverish glitter in his eyes. His tongue touched her breasts lightly, almost exploratively, but Claire could feel the build up of tension in his body which ignited the smouldering fires already burning in her own.
With almost feverish intensity she pressed herself against him, her fingers curling into the dark hair covering his chest, her lips raining tiny, hungry kisses against his throat, her whole body convulsing with fierce pleasure as she felt the cool breath he expelled against her breast and almost simultaneously the shudder that racked his body, his mouth opening over her taut nipple.
A shiver of ecstasy surged over her, her small white teeth biting into the tanned smoothness of his skin, as she sought to communicate the need building up inside her. He tasted faintly of salt, the musky scent of his body increased her arousal. When his hand slid down to her thigh she welcomed his touch, every nerve-ending in her body urging her on towards fulfilment.
Somewhere in the distance she was dimly aware of a sound trying to penetrate the fog of desire blanketing her. Gradually the sound became louder, and she recognised it as Saud's crying. In the same moment as she tensed, Raoul released her and she dropped back to earth with a humiliating thump, hastily reaching for her discarded towel and wrapping it quickly round her body before turning towards Saud.
Her thoughts a jumble of confused impressions and fears, she reached automatically for the crying child, barely noticing that Raoul had gone until she turned round. It took her fifteen minutes to soothe Saud whose teeth were still troubling him, and by the time he was asleep all she could think of was how much she hoped she never had to set eyes on Raoul again as long as she lived.
What must he think of her? Her face stung with scarlet colour. She knew what he thought of her. He thought her an experienced woman of the world who thought nothing of satisfying her physical need with whatever man happened to be handy. But if they had continued to make love, he would have discovered for himself that she had had no previous lover.
She started to tremble, and as she hurried to her own room she tried to convince herself that it wasn't disappointment that made her limbs feel as weak as water and her pulses thud with a pagan need. What was the matter with her? Was she honestly naive enough to believe that once Raoul discovered her innocence he would fall madly in love with her? That sort of scenario belonged to love stories, not real life. Somehow she had the lowering feeling that if Raoul knew the truth he would be at great pains to avoid her. All he wanted was simply to assuage his own physical need and she had happened to be there.
And yet she couldn't help thinking about what would have happened if Saud hadn't cried; if Raoul had taken her to the privacy of his own room, his body as naked as hers against the silk covers. She shivered suddenly in the darkness, perspiration springing up on her skin, a dull ache she refused to give a name to pulsing through her lower body. If she was wise she would keep her distance from Raoul from now on. Now only she knew she loved him, but if he should ever make love to her and discover the truth he would know how she felt about him. How contemptuous he would be. He felt nothing for her, and nor would he ever do so. He had chosen to follow the ways of his mother's people, and if he ever loved it would be a doe-eyed slender girl like Zenaide, not a pale-skinned blonde who couldn't even sit on a divan without getting cramp.
'The Sitt has a visitor.' Zenaide came quickly into the room, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Raoul had been gone for two days, and much to her amazement Claire had not felt either bored or lonely. This morning she had taken Saud down on to the beach, much to Zenaide's disapproval, but the little boy had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, and as the small bay could only be reached from the palace, Claire judged it private enough for safety.
'A visitor? But I don't know anyone,' Claire commented before she remembered Raoul's comments about 'bride visitors'.
'It is the mother of the Sheikh,' Zenaide told her importantly, her eyes round as saucers. 'Ali has put her in the salon that looks out over the main courtyard.'
Claire had discovered in Raoul's absence that the palace had several inner courtyards, the most beautiful of which was the main courtyard with its mosaic-tiled floor and tranquil fish pond. Overlooked by what had once been the women's quarters, the courtyard was a small peaceful oasis of escape from the burning heat of the sun. Peach and fig trees provided cool splashes of green, their leaves carefully sprayed daily by the gardeners. Gleaming carp swam leisurely beneath large lily pads and Claire often brought Saud down to the courtyard when it was too hot to take him to the beach, enjoying his pleasure in the swift movement of the fish through the calm waters.
There was only one person in the large, formal salon, wrapped in black from head to foot and half a head shorter than Claire herself, with dark, alert eyes searching her face as she stepped into the room.
'So, you are Raoul's wife and the mother of his son.' The dark fabric was withdrawn from her visitor's face and Claire found herself looking at one of the wisest and most serene human faces she had ever seen. All that there had been in the Sheikh's mother's life was written in her face, both good and bad, and Claire knew instinctively that here was no dutiful Muslim woman content to be a mere cipher in her family's life. She exuded an air of wisdom and great serenity. She had known great love in her life and great pain too, Claire sensed, as she returned her greeting. She had Saud in her arms, and had brought him down thinking that her unexpected guest would want to see him.
'And this is Raoul's child.' Before Claire could stop her she had lifted Saud out of her arms, studying him thoughtfully, an expression Claire couldn't read darkening her eyes. 'He has little of you in him,' she said at length, 'and much of my son. Raoul will not be pleased by this marriage my son has forced upon him. As a child he always swore that he was more of the East than the West. Had he been allowed free choice he would have married his second cousin. All that was required was that he should change his religion, but Raoul has always been proud—and stubborn.'
She smiled briefly, her teeth still white and even in the dark olive of her face. How old she was Claire could not tell, but she had a bone structure that was ageless, and must have been very beautiful in her youth. Raoul was like her, Claire realised with an aching pang, and like her he would age well. 'His father had made his mother promise that she would bring him up in the Christian religion. That was the price she had to pay for deserting her husband and Raoul has continued to pay it for her.'
'If Raoul hates his father and his French inheritance so much, why has he not become a Muslim?' Claire asked.
'Perhaps because he wants to be accepted for what he is. It is always hard for a child torn between two cultures. Zenobi, Raoul's mother, was accepted back into her father's home, but she was never allowed to forget her sin in
marrying outside her own faith and race, and it is always hard for a child to come to terms with the apparent rejection of a parent, although in Lucien's case…'
'He told Raoul's mother that he did not love her before they married.'
'So you know about that? Lucien was working here when they met. I liked him, but it was obvious that Zenobi could not see beyond her besotted adoration of him. What man could resist such a gift—a rich, adoring bride?' She shrugged fatalistically. 'I have always thought Lucien more sinned against than sinning, and one day Raoul too will accept this. He has already proved that he is not totally opposed to all Westerners,' she added dryly, smiling when Claire flushed. If only she knew the truth! If anything Raoul detested her even more than he disliked his father.
'I am honoured that you have come to visit me, Princess,' Claire murmured, trying to get the conversation back on to more mundane lines.
'Not just to visit you,' the old lady said calmly. 'A hundred miles is a long way for a woman of my years to travel without a purpose. For a long time now I have been looking for someone to continue my work after I am gone. The women of my family have their own concerns and much less freedom than I in my time.'
She saw Claire's look of astonishment and chuckled. 'I was born in the desert. My people were nomads and I knew no home but the desert until I married my husband. My bride-price was the strip of desert where Omarah's oil-wells are now situated.' She chuckled again. 'Poor Khalid, there were times when he wished he had taken a tame dove to wife rather than the wild kestrel that he called me. I was not used to the formality of the Sheikh's palace. My life had been one of freedom. I was the only child of a prince of the desert and proud of my heritage. Many of my tribe still roam the desert and it is my self-appointed task to help them. What we know as civilisation encroaches further into their homeland with every year that passes, making it harder and harder for them to survive. They are offered pieces of land on which to build homes and settle down, but what nomad can ever live in one place for long and not pine for shifting sands beneath his feet? But civilisation does have its benefits—medical care, education—and it is these that I try to bring to the women of the desert. They accept me because I am one of them, and today I intend to drive out to a small oasis where I know they will be encamped. You seem to me to be a woman of spirit, Raoul's English wife, I should like you to come with me. Remember,' she added cryptically as she realigned her all-enveloping robe, 'nothing that is worth having is ever easily won. Now, do you come with me?'
'Yes… Yes, I would love to,' Claire assured her eagerly, 'but I shall have to take Saud with me.'
Once again she saw a strange look flit across the older woman's face. 'It is a foolish man who seeks to part the lioness from her cub,' was all she said, standing up and walking towards the door.
Zenaide was nowhere in sight, but Claire found her maid waiting for her in her bedroom, placidly straightening the silk cushions. 'I will come with the Sitt,' she pronounced firmly when Claire told her where she was going, calmly producing two enveloping hooded cloaks similar to the one the Princess had worn.
It was a three-hour journey to the oasis and Claire stared overtly at the black tents pitched beneath the shade of the palms. Small children played noisily in their shadow, and several men were grooming the pale cream Arab horses which Claire knew were among the nomads' most prized possessions. The moment the Princess's car stopped it was surrounded, both men and women abasing themselves before her as she stepped out. An old, gnarled man whose proud bearing proclaimed him the leader of the tribe came forward and escorted them to the largest of the tents. Inside it was far more luxurious than Claire had dreamed, hung with silk tapestries, priceless rugs adorning the floor. The leader of the tribe departed and almost at once the tent became full of chattering women, as inquisitive as magpies as they stared at Claire's pale hair and skin, laughter gleaming in dark eyes as they spoke to one another.
'They are saying that when you lie with Raoul it will be like the sand caressed by the shadow of night,' the Princess translated with a brief smile. Claire coloured hotly at the smile, her embarrassment provoking another wave of amusement. 'Now they are saying that your cheeks are as pink as those of a maiden before she knows a man and that no one would think you had borne Lord Raoul's child.'
Hennaed fingers stroked and caressed Saud's plump baby limbs, and the small boy bore the caresses stoically until he was returned to Claire's arms. A maidservant came in carrying a huge samovar while another produced delicate bowls for coffee. As guest of honour, the Princess was served first, Claire next. The coffee, although fragrant, was too strong for her taste, just as the sweetly sticky sweetmeats were too rich for her stomach, and she winced to see how many were pressed upon small Saud, but was reluctant to intervene and possibly cause offence.
'You are thinking that too much rich food will make him sick,' the Princess murmured astutely to her. 'It is difficult for us to explain to them that it is better to give their children fresh fruit, and we can only make progress very slowly. The Badu are a proud people, fiercely independent, and to shut them away in a reservation of the sort they have in America and Australia for their native people would be to offer them a slow, tortuous death. However, children must be educated if they are to fit into our modern world. They trust me and I do what I can. They like you, wife of Raoul, and it pleases me to think that when I am gone you will continue my work among them. You have much compassion, I think, and not just for your own.' She touched Saud's head as she spoke and Claire wondered how much those wise eyes had seen. Had she guessed the truth about Saud? If so, the Princess would keep her own counsel, Claire was sure of that.
It was late when they left the oasis, dusk falling swiftly on the heels of the flaming sunset, wrapping the landscape in darkness. Claire was still fascinated by the glittering intensity of the stars in the desert sky, and peered out of the car window at them, Saud a warm and heavy weight in her arms.
The place was bustling with activity as their car swept into the courtyard. An unfamiliar black Mercedes made Claire's heart thump. Raoul? Had he returned? Refusing her offers of hospitality, the Princess explained that she had an appointment in the city which she wished to keep. 'We will meet again, wife of Raoul, and until then I pray that Allah will watch over you.'
In silence Claire and Zenaide climbed the stairs to Claire's quarters. She was tired and hungry, but still alert enough to freeze when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs towards her, angry determined footsteps which she was sure could only belong to one person.
As Raoul turned the angle of the stairs, he saw them, a bitter oath splintering the silence and making Zenaide tremble as she clung to Claire's side.
'So there you are! What happened, did you have second thoughts?'
'Seconds thoughts?' Unable to comprehend what he was talking about, Claire stared up at him. He turned to Zenaide.
'I wish to see your mistress alone. Return to your quarters. Come with me,' he ordered Claire. 'I want to know exactly where you took Saud and why. Did you think to double-cross us? To claim a large reward for Saud's safety? Is that why you stole away from here with him this afternoon?'
CHAPTER SIX
'STOLE away?' Anger and astonishment battled inside her, anger suddenly getting the upper hand. 'I am not prepared to talk to you about your absurd suspicions on the stairs, Raoul,' she flung over her shoulder as she walked swiftly past him. 'I am not a servant to be berated on an open stairway.'
'No,' Raoul agreed ferociously. 'What I have to say to you is better said in private, and think yourself lucky if I content myself with mere words. What I would like to do…'
'Is what? Torture me? Murder me? And all because I accepted an invitation from your grandmother to accompany her on a visit to an oasis?' Triumph edged under her calm voice, but she turned away so that he wouldn't see it. All at once she wanted to punish him, wanted to humiliate and hurt him as he had hurt her with his accusations and lack of trust. 'Perhaps I sh
ouldn't have taken Saud with me, but I thought he was safer with me than left alone, and I wasn't sure if it might be construed as an insult if I refused the Princess's invitation.'
'This is true? You have been out with Faika? But she takes no one on her trips to the desert.'
'She took me,' Claire told him defiantly, 'and you are perfectly at liberty to check with her. She is on her way back to the city at the moment. Of course, if you do check with her she will guess the truth, perhaps she might even think you have given me reason to flee from you, taking our "son" with me.'
'I—I owe you an apology.' He had his back to her, but Claire could see how hard it was for him to say the words. 'When I came back and found you both missing, my first thought was that somehow someone had discovered the truth, but when Ali told me that no one had been admitted to the palace I thought you must have left alone.'
'And knowing of my greed, of course you knew immediately what had happened?'
She watched in mute fascination as the dark tide of colour swept up over the back of his neck. Proud, the Princess had called him, and Claire could well appreciate how difficult he must be finding that he was in the wrong.
'You were the one who changed her mind when she was offered fifty thousand pounds,' he reminded her arrogantly, turning round to face her for the first time, the familiar coldness back in his eyes. 'Naturally, once I had assured myself that you and Saud had not been the victims of some kidnap plot, my first thought was…'
'That I had been the one doing the kidnapping,' Claire supplied bitterly for him, refusing to accept the validity of his explanations. Saud was his responsibility and a very heavy one as the natural inheritor of the Sheikh's titles and powers. 'Had I known you were likely to return, I would have left a message with Ali.'