A frown passed fleetingly across his brow. "A man's mind is not the business of a woman," he said flatly before returning to the maps laid out on the floor of the tent where he sat cross-legged.
Then, as always, his casual insults left her speechless, her anger throbbing for ventilation. But what was the point of showing him how furious he could make her when he would only win in the end?
So remembering this, and her promise of obedience she said, "I was only wondering. Sometimes you say so little." Then wanting to make peace she added, "I'm sorry if I've displeased you."
The edge around his mouth seemed to soften. His eyes knew as he nodded. But still he said nothing, ignoring her the rest of the evening until, once again, he called her to him and took her, this time more gently and slowly so that her passion rose with his, so that once again Juliette found herself drowned in the same rapture as before, and shamelessly craving release-so blindly drunk with pleasure that for those moments she forgot how he hated her, that he was an Arab, her father's murderer.
And it was only afterward, when the cloud of euphoria receded, that she remembered it all again and, stiffening, told herself firmly that she despised him too, while denying the deep emptiness gathering inside her. And turning over, she silently sobbed herself to sleep.
After that she refused to think about the past or future. She could not dwell on what might come when they reached El Abadan, Sharif's desert city. She couldn't think what would happen when the journey was finished and she became only one of Sharif's many women and one whom he would one day grow tired of humiliating. What might happen then was too abhorrent even to consider. If I think of that now I will go mad, she told herself. So she put the future out of her mind and lived only for the present.
It was part of being Arab, she was once told, to find pleasure in simple things, to savor the wind against her face, to taste the sweet goodness of water on her tongue, and to see the fine sculpture of the distant mountains, experiencing each wonder to its fullest, neither wanting more nor less, and questioning nothing. And as much as Juliette was able, she stayed within the balm of the present to find a certain peace.
Now, Juliette tasted her tea again and tore another bite of meat from the hardened slab with her back teeth. From outside a sudden sound caught her attention and, looking up, she found Cassia running toward her, wild-eyed, disheveled, her modest black robe torn. Stumbling under the awning, the girl fell at her feet.
"Madame! In the name of mercy ... help me!" she wailed between sobs
"Cassia!" Juliette's mouth rounded.
A young Arab man followed hard after the girl and paused now at the edge of the awning, apparently reluctant to trespass within it. From where he stood outside he uttered a series of curses, most of which Juliette did not understand though they made Cassia cringe and cover her ears.
Juliette hauled Cassia up by the shoulders. Tears were streaming down the girl's face and pooling at the corners of her mouth.
"I have sinned, madame. I have sinned and Rafik is going to kill me."
"Don't be ridiculous. No one is going to kill you. Who is this man? What does he want?"
Cassia was quivering all over as if from a violent chill and there was a red imprint of a hand across her face. "You do not understand, madame. I have sinned! I have dishonored my father and my brothers and uncles. It is right to kill me but . . . but, madame, I do not want to die. I'm afraid. And I am not a bad girl, only an unlucky one."
"What do you mean?" Juliette asked, the truth slowly taking shape in the form of Cassia's robe curving over her rounded abdomen.
She remembered thinking that the girl was thriving in spite of the rationed food, but now her apparent health was explained in a very different way. "Oh, Cassia, I had no idea," she said with a faint blush. "When did it happen, I mean who is the father-not this man surely!"
"No, madame," Cassia replied, her face blanching as another abusive volley of language fired from the man.
"How does this man dare follow you here?" Juliette asked, her temper rising as, like a tigress, she-strode forward, throwing back the hood of her robe to face him.
"No, madame!" Cassia screamed grabbing her mistress's ankle and a handful of her robe.
Juliette looked down. "Do you think I'm going to let this man treat you like this?"
"But he is Rafik, my brother, madame. He has seen the evidence of my crime. To wipe the shame from our family he must kill me. But, madame, this is not my fault. I am not an evil girl. It was months ago in Tripoli. I was sent to the marketplace for silk. I stayed later than I thought. It was a long walk home and two men followed me. We were alone. What could I do? There were two of them. ... Please believe me, madame!"
Juliette winced, imagining Cassia, helpless in the grasp of these two men. Rafik was cursing again.
"And now that you have been raped, your brother has the right to kill you, is that it?" she asked incredulously.
Cassia moaned. "Please, madame!"
"No one is going to kill you, Cassia," Juliette said evenly, "that I promise."
And this time when she turned toward the Arab, Cassia didn't cling to her, but kissed the hem of her robe.
Juliette's eyes were slits of light-struck glass as she straightened and confronted the man as if an army stood at her back instead of only Cassia, crouched, looking out from behind her knees like a child.
Surprised, Rafik took a short step back. So, he thought, this was the bold white woman of which there was so much gossip-the one who had caused the death of Abdul ibn al-Mehridim and the destruction of the Glub Rayseyn-the one who had become the most favored of all Sharif's women. She made no move to cover her face or lower her gaze.
No, this one spoke in faltering but understandable Arabic and looked him right in his eye.
"Why have you come?" she asked, and Rafik was forced to admire her dignity and proud bearing for all its immodesty.
Was not this woman to mother sons? But the woman would not distract him from his mission and, pointing a lean finger at his sister, he said, "I have come for her."
The white woman seemed to grow taller as she said, "You cannot take her! Even if she is your sister, she is my maid given to me by the, master. I will not see her harmed."
"This is a family matter," Rafik said firmly. "She has disgraced my father and my father's father. For this she must pay."
"You would punish her when what has occurred took place without her consent and by force?" Juliette stared indignantly.
Rafik was embarrassed. This white woman was frank as a man. He averted his eyes. "She must die," he said between clenched teeth.
"But surely there must be some other solution than to kill her," the white woman began again in a conciliatory tone as a moment passed. "If Cassia were to marry, then surely…"
Rafik waved a hand as if to sweep away her words and leaned closer. "What man would marry a woman so dishonored? No man would take her. She has only the choice of becoming a public woman, a sharmuta, giving further dishonor to her family."
"But you can't kill your own sister. And she is not a ... a sharmuta. She is my maid, I tell you!"
Rafik felt furious at this woman's lack of understanding of principles that seemed to him elementary. "Doesn't a white man feel dishonored when others pay to copulate with his sister?"
Now it was Juliette's turn to flush with embarrassment. And it was then Juliette saw Sharif riding down the face of a dune a short distance out of camp
Thank heaven! Juliette thought. Now he would put this horrible mess right-or would he? But it was too late now, already he was nearing them and reining Fadjar to a halt.
His face was expressionless as his eyes moved from Juliette to Rafik to the cringing Cassia.
Then his gaze shifted again to Rafik. "Come, ibn-Rafik," he said simply. "We will discuss the affairs of men in private."
Rafik's expression lost its anger and grew more dignified. He gave Juliette a glance down his narrow nose before salaaming the Sharif. "It
is as you say, Sayyid."
Sharif's eyes fell momentarily on Cassia. "You will come too," he commanded.
Then turning his horse, he rode in the opposite direction. Cassia cried out as Rafik reached to pull her from behind Juliette. But Juliette did not dare to protest. What more could she do without making more of a scene that could force Sharif into a position against her. Her only choice remained to helplessly watch with both fury and fear turning her stomach as Rafik followed the sheik, dragging Cassia after him.
Chapter 58
Juliette waited, terrified that at any moment a single shot would signal Cassia's end. But the dry air remained still as the caravan moved on and Juliette, fearful, frustrated, looked through her pavilion curtains, twisting her neck in search of some sign, some indication of the girl's fate.
Isn't it just like Sharif to keep me in torment? She thought to herself. But there was nothing to do but wait in dark apprehension. And, as it turned out, she didn't learn what happened until that night, after Sharif had silently eaten dinner and coffee had been served in thimble-sized cups and he had lounged back comfortably against the cushions reading, ironically, Shakespeare's The Tempest.
Juliette feared asking outright what had happened, but finally unable to bear the tension any longer she blurted out, "What have . . . what has been done with Cassia?"
As he looked up from his reading, Juliette felt sure he would simply tell her it was none of her affair.
"Please!" she began before pausing to bite her lip. "Don't keep me wondering. It's so cruel of you. I've been frantic with worry all day."
His eyebrow half cocked in that infuriating way that always made her want to slap him. "Really," he said, "you surprise me. What difference does the life of one brown skinned girl more-or less make to you?"
Juliette's jaw slackened before her face stiffened indignantly. "A great deal of difference! How can you think otherwise? It's you who are callous, you and the others. Her own brother wanted to kill her, and for reasons I'll never understand."
"You don't understand because you are ignorant of Arab customs," he commented lazily. "In England honor is little more than an idea to bandy about, while here, a man's reputation is everything. Arab tribes live closely together for generations, each knowing the others all their lives. Here a man's reputation and family honor is more valuable than gold."
"I don't know how you can say honor isn't important to the English. It's just that we don't believe in killing a girl for . . . for what happened to Cassia. You Arabs treat women like something that gets thrown away when it is soiled."
Sharif s expression was unmoved. "Yes, and what do you English do when a girl has been ruined'? That is what you call it, isn't it?" he asked with a nasty ring in his voice. "Bah-what hypocrites you are! You don't kill the poor girl but instead doom her to being the constant subject of gossip-to a life without the protection of a husband, and to have a child which likewise will be the subject of scorn-an embarrassing fact that everyone wishes would disappear. Arabs are more brutal perhaps, but also more direct. We choose a quick end rather than prolonged misery.’
He turned back to his book then, unconcerned, the discussion, from his point of view, over. And still looking at the back of his head, Juliette's white teeth worked on her lip, feeling cold to the pit of her stomach as the truth sank in.
It seemed impossible, yet he had killed Cassia-killed a defenseless pregnant girl for a crime committed not by her, but, rather, against her. The unfairness and cruelty of it all was unendurable and, thinking again of Cassia being dragged stumbling away, brown arms outstretched back to her in silent supplication, Juliette felt a sudden compelling rage rush through her.
She stood up, her fists clenched at her sides, all her vows never to anger him again forgotten. "How can you sit there justifying murder? Is there nothing that revolts you? And if you are so keen on quick endings then what about my misery. Why, prolong my pain when you could end it. When will you let me go? I can't stand this. You're driving me mad, and anything would be better than living like this and watching you become an animal before my eyes!"
"I don't let you go, cherie, because I wish to have you here and alive." There was a hint of a grin on his lips. "Anyway, I'm the one who `ruined' you-remember? Now you are my property, and I keep what belongs to me."
"Property!" Juliette flared. "You may think so, monsieur. But to me I have been kidnapped and taken against my will. I am no more at fault for what has happened to me than poor Cassia was responsible for what happened to her. I am no one's property except my own. You are disgusting . . . all of you-nothing but a pack of barbarians!"
Sharif shrugged, maddeningly unmoved by her outburst. "Perhaps you would prefer to belong to anyone." His arm swept to indicate beyond the tent walls. "If all of them were free to take you, then you would be common property-although there are more colorful words to describe such a woman. My men would be pleased, no doubt. But I wonder if you have the strength to service them all. Even you have some limitations."
And before she could think of a scathing comment, his two hands had pulled her down beside him. "But you'll get used to our Arab ways. Arabs and English are not as different as you think. You may even decide you like this life, given time to grow accustomed to it."
A glimmer in the depths of his charcoal eyes assessed her closely.
"Never!" she flamed trying to jerk away. "I can't prevent how you treat me, but I'll never like it. You're wrong. Nothing has changed. And I'll escape. You'll see! I'm not beaten yet! I'll never become an Arab woman, no matter what you do, and I'll never stop hating you!"
She was breathing hard now as she tried to stand up, but he held her firmly, so finally she turned her head away, leaving him only a pink ear to study. Already she had said too much, and now her heart quickened with fear as she suddenly remembered Sharif's temper. Angered, he was capable of anything, and she braced herself as, for a moment, he neither moved nor spoke.
His hold on her arms relaxed before his fingers encircled her chin, raising her faltering gaze into alignment with his steady one. "Don't be a fool," he said flatly. "Do you think your English friends would take you back? You may not ever become an Arab. You may hate me till the day you die. But your English society won't have you. Not now because, just like Cassia, you are `ruined' And not just by a white man of their own kind but by an Arab, which they consider much worse. So, you can forget about your English `friends."'
His eyes drew into penetrating focus. "And what if you should have a child?-my child-an Arab child? Have you thought of that, Cherie?" he asked with a look that impaled her.
Juliette's eyes were wide open, her quick intake of breath rasping. She jerked her chin free then, refusing to let him see her face and the confusion his words had provoked.
It had occurred to her of course. Yes-she had thought but then refused to think . . . A baby! His baby!
Her thoughts tumbled tumultuously one over the other. No . . . Oh, God! Such a catastrophe was impossible. She swallowed hard. Yet her body was no longer her own. He used her as he would-whenever it pleased him. Even now she might carry his child and, glancing at Sharif s firm jaw, his broad shoulders, his sleek animal body sitting beside her, she realized abruptly that he would plant his seed within her whether or not she would have it there.
A sudden numbness crept over her and she wasn't prepared when Sharif laughed softly, scooping her up into his arms and bending closer-to reach for her lips.
"Damn you!" Kicking her legs, Juliette beat fists against his chest. But he only laughed again.
"So! You aren't so subdued. I thought not. How well you pretend. You never fail to amuse me." He took both her wrists in one hand again, pulling her closer. And in spite of her protests, kissed her, forcing her lips open to receive him before he withdrew.
"You can't . . . I won't let you . . . It won't happen again!" she wailed, struggling in vain against his hands, which did not hurt but would not give way.
He seemed not to hear
and, lifting her higher, shouldered aside the drapery to carry her into the bedroom where he laid her on the bed with a firm sense of purpose that sent Juliette's pulse throbbing. Already the sign of his desire was hard against her knees, and his fingers pulled open her robes and traced her nipples, and pulled them into erection.
Sharif felt his need throb as he unfastened his garments. How her beauty taunted him, he thought. And today, even as they had ridden southward, none of the dangers and pressing matters of business could keep his attention as again and again he found his eyes trying to glimpse Juliette between the pavilion's blowing draperies. Juliette, this strange woman.
Would night find her submissive or rebellious or simply silent in the way she often was-as if a shutter were drawn down between herself and the world? Most women told everything they thought all their secrets in a constant chatter. But this one was a puzzle, constantly changing, one moment seemingly content, and another as savage as a Zulu princess.
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