Cecile shyly returned his smile, remembering the last time he had found her at the water’s edge. She blushed, and recalled with yet another start that both her head and face were uncovered. She reached for the veil and makruna.
“No, not yet,” he said, picking up the length of blue cloth. “No one else can see you. Please. For just a moment.”
Cecile dropped her eyes, heart thudding painfully, mind searching desperately for something, anything, to say. “I … I should apologize for the way I acted this afternoon. I never should have … should have run from the shaikh’s tent like that.”
“It’s all right. I understand.”
Cecile looked up, her eyes wide. “You … you do?”
“I think so,” Matthew replied, praying Allah would give him the right words this time. “It must be hard for you, raised as a European, to accept the way Badawin women are … regarded … by men. I know I myself have difficulty with it.”
Could it be true? Did he really understand? Cecile felt the lingering anger and dismay seep away. “I … I’ve tried to accept it,” she replied tentatively. “But you’re right, it’s difficult. Especially since I had expected, well, a somewhat different reception from my foster father.”
“He didn’t mean to be cruel, or unfeeling. I hope you realize that. He treated you the same way he would treat a daughter of his blood.”
Cecile’s anger instantly reblossomed. “Yes, like a piece of property!”
Remembering Hagar’s caution, Matthew swallowed his first response. Instead he took a moment to consider how beautiful Al Dhiba was, her skin so golden, the first faint rays of moonlight catching the fiery sparks in her dark eyes, highlighting the shining lengths of raven hair.
“‘Property’ is, perhaps, an ill-used word,” Matthew said presently. “A man must always be responsible for a woman. Even in Europe, in England, it is a husband, if not a father. It is even more necessary on the desert, where survival is a great deal more difficult to ensure. Haddal simply assumed his role as your protector. Do you understand?”
Much against her will, Cecile nodded. “But did he have to talk about me as if I wasn’t there?”
“It is the Badawin’s way,” he said, at a loss for further explanation. “It isn’t done to dishonor a woman. Despite the way he went about it, Haddal expressed not only his approval of you, but his concern for your welfare.”
And is that what you are doing? she longed to ask. Were the gentle words indeed meant to soothe her injured pride? Did he truly care? Cecile held her breath. Why was he looking at her so strangely? Why did she long to simply step into his arms?
The moment shivered between them. Matthew yearned to take Cecile in his arms, but he was afraid he would lose control if he did. And when he lost control, he frightened her. He must not allow that to happen. Not now. No, he must take care and say the words he had come to say. From the look in her eyes, he no longer feared her reaction. It was right. Taking her shoulders gently, he gazed down into her eyes.
And now it was Cecile who could no longer deny what she felt. She wanted to touch him, needed to know if he cared. When she saw him start to speak, she raised a finger to his lips and gently silenced him. Following her hand, she moved closer, until she felt the heat of his body. Swallowing the last vestiges of her long-cultivated pride, she said, “Tell me, please. I must know. Do you … ?”
It was as far as she got. His lips came down on hers. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her against him.
Cecile melted, losing awareness of her own body as it flowed into his. The earth heaved beneath her feet. If he had not held her, she would have fallen. When he abruptly released her, holding her at arm’s length, she swayed dizzily. Matthew gave her a little shake.
“Listen to me, Dhiba,” Matthew commanded roughly, voice hoarse with passion, control swiftly ebbing away. “We must be married. At once!”
Cecile’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I said, ‘Marry me.’ And we must do so immediately. Do you understand?”
Cecile shook her head stupidly. It was too much to grasp all at once. Did this mean he loved her? Did he really love her? “But … why?” she gasped. “Why so quickly? I … I don’t understand!”
The words swirled in Matthew’s head. There was so much he wanted to say, so many reasons he wanted to give her, beginning and ending with the fact that he did not think he could live another day without her.
But, once again, he found himself unable to utter the pretty sentiments. And the memory of Rashid pressed. In his urgency, Matthew blurted, “Because if you don’t marry me, Haddal will give you to Haled eben Rashid. He saw you and desired you. Haddal wants you married. It will be done.”
The ground no longer swayed. It had vanished altogether, dropped away entirely from beneath her feet. She was falling. Desperate, Cecile clutched at the strong, muscular arms gripping her shoulders.
“Are you saying I must … must … will be forced to marry?”
“You have no choice, don’t you see?”
Cecile nodded. At long last she truly did see.
“Haddal has decided,” Matthew continued. “Your only choice is now Rashid … or me.”
“Yes,” Cecile said softly. “Whose property shall I become?” Daring no longer even to hope, she lifted her gaze to the blue eyes regarding her so intently. “But why?” she persisted. “Why not simply let me go to Rashid? Why do you offer yourself as an alternative?”
So much to say, so much. Words of love he wanted to murmur against the fragrant flesh. But how … how? Where to find those words? Perhaps, once they were wed …
Now, however, all he could see were Rashid’s filthy hands pawing the delicate body he held only inches from his own. Unconsciously, Matthew’s grip tightened, and he gave Cecile another small shake. All thoughts, all words of love dissolved into the image of Rashid possessing her precious flesh.
“Rashid is … is not a good man,” Matthew faltered at last. “He doesn’t deserve you. He cares nothing for you, only for the joys of your body, while …”
“While you, on the other hand, would marry me to thwart a man you hate! Is that it?” Matthew recoiled, and Cecile wrenched from his grip, grief and disappointment overwhelming her senses and breaking her heart. “I should have known!” she spat. “You’re all alike, all of you! You care for nothing but yourselves, your silly honor and your worthless possessions. Well, I will not be one of them! Do you hear me? I would rather go to Rashid. At least he desires me!”
Matthew felt the fragile remnants of his self-control desert him, finally and completely. Once again, as usual, she had misinterpreted his every word. As Cecile whirled away, Matthew grabbed her wrist.
“Not again,” he rasped. “You’re not going to run from me again. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you so angry … what I’ve ever done. I don’t understand. But I’ll tell you this.” Matthew dropped Cecile’s hand. His chest heaved with his ragged breathing.
“I’ll give you one hour. You have one hour to make up your mind. I’ll wait for you in my tent. If you don’t come …” Matthew shrugged. “There’s nothing more I can do to help you.” Without another word, Matthew stalked off through the palms and disappeared into the city of tents.
The silence closed around Cecile. Then the palms whispered. A frog croaked. Somewhere in the distance a child cried out and a dog barked in response. But the sounds seemed faraway and unreal.
She stood at the edge of a chasm, teetering. Which way would she fall? Cecile reached out as if to steady herself. She groped in the darkness until she felt the rough, uneven ridges of a palm trunk. She leaned into it.
Why couldn’t she think straight? Why did her pulse thunder so loudly in her ears?
Cecile knew the answer, knew even as she continued to deny it. The last barriers of pride and fear had been stripped away, and the truth lay naked, waiting. She had only to turn to it.
Yet how could she? Did he love her? In spite of his words, is that what
he had meant? Love?
Cecile recalled the night they had lain together, hidden from the sandstorm. She had been so frightened of him, yet he had calmed her with gentle words and had told her she was safe, that he would protect her. Could it be he wished now to protect her from Rashid? Was that not caring, deep concern, if not quite love?
Was it enough?
Fragile hope quivered in Cecile’s breast.
But it was all too much, especially after such a long and emotional day. Cecile felt overwhelmed. If only she was able to think clearly!
The idea came to her just before she plummeted to the depths of despair, and Cecile looked about her guiltily. But no one would know, not if she was careful. It was the only way she knew to clear her mind. It had always worked in the past. It would help her now.
Picking up her skirt, Cecile hurried away, careful to remain unseen as she slunk through the palms in the direction of her tent.
Matthew’s mood was so foul, his mind so intent upon its own dark thoughts, he strode into his tent and flung himself on the ground before he realized he was not alone. Irritated, he glanced sharply at the girl who knelt in the corner. “Who are you?” he inquired, more brusquely than he had intended. “What are you doing in my tent?”
Aza crept forward on her knees, her eyes downcast. “I must humbly beg your pardon,” she murmured. “I did not mean to offend by my intrusion. I merely came to offer you the bounty of my father’s tent. Will you not accept this poor food?”
Matthew finally noticed the steaming bowls she had pushed in front of him. The aroma was delicious. When the girl raised her eyes, he also realized she was no stranger. “Aza,” he said, pleasantly surprised.
Aza’s heart fluttered. “You remember me,” she replied softly. “I am honored.”
“No more than I by your thoughtfulness.” Matthew could tell by the way her eyes shone that she smiled behind her veil. She smiled very prettily. Her manner was comfortable, too, soothing. Particularly after what he had just endured. He beckoned her closer.
Aza shyly moved forward. When she had reached his outstretched feet, she offered him the food.
Matthew took it gratefully. He stared at the girl’s modestly lowered head and thought how kind she was, how gentle and considerate. Quite the opposite of …
With a returning surge of anger, Matthew vowed to forget Al Dhiba until her hour was up. In truth, it pained him too much to think of her. What if she did not want to marry him?
The mere anticipation of such rejection was more than Matthew could accept. No, he chided himself, he shouldn’t even contemplate it. For an hour he’d rest and think nothing but pleasant thoughts.
While Matthew ate, Aza took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and reached for his booted feet.
“What are you doing?”
“Merely removing your boots, ya ammi,” Aza replied in a faint voice. “Is this not correct?”
Matthew chuckled. “Correct or not, you have my permission.”
Aza proceeded, her smile so wide she was sure her veil could not contain it. When she had removed the soft leather boots, she sat back on her heels and placed his foot on her lap. Before he could protest, she expertly began to massage.
Matthew groaned with pleasure, leaned back against his saddle, and closed his eyes. Yes, he thought, why not? For an hour he would indulge himself … and dream of Al Dhiba’s soothing ministrations. He had been alone, and lonely, for far, far too long. He loved Al Dhiba with all his heart and wished to save her from Rashid. But also a woman—a wife and a companion—he could no longer deny, was exactly what he needed and wanted in his life.
The ground sped past beneath her, dark puffs of sand spurting from Al Chah ayah’s hooves like smoke from a magic lantern. As the miles fell away, so, too, did the burden on Cecile’s heart. At last she reined the mare to a walk, listening to the comfortable noise of the animal’s puffing breath, the only sound in the desert around her.
No one had seen her sneak the mare from the camp, she was sure. Even if they had, the risk had been worth taking. The cobwebs had blown from her mind and, if she had not managed to banish quite all the pain, at least she had come to terms with the remainder of it.
This was the desert. Life was not all she had imagined it to be. But when did dreams ever really come true? She had come as close, perhaps, as she was ever going to get. Cecile halted and drew the velvet pouch from her bodice.
She no longer needed a piece of paper to tell her where she belonged. She knew. The only words of her father she needed to remember were already written on her heart.
It was where belonging began, as Jali had once told her … not in a place, but in the heart. And there was only one place her heart would reside in peace, if not in perfect happiness. At least not yet.
He would come to love her. In truth, Cecile believed he did, if only a little. The feeling would grow. She would nurture it, cherish it. It was all she had. All else, the false pride, the dreams of freedom and independence, even the yearning to belong, was as dust, blown away on the clear, crisp wind of reality.
And reality was her love for El Faris. She would be happy nowhere but with him. No matter that he married her simply to protect her from Rashid; it was a beginning. No matter that she would become his possession. She was already possessed.
The night breeze stirred Cecile’s braids. She felt good, strangely calm, not at all as she had expected to feel having made the most important decision of her life. Maybe because she had made it so long ago, very nearly at the beginning of their journey into the desert, and had only hidden it away in her heart until the moment he would come to her and she could call it forth, saying, “Yes, I will marry you. I have loved you from the first.”
And he had come, not as she had dreamed in her secret heart, but he had come. She would go with him. She was blinded by pride and fear no longer.
Al Chah ayah’s ears pricked forward, and she snorted, large, wide-set eyes gazing intently into the distance. Seeing nothing herself, Cecile stroked the mare’s neck and murmured soothing words. She gently pulled the reins to the right and pressed her heels firmly to her mount’s sides. It was time to go home. Her hour was nearly up.
The mare did not obey. With a whinny of fright, she shied to the left. Cecile was almost unseated and clung tightly to the horse’s neck. She did not see the coiled snake, and was unable to gauge the mare’s next, swift reaction.
Terrified, Al Chah ayah reared. Nearly vertical to the ground, her hooves pawed the air as she fought to keep her balance.
Cecile was totally unprepared. There was no time to reach for the flowing mane. She could only drop the reins to avoid injuring the mare’s sensitive mouth. Then she slipped and tumbled backward.
The snake, frightened in turn by the noise, slithered into the night. Chuffing loudly, Al Chah ayah sniffed the air, and when there was no sign of her enemy, trotted back to her fallen rider. The reins dropped to the ground as she lowered her head to nuzzle the girl.
There was no response, but the mare was well trained. Head down, she cocked a rear leg into a position of rest, and settled down to patiently wait.
Chapter
14
“DON’T JUST SIT THERE, YOU FOOLISH OLD MAN! Get up and do something!”
Jali glanced at Hagar, whose hands were planted firmly on her hips. “What can I do?” he inquired softly, his resignedly sorrowful mood in direct contrast to Hagar’s. “We don’t know what happened. We don’t even know where Dhiba is.”
“But we know one of El Faris’s servants has slaughtered a she-camel, don’t we?” she demanded.
A look of pain flickered in Jali’s eyes. He nodded.
“Then we must do something, old man!”
Jali finally stood. He crossed to Hagar and gently gripped her shoulders. “There is nothing we can do. At least not until we find Dhiba and learn what happened. Why don’t you make us some tea?”
Hagar looked directly into Jali’s eyes. “We could tell El Faris b
oth Dhiba and Al Chah ayah are missing,” she replied evenly. “He would send riders into the desert to look for them and he perhaps would forget … what … what is on his mind.”
Jali slowly shook his head, and Hagar sagged in his grasp. He was right, she knew. For a woman to take a mare without its owner’s permission was a very great offense. Hagar suspected El Faris would easily forgive Al Dhiba, but if the camp learned of it, he would have no choice but to exact punishment. On the other hand … “But what if she has been hurt, old man? The desert is treacherous, especially at night.”
How well he knew, and the thought filled his heart with dread. Yet he could do nothing for Dhiba at the moment, and he was worried about Hagar. “You must not be afraid for her,” Jali said at length. “There is no finer horsewoman, I assure you. Besides, we do not know for certain that she took the mare to ride. You did not miss her until dawn, when you awakened, did you? She may only have taken Al Chah ayah for an early morning walk.”
There was truth in Jali’s words. Even if nothing had happened to Al Dhiba, however, something had certainly gone wrong with El Faris. What could it possibly be? Hagar wondered. She had been so sure last night that …
Cecile was not sure she could stay astride any longer. Her head ached so badly she could barely see, and nausea assailed her. When she spotted the camp at last, she slid from Al Chah ayah’s back. No one must see her riding.
The last mile was torture. Cecile forced each step, stopping often to lean against the mare’s shoulder. Just before reaching the fringes of camp, she halted to dust herself off and rearrange the folds of her makruna. She prayed the bloodstain would be invisible against the dark cloth. Then she stiffened her spine, took a firm grip on the reins, and walked as steadily into camp as she was able.
Many called their greetings but few were curious. It was not uncommon for a woman to walk a restless mare. Teeth gritted, Cecile continued on to Hagar’s tent. She tethered Al Chah ayah, fighting dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her as she knelt, then rose and stumbled through the tent flap.
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