Hagar watched Cecile as she poured the tea. She did not like the girl’s strange mood. Tears were better, even the convulsive, hysterical weeping that had overcome her last night. Anything was better than this calm, dry-eyed silence. She carried the cup to the sleeping quilt and set it at Cecile’s side. “Come now,” she urged. “Sit up and drink this.”
Cecile did not protest. Minding the pain in her head, she sat up slowly and raised the cup to her lips.
Hagar waited until she had finished. She took the empty cup and said, “There, that’s better. The tea will give you strength. You will speak to me now.”
Cecile gazed at her dully. “There is nothing to say.”
“Oh, but I think there is. What are you going to do when Shaikh Rashid’s servant comes to fetch you to the hegra?”
“Why, nothing. I will not go with him, for I am not going to marry the shaikh.”
“Oh, no? And how do you think you can prevent this?”
The vacant look briefly left Cecile’s eyes. “By returning to Paris.”
Hagar endeavored to conceal her dismay. “That is all very well. But how are you going to get there?”
“I will find someone to take me to the coast, to Oman.”
“I see. And you are going to find this person, obtain provisions, pack the camels, and leave before tonight?”
“I will go soon enough. A day or two won’t matter.”
“No, not as long as you don’t mind being married to Rashid in the meantime.”
Something flickered to life in Cecile’s gaze. “What do you mean? How can he marry me for only a day or two?”
“Because he is a shaikh. And a shaikh may take a woman even if only for a brief time.”
“But I no longer wish to be a Badawin woman!”
“It does not matter! Don’t you see? As long as you are among us, you are one of us. Haddal will tie and gag you, if that is what it will take to get you to Rashid’s tent. But it will be done, make no mistake!”
Cecile looked away, clammy fingers of fear embracing her heart. She shook her head. “No, no, I …”
“You will listen to me! Dhiba, look at me.” Reluctantly, Cecile returned the old woman’s piercing gaze. “There is only one thing you can do to save yourself. You must go to El Faris. Do you hear me? You must go to him and tell him what happened to you that night. He will understand, and forgive. He will take you and …”
“No! I … I cannot!”
“Why? Because your pride will not allow you? That is a fool’s reason!”
“Perhaps!” Cecile shot back. “Yet I have been a fool all along, haven’t I? I was vain and stupid to think he might love me. Look what it has cost me. I have been humiliated!”
“You have been hurt,” Hagar amended. “And you are lashing out. Just as El Faris was hurt, and likewise wished to inflict pain upon you.”
Cecile looked up tremulously. “What are you saying?”
“That he married Aza to hurt you,” Hagar stated firmly. “And to salve his wounded pride. He waited for you, remember? He waited, and you did not come. What was he to think? He thought you had rejected him, so he struck out at you. I think this proves he loves you very much. And he wanted a wife, Dhiba. I think he has wanted this for a long time. He wanted a wife, and he wanted you. But you were not there.”
Cecile buried her face in her hands. No! She would not believe he loved her. She couldn’t. Hope had entered her heart once, she had finally loved and trusted someone besides Jali and her father, and look what it had brought her. Anguish almost beyond endurance. She had trusted, and she had been betrayed. It was an old and familiar story. But it would never be told again.
“No,” Cecile murmured at last. “I will not … cannot go to him.”
“Very well. Then you will take the consequences and marry Rashid.” Hagar pushed to her feet and marched stiffly from the tent. She wanted Al Dhiba to have time to think on what she had said. It was now time to carry out the second part of her plan.
Hagar stationed herself near the bridegroom’s tent. She did not like what she had to do, but it was all that was left. If it did not work, well, she would have to surrender to fate’s designs. But she had to at least try.
The sun was hot and the air still. The temperature crept upward, and flies buzzed annoyingly. But Hagar did not move. Soon the bride must come this way to formally be accepted into her husband’s tent.
A rising of dust on the still air alerted her. They approached. Good. She was anxious to get it over with. Steeling herself, Hagar stepped forward and halted the small band of women.
“I most humbly apologize,” Hagar said, “for intruding upon this, the most important day of your life. But, as you must guess, the matter is urgent.”
At Aza’s nod, her mother and sister reluctantly drew aside. Hagar watched their stern faces until they turned away, then pinned her bright, piercing gaze on the girl. She was a kind, generous, and loving child, Hagar knew. If she told Aza the whole story, perhaps …
No, the truth was for Al Dhiba and El Faris only, to discover in time for themselves. She could only do her part to ensure that they were not driven irrevocably apart in the meantime. Taking a deep breath, she began.
The marriage gifts from her husband were costly and elaborate, even though they had been assembled with great haste. Touched, Aza glanced at all the things surrounding her. There were rugs and blankets, a new sleeping quilt, cooking implements, and two new dresses with matching kerchiefs. El Faris was a thoughtful, caring man. There could be no doubt, especially now that Aza knew the reason for his troubled mind.
Cautiously, she glanced up at her husband. He paced again, striding from one end of the spacious tent to the other, hands tightly clasped behind his back. No wonder, she thought. Time was so short. There were only a few hours left. She would have to broach the subject to him immediately. Gathering her courage, Aza delicately cleared her throat.
Matthew ceased his restless pacing and looked at his bride, concealing his annoyance. “Yes?”
“I … I would speak with you, O lord of my tent,” Aza began softly. “There is a matter, I think, which needs be discussed.”
“Very well, Aza. What is it?”
“Will you not sit by me?” she timidly inquired.
Controlling his impatience, Matthew lowered himself to the carpet in front of his wife. “Go on, Aza. What is it you wish to say?”
Aza took a deep breath. “I … I think I know what troubles you, my husband. Please forgive me,” she added, seeing the scowl form on his brow, “but my heart cannot bear to witness your unhappiness any longer. I must speak.”
It was Matthew’s turn to draw a slow breath. “I doubt you do know, Aza. I don’t know how you could. But, please, speak what’s on your mind.”
Aza lowered her eyes. “There … there is to be a wedding tonight,” she murmured. “Shaikh Rashid takes a wife.”
“I know,” Matthew replied gruffly. “What has this to do with me?”
“I think you know, husband,” Aza’s voice was barely audible. “And it is what troubles you, I think. For you realize this woman does not wish to wed Rashid, and you would help her if you could.”
“What do you mean?” Matthew asked tensely. “What are you talking about?”
Aza held her breath. So, she thought. It was true what Hagar had told her. He did care about the woman’s fate, though he would deny it. She would have to choose her words carefully. “Again, I beg your forgiveness, my husband,” she continued. “But this is understandable, I think. After all, did you not save her from the caliph and bring her all the way to Ath Thumama? I believe it is natural for you to feel great responsibility for this woman. I think it is honorable that you do. So, I want you to know I am willing, should you wish to …”
“To what?” Matthew snapped.
Aza flinched. “I … I only wonder if it would not be an act of kindness, and generosity, to offer to wed this woman before … before it is too late, and she must go
to the hegra of Shaikh Rashid.”
Something bitter rose in Matthew’s throat. He would have laughed but for fear of having to explain his mirth to Aza. Instead, he touched her hand and said, “You are an extraordinary woman, halaila. But I’m afraid you do not know Al Dhiba. I think she would rather die than wed anyone.”
“Oh, no!” Aza claimed, genuinely distressed. “You must not allow that to happen! You must go to her and make her understand. It would not have to be a real marriage, you see, not if she did not wish that. You would only be offering your protection, nothing more, until we are away from Ath Thumama and Shaikh Rashid. Then you would release her, to let her live her life as she chooses.”
Matthew pulled at his chin, fighting to control the war of emotions within him. Was it possible? he wondered. Though Haddal would be angry at first, he would eventually come to see reason. And Rashid, well … Matthew chuckled. Shaikh he might be, but also a weak and spineless man. He would not dare to cross El Faris.
Seeing her husband smile, Aza looked hopefully into his sea-blue eyes. “Does this idea please you then, my husband?”
The smile abruptly disappeared. No, he thought, the idea did not please him. What did he owe Al Dhiba anyway? She had rejected him, coldly and arrogantly. If she was forced to marry Rashid, it was exactly what she deserved.
On the other hand, he was still an Englishman beneath his desert robes, and she was not wholly Badawin. He could not, in all conscience, allow this marriage to take place, and she would never be able to bow to the Badawin law that permitted it. She truly would die first. He knew it.
Furthermore, hard as he tried to block it, a vision entered Matthew’s mind. Naked golden limbs, tangled raven hair, parted lips, wide dark eyes shining with fiery light. And Rashid …
Matthew rose and strode across the tent, dishdasha swirling about his booted legs. At the far end he stopped and turned, hands on his narrow hips. “Very well. I will go to her.”
“Oh!” Aza quickly ducked her head and clasped her hands, trying to subdue her very great pleasure. “It is a noble thing you do, my husband,” she murmured. “Allah will surely reward you.”
Again Matthew had to fight to restrain his bitter laughter. Reward, indeed. He had probably just cursed himself. But it was undoubtedly what he deserved for being foolish enough even to have considered what he was about to do. Before he might change his mind, he whirled and left the tent.
Aza watched him depart, innocent heart filled with joy. What a fine man her husband was! How blessed their life together would be, full of peace and love! Smiling, Aza folded away her wedding gifts.
“No, no, I cannot … I won’t!”
Hagar’s patience had come to its end. She gripped Cecile’s arms and gave her a careful shake. “Yes, you will. He has come to you, and you will see him. If you will not give him the explanation you owe him …”
“I owe him?”
“Do not interrupt! If you will not tell him what he has a right to know, at least do him the courtesy of honoring his request to speak to you.”
Cecile squeezed her eyes tightly shut. But the action would not, she knew, make the problem disappear. Nor Hagar. She sighed. “All right, Hagar. But don’t leave!”
“I will be right outside,” she responded briskly, and left before Cecile could utter another word.
It was a nightmare. It had to be. No other explanation was possible. Cecile knelt rigidly erect and stared at the man who sat across from her.
Matthew’s spine was equally stiff, his features impassive. “Well?” he inquired bluntly.
Cecile’s mouth felt dry. She licked her lips, but there was no moisture to give them. “I … don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“You heard me well enough. I said I would still marry you. Maybe it’s simply the reason you misunderstand.”
“Reason?” Cecile repeated acidly. “What ‘reason’ could you possibly have?”
In spite of himself, Matthew smiled. But there was no humor in him. “Do you think I should have to explain? That’s rather odd, don’t you think, coming from someone who says so little herself?”
Cecile winced. But she would tell him nothing. Nothing! If he had loved her at all, he would not have turned around and married Aza so quickly. He would have given her a chance. He wouldn’t have given up after one short hour!
“What does it matter now, the words I might have said to you that night?” she asked finally. “And why do you plague me with another insincere proposal?” Cecile’s voice rose out of control, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “Is one woman not enough for you? Must you have two to satisfy your overblown ego and insane lus—”
The slap took her by surprise, and Cecile’s head reeled. Dizziness assailed her, and she had to put out one hand to steady herself. The other she raised to her flaming cheek.
Matthew’s heart froze. He had never touched a woman in anger before … never! Before he could stop himself, he reached for Cecile and gripped her shoulders. “Are you all right? I’m sorry … I … I don’t know what …”
She recoiled as if stung and wrenched free of his grasp. “Get away … don’t touch me!”
“I don’t intend to!” Matthew bellowed.
Shocked into silence, Cecile stared, jaw agape.
“And if you had been able to curb that razor tongue of yours,” Matthew continued, “you could have saved yourself the trouble of worrying about it. I have no intention of offering you a ‘real’ marriage. I simply offer you my protection.”
“Your … protection?”
“Unless you wish to marry Rashid?”
“No, no, I …”
“Then you will have to take me as a husband instead. Only Haddal could stop you, and he won’t know until it’s too late. Tomorrow we will leave for Oman. You will travel as my wife, in name only, and be under the protection of my tent. When we reach the coast, I will free you.”
Unaccountably, Cecile shivered. “You mean you would … divorce me?”
“It is easily done by Islamic law, don’t worry, and there is no dishonor in it. You will have wealth and possessions, too, don’t forget. I’m sure you’ll be able to make your way very nicely.”
Though the temperature soared well above one hundred degrees, Cecile’s flesh felt as cold as ice. “Your wife doesn’t object?”
“It was my wife’s idea.”
Somewhere deep in Cecile’s soul, a last small spark flickered and died. There was no longer any emotion within her, only cool, hard logic. It drew her to a single, inescapable conclusion.
She wanted away from the savage, dream-shattering desert. Matthew offered the safest, swiftest way out. “Very well,” Cecile said shortly. “I accept your offer.”
“I thought you might. Come to the hegra at the first fall of dusk,” Matthew ordered, more gruffly than he had intended. “Be sure you are on time, before Rashid’s servant has a chance to come for you. I will make certain both Rashid and Haddal are informed of this … event … at the appropriate time. And tell no one of this but Hagar.”
“Of course.”
With a terse nod, Matthew rose and left the tent. For a long moment after he had gone, Cecile remained motionless, aware of nothing but the faint, slow beat of her heart. Then she calmly packed her few belongings.
The sun was a flaming ball of orange at the moment it dropped beyond the far horizon. For an instant the rolling dunes were tipped in fire, then they faded in the dim gray light to mere shadows on the sand. The dust of returning flocks rose on the motionless air, hung briefly suspended, and began its slow, downward descent. The hour of dusk had fallen.
Only a curious few noted their passing. The hegra had been so hastily erected, no one realized a wedding was about to take place. So they moved on, Cecile and Hagar, silent and alone through the hot, soft twilight.
The two paused at the entrance to the small gray tent. Wordlessly, the old woman took Cecile’s hand and squeezed it. Cecile returned the pressure, if not the accompanyin
g emotion. She was numb, her heart still and dead within her breast. Then she turned away and ducked inside the tent.
A single carpet covered the sandy floor. A wide sleeping quilt had been laid in its center, flanked by two flickering candles. Cecile sank to the ground, her back turned to the bed, and hugged her knees. Waiting.
He arrived shortly. Matthew entered and secured the flap behind him. He crossed to the opposite side of the quilt and sat down, cross-legged.
Cecile was not certain how long they remained thus. The minutes ticked away, and the night darkened. Sounds of the camp drifted in to them. The candle flames danced, their light becoming brighter as the night deepened, until they were all that could be seen in the hot, thick gloom. Then Cecile heard a sound behind her. She jumped, startled, and turned to him.
“Don’t worry,” Matthew drawled. “I said I wouldn’t touch you, and I meant it. But do you mind if I lie down?”
“I mind nothing,” Cecile replied truthfully.
“Good.” He stretched out on the quilt, arms folded beneath his head. It was strange, he thought. The situation should be uncomfortable, intolerable even. Yet it was not. Despite her rejection of him, despite his pain and anger, it felt good just to be near her, to know she was safe from Rashid. Matthew felt the beginnings of a smile twitch at his lips as he stared at her rigid, square-shouldered back.
Cecile was not unaware of his regard. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her. But she did not move; she could not. She had become leaden, as dead and numb as she had felt at her father’s graveside. She had lost everything then, too.
At last the night sounds faded, and the camp fell still. Once again Cecile heard a movement behind her and turned slowly.
Matthew had rolled on his side, supported on one elbow, and gazed at her with a lazy smile. Cecile instantly bristled.
Did he find humor in the situation? Could he possibly be so callous? Something flamed to life in Cecile’s breast.
“You do not know how glad I will be to be rid of this barbaric land!”
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