Chapter
26
CECILE OPENED HER EYES AND SAW THE DAWN breaking. But it was hard to get up. The air was warm and sweet. Birds chirped and chattered. A breeze wafted through the open garden windows. She stretched, reveling in the feel of the silken sheets, then turned on her side.
Matthew snored softly, lips parted. Cecile ran a finger lightly down his furred chest and he stirred. “Wake up, lazybones.”
He grunted, the faintest suggestion of a smile on his lips, but his eyes remained shut.
“All right for you,” Cecile warned. Leaning over, she gently bit the end of his nose.
“Hey!”
Cecile scrambled out of bed before Matthew could retaliate. “Come back here, you miserable wench!”
“Come and get me,” she taunted. “I’m going riding.”
Matthew grinned. Her tumbled hair framed her face and shoulders like a halo of thunderclouds, her breast heaved, and only the pearl ring adorned her matchless, naked form. He had other ideas.
But Cecile leapt away as he reached for her. “Remember your promise,” she called, and disappeared through the door to her room.
There were more surprises hidden away in her chest of drawers, and they touched Cecile far more than all the silks put together. She glanced at Matthew shyly as she followed him through the gardens to the stable, then down at the loose-sleeved white cotton shirt and comfortably billowing trousers tucked into the tops of her handmade leather boots. She had added a muslin kerchief for modesty’s sake, though she planned to remove it once they were out of sight. Matthew liked to look at her, she knew, and she would give him every opportunity.
A stable boy greeted them, and Matthew gave him instructions. Then he turned to Cecile. “I’d like you to ride one of my mares, if you don’t mind. It was a long, hard journey, and I’ve had yours turned out to pasture.”
His consideration touched her. “Thank you. Of course, I don’t mind riding one of your mares. I’d be honored.”
The horse he’d chosen for her was pale gray, almost white, as delicate and finely formed as Al Chah ayah. Matthew also rode a gray, and Cecile was struck by how handsome they must look together on matching horses, each dressed in white shirts and trousers.
“Are you ready?” he asked as they jogged from the stable. At her nod, he urged his mount to a lope and, side by side, they headed into the fields.
The grazing mares raised their heads and pricked their ears at the sight of the approaching riders. Their bellies were swollen with their unborn foals, their hides sleek. All were gray, nearly white. Matthew stopped and pointed.
“They are called safra,” he said, “meaning …”
“White,” Cecile finished for him.
Matthew nodded, pleased. “The Badawin prefers them for festivities. For endurance they like hamra, the bays, and sacra, the pale yellow mares, for speed. All must be Asil, of course, pure-blooded.”
They rode on a way, loping slowly through the canyon pastures. Near the end of the valley, Cecile reined in her mare and exclaimed, “Oh, Matthew. How lovely!”
“I’m glad you approve. I consider that foal one of my finest achievements.”
“I can certainly see why. She’s perfect … long ears, legs, neck,” Cecile mused out loud. “Long in the hip, yet short in the croup. Large eyes and nostrils, arched breast. And just look at that beautiful little dished face! I can see she gets her body from her dam, but not her head,” she continued. “Her sire must have put it on her. She’s the perfect example of intelligent breeding.”
“Why … thank you.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume, I …”
Matthew shook his head. “You presume nothing; you’re correct. I’m impressed by your knowledge.”
“I still have a lot to learn.”
As I do, he thought. About the most fascinating woman Allah had ever created.
The pastures had been covered, yet Matthew was reluctant to end their idyll and return. “Would you like to ride into the hills?”
“Oh, yes. I’d love to.”
It was amazing, Cecile thought, how the hell of the desert and the paradise of the coast could exist side by side. As they crested the low range of hills, she saw sand stretching endlessly on one side, the verdant valley on the other. They shared nothing in common save temperature, and Cecile was not sorry when Matthew led the way into a shady grove of tamarisk trees.
“Well,” he asked at length, “what do you think of my home?”
Cecile was surprised he had even had to ask. “I think it’s the most beautiful, special place on earth,” she answered finally, and honestly. There was only one thing left that would make it absolutely perfect and, Cecile realized, the moment had arrived at last when she must broach the subject to Matthew. The time had finally come to speak of Aza. “Matthew, there’s something I …”
The words were never spoken. Matthew’s mare snorted and shied. Cecile’s horse jumped sideways, nearly unseating her. “What is it?” she cried. “What’s wrong?”
Matthew didn’t stop to reply. He wheeled his mount and sped off into the trees. But the tamarisk forest was close and dense. He couldn’t see ahead, and progress was slow. Whoever had crept up on them was gone. He’d never catch up. Matthew returned to the path at a jog.
“What was it?” Cecile asked. “An animal?”
“I don’t know.” Matthew pulled at his chin, his brow furrowed. “Come on,” he said shortly. “I think we’d better ride back.”
Cecile didn’t protest. The mood was broken, her words forgotten. She felt nervous, strangely tense. As they loped from the forest, she looked back over her shoulder and, in spite of the heat of the day, shivered.
Cecile woke at dawn as usual. But she noticed immediately that there was something funny about the light falling through the windows. She reached for Matthew, not surprised when her hand encountered only a silken sheet. It had become his habit over the past few days to rise before first light and tend to business, leaving the rest of the day to walk or ride with her. Cecile smiled as she slipped from the bed.
The days had passed magically. Matthew spent every free moment with her. They ate together, bathed together, slept together. Aza had not appeared once, and it was almost as if she had never existed.
But she did, Cecile reminded herself. And she still had to speak to Matthew. Today. She could not put it off any longer. Ignoring the problem would not make it disappear. As long as Aza remained wife to Matthew, Aza would remain unfulfilled. Cecile despised that thought. And until Aza was gone, Cecile would not feel totally secure. There could be only one wife. Yes, she would definitely speak to him today.
Not just yet, however. Not this very moment.
Cecile stretched, hugged herself, and padded across the room to Matthew’s carved mahogany chest. She trailed her fingers lovingly over its surface, then lifted the lid, picked up one of his shirts, and pressed it to her cheek. Replacing it, she saw a glint of gold and moved the rest of his shirts aside.
It was a trumpet. Puzzled, Cecile picked up the instrument and turned it over in her hands. A trumpet? Then she remembered.
Desert horses were trained to respond to the call of the horn. She recalled the story Matthew had told her about the Prophet and his mares, blushing with embarrassment as she also recalled what she had said to him in reply.
She had been appalled at the idea that something as proud and free as an Arabian mare would come to a man when called, no matter the cost to herself. She had mocked him when he told her the mares had merely responded to the love and devotion they had been shown. It hadn’t seemed possible then.
Cecile squeezed her eyes shut. Now everything was different. Now she understood. All he had to do was call, and she would rush to his side. No matter the cost.
Restless, Cecile wandered into the garden, looked at the sky, and saw instantly why the morning light had seemed strange. Clouds, vast billows of clouds, rolled in slowly from the sea. Even as she w
atched, a great thunderhead crossed the sun. Cecile shivered as its shadow fell upon her, reminding her of the fright she had had in the forest. She hurried back inside.
“I am sorry to disturb your morning,” Ahmed said regretfully, “but I fear we have a problem. A serious one.”
Matthew looked up at his servant, standing before the desk, and thought how grim the news must be for Ahmed to appear so serious. He inclined his head briefly. “Go ahead. What is it?”
“Three mares are missing, ya ammi. From the west pasture. It happened sometime during the night.”
Matthew closed his eyes and rubbed them, remembering the incident that afternoon beneath the tamarisk trees. So. His suspicions had been correct. He returned his attention to Ahmed. “Whoever is responsible has been watching us for awhile now, I think. They won’t be content with only three animals. They’ll be back for more. I want guards on the perimeter of the property all night. And I want to go out and have a look myself right now.”
When Ahmed had gone to saddle Al Chah ayah, Matthew straightened the papers on his desk and muttered a silent curse. Horse thieves were serious trouble, but he had dealt with them before. Now it was not just the horses he minded losing, but time, precious time, which might otherwise be spent with Al Dhiba.
The happy mood in which he had awakened that morning rapidly dissipated. His mind on other matters, Matthew was halfway through the door before he saw the slight, heavily veiled figure. He stopped short, avoiding a collision by mere inches.
“My lord.” Aza clasped her hands and bent her head. It had taken all her courage just to come to him. Now, seeing the terrible look on his face, she knew she would never be able to speak the words she had come to say.
“What is it?” Matthew demanded, more sharply than he had intended. “What do you want, Aza?”
“It … it is not important, my husband,” she mumbled. “Perhaps, at a later time, you will hear my unworthy plea.”
Aza turned away, and Matthew was overwhelmed by a crushing wave of guilt. Though he had given her every possible physical luxury, he had shamefully neglected her. He had not even taken time to inquire about her health or happiness, or whether she needed or wanted anything. Now, however unintentionally, he had hurt her. Taking her shoulders, Matthew turned her back toward him and said gently, “I’m sorry. I really haven’t time to talk to you right now. But we’ll speak later, I promise. And whatever it is you wish, it shall be granted. This I also promise.”
Aza nodded and scurried away. Matthew strode in the opposite direction. Neither noticed Cecile as she shrank back into her doorway. She hadn’t meant to listen. She had, in fact, been on her way to Matthew to confront him about Aza.
What on earth could Aza possibly have wanted? she wondered. Matthew, she knew, had given the girl everything and anything she could ever want. Unless …
Cecile’s pulse quickened. There was only one thing, one thing Aza didn’t have … a life, a real life of her own. A real husband, happiness, children, perhaps. Could it be?
Cecile steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lips. What else could it be? What else was there? And how Merciful of Allah to put this opportunity right in front of her. She would go and speak to Aza now, herself, urge her to speak to Matthew as soon as possible. How much easier, how much simpler! Without another thought, Cecile hurried off in the direction of the women’s quarters.
The wing where Aza and many of the other women resided was decorated elegantly, but much more simply, and in traditional Arabic style. Aza sat cross-legged on the Persian carpet and smiled at Hagar.
“So, you spoke to him,” the old woman grunted. “But you were not gone long to have spoken with him about such an important subject.”
“Because I did not ask him. At least not yet,” Aza amended, her eyes shining. “He was too busy to talk just then, but he apologized and promised he would see me soon. And he also promised he would grant whatever it was I wished!”
“He did, did he?”
“Yes, and, oh, Hagar, I know he will!”
Perhaps not, Hagar thought to herself. Not when he learned what her request was. She said nothing to Aza, however. She hadn’t the heart. Instead, she forced an answering smile to her lips. Then turned sharply toward the open door.
“Who’s there?” she demanded. “Is anyone there?”
No reply. Cecile pressed against the wall and held her breath. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, not again. But Aza seemed so happy … happy about asking the husband she adored for a divorce? She couldn’t help it. She remained where she was. Listening.
“After all, it is such a simple thing, is it not?” Aza continued when Hagar finally relaxed and turned her attention from the door. “And it is all I would ever ask for … ever! I would never trouble him again.”
As much as she hated to do it, Hagar could not let the girl’s fantasies run wild. “Aza, it is not such a ‘simple thing,’ as you say. What about …”
“Al Dhiba?” Aza finished. “I know our husband loves and desires only her. I understand, and I accept this. It is why I will never ask him for anything again. Just this one thing. Just a child, a baby … It is my hope, my future …”
The shock went through her like a saber through flesh. Unable to listen to more, Cecile fled.
Once she thought she heard the sound of distant thunder, but she had not risen from her bed to check the sky. She hadn’t moved all afternoon. She felt paralyzed.
Where was he? Where had he been all day, and why had he left no word for her? Was he talking to Aza? Even now, was he deciding their fates … all their fates? Would he grant Aza’s request?
No! Of course not! How could she be so foolish?
Yet he had gripped her shoulder so tenderly. And he felt tremendous guilt about Aza’s situation, she knew. How could he not? She felt it herself. Guilt was a powerful emotion. It caused people to do many unwise things.
Nor, Cecile pondered further, might Matthew be able to deny Aza when he looked into her great, sad eyes and heard her say, “It is my hope, my future …”
If the situation were not so tragic, Cecile would have laughed. And she had thought Aza was going to ask for a divorce!
A door slammed, and Cecile sat erect, her body rigid. She heard his steps as he crossed his room. They stopped.
Matthew hesitated, his hand against the door to her room. His fingers were grimy, he noticed. He was also bone weary, stiff, and, for only the second time in his life, afraid. How could he tell her what he was honor bound to say? What if she chose to leave?
But she would not, could not. She loved him, he knew. How could he doubt it?
No, she would not leave. He had nothing to fear. He would tell her. But why, why had fate been so unkind as to bring him the news on this of all days? He had not even spoken to Aza yet. Lord only knew what she wanted!
Cecile gasped as her door flew open. She pulled the sheet over her naked breast.
“Dhiba …” Matthew faltered. He had not expected to come upon her like this, had not expected to be so overcome with desire he could scarcely maneuver his tongue. He found he could not tell her what he had come to say. Later, but not yet. “Join me in an hour for dinner,” he ordered with unintentional brusqueness. “I must … I have something to tell you.”
Cecile went through the motions. She bathed, perfumed, dressed, and brushed her hair. But she was numb.
What was wrong with him? Where had he been all day? Had he spoken to Aza? Is that what he wanted to talk about? Were her very worst fears about to be confirmed?
A clock chimed, and Cecile rose from the edge of the bed. It was time.
Matthew half rose from his cushion, stunned by the vision that floated toward him. Never had she looked so serene, so lovely. The shimmering folds of her midnight blue gown rippled and pooled as she sank down beside him. Her perfume enveloped him.
Cecile kept her eyes lowered. There was a plate before her, and wine, but she didn’t touch them. She waited for Matthew to speak
.
But he found, again, that he could not say the words that might send her away from him. For he could not be completely sure of her, even now. She was so volatile, so unpredictable. He just never knew. So he cleared his throat instead, and said, “I’m afraid we won’t be able to ride for awhile, Dhiba. Nor do I want you to go out alone.”
“Why?” The question burst forth before she could stop it.
“Because it isn’t safe. I’m afraid there are … horse thieves in the hills. Three mares are already missing, and I know they’ll be back for more. For awhile at least, I think it would be better if you remained indoors.”
Cecile didn’t even flinch. “Very well,” she replied evenly.
Matthew frowned. He had expected an entirely different reaction, and had prepared for it. At least she hadn’t responded with that fiery temper of hers. Angered, she might very well decide to board the ship, which, as Jali had informed him barely an hour ago, had lately come to Muscat’s rocky harbor.
The knowledge lay like lead in the pit of Matthew’s stomach. Was she truly his? Had she forgotten and forsaken the vow she made to leave on the first ship? He must trust that she had.
“There is something I must tell you,” Matthew said abruptly, without expression. “Something I think you should know. There is … there’s a ship. In Muscat. In one week it sails for France.”
The silence was electric. Cecile sat ramrod straight, her eyes fixed to the wall in front of her. Was that all? she wondered. Simply … “there’s a ship” … Was that all?
But of course. What more should there be? It was crystal clear what had happened. Aza had presented him with her request. He realized how much he had missed her, how much he wanted her now that his passion for another woman was spent. Time to return to sweet, gentle, compliant Aza. That was why there would be no more rides. Horse thieves, indeed! That was why he had told her of the ship. He wished her to leave now. Of course.
Call of the Trumpet Page 26