‘You understand,’ he said, ‘that your appointment would be most unusual. My country is a very traditional one—in fact, you may as well know that the majority of my Council and trusted aides will oppose your role.’
Cassie’s face fell. ‘You mean I will have to win their approval?’
Jamil pursed his lips. ‘They may voice their opinions, but they may not dictate to me. I mean merely that it will be better not to offend them.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘How might I offend them?’
‘As I have already informed you, Lady Cassandra, you look as if you belong not in the schoolroom, but the boudoir.’
‘Harem, actually, is what you said. I can’t help how I look, your Highness. And I assure you, that I will not—last night—it was…’
‘Nothing of that sort will pass between us again,’ Jamil said firmly, speaking as much to himself as to Lady Cassandra. ‘As Linah’s governess you must be beyond reproach—is that understood?’ As Linah’s governess, she must now be strictly out of bounds. Why did he feel instinctively that this would prove so difficult? It should have been a warning, but Jamil, whose own self-discipline was so ingrained as to have become instinctive, did not heed it.
‘I understand perfectly, your Highness,’ Cassie said, trying hard not to feel indignant. The prince had every reason to doubt her ability to conduct herself properly after all, given what she had just told him and how she had behaved last night. There was no point in telling him it was out of character; she must let her future conduct demonstrate that.
‘You will most effectively contradict any criticism by obtaining results,’ Jamil said brusquely, unwittingly echoing Cassie’s own thoughts.
‘Can I assume then that you will visit Linah regularly to check her progress?’ Cassie asked sweetly.
‘I am an extremely busy man. Affairs of state keep me occupied.’
Cassie took a deep breath. ‘Forgive me, your Highness, but Linah will fare much better if I can reward her behaviour with the promise of a visit from you,’ she said in a rush.
‘She can be equally rewarded by the knowledge that her good behaviour pleases rather than angers me,’ Jamil replied implacably.
‘With respect, it’s not quite the same.’
‘Your persistence in this matter is becoming tedious, Lady Cassandra. If you are so sure my daughter is in need of affection, then supply it yourself. Consider it part of your duties of employment.’
Cassie’s eyes widened. ‘Does this mean you’ll give me a chance, then? Am I indeed to be Linah’s governess?’
‘For one month only, subject to satisfactory progress being achieved. Then we will see.’
All else was forgotten in the relief at having achieved her objective. She was not to be sent back. Cassie let out a huge sigh. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you so much, I won’t let you down, I promise.’
‘I will hold you to that. I do not take kindly to those who do. We start for Daar in fifteen minutes.’
Jamil pulled back the curtains and strode out into the morning sunshine, calling for Halim. Cassie stood, gazing at the space he had occupied, her mind in a daze. She’d done it, she’d persuaded him. A smile spread over her face, and she gave a little skip of excitement. She was going to Daar. She was going to be Linah’s governess. She was going to show Papa that she could do something worthwhile. She was going to show the little princess what love was, and she was going to teach the little girl’s cold-hearted, autocratic, infuriating father how to love her back. Whether he wanted to or not.
This gave Cassie pause. She did not doubt that somewhere, buried very deep, was Jamil’s love for his daughter, but uncovering it would take tact as well as patience. For some reason, he was very resistant to the idea. Yet cold as he was—as he liked to appear, perhaps?—he could not really be so. He cared enough about Linah to want to bring her up properly. And Cassie had her own reasons for knowing he wasn’t incapable of emotion. Last night…
Stop! She wouldn’t think about last night. Her own behaviour had shocked her. She just couldn’t understand it. But Jamil—well, he was a man, after all. One to whom desire came easily. Cassie’s skin prickled. He had seen her in a state of undress and he had wanted to…
It was her fault! He was hot-blooded. It must be the desert air, or the heat of the sun, or perhaps there was just something in the prince’s culture that encouraged such behaviour. Celia had hinted at something she called sensuality, though she wouldn’t explain, and to tell the truth, Cassie had been too embarrassed to ask. Whatever it was, it had to be said, there was something terribly romantic about desert princes. And Jamil was the epitome of a desert prince. A passionate sheikh with a strong sense of honour—look at the contemptuous way he had talked of Augustus! It made her feel just a bit better, to have him take her part. Sort of. Just a little.
But that didn’t mean he would always be so understanding. She would do well indeed to forget all about last night, and all about Jamil as anything other than her exacting employer. She was done with romance. Done with giving her heart any say at all in matters. She was done, quite done, with men, whether traitorous poets or desert princes, romantic or otherwise.
Cassie made the journey to the city of Daar mounted on a snowy white camel, a rare breed, though its exclusivity did not, unfortunately, make it any more of a comfortable ride than its more dowdy brethren. The high-backed saddle was more splendid than the one on which she had arrived at Jamil’s camp, but it was still basically a sparsely-padded wooden seat. As Jamil made a clicking noise at the back of his throat, and the beast knelt down to allow her to mount, Cassie’s muscles protested by cramping. However, she climbed on to what passed for a saddle, pleased to discover that she did so with some semblance of grace, even more pleased to see the very brief look of approval that flitted across Jamil’s face. He made the clicking noise again, and the camel got back to its feet. Cassie arranged her skirts and pulled the long veil, which she had attached to her little military hat, over her face. ‘I’ll take the reins, thank you,’ she said, holding out her gloved hand.
Jamil hesitated. It was the custom for women to be lead and the white camel was not only extremely rare but extremely sensitive, with a mouth as soft as a thoroughbred horse. What if this woman was as impetuous a rider as she was in every other way? It would just take one jerk of the reins and she would end up thrown.
‘You need not worry, I won’t let him bolt and I won’t ruin his mouth,’ Cassie said, reading his thoughts a mite too easily for Jamil’s liking. He surrendered the reins reluctantly, and, mounting his own camel with practised ease, headed the caravan east.
They had journeyed all day, save for a short break at the sun’s zenith, and on into the night, too, for Jamil was anxious to be home. By the time they made camp, the stars were already luminous, stitched like jewels into the blue velvet blanket of the sky. Cassie sat a little apart on a little outcrop of rocks, next to the small drinking pool, watching them set up the tents. Leaning back on her hands, she threw her head back to gaze up at the night sky, which looked so vast compared to England, the stars seeming to hover so much closer to earth than they did at home. The desert, too, in daylight, was vast, undulating and unrolling in front of them in shades of ochre and rust, of gold and tawny brown, a landscape of barren beauty, so exotic in its fierceness, and so very different from England that she felt as if she were on another planet. Celia said it had intimidated her when first she came here, but Cassie found it invigorating and beguiling. She liked its very otherness. She even liked the way it put her firmly in her place, reminding her she was one tiny scrap of insignificance in the face of nature’s magnificence.
It struck her that Jamil seemed the very physical embodiment of the desert’s exotic charms. Perhaps that was why he integrated so seamlessly into the terrain. It certainly explained the ease with which he navigated the way across what looked to Cassie to be a vast expanse of nothingness. He was a product of the desert, yet not subjugated or intimidated by its harshness
, seeming instead to dominate the sandy landscape.
Above her, two shooting stars streaked across the sky, one after the other. Her aches and pains forgotten, Cassie cried out with delight. ‘Most glorious night! Though wert not sent for slumber!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Cassie jumped. Jamil was standing beside her. How did he move so silently? ‘It’s Byron. An English poet, he—’
‘You admire such a man, who has behaved so scandalously?’
‘You know of him, then? I admire his poetry, regardless of his behaviour.’
‘I forget, you have a weakness for poets, do you not? Or more accurately, perhaps, for poets who treat women with a callous disregard for honour. But it is much too beautiful a night for harsh words,’ he added, noting her hurt expression, ‘and in any event, you must be very tired, Lady Cassandra.’
‘Cassie, please. My given name has too many unwarranted associations.’
‘You don’t see yourself as a prophetess, then?’
‘Hardly.’ When he smiled, as he was doing properly now, his expression softened, making him look much less austere. Cassie smiled back. ‘If only I had been able to see a bit further into the future, I wouldn’t have made such a fool of myself over Augustus.’
‘But then you wouldn’t have come here.’
‘Very true.’ Cassie tried to smother a yawn.
‘You are tired, and no wonder, it has been a long day.’
‘I am a little weary, I must confess.’ Her head drooped. ‘I should retire.’ As she stumbled to her feet, a strong pair of hands circled her waist. ‘I can manage,’ she protested, but already she was falling asleep.
With an exclamation that could have been impatience, and might have been something more tender, Jamil scooped her up and carried her to her tent, where he laid her down on the divan. She was already deeply asleep. He hesitated before loosening the double row of buttons on her ridiculous little jacket, easing her carefully out of it, resisting the urge to look at the soft curves revealed under the flimsy material of her undergarment. Settling her carefully, he unlaced her boots, but left her stockings on. This much she might reasonably thank him for; any more would be a liberty.
He pulled a rug over her, tucking it securely in at the sides, for the coming dawn would be cold. She nestled her cheek into a cushion, her lips pouting into a little contented sigh. Long lashes, a darker gold than her hair, fanned on to the soft curve of her dusty cheek. Her hair was a tangle, tresses curling down her neck, little tendrils clinging to her forehead. No doubt she would be horrified by her state of dishevelment, but to Jamil the imperfections enhanced her appeal. She was no goddess now, but mortal, flesh and blood, and possibly the most disturbing flesh and blood he had ever encountered. There was something about her that made him want to cradle her and ravish her at the same time.
‘Governess, governess, governess,’ he muttered to himself as he made his way to his own tent, matching the words to his stride.
They rode on the next day and the next. The land began to rise as they neared the mountains, which rose starkly in front of them like a painted theatre backdrop. They passed several small communities based round the oases. The houses were ochre-coloured, built into the rocks to which they clung precariously, like small children to a mother’s side. As the caravan passed, the people threw themselves to their knees. Women abandoned their laundry, men stopped their tilling of the narrow strips of cultivated land, little children rushed excitedly towards the beautiful white camels, only to be pulled back by mortified mothers. Jamil nodded his acknowledgement, but made no move to stop. Looking back over her shoulder, Cassie caught a group of women staring and pointing at her, though they immediately dropped their gaze when they saw they had been spotted.
It was the same in the next village and the next, each one larger than the last, eventually joining up into a string of settlements linked by vibrant irrigated fields, before finally the walls of the city of Daar came into view. The scent of damp soil and ripe vegetation replaced the dry dusty smells of the desert. On the steep approach to the gate where the water from the main oasis had been channelled, the dates were being harvested from the palms that grew along the banks. Huge woven baskets sat under the trees, waiting to be filled and ferried into the city by a train of mules. Cassie watched in astonishment as the pickers shimmied down the trunks of the trees at a terrifying rate, to make obeisance to their returning prince.
She had fallen behind Jamil. With every step that took them closer to the city, he became more remote, almost visibly assuming the mantle of power. Under his head dress, which was no longer pulled over his face, his expression was stern, the little frown lines apparent. His shoulders were set. He was no longer Jamil, but Prince of Daar-el-Abbah. Behind him, Cassie felt lost and a little apprehensive. Their regal entrance into Jamil’s city was quite sufficient to remind her of the true nature of their relationship,
Daar was built on a plateau. The city gates were emblazoned with a golden panther rampant and some Arabic script she assumed would spell Invincible, which Celia had told her was Jamil’s motto. They passed through the large gates into a city which looked very much like Balyrma, with a network of narrow streets running at right angles to the main thoroughfare. Each alley was crowded with tall houses, overhanging more and more as they rose so that at the top they almost seemed to touch. A series of piazzas with a fountain at the centre of each linked the main thoroughfare, which she was surprised to see was cobbled. The air was redolent with a myriad of smells. The sharp, distinctive tang from the tannery mingled with the aroma of spices and roasting meat. The citrus perfume of lemons and oranges vied with the sweet heady scent from a white blossom Cassie did not recognise. A pungent, surprisingly familiar sheep-like smell emanated from a herd of penned goats. As they picked their way through the crowds, she barely had time to track down the source of one aroma before another assailed her senses.
Everywhere was colour: the robes of the women, the blankets that were being strung out to air across the alleys, the blue and red and gold and green tiles which decorated the fountains and the minarets. And everywhere was noise, too, the braying of the animals, the excited cries and laughter of the children, the strange ululating noise that the men made as they bowed. Captivated and overwhelmed, Cassie forgot her fears and surrendered herself to the magic of the East.
Towards the end of the plateau, nearer the palace, the alleys were gradually replaced by grander houses with white-tiled walls and keyhole-shaped doors, tall turrets marking the corners. The royal palace was built on the furthest part of the plateau, surrounded on three of its sides by the city walls, which formed a second layer of protection after the palace’s own. The doors of the gatehouse were of a dark wood, fronted by a heavy portcullis that was being drawn up as they approached. The golden panther was emblazoned on a crest at the apex, and emblazoned, too, on the twin turrets that were built into the corners of the high white walls. An intriguing line of little ornamental towers stretched along the top of the wall, above an intricately tiled border of red and green and gold. Fascinated, Cassie slowed her camel in order to drink in the detail, unwittingly causing a minor traffic jam as the whole caravan halted behind her. Jamil, who had already passed through the doorway, quickly sent his gatekeeper out to lead her camel in.
‘I’m sorry,’ Cassie whispered, once she had finally climbed out of the saddle, ‘your palace is so beautiful I stopped to get a better look.’
Jamil gave no acknowledgement, shaking out his cloak and making his way across the courtyard to where Halim awaited him. Cassie stood alone in the shadow of the gatehouse, wondering what she should do. Glancing around her, at the gatekeeper, the guards who stood with their arms crossed, she was met with blank expressions and downcast eyes. She took a hesitant step into the courtyard, then another, as far as the fountain, which was its centrepiece. Neither Jamil nor Halim gave any sign of noticing her. The water, which sprinkled from a smiling fish, looked lovely and cool. She stripped
off her gloves and put back her veil, holding out her hands to let it drip on to them, then dabbed her wrists to her hot forehead. Heavenly! She sat down on the fountain’s rim, and trailed her fingers in the water, smiling to see the little gold and silver fish that swam in the bowl. The sound of someone clearing their throat made her look up. She encountered the impassive gaze of Halim.
‘Lady Cassandra, Prince Jamil has asked me to take you to Linah.’
‘But—is the prince not going to introduce me to his daughter himself?’
‘The prince has more important matters to attend to.’
Cassie got to her feet. ‘Will the prince be visiting Linah later?’
‘I am Prince Jamil’s man of business, Lady Cassandra. He does not make a point of sharing his domestic arrangements with me.’
‘I see,’ Cassie said. Obviously this man was not happy with her presence here. As she followed Halim’s rigidly disapproving back across the courtyard and along a seemingly endless corridor to the back of the palace, Cassie’s confidence ebbed. Jamil hadn’t told her anything of his domestic arrangements. She had no idea what her place was in the palace hierarchy.
Halim stood back to allow her to go through a door flung open by a guard. The door clanged shut behind her. She heard the gradually retreating sound of Halim’s footsteps echo on the tiled floor on the other side of the door.
The room was small, a mere ante-chamber. Two of the walls were covered in mirrored tiles that reflected the beautiful enamelled vase which sat on a gilt table in the centre of the room. She passed through another doorway, lifting aside the lace and silk curtains, and found herself in the most unusual courtyard she had ever seen. It was not square but oval, with a colonnaded terrace curving all the way round, a series of connected rooms leading off it, with a second tier of rooms above. There were two fountains playing in harmony, one with the sun as its centrepiece, the other the moon. The courtyard was decorated with intricate mosaic, which featured a gold border interlaced with blue flowers, inside which was portrayed, to Cassie’s delight, what looked like Scheherazade sitting at King Shahryar’s feet. A spiral staircase set in the furthest end of the oval attracted her attention. Picking up her skirts, she climbed up to the second floor, which had a covered terrace, and upwards again, to the topmost part of the turret, where the stairs ended on a flat viewing platform like a English castle’s battlement. Clutching the sides, for the height was dizzying, Cassie could see that her courtyard and terrace were set into the furthest part of the plateau. Below the white walls of the palace were the ochre ones of the city. Beyond that, the lush, green terraced fields fed by the oasis stretched out, and beyond that lay the desert and the mountains.
The Governess and the Sheikh Page 6