‘That was a close call!’ Nadia breathed. ‘Living away from home I tend to be less strict with myself, but it would have shamed Raschid before Saud’s father had we been discovered in the garden. Achmed would have been furious with me.’ She made a small moue. ‘Fortunately I heard them coming in time. I’m trying to persuade Raschid to take us all out hawking. It used to be his favourite pastime, and his falcons are a sight to behold. It will be the last time we are all together as a family before Zahra marries, and it seems fitting that we should revert to the freedom of our childhood years, if only for a few hours.’
‘In that case you won’t want me along,’ Felicia began, but Nadia swept her protests aside.
‘Of course we shall want you.’ She bent forward and kissed Felicia’s cheek. ‘You are a delight to us all, Felicia, and far too unassuming, although I hope Zahra does not speak the truth when she says that you may marry Faisal. Although he is my brother, I have to admit that he is weak, too changeable in his ways to make a good husband. Not like my Achmed.’ She glanced speculatively at Felicia. ‘You know, in a way I am surprised that you do not get on well with Raschid. He has always been a great admirer of beauty, and you have much of that. Also your manner cannot help but please; you are of his religion.’
‘Liking does not come from any of those things,’ Felicia said shakily, trying to stem the flood of longing Nadia’s words had aroused. ‘It comes from the heart, and Raschid’s heart is closed to me.’ This was her chance to beg Nadia for her aid, but she was too shy to ask, and by the time they had returned to the others it was too late.
Later, she was to regret her weakness, but when they joined the rest of their party, her own worries subsided in the general excitement over Zahra’s wedding.
It was late when they started back. Somehow or other Felicia found herself travelling with Raschid, sitting in the front seat while Umm Faisal and Zahra occupied the back.
He was concentrating on the road, a barren landscape in black and silver, and she stole a glance at his remote profile, swept by a wave of love. Where on earth Nadia had got the idea that he could feel anything but disdainful contempt for her, Felicia could not imagine. She sighed, letting weary eyelids drop over aching eyes.
The land had already cast its timeless spell over her, and the man…. She looked again at his shadowed profile. His head turned and their eyes met, pleasure and pain mingled as another fierce wave of longing swamped her.
At last she had given her feelings their rightful name—she loved Raschid, against all the odds, in spite of the unbridgable gulfs of background and upbringing that yawned between them, she loved him.
She sighed as tiredness drained even the ability to think properly. She might as well love the sun or the moon. Her eyes closed and opened as she struggled against waves of exhaustion. At her side Raschid turned and frowned.
‘It has been a long day for you, Miss Gordon. My sister and Zahra are both sleeping. Feel free to join them if you wish. We have a good hour’s journey in front of us.’
They were following Achmed and Nadia, and as he spoke the powerful headlights of the Mercedes picked out the car in front quite clearly—and its occupants, Nadia’s dark head cradled on Achmed’s shoulder. An aching longing so intense that it was almost a physical pain hit her. She longed to cry out against it, stifling it, but the sound was trapped in her throat. She fought to subdue the urge to move closer to Raschid, to place her head on his shoulder and know she would not be rebuffed.
Pride alone kept her upright in her seat, her eyes sliding away from Nadia and Achmed, but it was Raschid who said curtly:
‘You’re practically falling asleep sitting up, Miss Gordon. If pride prevents you from using my shoulder as a pillow, try telling yourself that very soon I shall be your uncle and capable of commanding your obedience. I know you detest me, but this road is very uneven in parts. If you fall asleep as you are you could easily be thrown against a window or do yourself some other injury, so let common sense take the place of pride and accept my offer in the spirit in which it is given.’
What could she do? Even so, she had not expected his arm to curve round her, pulling her against the warmth of his body, and in response to her unvoiced question he said curtly:
‘I am perfectly able to drive with one hand—this is not a busy road, and I am not a young fool intent on showing off. Try to relax, I do not intend to harm you.’
But he was, whether he intended it or not. Merely the pressure of his body as he changed gear, the warm male smell of his flesh, harmed her irreparably as her heart wept for the unattainability of its one desire. She drew a steady breath and instantly her nostrils were full of the masculine odour of his body. She closed her eyes, but with his hard shoulder beneath her cheek, it was impossible to banish the tormenting image of his mouth, its well cut lines as well known to her as the softer shape of her own.
She fought against sleep as long as she could, not wanting it to steal from her these precious moments when Raschid gave his strength unstintingly, but the warmth of his body made her drowsy and her tormented senses were not proof against the smothering waves of sleep. Her body relaxed, her head falling against his shoulder. His arm tightened, holding her steady, as they drove into the endless night of the desert.
Felicia had no clear recollection of their arrival. Sleepy and bemused, she stumbled from the car, and Raschid’s strong arm caught her as she fell.
She thanked him, returning awareness making her desperate to avoid the sharpness of his eyes.
Sleepily Umm Faisal offered a cup of coffee, but Felicia refused. Like a greedy miser, she wanted to gloat over her precious hoard of happiness to fall asleep, dreaming of those sacred moments when Raschid’s arms had held her without anger or punishment.
It was quiet in the courtyard. Zahra was with Umm Faisal. With the month of Ramadan fast approaching, the arrangements for the wedding had to be finalised. Only that morning Umm Faisal had shown Felicia the soft rose silk from which Zahra’s bridal caftan would be fashioned. Shimmering threads of beaten silver flashed in the sunlight, and Felicia fingered the fabric in awe.
Later Zahra had shown her the gifts Saud had sent her—the silver and turquoise hand jewellery handed down through seven generations of his family, necklaces of beaten gold studded with rubies, rings and ankle bracelets, a whole treasure trove of precious and semi-precious stones guaranteed to excite the most prosaic female imagination.
Lastly Zahra produced an intricately worked girdle of beaten silver. This was the symbolic girdle used to fasten the bride’s shift, she explained, and once it was fastened in place, none but her bridegroom had the right to remove it.
‘Raschid still has the girdle made for his grandmother,’ Zahra told her, ‘and although he is Christian, he will marry according to the laws of our faith as well, for that was his grandfather’s wish, thus the two religions will live side by side in harmony with one another.’
Every mention of Raschid brought nervous tension to Felicia’s body. Every day she expected to be summoned to his study and told that he had heard from Faisal. Why did she torture herself like this? Why did she not go to him and ask to be sent home before he discovered the truth about why she had been content to linger long after she knew of Faisal’s change of heart? Her own heart gave her the answer. She was sitting by the fishpond, staring lazily into space. A tortoiseshell carp jumped in the water, showering her with tiny droplets; in the distance doves cooed; even the perfect symmetry of the house echoed the same pervasive sense of peace. Her red-gold head bent over the pool, unaware that she was being
