me, Felicia, but this hostility you feel towards Raschid—could it be that you use it to mask other—very different emotions?’
One look at Nadia’s face told her that the older girl had guessed the truth. Pride made her grasp at any straw, however frail, to conceal her feelings.
‘If you mean love, I consider that any woman who fell in love with your uncle would need to be either a fool or a masochist!’
Felicia saw with relief that Nadia was staring at her in stunned surprise, but it was several seconds before she realised why. When Nadia continued to stare over her shoulder, the hairs at the back of her neck began to prickle warningly, and she swung round just in time to see Raschid’s coldly furious expression as he strode past the door.
‘Do you think he heard me?’
Nadia recovered her voice, nodding her head commiseratingly. ‘I’m so sorry. I never heard him until it was too late.’
Felicia shrugged, trying to tell herself that it did not matter; another stone on the wall separating herself and Raschid was hardly likely to make much difference one way or the other.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she assured Nadia. ‘After all, he’s never made any pretence of liking me. In fact I’m sure he’s feeling exceptionally pleased with the results of his eavesdropping. He’ll be more positive than ever now that I’m everything he thought, and worse!’
‘Let me explain to him,’ Nadia suggested, but Felicia shook her head decisively. What was there to explain? That Nadia had accused her of being in love with him, and in order to defend herself she had claimed that no woman could be? He would know she was lying.
‘What’s the point? Let him think what he likes.’
‘It’s all my fault,’ Nadia admitted apologetically. ‘I shouldn’t have teased you in the first place. I am sorry.’
When Nadia had gone Felicia stared at her clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Soon it would be empty. They would not be staying at the oasis much longer, and once Faisal’s letter reached Raschid, she would have to face the day of reckoning. If only she did not have to apply to Faisal’s family in order to get home! She was not left with even that shred of pride intact.
AS ACHMED HAD foretold, Raschid lost no time in announcing that if the girls were intent on accompanying them, they would have to present themselves in the outer courtyard at first light.
That had been last night, and now, pulling on her jeans in the pearly light of the false dawn, Felicia rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Below, in the courtyard, she could hear sounds of activity. Tiredly she brushed her hair, securing it with a ribbon. Following Nadia’s advice she added a thick, chunky sweater to the absolute necessities Raschid had limited them to—a change of underwear, a clean blouse, some soft woollen socks to wear inside Nadia’s boots, and a pair of sunglasses.
She could see a couple of menservants loading things into the two Land Rovers parked below. Nadia had invited her to travel with herself and Achmed, and Felicia had accepted. It would be less wearing on her fragile nervous system than riding with Raschid.
Breakfast had been set out for them in one of the salons, although Felicia’s stomach rebelled at the thought of yoghurt and dates before the sun had crept over the horizon.
Zayad gave them all a sticky kiss as they prepared to leave, then went docilely to his nurse.
‘He’s so good, isn’t he?’ Felicia marvelled.
‘Kuwaiti children are accustomed to being obedient, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid said crisply from behind her. ‘Unlike in the West.’
It was an unjust accusation, and hot words of rebuttal trembled on her lips, to be swallowed when she reflected that any ill-feeling between Raschid and herself was bound to spoil the enjoyment of the others. Heroically she merely gave him a polite little smile, and pushed back her chair intending to follow Nadia.
The first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, glinting on the large oval brass dish on a small table, and Felicia, her attention momentarily diverted, felt the blood freeze in her veins. In the dish lay half a dozen envelopes; the top one an airmail letter, very obviously addressed in Faisal’s hand and bearing Raschid’s name.
Her hand crept to her throat, she longed to reach out and pluck the letter away before it could ruin her last precious memories, but Nadia was urging her through the door and she had perforce to follow.
The morning air rang with the bustle of their departure, the strident cries of the falcons drawing Felicia’s attention.
Until Nadia had mentioned it she had not realised that Raschid trained the falcons himself when he could spare the time. Even hooded, their cruel beaks and curving talons made her shudder, striking a chill right through her; the birds’ scarlet jesses were blood-coloured in the early morning sun.
The bird nearest to her let out a shrill cry and flapped its wings. The servant holding it grinned.
‘Very good falcon, this one. He is named Sahud.’
Felicia raised her hand to touch the bird’s tawny feathers, and instantly her fingers were seized in a crushing grip. ‘Don’t touch him!’
Both Zahra and Nadia looked round to see whom Raschid was addressing with such controlled fury, and Felicia’s face burned beneath the open amusement of the saggar holding the falcon.
‘Those birds cost upwards of two thousand pounds apiece, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid said crushingly. ‘They are trained to attack and maim anything that moves—and that includes those pretty fingers you were fluttering about in front of him.’
There was a large lump in her throat. She wanted to make a furious retort, to tell him that she thought the saggar had been inviting her to stroke the bird, but pride prevented her.
‘No harm has been done, Raschid,’ Nadia said soothingly, coming to Felicia’s rescue. ‘Honestly, you treat those birds like children!’
‘Because like children they have to be trained to obey, and rewarded when they do so.’
A servant was handing him a leather glove, heavily embroidered with silver and gold threads, the leather as soft and supple as silk. Raschid pulled it on, smoothing it over his hand before transferring the bird from the saggar’s wrist to his own.
Felicia watched as he proffered it a piece of raw meat. It took it, ripping the flesh with its talons and beak. Slightly nauseated, she turned away.
Nodding to the saggar, Raschid handed the bird back to him.
‘This is life, Miss Gordon,’ he told her drily, proving that he had observed her reaction. ‘In the desert one has to fight to survive.’
‘And kill?’ she whispered, trying not to look at the bright splash of blood on the cobbles.
‘When necessary,’ Raschid agreed coolly. ‘Perhaps you would prefer to remain behind and keep my sister company?’
And miss the opportunity of those last remaining hours of his company? She shook her head, and their eyes clashed.
‘Very well, on your own head be it. I warn you now, though, there will
