a simple roll of quite modern looking paper. Tied with raffia, there was a message tucked into its bow. Pulling it out, she read, ‘I wanted to give you the jewellery, but I know you’ll like this best. R.’
Still frowning, Casey glanced up to see the expectant faces of the women gathered around her. ‘I’ve no idea what this can be,’ she confided as she carefully brought out the scroll.
‘Why don’t you open it and find out?’ one of them prompted as they all exchanged excited glances.
‘You know, don’t you?’ Casey challenged them, starting to laugh. The young woman who had spoken out was the schoolteacher. She unrolled the sheet of paper carefully to find the children had drawn and painted a picture of Raffa and herself, hand in hand. ‘When did they do this?’
‘The same day you visited them,’ the teacher told her, hiding her smiles behind her hand. ‘It was the one picture they could all agree on.’
‘They knew? They knew before I did?’ Casey scratched her head in a most un-queenly manner.
‘Children know far more than we give them credit for,’ the young woman told her, already reaching for the fabulous jewels Raffa had sent as a wedding gift. ‘As you will find out…’
She was dressed in a robe of crimson silk, with silver coins decorating the chiffon veil covering her hair. More silver twinkled at her ankles and on her wrist, and round her neck the rich blue sapphires competed with the azure of her eyes. She was taken to Raffa’s black camelhair tent on a freshly shampooed and muzzled camel, sitting on a houdach, a specially adapted and ultra-comfortable saddle. She found Raffa waiting for her at the entrance. Dressed in a simple black robe, his head uncovered and his earring glinting in the late- afternoon sun, he might have been any A’Qabani waiting for his bride—apart from the very wicked expression in his eyes. That was how he liked it and how she liked it too—no pomp and ceremony, just Raffa, the man, and the woman he loved. Theirs was a marriage of equals, Raffa had told her, his slumberous eyes turning solemn for once.
He helped her dismount, carefully arranging the folds of her robe and her veil, while the crowd stood hushed and tense around them. The touch of his hand was electrifying. She’d missed him. She’d missed his strength, his humour, his fast mind and his sex. However shallow that made her, she’d missed that most of all, Casey realised wryly as Raffa led her by the hand towards the elders of the village who were to perform the age old rites.
‘Sheikha.’
‘Sheikha Casey?’ Casey whispered with concern to Raffa, as the old man began to intone the words of the marriage ceremony. Had Raffa forgotten something? She began to worry when he didn’t respond. What she hadn’t realised was that he would address the crowd before the ceremony was over…
Casey had heard love expressed in words before, and she was addicted to love poetry, but to hear Raffa speak of her as his gift, his atija, a gift that had come to him unexpectedly and that he wanted to share with his people, was more than she had ever expected to hear from him.
‘Sheikha Atija,’ he said, taking Casey’s right hand in his when his oration had ended. ‘If you don’t like the name,’ he whispered close to her ear, ‘you can choose another one.’
‘I love it,’ she assured him—full of delighted surprise. ‘Like the shawl you donated to the auction, it’s what I am— sensible and serviceable.’
‘Keep that last thought in mind,’ Raffa murmured without a flicker of expression on his face to betray the path his thoughts were taking. ‘I’m well overdue a service…’
‘So, are you happy with your new name?’ Raffa asked Casey later, when they were lazing on their enormous marriage bed in a secluded pavilion.
‘I’m very pleased with it.’
‘That’s good.’ Winding a lock of her glossy blonde hair around his finger to bring her close, he explained, ‘As that is the case, honour demands you please me in return.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sure I’ll think of something.’
‘I’m sure you will. Would you like to put my honour to the test?’
‘I intend to do so constantly,’ she assured him.
Dear Reader
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EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD
‘EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD is an extremely poignant love story that runs the gamut of emotions.’
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CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as writer. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation. After chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—writing. The third question asked—What are your hobbies? Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered swimming and tennis. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!
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