Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem (17 page)

‘Ramiz?’

‘Well?’

‘You were saying goodbye, weren’t you? I understand. It was perfect while it lasted—our fairytale. I want you to know that.’

He blanched. The words were almost his undoing. A fairytale. That was all it was. Ramiz left the room.

In the main part of the tent he saw the caftan she had embroidered for him. He picked it up. The motif dug like thorns into his heart. He could never wear it. Never. But he folded it carefully and took it with him all the same.

It came to him then, as he strode across the sand to his own tent. He loved her. That was what it was—this craving, this need to be with her. It was because she was part of him.

She was his. He felt it more fiercely than the burning heat of the sun. She was his. He loved her. And soon she would be gone.

Chapter Thirteen

C
ontrary to Ramiz’s expectations, when they arrived at Balyrma there was no sigh of Celia’s relatives. In fact dusk was falling and Celia was beginning to think they would not arrive at all that day when the doors of the harem were flung open and, to her astonishment, not just Aunt Sophia but Cassie stood before her, looking extremely dusty, exhausted and bewildered.

‘Celia? Is that you?’ Cassie was the first to speak, standing transfixed before the exotic-looking creature who bore a distant resemblance to the sister she had come so far to rescue. She hesitated, unaccountably nervous.

‘Cassie!’ Celia flew across the courtyard to embrace her sister. ‘Cassie, I can’t believe it’s really you. Are you well? I can’t tell for all the dust. Cassie, it really is me, I promise.’ Celia kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘And Aunt Sophia. You’ve come all this way, and so quickly. You must be exhausted. Please come in. Fatima, Adila—here are my aunt and my sister. They will want food.’ Celia broke off to issue instructions in Arabic, before ushering Cassie ahead of her to her favourite salon.

‘You have learned the language?’ Cassie said in amazement.

Celia laughed. ‘A little only.’

Cassandra paused at the fountain, trailing her fingers in the water and looking around her at the lemon trees, the tiled pillars, the symmetry of the salons running round the square, one leading into another. So strange, yet Celia looked so at home here. Even the way she walked in her jewelled slippers was different. She seemed to float and ripple.

‘You look like Scheherazade in these clothes,’ she said, regarding her sister with a mixture of envy and awe. ‘So very glamorous. I hardly recognise you.’

Celia made a little twirl. ‘Do you like them? They are so much more suited to the heat here, and such lovely colours.’

‘Celia, are you—can it be that you have
abandoned
your corsets?’ demanded Lady Sophia, looking at her niece’s all too obvious curves, revealed by the clinging fabrics. ‘I do trust you do not leave your rooms in such a toilette?’

Celia laughed. ‘No one wears corsets here, Aunt, it is far too hot.’

‘And your hair—is it the custom to wear it down like that?’

‘Not outside. Then it is covered by a veil.’

‘And you have no stockings. What are these things under your robe? They look remarkably like pantaloons. Do you tell me it is also common to have one’s
undergarments
on display?’

‘Dearest Aunt, they are called
sarwal
pantaloons, and, yes, I am afraid it is quite acceptable. Oh, Cassie, Aunt Sophia—I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you. Please do sit down. Adila will bring you some sherbet. You will like it; it is most refreshing.’

‘Where do we sit?’

‘On the cushions. Like so.’

Celia floated gracefully onto the carpeted floor. Cassie followed suit, but Lady Sophia took a seat with extreme reluctance. ‘Only heathens sit on the floor.’

‘Where is Papa, Aunt?’

‘He has an audience with the Sheikh.’

‘How are the girls? Are they well? Did you get my letters?’

‘Yes, they are all very well and send their love. But, Celia—’ Cassie looked anxiously at her sister ‘—are
you
well?’

‘Do I not look it?’

‘Yes. Very. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look better. You look—older, but more beautiful,’ Cassie said, sounding as confused as she felt. ‘Not in the least like our Celia. I have to confess I am a little intimidated by you.’ Her laugh tinkled like the cold water of the fountain. ‘What do you think, Aunt?’

Lady Sophia pursed her lips. ‘Hmm.’ She took a cautious sip of the sherbet which Adila had handed to her on a silver tray. ‘Do they speak English?’ she asked, nodding at the maidservants.

Celia shook her head.

‘And this place we are in—is this what is known as the harem?’

Again Celia nodded.

‘Where are the other women?’ Cassie asked, looking around her as if she expected a flock of scantily clad females to suddenly appear.

‘Sheikh al-Muhana is not married. He has no wives,’ Celia said with a smile.

Lady Sophia cleared her throat. ‘Celia, I must ask you. Has that man committed any—any improprieties with you? You must know that your sister has been most concerned for your—your… I told her not to worry, of course. I told her you would not—but you must put her mind at rest. Tell us plainly, child, have you—have you been forced to—? In short, Celia, this man has not laid a hand upon you, has he?’

Though she tried desperately to stop it, when she was faced with the frank blue eyes of her sister and the worried grey of her aunt, Celia felt a blush steal over her cheeks. ‘Sheikh al-Muhana has treated me with the utmost respect,’ she replied falteringly. ‘He was conscious from the first that I—that my family—that Papa… He has done nothing to compromise the relationship between our two countries,’ she finished with a tilt of her chin. ‘In fact it was Ramiz—Sheikh al-Muhana—who saved my life when we were attacked by the brigands who killed George.’

Needless to say this statement produced a welter of questions from Cassie. Though Celia tried to gloss over George’s role in events, Aunt Sophia’s sharp nose scented scandal. ‘George Cleveden was reputed to be an excellent shot,’ she said. ‘I cannot understand how he came not to defend himself.’

‘He did not have the opportunity to fire his gun. It was all so sudden.’

‘And it was early morning, you say? How came it that you were not in the tent with him?’

‘I found the tent claustrophobic and chose to sleep outside.’

‘Had you and George quarrelled?’

‘No, Aunt Sophia, nothing of that nature. We had not long been married. We were still…well, getting used to each other.’

‘Hmm.’ Lady Sophia treated Celia to her Sphinx look. ‘You should know that your sister and I came all this way in anticipation of having to support you through the trial of your husband’s death and your subsequent incarceration here. Cassie in particular has been most upset by the idea of your suffering inopportune advances from this Sheikh al-Muhana.’

Celia pressed her sister’s hand. ‘Have you been worried about me, Cassie? Poor thing. There was no need as I have been very well looked after, I promise. I am so sorry to have caused you to fret.’

Cassandra examined the intricate silver
passementerie
braiding on the sleeve of Celia’s caftan. ‘What is it you’re not telling us?’ She lifted her eyes, meeting her sister’s with a puzzled look. ‘It’s true I’ve been worried sick about you, and I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you in one piece, looking so well, but—but that’s just it, Celia, I don’t understand it. What has happened to you?’

Celia pulled her sister into a tight hug. ‘Cassie, nothing bad, I promise.’

Cassandra sniffed. ‘You’ve always told me everything.’

‘Hmm,’ said Lady Sophia once more. ‘Celia, I believe Cassandra would be the better for a wash and change of clothes.’

‘Of course she would.’ Celia clapped her hands to summon the maids. ‘Cassie, go with Fatima and Adila. You will be amazed by the bathing chamber, and they will give you some of my clothes to try if you wish. Then you will see that they are just clothes, and I really am your sister. Go on—you will feel much better.’

Cassandra left. ‘Well,’ Lady Sophia said when they were alone, ‘since it is obviously not George Cleveden who is responsible for that glow you have about you, young woman, I presume it is this sheikh. You will tell me, please, now that your sister’s blushes have been spared, what exactly is going on here.’

Lord Henry Armstrong’s meeting with Ramiz was conducted on much more formal terms, in the splendid surroundings of the throne room. Ramiz, clad in his royal robes of state, sat on the dais, with Akil standing in attendance. To Peregrine’s relief two low stools had been placed in front of the throne, and to these Ramiz graciously waved his visitors.

‘I think we have met before, Your Highness,’ Lord Henry said, sitting cautiously down, having made his bow, ‘though I can’t recall where.’

‘Lisbon, about four years ago,’ Ramiz replied. ‘Until my brother was tragically killed in battle I spent much of my time abroad as my father’s emissary, and my brother’s too.’

‘Thought I recognised you,’ Lord Henry said with satisfaction. ‘Don’t often forget a face, though I’m not quite so good with names. Well, now, tragic business this, but no point in dwelling on it, so we might as well get straight to the point. George Cleveden came here with the objective of agreeing rights of passage through A’Qadiz’s port. I’ve been authorised to conclude those negotiations.’

‘I am sure we can reach terms agreeable to us both, Lord Armstrong,’ Ramiz said smoothly. ‘I know how very important the route is to your East India Company.’

A lesser diplomat would have expressed surprise, but Lord Henry’s experience stood him in excellent stead. Like a good gambler, he knew when he had been trumped. ‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘Three months is a considerable advantage over two years. What is it you seek from us in return?’

‘We will discuss the details tomorrow, but let me just say it pleases me to be able to conclude a pact which I believe will be to the long-term advantage of both our countries. Tonight I am sure you wish to rest after your journey. The desert can be unkind to those unfamiliar with it. And you will obviously wish to see your daughter.’

‘No rush on that. Celia and Cassie will have their heads together, happy to wait until our business is concluded.’

Peregrine frowned. His instructions from the Consul General were clear. The Lady Celia was to be questioned prior to the treaty for any pertinent information. Acutely uncomfortable as he was with the damnable position in which Lord Wincester had placed him, he was even more terrified of disobeying the explicit orders of such an influential man. He tugged on Lord Henry’s sleeve. ‘My Lord, would it not be wise for us to speak to Lady Celia now?’ Peregrine said with a significant look. ‘Find out how she is, what she has been up to, et cetera. She’ll be anxious to tell you all about her adventure, if you get my drift.’

‘Dammit, man, I said it can wait,’ Lord Henry said, frowning.

‘But, My Lord—’ Peregrine persisted awkwardly.

‘I said not now,’
Lord Henry said furiously. He turned towards Ramiz. ‘You will forgive my assistant. He is rather tired,’ he said, drawing Peregrine a censorious look.

Ramiz clapped his hands together and the doors at the far end of the throne room were flung open. ‘Indeed—as I am sure you are too, Lord Armstrong. My servants will escort you to your quarters, and to the men’s
hammam
baths. I will join you later for dinner.’ He nodded his dismissal. ‘Akil, a word, if you please.’ Waiting until Lord Henry and Peregrine were safely out of earshot, Ramiz got to his feet and cast his jewelled headdress onto the throne. ‘Get that idiot assistant on his own. There is something going on and I want to know what it is.’

‘And the treaty?’

‘As we agreed. Lord Armstrong knows his position is not strong. Give a little to massage his ego, and he will not argue with the main points. Are Lady Celia’s sister and aunt with her in the harem?’

Akil nodded. ‘If things go well, Lady Celia can leave tomorrow.’

‘Why do you dislike her so much?’

Akil hesitated. ‘It’s not that I don’t like her. Under different circumstances I would like her very well. But she does not belong here, Ramiz.’

‘You saw how Sheikh Farid took to her. And his wives.’

‘And many other people—my own wife included. The Lady Celia is undoubtedly charming.’

‘But?’

Akil shrugged. ‘You know what I think. Do not let us quarrel over it. It is not just that she doesn’t belong here, Ramiz, her family would no more accept it than your own people. In the eyes of the likes of Lord Armstrong we are heathens. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that he suspects his daughter has been kept in your harem as a concubine,’ he said with a smile.

‘If he thought that he would hardly have been so polite just now,’ Ramiz snapped.

‘He is a statesman first, a father second. He will get the treaty signed to advance the British cause, and then he will worry about his daughter. Mark my words, Ramiz, he says nothing for the moment, but that does not mean he will remain silent. We must hope the Lady Celia has nothing to complain of.’

Ramiz cursed. ‘
You
must rather hope for your own sake that
I
have nothing to complain of. Find out what Finchley-Burke was so cagey about and report back to me before dinner. And bring Yasmina to the palace tomorrow, Celia will wish to say her farewells.’

‘She
is
going, then?’

Ramiz ran his hand through his hair. ‘Would it be so impossible to imagine her staying?’

Akil shook his head and made for the door. ‘You don’t really want me to answer that,’ he said, and left.

For a long time afterwards Ramiz stared absently into space. The problem was not that it was impossible to imagine Celia staying; it was that it was impossible to imagine her leaving. He did not know how it had come about, but she had become indispensable to him. He, Ramiz al-Muhana, Prince of A’Qadiz, did not want to contemplate the rest of his life without her. Now he wondered if he had to. If Sheikh Farid accepted her, why not others? As his consort, with the fulfilment she would bring to his life, would she not more than make up for any potential backlash which failure to marry to one of his neighbours’ daughters would inevitably bring?

After last night he was as certain as a man could be without hearing the words that she loved him. Last night she had made love to him, as he had made love to her. Last night had not been about the pleasures of the flesh—it had been something more fundamental, almost religious. The worship of a lover by a lover. The desire to create one being from two separate halves. The need to celebrate that union with the planting of a seed. How much he had derided that idea until now. He wanted Celia by his side. He wanted her to be his and only his. He wanted children—not as the means of cementing the succession, but as the fruit of their love.