Читать книгу The Widow And The Sheikh - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 9

Chapter Two

The spectacular beauty of the desert sunset never failed to take her breath away. Julia watched, fascinated, as the vivid orange and gold-streaked sky gave way to a pale, soft night-blue, as if the sun, on its rapid descent to the horizon, dragged a stage backdrop behind it. The sparse puffy clouds segued from dark grey to pewter then white as the sky darkened to indigo and the stars made their appearance, a blanket of silvery jewels hung so low in the sky that she felt she could almost touch them. The moon was butter-yellow. The desert landscape was dark and moody, the dunes clearly outlined, softly rolling, sharply falling. The air changed, from dry and dusty to soft and salty. She breathed it in, lifting her face to the sky where the biggest stars were now surrounded by pinpoints of light, relishing the soft breeze which made the palm trees around the oasis quiver.

She saw the hawk first, the bird of prey she had learnt from Hanif to be an essential companion for any desert traveller. It dropped out of the sky, seemingly from nowhere, to perch on the wooden camel saddle. A moment later, Azhar emerged from the gathering gloom, his sleek Saluki hound prancing at his heels. She was struck anew by the air of authority that she’d noted when she’d first spotted him on the camel. It was more than simply being perfectly at ease in his surroundings, but it was not quite arrogance. She could quite easily find him intimidating. She could also, all too easily, find him rather devastatingly attractive.

Devastating? Was that the right word? She wasn’t sure there was a word for it, that ability of his to be both captivating and challenging at the same time. No, not challenging, perhaps imperious was a more appropriate description. Someone capable of being irresistible but not susceptible in return. Inviolate? But now she was being fanciful in the extreme. Though Azhar really did have a face that would stop any woman in her tracks. Julia longed to draw those sharp planes, the sensual curve of his mouth. Yes, it was the mouth, even more than the hard, graceful body, that made one think of searing kisses. Or it would, if one had any idea what searing kisses were. She had no doubt that Azhar knew. Odd, that she could be so certain the experience would be exquisitely pleasurable, when exquisite pleasure was as unfamiliar a concept to her as searing kisses. Indeed, she herself was getting rather hot under the collar, looking at him and thinking such unaccustomed thoughts.

It must be the desert, the sweltering heat and the savage beauty of it wielding its exotic magic. Watching Azhar as he collected various items from the mule packs, Julia felt they could be the only people here on earth under this vast canopy of stars, so far away from Cornwall, so different from the life she had known in every possible way. She could be anyone or no one. She could think wild, strange thoughts, she could even choose to act on them, and no one would ever know.

Not that she would dare. She’d felt this way once before, she remembered, in South America. Daniel had been shocked to the core when she’d kissed him passionately, had been appalled at the idea of making love under the stars, even though they were married and quite alone. As Azhar approached, the memory made her blush with mortification, eradicating any traces of her other, fanciful thoughts.

‘So you have decided to join me after all,’ he said.

Julia forced a bright smile. ‘If there is enough food to share, then yes please.’

‘Can you light a fire? The food I have foraged won’t cook itself.’

Her smile slipped. It was true, she should have been tending to practical matters instead of daydreaming, but she would rather not have that fact pointed out. ‘I can light a fire,’ Julia said tightly. ‘I can skin that rabbit you have there, and I can even cook it. Give me it.’

The request unintentionally sounded more like a demand. Azhar’s expression became haughty. How did he do that? A raising of the brows. A flinty glint in his eyes. The way his mouth set. ‘It is not a rabbit, it’s a hare.’

And, yes, once more he was correct. ‘If it is, it’s a very small hare,’ Julia declared. ‘In England they are twice that size.’

He took a dagger from his belt and set about expertly skinning their dinner. ‘We are in Arabia, not England. This hare is a product of its harsh desert environment.’

His hawk, perched motionless on the camel seat, watched with what Julia was convinced was a hopeful look in its beady eyes. ‘You know, I am not one of those arrogant people who travel the world in an effort to prove that England is a superior nation to all others, if that is what you are thinking.’

Azhar smiled faintly—very faintly—but it was a smile none the less. Julia considered that progress. ‘I have never been to England,’ he said, ‘which I understand is green and verdant, so I am willing to believe that the hares are bigger than they are here in the desert. Now, will you light the fire, if you please? I would prefer to eat some time before dawn.’

She set the fire quickly, coaxing it to life with what she hoped was a satisfying display of expertise, conscious all the time of Azhar’s eyes on her. It was most unsettling. ‘There, you see I am quite capable.’

‘Indeed.’ The hare lay neatly jointed in the cooking pot. The hawk and the hound were picking delicately through their share of the trimmings. From the folds of his tunic, he produced a handful of fragrant wild herbs. Pouring water over the hare to make a simple stew, he set the pot on the fire.

‘You know, it is not my fault that the men I hired proved to be scoundrels,’ Julia said, for his ‘indeed’ had rankled. Was it her fault? she wondered. Would Daniel have chosen better, more reliable guides? Certainly, if he was here he would not hesitate to make such a claim. No, what Daniel would do, was find a way to make it her fault. She recalled now, that he had blamed her for the loss of their barge. She had distracted him at a vital moment, he had said as they lay sodden, shivering, on the muddy bank of the river. Simply relieved to be alive, Julia hadn’t argued with him at the time, and later—oh, later, she had done as she always did, and tried to banish the memory. She’d thought she had succeeded, too. Odd, how so many of these incidents had popped into her head lately. Which reminded her of something else.

‘Azhar, may I ask you a question which has been baffling me? Why do you think Hanif waited so long to rob me?’

What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been travelling in the desert for over a month. Why wait until now, when they could just as easily have drugged me on the first night, or within the first week.’

‘A month!’ Azhar’s eyes flashed fury. ‘That suggests that they deliberately waited until you had crossed over the border from Petrisa.’

‘Why would they do that?’

His mouth thinned. ‘The only reason I can think of is that they considered it safer to act here. Which would imply that the enforcement of law and order is much more lax in Qaryma,’ he said grimly. ‘If that is true, then things have changed radically.’

‘Changed? It has been some time since you have been here, then?’

‘Ten years,’ Azhar said. ‘I have not been home for ten years.’

* * *

‘Home? Qaryma is your home?’

Julia Trevelyan was looking at him inquisitively. Azhar cursed inwardly. He had no idea how the word had slipped out. He had houses, but he had no home. ‘Was, not is,’ he said. ‘Explain to me if you will, what is it that has occupied you for so many weeks here in the desert?’

The words sounded more like a command than a request, but they had the required effect. Though she hesitated for a moment, Julia accepted the deliberate change of subject. ‘Specimens,’ she said. ‘I’ve been collecting plant specimens. I’m a botanist.’

He was surprised into a snort of laughter. ‘Plants! You are here to collect plants?’

‘Not so much plants as roots and seeds,’ Julia Trevelyan replied haughtily. ‘And what I mostly collect are drawings and notes, of the plants themselves, their habitat, companion plants, that sort of thing.’

‘You are an artist, Madam Trevelyan?’

‘Julia. If you are Azhar, then I ought to be Julia. I have some draughtsmanship skills.’

‘And your drawings, where are they?’ he asked, though he had guessed the answer.

‘Gone,’ she confirmed. ‘Along with my paints and my notebooks and all my specimens. They were in a special trunk. It had lots of little drawers, and—and trays and—and the like.’

She was frowning heavily, clutching her fingers tightly together. Her determination not to cry was much more affecting than the sight of tears. ‘It is this trunk you wished so desperately to recover, even more than your husband’s watch?’ Azhar asked, recalling with regret the harsh dose of reality he had administered earlier.

Julia nodded and forced a shaky smile. ‘As you so emphatically pointed out, they will be long gone. I am hoping—that is I would very much appreciate if, when we arrive in Al-Qaryma, you might help me procure another guide.’ Another smile. ‘With your assistance, I’m sure I’ll find someone more trustworthy than Hanif.’

Now she truly had astonished him. Another woman—even another man—would have been too affected by their recent experience to wish to do anything other than to count their blessings and return to the safety of their home. ‘You cannot wish to remain in the desert after what has happened?’

‘It is my only wish. I have to start again. Please, Azhar,’ she said, gazing at him across the fire, her big green eyes wide, her expression earnest, ‘please say you’ll help me.’

‘What did you intend to do with the specimens you collected? Sell them? As an international trader, I am aware there is a lucrative market for exotic plants, especially in light of the recent fashion for establishing botanical gardens.’

‘Yes, yes, my husband and I have supplied plants to several such gardens with specimens garnered on our trips to South America, though Daniel, ever the purist, refused to sully his scientific research with commercial gain and so would not accept payment for them. I personally would have been more than happy, given our straitened circumstances—but that is beside the point.’

A husband who chose to subject his wife to poverty, whatever his scientific principles seemed a most relevant point to Azhar, but he refrained from saying so. ‘What, then, is the point?’ he asked.

‘A book. My husband’s book. His magnum opus. His life’s work.’ Julia gazed down at her lap, deep in thought for several minutes, before giving her head a little shake, as if to clear it. ‘It is a treatise. A comprehensive illustrated guide to rare and exotic species of the plant kingdom. But it is not yet complete, and it was his dearest wish—his dying wish—his only wish—that I complete it for him.’

Her tone confused him. Brittle. Perhaps she was simply trying not to become upset. ‘A compliment indeed,’ Azhar said, ‘to entrust the completion to you.’

Julia shrugged. ‘My father is a renowned naturalist, a specialist in the flora and fauna of Cornwall. The illustrations for his book on the subject were mine. I first met Daniel when Papa took him on as an assistant. Even before we were betrothed, I worked on specimen drawings for him, and for almost all of the seven years of our married life I have travelled with him, taking notes, drawing and painting. So you see, Daniel did not mean it as a compliment. There is no one more suited.’

Her explanation, the toneless voice in which she spoke, confused him even further. Emotionless, or too filled with emotion? Azhar had no idea. ‘This trip you have made, halfway across the world and all alone, it is then a pilgrimage of sorts?’

‘It is, in the sense that it is a journey I must complete. But only so that I may then start my own journey, free from encumbrance. My husband’s life’s work has perforce been my life’s work, and always will be until I complete this one final marital duty. But I grow weary of doing my duty. There, I have said it now. Finally, I have said it.’

She glared at him, daring him to speak, but Azhar was so taken aback at the change in her, he said nothing.

Julia appeared to take his silence for condemnation. ‘You think I’m callous, don’t you?’ she demanded. ‘You most likely think I’m selfish and unfeeling, but you don’t know the facts.’

She obviously wanted to tell him, however, and Azhar’s curiosity was now well and truly piqued. ‘What is it I don’t know?’

She hesitated only fractionally. He could see the point where she cast caution to the winds, and wondered if she was aware of how her face mirrored her emotions in a most transparent fashion. He suspected not.

‘Daniel made me promise him on his deathbed that I’d complete his masterpiece,’ Julia said. ‘On his deathbed, that was all he could think about—his book. So of course I promised, because how could I refuse a dying man’s last wish?’

What could he reply to such a question? The parallels with his own situation struck Azhar with some force. Was the universe playing a trick on him?

Fortunately, Julia did not seem to expect him to speak. ‘But that still wasn’t enough for Daniel,’ she continued. ‘I had to promise that I’d keep it a secret, even from my father, that he had not completed the treatise himself. I had to promise that I’d come here to Arabia alone to complete the missing chapters. I had to promise that I’d finish all the colour plates, make a fair copy of everything, and have it bound into two editions, folio and quarto. Daniel was most specific about the binding for each. And the named recipients. I had to promise that I’d obtain permission from Mr Joseph Banks, the president of the Royal Society, for a dedication, and I had to promise that I’d petition Mr Banks on Daniel’s behalf to sponsor him for posthumous fellowship.’ She broke off, frowning down at her fingers, which she had been using to count off each promise, and then her brow cleared. ‘Oh, yes, and I had to promise that I’d persuade Mr Banks to grant Daniel membership of the Horticultural Society of London.’

‘Your husband had great confidence in your powers of persuasion,’ Azhar observed.

‘No, Daniel had great confidence in the results of his years of exhaustive research,’ Julia replied. ‘To be fair, his book is an excellent work, and his categorisation is innovative too. It is his legacy to the scientific world, and does deserve to be recognised. I don’t expect to have any trouble persuading Mr Banks to grant his wishes.’

Julia pushed her hair back from her face, adjusting her position to face him more squarely. ‘You know, I always thought that it was a love of science that drove Daniel, wanting his work to be recognised in the rarefied echelons of the scientific and academic communities as one of the definitive reference guides in its field. I respected him for that, but I wonder now if it was fame he actually coveted, his name he wished to be remembered.’

Azhar was forming his own, extremely uncomplimentary opinion of Julia’s dead husband, but he wisely chose not to share it. ‘Does it make any material difference?’ he asked.

Julia pursed her lips, and then smiled. ‘You know, I don’t think it does. Whatever his reasons, my task remains the same.’

‘You have taken on a very heavy burden.’

‘I thought so at first, and indeed there are aspects of it which—but actually, I have found the experience of travel most liberating. I have not been at all lonely you know. In fact I’ve very much enjoyed my own company. And last night’s events aside, I have been quite captivated by the beauty of Arabia. Besides,’ she added, her smile becoming wry, ‘I had no option. One cannot refuse a dying man’s wishes.’

Azhar winced. Her words were so very nearly his exact thoughts on the summons that brought him here. Tomorrow—but he suddenly, desperately did not want to think of tomorrow. Not yet. ‘So it is at your husband’s command that you are here, alone?’

‘You’ll understand now why I found it somewhat ironic when you asked if I had his permission to travel,’ Julia replied. ‘Daniel is dictating my actions from beyond the grave just as effectively as he did before he passed away.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘But not for much longer. I’ll finish his book, I’ll make good on all those promises, and that will be an end of it. My whole life I have been doing another’s bidding, drawing and painting to order. First for my father, then for Daniel. I have earned my right to freedom, and by heavens, I am going to enjoy it.’

Freedom. These last ten years Azhar had believed himself free, but from the moment he’d opened that summons he knew he’d been fooling himself. Freedom required the severing of all ties, all burdens, the honourable discharge of duty, just as Julia said. The last ten years had changed him for ever, shaped him into the man he was now, living the life he wanted to live. It was not the summons itself, with the unwelcome and completely unexpected news it contained, nor was it the command from beyond the grave that drove him here. It was this need for an absolute ending, for true freedom, which had driven him so many miles across the desert sands.

He and Julia sought the same thing. ‘You crave your freedom. It would be churlish of me,’ Azhar said, ‘not to assist you in achieving that most desirable state of affairs.’

She beamed at him. ‘You’ll help me to find a guide, camels—and paints—will I be able to purchase paints?’

So little, she asked of him. She cared not for the dangers she had faced nor those to come, with her goal in sight. He, of all people, could understand that. He was forced to admire her. Her tenacity. Her fortitude. Her determination to make the best of an appalling lot. Not a tear had she shed. She had not theatrically thrown herself on his mercy, nor had she played the damsel in distress, though her situation would have been ample excuse to do so. She did not expect him to save her, she merely wished him to assist with providing her the means to save herself. She really was a most unusual female. ‘I will help you,’ Azhar said. ‘I will take you to Al-Qaryma, and there you will find all you require.’

Her face lit up. ‘Thank you, Azhar. Thank you so much.’

To his surprise, she grabbed his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Her mouth was warm on his skin. His body reacted instantly, sending blood coursing to his groin. Horrified, he snatched his hand away.

‘I’m sorry. I did not mean—I didn’t think—I...’

Her embarrassment fortunately masked his own discomfort. ‘It has been a long and emotional day.’ Azhar stirred the cooking pot. ‘You must be hungry. Let us eat, and then you must rest. We will start for Al-Qaryma at dawn.’

* * *

They ate directly from the cooling cooking pot using their fingers. Julia, by now accustomed to the practice, and remembering to use only her right hand, ate with relish, not at all concerned at the lack of cutlery or the need to share.

Her confession had given her an appetite. She couldn’t believe she had imparted all those intimate thoughts to this complete stranger. She had portrayed herself in a stark and very unflattering light. She was not at all proud of her feelings. She felt enormously guilty for even having them, never mind voicing them. Her resentment must have come over loud and clear, yet Azhar had not condemned her. On the contrary, he had seemed, from the little he had said, to be sympathetic to her stance.

Besides, it had felt good, finally, to articulate a little of what she was feeling. Daniel had reserved all his passion for his book, forcing her to bottle hers up. She had no idea if she was even capable of expressing it, for after that first time, the only time she’d ever dared to initiate any sort of intimacy and had been rejected, she had been careful not to alarm her husband with anything more than a tepid response to his own infrequent overtures. It seemed to satisfy him. Certainly he had never seemed dissatisfied, which was the same thing, wasn’t it?

Recalling the way her stomach had lurched when she had kissed Azhar’s hand, Julia wasn’t so sure. It had felt like some sort of alchemical reaction between her skin and Azhar’s. There had been a connection from his hand to her lips to her belly that set her blood tingling. And all she’d done was kiss his hand!

To her eternal embarrassment and his. What had possessed her? She slanted a look at him as he threw the remnants of their frugal meal towards his Saluki, and there was her explanation. Azhar was simply one of the most stunningly attractive men she had ever encountered.

One of the most intriguing too. He gave very little away. He was a rich trader. He was not married. He’d been away from this kingdom, his home, for ten years. That was the sum total of what she knew of him. The reason for his absence from home was definitely off the list of subjects he’d be willing to discuss however, and the last thing she wished to do was estrange him. Best if she stuck to more neutral topics.

‘Thank you very much,’ Julia said when he turned back to her, wiping his fingers on a large square of white lawn kerchief. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten such a delicious hare.’

She was rewarded with a smile. ‘Not even a fat English one?’

‘Not even an enormous Cornish one,’ Julia said, laughing. She leaned back to gaze up at the night sky. ‘We had a telescope at our—my father’s—home in Marazion Bay, but the stars in the desert sky feel so close one almost doesn’t need one. I have tried to paint it, but it’s impossible to replicate such beauty.’

‘You do not confine your art to botanical specimens, then?’

‘I’ve had little time to paint anything else but—no, not wholly. When all this is over, I can paint what I like. And perhaps also what other people like too, since I’ll have to find some way of earning my living.’

Azhar frowned. ‘Your husband did not make provision for you?’

‘What little we had will be consumed by this trip and the production of his book. Daniel assumed I would return to live with my father.’

‘But you have other ideas?’

‘I love Papa, but I do not intend to substitute one master for another,’ Julia said wryly. ‘I do not mean to imply that he is unkind or uncaring. My father is, as Daniel was, a sort of—oh, a sort of benevolent autocrat. Kind, and caring, but utterly selfish. Papa and Daniel both assumed my time theirs, their wishes mine. It never occurred to either of them that I might have wishes of my own. You see, a benevolent autocrat.’

‘You have a peculiarly apt way of describing things.’

‘But you understand? Your own father...’

‘Is dead.’

Once again, his expression was blank. He hadn’t moved, but she felt as if he had physically detached himself. It was an extremely effective method of closing down a subject, though it sent her curiosity soaring. Julia reminded herself of the need to keep him on her side. Silence stretched and became uncomfortable. She had to think of something to say. Anything.

‘Are you familiar with the botanical gardens in Cairo, Azhar?’

A blank look was her answer.

‘They were first established during Napoleon’s occupation. A Monsieur Delile was the director then, a correspondent of my husband’s. Monsieur Delile wrote the botanical chapters of Travel in Lower and Upper Egypt, you know.’

‘No, I did not.’

‘And you do not care to know,’ she said, deflated. ‘You would rather be alone.’

‘No!’ Not only Julia, but the Saluki hound flinched at this harsh exclamation. Azhar grimaced. ‘Forgive me. This journey has been—I have been—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘Please. Stay a while. Tell me—tell me a little more of your own journey. Did you stop in Cairo on your way to Damascus? It is a city I know well. One of my residences is on the outskirts.’

Julia eyed him warily. She was far more interested in what it was, precisely, about this journey that made him so—so edgy, yes that was it. But already, she knew him well enough not to pursue the subject. ‘You have more than one residence, then? I assume that trade—whatever you trade in—is lucrative?’

‘Silks and spices, mostly. I work hard but yes, it is lucrative. Though I travel a good deal, and have other residences in Damascus and Naples, I spend several months of the year in Egypt. I am well acquainted with Colonel Missett, your Consul-General, though apparently he is shortly to be replaced by a new man, Salt.’

‘I didn’t know that. Do you by any chance mean a Mr Henry Salt? It is such an unusual name, I wonder if it might be the same person.’

Azhar raised his brow. ‘You know him?’

‘A little. I have read his Voyage to Abyssinia, naturally.’

‘Naturally?’

Julia grimaced. ‘Naturally, because Mr Salt is—was—another of my husband’s correspondents.’

‘In fact, I too have read Mr Salt’s account of his voyage to Abyssinia. It is a country with which I trade. I found his insights—interesting.’

‘You mean they were in opposition to your own?’

‘Our experiences of the country were very different.’

‘You mean because your interest in the country is primarily commercial? From what I understand, a large part of Mr Salt’s mission there was to promote trade too. Will you be cultivating his acquaintance in Cairo? Though I believe it is the Pasha who holds the real power there. Are you...?’

Azhar laughed. ‘Yes, I am very well acquainted with him also. In my line of business it pays to be as well connected as possible. Permit me to tell you, madam—Julia—that you are a most singular female.’

‘I don’t know whether that is a compliment or an insult.’

‘A compliment,’ Azhar said, ‘most assuredly, a compliment.’

In the firelight, his eyes seemed like molten gold. She knew she must be imagining the flicker of desire in them, it was the firelight reflected, but for a moment she allowed him to hold her gaze, to imagine what it would be like if he leaned over, closed the distance between them, touched his mouth to hers. Her stomach knotted, making her shiver.

Then reality intervened. Recalling the way he’d snatched his hand away from her earlier, Julia scrabbled to her feet, breaking the spell which could only have been one-sided. ‘It is late, and I am very tired.’

Azhar too got to his feet, with a feline grace she could never hope to emulate. ‘We will set out at dawn.’

‘What about my things—the tent, my clothes...?’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘My mules can carry your personal effects. I will send someone for the remainder.’

Send someone! So he had family in this city they were visiting. Julia added this snippet to the very small list of things she knew of him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For coming to my rescue today. For promising to help me when you have business of your own to attend to, and I’m sure the last thing you wish is to be encumbered with an inconvenient Englishwoman.’

‘Cornish,’ Azhar said softly. ‘Goodnight, Julia.’

‘You have not set up your tent.’

‘Goodnight, Julia,’ he said, firmly this time.

He meant to stand guard. And he wanted to be alone. And he didn’t want her commenting on it either. She was getting rather good at understanding his silent communication method. ‘Goodnight, Azhar.’

* * *

It had been a very long day. Clinging to the camel’s hideously uncomfortable box seat behind Azhar, her bottom quite numb, Julia tried to ignore the increasing queasiness that assailed her as they swayed alarmingly atop the beast. The well-named ship of the desert was making her seasick. She would have given much to have been able to travel on one of the pack mules as had become her custom, but with her few remaining personal possessions to add to their existing burden, it had not been possible.

The initial excitement of sitting so intimately close to Azhar, their bodies perforce pressed together, had quite worn off. She was unbearably hot in her woollen skirt and jacket. The sheet which he had formed into a headdress for her provided much more protection from the sun than her hat, but her head was thumping all the same, her eyes were gritty with sand, and her skin damp with sweat. She had never in her life felt so unattractive.

In stark comparison, Azhar was even more good-looking in the daylight. His skin was burnished bronze, the colour of the sand dunes in the shade. His eyes gleamed, dark gold like the sun. His hair seemed almost blue-black, a sleek glossy cap when he took off his headdress to refold it. She couldn’t see a single drop of perspiration on his brow, while in contrast her hair clung in lank tendrils to her forehead and her nape. It was so unfair, and really quite irritating, the way he seemed quite unaffected by the heat, drinking sparingly from his goatskin flask when they stopped, while she had to fight not to empty hers in one long, greedy gulp.

When the sun was at its zenith they had temporarily broken their journey, but Julia had the distinct impression this was for her benefit only. While she dozed fitfully in the shade, Azhar sat staring out at the desert wastes. The frown creasing his brow, the way his mouth was set, gave an austerity to his features today, making him more intimidating rather than handsome. She had a hundred questions to ask, not least of which was where she would spend the night, but with every mile they covered, he grew more distant and remote.

‘Al-Qaryma.’ Azhar brought the camel to a halt at the top of a sand dune, waking Julia from her I-am-not-going-to-be-sick trance, clicking his tongue to bring his camel to its knees and dismounting with annoyingly fluid ease, before helping her to scrabble awkwardly down.

One look at the view, however, and she forgot all about her nausea. The small city rose dramatically from the verdant green fields surrounding the large oasis, which shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Clusters of buildings hugged the contours, interspersed with the sparkle of fountains, connected by dusty grey ribbons which were the narrow winding roads. And above them all, sitting at the top of the low hill, was a huge palace, the domed roofs glittering white, the towers which fronted it trimmed with emerald and gold. ‘It’s beautiful,’ Julia said, gazing entranced. ‘It’s like a magical city, rising up out of the desert. My goodness, how you must have missed it. If this was my home, I don’t know if I’d be able to tear myself away from it, never mind stay away for ten years.’

Azhar was staring at the view, his frown so deep it brought his brows together. ‘It is undeniably beautiful, but a gilded cage is still a cage,’ he said.

‘What a strange thing to say. Whatever do you mean?’

‘What I mean is that this city is no longer my home. This kingdom no longer forms the limits of my horizon,’ Azhar said. ‘I have no home. I have no people. I have no country. I answer to no one. My heart and my life belong to me alone.’

‘You must lead a very lonely life.’

His smile was fleeting but unmistakably sensual. ‘My determination never to burden myself with a wife does not preclude my enjoying the company of women.’

‘I doubt you’ve enjoyed the company of this particular woman,’ Julia responded tartly, because that smile was making her tingle. ‘I’ve been nothing but an inconvenience.’

He shook his head. ‘You underestimate yourself.’

Was he teasing her? He could not seriously mean he enjoyed her company. His attention had turned back to the view of the city. His expression was almost impossible to read. ‘Azhar, what has brought you back here? You have been away for so very long.’

‘Not long enough. I never believed I would return. You know, the parallels of our situations struck me forcibly last night,’ he said bleakly. ‘In fact, you will be surprised to know that my reasons for this journey are very similar to yours. I too come in order to secure my freedom. I am also here at the behest of a dead man.’

‘What can you mean? What dead man? Azhar...’

But he was already walking towards the camel. ‘No more questions. Now is the time for action. All will become clear in due course.’ He clicked his tongue and the ship of the desert once more dropped obediently to its knees.

Completely at a loss, Julia allowed him to lift her on to the camel. He mounted in front of her, and set the beast back on its feet. Their little caravan headed down into the valley, past the blue pool of the oasis, the vibrant green of the irrigated fields, and Julia, her head spinning with the onslaught of colour and scents, focused on staying upright in the saddle.

Questions jostled for room in her head, but there was no prospect of answers for the moment. On they went, through the winding streets, past piazzas with tinkling fountains, souks closed now for the day, the air still redolent with the cinnamon and mace, cardamom and cumin they had been selling. People were staring. In fact, a lot of people were staring, nudging each other, summoning yet more people. It was unusual for a woman to ride on the same camel as a man—that much Julia knew. Was that all it was? Perhaps their interest was exacerbated by her Western clothing. In all likelihood they had never seen a Western woman before. Yes, that was it. Though it was beginning to look as if the entire city was turning out to look at them as they passed.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable and extremely anxious, Julia was thankful to be able to hide behind her improvised veil. Azhar, she only then noticed, had not covered his face. Risking a glance back, she saw that they were being followed by a growing crowd. The nudges, the murmurings and mutterings were perfectly audible even above the hooves of the mules and camels, but Azhar looked resolutely straight ahead, his gaze unswerving. On they went, and the trail of people behind them turned into a procession, the mutterings and murmurings a sort of wailing—no, not wailing. It was not an unhappy sound. She could not see the women’s faces, but the men were smiling, the children were laughing.

‘Azhar,’ Julia hissed, ‘what is going on?’

Still he remained silent. Still they continued on. In front of their little caravan, the inhabitants of Al-Qaryma threw themselves down on to their knees. Someone had strewn rose petals in their path. Rose petals! Julia could hear singing from the human tide of people behind them. Bells began to peal. This was more, much more than mere hospitality. It was not Julia they were interested in either, but Azhar. Ten years he had been gone, yet all these people had come out of their houses to celebrate his return. Why? Who on earth was he?

She had the first inkling of an answer when he finally brought the camel to a halt at the palace. Two guards, armed with glittering scimitars, dressed in immaculate white, threw the gates wide and fell on to their knees in obeisance. More guards, two long lines of sentries, stood to stiff attention. From the high windows of the palace which looked out over the courtyard, Julia could see faces peering down. Behind them, the people crowded in. As Azhar clicked his usual command and the camel dropped obediently to its knees, the crowd fell silent.

Azhar dismounted. Julia slid down, her body drenched in cold, clammy sweat. ‘Azhar?’ she whispered, but his eyes were fixed on the huge portico, the formal entrance to the palace, where a man was emerging.

Dressed in a gold tunic, his headdress encrusted with precious jewels, the man made his way towards them. He was tall, would once have been considered handsome, but his body was running seriously to fat. Above the short, precisely trimmed beard, his cheeks were florid, his chin jowly. There was an air about him of entitlement, arrogance even, and a hint of petulance about his mouth. He was clearly privileged and in a position of power, and Julia suspected that he used both to his advantage. A man who demanded not only respect but subservience. A fraction of a second too late, late enough for this royal personage to notice, Julia dropped to her knees and bowed her head.

To her astonishment, Azhar remained standing. She watched from beneath her lashes as he approached. The man’s smile was rigid. The barely disguised resentment in his expression made Julia shiver. The packed courtyard crackled with tension. He halted in front of Azhar and uttered one word. Julia’s grasp of Arabic was basic in the extreme. Brother, she thought he had said, but that could not be. They were the antithesis of each other.

The slightest inclination of his head was all Azhar gave, but the royal person eased himself with difficulty to his knees and kissed Azhar’s hand before getting up again, turning to the crowd, uttering the ritual words of welcome, and thanking God for Azhar’s arrival.

Cheers erupted and cries of the traditional words of welcome rung out, over and over. Julia could restrain herself no longer. ‘Azhar!’ The sudden hush made Julia realise she had most likely broken every single protocol, if not committed treason, but it was too late now. ‘Azhar,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Will you please tell me what on earth is going on?’

He turned towards her, and it felt as though every single person in the courtyard was holding their collective breath. ‘Julia. Allow me to present to you my brother, Prince Kamal, Sheikh al-Farid. Kamal, this is Madam Julia Trevelyan. She will be our guest for a few days.’

Automatically, Julia dropped a curtsy, although the man completely ignored her, saying something over her head to Azhar. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, earning herself a shocked intake of breath from the crowd as she interrupted him, but she was beyond caring. ‘If this is your brother then you...’

‘I am Sheikh al-Farid, Crown Prince Azhar of Qaryma,’ Azhar replied with a pronounced sneer. ‘Welcome to my kingdom.’