Читать книгу Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 12

Chapter Three

‘Do you think the early indications are encouraging?’

Christopher dropped down on to the sand beside Tahira. They were sitting at the base of the rocky outcrop, on the opposite side from the mine entrance. ‘It is too soon to make any judgement as yet, we have only examined a small section of the site so far.’

‘I understand that. It is only that I so desperately want this to be the turquoise mine you have been searching for.’

‘No one could wish that more than I.’ They had not uncovered a shred of evidence of mining activity in ancient times in the course of the night. Could his instincts be wrong? Christopher wondered. No, he would not contemplate that possibility. Instead, he contemplated the woman seated opposite him. While they worked together, her knowledge and enthusiasm had made it easy to become absorbed in seeking evidence of the past, but now, seated within inches of her graceful, sensuous body, her glossy fall of hair, he was once again acutely aware of her allure.

‘It is a beautiful night,’ Tahira said, looking wistfully up at the sky. ‘How I would love to sleep under the stars. To wake in the cool, fresh dawn, to see the desert come alive at the beginning of a new day, to have nothing around me save the sky and the sand.’

‘What’s stopping you?’ he asked, distracted by the image of her newly woken, rumpled from sleep.

‘I cannot risk returning in daylight,’ she answered, and he castigated himself for his thoughtless question, when he saw her sad little smile. ‘Though to be honest,’ she added, ‘if I were caught, I can’t see how the punishment could be any worse than the fate they have already planned for me.’

‘Fate? What fate? What do you mean, punishment? Tahira, do they suspect—?’

‘Nothing,’ she interrupted hastily. ‘I only meant...’ She looked away, shielding her eyes with her lids, and gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘My brother’s wife had one of her little talks with me earlier. They have become a tediously regular thing, and she put me quite out of temper for her words were obviously his, but he does not deign to speak to me himself. I have always known that my freedom would come to an end eventually, now I know it will be sooner, rather than later. This could well be my last opportunity to explore our ancient heritage. I hope for my sake as well as yours that it proves fruitful.’

Her smile was forced, her voice forlorn. Christopher covered her hand with both of his. ‘Why so? If no one knows that you escape...’

‘I cannot escape marriage, and that is my fate. One I have been raised to, after all, and so one I should be able to accept with good grace.’

He should not have been surprised. What was more surprising was that such a beautiful woman was not already married. Christopher dropped her hand. ‘You are betrothed?’

Tahira shook her head. ‘I was. Have been. Twice. And both times, it has come to nothing.’ Another sigh, and a little shrug. ‘What I deem to be two fortunate escapes, my sister-in-law tells me have placed a shameful stain upon my character. A stain so obvious that I am surprised you have not commented on it.’

‘Good Lord,’ Christopher exclaimed, resorting to English. His travels had taught him to be wary of criticising the customs of the many kingdoms he had traversed, but his own recently discovered history meant this was one thing guaranteed to make him reach instinctively for his scimitar. He did so now. ‘Are they forcing you to marry against your will?’

‘No!’ She covered the hand resting on his sword hilt with her own. ‘No, it is not like that.’

‘You do not have to do as they bid you, Tahira.’

She sighed, shaking her head. ‘If I do not do as they wish, it is not only I who would suffer the consequences, but my sisters. The reason my sister-in-law’s little chat has put me so out of sorts is that I can’t dispute the facts, much as I’d like to. It is my duty to marry, my brother’s duty to provide me with a suitable husband.’

‘Your brother! I thought you said your father was still alive.’

‘He is, but he is very frail. It is my brother who reigns, in all but name.’

‘Holds the reins, you mean?’

‘Oh! Yes, that’s what I meant, of course.’

The situation could not but revolt him, could not but remind him of another young woman destined to play the dynastic pawn, powerless to resist the will of her family, no matter what her own wishes might have been. Had she lived, would she have braced herself, as Tahira was doing, to bend her will to theirs? Or would she have resisted, and by doing so reshaped both their lives?

He would never know, and it was pointless speculating, Christopher told himself sternly. Thirty years ago, it was ancient history now. He should be wary of making comparisons, wary of allowing his judgement to be clouded by doing so. ‘Your brother,’ he said gruffly, ‘he will surely take your wishes into account? If you did not like the man...’

‘My brother would probably mark that a point in his favour,’ Tahira interjected bitterly.

‘You can’t mean that!’

‘Do you have any brothers, Christopher?’

I have five daughters, sir. That hated voice. ‘No,’ he said, ‘no brothers.’

‘You are fortunate. My brother is two years younger than me, but he has always demanded deference from everyone, and when he does not receive it, he is adept at finding ways to punish any miscreants. When I was little, it took the form of childish vindictiveness. Spoiling my games with my sisters, breaking our playthings, pinching, kicking, biting. It is no wonder that my sisters and I despise him. But now that he is in charge of our household, he can happily play the despot, pay us back for all those years when we would not love him, or pay homage to him.’

‘You exaggerate, surely? A grown man would not act so pettily.’

‘My brother’s actions are—they cannot be questioned,’ Tahira said, her lip curling. ‘Now he has decided that I am a bad influence on my sisters, he is determined to separate us.’ She blinked furiously. ‘That is why I find it so hard to reconcile myself to doing my duty. I have another duty, to the dead. I promised Mama, you see, that I would look after my sisters.’

‘You clearly love them very much.’

‘Yes.’ She clasped her arms tightly around herself. ‘More than anything. When Mama died, I was ten years old, four years older than my next sister. I have kept my promise to look after them all these years. The youngest two don’t know another mother.’ She bit her lip, clearly making a huge effort not to cry. ‘When my brother finds a husband for me I will be forced to break my promise and leave them. My sister-in-law said only tonight that I am making everyone unhappy, that I am being selfish, spoiling my next sister’s chances. She says that they no longer need me. I know she wants nothing more than to have me gone, but I can’t help wondering if some of what she says might be true.’

A single tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it hastily away, and his hand too, when he reached instinctively to comfort her. ‘No, don’t say you feel sorry for me. In my heart I have always known this day would come, but I simply hoped—however, I can no longer hope. You see now why it means so much to me, to explore this site, to help you with your quest?’

What could he say? Certainly not what was on his mind, which was to suggest that she told her brother to go and drown himself in an oasis. So he clutched weakly at a straw. ‘Your brother has not yet found another suitable candidate for your hand?’

‘Not yet, but he is actively seeking one.’ Tahira had control of herself now. She unfolded her arms, pushing her long plait of hair back over her shoulder. ‘My sister-in-law was right about one thing. I have been making everyone’s lives miserable, myself included, but most especially my sisters. I had not quite appreciated—but now I do. I must resign myself to my fate and try to reconcile them to my leaving.’

Christopher clutched at another straw. ‘It won’t be for ever,’ he said. ‘I’m presuming your husband will be a local Nessarah man. You will be allowed to visit your sisters regularly, I’m sure.’

She flinched, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Gazing down at her hands once more, her brows drew together in a frown. What was she thinking? The frown cleared. When she looked up, her smile was forced. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to share it with him. ‘There,’ Tahira said, ‘now you know my all-too-common fate, let us talk no more of it. You are fortunate, being free to go wherever you choose, whenever you choose. Unlike me, you are in charge of your own destiny.’

‘Not yet, but I will be.’ It was no good, he couldn’t let it go, no matter how much she wanted him to. ‘Your situation, however, is intolerable.’

‘No. In many ways I am very fortunate. There are many women who would give a great deal to be in my shoes. I should remember that.’

‘But...’

‘I must accept the inevitable because there is nothing I can do to change it. I am trying very hard to do so, Christopher, please don’t make it even harder for me.’

He swore under his breath. ‘I’m sorry. We are from very different worlds, but it seems there are some things—I was informed recently that I was fortunate to be born a man. Though it goes against the grain with me to accept any words spoken by that particular man, it seems he was in this instance right. Is there truly nothing you can do?’

‘Only what I have already decided, which is to make the most of my time, helping you here. Unless you can spirit me away on a flying carpet, of course.’

This time, he accepted her change of subject. Further discussion was futile. ‘I’ll check if there is a magic carpet stall at the bazaar,’ Christopher replied. ‘Where would you like to fly to if there is?’

* * *

Relieved, Tahira smiled. ‘Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere which doesn’t exist, or a place that is hidden by the mists of time, visible only to me. A ruined city, or even better, my own little oasis, a place where I can pitch a tent and keep goats and grow fruit.’

Christopher laughed. ‘You wish for the life of a peasant. Why not wish for a sumptuous palace, a posse of servants to gratify your every whim?’

‘The very last thing I’d want,’ Tahira replied with an inward shudder. He did not understand. How could he, when he had no idea of her true station? Was it wrong of her to keep him in the dark? But if she told him, it would change everything. She would no longer be simply herself. He would look at her and see all the trappings she left behind at the palace—if he looked at her at all, for wasn’t it more likely that he would put an immediate end to their time together? And rightly so, for if they were discovered together, everyone would assume the worst, and even though his nationality might earn him some protection, at the very least he would be thrown into prison.

It was wrong of her. While Christopher could admire the courage of an ordinary female for escaping her home, pursuing her dreams, rebelling against the fate her family planned for her, he would be shocked that a princess of royal blood could behave so indecorously. Her breeding, her position, would form an impenetrable wall between them.

Yet the chances of them being caught together were so very slim. And even if they were discovered, she had never been seen in public without her cloak and veil. No one would recognise her. No, it was too unlikely to worry about. If she were to be caught at all, it would be entering or leaving the palace, and since that had not happened yet, despite a few close shaves—she was worrying over nothing.

Besides, she desperately wanted to help Christopher to solve the mystery of the amulet. She wanted time to prove that the ancients had mined turquoise here. The conclusion of his quest would bring their time together to a natural end soon enough. Surely it wasn’t too much to expect, to make the most of however many days or weeks it turned out to be? Too much to expect, yes, but surely not too much to ask. She needed to store up memories to sustain her for the rest of her life.

A quirked eyebrow told Tahira that she’d been silent for too long. ‘I was dreaming of my life as a goatherd.’

‘You don’t mean it, do you? That’s what you’d have, if you could have any wish?’

‘No, I am not so silly as to think I could really survive in such a way.’

‘What would you wish for then?’

‘Right now? Oh, silly things. I’d like to take a swim in an oasis. Race a horse across the desert. Climb to the top of a huge sand dune and slide down it. Awake in the desert dawn. But I’ve already mentioned that one.’

‘But these are things anyone could do.’

‘I can’t,’ Tahira said simply. ‘I am not free to spend the night in the desert. Even if I could find an oasis big enough to swim in, I would not dare do so for fear of drowning alone. I have no horse, and as for the dune—I can imagine the feeling, but the practicalities elude me—how does one slide down sand? You see, they are modest dreams, but no more achievable for me than flying on a magic carpet.’

‘And that is it, the sum total of your desires?’

She recalled her earlier thoughts. Dare she? He was so close, she could feel the heat from his body. He smelled of warm skin, lemon soap, something else distinctively masculine. Her heart was pounding. What if he refused? But if she did not ask...

‘I wish that you would kiss me, Christopher.’

He inhaled sharply. ‘Tahira...’

‘That was unfair of me. Ignore me.’

‘Tahira, you are impossible to ignore.’ He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. ‘Your wish is my command.’

* * *

He kissed her. He could not resist kissing her. She did not taste of ripe peaches. She tasted of spices and of heat, exotic and sultry, exactly as she looked, and she set him on fire. Christopher struggled to keep the kiss gentle, struggled not to crush her delectable body to him. He flattened his palm over the sweep of her spine, the swathe of her hair silky against his calloused skin.

She sighed, the sweetest sound, and nestled closer to him. She was all sensuous curves, scented with jasmine. He licked his way along her bottom lip, then kissed her again as her mouth opened in response. Her fingers curled into his hair. Her breasts brushed against his chest. She angled her mouth, and she kissed him back, and he felt his groin tighten, felt the blood rush, and Tahira let out that soft sigh again, an invitation to pleasure he could not refuse. He kissed her again, his mouth shaping hers, but only for moments before she responded and he pulled her tight against him into a kiss he could easily have drowned in.

Which realisation made him tear himself away. She stared at him wide-eyed, lips parted in an innocently seductive smile that made him want to pull her back into his arms again for more. ‘Tahira...’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘I beg you do not apologise. I wanted you to do that.’

‘The desire,’ Christopher replied with a short laugh, ‘was entirely mutual.’

‘Really? Though that was my first kiss, I could tell it was not yours.’

Her words were an apt reminder—not that he needed one. ‘Which is precisely why I should not have kissed you.’ He could do nothing about his tainted heritage, but he had no intentions of allowing history to repeat itself. He was no seducer, nor ever would be! ‘Your innocence is entirely safe with me, I promise you. To take such a liberty, I of all people—’ He broke off, shaking his head to dispel the memory her words had unwittingly stirred.

‘But you did not. My instincts told me last night that you are an honourable man.’

‘It is not simply a matter of honour, Tahira.’

‘It was just a kiss,’ she said, clearly perplexed by his vehemence. ‘I don’t understand why—oh!’ She covered her mouth, looking horrified. ‘Do you mean that you have taken such a liberty in the past?’

‘No! Absolutely not. I do not refer to myself.’

‘Then who...?’

‘It doesn’t matter. You are right. It was just a kiss.’

Just a kiss. He took her hand. Her fingers were long and slim, her nails patterned with henna. His bloodline did not define him. He was nothing like that man, nor ever would be. ‘Just a kiss,’ he repeated, ‘but a very delightful one.’

She was blushing charmingly. ‘Do you mean that? You forget, I have no experience and am therefore in no position to judge.’

‘I don’t forget, Tahira.’ He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand. ‘Your innocence is something I would never forget, never take advantage of, I swear.’

‘If I was betrothed, you would not have kissed me, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So I may assume you are also free?’

‘I am neither betrothed nor indeed married, if that is what you are asking. In fact, I doubt the woman exists, who would tolerate my investing every penny I earn in excavating holes in the ground. Nor would any, I am certain, endure the travails of traipsing around Egypt, living in caves and tents while I spend most of my waking hours digging up bones.’

‘It sounds to me like paradise,’ Tahira said whimsically. ‘I wish I could live such a life.’

‘Be careful what you wish for. The reality is hot, exhausting, uncomfortable, often tedious, extremely hard work for little reward.’

‘What you mean is that I’m completely unfit for such a life.’ Her smile wobbled. ‘I do understand the difference between dreams and reality, Christopher. And my reality—at least I can be reasonably sure that I’m fit for purpose as a wife. It’s what I was raised to be, after all.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to patronise you.’ Or hurt her, which he clearly had.

But Tahira shrugged. ‘You spoke the truth. We are, as you have pointed out, from very different worlds.’

‘Yet here we are, together.’

She smiled at that. ‘A hiatus from reality.’

‘Sadly,’ Christopher said, looking up at the sky, ‘one which must draw to a close for tonight. Isn’t it high time you left, if you are to be back before dawn?’

‘Yes.’

Turning away, Tahira stumbled. As he caught her, peering down at the sand to see what had tripped her up, Christopher saw not a rock, not the gnarled root of a shrub, but something gleaming dully. Pulling it free from the sand and dried mud which encased it, he stared at the object in astonishment. ‘It’s a pot.’

His heart began to pound as he rubbed the surface clean. ‘A silver vessel,’ he said, turning it over in his hands to examine the patina and shape. ‘Very old.’

He could see his excitement reflected in her face. ‘I’ve never seen anything—never found anything—Christopher, what do you think it means?’

He shook his head, though he couldn’t suppress his own smile. ‘This is not the kind of item a lowly miner would own.’ His laughter echoed into the desert night. ‘It means we most definitely have more work to do here.’

* * *

Christopher had visited many souks and market places throughout Arabia, but the bazaar in the centre of Nessarah’s main city, which he decided to visit the next morning, not to buy a flying carpet but for a far more serious purpose, took his breath away. The building itself was unremarkable, white painted with narrow slits for windows which were cut seemingly at random into the fortress-like walls. The geometric octagonal shape of the structure was the only clue that what was contained behind the massive wooden doors which stood open wide to the early morning sunshine was the antithesis of plain.

The entrance led through a narrow passage to a huge central atrium which soared the full height of the building. Light poured down from the apex of the vaulted ceiling, a dome which had been sliced open to the sky. The dome itself was moulded in an elaborate pattern to give the impression of overlapping tiles in gold and turquoise, while the supporting pillars and columns were also brightly patterned in vivid colours of emerald, mustard yellow, cobalt and white. Terracotta tiles paved the ground, a fountain populated by a shoal of tiny fish stood under the open dome, and low divans were scattered invitingly for weary shoppers to rest their feet and pass the time of day.

The bazaar was bustling with women gossiping, men haggling, children playing. Inured to the curiosity his shock of blonde hair and distinctive blue eyes aroused, Christopher made no attempt to disguise his foreignness and instead adopted the air of bland indifference which, while it did nothing to suppress the stares and whispered asides, at least discouraged the curious from approaching him directly.

The arcade of shops ran around the outer walls on two levels, the arched entranceways to each decorated in highly individual styles, the startling variety of goods on sale evidence of Nessarah’s wealth. This kingdom was reputedly the richest in the whole of southern Arabia. It appeared that claim might be justified. Wandering past a spice-seller, Christopher was struck as he always was, not just by the heady aroma, but by the myriad colours, the care the owner had taken with the displays of produce, stringing up dried chillies like jewellery, moulding powdered spices into pyramid shapes ranged in an order that segued from the warm gold of turmeric to the deep, dark red of paprika and the burnt ochre of sumac. The confectionery stall next door housed sweetmeats stacked into complex towers, and next door again, nuts, pulses and grains were laid out in boxes and sacks with a pleasing symmetry. Beaten copper in every form was the province of the next shop in the arcade. Polished platters in every size, precarious stacks of cooking pots, ewers and bowls, trays and moulds, plain and decorated, the choice was infinite. Next door, a glittering display of decorative silver dishes, pierced and chased, urns and vases, mirrors, jewellery boxes and bonbon dishes.

He wandered on, intent on finding the section of the market which had brought him here, yet careful to let none see that he had a purpose other than aimless browsing. Silver gave way to gold. Decorative items gave way to jewellery. Finally, he found it, tucked away, behind a closed screen, the entrance to the area of the bazaar given over to the trade in precious stones. But what to do? A huge mountain of a man dressed in the royal livery of crimson and white stood guard. A massive paw placed on his chest forbade Christopher from proceeding any further. ‘By invitation of Prince Ghutrif only.’

Christopher bowed and backed away, his suspicions confirmed. The diamond trade in Nessarah was indeed tightly controlled by the royal family. It was frustrating, but after all, no less than he had expected. He would simply have to formulate a strategy, for he must match the stones of his amulet against those being mined here. He smiled to himself. As a last resort, he would find a way to confront the man who controlled the trade, Prince Ghutrif himself, though he wasn’t absolutely sure that a previously successful tactic of deliberately getting himself arrested was such a good idea. It had worked well enough in Qaryma, but Prince Azhar was a well-travelled man of the world. The little he had heard of Prince Ghutrif led him to think that that he was unlikely to be received with civility, let alone hospitality.

He would think of something. There was certainly no need to show his hand just yet. With a polite nod of farewell to the watchful guard, Christopher retreated. The tinkling of a fountain drew him to a small courtyard, where mint tea was being served. A pleasant place to gather his thoughts, and to listen to the gossip. One never knew what nugget of valuable information one might overhear, but he had taken only one sip from his glass, when a squad of guardsmen entered. They wore the royal colours. He braced himself for arrest. Despite his low profile, his presence in Nessarah had clearly been detected, and was being investigated. After visiting so many kingdoms in the past six months, he supposed it was inevitable that word had got out. He set down his glass, careful to keep his expression one of mild enquiry.

‘Greetings, Stranger.’

Christopher made a formal bow.

The palace guard in Nessarah were considerably more polite than some others he had encountered. ‘With regret, we must ask you to leave the bazaar with immediate effect.’

Extremely polite!

‘The bazaar is temporarily closed to the public in order to allow a royal shopping trip to take place. You may return in two hours.’

‘I would have thought King Haydar would have any number of people to do his shopping for him,’ Christopher exclaimed in surprise.

The man cast a glance over his shoulder. ‘It is the royal princesses who are gracing the bazaar with their presence. Please,’ he added hastily as another of the coterie approached him, ‘you must go now, quickly.’

He did as he was bid, following the crowds of people making for the central atrium. There were small posses of royal guards everywhere, some standing sentry, others sweeping through the warren of shops and stores, still others issuing urgent instructions to anxious-looking storekeepers. He left the rapidly emptying central atrium and stepped out into the blazing mid-morning sunshine, where most of the people stood, clearly eager for a glimpse of the royal cortège. Fascinated, Christopher stood too, finding a position on the far edge of the crowd.

The royal entourage arrived in a magnificent caravan of camels, flanked by two sentry lines of heavily armed guards on foot. Ten women, female attendants or ladies in waiting, in two rows of five were cloaked and veiled in finest silk. Their camels were also elaborately dressed, with colourful tasselled saddle bags, silver bells tinkling from the reins, braided necklaces and chest bands adorning the beasts themselves. Amidst them, what must be the princesses’ own mounts, pure white thoroughbred camels, which were adorned with pearls and semi-precious stones. Their saddles, unlike the others, were canopied to shield them from the sun.

Five princesses, women or girls, it was difficult to tell, for they were swathed in silk, head to toe and all of their faces, save the slit left for their eyes, leaving absolutely everything to the imagination. King Haydar’s most valuable assets, the kingdom’s most exclusive and reclusive females.

They would be riding in strict order of seniority, Christopher knew. As they approached, the crowds fell to their knees in obeisance and he followed suit. All eyes were lowered. It was disrespectful to look at the princesses, but on the assumption that the princesses were modestly keeping their eyes to the ground too, Christopher risked a glance.

He remembered now, what he had quite forgotten, that a princess of Nessarah was betrothed to Prince Kadar of Murimon. Now he looked more closely, he saw that the one in front was with child. Prince Ghutrif’s wife, he assumed, and so it must be the next one, clad in the colours of the setting sun, who was destined for the kingdom of Murimon. Impossible to determine anything of her, beneath those voluminous layers. He wondered idly whether the prince had been permitted to unwrap his prize before proposing. Most likely the match had been made for dynastic reasons. Bloodlines and power, that was what princes traded in, whether in Arabia or England. The story went that Prinny had agreed to marry Princess Caroline without meeting her. Not exactly the best example of the likely outcome of such random alliances. Though it was most unfair of him to compare the scholarly Prince Kadar with Prinny, it was barbaric, to think that the princess would have no choice in the matter. One reason, at least, to be thankful that the blood flowing through his veins precluded any dynastic match-making.

The royal caravan passed by and Christopher got to his feet with the rest of the crowd, his thoughts turning to Tahira. No dynastic power would be traded, no royal treaties nor alliances would be created by her marriage. Her wedding robes would not be dripping with precious jewels, her dowry most likely consisted of linens and pewter, but in one sense her fate would be the same. She would be married to a man of another’s choosing. She would be passed from her family to his like a—a parcel. Her worth would be measured by the sons she produced. He knew that it was a common enough fate, he knew that there were far worse, but still, it made him furious. He pictured her, separated from her beloved sisters, deprived of the freedom to escape into the desert night, effectively caged like one of the lionesses in the Tower of London, pacing back and forward in the home forced upon her, withering, her spirit broken.

It appalled him, but there was nothing he could do to change her fate. He couldn’t whisk her away on a magic carpet or even a white charger. Appealing as the fantasy might be, the reality was utterly impractical. She had nowhere to run to, no one to take her in, and he certainly had no place for her in his life. So why on earth was he even thinking about it! He recollected that one of Tahira’s dreams was to gallop across the desert on horseback. Such a simple wish. He wished he could indulge her whim.

Stupid thought. He had more than enough on his plate without adding any unnecessary distractions. For a start, he had no access to horses. Though there were thoroughbreds aplenty here in Bedouin country, the Bedouins were not exactly renowned for their generosity with their horseflesh. Quite the contrary, in fact, and entirely irrelevant. His entire focus must be on his quest.

Though it was not, for the moment, all consuming. He had to wait on an opportunity to acquire a sample of the turquoise from the mine once the miners had reached the ore seam. In the meantime, he had to find evidence that the mine was worked fifteen hundred years ago, but he could only search for that at night. He had to match his diamonds against samples from other mines in Nessarah. That was a trickier problem, regarding a deal of thought, now he knew the set up in the bazaar. But as to diamond and gold mines in Nessarah contemporary to the amulet—now there he was fortunate, for Tahira seemed pretty sure she’d be able to confirm those. Something which surely merited a favour in return.

He had time on his hands. Why not use it to surprise her, to please her? Cudgelling his brain, trying to recall her other wishes, Christopher smiled softly to himself. A bit of ingenuity, that was all that was required, and some lateral thinking. He prided himself on possessing both. He was already looking forward to the challenge.

* * *

Alone at last in her private quarters at the end of a very long day, Tahira lay on her divan on a mound of cushions, staring out of the latticed window to the little courtyard, watching Sayeed, her pet sand cat at play. He was perched on the edge of the fountain, his long ringed tail swishing furiously as he swiped at the fish. It was one of his favourite games, despite the fact that he was almost entirely unsuccessful, for the fish were tiny, and the sand cat’s abhorrence of water extreme. Temporarily distracted from her dilemma, Tahira sat up, laughing as the spray of water generated by Sayeed’s swiping paw landed on his face, darkening his beautiful pale-gold coat. Hearing the sound of her voice, the cat cast the fountain a contemptuous look and leapt lithely down, padding through the open window, seating himself disdainfully on the cushion beside her.

Tahira tickled his favourite spot on his forehead. Sayeed’s purr was more of a low growl. Vicious claws extended, he began to paw at the cushion, shredding the delicate silk. The fur on his front legs was soaking, making the two distinctive chocolate-coloured rings appear jet-black. ‘When will you ever learn?’ she asked him.

Not deigning to reply, Sayeed began to wash his face with his paws, and Tahira’s mind reverted to that fateful moment this morning, when she had spotted Christopher in the milling crowd. She sat up with a sigh. ‘What am I going to do? Do you think he could possibly have recognised me?’

The sand cat yawned, and returned to his ablutions. ‘You’re right, of course he did not,’ Tahira continued, hugging her knees, ‘I’m just being silly. Besides, what difference do you think it would make if he did? Are you thinking that Christopher would exploit the situation? But all he’s interested in is the turquoise mine, and I’ve already shared the extent of my paltry knowledge with him.’

Sayeed tucked his paws neatly underneath him and stared at her with unblinking yellow eyes. ‘You cannot be imagining blackmail, surely? Christopher is not about to stride into the royal palace to inform my father that I have been breaking free from the confines of the harem, is he?’ Tahira shuddered. In fact, she knew Christopher was more than bold and self-assured enough to demand an audience with her father. But blackmail? She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, Sayeed, he is not that sort of man. You may take my word for that. It is true, his clothes are threadbare, but he has not the demeanour of a poor man, merely a man who does not care for worldly goods. You are quite mistaken on that score.’

But Sayeed was evidently bored with the topic, and had gone to sleep. Tahira, however, could not rest. She was not the only one with secrets. Christopher was an enigma. This quest of his, to rid himself of a family heirloom, to sever all connections with his past, was a paradox. A noble deed which he insisted was ignoble. She knew how painful it was to lose a mother, yet Christopher had devoted six months of his life in an attempt to lose his dead mother’s legacy. Such dark emotions possessed him when he looked at the amulet, when he spoke of the past. Hatred? Surely not for his mother. And there was pain too. She longed to know the full story behind the heirloom, though she doubted very much she would be brave enough to ask, and she was pretty certain Christopher would never reveal it. His pain was buried too deeply.

His honour though, he wore like another skin. In the fables which Tahira read to her sisters, the man who protested too much and too often was the man who had the blackest heart. But Christopher’s promise to protect her innocence, though made several times more than necessary, sprang from deep within himself. I do not refer to myself! She should have known better than to think, let alone suggest, that he did. Christopher was no seducer, but he had known one, and whatever the circumstances, they had affected him deeply. Why?

So many questions likely to remain unanswered, for even if she did dare ask, she did not dare risk being questioned herself in return. Her curiosity must be balanced by caution if she were not to endanger their night-time rendezvous. She so desperately wanted to help Christopher resolve the puzzle of the amulet. And, yes, she rather desperately wanted to spend more time with him too.

Outside, it was dark. She began to change out of her harem clothes, and into her night-time garb. The familiar rustle alerted Sayeed, who yawned and stretched in anticipation of a very different kind of night-time’s occupation. By the time his mistress was ready, he was pacing at the door leading to her courtyard, eager to be out hunting.

Tahira locked the door of her private divan and crept out into the courtyard, the cat at her heels. Somewhere in the desert beyond the towering walls, a hawk screeched. Sayeed growled in response, and Tahira laughed softly, her blood fizzing with excitement as she stealthily made for the entrance of the tunnel.