Call of the Trumpet (23 page)

Cecile’s stomach plummeted. Her head throbbed with growing intensity, and the room spun. What was going on? What were they talking about? Didn’t they know she was promised to El Faris?

Or hadn’t he told Haddal yet? Cecile remembered the urgency in his voice when he had said they must be married immediately. Did he also mean secretly, so the shaikh could not prevent it? What should she do? What should she say?

“Cover yourself,” Haddal said. “Shaikh Rashid accepts you. Now return to your tent and ready yourself for the morrow.”

Cecile could not scramble from their presence fast enough. Her head pounded, and dizziness threatened to send her sprawling. “Oh, Hagar,” Cecile moaned, clutching the old woman’s arm. “There is a terrible misunderstanding. We must find El Faris at once!”

“I know, I know,” Hagar fretted. “We must hurry. It grows late. Lean on me.”

Cecile gratefully obeyed. Her heart beat so fast she thought it might burst … if her head did not first explode. She barely noticed the gathering crowd.

Hagar did, however, and panic thickened hotly in her breast. Was it too late already? Had fate denied Al Dhiba and El Faris happiness by only a few precious moments? It could not be true. Allah was Merciful.

But it was true. Hagar spotted the approaching couple in the instant before Cecile saw them. They were still quite a distance away yet, but unlike the girl, Hagar knew who they were. An aching grief she had thought she would never again experience flowed through her aged limbs, and she staggered.

“Hagar! Are you all right?”

“Yes … no, no, I’m not. You must … you must take me back to the tent.”

“But …”

“Now! Hurry!”

Cecile hesitated. A wedding was in progress, she realized, and she longed to see the happy couple. She would be a bride herself soon. She wanted to share the couple’s joy for a moment … before she went to the man who would be her own husband.

Whatever was wrong with Hagar, hadn’t diminished the old woman’s strength. Cecile found herself being yanked in the opposite direction. “Hagar, wait a minute … please!” Irritated, she pulled from the old woman’s grasp, swaying slightly as she did so. Then she turned to catch a glimpse of the approaching pair.

Dizziness had temporarily blurred her vision, and it was a moment before Cecile focused. She blinked, squinted. Her body numbed.

He walked stiffly erect, expression grim yet determined. The white
towb
and silk-lined
zebun
swished against his booted legs. The end of his
khaffiya
fluttered in the night breeze, and his clear blue eyes stared straight ahead.

The little bride hurried along at his side, eyes shining with subdued joy. The one who had reached to touch him. The young and pretty one. She who now walked with him to the
hegra.

Cecile’s heart stopped. Frozen, she stared at the passing couple. As they drew even with her, a cry escaped her lips, and he looked briefly in her direction.

Their eyes met, locked. Hers filled with an expression of disbelief, anguish, and pain beyond endurance. His with hurt, angry accusation, and … and what? Some thing else, something beyond and behind the anger … something Cecile groped for with desperation. Abruptly, Matthew continued on his way.

Hagar’s arm embraced the girl as the couple entered the tent. Together they sank to the ground, Cecile’s head pillowed against the old woman’s breast. Then Hagar rocked her slowly back and forth, keening under her breath in grief-stricken harmony to the rasping, heartbroken sobs.

A
ZA ROUSED SLOWLY AND INDULGED IN A LUXU
rious stretch. Her body ached pleasantly. Blushing, she recalled the way he had touched her, gently at first, yet with increasing urgency. When he had taken her at last it had been almost with violence. She closed her eyes and shyly touched her breasts.

Had he found her desirable? she wondered. It had been over so soon, and when he had done with her, he had turned away and was quickly asleep. Was that how all men behaved on their wedding night? Little as she knew about men and the marriage bed, Aza feared something had been wrong. El Faris was known as a gentle man, and he had certainly seemed so when she had brought him the food.

Yet as time had passed that night, he had grown restless, anxious. Had it been her presence? She doubted it. She had been quiet and attentive and had done nothing to offend. She had merely watched as he had paced, back and forth, from one end of his tent to the other. Then, suddenly, he had stopped, rummaged in a pack, and produced what had looked like a small golden clock attached to a chain. He had studied it, then flung it aside.

She had been frightened then. Thunder rode on his brow. Some kind of deep, dark inner pain had clouded the clear, bright blue of his gaze. He had shaken his head, scrubbed his hand over his eyes, grasped her arms, and pulled her to her feet. He had stared at her, long and deeply.

Had it been some kind of a test? If so, she had evidently passed, for in the next moment, he had said, “I would take a wife, Aza. You are a good, kind, and thoughtful woman. Will you consent to marriage?”

Aza sighed. It was not exactly how she had envisioned her betrothal. Neither, however, had she ever thought it would be the mighty El Faris who would propose. At least, not so swiftly, on the very first day she had put her plan into action. She had no illusions that he loved her … how could he? But he had need. And, thank Allah, she had been there.

It didn’t matter that he did not love her. Nothing mattered but that she belonged to him. Her wildest, most impossible dream had come true. She had loved him for years, since the very first time she had laid eyes upon him, when he had come to Shaikh Haddal with a gift of horses. But he would grow to love her in return, she was certain of it. She would soothe away his troubles, whatever they might be. She would heal the pain she had seen in him, no matter what its cause. They would be happy.

Filled with sudden longing, Aza rolled into the space he had vacated when he had risen at dawn, and inhaled the lingering male scent of him. Then she sat up and replaited her hair. Soon her mother and sister would come to help her wash and prepare her to officially enter her bridegroom’s tent … her home. Aza’s pulse raced, and her fingers flew. She did not want to waste a moment that might be spent in his presence.

Hagar watched Cecile as she poured the tea. She did not like the girl’s strange mood. Tears were better, even the convulsive, hysterical weeping that had overcome her last night. Anything was better than this calm, dry-eyed silence. She carried the cup to the sleeping quilt and set it at Cecile’s side. “Come now,” she urged. “Sit up and drink this.”

Cecile did not protest. Minding the pain in her head, she sat up slowly and raised the cup to her lips.

Hagar waited until she had finished. She took the empty cup and said, “There, that’s better. The tea will give you strength. You will speak to me now.”

Cecile gazed at her dully. “There is nothing to say.”

“Oh, but I think there is. What are you going to do when Shaikh Rashid’s servant comes to fetch you to the
hegra?”

“Why, nothing. I will not go with him, for I am not going to marry the shaikh.”

“Oh, no? And how do you think you can prevent this?”

The vacant look briefly left Cecile’s eyes. “By returning to Paris.”

Hagar endeavored to conceal her dismay. “That is all very well. But how are you going to get there?”

“I will find someone to take me to the coast, to Oman.”

“I see. And you are going to find this person, obtain provisions, pack the camels, and leave before tonight?”

“I will go soon enough. A day or two won’t matter.”

“No, not as long as you don’t mind being married to Rashid in the meantime.”

Something flickered to life in Cecile’s gaze. “What do you mean? How can he marry me for only a day or two?”

“Because he is a shaikh. And a shaikh may take a woman even if only for a brief time.”

“But I no longer wish to be a Badawin woman!”

“It does not matter! Don’t you see? As long as you are among us, you are one of us. Haddal will tie and gag you, if that is what it will take to get you to Rashid’s tent. But it will be done, make no mistake!”

Cecile looked away, clammy fingers of fear embracing her heart. She shook her head. “No, no, I …”

“You will listen to me! Dhiba, look at me.” Reluctantly, Cecile returned the old woman’s piercing gaze. “There is only one thing you can do to save yourself. You must go to El Faris. Do you hear me? You must go to him and tell him what happened to you that night. He will understand, and forgive. He will take you and …”

“No! I … I cannot!”

“Why? Because your pride will not allow you? That is a fool’s reason!”

“Perhaps!” Cecile shot back. “Yet I have been a fool all along, haven’t I? I was vain and stupid to think he might love me. Look what it has cost me. I have been humiliated!”

“You have been hurt,” Hagar amended. “And you are lashing out. Just as El Faris was hurt, and likewise wished to inflict pain upon you.”

Cecile looked up tremulously. “What are you saying?”

“That he married Aza to hurt you,” Hagar stated firmly. “And to salve his wounded pride. He waited for you, remember? He waited, and you did not come. What was he to think? He thought you had rejected him, so he struck out at you. I think this proves he loves you very much. And he wanted a wife, Dhiba. I think he has wanted this for a long time. He wanted a wife, and he wanted you. But you were not there.”

Cecile buried her face in her hands. No! She would not believe he loved her. She couldn’t. Hope had entered her heart once, she had finally loved and trusted someone besides Jali and her father, and look what it had brought her. Anguish almost beyond endurance. She had trusted, and she had been betrayed. It was an old and familiar story. But it would never be told again.

“No,” Cecile murmured at last. “I will not … cannot go to him.”

“Very well. Then you will take the consequences and marry Rashid.” Hagar pushed to her feet and marched stiffly from the tent. She wanted Al Dhiba to have time to think on what she had said. It was now time to carry out the second part of her plan.

Hagar stationed herself near the bridegroom’s tent. She did not like what she had to do, but it was all that was left. If it did not work, well, she would have to surrender to fate’s designs. But she had to at least try.

The sun was hot and the air still. The temperature crept upward, and flies buzzed annoyingly. But Hagar did not move. Soon the bride must come this way to formally be accepted into her husband’s tent.

A rising of dust on the still air alerted her. They approached. Good. She was anxious to get it over with. Steeling herself, Hagar stepped forward and halted the small band of women.

“I most humbly apologize,” Hagar said, “for intruding upon this, the most important day of your life. But, as you must guess, the matter is urgent.”

At Aza’s nod, her mother and sister reluctantly drew aside. Hagar watched their stern faces until they turned away, then pinned her bright, piercing gaze on the girl. She was a kind, generous, and loving child, Hagar knew. If she told Aza the whole story, perhaps …

No, the truth was for Al Dhiba and El Faris only, to discover in time for themselves. She could only do her part to ensure that they were not driven irrevocably apart in the meantime. Taking a deep breath, she began.