Call of the Trumpet (38 page)

Head bent, Cecile wandered toward the fringes of the gathering. Matthew saw her go and, with a mumbled apology, detached himself from the group. He caught her as she reached the palms. “Dhiba!”

Cecile whirled, her heart in her throat. “Matthew …”

“Do you mind if I walk with you a way?”

“Of course not.” Matthew fell in step beside her and she flushed, feeling rather than seeing his cool, steady appraisal. “Did you hear about Hagar and Jali?” she asked.

Matthew nodded. “They came and asked my blessing days ago.”

Cecile halted abruptly. “Why didn’t someone tell me? I was so worried!”

Matthew laughed. “Hagar wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, she certainly did.” A trifle hurt, Cecile turned away and resumed walking. “I’m sure you have many good-byes. Please don’t feel you have to accompany me all night.”

“I don’t. Besides, I’ll see everyone again in the spring.”

Silence descended once more, both acutely aware of the implications of Matthew’s innocent remark. “Will you rejoin them then?” Cecile asked, a little too brightly. “Will you cross the desert to Damascus again?”

“No. No, I only make the trek once every three or four years, when I’ve raised a good crop of foals to sell. Besides, as much as I love the desert, I also love my home. I look forward, greatly, to having you see it.”

Again Cecile halted, this time because her legs felt unexpectedly weak. His home … her home now. She looked steadily into Matthew’s eyes.

Matthew returned the forthright gaze. How lovely she was, how strong and spirited, he thought. Thank Allah she was his true wife now, and would remain with him in his home by the sea. The thought of her taking ship for France made him sick merely to contemplate. No, she would stay with him now. And forever.

Slowly, deliberately Cecile plucked the flower from behind her ear. She unwound the
makruna
and removed her veil.

Never had Allah fashioned features so exquisite, Matthew mused, enthralled. Or a body more lush, more perfect. The pouch nestled in his pocket was temporarily forgotten and, even as she let the flower and veil drop, he swept her into his arms and carried her to his tent.

I
N FRONT OF HER,
H
AGAR HAD DOZED OFF, HER
head lolling in time with the camel’s rolling walk. Cecile stared off into the turquoise sea and relived her delicious memories of the previous night.

It seemed he had loved her with more than just passion. Cecile shuddered with pleasure. His desire had been urgent, impatient, demanding. No sooner had he laid her on the blanket than he had rolled on top of her. He had not even bothered with their clothes. There had been something possessive in the act. She had sensed it and responded to it, clinging to him in heights of passion she had never before experienced.

Later, sometime before dawn, they had awakened and he had loved her again. They lingered this time, touching, tasting, exploring. It was as if they lay together for the very first time. Everything was new and wonderful. The sweetness of his lovemaking had brought a mist of tears to her eyes. She had felt like a bride, a true bride, on her wedding night, and it seemed Matthew had felt that way, too. Was this indeed the beginning, the real beginning, of their marriage, their life together … in his home by the sea?

It was almost time, time to confront him about Aza.

A piercing whinny from Al Chah ayah drew Cecile from her reverie. The mare’s ears were pricked forward. Sensing her home was near, no doubt. Cecile hugged her breast and realized she was trembling.

The coastline they followed was ragged, jutting here and there out into the sea, falling back again to join the gently rolling hills. The landscape was wilder. Cecile realized it had been many miles since she had seen a house, a cultivated field or orchard. She saw only twisting tamarisks, an occasional stand of frankincense or grove of stately palms. In between grew all manner of low, shrublike greenery, including the queer, square-limbed
atira
plant, half-tree, half-cactus. And always, to the left, the sea.

A gull cried, soaring above them on an updraft. The road narrowed, then started on an upward grade to the crest of a low, palm-studded hill. Matthew rode at the head of their now small caravan, and Cecile watched as he galloped to the top of the rise.

In the next instant Ahmed followed him, giving a whoop as he applied the stick to his camel’s flanks. Cecile’s heart pounded as Hagar, too, urged their mount forward. But she closed her eyes at the crest of the hill. When she dared at last to open them, she beheld paradise.

The path was steep, forcing them to descend slowly into the long, deep valley. Cecile did not mind the delay. She stared in wonder.

One of the walled gardens extended all the way to the cliff’s edge. The house itself sprawled across the mouth of the valley, its vast perimeter containing small orchards, gardens, and arbored walks. Tall, carefully tended palms shaded every corner and courtyard; drooping, willowlike trees gracefully adorned each pool; and flowering vines crept along the walls. But most beautiful of all, covering the remaining acres of green, green fields, were the grazing herds of horses.

Cecile felt her jaw drop. Her heart thudded, and tears stung at her eyes. She was not certain what she had expected, but it surely was not this. Never in her life had she even imagined such a place could exist.

The road leveled, and straight ahead Cecile saw an arched gate, carved from solid stone. Moments later she passed beneath and found herself in an immense cobbled courtyard. She looked for Matthew but could not find him in the generalized commotion.

Servants dressed in immaculate white appeared to help unload the pack camels. Cecile glimpsed Jali assisting Hagar from her mount, and Ahmed and his wife. Aza, too, had dismounted and was blushing furiously as a white-robed female servant clucked over her and attempted to brush the dust from her
towb.
But where was Matthew?

“Dhiba bint Sada?”

Cecile looked down to see another female servant smiling up at her through a diaphanous veil. “Yes?”

“My name is Zahra,” she answered shyly. “I will look after you. May I help you down?”

Cecile declined and descended unassisted.

“If you’ll follow me, please,” Zahra said, and with another pretty smile gestured toward the house.

The massive doors stood open. Within, Cecile was able to see a huge, marble-floored entry, and beyond that another set of doors, flanked on each side by potted palms. When she followed Zahra inside, she saw there were entrances to the left and right also, wrought-iron gates leading on one side to a fabulously luxuriant garden, on the other to a shaded, grass-lined pool. Cecile ceased to wonder where Matthew had gone. It was all she could do to convince herself she was awake and not dreaming.

One corridor led to another. Doors opened onto rooms of varied description, each more wonderful than the last, and there were gardens and courtyards everywhere. Fountains splashed, and the perfume of flowers hung in the air. It was more than paradise. It was a kingdom of magic.

Zahra paused at last, and Cecile continued on through the door she indicated. Then she halted, hands pressed to her mouth.

The opposite wall consisted of three tall, arched, and open windows, all leading to a lush private garden. The remaining interior walls were painted to resemble an exotic jungle, with lavish creeping vines, brilliant birds, and bright flowers. There was a low, wide bed covered in peacock-blue silk; two elegantly carved chests; a delicate table with two finely wrought chairs; and a scattering of velvet pillows.

Zahra motioned again, and Cecile followed her through another arched opening at one end of the room. She caught her breath.

A turquoise-tiled bathing pool occupied the center of the floor. Crystal perfume bottles and jars of sweet oils lined its edge. A stack of peach-colored linens lay neatly folded by the steps, and the rest of the room was filled, floor to ceiling, with live vegetation: potted tress and bushes and hanging baskets of flowers.

“Would you like to bathe?” Zahra suggested.

Cecile nodded dumbly. She did not even protest when the girl stripped away her clothes. Meekly, she allowed Zahra to lead her to the steps. Then she sank down into the water and closed her eyes. She didn’t notice when Zahra silently withdrew.

Cecile realized she must have dozed. Zahra had apparently come and gone at least twice, for a basket of fresh fruit and a carafe of wine now stood at the edge of the pool. She dunked her head, washed her hair, and climbed from the water, stretching luxuriously as the warm, scented air caressed her skin.

When she had dried herself, and hunger and thirst had been satisfied, Cecile searched for her clothes. But Zahra must have removed them, for they were nowhere to be found. Cecile hurried into the bedroom and pulled open the top drawer of the nearest chest. All her familiar things were there. And more.

Stunned, Cecile opened the drawers one by one. There were silks of every color, some transparent, some woven of golden thread, some silver. There were diaphanous veils to match, head ropes of satin plaited with gold, and satin slippers of every color in the rainbow.

In the end she chose a floating gown of the sheerest topaz silk, with veil and slippers to match. She found a mirror, discarded the gold-braided band she had thought she might wear, and simply brushed her hair out long and full.

“Perfect.”

Cecile whirled.

Matthew stood in a doorway she had not noticed before, shielded as it was by potted palms. He wore a flowing, intricately embroidered robe, and his shining black hair fell loosely to his shoulders. He smiled.

“How … how long have you been there?” Cecile stammered.

“Only a moment. I knocked, but you mustn’t have heard. I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy.” He turned to go.

“Wait!”

Matthew paused, hands on the louvered doors.

“Please don’t go. I …” Cecile stopped as she caught sight of the room beyond the doorway. It was a sleeping chamber, more stark than hers, yet elegant, and clearly masculine. “Is that … is that your room?”

Matthew nodded.

“And where … ?” Cecile cut herself off before the question could burst from her lips. She hated to ask it, but everything was different now. They were no longer on the desert living by Badawin ways. All had changed, and the situation took on even greater urgency. She could not hold her tongue. “Where is Aza’s room?”

Guilt washed over him anew, and a living wave of blood flooded Matthew’s cheeks. Poor, loving, innocent Aza. “She’s … she’s gone to the women’s quarters … in another wing of the house.”

Relief weakened Cecile’s knees for a moment. At least she would not have to face the girl day after day, until she found the perfect moment to confront Matthew.

“And these clothes?” she asked quickly, changing the uncomfortable subject.

“I hope you like them. I had to guess at your size, of course.”

“But how in the world did you … I mean, we just arrived!”

“When we were near enough, I sent a messenger ahead with a description of the things I wanted made for you,” he replied simply.

Cecile was so touched, she instinctively raised a hand to her swelling heart. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said at last, softly. “It was so very thoughtful of you.”

Slightly embarrassed, and nearly overwhelmed by the sight of her in the flowing topaz silk, Matthew gestured toward the door. “I, uh, I’d be pleased to show you the rest of the grounds, if you’d like.”

Cecile nodded, then murmured, “I’d love to see them,” and Matthew exhaled a long, slow breath. Intent upon his relief, he did not notice the sudden, bright shimmer of tears in her eyes.