Call of the Trumpet (39 page)

Down the hall from their adjoining rooms was a library, parchment scrolls as well as books lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves. There was also a European-style desk, looking well used and pleasantly littered. “My office,” Matthew explained. “It contains all my breeding charts and records. Not to mention some reasonably good literature, which I hope you will enjoy, if you like.”

Next to the library was the dining room. A long, low, brilliantly polished table occupied its length, surrounded by multicolored cushions. Braziers stood in all four corners, and beyond wide, shuttered doors Cecile saw another garden.

The four large rooms took up the entire portion of the house. A narrow passage, Matthew explained, connected the dining room with the kitchens and a large portion of the servants’ quarters. Another wing contained the women’s quarters, and still another was designed solely for entertainment. Gardens connected all.

It was beyond imagination. Cecile could scarcely take it all in. More importantly, they had the entire wing to themselves. It was Eden, and they, Adam and Eve. For a time at least, nothing else mattered.

“Would you like to see the stables?” Matthew asked.

Once again, Cecile could only nod.

They were built like the rest of the house, low and sprawling. Cecile feared for the hem of her gown as they entered the double doors but, like everything else, the aisles and stalls were immaculate.

It was like moving through an extended dream. The mares were exquisite. Matthew knew each by name, and each whickered in response to his greeting. When a particular horse caught her fancy, he entered the stall, haltered the animal, and paraded it for her inspection.

Neither noticed the sun sinking low on the horizon. Only when they reached the opposite end of the stable and emerged to gaze at the mares in the fields did they see that the distant hills were touched with pinkish gold.

“Tomorrow,” Matthew promised. “Tomorrow I’ll take you riding and show you the rest.”

“How early?”

Matthew laughed. “As early as you care to awaken. How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Cecile smiled. It was.

Despite the fruit and wine, Cecile found she was ravenous again. To her relief, Matthew headed to the dining room.

To Matthew’s relief, the breathtaking creature on his arm appeared to have relaxed. The tension created between them when she had asked about Aza seemed to have dissipated, and he was glad. He couldn’t bear the guilt he felt, and he knew Cecile must feel the same way. But she appeared quite happy now, he mused. Her eyes sparkled, and through the filmy veil he saw her smile.

The braziers had been lit, the table set. For two. Cecile did not fail to notice the moment they entered the room, and she exhaled a small sigh of relief. She could not help having wondered if Aza would join them, and she knew she could not have borne the awkwardness. What a difference in their lives, now that they were no longer on the desert!

Matthew gestured Cecile to the cushion beside him at the head of the table, and once again she forgot the rest of the world.

They ate in silence, served unobtrusively by cat-footed servants. The food was excellent, the wine superb, though Cecile was barely aware of what she put in her mouth. Her heart sang, her thoughts whirled. She was in heaven.

The meal was finished at last, but neither moved or spoke. Shyly, Cecile glanced at Matthew over the rim of her goblet while, from time to time, he surreptitiously gazed at her over his.

“Dhiba,” Matthew began finally, hesitantly. “I thought this might please you.” He pushed a leather pouch across the table.

Cecile stared for a moment, then gingerly picked it up. The pouch tilted, and the ring fell into her hand.

The pearl was large, of perfect, pinkish hue, set in a heavy but simple gold band. “I … I don’t … don’t know what to say.”

“Put it on.”

Cecile complied, her heart thudding in her throat. “How can I … how can I thank you?” she whispered.

Matthew reached across the polished table and took Cecile’s hand. One finger lightly caressed the globelike gem she now wore, and he looked up into her eyes. “You didn’t have a … a real wedding,” he said at last, softly. “Certainly nothing … memorable,” Matthew added with chagrin. “Yet you are my wife, Dhiba. I love you, I … I wanted you to have something …”

The touch of her fingers on his lips silenced him. Matthew once again saw tears glittering in her eyes.

“Hush,” Cecile murmured, voice barely audible. “You don’t need to say any more. And you didn’t need to give me anything. But I do know how to thank you.”

Cecile rose, and Matthew clearly read the message in her hot, bright gaze. He followed her from the room.

She didn’t hesitate when she reached the door to his room, but stepped boldly inside. The topaz gown slithered to the floor, and she stood naked before him. Her flesh was golden in the moonlight, breasts high and firm, magnificent hair falling sensuously against her hips. In one fluid motion, Matthew swept her from her feet and carried her to his bed.

C
ECILE OPENED HER EYES AND SAW THE DAWN
breaking. But it was hard to get up. The air was warm and sweet. Birds chirped and chattered. A breeze wafted through the open garden windows. She stretched, reveling in the feel of the silken sheets, then turned on her side.

Matthew snored softly, lips parted. Cecile ran a finger lightly down his furred chest and he stirred. “Wake up, lazybones.”

He grunted, the faintest suggestion of a smile on his lips, but his eyes remained shut.

“All right for you,” Cecile warned. Leaning over, she gently bit the end of his nose.

“Hey!”

Cecile scrambled out of bed before Matthew could retaliate. “Come back here, you miserable wench!”

“Come and get me,” she taunted. “I’m going riding.”

Matthew grinned. Her tumbled hair framed her face and shoulders like a halo of thunderclouds, her breast heaved, and only the pearl ring adorned her matchless, naked form. He had other ideas.

But Cecile leapt away as he reached for her. “Remember your promise,” she called, and disappeared through the door to her room.

There were more surprises hidden away in her chest of drawers, and they touched Cecile far more than all the silks put together. She glanced at Matthew shyly as she followed him through the gardens to the stable, then down at the loose-sleeved white cotton shirt and comfortably billowing trousers tucked into the tops of her handmade leather boots. She had added a muslin kerchief for modesty’s sake, though she planned to remove it once they were out of sight. Matthew liked to look at her, she knew, and she would give him every opportunity.

A stable boy greeted them, and Matthew gave him instructions. Then he turned to Cecile. “I’d like you to ride one of my mares, if you don’t mind. It was a long, hard journey, and I’ve had yours turned out to pasture.”

His consideration touched her. “Thank you. Of course, I don’t mind riding one of your mares. I’d be honored.”

The horse he’d chosen for her was pale gray, almost white, as delicate and finely formed as Al Chah ayah. Matthew also rode a gray, and Cecile was struck by how handsome they must look together on matching horses, each dressed in white shirts and trousers.

“Are you ready?” he asked as they jogged from the stable. At her nod, he urged his mount to a lope and, side by side, they headed into the fields.

The grazing mares raised their heads and pricked their ears at the sight of the approaching riders. Their bellies were swollen with their unborn foals, their hides sleek. All were gray, nearly white. Matthew stopped and pointed.

“They are called
safra,”
he said, “meaning …”

“White,” Cecile finished for him.

Matthew nodded, pleased. “The Badawin prefers them for festivities. For endurance they like
hamra,
the bays, and
sacra,
the pale yellow mares, for speed. All must be
Asil,
of course, pure-blooded.”

They rode on a way, loping slowly through the canyon pastures. Near the end of the valley, Cecile reined in her mare and exclaimed, “Oh, Matthew. How lovely!”

“I’m glad you approve. I consider that foal one of my finest achievements.”

“I can certainly see why. She’s perfect … long ears, legs, neck,” Cecile mused out loud. “Long in the hip, yet short in the croup. Large eyes and nostrils, arched breast. And just look at that beautiful little dished face! I can see she gets her body from her dam, but not her head,” she continued. “Her sire must have put it on her. She’s the perfect example of intelligent breeding.”

“Why … thank you.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume, I …”

Matthew shook his head. “You presume nothing; you’re correct. I’m impressed by your knowledge.”

“I still have a lot to learn.”

As I do, he thought. About the most fascinating woman Allah had ever created.

The pastures had been covered, yet Matthew was reluctant to end their idyll and return. “Would you like to ride into the hills?”

“Oh, yes. I’d love to.”

It was amazing, Cecile thought, how the hell of the desert and the paradise of the coast could exist side by side. As they crested the low range of hills, she saw sand stretching endlessly on one side, the verdant valley on the other. They shared nothing in common save temperature, and Cecile was not sorry when Matthew led the way into a shady grove of tamarisk trees.

“Well,” he asked at length, “what do you think of my home?”

Cecile was surprised he had even had to ask. “I think it’s the most beautiful, special place on earth,” she answered finally, and honestly. There was only one thing left that would make it absolutely perfect and, Cecile realized, the moment had arrived at last when she must broach the subject to Matthew. The time had finally come to speak of Aza. “Matthew, there’s something I …”

The words were never spoken. Matthew’s mare snorted and shied. Cecile’s horse jumped sideways, nearly unseating her. “What is it?” she cried. “What’s wrong?”

Matthew didn’t stop to reply. He wheeled his mount and sped off into the trees. But the tamarisk forest was close and dense. He couldn’t see ahead, and progress was slow. Whoever had crept up on them was gone. He’d never catch up. Matthew returned to the path at a jog.

“What was it?” Cecile asked. “An animal?”

“I don’t know.” Matthew pulled at his chin, his brow furrowed. “Come on,” he said shortly. “I think we’d better ride back.”

Cecile didn’t protest. The mood was broken, her words forgotten. She felt nervous, strangely tense. As they loped from the forest, she looked back over her shoulder and, in spite of the heat of the day, shivered.

Cecile woke at dawn as usual. But she noticed immediately that there was something funny about the light falling through the windows. She reached for Matthew, not surprised when her hand encountered only a silken sheet. It had become his habit over the past few days to rise before first light and tend to business, leaving the rest of the day to walk or ride with her. Cecile smiled as she slipped from the bed.

The days had passed magically. Matthew spent every free moment with her. They ate together, bathed together, slept together. Aza had not appeared once, and it was almost as if she had never existed.