Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Michael pulled on his robe and followed the servant, happy that Khaldun's father was well enough to receive a visitor.

  He was led into a room were sunlight poured through stained glass, sending sparkling prisms dancing against the white walls.

  Prince Khaldun came forward to greet Michael and escorted him to the man who was propped against pillows on an arched divan. Michael knew the veiled woman beside him would be Khaldun's mother, the queen. The king was pale, and his eyes were drawn in pain.

  "Welcome, Lord Michael, friend of my son," he said in a surprisingly boisterous voice. "Since you are a brother to my son, that makes you a son to me."

  Michael stood before the man, knowing he had been great in his time, because power still emanated from him even in his weakened condition.

  "You do me honor, Your Majesty."

  "We were told of your actions in defending the caravan, and your exploits will be spoken of for many years to come." He smiled, easing the harshness of his expression. "I am told they have placed a title on you."

  "It would seem so, Your Majesty. But I felt no pride in what I did. Condemn me for speaking frankly, sire, but I feel only shame."

  The king shook his head. "It is well that you feel this way. A man should never grow so hardened that he finds pleasure in the taking of a life. Although many do, even some among my people." The king shifted his weight and grimaced in pain. "However, I would ask you to put your remorse aside because the same people you killed are indeed the people who hold your father captive. They are ruthless and shameless. You need not mourn their passing."

  Michael's eyes widened. "You know where my father is being held?"

  "Our spies tell us of a tall Englishman who is imprisoned at Caldoia, the stronghold of the traitor, Sidi Ahmed."

  Michael tried to speak, but he had to catch his breath before he found his voice. "Are your spies certain it is my father?"

  "I am assured it is the duke of Ravenworth."

  "Is he well?"

  "Of this I have no knowledge. But I do not think even Sidi would dare harm so important a man."

  "I must go there at once, Your Majesty. I must try to reason with Sheik Sidi and ask him to release my father."

  "No! This you cannot do. Do I not know that my brother-in-law would like to capture you also? Did he not already try and fail?"

  "Then what shall I do?"

  "You will bide your time. We will find a way that is the least dangerous to your father. I warn you, if we are precipitate, my brother-in-law will most certainly kill your father."

  "I have been patient, Your Majesty, and I will continue to be so, if you think it best. Just to know my father is alive is more than I hoped. I must send word to my mother at once."

  "Yes, you must write your mother. But before you leave, may I present my queen to you? She wishes to thank the man who saved our son."

  Michael stood speechless as the queen rose and threw off her veil. She was dressed in yellow silk, with dark hair and dark eyes. She must once have been a great beauty, for she was still a handsome woman. "I am . . . honored to know . . . you, brother of my son," she said haltingly. "And I am . . . grateful to you that I still have a son." Keeping her face uncovered, she sat beside her husband and smiled at Michael.

  Khaldun kissed his mother's cheek and joined Michael. "My mother does not speak English, but she learned these words so she could say them to you."

  "I am greatly honored," Michael said, bowing respectfully before the queen. He had heard enough about Moslem customs to know that a man who was not a family member would never be allowed to see the faces of their women, and especially not the face of a member of the royal family.

  The king spoke again. "We honor you further, Lord Michael, as a father honors a well-loved son. From this day forward, you will have the privilege of dining with our family, addressing our women, and sitting in our presence."

  Michael was filled with emotion when he glanced at Khaldun. He saw pride in his friend's eyes, and he knew their bond went beyond friendship. They were truly like brothers.

  "There is another reason you are here tonight. I would ask a favor of you, Michael," Khaldun said expectantly, as if he were going to ask something of great importance.

  "Anything you want from me, you have only to ask."

  "My bride, Princess Yasmin, will begin her journey from Sawarka in one week. I would be pleased if you would lead the honor guard to escort her here."

  Michael recalled Khaldun talking to him about his distaste for the marriage that had been arranged for him as a child. He could see the misery in his friend's eyes.

  "I will be pleased to bring your bride to you, my friend."

  The king smiled. "Go and make preparations, my sons. I will see Khaldun married before I die." His face softened as his eyes met his wife's. "What a celebration we will have at this long-awaited wedding. At last our family will be united with the family of my old friend, Sheik Hakeem."

  It was much later, when Michael walked with Khaldun in the garden. There was distress in the prince's eyes as he paced back and forth.

  "My father is old and does not understand how I feel. His love for my mother was so great that he took only her as a wife—I believe I shall have many wives," he said bitterly. "The first time I marry to please him. The rest of the times I marry to please myself."

  "Khaldun, perhaps you will love this woman who is to be your wife."

  "I already told you that the Sawarka tribe, to which my bride belongs, often tattoo their faces. They are also nomadic and very restless, moving from one place to another when the grass gives out for their sheep and camels. I fear I shall never love as you love the Lady Mallory."

  "I don't—oh, yes—well, there are different kinds of love, Khaldun," Michael said bracingly.

  "Yes, there is the love I have for my mother and father, and there is the love they expect me to feel for a woman that I have never known, a woman who will sit beside me all my days. Maybe I shall order her never to remove her veil in my presence. Even when I must take her to my bed." He was thoughtful for a moment. "Especially when I must take her to my bed."

  Michael found it hard not to laugh because he knew his friend was being serious. "Why don't you tell your father that you don't want to marry Princess Yasmin?"

  "Because life without honor is useless, and it is better to die than live without honor. My father gave his word to her father, Sheik Hakeem—my father's word is the same as mine."

  "I don't understand how marrying a woman you have never seen could be called honorable."

  "Let us not dwell on unhappiness, my friend. Let us not be gloomy today. Let us instead celebrate your victories."

  In that moment, Michael remembered another prediction the old Gypsy woman had made in London. She'd told him he would know great friendship. In this, too, she'd been right.

  Chapter 15

  Mallory was growing weary of her solitary life. The only one who spoke English in the house was Safwat, and his knowledge of the language was limited.

  She had gone to the consulate and spoken to Mr. Abrams, but he had no notion of when her parents would be returning. She inquired if he had heard from Lord Michael, but he had not. In fact, he was certain his lordship was not in Cairo. The only advice the man could give her was to return to England since she was unchaperoned. No one understood her predicament.

  So the endless days stretched before Mallory. Each night, she ate a solitary dinner and spent another evening alone. She had reread the three books she'd brought with her several times. She had been excited when she found several books and manuals in her father's office, but they'd turned out to be a disappointment since they were written in Arabic.

  Mallory's thoughts turned to Lord Michael. She wondered if his wound had healed properly, and if he was taking care of himself. She still feared for his safety.

  Mallory received a letter from Mrs. Wickett. It seemed she and her husband were returning to England. Sergeant Wickett had received a p
romotion and would be stationed in Bath. Mallory had the strongest urge to write and ask if she could accompany them.

  But then, where would she go when she got back to England? Cousin Phoebe had already moved to the house her father had left her, and couldn't support another person on her small income. Mallory knew that she couldn't return to Stoneridge with Sir Gerald lurking about. No, it seemed she must stay in Egypt and wait for her parents to return.

  On her daily walk, Mallory had just reached the pond at the edge of the garden, when a black-robed man approached her. She noticed the gate leading to the alleyway was open, and drew back, her heart pounding. The robe did not disguise the man's wide girth. His beard was dark, and his eyes were almost black.

  "Who are you?" Mallory asked through trembling lips, her eyes darting back toward the house and safety.

  "A thousand pardons, lady, I did not mean to frighten you," the man said ingratiatingly.

  She considered calling out for Safwat, but he was too far away to hear. Bravely, she faced the intruder. "You have no right to be in my father's garden. What do you want here?"

  "Lady, I'm sent by one who knows you. He begs that I bring you to him right away."

  "My father sent you?"

  "No, lady. I was sent by Akhdar 'em Akraba. He has asked that you come to him at once."

  Mallory looked at him suspiciously, and took a frightened step backwards. "I know of no one by that name."

  "Perhaps you know him by the name of the green-eyed scorpion."

  "If you don't leave at once, I'll call for help. I don't know you, or the person of whom you speak."

  He held up his arms. "Lady, he's the Inglizi you know well, the son of the great lord."

  "Lord Michael?"

  He grinned. "That is right, lady. The lord is hurt and needs your assistance."

  She still didn't believe him. "Then why didn't you come to the front and ask for me in a proper manner?"

  "The lord has many enemies who want to see him dead, lady. He is gravely ill and trusts only you to treat him."

  Mallory was undecided. "Where is he?"

  "Two days' ride across the desert. We must hurry, lady, he needs you."

  "I'll just inform the servants of my intentions. We can trust them."

  "No. You must come with me now and no one must know. The lord is in much danger. His fever is high, and he calls out for you."

  Mallory wasn't certain she could trust this man. But why would he come for her unless Michael had sent for her?

  "I have a fine horse for you to ride and the supplies we shall need. You will come at once?"

  Before she could answer, Safwat appeared down the walkway. "My lady," he called. "My lady, you have correspondence from your father."

  Mallory turned back to speak to the black-robed Arab, to find that he had disappeared. The only evidence that he'd been there was the unlatched gate swinging back and forth on its hinges.

  At that moment, Mallory was sure that the stranger had been trying to lure her away from the safety of her father's home.

  "Safwat, did you see the man who was talking to me?"

  He looked puzzled, and then noticed the unlocked gate. "You were alone when I arrived." He moved to the gate to discover the lock had been broken, and his brow furrowed with worry. "I will have a new lock placed on the gate right away. I believe that since you saved the life of the young lord your movements have been watched. It may be dangerous for you to walk in the garden alone."

  Mallory raised her head, her blue eyes shining with anger. "I will not be a prisoner in my parents' home. And I'll not whimper in a corner like some frightened animal. No one is going to frighten me."

  "It is wise to know when to be frightened, my lady. It is my duty to keep you safe until your mother and father return."

  She smiled at Safwat and followed him to the house. He was right, of course, she must not take chances. After all, she was a woman in a strange land, with no one to protect her.

  When she entered the house, Safwat handed her the letter from her father. She quickly opened it and began to read.

  Mallory,

  Word has reached your mother and me that you are in Cairo. I cannot imagine what Phoebe was thinking to send you to us without our permission. As you have, I'm sure, already gathered, Cairo is no place for a young girl. Your mother and I shall return within two weeks, and at that time, we will discuss what is to be done with you. We had thought a nice girls' school in London is where we should place you. Until we return, it would be best if you remained inside the compound and obey Safwat and Inna.

  Mallory read the letter a second time, with a heavy heart. They still thought of her as a child. Her father's letter had been cold and dispassionate. He hadn't even bothered to sign his name.

  "Safwat," she called, hurrying to her room.

  He came into the hallway. "Yes, my lady?"

  "Have the carriage made ready. I'm going to the British consulate to speak to them about my passage home."

  "Yes, my lady. But if someone is watching you, would it not be better for my wife to dress you in something of hers so you will escape detection?"

  Mallory considered his suggestion. If the man who had broken into the garden was still watching the house, it might be wise to disguise her appearance.

  "I believe your idea is sound. Please ask your wife to come to my room, and I'd appreciate borrowing her apparel."

  Safwat nodded at her good judgment. "It will be safer for you that way."

  When Mallory saw the lovely red robe with gold embroidery at the hem, she realized that Inna had offered her finest garment. When Inna helped her dress and belted the waist, she draped the long black burka over Mallory's head. The woman smiled happily as she showed Mallory how to pull the bottom part over her lower face, so that only her eyes would show.

  When she looked in the mirror, Mallory nodded in satisfaction. "Even my Cousin Phoebe wouldn't know me in this." She turned to Safwat's wife. "Thank you."

  Inna smiled and nodded, backing out of the room.

  Mallory suddenly felt a surge of excitement throb through her body. Nothing like this could ever have happened to her in England. She could go about the streets of Cairo just like the other faceless women, and no one would know she wasn't one of them. Why hadn't she thought of this before?

  Thomas Abrams glanced up at the Arab woman who entered his office. "Who allowed you in here?"

  Mallory dropped the veil and watched the color drain from his face.

  "Lady Mallory—but what—surely you haven't taken up the native dress!"

  "I had to talk to you, and I found it necessary to come in disguise." She watched his eyes widen, and then his lips thinned in disapproval.

  "This should not be permitted, Lady Mallory. What will your mother and father say when they return?"

  "But my reason for wearing native dress is a sound one." She explained to him how the man had come into her garden and tried to lure her into the desert.

  "This is intolerable. I intend to lodge a protest with the viceroy this very day. When an English woman isn't even safe in her own home, it's time to take action."

  "I don't think that will do any good, Mr. Abrams. What I don't understand is why the man went to so much trouble to trap me."

  "Who will ever understand these people?" he said pettishly. "They have no love for us English. We try to educate them and teach them a better way of life, and what do we get for our trouble?"

  "Mr. Abrams, the Egyptians were a great civilization when we were still running around in animal skins. I hardly think they need our guidance."

  He looked at her as if she'd lost her senses, but merely snorted his disapproval. "Nevertheless, one of them tried to abduct you, you can't deny that. I can't think what the consul will do about this when he returns. I would advise you to remain indoors until your father and mother return. Meanwhile, I'll post two guards to watch the house."

  "If you wish." She moved to stand beneath the picture of the queen.
"I'm concerned about Lord Michael. Have you still had no word from him?"

  "Nothing. You'd think he'd have the courtesy to keep us informed of his whereabouts. I, for one, will be glad when the consul returns, so he can take command. Lord Michael is arrogant, undisciplined, and most unappreciative. I did all I could to locate his father, but did he thank me? No, he only accused me of incompetence."

  In this, Mallory was inclined to agree with Lord Michael. The man was certainly incapable of representing the Crown. He had no liking for the people he had been sent to serve. It was no wonder the Egyptians didn't like foreigners, if Mr. Abrams was any indication of the disrespect they endured from the English.

  "I must return home now. You will inform me if you hear anything from Lord Michael?"

  "The only thing I've heard, and I'm not inclined to believe it, is that he's gone native. Rumors persist that he's something of a legend, and the Arabs call him Akhdar 'em Akraba."

  "The green-eyed scorpion," Mallory said.

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  "Because the Arab who came into my garden referred to Lord Michael by that name."

  "Astounding. I don't know what to make of this."

  "I am going home now, Mr. Abrams," Mallory said, moving to the door.

  "Very well. I'll have the soldiers at your home by sundown, m'lady."

  As Mallory stepped into the coach, she didn't see the man huddled in the shadows, or the signal he gave to three men pulling a vegetable cart down the street.

  At that moment, the horses reared on their hind legs, bringing the carriage to a sudden halt. Mallory glanced at the vegetable cart that was overturned in front of them. She thought nothing of it, until a man jumped at Safwat and shoved him into the street. A second man climbed into the coach beside Mallory.

  He held a knife at her throat and muttered a quick command. "Do not call out, lady. Do exactly as I say."

  She recognized the man who had confronted her earlier in the garden. "What do you want?"

  "It is not for you to ask," came the sharp reply. The man made no attempt to be polite. "You will do only what you are told."