by Emma Darcy
‘At the Fisa hotel you inflicted on me a fat cow from the bazaar whose dancing was supposed to entertain me,’ he mocked savagely. ‘She bored me more thoroughly than I’ve ever been bored in my life.’
‘I can do much better than the fat cow from the bazaar,’ Amanda promised quickly, thinking any promise was better than the rat-hole.
His eyes derided her claim. ‘Are you suggesting you are not culturally inept?’
‘I chose the fat cow from the bazaar for other reasons than entertaining you,’ Amanda excused.
‘You have the temerity to remind me of your duplicity?’
‘I have no trouble remembering yours,’ she retorted. ‘I also remember the link that crossed those barriers. I doubt that even you can crush that memory.’
His eyes burned into hers, seeking truth, doubting her integrity. ‘You want another way to resolve things between us,’ he said softly, a dangerous glitter leaping into the black blaze. ‘Something other than the justice of the rat-hole.’
‘Your justice is blind.’
‘Then open my eyes, Amanda...by dancing for me.’
He was calling her bluff. If she didn’t do better than the dancer she had chosen for him in Fisa, she would end up in the rat-hole. Amanda figured she had one advantage. However bad her dancing might be, he would not be bored if she could stir the desire he was so determinedly repressing.
‘How many veils would you allow me?’ she asked.
He raised one finger.
It didn’t give her much to use in the way of teasing or tantalising. Not that she was particularly adept at that. In fact, she wasn’t adept at all in the ancient art of seduction. But she would try.
This was more a mental challenge than a physical one, she assured herself. If she was to prolong her time with him while she danced, what she needed was the longest veil in the world. She also needed time to learn what had to be done.
‘Agreed,’ she said. Already she was quickly plotting a few more moves she could make to break down his present resistance to her.
His eyes narrowed into slits. He obviously didn’t trust her one bit. ‘Do not think my admiration for your cleverness will cloud my vision, Amanda. You have much to prove to me. As a woman.’
The rat-hole wouldn’t have proved anything, Amanda thought petulantly, but she wisely held her tongue on that matter. She had won a stay in judgement. Better to leave him now while the going was good.
‘I’ll need time to prepare,’ she said.
‘Undoubtedly,’ he dryly agreed, stepping back and waving her to join her escort again. ‘Send a messenger to me when you are ready. Remember I await the outcome of your...plan...with some disbelief.’
‘Thank you for the reprieve,’ Amanda said with every air of confidence, and gave Mr Kozim a friendly nod as she resumed her place in the middle of her elite squad of soldiers.
The command was given to return her to her quarters.
Amanda found her legs were quite wobbly once they had left the library but she managed to keep them moving, one after the other, until they had traversed the necessary distance.
After all, a princess didn’t collapse in a heap when the going got rough. A princess was supposed to be tough. A princess held her head high and sailed through the storm to a safe port.
If she was to be a princess she had to find precisely the right sail to get her there.
Amanda’s practical mind descended from the clouds.
It wasn’t the right sail she needed.
It was the right veil!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KNOWING she had been officially proclaimed a princess gave Amanda the confidence to issue a few orders.
For a start, she was not going to be pushed around by a pack of women who thought they knew more about her body than she did. She took a leaf out of Xa Shiraq’s book. They could carry out her will instead.
Once she was back in the royal quarters, she ordered a good solid brunch; sausage, fried tomatoes and a piece of buttered toast. After the episode with the sheikh she was not hungry but she forced herself to eat some fruit to stiffen up her wobbly knees. If she was to deliver the performance of her life, energy was a necessary requirement.
The matter of the veil was more complex. Amanda ordered bolts of filmy cloth in shades of blue and green and silver to be brought to her. They were the colours he had suggested at Fisa.
Amanda intended to please. She had a vested interest in pleasing him. If she could, she would make him eat his words about her not knowing anything about a man’s pleasure.
In a way, Xa Shiraq was right. Amanda had received no advice on such matters from her mother who had died before Amanda had reached the age of puberty.
At the school she had attended during her teenage years, the list of attainments thought desirable for a modern woman did not include any knowledge on how to please a man. The general attitude was that if it did happen, it would occur naturally all by itself.
The natural occurrences that had come Amanda’s way in later years had not taught her much. She hadn’t been particularly pleased herself, and it seemed that all that was required of her was her consent. Being kissed by Xa Shiraq had been totally different to anything she had experienced before.
Amanda had the feeling that Xa Shiraq would be much more demanding in his pleasure than anyone she had met before, both in giving it and receiving it. If she kept thinking of the feelings he had aroused while kissing her, it might help her to stop worrying about what response she was drawing from him while she did whatever was going to be done.
By the time her tiny appetite was fully satisfied, an extraordinary number of bolts of cloth had been lined up for her to view. With the fear of the rat-hole ever present in the background, and her poor, sick, empty stomach nicely filled, Amanda considered this matter of dancing her way out of trouble and into the heart of Xa Shiraq where she rightfully belonged.
The reflection that she shouldn’t be in this trouble at all pricked a little resentment. The manner in which Xa Shiraq had dismissed her sufferings as though they were nothing pricked quite a lot more. To balance that, her crimes of illegal entry into the country, and the charges of grand larceny seemed to have been forgotten. She hoped the unfortunate experiences on the Gemini Peak would also soon be forgotten.
What she could not forget was all the hours he had kept her in a waiting torment of ignorance as to his fate. It seemed absolutely fair to her that he do his share of waiting for her. Besides, being trapped in the caves like that—she shuddered—had obviously tormented his mind about her.
He needed time to consider all she had said in her defence this morning. He needed time to come to the conclusion he must have the hydraulic jack examined, and then more time to adjust to the fact that he was wrong, and she truly loved him.
That might assist him to be more receptive to her, and stop this terrible misunderstanding between them. She wanted to be his lover, not his murderer.
She cast her eyes over the bolts of cloth, then sent for a messenger.
‘Please inform Xa Shiraq that there is no cloth in the sheikhdom in shimmering shades of blue and green that meet my requirements. Mindful of his pleasure, I request permission to order that some be dyed to the desired colouring I need. The process will only take several days.’
Then, of course, the veil would have to be made. Amanda’s agile mind thought up several more delays, as well. The looms would break. The woof and warp would be wrong. The series of delays she could invent would know no bounds.
She was tempted to add a rider to the message that he should use the time to have the broken hydraulic jack examined, but decided not to raise that sore point yet again. Perhaps, tomorrow. Or the day after.
Amanda was humming happily to herself when the messenger returned with a reply from Xa Shiraq.
‘”Permission granted. Be prepared to leave with your escort within the hour. Enjoy your stay in the rat-hole until the dyeing process is completed.”’
Ama
nda’s delightful little bubble of hopes and plans burst into droplets of despair.
But Amanda was a fighter. She would not go down without making a stand. If she was going to be submerged for the third time, she was determined to take someone down with her. That person was Xa Shiraq.
‘Please inform Xa Shiraq that a suitable cloth has now been procured. The women who will do the silver thread-work require me for fittings to ensure their design will be pleasing to his discriminating eye. Since there is no light in the rat-hole, I request permission to remain in these quarters until such time as the veil is ready to be worn to its best effect for his pleasure.’
Let him argue against that, Amanda thought with satisfaction. She could spin out the silver embroidery for a good few days. Perhaps a week. Clearly his vengeful mood was still in full force. The longer she held out, the more likely he might have second thoughts about what had happened.
His reply did not exactly demonstrate that a softening process had begun.
‘”Thread or no thread, you will dance for me at midnight tonight.”’
Midnight!
Amanda checked the current time. Almost three o’clock. He had given her nine hours. If she didn’t deliver what she had promised to his satisfaction at his deadline, Amanda had little doubt she would endure the same fate as many illustrious princesses before her. Xa Shiraq was not a man to be crossed lightly.
Amanda gave her reply much deep thought. Xa Shiraq had to be forcibly reminded of what they had shared together before they met tonight. Amanda’s understanding of his grievances only stretched so far. If he didn’t open his mind and heart to her again, they would both end up very lonely people.
The prospect of that inner darkness weighed more heavily on Amanda’s heart than the prospect of future darkness.
She addressed the messenger one last time.
‘Tell Xa Shiraq that the women’s fingers grow more nimble by the minute. His will shall be done.
‘Then you are to advance upon him. You are to tell him the words you utter cannot be said aloud, and they are for him alone.
‘When permission is given, you will whisper to him in tones of love—May the stars shine brightly for us tonight.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KOZIM shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the messenger returned for the third time.
Xa Shiraq was being highly unpredictable today. Many silences had lasted longer than five minutes. Kozim was deeply stressed.
It was clear to him that the geologist’s daughter was having a very strange effect on the sheikh. What had seemed an absolutely firm decision about the rat-hole had not turned out a firm decision at all.
How was he to understand anything if everything kept changing? It had been alarming enough when the geologist’s daughter had turned to him for succour, although Kozim assured himself he had acted creditably. It was even more alarming to witness Xa Shiraq’s reaction to her messages.
The first one had evoked a burst of derisive laughter. Kozim had not thought it a laughing matter. The message had sounded quite impertinent to him. However, the sheikh’s reply had certainly put the geologist’s daughter in her rightful place. Kozim had heartily approved of that.
To Kozim’s mind, the second message should have earned the same result. Xa Shiraq had mused over it, a knowing smile lurking on his lips, his black eyes glittering with calculations. He did not share them with Kozim. His reply, when it came, seemed an extraordinary concession.
Kozim had found it extremely difficult not to expose his surprise. He reflected that the sheikh’s mind often worked in mysterious ways. Yet there was a lack of consistency over this business with the geologist’s daughter that Kozim found disturbing.
The messenger had barely finished bowing when the sheikh commanded her to speak, not waiting for the usual form of salutations and address.
Xa Shiraq’s obvious impatience, indeed, his air of anticipation to hear what the geologist’s daughter had to say, was unlike any manner Kozim had witnessed in his long years of service with the sheikh.
The messenger intoned the words.
‘Go on. Go on,’ Xa Shiraq urged, waving his arms in encouragement. ‘There must be more. She would not leave it there.’
The messenger advanced. ‘These words are for your ears only.’ They were whispered in his ear.
For some reason Kozim could not fathom, Xa Shiraq was so struck by this private communication, his unusual burst of mobility was instantly cut dead. He went absolutely still. Kozim recognised the quality of stillness. It was always thus when the sheikh was absorbing every shade, every minute detail, every nuance of an important problem.
He remained in this state of intense introspection for several minutes, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
‘Did the princess say anything else?’
The question ended the long, tense silence.
‘No, Your Excellency,’ the messenger smartly replied.
‘Then you may go.’
The messenger’s departure did not end Kozim’s growing sense of insecurity. Several more minutes passed before the sheikh deigned to notice him.
‘Is there a full moon tonight?’ he asked in a voice that rang with decision.
‘No, Your Excellency. What moon there is will set before midnight.’
Kozim had already checked his calendar. It was said that a full moon could induce a temporary madness in a man who was under the spell of a woman. Kozim had thought it worth checking if such a dangerous phase was looming on the horizon.
‘Order the freshest and finest samples of Xabian jasmine, Kozim. I want it placed in every room.’
‘I will see to it,’ Kozim said, wondering if partial moons could have the same ill effect.
There was a gleam in the sheikh’s black eyes that confirmed Kozim’s suspicions. However, if what followed after midnight did not live up to the sheikh’s expectations... Kozim thanked his lucky stars he was not the geologist’s daughter!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FRUSTRATION edged into desperation as Amanda tried one experiment after another with the veil. She had done a course in pareu tying as practised by the Polynesians. The only difference between a pareu and a veil was that the latter was more diaphanous. She had thought one style or another would produce a desirable effect but none of them did.
What was fine on a tropical beach simply did not have the seductive elegance she was searching for. She needed to entrance, to enthrall. She didn’t think she could achieve that by looking...obvious.
The harem women followed her activities with amused interest and much chatter. Amanda felt she was in centre ring of a circus. Irritation added to her edginess and despair. ‘Do any of you have a better idea?’ she demanded, discarding her last effort as utterly hopeless for her purpose.
The old woman who spoke English rose from a settee. ‘Gaia,’ she said with a confident air of authority.
The other women clapped with enthusiastic excitement.
Amanda had no idea what it meant. ‘I want help,’ she said.
The old woman nodded approval and sent off a messenger.
Amanda pulled a robe over her nakedness and sat down to wait for whatever was going to eventuate. She felt totally dispirited. The one-veil idea was a disaster and she was only too aware that her ability to outdance the woman from the Fisa bazaar was pure fantasy. She closed her eyes and imagined the blistering scorn in Xa Shiraq’s. She prayed for mercy.
A hubbub from the harem women aroused her attention. A small, sharp-nosed woman was being ushered into the salon of the royal quarters. She was brought to Amanda and introduced by the old woman who had sent for her.
‘This is Gaia. She is the best one-veil designer in Alcabab. She has a national and international reputation.’
Gaia’s eyes were as sharp as her nose. She made a shrewd appraisal of Amanda as she bowed. Then she stepped back and clapped her hands. It was the signal for an entourage of models to parade in a dazzling variety of single veils
, long flowing designs that hid all and revealed everything.
Amanda ruefully realised how amateurish her own efforts must have seemed compared to the sophisticated creations that were being displayed for her benefit. She should have asked for help sooner.
As the last of twenty models filed past, Gaia came forward to inquire, ‘Which design would the princess prefer?’
Amanda shook her head, too dazed to make a decisive selection. They were all superb, far beyond anything she could conceive.
‘You are right,’ Gaia declared, bewildering Amanda with this interpretation of her silence. ‘If you are to win the sheikh’s heart forever, Princess, only the best will do.’
Like a grand impresario she snapped her fingers and the door to the salon opened once more. A solitary figure entered. All the women gasped in awe and admiration.
‘This model,’ Gaia said, ‘is based upon the exact replica of the one worn by the Queen of Sheba when she arrived at the court of King Solomon.’
It was a brilliant scarlet, looped gracefully over one shoulder where it was fastened by an elaborate gold brooch. From the brooch there fell a rainburst of gold thread, running in cunning diagonals around the model’s body, emphasising and highlighting every feminine curve.
‘For you, Princess, it can be copied in shimmering shades of blues and greens with a silver accent,’ Gaia assured her. ‘May I respectfully suggest that it is not only appropriate for you to be so dressed, but also essential?’
Palace gossip must have been running hot, Amanda thought. Probably everyone was more aware of what was really going on than she was. But the outfit was absolutely stunning. Amanda felt a stirring of excitement. And hope.
‘We use a little artifice,’ Gaia explained. ‘An invisible stitch here. An invisible stitch there. Men are so transported by what they see, they never notice.’
‘I believe it,’ Amanda agreed. A man wouldn’t be human if he paused to deliberate on the engineering skills that had put this little number together.
