Falcon's Prey

by Penny Jordan

  ‘In that case you won’t want me along,’ Felicia began, but Nadia swept her protests aside.

  ‘Of course we shall want you.’ She bent forward and kissed Felicia’s cheek. ‘You are a delight to us all, Felicia, and far too unassuming, although I hope Zahra does not speak the truth when she says that you may marry Faisal. Although he is my brother, I have to admit that he is weak, too changeable in his ways to make a good husband. Not like my Achmed.’ She glanced speculatively at Felicia. ‘You know, in a way I am surprised that you do not get on well with Raschid. He has always been a great admirer of beauty, and you have much of that. Also your manner cannot help but please; you are of his religion.’

  ‘Liking does not come from any of those things,’ Felicia said shakily, trying to stem the flood of longing Nadia’s words had aroused. ‘It comes from the heart, and Raschid’s heart is closed to me.’ This was her chance to beg Nadia for her aid, but she was too shy to ask, and by the time they had returned to the others it was too late.

  Later, she was to regret her weakness, but when they joined the rest of their party, her own worries subsided in the general excitement over Zahra’s wedding.

  It was late when they started back. Somehow or other Felicia found herself travelling with Raschid, sitting in the front seat while Umm Faisal and Zahra occupied the back.

  He was concentrating on the road, a barren landscape in black and silver, and she stole a glance at his remote profile, swept by a wave of love. Where on earth Nadia had got the idea that he could feel anything but disdainful contempt for her, Felicia could not imagine. She sighed, letting weary eyelids drop over aching eyes.

  The land had already cast its timeless spell over her, and the man…. She looked again at his shadowed profile. His head turned and their eyes met, pleasure and pain mingled as another fierce wave of longing swamped her.

  At last she had given her feelings their rightful name—she loved Raschid, against all the odds, in spite of the unbridgable gulfs of background and upbringing that yawned between them, she loved him.

  She sighed as tiredness drained even the ability to think properly. She might as well love the sun or the moon. Her eyes closed and opened as she struggled against waves of exhaustion. At her side Raschid turned and frowned.

  ‘It has been a long day for you, Miss Gordon. My sister and Zahra are both sleeping. Feel free to join them if you wish. We have a good hour’s journey in front of us.’

  They were following Achmed and Nadia, and as he spoke the powerful headlights of the Mercedes picked out the car in front quite clearly—and its occupants, Nadia’s dark head cradled on Achmed’s shoulder. An aching longing so intense that it was almost a physical pain hit her. She longed to cry out against it, stifling it, but the sound was trapped in her throat. She fought to subdue the urge to move closer to Raschid, to place her head on his shoulder and know she would not be rebuffed.

  Pride alone kept her upright in her seat, her eyes sliding away from Nadia and Achmed, but it was Raschid who said curtly:

  ‘You’re practically falling asleep sitting up, Miss Gordon. If pride prevents you from using my shoulder as a pillow, try telling yourself that very soon I shall be your uncle and capable of commanding your obedience. I know you detest me, but this road is very uneven in parts. If you fall asleep as you are you could easily be thrown against a window or do yourself some other injury, so let common sense take the place of pride and accept my offer in the spirit in which it is given.’

  What could she do? Even so, she had not expected his arm to curve round her, pulling her against the warmth of his body, and in response to her unvoiced question he said curtly:

  ‘I am perfectly able to drive with one hand—this is not a busy road, and I am not a young fool intent on showing off. Try to relax, I do not intend to harm you.’

  But he was, whether he intended it or not. Merely the pressure of his body as he changed gear, the warm male smell of his flesh, harmed her irreparably as her heart wept for the unattainability of its one desire. She drew a steady breath and instantly her nostrils were full of the masculine odour of his body. She closed her eyes, but with his hard shoulder beneath her cheek, it was impossible to banish the tormenting image of his mouth, its well cut lines as well known to her as the softer shape of her own.

  She fought against sleep as long as she could, not wanting it to steal from her these precious moments when Raschid gave his strength unstintingly, but the warmth of his body made her drowsy and her tormented senses were not proof against the smothering waves of sleep. Her body relaxed, her head falling against his shoulder. His arm tightened, holding her steady, as they drove into the endless night of the desert.

  Felicia had no clear recollection of their arrival. Sleepy and bemused, she stumbled from the car, and Raschid’s strong arm caught her as she fell.

  She thanked him, returning awareness making her desperate to avoid the sharpness of his eyes.

  Sleepily Umm Faisal offered a cup of coffee, but Felicia refused. Like a greedy miser, she wanted to gloat over her precious hoard of happiness to fall asleep, dreaming of those sacred moments when Raschid’s arms had held her without anger or punishment.

  It was quiet in the courtyard. Zahra was with Umm Faisal. With the month of Ramadan fast approaching, the arrangements for the wedding had to be finalised. Only that morning Umm Faisal had shown Felicia the soft rose silk from which Zahra’s bridal caftan would be fashioned. Shimmering threads of beaten silver flashed in the sunlight, and Felicia fingered the fabric in awe.

  Later Zahra had shown her the gifts Saud had sent her—the silver and turquoise hand jewellery handed down through seven generations of his family, necklaces of beaten gold studded with rubies, rings and ankle bracelets, a whole treasure trove of precious and semi-precious stones guaranteed to excite the most prosaic female imagination.

  Lastly Zahra produced an intricately worked girdle of beaten silver. This was the symbolic girdle used to fasten the bride’s shift, she explained, and once it was fastened in place, none but her bridegroom had the right to remove it.

  ‘Raschid still has the girdle made for his grandmother,’ Zahra told her, ‘and although he is Christian, he will marry according to the laws of our faith as well, for that was his grandfather’s wish, thus the two religions will live side by side in harmony with one another.’

  Every mention of Raschid brought nervous tension to Felicia’s body. Every day she expected to be summoned to his study and told that he had heard from Faisal. Why did she torture herself like this? Why did she not go to him and ask to be sent home before he discovered the truth about why she had been content to linger long after she knew of Faisal’s change of heart? Her own heart gave her the answer. She was sitting by the fishpond, staring lazily into space. A tortoiseshell carp jumped in the water, showering her with tiny droplets; in the distance doves cooed; even the perfect symmetry of the house echoed the same pervasive sense of peace. Her red-gold head bent over the pool, unaware that she was being observed by the man who stood in the shade of the lime trees, the fragile vulnerability of her lightly tanned skin exposed to his searching gaze. His expression unfathomable, he continued to watch, and then turned abruptly, his progress across the courtyard fluttering the doves into noisy protest. Felicia glanced up, her expression unguarded, unable to quench the fierce joy running through her veins.

  ‘Sheikh Raschid!’ There was even pleasure in saying his name.

  He inclined his head in the manner which had become so familiar that it was engraved on her heart. A small pang shot through her, and a hesitant smile quivered on her lips, as she suppressed her alarm.

  ‘Have you heard from Faisal?’

  Now what had made her ask that? His brows drew together in blank disapproval.

  ‘No,’ he replied curtly. ‘Are you missing him so much that you are willing to beg me for news of him? Perhaps I did you an injustice. Perhaps you do care for him after all.’

  Now was her chance to tell him the tr
uth. The words trembled on her lips, only to be silenced as he added cynically, ‘However, as we both know, appearances can be deceptive. Our strong sun darkens the colour of your skin to the colour of ours, but it cannot change what lies underneath. There can be no happiness in a marriage between yourself and Faisal.’

  ‘East and West can live in harmony,’ Felicia protested. ‘Your own grandparents….’

  ‘They were an exception,’ Raschid interrupted curtly. ‘My grandmother willingly gave up everything to be with my grandfather. Can you honestly tell me that your love for Faisal possesses that strength? Would you willingly wander the desert with him, an outcast to your own people?’

  Her eyes gave him the answer. Not for Faisal, but for him…. She would willingly walk barefoot to hell and back for him. She longed to reach out and touch him, to slide her fingers through the dark crispness of his hair, to kiss those firmly chiselled lips and to urge that lean body to take her and make her a part of him, her flesh yielding and melting into his as his hard hands possessed her. She closed her eyes and prayed as she had never prayed before, that she might banish these tormenting images.

  When she opened them again Raschid was watching her dispassionately. ‘It is not safe for you to walk alone out here, Miss Gordon,’ he warned her.

  ‘In case I might be carried off by some desert barbarian, do you mean? Surely they would scorn me as you do, as being worthless and of little account. An unwanted intruder in their lives; a female of no virtue whose life means no more than a few grains of sand.’

  ‘Faisal did not scorn you,’ Raschid pointed out. ‘And it is after all, he who holds your heart, is it not?’

  She watched him disappear into the shadows, her body aching as though she had been beaten; which metaphorically she felt as though it had. She herself had lashed it unmercifully with the reminder that Raschid cared nothing for her.

  All her pleasure in the garden was gone. She went to her room, drawn to the drawer where she had concealed the small phial of perfume. Almost against her will she unstoppered it, and the fragrant, fresh smell of the English countryside stole through the room, coupled with a scent almost bitter-sweet, but faintly haunting, so in tune with her emotions that she could only marvel at the perfume blender’s ability to correctly judge her mood and transform it into this perfume which would always bring home to her the senselessness of unwanted love.

  CHAPTER NINE

  PROMPTED by Achmed, Raschid had made arrangements to entertain his guest by taking him hawking, a trip which could take two or three days dependent on the game to be had.

  Nadia had begged Achmed to intercede with Raschid on behalf of the female half of the household, declaring that it was unfair that they should be left behind while the men enjoyed themselves.

  The plan was that the men would take Raschid’s falcons, a couple of servants and two Land Rovers to hold all their gear and spend a couple of days relaxing in the desert.

  Nadia explained to Felicia that in their younger days she and Zahra had often accompanied Raschid on these trips, revelling in the freedom from routine these outings provided.

  ‘In the old days the men used tents, like the Badu, cooking over an open fire, but nowadays things are a bit more civilised. We use sleeping bags and camping Gaz,’ Nadia laughed. ‘Raschid does not really approve. He still prefers to follow the old ways of our people, but Mother used to worry that Faisal would burn himself or get indigestion from half cooked food and so, in the end, Raschid had to give in.’

  Even so it sounded enviably exciting—the wide open spaces of the desert, men in long white robes, eating under a dark blue velvet sky studded with stars. Felicia gave a faint sigh. Uncle George had never approved of picnics, or indeed eating out of doors at all.

  ‘Don’t worry, Achmed will be able to persuade Raschid. He’ll have to,’ she added with a darkling look, ‘otherwise I’ve told him he won’t be going himself.’

  Felicia burst out laughing. Nadia was so refreshingly modern in her outlook, and it was plain that Achmed adored her.

  He came into the women’s quarters while they were watching Zayad’s antics, a beaming smile splitting his face.

  ‘Raschid has agreed that you girls can come with us. Not without an awful lot of persuasion, I might add, and I’d better warn you, we mean to set off after first light tomorrow, and Raschid is in no mood to make allowances for you. He says if you are to come with us you must expect to be treated just like the men.’

  ‘Isn’t that just typical of him?’ Nadia complained. ‘I swear he thinks more of his falcons than he does of us.’

  ‘Quite probably,’ Achmed agreed cheerfully. He looked thoughtfully at Felicia, who was trying to play cat’s cradles with Zayad. ‘This will be your first trip into the interior of the desert, won’t it? Nadia will tell you what to take along.’ He frowned and seemed to hesitate.

  Had Raschid expressed doubts about the wisdom of taking her along because she was to be a member of the party? A casual enquiry of Zahra had elicited the information that unless they sent someone to Kuwait to collect it they would receive no mail while they were in the desert, and so, thinking herself safe for at least a few days, Felicia had closed her mind to the heartache she was storing up for herself, determined to make of the precious time left to her enough memories to warm her through the long cold years ahead.

  A little later in the day Nadia went with her to her room to sort out what she ought to take on the trip. ‘Your jeans, I think,’ she announced, pursing her lips, ‘and a long-sleeved blouse. I think I have riding boots that will fit you. When the falcons are hunting the hubara we shall have to follow on foot, and boots protect the ankles and legs from snakes and scorpions.’

  ‘Raschid didn’t want us to go because of me, didn’t he?’ Felicia interrupted quietly, needing to know the answer, in spite of the pain it might cause.

  Nadia looked uncomfortable, and Felicia knew she had guessed correctly. ‘It is just that it is our custom for each girl to be accompanied by a man to watch over her safety,’ Nadia explained, ‘and in Faisal’s absence Raschid is very conscious of his responsibility towards you. Zahra and I are accustomed to the desert. You are not.’ Her smile softened the words. ‘Don’t worry, Felicia, we shall take care of you, but try to understand….’

  ‘To understand what? That your uncle considers me an unwanted nuisance? I understand that already.’

  Nadia bit her lip, her eyes clouded. ‘Forgive me, Felicia, but this hostility you feel towards Raschid—could it be that you use it to mask other—very different emotions?’

  One look at Nadia’s face told her that the older girl had guessed the truth. Pride made her grasp at any straw, however frail, to conceal her feelings.

  ‘If you mean love, I consider that any woman who fell in love with your uncle would need to be either a fool or a masochist!’

  Felicia saw with relief that Nadia was staring at her in stunned surprise, but it was several seconds before she realised why. When Nadia continued to stare over her shoulder, the hairs at the back of her neck began to prickle warningly, and she swung round just in time to see Raschid’s coldly furious expression as he strode past the door.

  ‘Do you think he heard me?’

  Nadia recovered her voice, nodding her head commiseratingly. ‘I’m so sorry. I never heard him until it was too late.’

  Felicia shrugged, trying to tell herself that it did not matter; another stone on the wall separating herself and Raschid was hardly likely to make much difference one way or the other.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she assured Nadia. ‘After all, he’s never made any pretence of liking me. In fact I’m sure he’s feeling exceptionally pleased with the results of his eavesdropping. He’ll be more positive than ever now that I’m everything he thought, and worse!’

  ‘Let me explain to him,’ Nadia suggested, but Felicia shook her head decisively. What was there to explain? That Nadia had accused her of being in love with him, and in order to defend herse
lf she had claimed that no woman could be? He would know she was lying.

  ‘What’s the point? Let him think what he likes.’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Nadia admitted apologetically. ‘I shouldn’t have teased you in the first place. I am sorry.’

  When Nadia had gone Felicia stared at her clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Soon it would be empty. They would not be staying at the oasis much longer, and once Faisal’s letter reached Raschid, she would have to face the day of reckoning. If only she did not have to apply to Faisal’s family in order to get home! She was not left with even that shred of pride intact.

  AS ACHMED HAD foretold, Raschid lost no time in announcing that if the girls were intent on accompanying them, they would have to present themselves in the outer courtyard at first light.

  That had been last night, and now, pulling on her jeans in the pearly light of the false dawn, Felicia rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Below, in the courtyard, she could hear sounds of activity. Tiredly she brushed her hair, securing it with a ribbon. Following Nadia’s advice she added a thick, chunky sweater to the absolute necessities Raschid had limited them to—a change of underwear, a clean blouse, some soft woollen socks to wear inside Nadia’s boots, and a pair of sunglasses.

  She could see a couple of menservants loading things into the two Land Rovers parked below. Nadia had invited her to travel with herself and Achmed, and Felicia had accepted. It would be less wearing on her fragile nervous system than riding with Raschid.

  Breakfast had been set out for them in one of the salons, although Felicia’s stomach rebelled at the thought of yoghurt and dates before the sun had crept over the horizon.

  Zayad gave them all a sticky kiss as they prepared to leave, then went docilely to his nurse.

  ‘He’s so good, isn’t he?’ Felicia marvelled.

  ‘Kuwaiti children are accustomed to being obedient, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid said crisply from behind her. ‘Unlike in the West.’